#souls intertwined until it's impossible to tell where one starts and the other ends

[izel-scribbles]

human john + arthur sketches!!! and also faroe!!!

babygirl #1

babygirl #2 (in order, not in ranking)

arthur looks so wrong here help

listening to my malevolent playlist for the 193827294901th time this week (my airpods are gonna give out) (here it is btw: x)

[aroayr-shuk]

The Copper Wire and the Stars

After following your heart you run into a certain Senior Captain.

Can be read as platonic or romantic, g/n reader, no warnings.

The halls of the Chiss cruiser were emense. Constructed of rings and circuits that intertwined and overlapped with one another, creating intricate patterns that all led to the center of the ship in a spiral. The halls curved along with it, large enough for five grown chiss to stand side-by-side and walk comfortably down, every door was the exact same rectangular shape with slightly curved edges, every once in a while a uniformed chiss would exit from one of the durasteel doors with an automated hiss. It was nearly impossible to tell them apart, impossible to nagivate the large ship except by the markings along the edges of the walls that were all in Chenuh. You had no sense of direction as you wondered the halls, unable to tell up from down, left from right, if you were sideways or pointed straight up. And no matter how good your internal compass was onland, here you could not pin point true north no matter how hard you tried, or the gravity well as it would be here.

As you walked along the halls, your eyes wondered, taking in every crevice of the large vessel. They drifted along the walls, and the floors, studying every passing robotic and chiss alike. As well as the few other humans who crossed your path, each appearing just as wonderstruck as you felt. Allowing a hand to carefully trace along the wall, your large eyes swept upwards to the bundles of wires that traversed the ceilings. Though you were certain they were not meant to be elegant, merely for functionality, making sure that various functions of the ship were properly supplied. You found a beauty in the coppery strands, as they twisted and turned along the height of the ceiling, you could only think of them as art. Keeping your eyes on the wires, you found one that you felt most drawn to and followed it. With no where to be and no idea where you were, you chased after the copper path. As it twisted and turned, joining with larger strands and splitting back apart into its own being, you followed it down hallways small and large, through automatic doors and passed many other beings. It seemed as if the strand would continue forever, and you had no problem wiht that, settling with yourself that you would follow it forever until you found the end. As your soft boots padded against the floors, a slight skip came to your step, as if you were dancing along to the music of a piano or some other instrument. Your feet felt like they barley touched the ground, and your pace quickened. On the verge of runnning, running after the copper thread. That is when it came to an end.

Looking up still as you came to a sudden halt, the wire twisted in on itself and shot straight up. Possibly into the inner workings of the ship, or onto the upper level. You did not know. A breathless laugh escaped your lips as you stood, alone in the wide open hallway. Looking around, you found yourself completely alone, not another soul in sight. With a hum, you looked to the wire above you and waved goodbye to it, before setting off to find your starting point and your room again. As you turned a small viewport caught your eye. Barely two feet long and half of that high, the window showed still space outside. Freestanding stars, glittering red, white, yellow, blue, and green. They twinkled in and out of existence just as they did on your own world, the black void of space magnifying their brilliance. You stood there for a long while, a few minutes, a few hours, what did it matter. You studied every speck that you could see, counting the coloured ones, and smiling whenever you saw one move. You studied one cluster that you were almost certain made a constellation that you were familiar with from your planet, when the skies exploded in streams of streaking colours. The stars blurred together, becoming bright white lines that painted the inside of the cruiser with light, as it entered hyperspace. It burned your eyes for a moment, the light, but captivated as you were you could not bring yourself to look away. As a spacefaring species, the Chiss did not bother with protective shielding along the edges of the viewports, they had evolved for the lights to not bother them. As a member of a younger species in the asspect of spacetravel, you simply had to remember to not gaze for too long.

Tearing your eyes from the viewport, they landed once again on the coppery wire that led you here. Peaking around the corners of the hall, you made sure that there was no one coming near you, as your eyes locked on one segment of the line. A burbling laugh slipped from your lips and you spun yourself around.

Keeping your movements small and tight, you brought your arms to clasp at your heart. Your laughs echoing through your ears, the copper plating on the ceiling all blurred into one solid sheet with artificial swirls working their way through them. You continued to twist around, the fabric of your clothes flowing with you in what little ways they could, letting your arms free to spin beside you as enjoyed the pure bliss of this. You spotted a glimpse of blue from the corner of your eye and came to an abrupt stop, stumbling to the side, as a chiss came from around the corner. His blueish-black hair was slicked back in proper military fashion, his hands clasped behind his back, his long strides that had been carrying him in her direction came to a stop. His uniform, a dark grey, was perfectly pressed, lines of burgundy ran through the seams. On one shoulder he proudly displayed the symbol of the Ascendancy, on the other a blazing sun. It was the commander of this vessel. You had met him more than once, specifically when you had first arrived on the vessel. He had welcomed you and your kin, and exchanged names. His was Mitth’raw’nuruodo.

His studious face, with his strong cheekbones and sharp jawline, took in your state. Standing to the side of the hall, chest rising and falling a bit too quickly, cheeks flushed, and eyes wide, still in perfect view of the starry night outside. A singular eyebrow quirked upwards, perhaps amusement twinkled in his eyes, he took a breath as he prepared to speak.

“Ms. (y/n),” his cool voice enveloped you, steady as he was with just a hint of youth.

“Captain Thrawn,” you returned his greeting, your head inclining in his direction as his did the same. He smiled, it barely noticeable, a ghost of one. And continued forward, striding down the hall. As he passed you, the scent of evergreens and crisp winter days drifted with him. Bringing with it the memories of frolickling in the snow, making angels and snowmen, trying to climb trees with branches too close together. Breaking branches and watching the sap run across your fingers. The cold causing your nose and cheeks to turn different shades of pink, the cold slush of the melting snow underneath your boots. The warmth of a drink when you returned in, the smell of gingerbread in the oven. A deep breath in, as you tried to steady your pounding heart. At the noise the chiss came to a stop, and turned to gaze at you. His gaze pierced through any armor you may have had, slicing all of your protections, and reading your soul.

“You’re unsteady,” it was true, with every shift you made the room began to spin again. “Do you require assistance?” he cocked his head to the side, expectant of your answer.

“I...” you swallowed, “I could use some help getting back to my room.” he smiled that small smile again, it was barely the edge of his lip pulling up. He crossed over to you in one long stride, and held his hand out for you. With one last breath, you reached over and gripped onto his outstreached hand. It was gloved, and the leather fabric tightened and pulled as he gently nudged you foward. He turned you to be beside him, fastening your arm in the crook of his. Holding tight as you began your walk back down the long halls.

You traverrsed them in silence for a few moments, your eyes again beginning to wander about the ship, eyes alight with fascination. You had once again began to follow the copper coil back to where you had been, when his voice startled you back to reality.

“If I may ask, what were you doing?” For a moment you wondered if he had seen you spinning, but more likely he was asking how you had gotten lost.

“I...” your cheeks reddened, “I wanted to explore the ship. My people have nothing like this.”

“Do they not?” his head quirked to the side, keen interest in his eyes, though you knew that he was aware that his people were far more advanced than yours were. You were a first generation. The first generation of your people to be contacted by aliens.

“No. I spent my entire life believing that the furthest anyone could reach was another planet in our solar system. In a single chambered capsle. Unreachable for someone like me. But now,” your eyes sparkled, “there are unlimited possibilities.”

He hummed, his head remaining straight, “The possibilties are endless. Even I am at times struck with the magnificance of the universe.” You blinked, yes it was magnificent. A whole new world opened to you with its discovery.

“It’s a piece of art. A massive painting, each new story a single brushstroke. It’s beautiful.” He came to a stop, just by the side of another viewport. Looking out at the sea of stars, you could see the lives of millions of beings, their dreams written in the stars, their aspirations, and goals. Their failures and doubts. You wondered if someone looked out at them and wondered about you. You couldn’t help but glance at the red eyes that refelcted back at you through the glass. That looked into your own.

Moving away, you began to walk down the path again. You became aware of the movement of other beings up ahead. Glancing at the blue skinned chiss beside you, you decided to slip your arm from his. Your heart screamed at you as the last bit of contact slipped away, and you chastised its yearning. He was an alien, a military man, you didn’t know him, he didn’t know you, he had no interest in you. You straightened, and found that you were no longer dizzy.

“Thank you for your help, Captain. I believe I can find my way from here.” With a nod, you turned to walk away, and a hand came to rest on your forearm.

“Please,” his eyes peered into yours, the shinning red intense as he studied you, “you still seem unsteady from your” his lips definitely moved upwards that time, “twirling.” A faint rosy hue took over your cheeks and a nervous laugh started.

“Allow me to accompany you the rest of the way,” he once again held out his hand. You began to smile.

“I'll allow it,” this time his smile is prominant, “Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure,” once again he links his arm with yours and moves through the crowds of the cuiser, safely depositing you at your cabin door, a nod as a farewell. The copper wire still high above you, and the stars streaking past.

[darkshrimpemotions]

Okay so like. I do think the creators of this trilogy screwed themselves when they made Michael into this unstoppable, near-supernatural embodiment of evil in Halloween Kills. Literally no ending was going to be believable or satisfying after that.

(Spoilers under the cut!)

I also think Halloween Ends lacked the catharsis, scope, score, and production value of Halloween (2018), which I loved, and even Halloween Kills, which I hated. Going from a large story about a whole community tearing itself apart to a small, insular story focusing more on a single family and how they've been affected and how evil can creep into the cracks tragedy leaves behind was a good choice overall, but there were so many moments where they just undercut the terror and suspense in baffling ways.

For example: the whole ending would work better if they just left it open-ended as to who won the fight in the sewer. Someone emerges wearing the mask, and we're left to guess for the rest of the film whether it's Corey or Michael behind it. Possibly we don't find out until after Allyson helps Laurie kill him that it was Corey all along, just for an extra gut-punch.

(I find it unsettling, btw, that the actor playing Corey looks extremely like an actual Corey I knew in high school.)

On one level I really liked the movie, but I'm not sure I like it as an ending to this trilogy. (I mean tbh I think they could have titled the 2018 film Halloween Ends, changed exactly nothing else about it, and ended the franchise for good on a much higher note. Neither of these sequels was strictly necessary.) And the fanboys are already so up in arms that I just know in a few years someone is going to try to "fix" that ending with another Halloween movie, and I'm already tired just thinking about it.

But despite all of that, I don't think it was actually a bad movie. It just felt like whoever wrote it had a specific story they wanted to tell, and couldn't get anyone to produce that movie, so they shoved it into a Halloween film and didn't bother to make the edges where the two were joined seamless at all because they weren't ever actually interested in making a Halloween film. As evidenced by the way Michael was barely in the movie, and arguably not essential to its main plot.

The most compelling part of the film, for me, was this weird, fucked up love triangle of sorts between Michael, Corey, and Allyson. Both of them see something in him that they connect to immediately. He's continually drawn back to both of them. And he arguably needs--or feels he needs--what each of them offers. Somewhere to put all his love, and an outlet for his rage. And the line separating one from the other is far less clear-cut than is comfortable at times.

That moment in the diner when Allyson whispers "burn it all down" and he says "I'll light the match" was a turning point, when Corey went from passively stumbling into bad situations to actively seeking out people to take revenge on. Starting, interestingly, with people who upset her. His first two completely intentional kills were Doug, who taunted Allyson in front of him, and her boss, who yelled at her. In a way, his love and rage were so intertwined that the one couldn't help but feed the other.

