#i will scream and throw up and be so deeply inconsolable

[consigleire]

if vincenzo comes back for a part two.....................

[battlinghurricanes]

DEIPHOBUS TIME!

I'm honestly not entirely sure how I got such a deeply involved concept for his character and motivations, but I definitely did. I just feel like he fits into an especially interesting place in everything and that there's a lot of great potential with him.

Shout out to @petalveinedwarrior for enabling me and also I'm very sorry for being incredibly long winded. My bad.

Also DISCLAIMER! I am NOT an expert on the Trojan War and all its surrounding mythology lol. This is just for fun, based on my own fairly limited knowledge of the myths (though I think I pretty much cover everything that’s relevant to this). These are just my headcanons woven with some details from various myths. Sorry if anything’s missing or inaccurate!

SO!

-

First and foremost, I headcanon Deiphobus as the oldest of Priam and Hecuba’s children after Hektor.

Hektor calls Deiphobus the dearest of his brothers, and to me, this is why. They are the closest in age and they were the closest growing up, best friends when they were young. They also get the closest to being on equal footing which means a lot to Hektor, who often feels distance between him and his other siblings because of being heir to Troy.

Despite the relatively equal ground and Deiphobus treating Hektor with a very casual familiarity, deep down, he idolizes him. Deiphobus adores and admires Hektor, ever a younger brother in how he looks up to his strength and intelligence and reliability but close enough in age to not feel the same envy as so many of their younger siblings.

Deiphobus is aware that he is next in line to inherit the throne of Troy after Hektor, and the possibility of that is more real to him than to the rest. He doesn’t envy or want the responsibilities Hektor has to bear being the first son and admires him for it rather than resenting him. He never wants the weight of Troy on his shoulders.

Additionally, as close as they are, Hektor confides more openly in Deiphobus than the rest of their siblings. Consequently, he has a more realistic idea of both the burden he bears and also the ways he struggles to manage it like any human would.

Deiphobus holds Hektor in the highest regard- he means the world to him. It is a strange and unique combination of relating to and understanding Hektor exactly as he is and then loving him so dearly for how remarkably he seems to do in all of it, all that Deiphobus adores and strives to be like.

Hektor calls Deiphobus the dearest of his brothers, but Deiphobus would never need to say the same of Hektor, that much has always been obvious.

Deiphobus himself is ferociously loyal, boastful and fiery proud, wild and energetic, and always quick to smile and laugh with a sharp sense of humor. He’ll defend his own with tooth and nail, Hektor first and foremost, and they make a well balanced pair. Hektor’s level headed sense of responsibility softens many of Deiphobus’s rough edges, and Deiphobus’s enthusiasm breaks through many of Hektor’s more anxiously formed reservations.

Deiphobus would do near anything for Hektor, to a concerning degree in the eyes of some, but Hektor, by his nature, isn't overly controlling. He doesn't want Deiphobus to change how he is. Mostly, the only place Hektor truly pushes him is on moral grounds, for better rather than for worse.

Deiphobus hates to spend time overthinking anything, which benefits him in some ways, but also frequently has him following the example of those around him without considering what might lean towards cruelty. Hektor never tolerates hurtful and needless rudeness or otherwise, and their friendship doesn’t spare Deiphobus his reprimands.

Hektor's needling, though, has him step back and reexamine his actions and the second look is generally what he needs to correct his missteps. Admittedly, he’ll sometimes act better in some way solely to please Hektor, but far more often than not, he’ll come to recognize why it’s best with time and continue that way from his own compulsion.

(He grows and his conscience sounds irritatingly like Hektor.)

Deiphobus is actually one of the best of his siblings at not holding a grudge. He might for drama or humor’s sake, but once a squabble is past, he’ll easily set it aside in favor of having fun with whoever he fought with.

Regardless of his flaws, Deiphobus is amiable and of the opinion that it’s never worth passing up a good time over some pettiness. He’s never one to ignore the value of little joys, no matter how fleeting they are.

Before the war, when he is still younger, there is Antheus. He’s the pretty son of Antenor, and both Deiphobus and Paris are quite taken with him. Paris’s involvement rubs him the wrong way, but he elects to ignore it as best he can. It doesn’t sit right to consider policing Antheus’s actions. He can hardly demand he stop seeing Paris while still insisting on his company, after all.

Besides, he can’t really complain. Antheus favors him with his presence often, laughing at his jokes, stealing off his plate when they share meals, tumbling with him when they wrestle. And when Antheus lifts his hand to idly toy with his lower lip as he smiles slyly at him, Paris is the last thing on Deiphobus’s mind.

Hektor teases him sometimes when he turns up ruffled from some exchange turned overzealous, but his flustered frustration pales in comparison to his excitement, so Hektor gets away with it. Oh, he loves Antheus and the feeling is so heady, better than the most potent wine.

Then it all shatters when some men rush into the palace with Antheus’s limp body carried between them. He was in the gymnasium with Paris, they learn. One throw from Paris with a warped discus and Antheus was gone. Deiphobus stares at the blood soaked in his lovely hair.

Deiphobus is ready to rip Paris apart, but when his brother is guided in after, there’s just no room for it. He’s in complete hysterics, shaking all over as he hyperventilates, and screaming would have gotten through to him no more than their family’s vain attempts to calm him down.

Paris is inconsolable afterwards. He retreats in on himself, though without any attempt to defend himself, first to give himself the blame. He makes for a pitiful sight, and at first, Deiphobus can’t stand being in his presence at all, to take his anger and grief out on him or otherwise.

It doesn’t take that long for Deiphobus’s anger to grow more painful than cathartic anyway and, well, it is hard to lash out at someone acting exactly how he feels. He feels the same heartbreak and pain he sees in Paris and he can’t find it in himself to rage against him when he’d rather just sit and cry himself.

Paris does take it upon himself to face Deiphobus after a time and claim responsibility for what happened that day. Deiphobus doesn’t forgive him, doing that feels... off, but he manages to convey that he won’t turn on him for the accident with Antheus. He thinks that might make Paris feel better but he can’t truly tell.

It all still hurts then, even as they try to get things to settle. Nothing but more time can do anything more to heal those wounds.

And time passes and then Paris returns from Sparta with Helen, and, well.

The brewing war doesn’t drive a rift between Deiphobus and Hektor, but it does force a new distance between them. The pressure on Hektor spikes and never eases, and the time he has to spare becomes exceedingly rare.

Much of the time the two would have spent for themselves together now shifts to working together to manage the complications that come with this new conflict; Deiphobus has new responsibilities to shoulder himself. More work, less play, but the mutual affection and respect between them remains just as strong as before.

Deiphobus can’t help but feel a certain bitterness over having the casual companionship of his brother taken away from him, but he does all he can to set it aside. He refuses to let it be another source of stress for Hektor, so often too caring for his own good, and he doesn’t hold it against him anyway.

As always, Deiphobus remains aware that these tasks could easily have been his and, privately, he feels woefully inadequate in the face of that possibility. And truly, it just serves to make Hektor even greater in his eyes, handling it all with grace he can’t imagine. He knows he’s not perfect, yet still, it’s hard to imagine that anything could ever truly bring Hektor down.

And so, Deiphobus helps his brother in the ways he can and loves him as ever, always ready and eager to fight at his side.

Deiphobus leads a contingent himself, and does it well. It comes easier to him to manage a smaller group like that. He does as directed and guides his men through the fighting. One can say what they will about his ability to lead, but his capability as a warrior is undeniable.

Things shift between Deiphobus and Paris as well. Much of Troy turns on Paris, some faster than others. Deiphobus ignores the greater dramatics which, in his opinion, help nothing. Still, it is often tempting to berate him for his flippant disregard of the battles so he does, which is, admittedly, not entirely unwarranted.

However, Deiphobus and Paris share a mutual, unspoken understanding that they simply cannot focus on the war at all times. Sometimes it must be set aside. This is more often true to Paris than to Deiphobus, but that invites Deiphobus to keep Paris’s company when he can no longer bear all the stress.

In turn, when Deiphobus approaches him like that, Paris can trust not to be reprimanded as he so often is, as that gets ignored along with the rest of it. So there are times during the war where the two can be found together affably, chatting about nothing important. Their personalities can still mesh in such moments.

And, well, it’s shocking how steady things can stay over nine years of war, but they do. Death and loss become far too familiar companions, but they can do nothing but keep fighting through that, and things proceed much as they have been.

Until, of course, Achilles.

With all the cruelty of fate, it of course follows after they get the closest to driving away the Achaeans as they ever have. Such a brief, amazing hope. In his unmatched fury, Achilles slaughters their soldiers, butchers many of his brothers, escapes Scamander’s rage through the grace of the gods, and drives the army behind Troy’s wall with his advance, except for-

Then-

Hektor is dead.

Deiphobus tastes blood in his throat screaming at the sight behind the chariot.

In a way, it’s a blessing that it takes twelve days to get Hektor’s body and another twelve to bury it. With his death, command of Troy and her allies has passed to Deiphobus, and he could barely lead his own horse after losing Hektor, much less an army.

Deiphobus falls to pieces. He can barely process it, losing the one he held in the highest regard, held every confidence in, believed in to his core. Hektor was the best of all of them and now he’s dead, leaving him shattered. Deiphobus is hysterical, wildly heartbroken.

In this time is when Priam first turns on his remaining sons. He lashes out at them as he prepares to ransom Hektor’s corpse, degrading them as the most worthless of his sons. Still half blind with tears of grief he can’t hold back, he thinks that it’s true in the same moment he thinks of how he will now have to take Hektor’s place, worthless ruin though he is.

Most often, Priam refrains from speaking of his remaining sons after that, and in rare, fleeting heartbeats he almost seems contrite over cursing them. Neither is enough though to keep him from savagely reproaching them in unpredictable instances as Troy continues to spiral towards its doom. Deiphobus shakily chokes down his father’s abuse without a word.

Of course, he returns to the battlefield once Hektor is buried, coming to truly learn the crushing weight of his new role. How did his brother bear this? Every day feels like one failure after another; he’s not strong enough, not smart enough to do this. He tries anyway, each day more taxing than the last.

Deiphobus can hardly bear Paris after Hektor’s death. A large part of him hates him for it, desperate to pin the blame on someone despite knowing deep down that he’s not responsible. Though, even then, part of him is drawn to Paris, broken same as him, shaped by a sort of desperation to grieve for their brother with him. Misery loves company.

His anger burns hotter, but now he can’t bring himself to berate him even in the way he did sometimes before all this. He never confronts him with his hatred, such that it is. He simply avoids Paris entirely, knowing that if he indulges in the impulse to curse him for what happened to Hektor, he would fall apart at the seams.

Even now he can’t face the truth of what happened and keep going. It is all he can do to try never to think about it.

And then, with the aid of Lord Apollo, Paris kills Achilles.

The undecided limbo of Deiphobus’s feelings towards Paris topples into something like affection the moment he hears of it, connecting them once more. Paris has destroyed Hektor’s murderer, avenging him, and that matters to Deiphobus more than anything else.

That night, the two of them drink together until it half kills them, close enough to keep knocking shoulders as they revile Achilles with the worst profanities they know. It’s the only celebration they can muster after everything, but they’re both laughing for the first time since they lost him.

(When the night grows damnably late, Deiphobus’s attempt to laugh turns into retching and Paris collapses to the ground when he tries to get up to help. They suffer the agonizing morning together.)

They make a strange pair from then on. Friendship would be a generous word given the still unavoidable tension between them, but they somehow manage to maneuver around that and share a certain closeness. They maintain it despite differences that grind against each other. Sad as it is, it’s one of the only things either of them have left.

Paris and Deiphobus also weather Priam’s spontaneous tirades together. Usually wordlessly, but there is something to be said for the company of someone enduring the same pain you are. It is a quiet solidarity, but a significant one.

They talk of the war far more often now. Every day it devours more and more of their lives, always harder and harder to ignore or set aside. On rare occasions, they do still manage it. Those conversations make for a breath of fresh air, though that does little to stave off the feeling of drowning.

And then Paris takes a poisoned arrow and dies.

Deiphobus doesn’t wail and sob in the same way he did for Hektor. He’s too numb for it now. It hurts in an unnatural, distant sort of way. All he can muster is a ugly, stilted feeling of shame for letting himself come to care for him in the first place. Of course he would die like the rest, he should know this by now. He crumbles further.

After Paris’s loss, there's only two reasonable options for what to do with Helen. Either they need to return her to Menelaus or arrange a new marriage and keep her in Troy.

Helen pleads to be returned to her first husband but Deiphobus competes with Helenus to be the one who weds her. Troy does not stop them. There is a quiet but tangible tension to the city and he doesn’t think their people would tolerate Helen departing. He competes with everything he has left and he wins. And they marry.

That first night, Helen stares at his back while sitting in her new place on his bed. She expected to be treated like a piece of meat, a feeling she's grown well used to through living her life under the eyes of men, but he's barely even looking at her. He fought for her hand with an undeniable, feral sort of desperation. What was it for if he doesn't even want her?

"Why?" she asks him. "Why bother going through every effort to marry me only to be so cold now? What do you want?" Her voice would cut razor sharp if only she wasn't so tired.

He turns to face her with bloodshot eyes narrowed in a glare, riddled with barely restrained anger and grief. "I'm not letting you leave," he forces out and Helen pushes down the urge to scoff because that much is obvious.

"It has to be worth something," he continues. "There has to be something we fought for. If we just let you go back, then it won't have been worth jack shit." He paces, not looking at her again. "I won't allow that. Don't think you can avoid all this so easily now that Paris is gone. There has to be a point. My brother is dead because of this shit! If you're gone, then what would be the fucking point?!"

His brother. He means Hektor. He means Paris. He means every last one of them, so many dead. He means Hektor.

Helen doesn't reply. There is nothing she can say to that. For all that it doesn't make a difference, what he's laid before her is something she knows well. She's spent so long now berating herself and blaming herself for all that's come to pass and she understands. She hates this, all she wants is to go home, but she understands him.

She knows that they both hate each other and themselves all in equal measure. What a wretched pair they make, Helen thinks.

Not that they make much of a pair at all. They're rarely ever together. Deiphobus camps outside whenever he can, and when he can’t, he goes out of his way to avoid her. Helen accepts it as the best she can expect from the truly miserable situation this has become. The war drags on, but the truth hangs in the air that Troy is losing.

Then the horse.

The people, starving so desperately for peace, bring it inside the walls. Deiphobus tries to be cautious. He tries to think of what Hektor would have done. He commands Helen to walk around the horse, calling out in the voices of the Achaeans' wives. If there's some wretched spy or invader, let them show themselves. He'll kill them.

No one answers. Deep down just as desperate for peace as them all, he breathes a sigh of relief and leaves the damn horse.

He hopes the Achaeans filled their mouths with blood, biting their tongues as hard as they must have.

Troy is burning. The Achaeans fill the streets with slaughter; they are everywhere. Reunited with her husband after so, so long, Helen tells Menelaus where Deiphobus is. And so, Deiphobus dies alongside Troy.

(Deiphobus and Hektor meet again in the Underworld and Deiphobus tries to apologize for his failure to keep Troy safe. Hektor will hear none of it, refusing any of the anger he has every right to put on him. Still, a long time passes where Deiphobus silently and anxiously wonders if that was a lie, if Hektor truly does hate him for what happened.

Hektor keeps throwing him tense, unsettled glances sometimes when he thinks he’s not looking, even though he never says a thing. Each one worms further and further underneath his skin and he starts to squirm under the conviction that he’s done something wrong. Something Hektor holds against him.

When it finally grows so unbearable that Deiphobus confronts him about it at last, Hektor flinches and doesn’t disguise his fear and upset. Deiphobus braces himself. But then, mangled in with confusing, ashamed apologies, Hektor recounts for the first time how he died.

Athena luring him to his death in Deiphobus’s shape, speaking in his voice. How he turned to face Achilles believing he had support. When he called for a spear from his brother, he was alone.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I think of it at all, I’m so sorry I let you believe I was angry with you because of it. I’m not, it had nothing to do with you, you shouldn’t have to know of it at all. I just- remember it sometimes. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Deiphobus feels nauseous. Hektor looks even more so.

“If I had actually been there-”

“No! Don’t do this. Achilles would have just killed you too.”

“We wouldn’t have died alone, then.”

They clutch at each other, these battered remnants of their souls, carrying with them the wounds of their lives.)

[oldmanlenz]

Mun stole this because it looked fun to fill in, so here it is-

Full Name: Billy Lenz

(Note: the name 'Billy' is actually a nickname for William, however I don't want to be 100% accurate in here with identities. Plus I feel like Billy doesn't identify with the actual William name, if you call him that he'd become inconsolable, no doubt in my mind he'd become aggressive too.)

Nicknames: Billy, Bill, Bee, mr. Lenz, mr. Billy, the old Moaner, old man, senior citizen

Place of birth: Good old Toronto, he was born there and he will never get out, not that he wants to. It's unspecified as to exactly where, city/hospital-wise he was born, or if he was born in a hospital at all, the old man can't recall, he's unsure if he even lived in Toronto already back then or if his family moved.

Current location: Toronto. He'll most likely never be able to leave Canada in general, long bus rides stress him out and airplanes scare the shit out of him, he would definitely end up vomiting multiple times on an airplane.

Sexual/romantic orientation: gay gay homosexual gay

Preferred pronouns: he/him and it/it's, mainly. He doesn't care much really, people assumed he was a woman on the phone multiple times too due to his voice impressions.

Sex: yes

Gender: manly man with horrible lifestyle choices

One personality trait they’re proud of having: Close to none. This man is quite ashamed of most things he's ended up becoming.

Defining gestures (i.e. lip twitching, keeping eyes on the ground, etc.): Often fiddles and fidgets with his own (sometimes very shaky) hands, twirls the cord of the telephone when using it to speak to someone else, often holding onto his own gut, tugging/pulling at his own skin(usually from his hands or neck) rather harshly, or gripping tightly at his own sweater(usually when nervous).

(He doesn't exactly have a gentle grip no matter how hard he tries, so he sometimes ends up hurting himself on accident by either squeezing his stomach too hard or have what little fingernails he still has dig too deeply into the skin.)

Speaking style (i.e. fast, loud, stuttering, etc.): A lot of times he just talks gibberish(especially over the phone), and another noticeable thing in his speaking is his stuttering in most sentences he manages to get out of his mouth. Other few times he talks so fast it can come off as gibberish to others.

He's not always a loud talker, he doesn't scream much nowdays since it hurts his ears(when he was younger he was not in a lucid state half the time, so, while screaming did hurt and stress him, he physically was unable to force himself to stop, which stressed him further), but he usually still raises his voice over the phone. Other than that, he keeps his voice on a moderate level, sometimes a bit too hushed.

Insecurities: A lot, going from physical, to social, to delusional.

Positive traits: He's very accepting of things, especially more 'modern' terms and such, even when he doesn't fully understand them, he welcomes it. Besides that, he's quite clever too, despite how out of control he used to be, he was and still is able to find out some kind of way to weasel around what he does.

Negative traits: He's got...maybe a bit too many, his impulsivity being one of the top ones, since he still sometimes acts on impulse without properly thinking about what he gets himself into. He's always been a tad egocentric/selfish as well, over the years it went from being a more reasonable sort of self-centered thinking, mostly due to him being homeless and resorting to breaking into people's attics to get warm back then, to a slightly more childlike one now, choosing to continue to break into people's houses for shits and gigs(and if he gets caught he panics, like a child who just got caught with their hands in the cookie jar, then gets mad), he just finds this to be entertaining and a fun way to 'conversate' to other individuals, since his people skills are awful.

Other people’s opinions of them: Either the classic "great uncle George there has been smoking from the wrong pipe again", to getting called a pervert over the phone, the usual. To absolutely no one's surprise the guy almost always comes off as creepy or 'not all there' even when he's genuinely trying to socialize properly.

Three words to describe them: Libido. Attic. Rat.

One major turning point in their life: The day he finally broke down and knew/planned to kill both his parents, that action alone is sort of what ended up spiraling into him being completely unable to control himself. Along with that, the day Agnes escaped from the basement of their house and (finally) got away from him, he felt betrayed and abandoned(in his mind he had this delusional belief that his sister was the only person he could trust and understand him), even if he Knew he had hurt her.

If they could time travel, when would they go? He'd go get some good waffles at the very first waffle house ever opened in 1955 so he'd be the first customer to step foot inside that building.

Ideal romantic partner: Literally anyone with enough patience to deal with him and his breakdowns, and responsible enough to take care of him and keep him under control.

Favourite way to waste time: He was nicknamed The Moaner over the phone for a reason, and that reason just so happens to be his favourite hobby.

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen? One out of three things, most likely. He either starts drawing on it, writing whatever comes to mind, or he begins to eat the paper and nibble on the pencil.

View on home and family? In the past? Disastrous and terrifying. Right now? Still somewhat disastrous but with some more stability and...best part of all: HE gets to control his own life! Finally! Plus, Billy now has three lovely kitties to take care of🥰

Any secret stashes? He has a big stash of plushies and dolls in his attic, half of which he stole from homes all around his neighborhood, because he thinks he deserves toys more than actual children.

How do they express themselves? It depends. Sometimes the old man might just throw a snowball in your face just to tell you "good morning" with a shit-eating grin on his face, other times he might creep into your house and leave you an anonymous written letter on your dining table, other times he just wants to have a laugh or rub one out so he calls you on the phone from inside your own house before beginning his usual conversation about female genitalia and big boy manly male genitalia.

He's grown smarter from his previous experiences with breaking and entering too, now he purposefully breaks into people's attics with a telephone(or takes one from inside the house), plugs it in, and if he does get the police involved again, to avoid getting tracked he just leaves and either leaves the telephone in there too or he takes it with himself.

What did they want to be when they grew up? He only wanted to be away from his mother, fear and anger took up any space for a dream job in his mind back in the day.

What do you like most about them? I don't....know honestly, everything I suppose? I find the idea of an anonymous, perverted character like this, having reached old age and still being able to keep up his harassing calls, to be stupidly entertaining and interesting since I like to dig deep into his personality.