Truly their entire relationship was impossible to look away from even as it made my skin crawl. It felt like a battle for her soul as much as for his, and I wish they had let that play out instead of turning it into a trite good girl/bad boy drama that suddenly devolved and then disappeared without any real closure.

Allyson has been hurt by Michael, yes, but she's also been hurt by Haddonfield, a community full of people who have mocked, blamed, or exploited her family at every turn. It was that anger at her community that drew her to Corey, more than any innate quality of his. And we do get to see her grapple with that in the moments when Corey is basically waving red flags in her face, but each time that happens, she ends up choosing to let him back in. And we never get to see her truly make a different decision.

The decision to move toward darkness or toward light was made for her by suddenly swapping out the man she loved for the boogeyman that's haunted three generations of her family. With Corey dead and Michael attacking her only remaining family member, of course Allyson chose to protect Laurie, give Haddonfield closure, and acknowledge that Corey was evil. Another option no longer existed.

And that was disappointing, because it not only undercut Allyson's story but Corey's as well. He never has to face the consequences of his actions in any tangible way. He never has to look at Allyson and know she's lost to him because of what he's chosen...or that she's lost a part of herself to stay with him. His last sight is her tear-stained face mourning him. He gets to die thinking he's won, and in a way, he has.

After the sudden demise of the character and relationship we've followed for basically the whole movie, Laurie's final fight with Michael almost feels like an afterthought. It lacks the impact that all of their previous confrontations had, and it's meant to be the climax of the film.

All in all, it was a good movie in the wrong franchise with a lackluster ending, because professional screenwriters just seem physically incapable of writing decent endings anymore.

[byunmyeon]

Metanoia

↳ pairing: lee suho x reader

↳ synopsis: this is the sequel to philophobia. the world of red strings is one you haven’t been able to see for a long time, and now that you’ve found your unwilling soulmate, you have no interest in regaining that sight.

↳ warnings: language, angst, angst, and more angst, mentions of depression, mentions of death

— note: due to popular demand, here’s part two!

Something was wrong.

There wasn’t some pivotal event or action that made Suho conscious of the shift, he just knew. This premonition could’ve been assessed as an erroneous inkling that emanated from the vast rift between you two, but you hadn’t given any indication that the lack of recognition from your soulmate was the cause. In fact, you seemed perfectly content with disregarding Suho’s existence.

An entire month had gone by since you confronted him, and the entire situation had passed without further incident. Neither one of you had spoken since that ill-fated day.

However, it was impossible not to notice the drastic change in your character. The way you smiled was different in a way that seemed off, and there was also a certain enervation constantly embracing you. But the biggest difference was your lack of interest in just about anything. Suho might’ve thought it had everything to do with him, but again, there was no clear indication of that.

Nonetheless, ignoring you didn’t make him unaware of the unnamed sensation that had latched itself onto him since then.

It’s not like Suho wanted to notice the contrast in your behavior, but it was something he couldn’t help. Every time you came within a ten meter radius, his eyes would compulsively find their way over to you. Suho was always careful to not get caught staring, although it hardly mattered. It’s not like you looked in his general direction anymore. And even when you did happen to meet his gaze, it was for a fleeting moment that passed by so quickly that it couldn’t even be considered a full second.

Your uncharacteristic disposition made him worry. Not for you, but for him. Suho was deeply concerned that you might expose your shared secret in an abrupt moment of anger and hurt. That’s all it was. Nothing more, nothing less.

To his relief, that moment never came.

Even in the face of all the hurtful things he had said and done, you didn’t mention to Jugyeong that Suho was your soulmate. It was a development he hadn’t expected. Sure, you had told him, no, promised him that you would keep silent about the string that bounded you two together, but he was convinced that you could easily change your mind whenever you felt like it. You hadn’t.

Truthfully, your selfless act made him develop a fondness for you. Suho hadn’t expected you to be so understanding and considerate since it seemed like you were genuinely hurt that he didn’t care to acknowledge the bond between you two. That was the part he still couldn’t wrap his head around. You ignored the red string that tied you two together since the day you transferred without any qualm. Your actions convinced him that you wanted nothing to do with the soulmate bond, with him.

“What’s up with Y/N?” Taehoon wondered one day as he set his lunch tray beside Suho’s. “She isn’t looking so good these days.”

The rest of the group agreed.

“Maybe we did something to upset her.” Jugyeong said with a worried frown. Her pretty eyes drifted over to the lonely girl who was currently picking at her food. “She hasn’t wanted to hang out with us since we finished our exams.”

Suho let his own gaze fall over to you. It was true that you had kept your distance since before he officially asked Jugyeong out, but he didn’t think his girlfriend would care too much since you two weren’t that close to begin with. Seeing her so upset didn’t sit well with him.

Maybe he could convince you to start hanging out with Jugyeong and the rest of the group more often. Yes, that’s exactly what he would do. After all, doing him one more favor wouldn’t kill you.

Most people would say that you made a mistake for letting Suho go. Among those people would be your very own mother. You didn’t even want to think about what would happen if she came to find out that you gave up your soulmate without putting up a fight. It wasn’t something you were necessarily proud of, but you weren’t ashamed of your decision. Okay, so maybe refusing to acknowledge your other half wasn’t right or even sane, but you felt comfortable with your decision.

Well, that wasn’t exactly right.

The reality of your soulmate easily ignoring the string he could see was heart-wrenching. More often than not, seeing him and Jugyeong together would cause a stabbing pain in your chest. It would last no more than a second, but it was agonizing enough to have you regretting your righteous choice.

As time when on, the pain worsened and would prolong itself to the point where it became difficult to breathe. There were even instances where black dots would cloud your vision and had you feeling extremely lightheaded. Those times, however, were nothing compared to the occasions when you came close to fainting. Deep down you knew it was because there was a severe imbalance weaved in the depths of your bond.

But you couldn’t be bothered to truly acknowledge it.

Who needed a soulmate anyway?

There had always been an indescribable tension when you were around Suho. Before, you had wrote it off as nerves from being around someone who was as prickly as he was attractive. That was before you knew the truth, of course. You two had never been close, and after finding out that he was the one on the other end of your red string, you were sure you never would be.

Which is exactly why you couldn’t figure out the reason he suddenly came up to you while you were sitting outside on one of the lone benches. He didn’t hesitate to sit next to you, the action coming naturally like it was something he did everyday.

“Jugyeong says you haven’t hung out with her in a while.” Suho said in a slow drawl. “Is it because of me?”

You wished you could’ve scoffed and told him that the world didn’t revolve around him, but you couldn’t. Because even if the world didn’t, yours did.

“I haven’t been feeling well lately.”

It was the truth. Your chest pains were only getting worse as the days went on. It was hard enough to hide it from your mother, you didn’t need the pressure of also hiding it from your classmates.

Suho didn’t seem the least bit concerned for your not-so-well-being, and it had a familiar ache nipping at your heart. You longed to see his face change with even the tiniest bit of emotion. Just so you could feel, even for a fleeting moment, that the bond wasn’t one-sided. After seeing the indifference he looked at you with, you decided to look straight ahead to spare yourself any further heartache.

“Being alone won’t make you feel any better.”

It couldn’t make you feel any worse.

Suho frowned when he saw your unchanging expression. He could never get used to the blank nothingness of it. Not when your joyful expressions had once lit up an entire room.

“I thought you’d be happy that I’m staying away from Jugyeong.” You finally said, still unwilling to look at him.

It made him happier than he cared to admit, but it didn’t make her happy. The entire point of talking to you was to bring Jugyeong the same amount of happiness she’d brought him. If it meant having to swallow his pride and ask you for yet another favor, then so be it.

“She thinks she did something to upset you.” Suho explained. “So I came to ask you to start talking to her again—as a favor.”

His impassive attitude made you feel crestfallen. You knew he couldn’t care less about the bond, about you, but it still hurt to see that he didn’t care to spare your feelings at all. It took everything in you to respond in a strong, calm tone.

“And you’re okay with me talking to her again?”

“I’m fine as long as you stick to our agreement.”

You nodded slowly, pensively. If it would make Suho happy, then you would do it.

“Okay.”

That was his cue to leave, but he found himself unwilling to do so. Immediately, Suho assumed it was because your souls were intertwined with one another which, in turn, fueled the natural instinct to be close to you. That had to be it.

Suho cleared his throat and stood up. “I’ll see you around.”

Sitting across a psychiatrist was something you never thought you would have to do again. And yet, you found yourself sitting across from the infamous Dr. Kwon. The aforementioned doctor was known worldwide for his trailblazing research on the enigmatic soulmate bond. His fame soared when he revealed that he had successfully treated people who were rejected by their soulmates. For an entire year, it was all anyone could talk about.

And like a moth to a flame, your mother was quick to reach out to his office and make an appointment for a consultation. There was a five month waiting list for this, and now it was finally your turn to meet with the prestigious psychiatrist, much to your dismay.

“There’s no need to feel nervous,” he said kindly when he noticed your uncomfortable posture. “Anything you tell me will stay between the two of us.”

You had heard the same thing countless times, but the words always seemed disingenuous no matter who they came from. Even if Dr. Kwon had treated people who had soulmate problems, you were sure that he’d never met someone like you. His eyes were kind, but you didn’t know whether you could trust him. Plenty of the other specialists had also been kind at first until they realized that treating you like a lab rat would lead to a life of fame and fortune.

“Your mother tells me that you were unofficially diagnosed with philophobia. She believes the cause of your condition is due to the fact that you are unable to see your string of fate.”

You weren’t surprised that your mom had told him everything about you already. She had made the same mistake with all the other doctors and therapists. You could deny it, but you figured if you were to become a lab rat, you couldn’t be in better hands.

“She also mentioned that you haven’t been yourself lately.”

Shit. You hadn’t thought that your mom had caught onto your behavior. The simple thought of her finding out the secret you were desperately trying to keep hidden made your stomach twist with panic.

Your shrug was uncommitted as you fought to control your expression. “She’s thought that since I told her I couldn’t see my string anymore.”

Dr. Kwon hummed. “Your mother is convinced that a severe trauma led you to lose the sight of your string. Would you mind telling me about that?”

You clutched the sleeves of your uniform as a way of comfort. Talking about that was something you never wanted to do. Somehow, spending an entire year repeating the story to countless specialists never helped you get over it. Despite that, you knew your mother wouldn’t forgive you if you didn’t make the effort to “get better.”

“Around the time I turned eleven, I found out that my parents were getting a divorce.” You began. There was a harsh edge to your words that you couldn’t control. “They were soulmates, but my dad said that he didn’t love my mom anymore.”

Dr. Kwon nodded, encouraging you to go on.

“This one day, he decided to drive me to school instead of letting me take the bus. On the way there he told me about this woman he’d met like I’d actually be happy for him or something. I got so angry that I just– I just snapped.”

It was silent for a moment before you continued.

“I told him that I hated him. That I would never forgive him for hurting my mom.” You swallowed thickly. “That was the last thing I said to him before we got into a car accident. He died on the way to the hospital.”

You didn’t realize that the moisture in your eyes was dripping down your face until Dr. Kwon handed you a tissue. He didn’t say anything for a while, and it surprised you. Most of the specialists you had seen couldn’t keep their thoughts to themselves after hearing your story.

“It’s not your fault.” Dr. Kwon said. “You feel an extreme guilt, but you shouldn’t. We all say things we don’t mean, and parents know that better than anyone.”

His words were comforting, but his kind expression was marred when he started speaking like a doctor. You only half-listened to Dr. Kwon, not interested in his spiel about how making an attempt to picture your string might help. If only he knew that over the better part of your early adolescence, visualizing that stupid red string was all you did.

You hadn’t realized that your time with him was nearly over until he started writing on his clipboard. It made you feel relieved, in a way. But there was still one thing you needed. You couldn’t leave without asking him about the one thing that had been weighing on your mind.

“Doctor,” your voice was hesitant. “You’ve treated patients whose soulmates rejected the bond, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Has… Has anyone ever died from being rejected?”

Dr. Kwon shook his head. “Most of them complained about chronic chest pains, but they faded over time after they got used to being away from their soulmate.”

You swallowed thickly. That’s not what you were hoping to hear.

“So, if someone were to constantly be around the person who rejected them… it could be fatal?”

This time, you caught the subtle narrowing of his eyes. Shit. He was onto you. “Is there a reason you’re asking me this?”

“I’m just curious. You’re the only doctor who’s come close to figuring out the real effects of rejecting the bond.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but answered you anyway. “It’s possible, but I can’t be certain since I haven’t had a patient who was willing to be around their soulmate after being rejected.”

You nodded, not liking the ugly feeling in your chest.

“I’m willing to keep working with you.” He said, seemingly not interested in the motives behind your questions. “Hopefully, we can reverse your condition.”

“I have no intention of seeing the string again.”

Dr. Kwon was taken aback. “Y-You don’t? Why?”

Because I already found my soulmate and he loves someone else. The truth was on the tip of your tongue, but you knew you couldn’t tell him.

“I just don’t.”

The first time you went an entire day without experiencing the chest pains was the same day you spent an entire lunch period with Suho.

Since the back of the school was now tainted with horrible memories, you could no longer go back there to find solace. Now your new designated safe space was the school’s rooftop. You were content with listening to music and feeling the warm breeze on your skin. It was also extremely private, which meant that if you did experience the chest pains, no one would see.

Your eyes were closed in blissful peace when you suddenly felt a presence beside you. Unaccustomed to the sudden company, you jumped with shocked fear. Once you saw that it was Suho who was sitting next to you, your heart was racing for an entirely different reason. He hadn’t said much. Unexpectedly, he asked you what you were listening to.

That’s how you found out you shared the same taste in music.

The second time you went an entire day without feeling the chest pains was the day you stumbled on a crying Suho.

He was completely overcome with grief that he didn’t seem to care that he was in the middle of the hallway. You quietly took him to the roof where he collapsed on you. The way he clutched onto you reminded you of an inconsolable child—fearful and in need of comfort. You listened to him as he told you about his late friend and his battle with depression.

Your heart ached with every word he told you, but if countless hours of therapy had taught you anything it was that venting could do wonders for the soul. Eventually, his sobs turned into sniffles. He hadn’t let go of you and vice versa.

After that, Suho didn’t say anything and neither did you. Unbeknownst to the either of you, the connection between you two had gotten stronger. There was an inexplicable congruity between you now, one that allowed you to understand and empathize with each other’s feelings.

You two never mentioned it again, but something shifted after that day.

It had been a month since you last felt the scathing pain. Now it was only a tolerable discomfort that you grew used to. You and Suho weren’t close, he still had his girlfriend, but now there were these moments that you experienced every so often. Ones that seemed more intimate than any relationship you could ever have. Those times were the happiest you’d felt in years.

“Things are pretty serious between Suho and Jugyeong.” Soo-ah said when you two entered the lunch room. “He wants her to study abroad with him after graduation.”

This was news to you, and that familiar discomfort soon settled on the left side of your chest. In spite of knowing that nothing had changed, you still felt like a complete fool. How could you be so delusional? Suho had only been kind to you a handful of times, and you were sure it had only been out of pure instinct. It had been because the link between you two had pushed him to do it.

Suddenly, the discomfort grew into that familiar, unwelcome stabbing pain, one greater than all the others you had felt so far. You let out a loud cry, the high-pitched noise sounding horrifying even to your own ears. The dizziness never came this quickly, but now it was clouding your senses within seconds. It had you stumbling into Soo-ah, and you grabbed ahold of her sleeve to try to steady yourself. You could see her mouth moving, but her words were muted. Oh no.

The pounding in your head and the sharp pains in your chest came in waves. It didn’t take long for the dark spots to appear. Fuck.

The last thing you remembered was seeing Soo-ah and a gathering crowd above you before darkness overcame you.

“Y/N.”

The distant sound of your name being called was enough to have you slowly opening your eyes. Your vision was blurry and unfocused. All you could make out was being in a brightly lit place that had you wincing. Where were you?

In the next second, you felt a pair of arms wrap around you. The familiar scent of your mom’s perfume made you relax.

“How are you feeling?”

It was a man’s voice who asked the question, and you nearly choked on your own spit when you saw Dr. Kwon standing beside the hospital bed. His presence shocked you since you had only met him once and weren’t officially his patient. However, you managed to assure him that you felt fine.

For a second, you thought everything would be fine. After all, there was no technology that was capable of determining that your collapse was related to your fractured soulmate bond. That is, until Dr. Kwon decided to speak up.

“You’ve met your soulmate, haven’t you?”

It wasn’t really a question. Your panicked eyes fell over to your mom. The look she gave you had you wincing. Fuck.

“What!? Y/N—”

“Mom,” you said, panicked. “It’s not– I don’t—”

“I’ve spoken with the doctor who treated you. She said that there’s been an enormous strain on your heart.” His voice had an underlying hardness that tipped you off on the anger he was feeling. “That’s why you asked me about my patients the other day, isn’t it?”

You remained silent, and it gave him his answer.

“You know who your soulmate is. They rejected the bond, but you haven’t. That’s why your chest pains have gotten worse.”

Before you could try to refute any of his claims, your mother went crazy.

“Who is it!?” She yelled. “Tell me right now so I can tell him to stop hurting my daughter!”

You attempted to calm her down, but your attempt was in vain. There was no possible way to settle her emotions. Not when her worst fear had been realized. You tried to ease her mind by reassuring her that you would go away in order to receive treatment from Dr. Kwon, not realizing that Suho was standing outside the room and heard everything.

Dr. Kwon managed to calm your mother down and convinced her to take a walk with him. It was late in the evening now, and you felt extremely relieved to finally be left alone with your thoughts. You got all of two seconds of contemplation because in the next second, Suho pulled the door open and walked into your room.

He didn’t say anything at first, but his face was the picture of tortured. You furrowed your eyebrows, unable to understand why he seemed so distraught.

“You’re dying.” Suho’s voice trembled. “Because of me.”

The fact that he somehow found out went over your head. You wished you could say no. No it’s not because of you. But you couldn’t. Trying to reassure him would’ve been futile. He knew. You both did. The urge to cling onto the severed bond would be fatal if you didn’t get help. Despite knowing all that, you wished to ease his pain. You could’ve laughed at your own foolishness because right now it was you who was laying in the hospital bed.

“I won’t die.” You told him feebly. “I’ll leave. Once I get used to being away from you, I’ll be okay. We can both live normal lives.”

Suho wanted to tell you that he didn’t want you to leave. That his life hadn’t ever been normal, and he was fine with that as long as you could be part of it.

“You didn’t reject the bond. Why?”

You looked up at the white ceiling. The tears were pooling in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. There was no point in hiding it anymore. Not when you were hospitalized because of him.

“I can’t see my string.”

Your confession hung in the air like a dark cloud. It was silent before you decided to continue with your revelation.

“I haven’t been able to see it since I was thirteen.” You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. “That’s why I didn’t acknowledge you when we first saw each other. I didn’t know.”

The candor of your words had Suho staggering back. It felt like someone shoved a blade straight through his heart. Finally, everything made sense. It’s not that you weren’t interested in your soulmate, it’s that you hadn’t known he was right in front of you. He couldn’t stop the tears from gathering in his eyes. What had he done?

“I’ve always wanted to meet my soulmate.” You confessed, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Even after I found out that it was you and you didn’t feel the same way, I never wished that I hadn’t met you. I never wished that the bond didn’t exist.”

You knew he couldn’t say the same since the evidence of just how much he didn’t want the bond was displayed in your current physical state.

“You should leave,” you told him even though the words pained you greatly. “My mom will get suspicious if she sees you.”

Only a small piece of your heart broke when he listened to you.

When Jugyeong and Suho broke up, it was the talk of the entire school. You yourself couldn’t make sense of the sudden separation, but you told yourself that it didn’t matter because it wasn’t any of your business.

You only said goodbye to a handful of people when the last day at Saebom High came around. Your short stay at the school didn’t give you an opportunity to make many friends, and it’s not like you truly wanted to remember your experience at the school.

Before you could walk through the front gates toward your new life, you were stopped by the sound of your name being called.

“Y/N!”

You turned, feeling your eyes widen when you were suddenly wrapped up in your soulmate’s warm embrace. His sudden change in attitude shocked you so much that you weren’t sure how to react.

“Don’t leave me. Please.”

For the first time since you’d met Suho, you felt no need to placate him. After everything that happened, you couldn’t go back on the promise you made to your mother. You needed to get better. Not for Suho, but for yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You were sincere. “This time, I’m leaving you behind.”

He pulled back. The pain in his eyes was another strike to your chest, but you knew you couldn’t give in.

“Goodbye, Lee Suho.”

[inviberu]

mirror

An old mirror dirty enough to the point you can’t see your reflection anymore. Faust decided to take a better look at it. He never expected it to turn out as a lost relic from a once prosperous city.

“Oh dear me!” Snow gasped, putting his hand over his mouth to appear more shocked than he actually is. A thoughtful smile suddenly took over his expression not long after as he put his hands on his hips. “I would’ve never thought I’d see this again in this day and age.”

“You know what this is?” Faust’s eyes widened as he examined the mirror in his hands once more, its golden rim giving off a shiny gleam after recovering it from the ruins during their last expedition to the Eastern country. It managed to pique the hermit’s interest after seeing it lay bare on the ground in such a terrible state, wanting to recover it to its former beauty. In some way, it reminded him of himself.

“But of course! This was awfully revered back in the day by both humans and wizards alike. It’s a good thing that my weary self was able to remember it.” Snow chirped, taking a closer look at the mirror. “A relic from a once-famous city—a mirror that is said to have the ability to show you the future. After their downfall, no one had any idea about where the relic laid rest. Ohoho! You’ve come across an exquisite item indeed.”

“The ability to show me the future? That’s ridiculous. I just picked it up from the ground, there’s no way a mirror like this is a lost relic.” Despite the sureness from his words, his voice held a certain kind of doubt that believed Snow. There was no reason for someone like Snow to lie to him after all, there was simply no merit in doing so and Snow wasn’t one to lie about this sort of stuff just for his own amusement.

“You think I jest? I see, then why don’t you try it out for yourself?” Snow’s expression held a smug smile before he remembered something and he let out a small gasp. “I heard it was very moody and picky though, so it might not work on your first try.”

“A moody mirror? The more I hear about this mirror the more I think that it’s a joke.” Faust shook his head.

“Ohoho! Try saying ‘please and thank you’ to the mirror when you try.” What Snow said sounded like a tease but Faust knew well that he was being serious. He didn’t know which one was worse—he could only let out a sigh as he inspected the mirror again. Could a mirror truly tell him of the future? Such an item is far too dangerous to be left out in the open.

“Woah, so you’re telling me this mirror can show you the future?” You wandered inside Faust’s room back and forth but your eyes remained fixated on the mirror placed on his desk, its intricate golden design never failed to catch your interest. It was hard to believe such a thing was capable of showing you the future when all sorts of magic relating to that were either forbidden or extremely hard unless you were gifted with the gift of prophecy like the twins from the North.

Faust let out a sigh, he couldn't bring himself to believe it either but there were a lot of strange things in this world—this was just one of them. "Apparently," he pushed up his glasses as he took the mirror in his hands and looked at his reflection. "Do you want to give it a try?"