One or more plots you’re dying to have: Nothing special right now, to be frank. Buuut I wish I could dig deeper on how he met his partner and how their first few interactions were like.

[poorrichardslegacy]

Kacxa Week 2020 Day 6 - Battle Injury

Words

SUMMARY: Keith and Acxa’s daughters have passed their Trials of Marmora and embark on their first combat mission, against the pirates of Penzarance. The girls learn that words can cut just as deeply as any Luxite Blade, and just as importantly they learn about the power of forgiveness.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26910880

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Acxa/Keith (Voltron) Characters: Acxa (Voltron), Keith (Voltron), Original Blade of Marmora Character(s) Additional Tags: Kacxa Week 2020, Family Drama, Family Issues, Family Dynamics, Family Bonding, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

---------------

It was the call Keith hoped he would never hear.

“Dad…please…come quickly…Mom’s down!”

His heart about to explode in his chest from its rapid beating, Keith races across the battlefield to his daughter’s position.

This raid was the first combat assignment with Blade of Marmora for both of his daughters since the successful completion of their Trials of Marmora two decaphoebs earlier. Keith had high hopes for this mission. This would be the opportunity for his girls to prove their worth, that they can function as full-fledged members of the Blade of Marmora.

Unfortunately, events began to spiral out of his control even before the start of the engagement on Penzarance.

And now it seems things have gone horribly wrong.

---------------

Twelve Vargas Earlier

Against Keith’s wishes, Acxa sets the assault team rosters so that Mireya is a member of her team. As Blade Master he does not countermand her decision because he does not want Acxa’s authority undermined within the Blade of Marmora. He also knows that he will catch hell from at least one of the women in his family no matter what he does.

However, he warns her about how this move will be perceived not only by the other Blades, but by Mireya.

Mireya is anything but pleased about this turn of events. To her, this is another example of her mother hovering over her, nitpicking everything she does. This time, Mireya decides to stand up for herself. She confronts her mother in front of her father, great uncle, and sister, and starts a rather vociferous argument over the assignment. Anyone observing it would call it a blowup of galactic proportions.

“Why, Mom? Dad explicitly stated that he wanted Cataleya and I assigned to Uncle Meltok’s command. I don’t get it. Why are you doing this?”

“There is nothing to ‘get’, Mireya. I’m the tactical leader of this operation, and I have the final say on team assignments. I am not used to having my orders questioned and I will not tolerate it now. You are a Blade of Marmora going on a combat mission. You are expected to obey orders, and I expect you to obey these orders.”

Mireya, just turned 18, storms out of the briefing room but not before screaming at her mother.

“You’re suffocating me, Mom! I hate you! I HOPE YOU DIE! Maybe then I can finally breathe.”

Not happy with his daughter’s choice of words, Keith calls after her just as she slams the door to the briefing room. “Mireya you don’t mean that.”

Cataleya, just as upset with the situation as her sister, takes a deep breath before trying to calm her visibly upset mother.

“Mom, she didn’t mean that.”

Cut deeply by Mireya’s words, Acxa tries to hide the hurt from Cataleya. “I don’t know Cataleya…your sister and I have been butting heads for so long now.”

“Mom that’s because you two are so much alike in personality. Stubbornness and all. Give her some space. She’ll come around.”

Keith starts to go after Mireya, but Cataleya stops him.

“Dad, wait. Let me talk to her. No offense, she might listen to me.”

---------------

The scene is the nightmare scenario Keith feared it would be.

His wife lay in a bomb crater, bleeding from a shrapnel wound to the stomach. Her right arm and shoulder are badly lacerated. He thinks to himself that it is a good thing she is unconscious. The pain must be unbearable.

He races to her and begins treatment to stabilize her. He does his best to keep his emotions in check as he works to save the life of the woman who said she would be his until the day she died. He does not want today to be that day.

“Mireya did you call for medical backup?”

“I…uncle…coming…”

She stands there, frozen by the sight of her critically injured mother.

Meltok leaps into the crater and quickly moves to Acxa’s side, his first-aid kit already open. “Medivac is on its way, Keith. Bars is talking to them. Let me check her.”

Keith steps back as his uncle, an accomplished field medic, hurries to stabilize Acxa until medivac arrives. Cataleya joins them and stands next to her shell-shocked sister.

Struggling against the flood of his own emotions as he battles to hold it together, Keith turns to his daughters.

“Cataleya, take your sister to the rear. I’ll meet up with you two once your mother is stabilized.”

Keith looks calmly at his daughters, both now frozen by the sight of their injured mother. He speaks to them in a calm and level voice. “Go on, soldiers. I gave you an order. Move to the rear.”

Cataleya snaps out of it and manages a shaky, “Yes sir.”

Blade of Marmora Sergeant Bars joins Keith and Meltok. “Medivac is incoming. They’ll be here in two doboshes. Master Chief, how bad?”

Meltok does not pull any punches. “Bad, Bars. Really bad.”

---------------

As the medivac team moves in to prep Acxa for evacuation to the field hospital, Meltok reminds Keith of something.

“Go back with her and talk to her.”

“What?”

“Remember what she did for you after you nearly got blown to kingdom come by one of Honerva’s white mechs?1 Talk to her. Give her a reason to hang on until the docs back at the field hospital can stabilize her. Don’t worry about this operation. I’ll take command and mop these pirates up. You worry about your wife.”

---------------

Keith goes with the Acxa and the medics to the rear. After seven hours of surgery, with Keith present, she emerges, in critical but stable condition.

His aunt Miara, a first-rate doctor in her own right and in charge of the field hospital, comes in to keep a close eye on her.

“Keith, you need to talk to Mireya. She’s been inconsolable since Cataleya took her to the rear. Come to think of it, Cataleya isn’t doing much better.”

“I guess the sight of their mother…in that state…that would do it. Aunt Miara, would you send them in. They need to see that their mother is going to be ok”

---------------

The girls are ushered into the room by Miara. Mireya rushes to her mother’s bedside, takes her hand, and begins sobbing inconsolably.

“Mom…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I don’t want you to die. Please, Mom, don’t leave.”

Cataleya sits on the other side of her mother’s bed, holding Acxa’s left hand. She remains silent, but her tears flow just as freely.

Keith goes to console Mireya, taking her in his arms and letting her get her emotions out. When she finally calms down enough to speak, he asks her what happened.

“We were pinned down. We were taking heavy ion rifle fire and we couldn’t move forward. Mom was so calm. Dad, she was amazing. She said the only way we could beat them was to distract them, flank them, so that we could get close enough to lob grenades into their position to take them out. She asked me if I could do that…I said I could. I wanted her to trust me and this was my chance. Two of us made a flanking maneuver around the right side of the pirate defensive line. We drew their fire, and Mom was able to get close enough to throw two grenades into their position.”

“One went off. The fuse on the other was defective. One of the pirates threw the grenade back into her position. It exploded before she could take cover. I saw Mom go down…and I freaked out.”

“Freaked out in what way, honey.”

“I was so mad that I charged the pirate position single handedly. I think I took out, seven, eight pirates?”

While Mireya explains what happened, Meltok joins them and, standing at the entrance to the room listens to most of her explanation. When she gets to the part where she guesses at how many pirates she took down, he clears his throat to get Keith’s attention.

“That’s not quite true, Mireya. You didn’t take out 8 pirates. It was more like 20.”

Shocked, Keith looks first at Mireya, then at Meltok. “She did what?”

“You would have been proud of her, Keith. She took out twelve with her blaster pistol. Twelve shots, twelve kills. The last eight she took down with her Blade. Watching her with the pistol, she reminded me of her mother; watching her with her Blade, she reminded me of her father.”

“For the record…Cataleya is no slouch in those categories either. She’s just as good as her sister and she proved it today. She took out and entire gun line in the bunker complex, about 20 pirates, by herself.”

Mireya looks at her father hopefully. “Dad…is Mom going to be ok?”

Keith calls his daughters to him and gives them both a tight hug.

“She’s going to be sore, honey, but she’ll pull through. Your mother is tough. She’s been through worse than this. Let’s see, she’s crash-landed inside the belly of an intergalactic space worm, she was poisoned by Bralarian Hyenas after flying her ship to Braylar IV with a broken arm2 , she was almost skewered by Sendak after fighting him on top of a cruiser that was plummeting to Earth3…and she gave birth to you two hellions. She’ll pull through. Besides, she loves you girls too much to leave you now.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret. Mom heard everything we just said. She heard Uncle Meltok say what you both did today. I know when she wakes up, she’ll tell you proud she is of her daughters.”

A still very agitated Mireya is not so sure. “Yeah…if she ever forgives me for being an ungrateful little bitch…”

“She knows you are not that, honey. Hey, I have an idea. I think Mom would like it if the three of us sat here with her and talked to her for a bit. Would you be willing to do that with me?”

---------------

Six vargas later, Acxa wakes up from her ordeal.

Vaguely aware of her husband’s presence, she reaches out for him. “Keith…?”

Keith squeezes her hand and leans closer so she can see him. “I’m here, love.”

“Thank you…for staying here with me. And talking to me. I heard you. Where…where are the girls? Are they…?”

“They are safe, and they are well. Aunt Miara took them to get something to eat.” Keith gently strokes her hair and horns. “You my dear have two heroes on your hands. Cataleya took out an entire gun line in the middle sector by herself. Mireya single-handedly took out the heavy rifle emplacements in your sector. It would seem that our daughters are now seasoned combat veterans. They’re not little girls anymore, Acxa.”

Acxa closes her eyes for a moment as she desperately tries to hold back the tears. Opening them, she turns towards Keith, sadness reflected in her deep blue eyes. “Where are my girls? I need to see them. I need to…”

From the shadows, her daughters tentatively emerge. “We…we’re here Mom.”

Mireya rushes to Acxa’s side and buries her head against her mother’s arm. “Mom, I’m so sorry about what I said before the mission. I didn’t mean any of that. When I saw you go down, I…I went crazy. Mom, please forgive me. I’m a horrible daughter.”

Fully awake now and aware of her daughter’s mental state, Acxa easily slips back into Mom mode. “No Mireya…you are a wonderful daughter. I forgot how much you’ve grown these past two decaphoebs. You’re an adult now. It’s time I started treating you like one.”

She looks at Cataleya and calls her over. “It’s time I started treating both of you like the adults you are. I’m so proud of both of you.”

Keith looks on with pride at his family.

“Acxa, you need to rest. I’ll sit with you. You girls need to get some rest as well.”

Cataleya does not want to hear that. “Dad, we’re not leaving. We’re staying with you and Mom.”

Acxa looks at Keith. “You know they get their stubbornness from their father.”

“Said the pot to the kettle. Go to sleep, woman!”

“No! I’m going to lay hear and let my daughters entertain me with stories of their exploits.”

Keith looks first at Acxa, then at his daughters.

“And your mother says I’m the stubborn one…”

1 Rejected by the Galra, Chapter 14 The Shared Path

2 Return of the Prince, Chapter 14, Cry of the Wolf

3 Rejected by the Galra, Chapter 12 Lions Pride

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 7:

A Sister’s Heart

Chapter 6

Read on AO3

About another week passed by of peaceful uneventfulness. Breakfast that morning had been quiet aside from Rabbie and wee Jamie chattering away to each other. There was a solemnity in all of the adults present, and even in Fergus.

It had been almost a month since they’d inquired about retrieving Jamie’s remains from Culloden. They’d heard whispers of people sneaking past the barriers the British had put up and retrieving loved ones themselves. Ian had mentioned it many times, but Jenny had insisted they do things properly. Claire was in enough danger as it was being Red Jamie’s wife. They couldn’t afford to do anything foolish to draw attention to her.

Jenny and Claire were sitting on the sofa in the parlor. Kitty was sitting on the floor, Bran laying dutifully, and quite patiently beside her as the toddler patted his head, and picked up his ears and paws over and over again, giggling madly when they dropped back into place. Jenny was attempting to teach Claire knit. Transitioning from stitching up skin to stitching fabric hadn’t been too difficult to manage, but knitting was an entirely different animal. She was failing miserably, and Jenny had taken the yarn and needles from her about three times now to correct something.

“Just tell me the truth,” Claire said, falling into the back of the couch and laughing. “I’m hopeless.”

“Yer not a lost cause until I say ye are,” Jenny insisted. “Come over here, watch how I fix this…again.”

Sighing, Claire sat up again and leaned over to watch Jenny fix yet another one of her mistakes, but something else caught her eye.

“Jenny!” she whispered excitedly. “Look.”

Jenny looked up and followed Claire’s gaze. Kitty was standing, still right next to Bran, having not used any furniture to get up. Jenny gasped in excitement. She threw the knitting down on the sofa and scrambled to her feet, grasping Claire’s hands. They silently crept several feet away from her, not wanting to startle her into falling back down before she attempted to walk.

“Kitty!” Jenny called, crouching down. Claire stood behind her, beaming. “Come on, Kitty. Walk to me, mo chridhe!”

Kitty stared for a moment, gaping at her. She made a little grunting noise, causing Jenny and Claire to laugh.

“Come on Kitty!” Claire joined. “Come on, sweetheart, you can do it!”

Jenny began egging her on in Gaelic, and she finally took a step toward them.

“Good girl!” Claire cried joyously, and Jenny stammered affectionately in Gaelic.

Katherine took two more steps, causing the woman to squeal. They continued to cheer her on, to praise her, until she finally took six, continuous steps into Jenny’s arms, smiling triumphantly. Jenny laughed joyously and scooped her up, standing and throwing her over her head.

“You did it!” Claire said. “What a clever girl!”

“She finally did it!” Jenny exclaimed. “I was worried, I was but…oh, mo chridhe..." Jenny kissed her yellow head, and Kitty laughed gleefully.

“I told you she was fine, just a late bloomer.” Claire cupped her little head and kissed her cheek. “Auntie Claire is so proud of you,” she said, and Kitty latched her clumsy hands into Claire’s curls, causing Claire to laugh out loud. Babies always had a tendency to latch onto hair, but there was something about Claire’s curly mop that was much more intriguing to her than her own mother’s hair.

Kitty made quite an indignant noise as Claire and Jenny worked to detangle her hands. They laughed and fussed over her; they couldn’t wait to tell Ian.

Suddenly, Fergus burst into the room.

“Fergus!” Claire said joyously. “You’ll never guess what wee Kitty just did!”

“I am sorry to interrupt,” Fergus said. “There are English soldiers coming up the road.”

Claire and Jenny’s smiles disappeared.

“Go fetch Milord,” Jenny instructed. Fergus nodded and scampered off. Claire went to follow after him, but Jenny grabbed her arm. “Ye’ll be staying inside.”

Claire burned a white hot stare into Jenny, but she did not release her. “I ken what ye must be feeling right now, but we canna afford for ye to make scene wi’ the British. I wouldna blame ye if ye did, but we canna take the chance. Ye’ll stay inside while Ian speaks wi’ them.”

“It’s my husband’s body they’re discussing,” Claire spat.

“Aye, and his child yer carrying. Would ye like it to be born in prison?” Jenny challenged. Claire’s jaw hardened, but she had nothing to say in response to that.

With a frustrated sigh Claire pulled her arm free of Jenny’s grip and dropped back onto the sofa. Kitty made another noise, sounding troubled, as if she could sense the change of mood in the room.

Jenny bounced her and kissed her head. “Mrs. Crook!” Jenny called. Before long the woman entered the room. “Take her please.” She handed her off to Mrs. Crook’s outstretched arms. “She just took her first steps,” Jenny said, smiling proudly despite the anxiety in her chest.

“Ah, what a braw wee lassie!” Mrs. Crook said, giving Kitty a tickle. “I’ll keep her occupied fer ye, Mistress.”

Jenny thanked her and called for Bran, who snapped into a standing position and trotted after Mrs. Crook, leaving Jenny and Claire alone in the parlor.

Jenny sat down beside Claire, putting a comforting, steadying hand on her knee. “Nothing so pure as a child’s laughter, no?” Jenny said in attempt to lighten the mood.

Despite her own anxiety, Claire smiled. “Yes…it’s a beautiful thing.”

“Won’t be long before — ”

The front door slammed shut, causing them both to jump. They both listened with bated breath as Ian’s uneven steps came closer and closer to the parlor.

Ian entered the room, his face solemn. “That was a British courier responding to our inquiry.”

Jenny sighed, not waiting for him to say it. “They won’t give him back to us.”

Ian shook his head. “They don’t even know where he is.” Jenny scoffed, disgusted. She buried her face in her hands as Ian continued. “They buried the dead in mass graves right on the moor. Hundreds and hundreds of them.”

“Fucking bastards,” Claire spat, abruptly standing up. She began pacing. “They slaughter him like an animal on that field and they don’t have the decency to give us a body to bury? It’s barbaric! I could fucking throttle him.” Claire made for the front door, intending to follow that courier to the ends of the earth and kill him with her bare hands. Ian stopped her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Let go of me.” she said through gritted teeth, but Ian only tightened his grip.

“It’s no use Claire. There are hundreds of other wives without bodies to bury. I’m sorry, lass.”

“I refuse to accept that,” Claire said firmly. “Now let me go!”

“Claire.”

She writhed in his grip, to the point where he had to wrap his arms around her entire frame. “Let me go! You fucking bastard!” She was screaming now, unintelligibly, trying to throw punches, to knee him in the groin, but unable.

“Jamie!” she shrieked, long and drawn out, his name tearing through her throat in an agonizing, blood curdling scream. She cried out his name again, but this time her knees gave out beneath her, and she dissolved into uncontrollable sobs. Ian, holding her up under her arms, glanced up helplessly at Jenny, who hurried off the sofa.

“Let her down,” Jenny instructed, and Ian gently lowered her to her knees. Jenny dropped to the floor and caught her in her arms. She held her tightly and rocked her back and forth as guttural cries wracked her body.

Wee Jamie appeared in the entryway to the parlor. “Mam?” His voice was small and scared.

“Ian,” Jenny said exhaustedly.

“It’s alright lad.” Ian hurried to scoop him into his arms. “Dinna fash. Let’s see if we can bother Mrs. Crook for some biscuits, aye?”

They disappeared to the kitchen, leaving the two women alone.

“Claire…oh, Claire…” Jenny stroked her hair, rubbed her back, cupped her cheek. “I ken it’s no’ fair. It’s downright sacrilegious. I ken it’s no’ fair…” Jenny kissed the top of her head. “Try to calm down, mo ghràidh…I ken it hurts, and I ken ye need to scream and cry…but it’s no’ good fer the bairn, ye told me yerself.” Claire seemed to not hear her at all. She was inconsolable. She hadn’t even been this upset when they’d first been told of his death. Perhaps she’d expected him to die; she’d been prepared to hear it. But being deprived of a body to part with him properly was another matter entirely.

It wasn’t long before her lungs couldn’t keep up with her anymore, and she began breathing heavily, her back heaving. She very suddenly and abruptly vomited on the rug, startling Jenny. It was nothing she hadn’t seen before; she’d been spit up on by all three of her bairns. She got her onto her hands and knees and soothingly rubbed her back until she was dry heaving, nothing coming up.

“It’s alright, breathe deep now. That’s it.”

Claire was silent, breathing deeply and staring at her own sick. “I…” she stammered, her voice hoarse. “I’m sorry, I…I completely lost it…”

“It’s alright.”

“No, it isn’t.” She sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand “My behavior was abhorrent…I’ve soiled the carpet like a bloody child…”

“Grief makes us all fools, Claire. I ken I’d be wailing like that if the British took my husband and buried him in an unmarked grave. And didnae care to remember where.” Her voice wavered, stroking Claire’s hair.

“But I feel selfish acting this way. I’m not the only one that lost him.”

“Oh, I ken that, too,” Jenny said, taking a deep shuddering breath. “But he’s yer man. It’s different. And the two of you…ye were like two halves of each other. Drove me to drink to watch the two of ye,” she attempted to tease, and it worked, even if only slightly, bringing a tiny, tearful smile to Claire’s face. “It’s just…different.”

Claire forced down the urge to burst into more tears. “I’ll clean this.”

“Ye’ll do no such thing,” Jenny said firmly. “Let’s get you cleaned up. The servants can see to this.”

Jenny helped her to her feet, which was admittedly more difficult than either of them thought it would be. Claire was quite dizzy after the ordeal, and the pregnancy surely wasn't helping matters. They made their way slowly up the stairs, and then into Claire’s bedroom. Jenny helped Claire strip down to her shift and then sat her in front of the mirror. Claire absently stared at her reflection as Jenny wiped her mouth, face, neck, chest, and shoulders. She was vaguely aware of how pale she was, how gaunt her face had become. Was her flesh rotting away like Jamie’s was at this very moment, in his unmarked grave? Were they so inextricably linked that she was wasting away with him even as she lived?

“Ye’ll start showing soon,” Jenny’s voice interrupted her morbid thoughts. “Nearly been four months, has it no’?”

“Yes,” Claire said, her hands absently resting on her abdomen. “It has.”

“Are you happy to be wi’ child again?” Jenny said, dipping the rag again, then dabbing at Claire’s hairline. “I ken it’s different wi’out Jamie this time. But how does it feel to be carrying a bairn again?”

Claire smiled. “It doesn’t feel like much yet,” she said. “I admit, I haven't given it much thought, with everything else going on.”

“Give it some thought now.” Jenny put the rag aside and began pulling pins out of Claire’s hair.

“I feel…swollen, already.” They both chuckled. “And it’s only just begun. My breasts are sore, I’m exhausted…but,” she paused to look down at her abdomen. “When I really think about it, it’s…it’s a miracle.”

“How’s that?” Jenny put down the final pin and started gently combing through Claire’s curls with her fingers.

“I’ve heard of women who deliver…stillborn children, and they can never get pregnant again. I thought, perhaps, after how horrible it had been for us that I’d never…”

“Every child is a gift,” Jenny said, picking up the hairbrush. “But this one especially is a treasure.”

“I know. He’s the last thing Jamie will ever give me.”