"Me?" You asked curiously, wondering why Faust would ask you such a thing but you weren't against the idea of the mirror showing you your possible future. Though you can't help but feel a little bit scared when you thought about the possibilities—there was nothing more terrifying than the unknown future, after all. Faust handed you the mirror and you stared at it blankly. With much hesitance, you nodded.

"I'll try… how does this even work in the first place?" You tried tapping the glass, wondering if it was some sort of touch screen mirror but you were met with disappointment when it did nothing.

"Snow said to try saying 'please and thank you' to the mirror, I don't know if that'll work though. He said it was moody." Faust let out a dry chuckle, the thought still ridiculous to him but never crossed it out as impossible. If the mirror would truly respond to something like that, it only proved the strangeness of this magical world. You shot him a strange look, a moody mirror? But you pushed back the doubt to the back of your head and put your trust in him instead.

"Mirror, can you show me the future? Pretty please?" You cooed, feeling a bit stupid for pleading to a mirror like this. You waited a few moments for a reaction while looking at the object expectantly, only to be met with utter disappointment when it did absolutely nothing. Faust was silent along with you until he let out a small laugh, did you look stupid when you were doing that? You questioned if Snow was just pulling both of your legs, that mischievous old man!

"As expected, it won't work just because we asked it to."

"Geez, Faust! Do you really think a shabby thing like this can show us the future?" Shabby was the last word you would use to describe the mirror had it not been for your rage towards its defect. It looked elegant and regal, as if it didn't spend centuries lying beneath some rubble—it was a miracle the glass wasn't broken by such heavy fragments lying atop of it. You shook your head and gave Faust the mirror, giving up on it after you added: "How about you try it? It might listen to you because you're the one that picked it up."

He shot you a hesitant look, he had a feeling this wasn't going to end well yet he pushed that feeling into the back of his mind and stared at his reflection—he caught a small glimpse of your face in it while you were looking away and he couldn't help but break into a small smile. At that moment, something changed.

The hand mirror shook slightly in his grasp. Faust, alarmed, tried to make it sit still by gripping it tighter but it proved to be futile when it flew from his grasp and a blinding light filled the room—eliciting gasps of shock from the both of you as Faust grabbed to shield you from whatever was emerging in his room. When the light disappeared, it took him a while to get adjusted to the sudden change but once he did, he saw the hand mirror transformed into a full-body one sitting in the middle of his room.

"What in the world…" Faust left your side to carefully inspect the area, making sure there were no more risks in the area before taking your hand while telling you it was safe—aside from the now huge mirror residing smack middle in his room, its golden glow giving off an intimidating aura. You felt your initial shock turn into excitement.

"Isn't this great? It responded to you! What did you say?" You asked him, curious. You weren't paying attention to him at that time, perhaps you missed something.

"Nothing, actually. It just started vibrating and this happened." Faust tipped his hat slightly, closing his eyes and let out another sigh. One strange thing after another, he was bound to be drained at the end of the day, wasn't he?

"That's strange, you didn't say anything and yet it responded to you… curious." You stroked your chin. Faust stepped into the mirror's view and nothing was out of the ordinary, it showed him nothing of the future, only his reflection. He paused, was it broken after being left there for so many centuries? It was a plausible explanation. It was just like a normal mirror now, it was a shame such a relic has lost its true value—eroded along with the years that passed.

That is, until you stepped into the view.

The moment you stepped into the view, everything that the mirror showed suddenly changed as it emitted a faint white glow. You closed your eyes for a second and you could hear the faint sounds of… bells? You opened your eyes slightly to look at the mirror only for Faust to slap his hand over your eyes to obstruct your vision before you could get a small glimpse of what changed.

A bunch of incomprehensible sounds fell from Faust's lips and you tried to remove his hand from your eyes but that just made his actions more frantic. He grabbed your wrist and dragged you away from the mirror to outside of his room. You tried asking him what his problem was but you were left unheard as he left you outside and shut the door to his room aggressively. By the time you tried making sense of the scenario, you were already staring at his door from outside—did he just kick you out?

Your mouth was wide open when the realization dawned on you—what was his problem!? You crossed your arms grumpily, a part of you wanted to knock on his door again to demand an explanation but another part wanted you to storm off without saying anything to him. You pouted, or was he trying to protect you from something dangerous? Magical items could be dangerous if not handled correctly, after all.

In the end, you didn't know what to do and rested your forehead against his door frame with a clenched fist ready to knock at any given time and a defeated look.

To say Faust panicked back there was an understatement, he felt as if his soul was about to leave his body right then and there when he saw the scene the mirror showed him. He could only breathe a sigh of relief, he was glad he acted quickly before you caught a glimpse of it—that would've made things worse and he wouldn't know what to do. He slumped against the door, feeling a bit light-headed and fuzzy, the heat refusing to leave his face. He was embarrassed.

The sight wasn't something particularly scary or tragic. In fact, it was the complete opposite—though that made it all the more confusing as to why Faust would stop you from looking at it. It was a scene that he saw in one of his many dreams, something that flustered him to no end and wished it would leave him alone.

The bells that rang in the background, the happy couple dressed in white as they looked at each other lovingly, a perfect wedding scene straight from the dreams Faust doesn't tell anyone. A perfect wedding scene of you and him in the distant future—together.

To think your fate was intertwined like this… Faust could only hope that it's a future that's bound to happen. But, right now, he can't let you find out about this lest he wants to live the rest of his life inside the forest hiding from you. He would simply pass away from sheer embarrassment, oh how would he even face you? His cheeks burned red at the thought of a wedding with you once again.

[yoonpobs]

we don't talk together | myg

pairing: min yoongi x oc

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, growth! exes that remain exes

words: 2, 842

summary: it's hard to say it's over

What they don't tell you about goodbyes is that it isn't the end.

It's far from the closing of a book. Goodbyes are the itch that urges you to pick up an old book from the shelf just to feel what you first felt when you re-read certain parts of a book; the same remorse you felt when a character you grew attached to didn't get the ending they deserved. Or, maybe it was the villain that was misunderstood—your own heart wishing to reach out to the sad soul that couldn't even be recognised when all they do is speak.

But some books will end up dusty, forgotten, tucked away in the corner of your shelf; or in the most drastic of cases: lost.

"The park looks ... different," Yoongi speaks up for a lack of a better conversation starter.

You hum. What would you say? That it wasn't the same from when we used to spend our Spring's blended into Summer's until it got too hot for us to lay in each other's embrace?

It was still too fresh even though it's been nearly a year.

"There are more dogs," You point out the moment a tan pomeranian runs past the two of you, the owner an old couple laughing away under the cherry blossoms.

He nods, fingers stuffed in his trench coat. You note that it's the same one he wore on your anniversary, plans abandoned when there was a mix-up with the reservations until the two of you stumbled across a hidden gem that soon became your go-to date place.

You will yourself to look away so no more memories can resurface. It seems like every part of your life has somehow seamlessly intertwined itself with traces of Yoongi that it was impossible for you to exist as just yourself.

"How are things at the firm?" He asks after the two of you walked side-by-side in complete silence as more and more chatter fill your ears.

"It's ... going," You chuckle dryly.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at you, shooting you a brief glance over until the two of you reach a bench. You dare say it's muscle memory that dragged your heavy feet into the direction of the only bench that you've known in the park. The compressed reminder of the initials of your names that you carved as teenagers likely still staining the years old wood. It was meant to be an emblem for wisdom, the ring of growth that meant to be the endgame for the two of you.

You almost laugh in bitterness and how literal the metaphor was.

"Everything okay?"

Yoongi takes the first step to sit on the bench because he always did. Ever the gentlemen when he opened doors for you, let you into the car first, waited until you stepped ahead of him to trail behind like a shield.

The first date, first kiss, first confession.

The first one to decide that it was over.

"My boss is just being sexist, as usual. I thought I'd get used to it after spending two years there but ... there are some things that you just stay unfamiliar, you know?"

It was very like you to speak in double-entendres without intending to. But it was also like Yoongi to pick up on it, especially after years of learning all the best and worst parts of you; he was and probably will be one of the few people in your lives that will always foresee your next move.

The two of you sit a fair distance apart on the bench even if it was a battle for space anyway. You didn't have the liberty to lean into his embrace anymore and he wasn't in the position to say that it was okay for you to breathe, to relax.

"You shouldn't get used to those remarks. There are times where you learn to grow used to constructive criticism but if what he's saying makes you question your worth because of very arbitrary reasons like your gender then that isn't criticism, nor is it constructive. It's bigoted and chauvinistic."

You look down to your thumbs as you fiddle with it, his words comforting you. It was woeful that you still chased validation from him even after learning to be that person to yourself.

"Yeah, I guess."

Then how did you get used to things?

If time didn't make things familiar then what did? Was it not the five years with Yoongi that led you to see him build an empire for himself all the while destroying the relationship that you had? Or was it because he was the person that you thought of doing the most minuscule things?

"By the way," He clears his throat, eyes still set forward, "Namjoon says hi."

You raise an eyebrow, surprised to hear the name of a mutual friend—or more appropriately, friend by association and acquaintance when that link was broken.

"He knows that you're with me?"

Yoongi nods his head.

"I needed to let someone at the studio know and ... well, he's the only one that knew of our situation."

You chuckle bitterly.

Of course. The suggestion of his work only made your heart drop because as much as you wanted to be supportive of him, even after the break-up, the name of his studio or songs only reminded you of the battle that you helplessly lost.

"You can tell him that I'm still a text or phone call away. No need to play messenger," You return.

The atmosphere is more reflective than awkward. You know that the two of you had your pieces to say, your own narrative to tell but neither brave enough to break the calm that you were settled in. It was a nice difference from the way that things ended, and you supposed that you were similar enough to believe in a mirage than the inevitable truth.

But you didn't call him out after six months to sit in silence to walk away with your heart feeling heavier, nor did you invite him out just to remember what it feels like to have him next to you—even in complete silence.

"Would you have really quit?"

This time, you gather all the bravery that you've built over the past few months to ask the question that has been mulling in your mind since the night you decided that it was officially over.

It was a painful break-up. Even if you expected it when Yoongi came home earlier one night with bags under his eyes and his keys that he usually left at the studio because he knew you'd always be home to open the door for him.

"I'm sorry?" He seems taken aback.

You don't blame him. You've always been more passive in dealing with confrontation due to your conflict-averse nature—but that didn't mean you didn't get angry or annoyed—or hurt. But if you learned anything, it was to stop asking yourself questions that you'll never have the answer to.

"Would you really have left the company to save our relationship?"

You chose your words carefully. Instead of saying to be with you, knowing that he lost the love, he had for you somewhere along the way—you point out the one hole that he held on to for the sake of stability. The one thing that was constant in his life with how unpredictable the music industry was.

"Yes."

Somehow, the answer doesn't make you feel better because even with time apart you knew he was lying to save your face.

"You don't owe me anything to lie to my face, Yoongi." You frown.

Yoongi sighs, rubbing his hands across his face as he leaves your statement hanging in the air to mull over his answer.

You prefer the silence that way. It showed that he was at least listening, or cared enough to decide his next set of words. Nothing like how much it pained you to acknowledge the responses you got from him when you were crying were just out of obligation than sincerity.

"No, I wouldn't have."

You nod your head, expectant of the answer but you needed to hear him say it himself rather than drowning yourself in ruminating thoughts of how there was still a semblance of hope that he would've given it up for you, for your relationship—or the life that you were meant to build.

"I wouldn't have asked you to, anyway." You confess.