“The greatest gift yer man can give ye.”

Claire smiled in agreement in spite of her urge to cry. “And when I really think about it…I’m also terrified.” Jenny didn’t have to ask. “I’ve also heard of women who’ve miscarried three, four, five times, or delivered stillborn after stillborn. After the first one they just…can’t bring a child into the world.”

“That’s always a risk, ye ken that.”

“I know but…it…it was horrible enough the first time. But to lose another one of Jamie’s children…I couldn't bear it. Not after all of this. I couldn't bear to…to lose the last thing he ever gave me.” Claire quickly swiped away her tears, not wanting to give into hysterics again.

“I understand.” Jenny laid down the brush and rested her hands on Claire’s shoulders. “I canna imagine how that feels, the usual fears piled on all the rest. Tell ye the truth, I dinna think I could bear losing Jamie’s child either. Not after all this. Like ye said.”

Claire sighed shakily. “It’s the only thing keeping me from wasting away.”

“I know.”

“I’d have died on that moor with him if I didn’t know I was carrying his child.”

“I know.”

Claire felt a heavy burden on her chest, one that she needed to relieve. “Remember I said that I…I never told him.”

“About the bairn?” Claire nodded. “Ye knew before ye left for Lallybroch?” She nodded again.

“I feel horrid for not telling him. I think about it every day. I could have given him one last thing…and I didn’t. He gave me the child itself, and to bring him that news, I could have returned the favor. It would have made him so happy.”

“Then why’d ye no’ tell him?” There was no judgment in her tone, just genuine curiosity.

Claire thought carefully about what to say. She’d thought time and time again about telling Jenny everything, especially now that they’d likely be spending the rest of their lives together.

She would eventually, but now didn’t seem like the right time.

“I…I promised him something. Something that would have had to come to fruition if I was with child…a promise I knew I couldn’t keep. So I…couldn’t tell him.”

“The guilt’s eating ye alive, is it?”

“Some days it does,” Claire said.

“Ye don’t have to tell me. I ken that husbands and wives make promises and keep secrets,” Jenny said, and Claire briefly wondered if there was more behind her saying it; if she was inferring that she knew she and Jamie had been hiding something from her. “But what I do know, is that Jamie is quite aware that yer carrying his child now.” Jenny wrapped her arms around Claire’s shoulders from behind and rested her chin on the crown of her head. “He’s smiling down on ye both, and he’s smirking to himself because he knows if it’s a boy or a girl before we will.” This made Claire chuckle. “Ye didna have to tell him then. It might have made it all the harder. He knows now, either way.”

“I’m sure he does.” Claire smiled through her tears, covering Jenny’s hands, which were clasped above Claire’s chest, with her own. “You know, we hardly talked about names for Faith. There was so much going on and then she…she came too soon for us to make a decision and then I…I didn’t name her.” Jenny tilted her head so her cheek was resting on Claire’s head. “But then, later on, months after, back in Scotland, here in Lallybroch actually, we were talking about your father. What a good man he was.”

“Aye, he was.”

“I told him I wanted to name our son Brian. When we had one. It…it made him very happy.” Claire briefly became lost in the memory. “So I promised him then that our next child would be Brian.”

“Father’d be honored,” Jenny said. “Ye know, when I first heard my brother married a sassenach I was red in the face, screaming at Ian that father was burling in his grave.” Claire chuckled. “But I’ve no doubt now that he’d have blessed the match a thousand times over if he could.” Jenny picked her head up again, returning her chin atop Claire’s head. “He’d be proud to have a second daughter in you. Just as I am proud to have ye as my sister.”

Claire beamed at Jenny through the mirror, touched beyond description. “Sister…I’ve never had one before. Or a brother for that matter.”

“Trust me, yer not missing much. Having a brother I mean.” They both laughed. “But I never had a sister either. And I didna ken what I was missing until ye waltzed yer proper English self onto my porch.”

“Yes, when you called me a trollop.”

Jenny tossed her head back in a loud guffaw. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Indeed you did,” Claire said, laughing nearly as hard.

“Oh…” Jenny gave Claire a brief squeeze and kissed the crown of her head before finally releasing her grip. She crossed the room to the armoire. “Let’s get some clothes on you, ye wee trollop.”

Claire bit her lip and reached for the wet rag. Not bothering to ring it out first, she hurled it across the room, hitting Jenny square in the back with a loud, wet slap. Jenny let out an undignified yelp, the likes of which Claire had never heard from her. Claire giggled uncontrollably, and Jenny whirled around, hands on her hips.

“Well, I never — !”

Claire could not stop laughing, and it was made all the worse by the face Jenny was pulling. Jenny shook her head, laughing in spite of the giant wet spot on her back.

“Jenny?” Claire said, finally able to abate her laughter. “You’re the best sister a trollop could ask for.”

“Aye, I am.” She bent down and retrieved the rag from the floor. “I’d have to be to put up wi’ this.” She hurled the rag back at Claire, who caught it, not without a little splash to the face. She laughed again, returning the rag to the bowl and standing to let her sister help her get dressed.

[inmyownlaine]

John Murphy x Reader Prompt Part 1/2

45. “It’s awkward…Maybe we should make out?”

Taken from this prompt list: https://fangirlthoughtseveryday.tumblr.com/post/147778485692/imagine-prompts

Warnings: cussing, angst, slight sexual connotations

Word Count: 1146

──────────────────────────────────────────────────

You knew this was going to happen. You saw the way that Finn looked at Clarke the minute they landed on the ground. Of course they would never admit it, but now they didn’t need to. Raven was doing a great job outing the two of them in front of the entire camp.

She was going ballistic, rightfully so, as she screamed at her cheating boyfriend. Through all of this, Finn tried to justify what he did. He said he didn’t know if they would ever see each other again or if she was even alive. He called his affair with Clarke a ‘moment of weakness’. She didn’t buy any of it.

Although you felt bad for Clarke, who truly didn’t know about any of this, you felt Raven had a reason to do this. Even if she had died, Finn could have at least waited more than two weeks. 

The others circled around them, listening to their argument and picking sides. You even saw some groups of people placing bets on the whole thing. You couldn’t believe how childish some of these teenagers were. These were someone’s feelings that they were gambling on, not some stupid game.

“What’s going on?” a voice asked from behind you. You didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

“Raven is yelling at Finn for cheating on her with Clarke.”

Murphy stood by your side, standing on his tiptoes to try and catch all the drama. “Could you have gotten a worse spot? All the way in the back? I’m disappointed.”

You rolled his eyes at him, knowing that he was happiest when other people were experiencing misery. In some weird way, you think he felt connected to those who were suffering.

“I’ll try to be in the front next time.”

“Don’t try. Just do.”

You would’ve argued with him, but you secretly liked it when he was demanding. It was one of the things that pulled you to him. That, and his constant state of sarcasm. You two could talk on a whole different level and still like each other at the end of the day.

It also made your relationship less suspicious.

“This is awkward,” Murphy whispered to you, all parties now coming to a standstill. You nodded your head in agreement, now glued to the scene in front of you. The tension was so thick it was almost hard to breathe, like it made the air heavy.

You shit on everyone for wanting to see how this played out. However, you were now completely invested, whole-heartedly believing that someone was going to start throwing punches. You didn’t dare take your eyes off of the three.

“Maybe we should make out?” Murphy suggested.

Your eyes widened as you smacked him in the stomach. “Shut up, Murphy! Someone could hear you!”

“Come on. I’m not that bad of a kisser, am I?”

“That’s not even the point!” you whisper-yelled. “I thought we were keeping this on the down low.”

“Well yeah, but this moment is just really uncomfortable. I think people would be more forgiving if we told them right now. Cause Finn just- wow. He really fucked up. It’s been, what, ten whole days?”

“I’m not going to make out with you when Raven is crying. That’s so sadistic.”

“It’s kinda hot,” he mumbled into your ear, the tips of his fingers walking across the bottom of your back. You bit your bottom lip as his breath landed hot against your skin. 

“Only you would think that. Absolute fucking psycho,” you said quietly, shoving his hand away before he could place it on your hip.

“Oh, come on. You weren’t saying that the other night.”

“Uh, yeah! Cause no one was crying inconsolably! Good God, Murphy, I might just stab you in the leg next time. Sounds like you’d have a great time getting off to that.”

“Do that and I’ll give you the best two minutes of your life. That’s a guarantee,” he said with a smirk, raising his eyebrows at you. Only he could away with saying something like that as cocky as he did.

Nevertheless, you stared at him like he was from another planet. Why you were having this conversation right now was beyond you. And how you got to this point was even more confusing. 

“I think I truly and deeply hate you.”

“Oh no. Well, one last kiss before you go.”

“I’m not kissing you, Murphy!” you yelled. Instantly, you regretted losing your temper. Everyone turned to look at the two of you. You even caught Raven’s attention, who seemed more disgusted at the fact that someone might kiss Murphy than her boyfriend having sex with another girl.

You looked to Murphy to bail you out of this situation. Typically, he would cover up your relationship with a snarky comment or realistic lie. This time, he just stood in front of you and shrugged. You saw the tip of his tongue trace the inside of his teeth before it found its place on the side of his mouth, biting it slightly. It was then that you realized he was enjoying how flustered you were.

“Fuck you,” you told him as you stomped off to your tent, utterly embarrassed and worried about the things people were probably saying about you. At any rate, the argument between Raven, Clarke, and Finn seemed to die down. You guessed it was more of a shock that Murphy wanted to be physical with somebody. 

You flopped on your bed, thoughts racing through your head. You and Murphy decided to be quiet about your relationship because of his own issues. He was Bellamy’s right hand, and according to him, he had a reputation to uphold. More importantly though, he knew you did, too. 

It was heartbreaking, really, when he admitted that someone like you shouldn’t have feelings for him. It did defy all reason. This had to have been the one universe in a million where you two found each other. It didn’t make much sense, but the more time you spent with him, the less you questioned it. Honestly, the longer that you were together, the more you believed that the two of you were meant for each other.

After a few minutes, your tent flap opened. Murphy poked his head inside and winked at you. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Uh, no.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

You picked up a cup from your side table and hurled it at him. He backed away quickly, laughing as he did so. You huffed in response, knowing full well that he wasn’t going to be saying anything else to you. Not until you met him tonight, that is.

**Hi, author’s note! So again, truly disgusted with the lack of John Murphy on here! It’s just not okay! I hope to provide more trash boy fanfic prompts soon. Much love!

Gif was uploaded on Pinterest by https://www.pinterest.com/anastasia007mar !! 

Sorry if I didn’t credit this correctly but just know that I will never own or make any gifs because I am not talented enough :)

xx Lainey

[signaturedish]

A question for ur TF fic. What if when Harry gets turned he's like, younger? When it happens I mean (He is 10 right?) Like, five or something maybe? What would change? How would the bots and cons react? How would Harry react?

Hey you! Sorry that took a hot minute. 

Yeah, Harry’s ten in the fic. 

The way I intended it was that he was clearly ten in his internal monologue right up until he was turned into a robobaby. Then the trauma on top of a completely different set of instincts had him thinking and behaving a good 5-3 years younger than his current age with a gradual upward incline as he got more comfortable and familiar with himself in later chapters. Right now in the narrative, he’s almost back to normal, we’re just waiting on a returning desire for independence which won’t happen until he’s secure in his relationship with Megs.

So to make him five, I think that drop in maturity would come off much more dramatically. He was a pretty independent human ten-year-old, resigned to his treatment as a servant, and capable on his own. A five-year-old Harry would be far newer to his servant status and much more unsure of himself from the getgo- Five-year-olds aren’t built for the kind of independence the Durselys expect from him, we’re right in the middle of those growing pains. 

Then we turn him into a robobaby. 

(I like the age I chose for Harry but sad baby Harry was so cute I made this a little long for more details, excuse my indulgence)

Appearance-wise he wouldn’t change much. He’s already too small and at the youngest growth stage, his internal programming would probably be more toddler-esque with a stronger inclination to cry for attention, a greater need for positive attention, and more automatic behaviors geared toward inciting those things. 

Oh and he keeps his lisp.

The first few days would be a nightmare, like constant crying, deeply distressed at all times, desperately reaching out to the scientists on blind instinct and getting reprimanded for it at every turn. A whole mess, a whole inconsolable mess, the scientists think there’s something fundamentally wrong with him, he’s incoherent past the point of even perceived aggression. 

Then Megatron makes his move. He’s been hearing what sounds like a newspark being tortured for hours and hours and now that he can see that it probably isn’t a sleep paralysis-level nightmare driving him to madness he needs to Handle This ASAP.

First problem- Harry isn’t responding to cool, logical instructions to communicate through comm. He’s way past regular conversation. 

This is eventually resolved when Megatron very clumsily takes the right stabs at comforting him. It takes hours, some sullen silences, panicking, maybe a soft reboot or two, but he does get there. Crooning lullabies, softer sentences, praise when Harry stops crying, Megatron is flying so blind it isn’t even funny but he’s not dumb, he can see it’s working.

The transformers view PA!Harry as a very gifted and mature toddler. This itty bitty little baby can fit so much serious thought and a burgeoning emotional intelligence in it so they try their best to accommodate and not come off terribly condescending. Success varies. 

Younger!Harry acts much truer to his appearance. So in general, how the TF crew thinks of Harry changes very little, but how they respond to him does.

Megatron is as soft as he can possibly be to the point of genuine pain. Harry is so much more emotionally dependant and lost that it’s less easy to drift back into overlord mode around him. You’ll note that Megatron doesn’t have another mode to switch to, just a rusty parental unit protocol set he’s never activated before. Soundwave gets called down immediately, surveillance be damned, he needs someone with caretaking knowledge and he needs them now. 

Bumblebee doesn’t really perceive the difference, he couldn’t clock Harry’s age in any au, he was kinda sure the bot was glitched initially. His genuine confusion when Harry kicks and screams and sobs like a very young child who’s thinnest thread of guidance was just ripped away from him by a lying yellow monster easily comes across as cruelty. The mistrust and fear/hatred Harry develops for him does not mellow for far longer than his stay with the Autobots.

On the bright side his meltdown makes the Autobots come to terms with their find much more quickly. They could hear the distress calls a mile from the dam and had a lot of the freakout there instead. 

Ironhide rips him out of Bumblebee’s cab while Jazz is split between hovering worriedly and tearing the scout to pieces for allowing him to get so worked up. Similar rough aesthetic and coloring to Megatron and an English accent help a great deal in calming Harry down and the rocking and lullabies do the rest. 

Every Autobot has his targeting systems on and a whole lot of automatic aggression coursing through them with the terror and pain of a sparkling still fresh in the air. After Bumblebee is brought to miserable apologies and Bonecrusher is ripped limb from limb they’re still pumped and ready to Throw Down with Megatron. But he just makes that deal to keep Harry safe and assures Harry that he’ll be okay with Optimus and Megs’ll be back soon. 

Harry is still distraught Megatron left him with strangers. But he’s there long enough to form those Autobot attachments, primarily with Ironhide, Ratchet and Jazz.

Ironhide doesn’t put him down much at all, even when Harry tries to hide it, he gets anxious all alone on the cot and much prefers the nook between pauldron and helm to cuddle in and listen to growly war stories and life lessons. He sleeps up there whenever possible too. Ironhide can tell all this and happily allows it, staying stock-still for hours and gently rousing him whenever Harry begins to have a nightmare about the dam.

Ironhide’s perception hasn’t logically changed much, but the way Harry behaves ticks every box to drive him into an overprotective rampage, to the point that humans aren’t allowed within thirty feet of him and even the tiniest whimper has him hovering like three thousand pounds of promised death over his charge. 

They bond the closest, to the point that Ironhide could plausibly replace Megatron as Harry’s imprinted guardian (but he doesn’t).

Jazz and Ratchet share tertiary ‘older brother’ type roles in Harry’s life. Jazz reads to him, plays games with him, and holds him when Ironhide can’t be there. His playful casualness helps keep Harry calm and gets him to open up, but its not something he responds to as successfully. Camaraderie is appreciated but not something an insecure five-year-old always understands.

Jazz gains the most points correcting Optimus’ treatment of him and handling any humans who get into the hanger before Ironhide does something drastic. Thinks that play up his aptitude as a parental figure and devotion to keeping him healthy and safe. 

Ratchet...he really needs Harry’s observational skills and willingness to shoulder some emotional weight in the relationship, unfair or not. Without the ability to deliver the reassurance Ratchet needs, in addition to possessing a much more fragile disposition himself, it can be difficult for Ratchet to interact with Harry. He keeps to himself when Harry doesn’t ask for him or need treatment and they read rejection in each other’s hesitance too often for Harry to pursue the affection fit to burst in Ratchet.

Ratchet would 100% die for him and is right up there with Ironhide as his most aggressive defender, but he isn’t a great source of comfort for Younger!Harry. He wins his points through being the best cuddler, hands down, and praising him most often. Soft moments when neither of them are shy or afraid are where they’re closest.

Optimus is weirdly like Bumblebee here. He has Harry clocked as infant but god knows that that’s supposed to mean. He doesn’t have a mode outside of Prime to switch to for Harry and the stumbling we see in PA is him doing his very best. He’s not dumb, he recognizes that Harry isn’t emotionally mature enough to be spoken to the way he might mistakenly speak to him in PA, but he doesn’t have any other words. There’s a lot of frustrated staring and helpless silences here. 

Jazz tries his best to gently encourage some softer interactions and Ironhide is raring to punish his Prime if he dares misstep with his sparkling charge, tensions stay a little high.

With Soundwave planning Harry’s extraction, it goes off almost without a hitch, no sparklings were bitten in the attempt at least. Thundercracker might actually die depending on the plan. He has the most experience out of the Decepticons with immature and young bots via his own casseticons and a paternal disposition under all his cool logic. So he’s bustling around like an expectant mother, training up all the other Cons in grueling exercises and curriculum to get them up to his standards of child rearing aptitude and childproofing the base.

Megatron really does appreciate some tangible, reliable instructions. He’d appreciate it even more if he wasn’t a little bit threatened by how confident and capable Soundwave is when interacting with Harry. Soundwave quickly becomes the second favorite- almost on par with Ironhide.

Barricade is terrified of Harry in that way twenty-somethings are terrified when married friends give them babies and then leave to do something. This is way too important and delicate for him and someone pleaserescuehimitsgettingcloserohmygod-

Thundercracker is much more cautious handling Harry. We haven’t gotten there yet in PA, but he’s kind of the fun uncle who definitely goads Harry into things partially to get under Meg’s skin. Not so when Harry is more openly vulnerable and clumsy, now we’ve got a little baby chick who needs to stay in his nest and be warm and safe. Gliding will happen much, much later. If ever.

Harry was affected by how the scientists treated him to the point of being intensely shy around friendly, good humans and flatly terrified of anyone else. Megatron hunted down every remaining SS agent with Soundwave’s help to finish the job for that.

Eventually, Harry would feel more secure and comfortable and would start wanting to be on the ground and playing with less parental bots instead of carried everywhere by his guardians, but that recovery is achieved at the Decepticon base after some weeks have passed.

Okay and I think that’s it! Thanks for asking!! I had probably too much fun...

[in-tua-deep]

Your TUA au with five and soft Luther are giving me life tbh. I honestly love it so so much. Would you think of doing something with them all being there for vanya when her powers start coming out again (however that happens) but because they’re all together as a family the apocalypse never happens cause they’re there for her and help her and yeah. Idk I just feel like your au could have such a happy ending. With vanya and klaus able to grow their powers in safety and with love and support 💕💕

asdfsgdDFSGH thank u i didn’t realize the responsible luther au would be as popular as it got?? sometimes i make a post and am just surprised by how many people seem to like them lmao

(other responsible luther au things can be found here, here, and here)

not exactly a snippet like last time but here’s my stream of consciousness rambling style y’all should be used to at this point wheyy >;3c (except of course I end up doing a snippet in the middle of the stream of consciousness so BEST OF BOTH WORLDS I GUESS)

So you have Five, who has been doing a lot of research into psychology things since he’s, you know, seeing a psychologist. So he’s interested, and at a family dinner he asks Vanya what her medication is for. Of course, she responds that it’s for anxiety which is usually where the conversation ends.

Except Five wants to know what it is and what dosage she’s taking, and she tells him. And he’s either “That’s not an anxiety medication” or “That’s a dose large enough to take down an elephant I’m pretty sure” or hey maybe Vanya even frowns and is like “Actually you know what? I don’t know.”

and Vanya in the show says she used to see a therapist, so maybe she’s still seeing them? Except Five insists that clearly something is wrong, and demands she switch to the place where Five goes. Vanya is starting to get an inkling that something is wrong, so she decides to go off her meds. 

Not cold turkey - but she goes off them regardless. And she feels… better. She feels more happy, like she’s more connected with life. Maybe she decides, with her new therapist, to switch to a different medication that’s actually for anxiety after her therapist looks at her current prescription with such absolute bewilderment because what the fuck and immediately is like “Yeah okay something is super weird here’s a new prescription and we’ll see if you feel less of the emotional numbness that you’ve been describing to be.”

So Vanya goes off them, and odd things start happening. But it’s not until she’s in Luther’s apartment and they’re eating dinner and Diego just made a stupid comment and the TV is going in the background and suddenly everything just starts shaking and Vanya is so surprised she snaps out of her anger and everything goes still and they’re all just like ????????

Meanwhile Luther is running on like, two hours of sleep because he has an early shift at the garage today and Five got tangled in the blankets again and woke up screaming and generally inconsolable so he’s just like. Done. He picks up the cutlery that fell on the ground when the table shook and is like “I don’t care who was responsible for that, please don’t do it again or at least not during dinner. Also Diego I saw you draw that knife you know my rules about weapons at the table. And in my home.”

and Vanya is just looking at her hands all wide-eyed like, “Was that me?? What the FUCK guys.”

“No swearing at the table.” Luther automatically corrects her.

“Well I guess we figured out what the fuck was up with your meds.” Five comments, reaching over to steal some potatoes off of Luther’s plate. 