Yoongi turns his head to look at you and for the first time since you've met at the park, he notices the absence of a necklace around your neck. The necklace that you never took off. He wants to comment on it, ask where it went or if you've pawned it off out of pettiness but he held no remorse towards you. You were tolerant with the break-up even as you sucked in your tears when he knew that it killed you on the inside. Yoongi didn't have the heart in him to ask you.

"Oh."

"You were the one that said you'd quit so we could stay together," You say softly.

Yoongi doesn't respond as he looks back to the night where the two of you sat down to talk about the standing of your relationship. It was a rollercoaster of emotions that started off with an amicable discussion that eventually led to the two of you yelling until you surrendered to your tears and just left the battle completely.

He said a lot of things that night. From things that he's been bottling up for months, to things that he's always wanted to tell you and things that he didn't remotely mean, and things that he's regretted the moment it left his lips.

"I guess I did."

You sigh, leaning back into the bench as you observe a couple walking in front of you, passing your bench as they share an ice cream on a cone; bickering on who'd get the first lick. To anyone, you and Yoongi would've looked just like a couple that has reached a comfortable point in your relationship where intimacy was just sitting next to one another.

But you admit, there was something oddly intimate and heart-breaking about sitting next to someone you've loved with your whole heart and feel nothing but ... weightlessness. Like the burden of your concerns was lifted ever so slightly just being here.

"I wouldn't have made you choose between your relationship or your dream, Yoongi. I would never have done that to you."

Yoongi knew you would never have made him do something as abhorrent as that. You were far too understanding. But you had wanted from him too, that he wasn't willing to provide just yet. He didn't know if it was because of the expiration date to your relationship or because of the stress he was under at work—but he convinced himself that it was you that was asking for too much instead of him compromising too little.

"I ... I know," He whispers, "I'm sorry."

You purse your lips. You try not to let your emotions appear on your sleeve. You were tired of allowing your face to speak before you did. You needed to use the voice you had.

"I loved you so much, Yoongi," You murmur, "I loved you so much that I would have taken anything I could've gotten with you just so I could be with you."

Yoongi stays silent at this.

"I didn't mind if you spent more time at work than at our home. I just wanted to know if I was ever in the picture when you were talking about the future. I know how much you love music and I supported you through every audition and failure ... and to know that I was just—" You swallow, the words still painful to say. But you needed to make your peace with it, "—that I was just someone that would wait for you instead of your partner. That's when I knew that you didn't love me the way I loved you."

Yoongi chokes to speak up but you shake your head.

"No, Yoongi. You loved me, you did. But somewhere along the way you stopped and you just pretended that we were okay even when I was trying my best to fix the seams. I wasn't your girlfriend anymore, I was just someone familiar to you and I didn't deserve to feel that way." You tell him sternly.

Yoongi surrenders to his silence as you take a deep breath to continue.

"Maybe I loved you too much in a way that you couldn't understand."

"_______, don't say that—" His eyes widen when he tries to reach a hand to yours to comfort you, but your body language remains stoic as you keep your hands in your lap.

"—and that's okay Yoongi. I loved you but not in the way you needed. I'm not here to make you feel bad about what I chose to do on my own because it wasn't my fault that I couldn't be what you need." You say sadly, but a small smile on your face as you finally say the words that have been eating at you for months.

"... okay," Yoongi accepts.

"We all have different ways to love and be loved. I loved you and that was enough for you at one point but love isn't all a relationship needs. You loved me too, in your own way and I accepted that but just because it was enough for me doesn't mean it was enough for us." You glance over at him to see him staring at you intently.

"I'm sorry that things turned out this way," Yoongi says softly, eyes gentle.

You wave him off.

"I don't think I'll ever love someone as much as I loved you, though," He confesses, eyes returning to the scene in front of him filled with different colours of life that seemed to look vibrant under the Spring sunset.

You shake your head and chuckle softly.

"You say that now but you'll meet someone one day and you'll remember all the reasons why you love in the first place. And it'll be enough for you, and them."

He shrugs, a small smile itching on his face.

"I really did love you," He says, "But I'm sorry for not being honest with you. I owe you that much of an apology."

"We're not here to forgive or forget, Yoongi," You look at him kindly, "We're here to move on."

He purses his lips and hums, nodding his head.

"I hope you get that promotion at work you were talking about months ago, ______." Yoongi offers, a gentle grin marring his face.

"I did," You shrug.

It feels liberating to have achieved something and only feeling content by acknowledging it yourself. Months ago, you would've hurt at the fact that Yoongi didn't know. But the change you welcomed after the end only showed you that there was a new path for you to walk on.

His eyes widen, but eventually, he chuckles and shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot like knew it.

You push yourself off the bench, dusting your hands on your pants as you offer him one last smile before you say goodbye for the second time.

"I hope you find someone who you'll love more than you ever did with me." You tease.

He rolls his eyes.

"Impossible," The grin on his face is easy, and your heart still clenches at the nonchalance, but you don't expect the feeling to go away so easily—nor do you mind. It just shows that you needed to wait and that you were willing to do it.

"Of course you will. You're a musician, Yoongi. You need a muse," You smirk at him as you turn around, a small wave on your hand to say goodbye.

As you walk away and his body gets smaller and smaller from your vision, you turn around to say:

"We don't talk together is a beautiful song."

Yoongi's smile is genuine, and so is his goodbye. A gentle acknowledgment of his hand as he stands up himself, walking to the other direction of where you were headed.

You still had a love for Yoongi, and you suppose you always will. Just like how you would feel pleasant when rediscovering a childhood hobby that triggers a fond memory, or how you love different things in your life in different ways. Whether or not you love someone more than you've ever loved Yoongi isn't your concern, because when love comes in one form, it goes in another.

When you still take the same route you'd usually take with Yoongi after your walks back home, you pass the cafe you used to frequent to see that it's replaced with a new bar. You smile fondly to yourself, shaking your head.

You loved that place.

But eventually, you'll find another cafe with a beautiful interior and a latte to match, and you'll love it too.

[bored-storyteller]

All the parts you want. If you have anything specific in mind let me know!

Part 1:"Keep death away"

Part 2:"Beyond the Mask"

39- Tokyo Ghoul- Uta x Human! Reader pt. 3

"Just like you"

His tattooed hand presses against the wardrobe door that he has just closed, right in front of you.

Your breath tickles his knuckles as he hurries to hide the jar from your view, which you only caught a glimpse of it.

Trapped between him and the piece of furniture, your guilty gaze meets his.

"Oops ... sorry." You murmur, barely smiling at him.

Uta sighs slightly, shaking his head with his sweet and calm expression: "no ... I'm sorry, I forgot they were there."

You watch him bend over to open a drawer to look for the leather straps he asked you to retrieve, only to see him return to his workstation soon after.

Were those fingers in there?

The shop has been closed for a while now, and even if you would never say it out loud, this makes you happy. It's not exactly the best for you to always be ready to snap to hide in the bathroom, waiting for his customers to leave.

It hasn't happened many times, actually, but in one of them you heard Uta justify the presence of your smell as "his next meal". It made sense, yet you couldn't ignore a shiver running down your spine.

Despite any moral expectations, since you discovered that that boy is a ghoul you have found yourself much more company with him than before. It is something of yours, mutual. Now that a frightening world has knocked on your door, the one who showed it to you has become your safety and protection, and in the same way Uta comes into your protection with concern and at bottom with a slight sense of guilt it tickles his soul, relieved simply by the relief of not having to hide from you anymore.

Even if you are now aware of who you have in front of you, however the dynamics between you two are still fragile, and above all the dynamics between you and your inner fears are fragile.

The day after the tragic and at the same time sweet evening that opened you to a completely new reality for you, he immediately took care to give you the necessary recommendations: if someone asks you for something, any person, you absolutely must instantly forget that he is a ghoul.

At first you actually felt offended. Did he really think you were that stupid to tell someone about this? Did he think you would ever endanger him?

But soon after, you realized that it was not for his safety that he worried so much. He was afraid for you.

"This is really dangerous" he had told you "If anything happens to me, nobody has to know that you know, okay?"

If anything happens to me.

You couldn't say anything clever at the time, so you just nodded, but something bittersweet had started to tingle in your heart.

He is dangerous, and at the same time in danger. You are in danger of being there with him, you are in many ways. Some would say that you are committing a crime, that you are wrong, that you deserve punishment just because you enjoy his company. Yet you can't feel guilty.

You have so many questions to ask him, but in those days since the revelation you have not asked him even one.

It is so difficult for you to understand what you are feeling. He kills, he eats people, this is now known. He is one of those monsters that the news is talking about so much, one of those monsters that should be exterminated.

Yet you are now there, observing the empty, weeping eyes of a mask behind a display case. He must have done it recently, it's the first time you've seen it.

But still, you are there, in a hidden shop where you risk finding a box of human eyes by opening a drawer, and the thing that scared you the most until the other day is that you can't get the reaction you would expect from you.

You keep looking at the masks and him as you did until last week even though you know.

You didn't tell him, but it all kept you up at night. You've always thought about it, every moment was spent to find a way out of that tangle of thoughts and emotions that went through you both in his presence and in his absence.

It was hard to make peace with yourself, it was almost scary, but in the end you accepted it. You had no choice but to accept it.

He eats people like you, but if he didn't he couldn't exist ...

"I like this mask ..." so sad, so scared, a soul of a poor devil in hell.

"Really? I recently did it. But you know, to tell the truth it gives me a strange feeling. "

Even if he doesn't look at you he is attentive to you. Even if he sits on his stool where you are, he listens to you, he perceives you, much more than you perceive him.

Now you know… someone in that cruel world has to die, and you don't want that someone to be Uta, despite the price.

Yeah, the price, that price you didn't pay.

Now there is one more thing you have to solve with yourself, something else to admit, so fragile and so strong together.

You approach him to see what he is working on - or rather to see him.

When you look at him, every time, you immediately remember that he is a ghoul, but at the same time it is as if you forget him.

You've been spending a lot of time together now, yet each time you want more, and you don't really care how wrong it is.

“Listen…” his peaceful voice quickly distracts you from your thoughts “… you've been pretty quiet lately. Do you feel ok?"

His hands do not stop for a moment to work, to create. He certainly has deadlines to meet and yet what he is doing is not simple work, it is art. You feel privileged to be able to observe it at work.

"I'm sorry, you're right, I've been thinking too much lately."

You just laugh, a little embarrassed and a little really strangely and genuinely amused by that turn that everything is taking, as long as you are with Uta you feel free to smile again, despite everything.

You move closer to get a better look at his fingers intertwining with ribbons and straps. Who knows how he does it.

"Is it really such a big problem that I'm a ghoul?"

His words rain down on you like a cold shower interrupting all consideration, yet on his part they were necessary.

Uta also finds himself strangely surprised. His skilled hands interrupt the art, in the surprise of that new doubt that until now he had ignored.

No, in fact, he hadn't really ignored it. It had simply always presented itself in a thousand other terms that had never been posed as such a placid question.

He had experienced that stigma, that exclusion from the beauty of the world in a thousand sick ways, but never as he is experiencing it now with you.

And again that world that runs too fast for him returns, that world that "loves only humans", yet in his selfishness he prays on the sidelines that you will be able to give up that love that that magnificent world grants you, to stay there immobile, with a Pierrot like him.

For a moment Uta doesn't know what to do, whether to resume his job to avoid your gaze and protect himself, or to risk looking at you, discovering your emotions.

Yet before he can decide, he feels your movement.

You don't even know what you're really doing, you just know that for some reason at that moment you need to feel him as much as possible, to understand, to fix yourself.