“Language, Five.” Luther doesn’t comment on the theft of his food, instead just scooting his plate closer to Five’s because hey at least it’s getting the kid to eat something. 

“Why am I the only one freaking out about this?” Vanya sounds very stressed out right now, and the knives and forks rattle ominously.

“Actually I’m pretty freaked out?” Diego interjects, raising a hand. “Like, what? You had powers this whole time? When the fuck did you start taking those meds then?”

Klaus shrugs. “Honestly at this point do you really think our lives could get any fucking weirder? Shouldn’t we have been more surprised that Vanya didn’t have powers?”

Luther sighs deeply. “I’m going to actually buy a swear jar.” He tells the ceiling very seriously, “Because clearly this family cannot go one minute without swearing in front of a child.”

“I’m not a baby.” Five scowls, punching Luther in the arm which does exactly nothing except make Five feel a little better. 

“Yeah Luther, he’s not a baby.” Klaus sticks his tongue out at Luther and reaches out to ruffle Five’s hair. Five only allows it because Klaus just took his side.

“I don’t really remember a time when I wasn’t taking them.” Vanya attempts to get the conversation back on track. 

“I feel like giving toddlers anxiety medication isn’t something that’s generally done.” Five point out mildly, mercifully actually addressing the issue which would be good except he sounds very unconcerned and is still stealing the rest of Luther’s potatoes. Luther, for his part, just gets up and goes into the kitchen to get himself more because this is one dinner battle he’s not picking.

“So what? Dad just suppressed my powers?” Vanya asks.

“Why not?” Five shrugs, “He’s done some other seriously fucked up shit I don’t see why he’d draw the lines at drugging one of us.”

“I mean he for sure didn’t really care that I was drugging myself.” Klaus points out, “He definitely knew about it, right? Like I was seriously fucked up for the majority of our formative years or whatever.”

There’s some rattling from the kitchen.

“So you’re saying that if Vanya has powers, Dad knows about them?” Diego asks, waving a knife in the air that Luther definitely expressly forbid from appearing at his table. 

“But why would he mess with my powers?” Vanya asks, very confused. “Maybe they’re dangerous?”

Diego snorts, “More dangerous than Ben’s?”

“Ben takes issue with that!” Klaus protests.

“No he doesn’t.” Five rolls his eyes, because Five has gotten alarmingly good at figuring out when Klaus was accurately reporting their deceased sibling’s comments. 

“Maybe it was for my own safety.” Vanya says, looking doubtful but willing to play devil’s advocate.

“When the fuck did Dad care about our personal safety?” Klaus asks incredulously, and Vanya nods to concede the point easily enough.

“Shout out to when Dad threw me off the roof.” Five mutters before shoveling more potatoes in his mouth.

“OKAY.” Luther says, walking back from the kitchen. “We are going to address that very concerning comment later Five, don’t think we won’t. And also - ” He takes the opportunity to slam a jar on the table which has a piece of paper with ‘swear jar’ hastily taped to it. “ - I am 100% serious about no swearing at least at mealtimes if nothing else.”

“God Luther, you’re such a stick in the mud.” Klaus whines loudly and Diego is pulling such an offended face at the sight of the swear jar that Luther is tempted to tell him his face is going to stick like that if he isn’t careful.

“Guys!” Vanya exclaims, actually looking a little frustrated. “Can we get back to the subject of my mystery powers, please? This is seriously stressing me out.”

“You know,” Five says thoughtfully, “I bet Dad has some journals or something - ”

“No.” Luther vetoes immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“You didn’t even let me finish my thought!” Five protests.

“Dad has genuinely sent armed gunmen to kidnap you.” Luther points out, putting his foot down on the issue. “I just got our door fixed from the last time he decided you were the antichrist or whatever. You are not getting within a mile of him if I can help it.”

“But he is the antichrist.” Klaus grins widely, wiggling his fingers at Five and making the kid roll his eyes. 

“Only on alternating Tuesdays.” Luther says gravely, sparking a laugh out of Klaus.

“It’s still kind of weird that Luther has a sense of humor now.” Diego says, looking at Vanya who just has her face in her hands. She has given up on getting this family to actually stay on topic. It’s like herding cats.

“Aww Vanya,” Klaus coos, “It’s okay. I know figuring out you have a new power is pretty freaky - ” And Klaus would know, since getting sober his powers have been somewhat alarming in their progression. But at least sometimes they can talk to Ben, now? “ - and you can always train with me and Benny boy!”

“Really?” Vanya sniffles.

“No one is practicing anything in my apartment.” Luther says, aggrieved. “There is a bowling ball shaped dent in my wall from the last time Klaus practiced. I still don’t know where he got a bowling ball. And Diego I swear to god if I find any more knife marks in my walls - ”

“Some of those are Five’s!” Diego protests, pointing an accusing finger across the table. 

“And where is Five getting throwing knives, Diego?” Luther scowls.

“Five can speak for himself.” Five interjects absently, gesturing with a knife that looks awfully familiar. Diego pauses to check his knife holster before standing up.

“You little shit - ”

“Swear jar, Diego!” Klaus crows triumphantly. For his part, Diego grudgingly snags a dollar bill from his pocket and dumps it into the jar without any real protest, still glaring at Five who is only offering a shit eating grin.

Luther plucks the knife out of Five’s hand while the smallest sibling’s attention is focused on Diego. “I’m keeping this. Diego, you can come and get it from me before you leave and not a moment before. And for the last time stop bringing your knives into my apartment.”

“You were just saying about Dad’s attempts to kidnap Five!” Diego crosses his arms across his chest. “I need my knives in case there’s another attempt.”

“You can have one, one knife on your person.” Luther concedes grudgingly.

“Two.” Diego bargains.

“Guys!” Vanya interrupts, the table rattling again as her hair lifts around her face.

Diego sighs as if put upon. “I know an abandoned warehouse downtown. You and Klaus can practice there, I guess.”

“You can stay here tonight, Vanya! And then go train in the morning!” Five pipes up enthusiastically.

“This is not turning into a sleepover.” Luther says, completely ignored by the rest of the siblings.

“Sleepover!” Klaus cheers loudly.

“I can sleep on the couch.” Diego offers, “Vanya can have the air mattress in Klaus’s room.”

“Or I can sleep on the couch.” Vanya bats her eyes innocently, “After all, wouldn’t want my powers to go off in the night and hurt someone.”

“That’s not fair.” Diego sounds awfully accusatory. 

“You guys are so rude.” Klaus sniffs in mock offense, “Just because I rolled out of bed that one time - ”

“This isn’t turning into a sleepover.” Luther repeats himself, just a little louder. He is still ignored.

“We could all camp out in the main room.” Five bounces in his chair, “We could make a blanket fort!” Without another word Five vanishes in a flash of blue, probably to go and retrieve as many pillows and blankets as exist in Luther’s apartment.

“Five!” Luther raises his voice to be heard from the other room, “No jumping from the table!” He doesn’t get a response.

“I’m calling Allison in the morning.” Vanya states simply, because clearly her sister will be the most sensible one of them all and will actually have some decent suggestions. And also because Allison should probably know about the whole “Vanya has powers” thing going on

so YEAH that’s how it goes they figure out Vanya has powers and once they eventually get on topic enough to figure out what they want to do they agree that Vanya needs control and to figure out What the Fuck her powers are to begin with

that snippet got away from me mainly because the Hargreeves talking really is like herding cats and all of them at the same table minus Allison?? absolutely terrible

They skype Allison and Allison remembers the whole rumoring Vanya in the basement and everything rattles but Allison is miles and miles away and with the others there they can point out how absolutely fucked up it was for Reginald to demand that of both Allison AND Vanya because they were both what, four? They’re going to blame the man responsible (Reginald) and Vanya is going to have a very interesting next therapy session

so there you have it there is my opinion on Vanya’s powers in the responsible Luther au she finds out about them and decides to train them and she trains with Klaus and Ben and sometimes Diego to figure out that they’re linked to sound waves and all that and she doesn’t go straight up white violin because how are you supposed to be furious when your siblings keep going off topic about swear jars and table manners and kidnapping attempts?? 

so there you have it Vanya is fine because the power of the Hargreeves to derail any and all conversations they take part in is used for the greater good

honestly at this point after everything they’ve already dealt with (including said attempts by their dad at kidnapping Five because for some reason Reginald thinks Five is the cause of the apocalypse) they’re all just kind of like “this might as well happen, adult life is already so goddamn weird.”

on the bright side I’m having a lot more fun with dialogue scenes now than when i first started writing fanfics wheyyyy go me

[avengerscompound]

Gods of Thunder

Gods of Thunder:  A Thor Fanfic

Avengers as Parents Drabbles Thor | Clint | Natasha | Bucky | Sam | Bruce | Tony | Rhodey | Scott | Wanda | T’Challa | Steve

Buy me a ☕ 

Character Pairing:  Thor x F!Reader

Word Count:  1220

Warnings:  Parenting Fluff

Synopsis:  Your daughter is terrified of Thunder. Which is troublesome, considering she causes it to happen in the first place.

Gods of Thunder

There was a rumble in the distance.  Just the natural phenomenon caused by the rapid expansion of air when it is superheated by lightning passing through it.  Sometimes it wasn’t natural; it was an announcement.  Now it was just a storm.  Far off and moving towards you.

A second crack.  This one louder and slightly closer.  Your daughter runs into your bedroom and throws herself in bed with you.  At first, you think she might be excited.  That the sound of the thunder is her way of knowing her father has returned and she has come to find him.  When you see her face.  The terror written on her features, you know that’s not the case.

You wrap your arms around her tiny frame.  Remembering she is only two and maybe she hasn’t yet made the link between that sound and her father.  That maybe it’s just a loud noise to her.

“Katrin, what’s the matter?”  You soothe, hugging her against you.

There is another loud crack and Katrin starts crying.  Her tears are accompanied by the arrival of the rain.  “Make the noise stop.”  She whimpers.  “Mommy, pwease.”

“Shhh… it’s just the Thunder, sweetheart.  It won’t hurt you.  Not ever.”   You coo, rocking her against you.

The room lights up as a flash of lightning hits alarmingly close.  The growl of the accompanying thunder happens not long after it.

Katrin starts sobbing loudly.  “Make it stop.  Make it stop.”  She pushes her face against you like she’s trying to hide.  As she cries the rain picks up.  Hammering down on the roof.

“Thor, I need you.”  You mutter under your breath.  “Katrin, sweetheart.  It won’t hurt you.  It’s just the sound of the storm.  You have nothing to fear from the weather.”

She is inconsolable.  Her tears come harder and she just wails.  The more she cries the harder it rains.  The lightning and thunder start getting closer and more frequent, making your house shakes.

It’s then you realize; Katrin is doing this.  The weather is responding to her own fear.

“Heimdall, if you’re watching; I need him here.”  You implore to the sky.

The storm continues to rage.  All you can do is just rock your daughter and hope she tires out before it does any real damage.

There is a deafening crack and Katrin screams.   What follows is silence.  You hear your front door open and heavy footsteps up the hall.  Thor steps into your room, Mjölnir in hand.

“What is all this noise?”  He bellows, announcing his arrival.

Katrin falls silent and looks up at him blinking.  Her face changes from fear to delight.  She lets you go and rushes to her father.  “Daddy!”  She squeals launching herself into his arms.

“Hello, my princess.”  He says, swinging her around and pulling her against his broad chest.  He climbs onto the bed next to you and places Mjölnir beside him.  “Good evening, lover.”  He cradles your jaw in his large palm and kisses you.  “Heimdall sent word that you needed me.”

“Katrin is scared of the sound of thunder.”  You explain.

Thor roars with laughter and lifts Katrin over his head.  “Is that true, my little warrior?  You fear the very thing that gives your father his strength?”

Katrin giggles and stretches out like she’s flying, all her previous troubles forgotten.

“That’s not all.”  You say.  “It looks like she might take after you more than me.  The more scared she got, the louder the storm was.”

Thor’s face turns grave and he pulls Katrin down into his arms again stroking his large hand over her head.  Almost engulfing it completely.  He looks at you and then down at the small figure on his lap.

“Katrin Thórisdóttir,” he says.  “You are a daughter of Thor.  God and destined ruler of Asgard.  One day you too may sit on the throne, ruling your people.  People of all the nine realms will know your name.  Not only as the true princess and goddess that you are but also as a brave warrior who even the weather bends to serve.”

Katrin looks up at her father, her eyes are already becoming heavy.  “Pwincess.”   She murmurs.

“That’s right.  And even the clouds will serve you.  You will know they’re there for they will call to you like this.”  A low rumble filled the air.  A static charge makes your hair follicles stand on end.

“Hewwo, cwouds.”  Katrin squeaks.

Thor chuckles and adjusts her in his lap so he’s cradling her.  “They will announce your arrival to others so your friends and allies know to find you, while your enemies will know to run in fear.”

There is a flash of lightning and a loud crack from outside.  Katrin jumps and starts giggling.  Thor leans down and kisses her brow.  She reaches up to him and runs her tiny hands through his beard.

“When you are afraid and sleep is eluding you, it will soothe you into a restful slumber.”  The rain picks up again.  It’s a heavy but steady downpour.  Making a steady thrumming sound on the roof.

“You hear it whisper to you, Katrin.  Telling you you’re safe and it will protect you?”  Thor whispers.

Katrin closes her eyes and nods her head.  Thor starts to sing.  “Sofðu unga ástin mín. Úti regnið grætur.  Mamma geymir gullin þín, gamla leggi og völuskrín.  Við skulum ekki vaka um dimmar nætur.”

By the end of the first verse, Katrin is asleep.  Thor gets up and carries her to her own bed.  While he’s gone you lift Mjölnir from your bed and place it on the floor.  The brief moment you hold it, you feel that surge of power travel through you, dancing over your skin that always accompanies picking it up.  The call that tells that while you are worthy, you aren’t needed while it’s true owner still has his worth.

You lay back down on your pillow and pull your covers up, listening to the rain.  Thor returns and starts stripping off his clothes.  “I think it might be time for you both to join me in Asgard.  If she has manifested powers that means I have sired a demi-god; not a mortal. This realm will not be safe for her.”

You sigh.  You had been reluctant for her to go.  He had already told you that bringing you to Asgard was forbidden, so doing so would mean you weren’t welcomed warmly.  For her sake, you would though.  “If that’s what you think is best.”

“It is.”  He climbs into bed with you and kisses you deeply.  You wrap your hands around his neck.  “I have missed you, lover.  That is another good reason to join me in Asgard, don’t you think?”

“I can think of worse reasons.”  You say, running your hands down his broad chest.

He looks around the bed and then down at you.  “Where’s Mjölnir?”

You point beside the bed and he laughs.   “It always scares me that you are able to move it so easily.”

You raise your eyebrows at him.  “Move it?  I can lift it.  Just admit I’m worthy already.”

Thor smiles hovering his mouth over yours.  His hair falls around his face.  You stare up into his clear blue eyes.  “You are most definitely worthy.”  He says and brings his lips to yours.

[blehbleehhhh]

I’ve Got You ft. Eremika<3

I love your domestic/smut fic where mikasa has a panic attack! Can you do something similar? - Anonymous

Thank you so much!! ❤️ I love how this one turned out..it’s heavily inspired by how my boyfriend handles me with panic attacks, just like the other one. Eren and Mikasa are just so ridiculously fucking cute together! 😍 I can picture him behaving like this. Cheers!

ps: sorry about the stupid spacing. I cant get the paragraphs to stay separated lol.

'Fuckfuckfuckfuck"

Frantically fumbling with her keys, Mikasa held her breath, desperately trying to keep it together at least until she gets into the apartment. Come on, come on! She jiggled the lock and was immediately overcome with the same feeling of panic that she's been fending off all day, because it's the anniversary of her parents' brutal deaths. But she absolutely refused to stay home from classes and wallow in her temporarily, crippling depression, insisting that the distraction will be helpful, and Eren agreed, though he knew exactly what was going to happen when she returned home. Finally to the point of almost giving up, Mikasa was beginning to fail at holding in the ocean welling up in her eyes whilst vigorously shimmying the key in the lock, letting out the occasional, quiet sob into her hand. But then, the distinct sound of the lock being unbolted made her freeze, tears already streaming down her face when the door opened to reveal her savior. "Come here..." Mikasa's resolve was shredded instantly at the sound of his dreamy voice and she came completely unglued, throwing her arms around his neck as Eren quickly caught her in his grasp. He backed up into the apartment and carefully closed the door behind her in attempt not to make too much noise, and promptly wrapped his arms around her waist, content with allowing the puddle of tears on his shoulder to grow into a pool. "Hey, hey, hey," Eren whispered. "It's okay, baby, I've got you..." His fingers slowly comb through her silky, black hair; his heart breaking a little more each time she bursts into hysterical tears, sobbing inconsolably on his shoulder. "Miki," he breathed in her ear, just to make sure she can hear him over the wails coming from her mouth, coming from deep in her soul. This woman is in pain and all he wants to do is alleviate it. "I love you so, so much," he softly kissed her cheek. "I'm proud of you for going to class today. I know that was really hard for you." Mikasa took in a shaky breath and bursted out into tears upon exhale, taking in so many quick breaths, that he was concerned she was going to pass out. "Baby, hey, hey, hey," Eren whispered in her ear, slowly rubbing large circles on her back with his hand. "It's okay, I've got you, I've got you." Her fingers gripped into his shoulders as she started to shake, which told him there's no way in hell she will be able to walk right now, and as a result, he immediately scooped his girlfriend up in his arms and kissed the tears off her cheeks. It's an instinct, and it has been for years now. Especially when her panic attacks get like this.

"Eren-" Taking in a sharp, succession of deep breaths, Mikasa struggled to speak: "Ah, ah, Er-" Tears of pain drained from her tired, defeated eyes and buried her face in his chest, sinking her fingers into his arm.

"Shhh..." Eren switched on the bathroom light with his elbow and kissed her forehead, carefully setting her down on the counter. But something in Mikasa clicked, and suddenly she was terrified that he was going to abandon her. She's been battling with her mind all day, switching negative thoughts with positive ones, ignoring the ones that assumed the worst in any situation, most of which involved Eren dying in some horrific way. When she gets inconsolable like this, nothing really helps except that one constant in her life. Eren moved so he could turn on the shower and prepare her lavender scented candles, but then she responded with an immediate, frantic, almost indiscernible jumble of words that sounded like, 'nononono' with a high pitched whine that blended in with hysterical tears. "Hey, hey, hey," he whispered. "I'm right here. I've got you..." Eren squeezed her waist and kissed the top of her head when she leaned into his solid, muscular body to find some grip on reality. Because it feels like she's floating through space, all alone, screaming at the top of her lungs. He waited until she'd settled enough to free one hand from her grasp, allowing him to dig in the linen closet for the lavender scented candles and a lighter. Then, he felt a tug on his t-shirt followed by more frantic cries.

"Hey, hey, Miki, I'm right here. It's okay, baby, it's okay," Eren whispered. "Would you like me to join you?" An impressive grip on his shirt followed by more hyperventilating was all the confirmation he needed. So, just like he has many times before, Eren adjusted the water temperature until it was as hot as she desires, hot enough to tint her fair skin a little pink, and like always, set out and lit her favorite candles. A whimper made him turn, only to see her struggling with her bra, because she's so hysterical at this point that she can't do it herself. "Here, baby, let me do it." Eren came up behind her and slowly rubbed his hands on her tensed up shoulders. Suddenly, a great sob escaped her lips, and she covered her face with shaking hands as he planted a succession of soft kisses on her cheek, dropping her bra on the floor. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his forehead in the crook of her neck, holding the shaking body in his arms so close that he was certain she could feel his heart beating against her back. Lavender scented anything isn't going to help on its own now, but a hot shower and being encased in her savior's arms is one of the best ways she copes. When Eren looked up into the mirror, he caught a glimpse of the pain, heartache, and fear in her eyes, exactly what was in them on that day all those years ago.

But unlike that day where there was a mind numbing rage, all he feels now is a relentless tug at his heartstrings.

"Oh, Miki," Eren breathed to her, slowly swaying side to side. "I've got you, baby, it's okay." He released her from his arms and kissed her cheek.

"I-I.."

"Shhh..." He stretched his arm out to switch off the bathroom light with his fingertips as she wiggled out of her leggings and panties. The would be darkness quickly became a warm, candlelit glow as he helped her into the shower. But then, Mikasa reached for his belt and just barely managed to contain her sobs long enough so her shaking hands could work the buckle, because the eagerness to feel his skin against hers is overwhelming. She ripped it from the loops of his jeans and frantically unbuttoned them as tears began to roll down her porcelain cheeks, water splashing on the floor at his feet because the shower curtain isn't pulled shut; just the simple thought of not being able to see him makes her panic. Suddenly, the zipper was stuck, and she burst into hysterics all over again. Too much. It's all too much.

"It's okay, baby, it's okay," Eren promptly fixed the jammed zipper and finished the job for her, leaving all of their clothing to get wet from the water puddling on the floor. He stepped into the shower and quickly pulled the curtain shut as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "I've got you..." Burying her face in his neck, Mikasa finally allowed herself to let go and came unglued in his arms, shaking, hyperventilating, and tears. Tears for the loved ones she lost on that horrific day. Tears for her extreme fear of losing Eren somehow, some way. Her mind feels burnt out from the fatigue but being in his arms has already begun to settle her, little by little. "I need you try and calm down for me, Mika."