Kneeling on the cold floor, in the intimate solitude of the closed shop, you let your arms surround his waist without fear. Your head in his lap, nestled against him as much as possible.

He doesn't react, he just looks at you, blank in the face.

Suddenly he feels angry restlessness rising in him. What are you doing? He can't read it, what does it mean?

For some reason he can't really feel your hug, it's as if he doesn't contemplate it among the possibilities. You're hugging someone else there. Snuggled against his stomach, you are approaching human victims like you, not him. There is no bridge between you two, it is impossible to believe.

There is no way that you, little fragile human, can really accept something so big, he cannot ask it to you, he thinks ... and yet ...

"I like it ..." your words are light, shy, and even fearful. Afraid of the scope of what you are saying, of that bestial confession you are revealing "that you are a ghoul ... I like it ..."

And that's the hard truth. It's just something of him, it's him, it's something attractive.

It is attractive to know that those gentle lips could bite you and trap your flesh, that those light hands could tear you apart. That safe sense of danger he gives you is tempting, and the trust you place in him just makes you enjoy that awareness.

This is hard even for you to admit, but you cannot ignore it, nor leave him unaware.

And once again your words overturn his stage, destroy it and rebuild it according to a new conformity.

He is surprised, you can feel it from his breath that stops for a moment, jumps against your cheek.

One thing he loves about you is that he can't help but believe you. No matter how much those words may be at odds with everything life has taught him, if you say it then it's true for him.

His delicate fingers intertwine with your hair, light, almost shy. His hand caresses you patiently, aware, almost as if he is caressing a child, while he holds you there in a sweet constriction.

"Really?"

His calm question about him is not a request for confirmation, as much as wanting to hear you say the things he never has the words to say.

You rise from your seat, getting back on your feet, but unexpectedly you are prevented from walking away from him.

Now it's his arms that surround your waist, and you find yourself there, trapped between his knees and his arms, without being squeezed. His eyes look at you attentively, his bizarre face shows nothing but his calm composure - which does not at all reflect the vibrations of his heart -.

“I think… it's part of you, you wouldn't be the same otherwise. I like it."

You don't know with what courage you spoke those words, so sure and sincere.

You are not embarrassed, perhaps because you both love that little world that belongs only to you, where no one can see and hear you, that behind the scenes of the circus of life.

And it is your way of seeing reality that he likes, what he needs. That your putting Uta before the ghoul, that small and natural confirms that you always give him. This is what still gives many hope, the existence of someone like you, who knows how to see things in the order in which they should be seen. It is the principle for which love exists between humans and ghouls.

The light and affectionate smile that is painted on his lips is the confirmation that is needed, nothing else.

"I could eat you ..."

"I know" but you won't.

You should be food for him, you are. You are a possible meal, but you are also a person. You are someone. You talk, laugh, joke, cry, get angry ... and over time he has learned to want to keep it all, because he likes the way you are. Though you may be his source of life, just imagining feeding on you becomes painful for him. The thought of devouring you, of consuming you, of making you disappear from the world, of swallowing your body, your laughter and your tears, your voice calling his name… has become extremely painful.

And he's also sure you don't really know what you're saying, he's sure you want to change a lot of things about him if you only knew them, but for now it's okay that you only know that drama.

Indeed, no, it is not a scene. Uta is Uta, whole and sincere. What you know is the real and authentic facade of Uta that you deserve to know, there is nothing wrong with that, and he is sure you know it.

Everyone is modeled on relationships, you do too, but it's not that you are less true with him than with others.

The same goes for him, and despite this he is also aware that the affection that binds him to you will not change when he is talking to Renji, and not even when he is at the center of an auction. Uta is always Uta, and you are always you, no matter where you are or who you are with.

Two extremely complex creatures, monster and prey that still share something so profound and at the same time solid and concrete.

His lips curl slightly more, in a vague expression of veiled sweetness.

"Good."

His hand slips on the table as he stands up, but you don't notice it, too focused on seeing that the other hand hasn't given up on the touch on your hips.

Only when something lands on your face do you wake up. You do not understand it immediately, but the mask, still white and anonymous, is now on you, supported by him.

Before you can say anything or ask for an explanation, Uta is close to you, so close that you know you can feel the hard cover vibrating slightly on your cheeks under his breath.

It is still too early, everything is too delicate to utter certain words between you two, to give voice to deep and primitive feelings, which have nothing forbidden even though society would like you to believe.

It is not for fear that you will not admit what you both know, it is just for the pleasure of enjoying that moment, that moment before, that sweet harboring the affectionate secret.

This is why it is the stiff and cold lips of the mask that are kissed, a slight barrier that separates the delicacy of that touch from you.

A kiss that doesn't whet anyone's appetite, is just a silent admission of something extremely big.

And as the mask came, it goes away, returning to its place, leaving you uncovered and incredulous.

Uta also moves away, returning to turn his attention to the stock cabinet, abandoning you still and dazed in front of that almost dreamlike situation.

"Uta?"

"Yes?"

His answer is always ready as he rummages through the rolls of tissue.

"What was that?"

His quiet face of him turns to you, and you know him well enough to notice that slight amused glint in his eyes.

"What was what?"

“That! You know!"

A slight amused snort from him lets you know you'll never get your answers: "You must have daydreamed."

-End-

[bookstantrash]

A/N: Here we are folks. The chapter y’all have been waiting for. I’m hoping it reaches your expectations because I was dying to write it.

Huge shoutout for the gc — specially @thewayshedreamed for her mind blowing theory, although I tried to make it less angst lol — for all their hype and ideais for this chapter 💜

In which she makes a friend, Part Eleven

Cassian woke up late. He was sure of that because of two factors:

One, the birds were chirping louder than when he usually woke up, the sun high in the sky given the sunlight entering the bedroom through the curtains.

And two, Nesta was fast asleep in his arms, her vanilla and lavender scent all around him.

He took his time watching her, as he did not know when he would have another opportunity.

Nesta looked younger like that, her face relaxed for once, mouth partially open as she slowly breathed. Their legs were intertwined, his free arm somehow having ended up in her hair, holding her close, as if during the night he had gotten afraid she would disappear.

Cassian had nightmares of that. Of waking up and finding her gone, snatched out of her bed once again in the middle of the night by his enemies and killed. He would wake up panting and reaching for a dagger he kept in his bedside table, his blood roaring at him to kill whoever had touched her, to find and protect Nesta.

It usually ended up with him pacing in front of her room for a few minutes, her steady heart beat easing his worries after a while. He would then return to his room and go over some reports from Rhysand and Azriel or look over some camp matters until the sun was rising.

Last night had to be the best night of sleep Cassian had had in the last two years. Maybe in all five hundred years of his life.

He signed, willing his thoughts to not go down that path. To not wonder too deeply about the reason why Nesta Archeron affected him like she did, since the first time he saw her at her father’s house when she was still human.

Willed them to not think how she seemed to fit so perfectly against his body, as if they had been made for each other.

To stop thinking how her bare skin would feel against his, her soft lips kissing his own.

To stop thinking of her running her hands over his body, pulling his hair.

The sounds she would make when he kissed her, properly this time, without death hovering above them.

If she was a screamer or a beggar or a talker and how it did not matter anyway because he would make sure to pleasure her until she was screaming his name, until she was begging him for more, until she was saying how good he felt and how none of those other males back in Velaris had given her a speck of what he was giving her.

How he would take care of her afterwards, how he would kiss her lazily and sweetly, and how he would not let her go for a long long time, satisfied to just stay holding her.

“That is nothing but a distant and impossible dream” he murmured, daring to gently run his fingers in her silky hair “I have to be grateful for what I have and do not desire for more.”

Cassian felt Nesta stirring in his arms, mentally cursing himself for waking her.

“Javy ju” she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep, slowly blinking at him.

“Javy ju, anahí” he answered a little breathless, being hit straight in his stomach by the fact that she had remembered the Illyrian greeting.

Nesta was about to say something when Cassian felt her whole body froze, blue eyes widening as she looked at how close they were.

And that is when he felt it. His morning wood.

Cauldron that was embarrassing. If Nesta did not think lowly of him before — he knew all those times she had called him a pervert or a bastard had been nothing but empty words —  now she surely did.

He quickly withdrew his wings, Nesta squinting at him momentarily due to the sudden brightness.

But before Cassian could get up and put more distance between themselves, hoping to save some face, Nesta placed a hand firmly on his shoulder, keeping him still.

And she smirked.

“Wound a bit tight these days? she said, throwing his words from yesterday back at him.

“You can not blame my body for reacting at you” he tried to sound as if he was teasing her,  but his words came out softer and truer than he would like “Have you looked at yourself?”

“You mean my too thin and bony body?” she snorted, dismissing his words “You must be really desperate.”

If Nesta had said that to him months ago, he would have been inclined to agree with her statement —  not that that would have stopped him from thinking her beautiful. His feelings towards the strong minded female were not purely physical attraction. It went beyond that.

“You can not be blind to not see how your body has changed since you started training and eating more regularly” he said “I still wish you would eat more, but you can not deny that you have gained muscles and some weight back”

“Are you calling me fat?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Cassian laughed at that. Nesta had a sense of humour that sometimes reminded him of Azriel.

“You fill your leathers much more now” he answered, the hand in her hair sliding along her arms “You have gained muscles here”

His hand travelled down her front slowly, making sure to avoid her breasts, although all he wanted was to finally know how they would feel beneath his touch.

“And here” he gently squeezed her waist.

“Cassian…”

“And here too” he added, fingers dancing along her leg where her nightgown had exposed some skin.

Nesta took a sharp intake of breath, her pupils dilatating

He was walking on thin ice, he knew that. His words at Nesta were nothing but desire and longing veiled by teasing he knew Nesta believed in.

Cassian had no one but himself to blame for that.

“So I am desirable because of my body?” her voice had a bitter tone, and Cassian quickly corrected her.

“You are desirable because of this, ” he touched her temple, moving then to lay his hand over her heart “and this”

“Lying will not get you anywhere bat” she turned her face and made to get up.

“I’m beyond lies right now, Nesta” he said, pulling her flush against him, gently grabbing her chin and tilting her face up.

Her gray-blue eyes seemed incredibly bright, looking straight at Cassian, as if she could see his very soul.

He did not hide from it. He met her stare head on, not daring even to blink.

“Why do you run from me?” his voice so low it was almost a whisper “Why do you hide yourself?”

“Why do you run from me?” and her voice carried so much hurt, so much feeling and rawness that Cassian knew she had let one of her iron walls fall “Why did you drop my hand that time? Why look for me only when I’m alone?”

Her words pierced his heart. He had not know. Had not known how much she was hurting, what she may have thought his actions appeared to be.

“Why do you bother so much when not even my own family cares for me?” she snapped, and for a split second Cassian thought Nesta was going to cry.

“Your sisters love you, Nesta” he said softly.

“I believe you made it abundantly clear last solstice I was unlovable”

“Your sisters love you. I can’t for the life of me understand why, but they do.”

He flinched, cursing himself for his past actions.

“I have never regretted something as much as the moment those words left my mouth. I was rude and insensible,” he brushed her cheek with his thumb tentatively “ and none of those things I said were true. I hope someday you will forgive me.”

“I said some rude things to you too,” she whispered “Would you be able to forgive me?”

“I never took them to heart” Cassian gave her a watery smile “I knew it was a way for you to push me away and that you did not mean them sweetheart”

A lonely silent tear fell from Nesta. Cassian gathered her closer, and she buried her face in his neck.

“Hush now xe nhia. Aan arevanque”

They stayed like that, with Cassian running his hands through her hair and talking with her in Illyrian. She hadn't cried more than that single tear, but she trembled slightly sometimes.