"E-Eren, I-I...I -"

"Take it easy, baby." Eren whispered and held her tighter, leaving light kisses on her shoulder as he held her flush to his body. Her hyperventilating suddenly picked up again as she sobbed uncontrollably, desperate to employ some of her other coping skills, but she's simply too in the mindset at the moment, so her deep breaths aren't helping. He continued to kiss on her shoulder as she let out more frantic sobs, indicating to him that she's definitely still in fight or flight mode. But the scent of lavender gave her a much easier time with slowing her breathing to be in sync with his. "You're doing so great..." Eren whispered. "I love you so fucking much, Mikasa." She sighed deeply as she slid her hands up into his hair, lower lip quivering as tears tickled the skin on Eren's chest. The sounds of his quiet, steady breaths and his lips caressing her skin soothe her, making her melt into him even more. Mikasa allowed herself to relax against him, listening to the sound of a bottle cap snapping open as sporadic, sharp signs shook through her body. With her sight blurred by tears of heartache, she slowly lifted her head to look into those dreamy emeralds, sniffling and letting out a few involuntary, rapid, shaky sighs. "I've got you." He breathed to her lips and slid his wet, bubbly hands along the smoothness of her skin. A hot throb pulsed between her thighs as their lips finally met for a succession of brief, tender kisses that gradually turned into a slow, passionate kiss. Eren blindly rinsed of his hands and simply held her as the water cascaded down her back, swallowing the soft whimper she let into his mouth. Curling her fingers in his hair, she slowly pulled her lips away and sniffled quietly as more tears spill from those beautiful, gray eyes, the scent of lavender saturating the steamy bathroom.

"I want you to touch me..." Mikasa's voice was hoarse from crying as she turned herself in his arms and leaned back against him, shuddering with anticipation when his hand slowly traveled across her abdomen and all the way up to gently knead one of her breasts. The enticing thought of feeling his fingers between her thighs is killing her, and his cock twitching against her ass is making the sting of need that much more unbearable. But then his hand immediately slipped down between her legs and gently teased the outside of her slit. Mikasa reached behind her and placed her hand on the back of his neck as she turned her head to meet his gaze. She moaned softly as tears poured from her tired eyes and crashed her lips against his, kissing him in a way that conveys her need for more; more touches, more kisses, more Eren. With four fingers, he gently pressed into her clit and rubbed in big, slow circles, sending a series of soft moans into his mouth. He persisted, switching to rub in the opposite direction, then her mouth tore from his with a soft cry as her hips continue to follow along with his ministrations. Grasping onto the shower bar, she squeezed her shaky thighs together around his hand, feeling herself grow hotter by the second.

"Let me make you feel good..." Eren whispered to her, lessening the pressure on her clit with his fingers as soon as her moans grew higher in pitch. It wasn't long until she let out the most heavenly sound when a climax nearly took her breath away, making her legs temporarily shake like jello. She allowed her head to fall back against his chest and, using his support, Mikasa turned off the shower with her foot, and she gently caressed his cheek with her fingers as they continued to gaze into each other's eyes. She offered a tiny smile and bit her lower lip as he practically tore the shower curtain aside.

"I love you." Her voice was soft and her touch is sending chills down his spine, warming his own damaged soul.

"I love you more." Eren breathed to her lips and frowned when he pulled away, because those incredible eyes are a little swollen from crying, and tears are staining her cheeks. He stepped out of the shower and offered her a hand, and, once she was safely over the edge of the tub, Mikasa immediately jumped up to capture his waist with her legs. "You are absolutely breathtaking..." He didn't even bother blowing out the candles since they were fading anyhow, choosing instead to get this woman into bed as quickly as he could. 

And then her back hit the plum, cotton sheets as he crawled up between her legs, plopping down on his stomach. Eren took his time teasing her, kissing the insides of her thighs and licking the seam connecting them to her hips. She sunk her fingers in his hair and felt herself blush when he opened his eyes to meet her gaze, smirking against her slit, and it was so erotic that, when he sealed his lips around her aching, engorged clit and flattened his tongue, she couldn't help but cry out with pleasure. He licked, suckled, and gently nibbled until her hips began to twitch, her breaths growing choppy as he slipped his arms under her hips to hold her still against his tongue. Using a finger from each hand, he held the lips apart and went in for the kill, flattening his tongue so he could lick from her sopping hole to her aroused nub. "Oh, Eren!" She struggled, her hips failing to relieve some of the pressure building up inside, letting out inconsistent, pleasurable sounds as he sensually rubbed his flattened tongue on her arousal and planted a kiss on her slit, releasing her hips from his strong grasp.

Eren quickly kissed up her body, sliding his hands up her toned core to cup her breasts and tweak the hardened tips with his fingers, eliciting a cry pleasure from the back of her throat. He buried his face in her neck, savoring the soft moans as his mouth roughly kissed her skin, and she gently tugged on his hair. Taking advantage of the space between them, she rolled over onto her back and let out a quiet giggle when his hands pulled her up by her hips as he hunched over her body. Eren brushed her hair away from her back and trailed kisses along the newly exposed, snowy territory. “You seem to be feeling better...” His lips curved up into a smirk, because she’s rested her head on the pillows in a way that enabled her to eye him from the side, and despite the single tear on her cheek, there’s a huge grin on her face.

“Shut up and fuck me.”

“Twist my arm.” Eren smirked against her skin as the tip of his cock slowly pushed inside. Her mouth instantly fell open with a sound of ecstasy that made him groan, and when he pulled out only to slam back into her tight heat, that sound grew louder. So, he did it again, and again, and again until her insides were quivering. Even then he didn’t stop, choosing instead to thrust into her faster. Mikasa’s voice was quickly competing with the sound of the creaky old bed frame, crying out his name with every movement of their hips and clawing at the sheets as he takes her over the edge too many times for her blissful mindset to count. But then he stopped, sliding his hands up her sides to pull her up to him and buried his face in the crook of her neck, more than content to allow her to take over by slowly stirring her hips as he holds her back flush to his chest.

Eren moaned, his lips and his teeth roughly grazing the most erogenous spot on her neck, suckling her warm, sweaty skin. Hooking her fingers around the back of his neck, Mikasa pushed his kisses harder against her skin and let out a pleasurable sigh. He looked up to meet her gaze as she turned her head to the side and smirked when the inner walls of her pussy contracted once more. He used the hold he has on her waist to change positions so quickly, that she barely had the time to process suddenly being on her side because he immediately resumed slamming into her tight heat. “Eren! Eren! Eren!” Her voice was hoarse, saturated with the intensity of the pleasure being felt between her thighs. “Don’t stop!” Moaning helplessly as she dug her fingers into the sheets, Mikasa just barely managed to keep up with her hips and squirmed against him when she came, again, and cried out with pleasure, slowly grinding against him as he flooded her womb with his load. “Ohh, Erennn...” She moaned softly, enjoying the feeling of the spurts as her heat trembled, more than satisfied and definitely not anywhere near as anxious or depressed like she was earlier.

“How do you feel, Miki?” He panted quietly in her ear as his heart thumped hard against his ribcage, softly kissing the mark he’s lovingly left on her neck. And then she let out a giggle, easily one of his favorite sounds that she makes.

“Like I’m on cloud nine...”

“Good, I’m glad that I could make you feel better.”

“You always make me feel better, Eren.”

“Loser,” Eren chuckled and kissed her neck. “You’re so cheesy, Mika.” He caught a glimpse of her grin while gently nibbling on her skin, and her eyes fluttered shut, indicating how much he’s satisfied her.

“Leave me alone.”

“But you’re so beautiful, baby. And funny and pretty and sexy and you’re a fucking trophy.”

“Eren,” She giggled. “Stop.”

“Whyy.”

“Because I’m sleepy and everything you’re doing is just turning me on again.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” His breath tickled her skin as he whispered in her ear. “But if I wake up before you, I’ll just start fucking you again.” Mikasa turned her head to look at her savior and grinned, planting a kiss on his lips.

“You have yourself a deal, Jaeger.”

Tonight’s going to be a long night.

[keeroo92]

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch37 (V x Reader)

Alternate ending epilogue and final chapter of this fic. Sequel is in prgress and will follow the events of the true ending.

Nero

Nero covers you with a blanket, carefully concealing your frozen features in a sign of respect and mourning. He sits across from your body at the red table with a heavy sigh, swallowing harshly to restrain his tears. Nico sits across from him, a mug of coffee in her hand. She’s been almost inconsolable, utterly shattered by the loss of both you and the poet. Lady is in the driver’s seat, Trish beside her as she starts the van and begins the long journey to Fortuna.

How the hell am I gonna tell Kyrie about all this? It’s all so fucked up…

The young warrior grits his teeth, almost snarling in rage at the way events had unfolded. That blow had been meant for him; he should’ve been the one to fall. And what the hell had you meant about balancing the scales?

It doesn’t matter now. She’s gone.

A loud sniffle from Nico draws his attention as she stares forlornly into her mug. Nero reaches out, resting a hand on her wrist and giving her a sympathetic smile. She sniffles again, her eyes rising to meet his.

“Do you… y’know, wanna talk?” he asks her awkwardly.

“I guess… it’s just a lot, y’know? Feels like we lost even though Urizen is gone. Sort of,” she starts solemnly, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Yeah, I hear ya. Doesn’t really feel like a win,” he replies thoughtfully. Nico hums her agreement, her eyes drifting to rest on your covered body sadly.

“Dante said the thing that got her was aiming for you, right? What happened, exactly?” the mechanic inquires softly. Nero cringes at the reminder, bracing himself to tell her the whole story.

“After Vergil came back, things got weird. He kept shifting back into V, like he was still in there fighting. But Vergil wouldn’t let him out, kept trying to fight Dante. He was aiming for me when he stabbed her. She… she jumped in the path, did it on purpose. She saved me,” he explains sorrowfully. He bites his lip, the pain helping keep the sadness at bay.

“Did she suffer?”

Nero sighs, unsure how to answer. He rubs the back of his neck in discomfort as he gathers his thoughts.

“Not for long. There was enough time for us to try to save her. It was weird, one second Vergil’s trying to kill Dante and the next he’s trying to save Y/N. He completely lost it when she… when she died. She had time to tell me it was worth it,” he recalls morosely. He would never forget the look on your face as you touched him for the last time, the spark of life going dark in your eyes as he watched, helpless.

 Worth it…

 Am I? Am I really worth her life?

Nico stands, stepping closer to him to wrap him in a firm hug as his face crumples, unable to keep the sorrow at bay any longer.

_____________________________________

By the time the van pulls up to the home he shares with Kyrie, the sun is low in the sky. Long shadows extend from the trees lining the road, skeletal shades reaching for him as he approaches the door. Before he can reach its familiar white paneling, it flies open with a crash as Kyrie runs out to meet him with an ecstatic grin.

He knows the second she registers his blood-soaked clothing; her smile vanishes, her steps faltering in concern as she reaches him.

“Nero! What happened? Whose blood is that?” she prods instantly. He glances back at the van as Trish, Nico and Lady all carry your covered body forward. None of them had any clue what to do with your remains but still knew better than to leave you in the vehicle overnight. Kyrie’s expression goes from concern to dread as she follows his gaze, still unsure what’s going on.

“Kyrie… It’s Y/N’s blood. She died to save me. We lost V and Dante, too,” he begins in a strained tone. Her arms wrap him in a hug, ignoring the patches of slightly damp blood as she comforts him.

 I missed you so much, missed this…

He inhales deeply, reveling in the scent of the woman he loves so dearly. An ocean of gratitude rises within him, not knowing if he would have made it back to her without your sacrifice. Her thoughts seem to mirror his as she speaks.

“Then I owe her a debt that can’t be repaid,” Kyrie murmurs softly. Nero holds her close, her presence soothing his grief to a point where he can bear it. She is an island amidst the chaos, a refuge from the pain as she always has been.

“I’ll call a mortician. I suppose the garage will have to do for now, can you show them where to put her?” Kyrie asks calmly. Nero releases her and nods tightly, not trusting himself to speak as she smiles sadly at him and retreats inside to make the terrible phone call. Nero sets his shoulders, turning to face the three women carrying you to him.

“In the garage, I’ll make a spot for her,” he mumbles, already walking toward the massive rolling door. With a simple keycode, it rolls away to reveal the familiar grey concrete floor and brick walls. He stomps over to the folding table to the right, quickly moving all the tools and various bottles of fluids to leave a space for you to rest. His throat tightens uncomfortably as the three women lug you inside, carefully arranging you on the cold plastic. The four of them stand in silence for a moment, staring at the body beneath the throw blanket in anguish.

The echoing patter of Kyrie’s approaching footsteps breaks the silence as she enters the garage, phone held up to her ear as she approaches him.

“Did she have any family, Nero?” she asks gently. He frowns, looking at the floor as he realizes none of them had bothered to try and contact your mom yet.

“Yeah, her mom is in the next town over from Red Grave. Last name is Newman,” he replies. Kyrie nods and returns inside with the phone to finalize the arrangements, leaving him and the three other women alone once more.

“I’ll see if I can get her number from the phone,” Nico mumbles, heading back to the van outside with slumped shoulders. Lady sighs and looks at Trish.

“We should head back, to wait for Dante,” she reminds the blonde quietly. Trish nods and gives a strained smile to Nero.

“We’re going to keep Devil May Cry going until he gets back. You’ll tell us when there’s a service for her?”

He nods tightly, eyes still locked on your covered body. Trish lies a hand on his arm in sympathy before she turns away to leave, Lady coming over to give him a warm hug. Nero grips her tightly, trying to return her support in kind.

_____________________________________

The morning of the service dawns bright and cold, a chilly wind blowing in from the sea. Robins and sparrows flit happily around the graveyard, a startling contrast to the group of mourners assembled around your casket. It’s a beautiful dark oak, silver handles decorating the sides and white lilies arranged on the lid.

It makes Nico want to vomit.

 How can everything seem so nice and pretty when she’s gone? It ain’t right!

She wants to rip the flowers away and carve deep grooves into the wood, marring the smooth surface with her pain. She wants to scream and cry, to punch someone, anyone.

Instead she takes a seat near the front, holding her offering in silence as the minister drones on. It had been your mother’s decision to have the boring man speak, talking about heaven and hell as if he knew what either of them looked like.

Nico knows better.

She pretends to listen as the preacher rambles for what feels like hours, her thoughts hidden behind a careful mask of blank attention. At long last the man falls silent and the mourners step forward to leave their small tokens for you. Nico waits until everyone else has had their turn before she steps forward, grasping her item tightly as she approaches.

She can hear several quiet murmurs behind her as she unsheathes your sword and holds it high, a few gasps of surprise as she plunges the blade straight into the wood, embedding it there for all time. It feels right, feels like the perfect way to remember you to force those here to admire the sword you had wielded to prevent your home from being overrun by demons.

She returns to her seat as the tears fall at last, memories of you flooding her mind. Beside her, Nero wraps an arm around her shoulders awkwardly, doing his best to support her even as his nose turns red and he sniffles.

The creaking sound of the casket being lowered makes goosebumps erupt on Nico’s arms. She hates that sound; it reminds her painfully of those she’s lost. Now she has you to add to that list. She stares at the too-green grass under her feet as the echoes fade, your casket now at rest at the bottom of the earthen pit. The minister leaves, several of the mourners who hadn’t known you well following soon after.

Then it’s just her, your fellow devil hunters and your mother. The unfamiliar woman glares at the group angrily, clearly still blaming them for your demise.  Kyrie alone approaches the distraught woman, her kind personality giving her the ability to find the right words to ease the woman’s suffering. Nico watches from far as the two women embrace sadly.

She looks away as the sensation of intruding on a private moment overwhelms her, standing and gazing at the plain tombstone that decorates your final resting place.

 May she walk with angels.

 Seriously? That’s it?

Nico snorts, wondering who was the dumbass that chose the words. If it’d been up to her, it would’ve said something about being a badass who never gave up. Nero joins her with a sad smile, his nose still quite red as his gaze follows hers to rest on the granite stone.

“Damn, that’s it? Doesn’t seem like enough,” he murmurs quietly. She chokes out a laugh, leaning against him as he wraps an arm over her shoulders in comfort.

“No words ever are,” she comments sadly.

_____________________________________

Two Years Later

A warm breeze rustles through the trees dotting the area, a few leaves breaking free and fluttering free in the wind. His steps echo on the stone pathway as he approaches the simple granite marking. He sighs heavily, crouching to leave the bouquet of irises in the waiting opening.

 May she walk with angels.

 Pathetically inadequate.

He brushes his white hair out of his eyes distractedly, more focused on your grave as his brother follows a few steps behind him. Dante keeps a respectful distance, for which he’s very grateful. It’s been a long two years; their time in the underworld had helped them to understand each other but it wasn’t until they’d made it back that they had truly become brothers again.

That was two months ago.

Dante had been here a few times since their return, but this was Vergil’s first visit.

He sits on the green grass, crossing his long legs and staring at the carved words marking your resting place. Dante backs away even further, leaving hearing distance to peruse other markings until Vergil is ready to leave. He sighs again, gathering his thoughts.

“I’m sorry its taken me so long, Y/N. I’m sorry for many things, actually,” he begins regretfully. The familiar ache settles over his heart as he addresses you, his longing to see you again forever left unsatiated. It still baffles him how much he cares for you, how much he misses you.

 There will be no one else.

“I want you to know that things are different now. I no longer wish to kill Dante,, though sometimes he makes it difficult. Nero’s coming around, though he’s understandably cautious. There’s much work to be done,” he explains hesitantly. It still makes him uncomfortable to show any amount of weakness, but there’s no one else here.

“I miss you,” he concludes, gritting his teeth as he forces the words out. Silence greets his words, not even the hush of wind responding to him. He stays still for a long time, not speaking a word but content to reflect on the past, on his short time with you while you were alive.

By the time Dante returns, the sun is setting behind him, his shadow being cast over your tombstone and draping you in darkness. Vergil recognizes the sound of his brothers footsteps and stands to meet him.

“I’ll return soon,” he whispers as he turns to leave with his twin.

And he does.

[cinnaminsvga]

La Douleur Exquise Pt 5 | Incubus!Yoongi AU (M)

➵ summary: in which you accidentally summon an incubus in the middle of your shitty apartment and he won’t leave until you agree to have sex with him. until then, min yoongi, incubus extraordinaire, is now your sexually promiscuous and grumpy roommate. aka, the incubus au no one fucking asked for. ➵ warnings: praise kink if you squint, but it’s mostly just idiots making love ➵ genre: fluff, angst, smut, smidgens of humor ➵ words: 8.5K ➵ a/n: surprise gift for my follower milestone!! it’s been a while, hasn’t it? hope this doesn’t disappoint!

➵  part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7

When Yoongi runs, he thinks he can hear the sound of his heart rushing up to his throat and into his ears. His shoeless feet pad almost noiselessly against the pavement, and he barely registers the confused stares of the early morning commuters on this quiet Sunday afternoon. Nothing flits through his mind at all––except for the burning desire to get as far away from you as possible.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been running, and he can feel his lungs aching to burst from the effort. He may have a lot of stamina in bed, but running like his life depended on it is a different case entirely. His legs are begging for some respite, so when he sees a lone bench at a nearby park, he nearly cries with relief as he slumps heavily onto it.

He cradles his head into his hands, and takes one, two breaths. Then, he sobs.

“Fuck!” He screams, and he pouts apologetically at a couple of pigeons that coo angrily at his outburst. “Sorry,” he says, sheepish, as the pigeons throw him a dirty look in return. He watches as they flutter away, seemingly judging him from a distance.

“Even birds hate me,” he snorts, and he rakes his fingers through his sweat-matted hair. He heaves another long sigh, and proceeds to curl himself into a little ball.

Well. This is what has become of Min Yoongi, incubus extraordinaire. Once a respected incubus who has ravaged men and women for centuries now finds himself rocking back and forth like some sort of middle-aged baby, and the sudden urge to suck his thumb really isn’t helping his reputation.

He would absolutely rather suck Seokjin’s toe jam for the rest of his life than for any of his colleagues to find him in such a lowly state. He says this, not as a challenge for destiny to fuck him over, but of course, when has destiny ever done anything except fuck him over repeatedly (and it isn’t even the good type of fucking; it was the type with too little lube and a lot of chaffing.)

“Yoongi? What are you doing here?”

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut and groans. Speak of destiny and destiny shall come with a strap-on.

The person’s voice had a slight lilt in it, as if they were trying desperately to keep themselves from laughing like a windshield wiper. “Oh my heavens, you look absolutely dreadful! This is fantastic stuff!”

Yoongi hardly needs to lift up his head to recognize the voice of his one and only angelic neighbor. Without uncurling from his position, he lifts up his middle finger in lieu of a response.

He hears Seokjin tsk at him. “I would ask why you look like a homeless person, but then again, you rarely wear shirts as it is, so perhaps the ragged and dirty look you got going on is a step above… whatever it was that you were before this happened.” The angel muses, scooting Yoongi’s body easily to sit beside him. Yoongi hisses when the other man’s angelic hands touch him, but Seokjin couldn’t care less.

“Fuck off,” Yoongi greets him kindly.

“Hmm, I’d ask you if you need some help, but I have a sinking suspicion that you’d only repeat your less than articulate greeting back at me if I did.”

“Fuck off,” Yoongi repeats.

“Damn, I’m a mind reader!” Seokjin chortles, and they stay like that for a few moments of relatively peaceful silence.

With Yoongi’s eyes still averted, Seokjin takes the time to look at the smaller man properly. His eyes trail the incubus’ disheveled appearance, taking note of the huge coffee stain on his white sleeves, the puddle stains at the ends of his jeans, and the bloodied heels of his shoeless feet. Against his better judgment, Seokjin cannot help but feel a little bad for the incubus, despite their less than stellar relationship over the millennia.

“Oh Yoongi,” he mutters, and the younger man only huffs in response. “You’re quite a piece of work, huh?”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” is Yoongi’s muffled reply, and he peeks his bleary eyes back at the handsome angel. He squints. “Why the FUCK are you so dazzling? Turn off your angelic aura for a second, will you? It’s burning my fucking retinas.”

“I’m not even emitting my aura right now, idiot. It’s just the sun, you uncooked piece of chicken breast.” Seokjin retorts, flicking Yoongi on the forehead softly. “That’s what you get for staying cooped up in Hell all these years. Now sit up; I’ll bandage your feet.”

Before Yoongi can protest, Seokjin manages to procure a long strip of bandage somewhere––probably from the fanny pack he seems to like wearing nowadays. He watches as the angel fusses over his wounds for a few minutes, before wiggling his newly bandaged feet with wonder and gratefulness that he tries but fails to hide from Seokjin.

“What do we say to the people that help you?” Seokjin coos, squishing Yoongi’s cheeks smugly. Yoongi bares his teeth at him, his spit barely missing the other man’s face.

“Fuck off.”

“Good enough,” Seokjin shrugs, and he lets him go. “As much as I’d love to hear why you ran away from Y/N, I have other stuff to do today.”

His words causes Yoongi to freeze. “Wait, how did you know––?”

“Honey, it’s not hard to guess. Also, I heard the door slam twice this morning. I put one and one together, so that just means Y/N probably chased you after you left. I must say––I’m impressed you were able to outrun her. Not that she’s any more physically fit than you, but I just assumed that your scrawny clown body would’ve collapsed––”

Yoongi barely hears the rest of Seokjin’s words, not after he said you had followed him out too. He blinks at Seokjin. “Wait, Y/N followed me? Did you see her leave?”

Seokjin glares acidly at Yoongi, annoyed that his monologue was being interrupted. “No, I didn’t. Which is why I’m looking for her, and instead I find your sorry excuse of an ass.”

“You’re not going to ask what happened, then?”

“I already said I didn’t care,” Seokjin sniffed, turning his head to face the busy street across the park. “All my job entails is that I keep Y/N safe, and now that you’ve voluntarily put yourself out of the picture, that’s one less problem I have to deal with. I should thank you, really.”

Yoongi feels his blood boil at the older man’s apathy, but he squashes it down. Who is he to get angry, when it was him who had caused you to run out? He can already imagine you running across the city, searching desperately for a demon who would rather not be found. The thought that he has only given you even more heartbreak causes a heavy weight to form in his heart. He swallows these feelings down, locks it, and buries it.

He wonders how long that’ll last.

Before Seokjin goes to leave, Yoongi manages to grab his hand, causing the angel to turn to him in surprise. “Wait,” the demon breathes deeply, forcing himself to push down his pride. “Please. Take care of Y/N. Make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”

With Yoongi’s eyes still downcast in shame, he fails to see the way the angel’s eyes soften ever so slightly. Seokjin tears his hands away from Yoongi, and the demon lets him go.

“I’ll do my best,” he murmurs back, and Yoongi doesn’t look up to see him leave.

The sun that had been shining so brightly slowly comes to its close, and soon after, only the stars are left to keep him company.

––♡♡♡––

It has almost been a week since Yoongi left the apartment and you’ve never quite known loneliness like this. It is the all-consuming, inconsolable type of loneliness; the type that left you cold, cold, cold at all hours of the day. You would shiver at the sound of a pin dropping, as your ears strain to listen for the sound of the door that never opens. You wait by the door until your eyelids can no longer stay up, until your body begs for you to rest. But even then, your dreams are only filled with a boy with messy black hair and a wide gummy smile.

The day he had left, you had chased after him until your voice turned hoarse from calling his name. You hadn’t expected him to have gone too far by the time you managed to snap yourself from the shock of his sudden disappearance, so you were a little surprised that he was nowhere to be found. Your search had led you nowhere, so all you could do was trudge back to your apartment, with your shoulders sagging with grief.

When you arrive back home, it appears that Seokjin had been waiting for you, as his head popped out of his apartment when he hears your footsteps approaching. He gives you a sad smile, then tries to offer you some tea in his home. You try your best to decline politely, but the usual grin on your face can barely reach your eyes.

You can sense that he wants to say something, perhaps to insist on offering a comforting presence or something, but all he does is clamp his mouth shut. He nods his head grimly, and he watches sadly as you turn away from him. You unlock your door, wave absently back at him, and proceed to fall face flat on your couch.

You trick yourself into thinking that the couch still kind of smells like Yoongi, even though he hasn’t slept on it in weeks. So, with a pained groan, you pull yourself into your bed, not caring to change out of your dirty clothes or even to brush your teeth. You allow the already fading scent of Yoongi waft into your nose, and you fall into a fitful sleep.

Despite your ardent desire to look for him the next day, you still have school and work to think about. As much as you would have liked to skip school forever, you simply can’t afford to do so. Above all else, there is always a small hopeless voice in the back of your mind that whispered how incredibly useless it would be to look for him––not when you have no idea where to even begin looking. There is no one to ask help from, because who in their right mind would believe that you are looking for a demon with soft black hair and an even softer smile?

And so, like many of the useless damsels you had read about in your youth, all you could do is sob pathetically into your pillow, hoping for the day that he comes back to hold you close on your empty bed.

The sun rises, and it sets. Your mind flees your body repeatedly, and your colleagues begin to take notice of the white pallor on your cheeks and dark purple moons underneath your eyes. Underneath all that, however, lies a heart that refuses to stop beating. A stronger fire that burns brighter than anything, and it is only that warmth that keeps you hoping for his return, still.

It is 1AM on a Saturday, and you are staying awake watching reruns of old reality shows, the volume on low in case the door opens. Your eyes continually flit to the entrance every time you hear footsteps approach, and the itch to stand up and go out into the night to find Yoongi consumes you even moreso. But you know it would be a death wish if you did, what with the type of neighborhood that surrounds your apartment. And so, you are forced to stay still, waiting for the sun to rise to continue your search for a man who did not wish to be found.

In the midst of your wallowing, your ears still manage to hear some light footsteps coming from the hallway, and you feel your breath still when the person slows down near your apartment door. Could it be…?

Then, a knock.

You jump out of your couch immediately, and in your haste, you accidentally trip over the blanket that you had been curled up in, causing you to groan on the floor. You stand up quickly, despite the already bruise forming near your jaw, and you grasp the door open to find––

“Miss Y/N? Are you okay? I heard something thump,” Seokjin asks, eyeing the reddish color of your cheeks and your messy hair. He holds up a plastic bag filled with drinks and snacks, almost apologetically. “I, uh. Brought some snacks, if you don’t mind?”

You don’t bother trying to hide the disappointment from coloring your face as your eyes turn downcast at his arrival. “Oh, okay. Yeah, come in,” you mutter quietly, stepping aside to let the broad man in. He steps in unsurely, and toes of his shoes by the entrance before he places the food by your small kitchen counter.

With him still standing by your entranceway awkwardly, the two of you sort of stare at each for a bit, fidgeting under the tense silence. You feel your body mechanically gesturing to the couch, as if offering him a seat, but the action only makes it seem like you’re having a robotic aneurysm, and so Seokjin politely declines.

“No, it’s okay. I won’t be staying long; I just wanted to check on you to see if you were… doing fine,” he says the last part hesitantly, as if he didn’t want to admit that he was worried. You raise an eyebrow at this before shrugging at his implied question.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for worrying you; you didn’t have to buy me food.” You say, picking the fraying ends of your sweater to give your hands something to do.

“Well, it didn’t seem like you’ve been eating a lot, so I just wanted to…” but he trails off, not finishing his sentence.

“Did Yoongi tell you that I forget to eat? Because that was before––I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” you lie, and you can tell Seokjin doesn’t believe it one bit.

“Speaking of him, I haven’t seen him in a while. Have you guys…?” He starts, but his tone rubs you the wrong way. Your eyebrows furrow at him suspiciously, before grinding your teeth to find a suitable answer.

“He… he’s been out. I don’t know; it’s not like we’re dating,” you say, a sort of bitter resentment tinging your voice. You don’t know why you’re suddenly angry, as if the sudden realization that Yoongi might have been terribly selfish only just crosses your mind.

“Oh, you weren’t? I had just assumed that. I’m sorry,” Seokjin apologizes, and the way his eyes seem genuinely upset only causes the anger in your chest to bubble up.

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine. We’re just having a falling out.”

“As friends? Or as something more?” The question further annoys you. It feels like Seokjin is trying to get you to admit something, and it’s making the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention.

“What do you want me to say?” You narrow your eyes at him.

Seokjin finally senses the bite in your voice. He scoffs, crossing his arms haughtily, “Oh? Well, I’m sorry for offending you, especially since I’m just trying to give what’s best for you. I was just wondering why you were so upset, seeing as how that lowlife of an incubus shouldn’t even begin to deserve any semblance of pity from you. You shouldn’t care about trash like him.”

Your blood freezes at his words, and it seems like Seokjin only belatedly realizes his slip up two seconds too late. He brings his hands up to his mouth, a small yelp coming out in anguish. “Fuck, I didn’t––I, um, you didn’t hear me say––”

It doesn’t take you long to close the distance between you and him, and soon enough, Seokjin goes cross-eyed at how close your face is to his. Your voice goes low, suspicious. “What did you say?”

Seokjin feels a drop of sweat trail down his back as he tries to move away from you. With every step back he takes, you take one step closer until you had him trapped between yourself and the door. “Uhh…” he tries to stall for time, but the way your fingernails are starting to dig uncomfortable crescents into his shoulders forces him to hold his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay! Let go off me, I’m sorry!”

Still feeling doubtful of his intentions, you release your death grip on his shoulder, but you hardly step away from him. You cross your arms as menacingly as you can (or as much as a weak twig of a girl can manage, anyway.) “Are you stalking me? Is that why you moved in to the apartment next to me? How else would you have known about Yoongi being an incubus?”

Seokjin’s eyes look anywhere but at you. “Uh, I wouldn’t necessarily call it stalking. That word is too ugly, much too ugly for the likes of me! I would label it more like… friendly surveillance?” He laughs nervously.

In a blink of your eye, you had your phone in your hands, the number for the police already typed in. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the police and have you arrested,” you grouse, your thumb hovering precariously over the call button.

“Uh, I’m your guardian angel?” Seokjin squeaks, his face scrunching up in what you could only describe as overly-constipated with a dash of lemon.

You stare at each other for one, two seconds. Seokjin holds his breath as you stare blankly at him for a moment too long. Then, without a word, your thumb presses the call button unforgivingly.

“NO, YOU DUMB DOO DOO HEAD! I WAS TELLING THE TRUTH!” Seokjin yelps as he goes to grab your phone out of your hands, but miraculously, you move away much quicker than him as you run to your living room. You jumped up onto one of your cabinets, chanting quickly for the police to pick up as Seokjin tries desperately to reach for the device in your hands. His face is also turning a concerning shade of red. “STOP! IF YOU CALL THE POLICE, I WON’T HELP YOU FIND YOONGI!”

You point an accusing finger at him. “So you DO know where he is!”

“I don’t! Well, sort of,” Seokjin tilts his head, before his eyes grow wide again in alarm when he remembers the stakes at hand. “Put down that phone right now! I’ll tell you everything if you just get down from there and let me finish my explanation.”

“Well, if you really were my guardian angel, where the hell have you been all these years? When my family was barely scraping by to raise me and my siblings? When I went through my depression? When I lost Yoongi?” You say the last thing with a choked sob, and Seokjin’s frantic flailing ceases at the broken sound that escapes your lips. He stills, and you both listen as the agent on the phone finally picks up. “Hello, this is the police. What’s your emergency?”

Seokjin watches with bated breath as the two of you stare at each other for a while longer, before he exhales heavily, his shoulders sagging tiredly. “I… I can explain. If you let me.”

Seconds tick by as the person on the line repeatedly asks if you can speak. You look down at your hands and back at him, mulling over what to do. If he knows where Yoongi is, then perhaps risking your safety with this wacko is worth it. Feeling as if this is probably going to be the worst mistake of your life, you disconnect the call. You carefully climb down your cabinet, after which you turn to face Seokjin with an expectant look on your face. “Okay, fine. Speak.”

Seokjin heaves a sigh of relief, and he throws himself onto your couch in exhaustion. “Geez, maybe the other angels were right; I’m getting too old to being doing fieldwork…” he groans, before peeking an eye at your rigid form. He straightens up significantly, coughing awkwardly. “Sorry for scaring you, by the way. I didn’t mean to.”

“Too late for apologies now. Just tell me who you are and what you know about Yoongi.”

“You sincerely don’t believe I’m your guardian angel, huh? Why did you believe Yoongi was an incubus so easily? Is it really that hard to believe that I’m here to protect you?” He says, voice colored with sadness.

“I already said why. If you really cared about my well-being, then where were you all this time? Especially now, when you’re actually living right next to me? You knew I was in trouble, and yet, you only decide to show yourself now.”

“That’s the thing, Y/N,” Seokjin says, and his head bows as if the world were upon his shoulders. “I can’t deal with your internal problems. I can only keep you safe.”

“Safe from what, exactly?” You spit out, but you already have an inkling as to why he suddenly appeared. His coincidental appearance, his knowledge about Yoongi’s identity… It isn’t hard to put together.

“Him. That demon. That wretched creature who doesn’t deserve to defile one of God’s creations,” he spits back, and the glares you throw at one another could have made hell freeze over twice. “I should’ve exorcised him the moment he laid his hands on you, but I couldn’t do that without waging war against hell, so I had to wait for him to mess up.”

“But he didn’t!” You shout back, the slowly building anger finally rising up to consume you whole. “He hasn’t done anything wrong! In fact, I’d say he’s done much more for me than you have ever done for me in my entire life!”

Seokjin winces at that, but you pay it no mind. You continue, “He’s been nothing but kind to me! He’s taken care of me, comforted me, loved me––” your breath hitches on the last part, and you bow your head dejectedly. “Maybe… not the last one, though.”

Before you know it, you feel a gentle hand on your back, rubbing smooth circles there. You flinch back, surprised by his sudden (and unwanted) affection and he recoils just as quickly. He rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Sorry, I’m not really good at this…”

“You fucking think?” You state blandly.

“Okay, I admit that Yoongi isn’t the worst incubus out there. If it I had to choose one, he’d probably be the best demon to fool around with––”

“I wasn’t fooling around with him,” you interject hotly.

Seokjin ignores you. “But even still, he’s a demon. You shouldn’t be interacting with him at all,” Seokjin says, undeterred. He frowns. “I’m sorry, but him running away was probably for the best. Both for you, and for him as well.”

“Oh? And what makes you say that? Who gave you the right to decide what’s good for the both of us?” You grouse, and his frown grows deeper in response.

“You have no idea what Yoongi’s about to undergo, do you?”

You feel the hairs on your arm stand up. “What? What nonsense are you saying now?”

Seokjin groans, irritated. He muses his hair lightly, biting his lower lip in contemplation. “I’m not supposed to know this type of information, seeing as how angels and demons are forbidden to speak at all––”

“Didn’t stop you from meddling in my business, though.” You mutter, but Seokjin pretends not to hear.

“––but since my former brother is the most powerful incubus from hell, well, I guess it’s hard not to know what goes on in the unholy lands.”

His sudden admission brings you out of your ire long enough to raise an eyebrow. “You’re related to a demon?” You snort, a smirk forming on your face. “Figures. You sure you aren’t one as well?”

He glares at you. “Oh? And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re not as angelic as you seem, hyung.”

You both turn to the doorway, your reactions wildly different from each other. Whereas Seokjin acknowledges the new intruder with a raised eyebrow, more out of annoyance than surprise, you are a bit louder with your reaction. You shriek loudly, your immediate response being to leap back onto the cabinet as you point a useless finger wildly at the mysterious man who suddenly appeared in the middle of your apartment. The man only stares blandly at your racket.

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” You holler, and you barely hear Seokjin let out a snort as he tries to coax you down from the cabinet (again.)

“Y/N, stop climbing your cabinet; you’ve got the litheness of a dog with rabies.” He sighs, and you jab your outstretched finger into his forehead.

“You stay away from me too!” You hiss, much like how a dog with rabies might sound like. The intruder coughs, trying to get your attention and you whip your head towards him instead.

“Hello Ms. Y/N. I’m sorry for intruding,” the tall, admittedly handsome man says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. You dislike his tone of voice already. “I’m afraid I have some business to attend with you, concerning Yoongi.”

That piques your interest indeed. “Go on,” you say hesitantly, your eyes scanning his body for any guns or knives––or worse, a halo.

“Hey, angels aren’t bad guys!” Seokjin retorts, and your brain only just realizes that you must have spoken the last part aloud.

“I disagree; Seokjin-hyung is an exceptionally horrendous guy. Worst of the worst. Did you know he dunked my head into a bowl of holy water when we were kids?” The mystery man tuts, finally walking towards you and your perch on the cabinet with a sort of nonchalance that unnerves you. “And besides, I’m not an angel. In fact, I can proudly say that I’m the perfect antithesis of Seokjin-hyung.”

“So… you’re not an asshole?” You ask.

The smirk on his face brings a similar one to your own. “Precisely.” He offers you a hand, nodding at your couch. “Perhaps it would be easier to explain everything if we sat down, don’t you agree?”

You stare at his hand for a moment longer, weighing the pros and cons of listening to this complete stranger when your eyes happen to catch a glimpse of Seokjin’s annoyed face. Seeing as how this mystery man was pissing him off just by being here, you decide he must be worth speaking to, if only to keep Seokjin as uncomfortable as possible. You take his hand, and he carefully carries you down from the cabinet.

“Good. Now, I should probably introduce myself before we begin,” the tall man smiles, and you are possessed with the inexplicable urge to shove your fingers into the two dimples that have formed on his cheeks. “I’m Kim Namjoon, esteemed leader of all incubi. And sadly, I am also the brother of this fellow over here,” he jabs a finger in the direction of the sulky angel, who splutters at his offhand tone.

“What do you mean ‘sadly?’ Says the ungraced one! I wasn’t the one who was kicked out of heaven!” Seokjin says, his ears turning a worrying shade of red. The sight of his ridiculous anger fills you with utmost glee.

“I’d be pretty sad to be related to you too, Seokjin-ssi.” You giggle, and Namjoon nods his head in agreement.

“It is pretty shitty; thanks for understanding my circumstances, Y/N.” Namjoon says. He ignores the rest of Seokjin’s whining with a blasé flick of his wrist. “Anyway. As I was saying, I’m the leader of all incubi, meaning I’m in charge of the status and quality of my employees’ services. By the request of the council of incubi, I have come here to ask for a report regarding Yoongi’s mission.” He pauses, and his eyes shift to gaze around the room. You feel a bead of sweat form on the back of your neck as it is obvious that there are no signs of any other incubi in the room.

He turns back to you, a pointed look on his face. “And as you and I can both tell… It appears that he is not here.”

He waits for you to reply, possibly to defend him or yourself, but there really isn’t much to say. He purses his lips, his gaze heavy on your form. “You do know about his contract, right?”

You nod meekly, suddenly feeling tense under his scrutiny. “Yes. He has a time limit, right?”

“Yes. And it appears that his time is running out. There are only two more days left until he is going to be put under trial.” Namjoon hums, and it is as if the room drops a centigrade or two. You shiver. “If they find out that he did something to purposefully sabotage his mission, then there will be… severe consequences if he does not fulfill his job.”

“But why?” You blurt out, and Namjoon narrows his eyes in curiosity. You fight to lower your voice and relax. You clear your throat, “I-I mean… Why does he have to get punished for something I am equally faulted for as well?”

Namjoon considers you for a long time––long enough that you start fidgeting under his attention. Finally, he says carefully, “It is not the fault of the customer for the ineptitude of the server, Y/N. That is the code we’ve always abided by for centuries.”

You hear Seokjin snort from somewhere behind you. “Code… What code? You guys offer sex for happiness! How on earth is that moral?”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow at that. “Happiness? All we ask for is a memento of value from our clients; not happiness. In fact, we offer happiness, do we not?” You can see him give you a sidelong glance before he continues, “Or do we? Is that perhaps another piece of evidence that might incriminate Yoongi?”

“No!” You shout, and the two men look at you, one of them intrigued while the other annoyed. You swallow, hard. “He… he’s been nothing but good to me. It’s my fault that he’s not here, anyway.” You say, your voice lowering to a whisper at your sudden confession. “It’s all my fault…”

Namjoon taps his fingers lightly on his thigh, with a mysterious twinkle in his eye. He seems to have understood something from your words, but you do not know what. It terrifies you.

“Do you know where he’s gone?” You shake your head.

“No, but he said knowing something about Yoongi before you had arrived,” you say, tilting your head at the other pouty man in the room.

Namjoon glares at him accusingly. “Was this your meddling again, hyung? You know the rules of our kind.”

Seokjin raises his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I know about the laws as much as you do, Joon. I wouldn’t interfere in the slightest. I’m just observing, waiting for one of you to mess up.”

“Then what did Y/N mean when you said you knew something?”

The two of you watch as the angel fidgets slightly, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides as he pointed his eyes anywhere but at you. “Er. I may have seen him. Once. When he had ran out of Y/N’s apartment a few days ago.”

You jump out of the couch, leaping over it to grab a hold of the crisp collars of his button-up shirt. “You absolute fuck! Why didn’t you tell me?” You sneer, and Seokjin’s eyes dart to the side.

“Uh… You didn’t ask?”

You are only three seconds away from throttling the poor, defenseless angel before Namjoon intervenes (unthankfully). He pulls you gently by the arm, and suddenly a wave of peacefulness surges through your veins from his touch. Seokjin notices the blissed out look on you face, and glares at his brother.

“Hey, that’s my trick! You stole that from me!”

“It isn’t stealing if I do it better,” he smirks. “Besides, you should be thanking me. I’ve seen Y/N’s nails. Wouldn’t want your angelic face marred by scratches, right? We should reserve scratches for when we’re in the bedroom.” Seokjin only stammers in response, crimson-faced.

“You fiend!”

“Anyway,” Namjoon says, ignoring his brother once again. “What’s done is done. Seokjin is bound by angelic laws not to interfere with our business, so we can’t blame him. What matters now is that Yoongi must complete his job by the deadline or else he’ll be forced to be put under trial.”

“But he did nothing wrong! If the trial finds him to be blameless, then he should be safe, right?” You argue, lips trembling with the need to defend him, to protect him. At the very least, that’s what he deserves, right? He deserves to be happy, even if that happiness did not lie with you.

Namjoon’s face is unreadable. “Hmm. Perhaps. But let me ask you this, Y/N. Why did he leave in the first place?”