“Nes...I have been meaning to tell you something”

“What is it?” she asked, looking up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“You don’t have to answer me or say anything at all, I just—”

“Cassian, out with it” she said, anxiousness lacing her every word.

“Since I met you I—”

But whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the sound of dishes falling and a curse coming from the kitchen.

“Kaelin,” Nesta said sighing “I better go see what he is doing when he should have been resting”

Cassian agreed with her, and a part of him was glad they had been interrupted. He still had much to make up to Nesta, his feelings would have to wait a little longer.

“What were you going to tell me?” 

“It was nothing” he gave her a reassuring smile “Go see Kaelin. I can tell you another time”

Nesta hesitated, but his kind eyes were enough to make her trust his words.

“Thank you” and with a quick kiss on his cheek she was gone.

Cassian was so stunned he had to pinch himself to make sure he had not fallen asleep again, staying in bed for a few minutes more until he could put himself together.

~•~

The clock’s ticking was the only sound in the room, neither Cassian or Kaelin talking.

Nesta had left after breakfast, saying Esmée had lifted her resting order to help the healer collect a rare flower that only blossomed every sixty years.

After reassuring her that he knew which medicine to give Kaelin in case the kid felt pain and that he would make sure he rested, Nesta left them promising to return as soon as possible.

Kaelin was a bit awkward around Cassian at first, probably embarrassed about crying in front of him. It bothered the General to the point that he lent his copy of ‘King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table’ to the young illyrian.

“This book is very precious to me,” he had told Kaelin “as it was the first I managed to finish once I learnt how to read”

Kaelin had taken the old book with the utmost care, and Cassian almost laughed when he saw how slowly the boy was turning the pages, almost afraid of damaging it. And with his attention fully on the book, Cassian could work on Kaelin’s solstice present without fearing it would be seen.

Because Cassian was working on expanding the old storage room near the birch.

He was designing a room for Kaelin to sleep. If the kid was to live with him and Nesta definitely — or at least as long as he wanted to —  Cassian could not let him keep on sleeping on the sofa.

He had been working in secret to refashion the space. Had worked until dawn on it two nights ago when he had rescued Kaelin from the bullies. Maybe two weeks more only and it would be ready on time for the Winter Solstice.

Thinking about the birch made Cassian realise how sore he was, both from the training, working on the bedroom and the time spent hunched over the piece of paper drawing the room. A trip to the birch would help relax, which gave him an idea.

“Hey kid,” he called, catching Kaelin’s attention “I don’t know if Nesta told you, but we have a birch here. How about we go? It would help relax you”

It was a tradition for male Illyrians to go birching — be it with family or friends —  as a form of bonding.

And Cassian did want to get closer to Kaelin. He saw a lot of himself in the orphaned kid.

The young one, however, did not seem to find the ideia appealing at all.

“I— it would be an honour sir, I mean, Cassian, but I—” Kaelin blushed deeply while trying to politely refuse Cassian’s invitation, stammering and tripping over his words.

“You know what? Why don’t I go first and you get there after I’m done?” Cassian shrugged, seeing Kaelin sigh in relief.

It was a step too far it seemed. Maybe Kaelin was uncomfortable because they were not closer — although the objective was for them to get closer — maybe he is shy or maybe embarrassed because he is not as muscled as the other boys his age. Cauldron knew how much extra practice Cassian himself had done when he was younger, wanting to get as strong and muscled as Enalius, their warrior god.

He would have to work a little harder if he wanted to make Kaelin feel as comfortable with him as he was with Nesta. They were both males, so it should be easier for them to bond despite meeting the kid after Nesta.

“You can bond in other ways” he muttered to himself as he got dressed in his room, drying his hair.

It was then that he realised he had forgotten to leave Kaelin a second towel, in case his got too damp because of the heat in the birch.

Grabbing a towel he goes to the birch and opens it.

“Kaelin, I forgot to give—”  he stops himself when he sees that Kaelin is naked, head thrown back against the wall, completely relaxed for once.

Yet all that easiness goes away once he hears Cassian’s voice.

“I’m sorry. Here’s your towel” stammering, he quickly leaves the white towel on the bench and closes the door, internally beating himself for forgetting to knock.

Kaelin had wanted to go alone and Cassian invaded the kid’s personal space and now he would hate him and—

Cassian stops in front of his room, thoughts finally catching up with his brain.

He remembers the ugly bruises along Kaelin’s ribs, their purple and green colour already fading to yellow and has to reboot his memory for a second.

He’s almost sure he saw boobs.

But boys don’t have boobs. He knows that.

And he could not possibly be confused because of the heat or the smoke inside the birch—

But he recalls how Nesta is so protective of Kaelin. How she almost seemed afraid for him to meet Azriel, how Kaelin had cried and said nobody could know he had activated his killing powers because they’d look too much into him.

And suddenly it clicked.

Kaelin was a girl.

~•~

Cassian was very close to having a mental breakdown.

Kaelin was a girl. A girl. As in boobs, periods and weird hormones.

And he had seen him — her, naked.

Cauldron, he was knee deep in shit.

After walking in on Kaelin, Cassian had been unable to leave his room. He was sure she would want some time alone to process what had happened and that he now knew her secret.

Because Kaelin was a girl.

“Gods, where is Nesta when I need her?” he grumbled, running his hands on his hair.

Nesta knew it all along and was helping Kaelin hide it. It was a noble thing to do, but also so reckless. If the wrong person discovered it they could be killed. He would not put it past the Illyrians to do that.

He had to talk with Kaelin. He had left her alone for long enough. If he did not talk with her now he would have to wait for when Nesta arrived, and that was a talk Kaelin did not have to be present.

It was a little past the time for lunch, so he had the perfect excuse to knock in Nesta’s bedroom and ask Kaelin to come out.

Except when he did that nobody answered.

Kaelin was not there.

“Fucking hell, not again” Cassian swore, quickly going out and getting airborne.

Kaelin was still hurt so she would not be able to fly. He had a chance to catch up with her given that she was walking.

And to his luck he found her not far from his cabin.

But she was not alone.

“Are you sure you are a boy? Look how skinny you are”

“I am a late bloomer” she answered an older Illryan, making him and the other one beside him laugh.

“Late bloomer? That is girl talk, ain’t I right Bjerke?” 

“Take off your shirt, boy. Show us those muscles” the male, Bjerke, said.

“Thank you, but no. I have to go” Kaelin tried to go past them, but was held back by Bjerke.

“Here Falk, hold this thing while I help our friend”

As Cassian got closer, he realised Kaelin was holding his book, which was teared from her grasp by Bjerke, who started trying to undress her.

Blood roaring in his ears, Cassian dropped in front of them, his siphons flashing.

“Let. Go. Of. Him” he gritted out, and the males froze.

In front of them stood the General Commander of the Illyrian armies.

The Lord of Bloodshed.

And he was not happy.

“We were just talking to him” Falk said, his voice hinting at his fear.

“He said no” Cassian growled, seeing Kaelin’s clothes messed up.

All Cassian could see was Kaelin's scared face and remember when Nesta had hinted about being attacked when she was human.

He still wanted to know who that piece of shit was.

Would take his sweet time making him suffer for what he did.

“I think it’s best that you go” he snapped, and Bjerke let go of Kaelin, taking a step back “If I hear you were bothering someone else again — be it male or female — you will want to have never been born. Are we understood?”

Both males assured Cassian it would not happen again, and were airborne within minutes.

Kaelin straightened her clothes, grabbing the fallen book and dusting off its cover.

She still refused to look at Cassian.

“What am I going to do with you kid?” he sighed “Nesta will kill me once she discovers I let you out of my sight.”

That caught the young girl’s attention. She finally glanced his way, searching Cassian’s face for something, anything that would give away that he was angry with her or that he was going to expose her secret to someone.

She found nothing.

“I… I am sorry I lost lunch” she mumbled.

“Good thing I have not eaten yet” giving her a reassuring smile, he ruffled her short hair “Let’s go home and eat before Nesta arrives and kill us both.”

“Yeah. Let’s go home” Kaelin answered, and it seemed a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

•

Tags: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arinbelle @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja @awesomelena555 @courtofjurdan @valkyriewarriors @moe8 @illyrianwitchling13 @silvernesta @bri-loves-sunflowers @queenestarcheron @imwritingthesewords @vasudharaghavan @rainbowcheetah512 @darkshadowqueensrule @letstakethedawn @starlightorstarfire @city-of-fae @thalia-2-rose @nestaarcher0n @rowaelinismyotp @julemmaes @dontgetsalmonella @alinaleksanders @lysandra-tiara9 @inardour @hikari274 @fatimafares123 @angelina-figjam

[mandowh0re]

Remember Me

Chapter 3

Summary: While cleaning up the timelines that he broke, Loki meets and inevitably loses the one person that’s understood him in life. But he’s not losing you without a fight.

A/N: Beta’d by the ever beautiful @edgyvege. Go show her some love!

Warnings: Mention of suicide, attempted kidnapping

Word Count: 2892

Happy Reading!

When Loki is finally confident enough that he wouldn’t look like a fool, he settles down in his bed and grabs the book you had given him, and enters the number inside the cover.

He ignores the fact that his hands tremble as he taps ‘call’ with his index finger.

The phone rings a few times before you pick up.

“Hello?”

“Hello, darling.”

“Loki?”

“Is anyone else calling you ‘darling’? That would certainly be a shame,” he grins as he settles back into the pillows behind him.

He hears you giggle before you respond, “No. Just you. I think if anyone else called me that I’d punch them.”

“That would be intriguing.”

You giggle again, “I miss you.”

It’s a moment before he replies. Loki bites his lip, butterflies coming to life in his stomach, “It’s only been a few days, dear.”

“I know. I still miss you though,” you rub your finger across the wood grain of the counter.

“I miss you as well. Please know, this is not how I would court you if I had things my way.”

“Court me?”

“I-” he sits up, “Ah. I thought… Was I not-“

“I’m kidding,” You interrupt his sudden anxious rambling, “Calm down.”

He hears you chuckle and he takes a few careful deep breaths.

Joking.

Typical of you.

“You think you are funny, darling?” Loki pokes as he rests back into his pillow.

“I like to believe so,” You turn away from the counter and lean against it.

“You are lucky that I find you so endearing,” His voice is deep.

“Is that so?” You tongue your cheek.

“It is,” His voice is even and playful again.

The conversation flows from there, easily and freely. The two of you talk about nothing and everything for hours. When the conversation would die down, one of you would grasp for a new topic, neither one of you wanting to end the call.

It becomes a daily routine. Every evening, Loki would call and the two of you would often talk late into the night until you didn't have a choice but to go to bed for work the next morning.

**

It’s Thursday again, and you’re floating around your shop, hanging some new decor you had bought to brighten up the small space.

It’s been two months since Loki first showed up, and you can’t remember a time when you were happier.

There was no label between the two of you. You sometimes wished there was. But Loki, though confident and smooth talking, seemed to hold some reservations. He never shared them with you, but you could tell in the small changes of his expressions or body language when the flirting began to go too far, or how he expertly changed the subject if the conversation veered too far into relationship territory.

But even so, you were content. You finally had two good friends, after years of pushing away anyone who got too close. The fear of hurting those closest to you, or vise versa, always creeping in the back of your mind.

Your mind tried to make you do the same with Loki, and eventually Thor, but the rational part of you knew that they could protect themselves. At the same time, something deep inside of your soul somehow knew that you could trust the raven-haired god.

And it annoyed you to no end. You always did your best to follow reason. It was your way of ensuring your own and others’ safety. But it felt impossible to ignore the feeling of security you had around him.