You open your mouth, and close it. You swallow thickly, feeling nervous before admitting, “We… we had an argument. That’s all.” An argument about what, you do not divulge to him.

But Namjoon doesn’t need to ask, because he knows. He’s known it for a while, now.

All he does is sigh instead. He rubs his temples grimly, before shaking his head in defeat. “Just know that, in the event that Yoongi returns, please tell him that he’s being closely watched. There are always eyes watching, and those who have been scorning him for centuries are only getting more restless. He should be more careful.” He says, already standing up to leave. He raises a hand in salute, a sad smile on his face.

“I hope you will stay well, Y/N. None of us want you to get hurt, after all.” He gives one last look at his brother as well. “You too, hyung. Don’t let those old bones of yours snap under the weight of your responsibilities.” Then he snaps his fingers once, twice, before disappearing in a puff of black smoke. Just like that, he’s gone.

The weight in your heart becomes impossibly heavier after Namjoon leaves, and you fight to calm the blood rushing through your veins. You bite your lips in worry, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you think of what to do. You need to warn Yoongi, somehow.

“Hey, er, Y/N?” You jump out of your trance, and you only just remember that Seokjin still hasn’t left your house. He squirms slightly, before clearing his throat to finish what he was saying. “I, um. I know I’m not supposed to interfere…”

“And I would prefer it if you didn’t,” you say harshly.

Seokjin appears as if the words fight to free themselves from his tongue. He clears his throat, before simply straightening his clothes awkwardly. “I just… If you’re having trouble finding Yoongi, you should realize he doesn’t want to be found. So of course, the only possible solution would be if he wants to be found, correct?”

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

He only shrugs indifferently, a small smile on his lips. “Hmm, what do I mean indeed? Well, I must be off, then. I’m supposed busy not interfering with your life, as you and Namjoon have requested so gracefully. Goodnight, Y/N,” is all he says before he turns to leave through the door.

When the door clicks shut, you finally let out the greatest sigh of your life, plopping down tiredly onto your couch. You curl into a ball, hugging your legs as you try to think about what you should do about Yoongi.

You think about trying to call or text him again, but you’ve been doing so for the past few days and he hasn’t picked up once. What makes you think he’ll suddenly answer you this time? You stare blankly at his contact on your phone as you try to come up with a message that might get him to come back. But what? With clammy hands, you open up your messages and try again:

You wait a few minutes and much like the hundreds of failed attempts, he leaves you hanging. A flood of annoyance courses through you as he declines to answer once again, even after you’ve told him about Namjoon’s warnings. Just how much did this demon not care for himself? Did he not understand how much danger he was putting himself in?

Tapping your fingers on the keyboard, you think of better threats texts to send that might make him change his mind, but nothing seems to come to mind. In the midst of your thoughts, the words Seokjin spoke to you a while ago cross your mind, and a small spark of inspiration hits when you think you finally understand what he was trying to say.

“What do I say to make him want to come back?” you murmur to yourself. Well, there is one thing you haven’t tried yet, and for a good reason.

“Oh fuck it, what the hell!” You grumble, thumbing at your keyboard reluctantly. This is not the time to be cautious and embarrassed; Yoongi’s fucking life could be on the line and if being a little cringey is what it takes, then so be it!

Yup, this is stupid, you think to yourself as you wait with bated breath for Yoongi to respond. How foolish and self-assured did you have to be to think that Yoongi cares so much about you that he’d drop everything just to make sure you’re alright? Sure, he took care of you that one time you fainted from exhaustion, but other than that? How narcissistic, you think as the seconds tick by without a response.

He’s never going to respond to that. What makes you think he would care? He left you, for fuck’s sake! He wouldn’t come back––you should just stop worrying and move on with your life.

But you know you can’t. Not when your heart no longer beats for yourself alone.

Love. What a curious thing, isn’t it?

And then, like a foghorn in the silence, you hear your phone buzz.

His answer is simple:

It worked. It had actually worked. You let a laugh, more out of disbelief than anything. Soon, the laughter morphs into a sob until you were shaking on the floor, clutching your phone to your chest in relief. He was coming home.

And much like he had promised, he arrives in 10 minutes flat, a big bag full of take out and medicine in his hands, his hair disheveled by the wind and his chest heaving from running so quickly. You see his eyes flash with worry as he takes you in, before they widen in surprise to find that you appeared mostly healthy, albeit a little worse for wear.

Instead of a greeting, he answers in perfect Yoongi fashion, “What the fuck?” he stammers, glaring accusingly at you. He waves his arms frantically at you. “I thought you said you were––what? Holy shit, you fucking scared me!”

It takes you a moment too long to respond as your eyes fight to believe what they were seeing. Yoongi is wearing different clothes from when he had left, but as your gaze trails down, you see that he is still barefoot. His face is slightly more gaunt, and there are dark crescents underneath his eyes, but otherwise… he is fine. Gorgeous, still.

“Yoongi,” your voice sounds breathy, as if the wind had been knocked right out of you. You’re just amazed that he’s really here, standing before you. Skin and bones. “You really do care about me?”

At that, Yoongi rolls his eyes so hard that they almost roll back into his skull. “Is that all you have to fucking say? I literally ran like ten blocks to get food and medicine, then I had to run all the way back here just for you to trick me? I know I should be killing you right now but––”

In the midst of his rant, you suddenly stride purposefully towards him, making him stop in his tracks. The desire to touch him, hold him, and make sure that he isn’t a figment of your imagination consumes you. You wrap your arms around his waist carefully, as if afraid that he might run away again. You bury your face into his chest, and you can hear his heartbeat quicken at your touch. There he stands, in your arms––skin and bones. He’s home.

You feel him sigh, and you hear him drop the plastic bags by his feet as he starts to thread his fingers through your hair. He nuzzles his face into crown of your head, and breathes deeply. “I’m home,” he murmurs.

“You’re home,” you whisper back. You peek your head up to look at him, his stare heavy with words still left unspoken. Even now, he is scared to speak, and you know that all too well. It breaks your heart, but you’ll remain patient.

You smile sadly at him. “But if you must know, that text wasn’t a complete lie, by the way. I do miss you. So damn much.” He gapes at you in awe, his hands clutching tightly at your sides as you continue speaking.

“And I know you have your reasons for not… returning these feelings of mine. I understand, believe me. But,” and this is where your words catch in your throat, and the emotions that have been kept under lock and key resurface like a hurricane. The first tears fall, and Yoongi can only watch in panic as the sobs start to wrack your body. You feel yourself fall to the ground, your knees too weak to keep you up, and Yoongi follows you down. He pulls you into his lap, rubbing your back as he tries to calm your shaking form.

“Y/N… Y/N, please. Stop crying. I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I won’t leave again, I promise,” he whispers into your hair, and he lets you cry into his shirt. He doesn’t even flick your forehead in disgust when you blow your nose on his sleeve.

You shake your head. “You can’t promise that. We both know you’re going to leave, whether either of us want you to or not. Namjoon told me you only had two more days left until you’re put under trial.”

There is a hitch in your voice when you mention the trial, and Yoongi’s hands pause in their ministrations as he tilts your head to face him. His eyes are dark, bottomless. You yearn to see their depths. “Hey, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. It’s going to be alright––”

“Shut up, Yoongi. Shut up! Stop telling me everything is going to be alright when we both know it’s not! You can’t just––just let fate make you its bitch! There must be something we can do, shouldn’t there?” You say, your voice edging on hysterical as the tears blur your vision slightly. Through your water-hazed sight, you can still make out Yoongi’s hopeless face as he shakes his head in defeat.

He lets out a short laugh, but it sounds more like broken glass on concrete. “It’s kind of fucked up, isn’t it? This whole situation? Because you were honestly never supposed to mean this much to me––fuck,” he cries, throwing his fists up in anguish. There is a crazed look on his face as he mulls over his fate. “You were just another mission, another job I had to do. Hell, I shouldn’t even be terrified of being put under trial because they only sentence incubi as guilty if they’re suspected of falling in love, so why the fuck am I scared? Why the fuck––” His voice falters just as quickly as it had risen. His pupils shake with fear at the weight of his indirect admission, of what he had implied. You feel your heartbeat lodge itself in your throat, and yet, even now, you don’t dare let yourself hope.

Neither of you do. You can’t afford to.

“But most of all,” he breathes, ragged like the scars on his feet. Time stops, and all the world could have burned and neither of you would be the wiser. The sun, stars, and moon––they listen.

“Why am I so afraid of losing you?”

Those words. It causes the dam inside of you to break, and the coiling deep in the pit of your stomach bursts until it propels you forward, forward until your lips are crashing into his. You feel a sob escape your throat when he kisses you back just as desperately, teeth clacking from the force. He grabs your chin, pulling you impossibly closer and you weave your hands through his hair, aching for more, more.

It’s all lips, spit, and teeth––nothing but this raw need to be together. It’s like something is trying to claw its way out of you, and the same goes for Yoongi. It is a prayer, a hopeless promise, a dream: we shall make these moments last an eternity.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s dangerous, too dangerous, but he’s never felt this good. The warmth he had missed so dearly spreads like a wildfire in his chest, and he knows that he is never going to forget this feeling. He won’t allow himself to. Everything is too bright, too warm––he’s in lo––

“B-bedroom,” you manage to gasp out, and Yoongi barely gets to respond with a gruff groan of agreement as he proceeds to wind your legs around his torso. He carries you to your unmade bed, and he drops you carefully onto it, neither of you separating for a second.

Yoongi does not know when he starts crying, but he still registers your voice despite the pounding in his ears.

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s going to be alright.” Your voice is hoarse from your own tears, and it reverberates in the stillness of your apartment. Your breaths intermingle from your proximity, and the room spins around the two of you. He wants, he needs, to keep you in his arms and never let go, even though he must.

But for now. This is enough.

He nods his head. Closes his eyes. Tries to remember how to pray.

“Ok.”

He pushes you onto your back, cradling your head as he connects his lips to yours once again. The kiss tastes like salt and you, and he yearns to devour it. It is the water he knows he will never be able to live without, and so he fills himself with it. He takes, and you give.

His hands, which have always been cool to the touch, warm when it touches your stomach. He drags it up, up, up, until he wrenches a gasp out of you.

“Is––is this okay?” He stammers, eyes wild with desire as he stares at you in awe. You bite your swollen lips, nodding frantically.

“Anything. Anything you want, I’ll give. Take it,” you whisper, and he does not hold back his groan from escaping.

“I want you to feel good too. But you––you don’t like these type of things and I––”

“I will like anything, as long as it’s with you. It’s always been you.”

Your words––they break something inside of Yoongi. He doesn’t care if it will leave him aching for the next millennia; he takes the blessing as it is. You, you were and will always be his downfall.

His mouth latches onto your neck, his hands wander directionlessly, and his heart beats out of his body. His body aches for release, and you are more than willing to give it to him. Your inexperienced palms trail his body hesitantly, gripping parts of him that leave him growling into your ears. 

“Fuck,” he groans.

“You’re doing wonderfully, Yoongi.” You whisper, a yelp escaping you at a particularly harsh suck at your collarbones. His hands squeeze your thighs harder at your praise. “Do you… do you like that? When I say those things?” Your voice is meek, so different from what he’s used to. 

His satisfied moan is answer enough as you start littering him with more praises, telling him how good he feels pressed against you.

“I––I’ve never really ever thought about doing this with anyone.” Your voice hitches, and your nails claw at his scalp when his fingers tear your shorts off with one quick movement. You arch your back to help him touch you where he needs to. “But I’m glad that it’s with you.”

Yoongi’s fingers––they are no longer cold when they plunge into you. Warm, warm, warm. You chant his name, singing praises that leave him breathless. “Yoongi… You’re so beautiful, did you know that? You’re treating me so well.”

He is careful with his movements, despite the deep lust that has swallowed him whole. He does not hurt you, not one bit. He stretches you gently, watching you for reactions as you nod at him, telling him you are ready.

“Yoongi,” you breath out, your mouth almost pressed against his as he lines himself with your center. He hovers just centimeters away from you, and he waits for you to give the signal.

“Say the words and I’ll go,” he mutters. He says his prayers.

The smile on your face is radiant. This. This is what he’s dying for, he realizes.

“I’m yours.”

You, you, you, you—Yoongi couldn’t get enough. If this is what it feels like to be with you, to be this warm, he would let himself be sentenced to death during every incarnation of his damned existence if he could just be with you forever.

Screw his fate. Screw his future. Nothing else matters if it didn’t include you in it. 

This isn’t sex, he soon understands. It isn’t like anything Yoongi has ever experienced. He has done all kinds of sex, from kitchen sex to public sex to slightly illegal sex… He has done it all. But he’s never felt so content, not like this. It is all-encompassing; it feels safe; it feels like you.

He keeps moving until he can move no longer, until he has left a part of himself deep within you. He rests his forehead against yours, and he gives you one last kiss for the night. He lays himself beside you, pulls the sheets, and tugs you close to him until neither of you know where he began or where you ended.

The night comes to its close with you whispering those three cursed words to him. You don’t feel heartbroken when he doesn’t say them back to you. His touch, his heart, his warmth––they speak volumes enough.

You sleep together like that, with him whispering impossible promises as you feel yourself gently doze away. You know that by tomorrow morning, he will be gone. He will be safe, and for that you are happy.

But for now, this is enough.

[nadjadoll]

His Name Was Thomas

I deeply apologize for bringing this back to attention

*SPOILERS FOR NEW DAWN IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED IT*

It only took 10 minutes. 10 minutes and her life had been ruined, again. And again Valentine was helpless to stop it.

Happiness had been so close within her reach, she could almost feel the life her and Thomas were building together in her hands. Weeks earlier Valentine learned of her pregnancy, and Thomas couldn’t reign his happiness in, telling anyone and everyone in Prosperity of the pregnancy, with Val’s permission of course. He had even begun building a small crib in one of the back rooms of the house. At the time it all seemed so surreal, but now that it was all gone it made sense to Valentine. The world seemed so sure of snatching all of her happiness away just at the last moment.

The highwaymen came, loud and guns blazing. Throwing all regards for human life to the side, they killed so many people in Prosperity. In all the chaos Thomas had told Valentine to stay in the house, now 6 months pregnant there wasn’t much she could do, but she hadn’t listened. She couldn’t let him go out there and get slaughtered. She set up behind a window with a sniper rifle and went about picking off highwaymen one by one. They had chosen nighttime to attack Prosperity and it was getting harder for Val to distinguish Highwayman from Civilian.

When she saw Thomas backed into a corner with three Highwaymen closing in on him she felt her throat tighten and her trigger finger twitch. She had no time to react to this however as footsteps behind her caused her to spin around only to be met by the butt of a gun to her forehead.

She woke feeling heavy and hurt, noticing her hands handcuffed above her head and then noticing Thomas tied to a handcart in front of her, the Twins standing on either side of her.

“Ah look who could finally make it!” Mickey let out a laugh, resting a hand on top of Thomas’s head. Yet all Valentine could focus on was those eyes, as blue as hers and filled with so much fear.

A hard smack across Val’s cheek resonated loudly in the small room. “Hey! We’re talkin’ to you!” She looked up to see Lou face to face with her. “You with us now? Alright then.” Lou stepped back and she could see Thomas struggling hard against his bonds. Val tried her hardest to stay calm, everything is going to be okay. I’ll do whatever they want us to do, I don’t care what it is as long as we get out of here.

“Now,” casually leaning an elbow against Thomas’s head Lou nonchalantly pointed her gun at Val. “You two rabbits have been causing us a whole mess of trouble. And you remember what we do to troublemakers right?” Suddenly Lou swung her helmet at Thomas, a sickening crunch came upon impact and his nose immediately began flowing blood. A whimper came from Val’s lips, along with the hot stinging feeling of tears about to fall.

“I don’t know Mickey I think this one,” Keeping her eyes on her sister, Lou rested the cool surface directly against Valentine’s stomach. “Needs a reminder.”

At this gesture Thomas spit a moutful of blood onto Mickey’s boots. “Don’t you fucking touch her.” Both Twins snorted at his outburst, followed by another hit to the face by the helmet. Except this time Thomas didn’t hold his head up as high, though she could see he was trying as hard as he could.

There was no way out of this situation that Val could see, except for death. And that option was out of the quesiton, not this time. While the Twins were preoccupied Valentine tugged hard on her restraints. She’s gotten out of handcuffs before, she could do it again. Except there was no way Val could do it in time and before she could make any progress both Twins were staring at her.

“And just where do you think you’re goin’ huh?”

“Somewhere deep in her Val found the courage to speak up. “Please just… whatever you want me to do I’ll do it, I will. If you just let us go.”

The sound of laughter had now filled the room. “Let you go?” Lou stood face to face with Val, grabbing her face in her hands. “You think we want something? Is that what you think?”

Mickey spoke up next. “No no we don’t want anything. Well,” she scoffed. “I guess you could say we want to make an example of you. Your little resistance has gone on long enough.” Mickey now stood directly next to Thomas, holding the barrel of her gun flat against his head. Valentine’s heart began beating faster, and she struggled further against Lou’s hands who now stood behind her holding her head up to look straight at Thomas.

Those blue eyes Valentine loved so much met hers, and never strayed as Lou pulled the trigger.

Valentine heard screaming, it had to have been hers. Thomas lay face down on the cement floor, his blood sprayed across Valentine, her shirt, her pants, everywhere.

Valentine wasn’t quite sure what happened next, everything had gone black and the next thing she knew she was standing over the corpses of Mickey and Lou covered in blood. She had collapsed shortly after, all source of energy and adrenaline having left her all at once.  After being returned to Prosperity she was told by Kim as gentle as possible that Thomas had in fact not made it. Valentine had been inconsolable, not wanting to believe she had lost everything for the second time.

Everyone tried to stop her from going to his grave, saying it was a bad idea, too stressful, you should relax etc. But Valentine knew she had to see it, if he really was gone she had to see it for herself.

She fell to her knees at the foot of the grave, tears already falling down her cheeks.

“You said you’d love me like no tomorrow, but tomorrow will never come.”

3 months later Valentine gave birth to a healthy baby boy and named him Thomas.

[artificialqueens]

Exercise in Folly 2.0 - 2.2 (Craquaria) - SamWhity

Title: Exercise in Folly 2.0 Summary: Monét looked at her with disbelief, before sighing: “Giovanni never saw the damn video. He dodged the whole thing like a pro because he was trying to be your friend”. “He’s my friend”. Cracker’s answer came without any hesitation, so natural and passionate that the other queen smiled softly. “Cracks…” Summary of the chapter: Lunch at Monét’s turns out to be quite the conversation. Between live-rants and breakups, there’s always time for a little heart to heart with the Bronx’s most beloved dragqueen. Author’s note: The italian words mamma, tesoro, balle and coglione mean respectively: mum, honey (or sweetheart), bullshit (or lies… à la: Liza Minelli lies) and asshole (if it’s used as an insult. Otherwise it could be translated with ball or testicle). Again, the whole Jordan-drama is completely fabricated for plot purposes. Cracker’s posts however can be easily found on his FB-page, if you have enough time to scroll through them all. Chapter 1 - Chapter 2.1

What have I become My sweetest friend Everyone I know Goes away in the end And you could have it all My empire of dirt I will let you down I will make you hurt (Johnny Cash, Hurt)

The vibration of his phone caused Giovanni to wake up. The young man grumbled, before stretching his arms and deciding he might as well sleep another ten minutes. A second vibration made him groan: what the hell was going on? He took the smartphone from his night stand and started reading.

Jordan, 09:13 am: I’ll come in the afternoon and start putting my stuff in boxes.

Jordan, 09:13 am: Just letting you know.

He sighed, before answering with a quick thumb up and throwing the phone on the other side of the bad.

“Damn it”, he murmured, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

He wanted nothing more than to enjoy his day off in peace, without petty drama and bullshit. However, karma seemed to be on his case once again. A new vibration made him scoff.

“Oh for fuck sake!”, he groaned, then he proceeded to read.

Francesca, 09:16 am: Mamma said you are off today. I don’t have classes for another hour and I could use some of your non-existing humour. Skype?

He quickly typed a reply.

Giovanni, 09:16 am: Of course, baby. Are you okay? What happened?

His phone lit up once again, this time with an incoming Skype-call. He answered quickly and took a good look at his sister.

“Francesca”, he asked concerned, “are you actually sitting alone on a bench with puffy eyes?”.

The other one sniffed, before shaking her head.

“Allergies”, she mumbled, then she blew her nose.

“Balle”, he cut her off “What happened, tesoro?”.

The girl started sobbing uncontrollably, making his worries grow by the second.

“Baby”, he tried to soothe her, “Breathe, okay? I’m here. Take a deep breath, it’s all going to be okay”.

In the following half hour, Giovanni listened to his sister’s sad break-up story and tried as best as he could not to show her how angry and upset he actually was. His baby sister was an incredibly smart and hard-working woman and she certainly did not deserve to be treated like that.

“How can I trust people?”, Francesca asked between sobs, “How can I possibly trust anyone ever again?”.

The young man sighed, uncertain about what to say.

“Tesoro”, he murmured affectionately, “Not everyone will hurt you. And those who do hurt you are not deserving of your time, let alone your affection”.

The other one’s small nod made him smile.

“It is going to be okay, I promise”, he added.

Francesca blew her nose loudly, making him chuckle.

“Do you want me to call dad?”, Giovanni asked, perfectly aware of the deep connection between David Palandrani and his daughter.

The other one shrugged, before answering: “I guess… would you?”.

“Of course, baby”, he smiled, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll do it”.

“How do you trust people?”.

His sister’s question left him dumbfounded and, at the same time, made him wince. Needless to say, he was not the best person to consult with in case of trust issues and doubts. He suddenly felt way younger and afraid of failing one of the most important people in his life.

“I guess you go with your guts”, he mumbled tentatively, before lowering his gaze and closing his eyes for a split second.

“Did it work with Jordan?”, Francesca asked, looking at him with concern.

Giovanni sighed.

“In the beginning, I guess”, he answered, before adding: “Don’t worry about Jordan now, tesoro. It’s all good. It’s great, actually”.

An incoming work-related call saved the young man from further questioning and the two said their goodbyes with the promise of catching up the following day.

“Just to make sure you’re okay”, Giovanni said.

He spent the following twenty minutes on the phone with IMG Models, scheduling photo-shoots and modeling-related appointments.

“Please, be mindful of your weight and measurements”, the secretary of the agency reminded him, before ending the phone-call.

“Well, no shit Sherlock”, he mumbled to himself, before noticing it was already almost eleven and he needed to get ready.

He sent a message to his father, before getting up and making his way to the kitchen.

Giovanni, 10:47 am: Francesca just called crying. That coglione broke up with her and she’s inconsolable.

He then put the kettle on and made himself a cup of tea, before picking up a pair of jeans and a jumper and starting to get dressed. Kevin lived not to far away from him: he might as well walk to the other’s apartment and get a good hour of exercise in. He sipped on his tea and scrolled through his Instagram feed, stopping to take a look at Nicola’s stories and smile at the sight of the man lounging in the sun of Las Vegas.

“He has not answered yet”, he murmured to himself and shrugged, “Maybe he wants to talk about it in person”.

A vibration interrupted his thought-process.

Monét X-Change, 11:23 am: Can you please bring some wine? Yuhua drank it all! :O

Giovanni chuckled, before answering.

Aquaria, 11:23 am: White or red?

The text he received made him cackle loudly.

Monét X-Change, 11:24 am: Wine.

Aquaria, 11:25 am: I’ll take care of it, no probs.

Quickly, the young man went to his bedroom to take his jacket and his wallet. With the phone still in his hand, he quickly closed the door to his room and locked it, before putting the key in his pocket and quickly making his way to the front door.

He exited his apartment, checked his pockets one last time and locked the door behind him, before making his way to the elevator and pressing the button. Once out of the building, Giovanni looked briefly around before deciding the wine from the bodega was good enough for his lunch with Kevin. Neither of them understood anything about wines and there was little to no point in trying to impress his friend.

“He will drink regardless”, he mumbled to himself, while entering the little shop and smiling at the cat lounging next to the register.

The young man quickly found a bottle of Pinot and paid for it, then he exited the shop and started walking.

“Bitch!”.

Kevin engulfed him in a tight hug, before putting the wine on the small entry-table and hugging him again.

“It’s good to see you”, the younger one murmured with a smile, before taking a good look around and commenting: “I see you have settled in pretty comfortably”.

The other one nodded, before making his way to the kitchen and putting the wine on the table.

“Come sit!”, he beckoned Giovanni to follow him, “Come on, take a seat and eat something!”.

His enthusiasm was almost contagious.

In that exact moment, Aquaria’s phone vibrated.

“Sorry”, he mumbled, “I’ll put it away immediately. Promise.”

Jordan, 01:05 pm: You really closed the door? Really?

Jordan, 01:05 pm: I don’t know what you think you’re doing but it’s ridiculous.

Jordan, 01:06 pm: You are ridiculous.

He sighed, before setting the device on “do not disturb”.

“Everything okay?”, Kevin’s voice startled him.

He managed to smile weakly, before nodding.

“Of course, don’t worry”, Giovanni lied, knowing fully well the other one would have never bought it, “It’s honestly no big deal”.

The older one sighed, before taking the bottle and the glasses and making his way to the living room.

“Sit here and wait for me, okay?” he instructed the other one.

In a couple of minutes, the two were comfortably sitting on the couch with a glass of wine and some food on a little tray.

“Okay”, Kevin started with a small smile, “What is it happening?”.

It was a simple question, however Giovanni did not really know where to start. He closed his eyes for a brief second, trying to calm himself enough to put a few words together in a coherent sentence. Exactly in that moment, a flashback of his fight with Jordan made him wince slightly.

“Baby…”, his friend’s voice sounded worried, while he asked tentatively: “What happened in London?”.

The younger one sighed, before taking a deep breath and asking: “What did you hear about it?”.

The other one bit his lower lip, then he answered.

“That you fired him in London and he wants to get sober in LA”.

There was a tentativeness to Kevin’s voice that made Giovanni snort.

“Come on”, he said, “You can do better than this”.

The other one took a deep breath, before nodding.

“Okay, full tea”, he started, “I heard that you freaked out and screamed at him in the car, after the gala. I heard that you fired him on the spot and had to fly on your own while he was staying in London with some guy. Someone speculates you two were fucking and things went sour, someone thinks it’s about money”.

Not receiving any kind of answer, he continued: “Someone says it’s because of drugs and someone else was implying he caused a scene at the Gala and embarrassed you. Since I came back from touring, there is this constant chatter about the two of you and how you should have never worked together…”.

The sob on the other side made Kevin stop, dead on his tracks.

“Oh baby”, he murmured, before hugging the other one and adding: “I’m sorry”.

Giovanni shook his head, before breaking the hug and looking for a tissue in the pocket of his trousers. Once he found it, he wiped his tears and took a deep breath.

“It was so bad”, he murmured, incapable of cancelling those hours from his mind, “I did not know what to do, I was alone and had no idea how to help”.

He instinctively looked for his friend’s hand and squeezed it, before continuing: “The management called the very same evening and it was so humiliating…”.

Kevin nodded, before handing him a new tissue and prodding: “What did Jordan say, after that?”.

The other one scoffed, trying to contain his hurt and failing badly at it.

“He asked me how I dared, he questioned my work and said I would have never survived without him”, he answered, “I never saw him acting or speaking like that”, he then murmured before lowering his head.

Monét nodded, before sighing.

“I’m sorry baby”.

Giovanni nodded and mumbled a small “Thank you”, before blowing his nose.

They spent a couple of seconds in relative silence, before the younger one started speaking again.

“I really thought it was a phase. I thought I could help”, he sighed, “However I can not put my whole career in jeopardy because of Jordan’s issues”.

The older one nodded.

“You did the right thing, Giovanni”, he then murmured and hugged his friend once more.

“Can I have a sip of wine?”, the younger one asked weakly, before wiping away his own tears once again.

Kevin handed him a full glass with a smile, before taking a sip himself.

“It will get better, eventually”, he said, before taking a deep breathe and asking: “Do you want to talk about the video during the interview?”.

Seeing that the other one was still moping he quickly added: “You don’t have to, but maybe it would make you feel better”.

Giovanni nodded, before getting up.

“I just need a small break… can I use the toilet?”.

Ten minutes later, the two men were sitting on the sofa and munching on some Thai food.

“Thanks for the food”, Giovanni murmured, before taking a small sip of his wine and continuing: “Do you mind if I check my phone quickly?”.

The other one shook his head, so he took his phone out of his pocket and looked for messages or missed calls.

Jordan, 02:03 pm: I left the boxes in my room

Jordan, 02:03 pm: I’ll pick them up later this week

He sighed, before replying with a thumb up and continuing reading.

Nicola, 02:07 pm: Is our dinner still on? What about eight at mine?

He quickly sent an answer back, before noticing that the message he sent the night before had somehow disappeared.

“Weird”, he murmured.

Giovanni, 02:10 pm: Of course! You know I never turn down sushi! See you later! Xoxo

He locked the screen, before putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Do you want to talk about it?”, Monét asked softly, looking at him with concern.

The other sighed, before biting his lower lip.

“I don’t know what to say”, he murmured, “I did not want to be in the position of questioning our friendship again, you know?”, he added, sounding incredibly tired and almost spent.

“It’s like the old days, before things went sour”, he continued after having taken a small sip of his wine, “I don’t know if I can trust him and it’s like… it’s like a constant reminder that I’m not good enough”.

“That is bullshit”, Kevin cut him off, “You and Cracker should really stop with this not good enough crap”.

The other one mumbled something, before putting the wine glass down and taking a small piece of bread and starting nibbling at it.

“Do you feel like telling me what do you mean by like the old days?”, the older one asked softly, trying to understand his friend’s point of view as best as he could.

Giovanni took another small bite at his piece of bread, before answering.

“There were moments when I felt made fun of”, he then confessed, “He used to post dumb shit on Facebook and write a comment saying something like… mh… wait until Aquaria likes it. Or let’s see how long it will take before Aquaria will like this post”.

He shrugged, before continuing.

“I constantly felt the pressure of being this mature man when I was barely twenty and it got me in the worst way possible”, he suddenly realised, “Even comparing our style and make-up felt like a dig”.

There was sadness in those words, and shame. There was the realisation their friendship could have been saved years before them being on a reality TV show. They just needed to talk openly to one another, for once. There was a taste of bitterness as well, because somehow the young man was asking himself if it was too late to mend those wounds.

“You should talk to him”, Kevin’s voice startled him, “I am sure he would love to know what is happening in your smart little head”, he then finished with a soft smile and clear affection in his voice.

“I am sure he’s okay. He seems to be doing pretty good nowadays”, the other’s reply made him scoff loudly.

“You two are really something else”, he commented shaking his head, before hugging Giovanni once more and patting his back: “Thanks for sharing that with me”, he finally added for good measure.

The younger one’s phone vibrated a couple of times, making the two break the hug.

Rémy, 02:35 pm: He’s losing it again.

Rémy, 02:35 pm: Have you seen Jordan’s live?

Rémy, 02:36 pm: I have no idea how to stop this nonsense but someone should.

Quickly opening Instagram and selecting Jordan’s latest Instastories, Giovanni was presented with a live video of his former room-mate. He was clearly intoxicated and sitting in a room the young man was not familiar with. He was talking to his and Aquaria’s viewers and mumbling words.

“You know, I really wish him the best. Even though he is a sly little brat and can not for the love of God survive on his own. Did you know he hangs around his friends all the time because he is afraid of being alone? Because he is, let me tell you. Funny because he has no problems chasing them off of his life, if they don’t fit his perfect little sanitized lie. He’s an hypocrite little piece of…”.

The video suddenly stopped. Kevin took his friend’s phone, close the App and put it on the table before he could witness the rest of that rant. He then moved closer to Giovanni and put a hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry, baby”, he murmured, then he continued with a sterner voice: “But you should stop watching this shit, or caring. You know who you are, you know how much hard work you put into everything you do. Think about it and let the rest go”.

Biting his lower lip, the other one nodded before getting up and taking his jacket.

“My apartment should be free now”, he announced, “I might as well go back to it and do some work”.

In a couple of minutes, the conversation was over and he was out of Kevin’s apartment. When the wind started blowing making him shiver, Giovanni suddenly realized something: he didn’t. He didn’t know who he was, let alone who Aquaria was. Not anymore. Not after all that. Not when he struggled so hard to keep himself together without crumbling after just a couple of low blows.

“Shit”, he murmured, wiping away a single tear.

[leviathanspain]

was there something broke with my body?

anthony bridgerton x reader, benedict bridgerton x reader

synopsis: anthony’s betrayal has you second guessing yourself, benedict can’t help but prove to you just how wrong his brother is

he was a fucking bastard. you were fuming with rage upon hearing of his affair with the opera singer. you were inconsolable in the first hours after, clutching onto daphne’s skirts as you cried your little heart out. you cursed her brother, cursed the man you called your husband, and cried until the duke had to carry you to bed, so his wife could be relived of being your own personal tissue.

you stirred in your bed when you heard the doors open, a shuffle of footsteps alerted you to anthony’s presence.

luckily, daphne had warned her family and the staff before she left, not to sleep too deeply because you were going to tear into anthony.

as soon as you rubbed the crust out of your eyes, you blinked and your eyes flickered onto anthony, who seemed oblivious to your knowledge.

“didn’t mean to wake you, darling.” he was undressing and you narrowed your eyes.

“i guess you also didn’t mean to tell me about siena.” you couldn’t dance around the subject, you were too angry, even after your nap, your anger was like an entire separate being, something that fueled you.

anthony had always known that you were a person who felt too much, who felt too little, and often you blew up if you kept it all in. he had begged you to communicate with him after the first few months of your marriage was rougher than he’d initially believed it would’ve been. he had fallen in love with you but it was harder to stay in love.

now, he didn’t know how to defend himself as he swallowed thickly.

“im a man. im allowed to have a mistress.” he stopped undressing and moved towards the bed, his steps light as he composed himself from any shock.

your eye twitched slightly as anthony braced himself for your explosion. but your lips settled into a tight lipped line, “get the hell out.”

anthony raised an eyebrow, “what?” he knew exactly what you had said, but he was more surprised that you had even said it.

“i said, get out. sleep on the couch, sleep on the floor outside like the fucking dog you are- i don’t care, anthony. i don’t want you in my bedroom and i certainly don’t want you sleeping next to me.” your voice was like venom, each word was a stinging blow to anthony as he stood there speechless.

you were upset. you wanted nothing more than to scream, shout, throw things, destroy everything in sight and more, but you realized that’s exactly what anthony had expected, so you shrugged it off and waited until anthony bowed his head in embarrassment, collected some of his things and flew out of the room. and only then did you cry, tears broke and you held your sobs in, knowing that the rest of the bridgerton family had been listening, waiting like your husband, for your outburst. you struggled to sleep that night, for the first time in many years.

benedict had thought his brother to be the biggest idiot on the planet. he had courted you, married you, and he still wasn’t happy? benedict couldn’t even imagine that it was your bedroom skills, considering how happy anthony had been after your first night together, and many more after that. even your cries at night were enough to keep benedict awake with a throbbing erection, begging for friction.

you didn’t show up to breakfast, anthony was distraught at breakfast and spoke tightly to everyone, especially his mother who had begged him to go apologize to you. anthony had ignored her advice, “i know my wife better than any of you!” perhaps he had been right, but times that anthony had ignored you at dinner where the times that benedict had gotten to know you more, conversed and chatted with you. he could confidently say that your intelligence rivaled those of the men he surrounded himself with.

benedict had asked your maid about your condition and the maid’s grim expression was enough to warrant a visit. benedict knew you liked watching him draw, and he brought his sketch pad, hoping it would help cheer you up if he drew whatever you wanted.

a knock on the door awoke you. the candles in your bedroom were dim and the moonlight pouring in from the window were enough to help illuminate the path towards the door. it was late, perhaps anthony had come to grab more of his things, or perhaps he’d come back ready to get an earful.

but you opened the door to find a sheepish benedict smiling on the other end.

“ben.” you spoke his name quietly and benedict nodded, “i’m not even allowed to be here but i snuck around.” you peered behind him and stepped aside, letting him in.

benedict sucked in air as he stepped inside the warm room, and he turned back to look at you, your hands still on the doorknob.

he also looked down to notice you were wearing an incredibly sheer nightgown. his ears felt hot as his cheeks tinted a bright pink.

you didn’t seem to notice this as you shuffled back to your pillow filled, fluffed up bed. benedict composed up a smile and lifted his supplies, “i wanted to cheer you up.”

you managed a small smile, “how could it be that i married the wrong bridgerton boy..” it wasn’t a question for benedict to answer, more like a pondering question, but nevertheless benedict answered.

“same as how the greatest create. it happens, and sometimes those things can bring even brighter gifts.” benedict whispered, and you warmed up a smile. you patted the mattress next to you, and benedict took up a spot next to you.

he settled in and you yawned, laying your head on his shoulder as he turned to a blank page, “draw me.” you whispered, never having anyone who’s drawn you.

benedict smiled, and got to work, drawing you as you were, laying on his shoulder.

it was a fast sketch, not too detailed but once he finished you sucked in a breath, “that’s how you see me?”

benedict smiled, “you mean, beautiful as ever?”

you smirked, “i didn’t think i actually looked like that..” you took the sketch pad in your hand and admired the work.

“what did you think you looked like?” benedict asked and you shrugged, “ugly enough for anthony not to want me.” benedict paused and you looked up to him, eyes wide and watery, “is there something wrong with me?”

you stood up and tore your nightgown off, leaving your body bare and open for benedict to take in. he wanted to shield his eyes, he wanted to give you your privacy. it was wrong to gaze upon your supple breasts, take in your thighs and curves. you were his brothers wife.

“is my body not beautiful enough for him that he’d want another?!” your voice raised slightly and benedict snapped out of his daze.

he lowered his eyes, “you’re beautiful.” he stood up, picking up a blanket from the bed. he walked towards you and set the blanket on your shoulders, “he’s a fucking idiot.” benedict replied.

you sniffled, tears had welled in your anguish bjt you nodded, “draw me again. all of me.”

benedict knew better than to protest. it wouldn’t be wrong, he was an artist and you were his muse. no one would end of finding the drawings anyway, why should he crucify himself when he could make you happy?

“of course, my dove.” he muttered and sat on the bed, as you stepped back and let the blanket hang on your shoulders, your body on display as benedict furiously worked. he got every curve, every point, every rounded circle of your body. you were endlessly beautiful, your body was something he’d stay up nights imagining and you were so close to him, so close he wanted to touch you, kiss you, stick his head between your thighs and more.

but he hesitated, but your small smile after he presented the drawing was enough to send him reeling.

you walked to the bed and looked at benedict proudly. you grabbed his hand, the one that had been his drawing hand, with pencil marks on his fingers, you dragged it up onto your bare hip, the marks getting all over you. benedict hitched a breath as tou moaned slightly at the touch. benedict followed your lead as you led his hand to your abdomen, and up to the planes of your breasts. benedict couldn’t do it anymore, he lost himself in you, you were all he thought about, the only thing that flooded his mind.

“please.” you begged as his hand neared your throat. benedict stifled a groan as he lifted you easily, putting your bare fund, dripping wet, over his onto his lap. his cock was unbearably hard in his trousers, and he wanted nothing more than to fuck you senseless, but this was an opportunity to show you how true bridgerton men should fuck.

he kissed your breasts, each nipple finding a tug between his teeth. you moaned out as your hand wrapped around his neck, the other pulling at his hair. benedict was bracing himself on you, hands glued to your waist.

“fuck.” he muttered and he let his hand move down to your cunt, and you gasped as he touched your clit, fiddling around with it, you clutched onto him, his shirt fabric twisting under your touch. you wanted to cry out, but you had nearly forgotten who you were with, and who you were around.

“you’re so beautiful.” he spoke, his voice seemed to quiver with the pressure of you on top of him. he wanted nothing more than to live in your folds, breathe you in and hold you close to him forever.

“kiss me, ben.” his lips teased yours, and benedict did as you asked, taking your lips into his and moving your mouths in sync. you whimpered slightly and he smiled to himself. your hand moved down to fiddle with his trousers but benedict held a hand down, “it’s harder than it looks.” and he unbuckled his trousers himself, cock springing out.

you chewed on your lip as the realization of what you were doing was sinking in. benedict seemed to feel your hesitation and he set a understanding expression, “i’d understand if you don’t want to.”

you shook your head, “i do. it’s just, it’s been a long time.” you admitted and benedict smiled, “really?” he hadn’t even expected anything close to that answer but you forced your head to nod, god your mouth felt like cotton balls. you laughed, “it’s slightly embarrassing but anthony and i had stopped just a few months after we got married. i guess, i shouldn’t have been surprised that he has a mistress.”

benedict shook his head, hand trailing down your arm, a touch that radiated more than just the sexual energy you were giving. “let me show you how much you deserved to be loved..”

benedict held onto you as he nudged you off his lap and onto your back on the bed. he smiled when you held in a squeal, kissing you before he shoved his cock in. you held onto his forearm as he did so and benedict hissed at the friction. he felt amazingly good, and you cried out as he moved suddenly.

benedict groaned lightly, his head falling deep into your shoulder as he thrusted. you whimpered, the pressure of his cock inside you was enough to begin building your orgasm.

“fuck-“ you gritted as he fucked you, and benedict panted slightly, “cum for me, dove, please.” his tone at the end, that whimper of a word was enough to throw you off the edge. you practically screamed, pleasure filling your body as you convulsed, and benedict fucked you through it. he came in your cunt, cum coating your insides as you shivered, coming down from the orgasmic high.

as if he had a queue card, anthony threw the doors open and his face was an expression of pure rage, “what in the absolute fuck is going on here?”

[shareaquote]

I know my night is your noon, But at least we get to share the same sky and dream under the same blanket of breathtaking stars, We get to breathe the same air, We are even comprised of the same stardust, Most importantly our souls are made up of the things that rattle the most fearless people, That move writers, artists, That shake entire universes, That breathe life into everything they touch, That love, so deeply, so desperately, so profoundly, That wrap themselves around each other, In a mess of thoughts and ideas, Completely enveloping each other in their infinite love. Our bodies might be separated by this distance, This distance that seems to span entire light years instead of oceans, But my love, Our souls have been intertwined from the beginning of time, The stars told me they quietly watched our souls colliding like two meteorites, An explosion of two very strong personalities, We weren’t pastel pink and baby blue, We were Jet black and the deepest shade of burgundy, even before the earth was formed, The time our galaxy was still fast asleep. Our souls haven’t left each other a nano second since they collided. Magic, stardust and hope holding them together, Fate protecting us fiercely. This is meant to be, We are meant to be, No distance can change that, Because our souls recognized each other from two ends of the universe, It took decades, centuries, eons for them to find each other, We can’t just throw something like that away, We can’t give up on us, For the universe has conspired to bring us together long before me and you were born, When the sun was still young, The planets not even conceived yet, The sun’s rays kissing every part of our galaxy, trying to create life in space. You need to believe in me, The sun, the stars, the galaxies are proof that there is a certain kind of magic at play, The same magic that bought us together, In this place, In this time, In this very moment, This very moment that fate thought would be perfect for us to collide the way we did, Just like our souls collided eternities ago. Everything is a sign screaming that your hand belongs in mine, That every inch of you is something I want to see everyday I wake up, Drenching me in liquid gold sunshine and a bucketful of twinkling stars. Your soul makes my soul shake softly with laughter, It makes my soul burn brighter than the light of a billion suns, It lifts the heaviness, the inconsolable sadness that sits deep within me, And sets it free. My dear, Distance is so minute compared to the enormity of the feelings I have for you. -distance cannot separate souls, then what happened to us?

thewriterthatnobodynoticed