The windchimes tinkle once again and you smile to yourself. You’re standing on a chair to reach the low ceiling, taping some colorful paper flowers to the dull off-white paint.

“Hey, Loki.” You greet happily, applying the last piece of tape and stepping down from the chair.

There’s a hand on your waist, and, thinking it’s Loki, you turn and go to place your hands on his chest only to see a tall, brooding man behind you. You jump, and take a step backwards.

He’s dressed in civilian clothes, but you know better. You see the edges of a tattoo peeking from just beneath his jacket collar. There’s an indent in his jeans, suggesting he’s concealing a knife. And his boots are almost military grade.

Your eyes flick towards the door, hoping to see Loki walk in.

He doesn’t.

“Can I help you with something?” You ask, taking a subtle step back.

His eyes scrape down your body and you’re suddenly sick to your stomach. Whether he’s sizing you up, searching for weapons, or just looking at you like a piece of meat, you’re unsure. But you don’t like it.

“Your presence is requested.”

You raise a brow and try to take another step back, but the bookshelf behind you keeps you from moving any further.

“You should leave,” You tell him, narrowing your eyes, “And tell Hayward to go to hell.”

He grabs your wrists and pulls you flush against him, his hot breath fanning across your face, “Listen here, little girl. You’re coming with me, quietly. I have never failed a mission, and I don’t plan on starting today.”

Realizing you have no other options, you brace yourself against the shelf behind you as you begin to call upon the energy around you, white light balling between your captive hands. It reflects against the various decorations you had just hung up, them swaying just slightly and the growing wind around you, and just before you blast the agent to hell, a different force rips him from you.

Because his hands are still connected to you, the force makes you tumble forwards, slamming into the ground with him. You lift your head from the carpet and look up, confused as hell, and your eyes immediately land on Loki. He must have come in right after you had been grabbed. You didn’t even hear the windchimes this time.

Loki’s eyes seem to glow just slightly, and he looks absolutely furious. He leans down to pick your attacker up by the throat and slams him against a wall, a knife materializing in Loki’s other hand. He raises it to the man’s throat in an instant, leans in, and sneers, “I should kill you where you stand for even gazing upon her,” Loki growls, pressing the knife further into his skin and drawing blood, “Touching her?” Another millimeter deeper, “That deserves a punishment worse than death.”

Your brain suddenly catches up to the situation and you run up to Loki, grabbing his arm, “Hey! Hey, I’m okay!” You tug at him gently, hoping to keep him from committing murder in the middle of your store.

“Brother!” A familiar voice booms behind you. You spin on your heels to see Thor, an annoyed expression on his face.

“He attacked me,” You blurt, knowing that Loki could get in a lot of trouble for this outburst, “Loki was just trying to help.”

Thor looks at you, his expression softening, before he looks back to the other two men and walks over to them. He places a large hand on Loki’s shoulder, “Brother, let me deal with him. We do not want to cause a spectacle.”

Loki’s hold on the man tightens, before he rips himself away, his knife disappearing allowing a trickle of blood to leave the cut on the man’s throat.

Thor made a call and the man was subsequently arrested and taken away.

After the cruiser drives off, Thor walks back into the shop where he had left you and Loki, and offers you a kind smile.

“Brother, what do you say we bring her back to the compound for the evening?”

Loki’s head snaps up, his eyes landing on his brother’s, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Thor shrugs, “I don’t see why not.”

Loki looks to you and intertwines his fingers with yours, “What do you think?”

You smile back at him, squeezing his hand, “Sounds good to me.”

***

After locking up the store, Thor and Loki guide you to the empty alleyway they usually use for Loki to transport them.

There’s a tingling sensation all over your body, and gold specks dot your vision before you’re suddenly on a grass lawn. You look up and your eyes blow wide, seeing the Avengers Compound right in front of you. The place is huge. You’d seen pictures before, but never imagined it to be as large and complex as what you’re currently seeing.

As Thor leads you both toward the silver and glimmering building in front of you, you feel Loki’s hand slip into yours again.

You look up to him and smile before your eyes are pulled away, meeting the glances of the compound staff as your presence momentarily distracts them from their current tasks.

You step into Loki’s space, pushing yourself closer to his side, making the others’ glances fade from your attention as his proximity makes you feel safer.

Once making your way past the main yard, and a long driveway, you arrive at what you assume is the main entrance of the building, though you do not stop there. Thor finally stops when you meet him in a back hallway near one of two elevators. Thor presses the call button, taking you gods know where.

You’re still pressed into Loki, though now you’re using him as a crutch, feeling a little faint. Whether from the dramatic turn of events or the teleportation, you have no idea. Either way, this wasn’t what you had expected for today and in all honesty, you’re incredibly overwhelmed.

“Is everything alright?” Loki asks, noticing the extra weight against him and your increasingly labored breaths.

You nod, but the movement makes you dizzy and you clutch onto Loki, eyes screwing shut, “I think I need to lie down.”

Thor and Loki exchange worried glances.

“Take her to your room. I shall speak with the others.”

Loki nods, carefully sweeping you into his arms. As soon as the metal doors slide open, he makes a beeline towards his own room. He unlocks his door with magic, a shimmering green momentarily covering the knob before disappearing. The door opens itself, allowing Loki to keep from jostling you too much.

He walks over to his bed, carefully depositing you on top. He grabs the soft green throw blanket that Peter had gotten him as a welcome gift some time ago and carefully places it over your form. He leans down and brushes the hair away from your face, nimble fingers softly caressing your face.

“You have had quite a day. Rest now.”

You smile at him, pulling the blanket farther over yourself.

“Stay?”

Loki smiles warmly, before climbing into bed with you, his back resting against the headboard. You turn to snuggle into him, and soon you’re fast asleep.

***

You wake a few hours later, feeling much better than you had earlier in the day. You notice that the space next to you is now empty, and you sit up to take in your surroundings.

The room is a generous size. The walls are painted grey, and the bed is larger than any bed you’ve slept on, adorned with a fluffy and extremely soft black comforter. There’s a dark stained heavy wooden dresser against one of the walls, a large gold mirror hanging above it. A large bookshelf lines the same wall, filled to the brim with books, and you notice that every book you recommended to him in the last two months were on a shelf of their own.

On another wall, a desk is tucked into the corner, neat and organized with a small black leather book sitting atop. To the left of the large bed is a closed door, and on the right is a door that’s slightly ajar, and you can see it’s an ensuite bathroom.

One of the walls is completely made up of floor to ceiling windows, and the room faces the west so you can see the colors of the sky morphing into an array of purples, oranges, and pinks as the sun sets. It’s a breathtaking sight.

You climb out of the bed, keeping the fluffy blanket around your shoulders. Curious as to where Loki had gone, you leave the room, looking both ways to try and remember which way you had come from earlier. Choosing at random, you begin your small journey, hoping to everything that you don’t run into an Avenger. How the hell were you supposed to explain that one?

Apparently, you chose correctly because the further you go, you begin to hear voices.

You peek around the corner to see a large open living area, and your jaw drops. Whenever you imagined the Avengers’ living space, you imagined sleek, modern decor, and expensive as shit furniture that would look as if nobody even used it.

And while you were mostly correct, you were also met with a bright room with floor to ceiling windows, picture frames on the walls and tables. The black leather chairs and couches looked well loved, and there were different colored throw blankets all over the place.

Loki was sat next to Thor on a loveseat, while several other members of the team were scattered throughout the room.

You hadn’t even been listening to what they were saying, but you hear your name and you immediately hone in on the conversation, hiding behind the wall once more.

“All I’m saying is that a little notice would have been nice.” You think the voice belongs to Tony Stark.

“If it was any other circumstance, it would have been planned ahead of time. But after she was attacked, I don’t believe any of us were comfortable with leaving her alone.” That was Thor.

“Speaking of, I called the police department to ask about her attacker. They said he committed suicide with cyanide.” Natasha states.

The entire room falls into silence, before Steve pipes up, “That sounds a bit too familiar.”

“Why would HYDRA be after her?” Clint asks, and everyone looks to Loki.

Loki shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“Brother?” Thor pushes.

Loki sighs, “I promised her I would not tell a soul.”

“Look, Loki,” Steve moves closer to the edge of his seat, “I understand you want to protect her, but we can’t help you protect her without knowing why she’s being targeted.”

“I can protect her myself.” Loki growls, but Thor gently places his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“You can, but she would be safer with all of us protecting her. You have not dealt with HYDRA before, and therefore do not understand their capabilities. You trust me, and I trust my team. Tell us why Y/N is being hunted.” Thor tries to reason.

Loki sighs again, and you wonder what the hell they’re talking about. It wasn’t HYDRA who was after you. It was SWORD… Right? You feel nerves begin to take hold of you, and you clutch at the fabric around your shoulders.

And how the hell did Loki know why they wanted you? You hadn’t told him anything about that specific part of your past or of your abilities, much less making him promise anything.

So your heart falls to your stomach when you hear Loki’s next words.

“She has these… Abilities. She can manipulate the energy around her to do just about anything she wants. Back in timeline 656, she used her powers to help the resistance and destroy that timeline. But here, in this timeline, she has yet to mention these powers to me. I think she’s afraid. I know that her parents were SHIELD agents and were killed while on a mission when she was ten years of age.”

“If her parents were part of SHIELD, they may have been involved with HYDRA.” Tony offers.

“I think we have a visitor.” Wanda says, effectively ending the conversation.

You curse internally, but don’t move in hopes that maybe she was talking about someone else.

But suddenly Loki steps around the corner, a horrified look on his face, “Darling?”

You look up at him, and suddenly you’re angry. You’re unsure why. Maybe it’s because you worked so hard in life to stay off the radar of people like the Avengers. Maybe it’s because your efforts in keeping your secret to yourself were in vain because somehow Loki still knows. Maybe it’s because you’re suddenly terrified. Of yourself, of the Avengers, of HYDRA.

Your eyes flick over to the Avengers, who are now all looking at you in silence.

Loki moves to touch you, but suppressed survival instincts kick in and a blast of white energy bursts from your body, sending Loki flying into another wall. Your hands fly to your mouth.

“I- I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean-”

Thor steps closer to you, hands up in a placating gesture, “It’s alright. Take a breath. Nobody is going to hurt you.”

You take a step back, seeing all the horrified eyes on you.

Loki can see where this is going, so with a flick of his hand, he puts you to sleep, jumping to catch you before you hit the ground.

“This is what I wanted to avoid.” He spits, hoisting you up for the second time that day.

“Loki-” Thor tries, but he’s gone before the god can finish.

***

Remember Me taglist: @idunnomayn @savinasavers @stardust-walker @evelyn-4034 @dazedkrosupreme @sophlubbwriting @albinoclifford @nappinggecko

Permanent Taglist: @a-place-to-blog-marvel-stuff @yes-iamironman-blog @paradoxicalblueberry @the-regal-warrior @transparentparadiseglitterzombie @marvelgem @propertyofmarvel @avngrsinitiative @my-leg-is-not-a-chew-toy @lyricalstella-blog @just-the-daydreamer @hufflely-puffly

[ao3theskyisblue]

In the light of twilight

Summary:

"How long are you planning on sitting miles away from me?"

"I'm only a few feet away from you. Miles may be overstating it, babe."

A 2x08 coda because I still haven’t recovered from last night

Read on ao3

“How long are you planning on sitting miles away from me?”

Carlos had stood up to hug Gwyn and Owen just before they reluctantly left to catch her flight back to New York, exchanging words of reassurance and a promise to get together again soon. He stood back to watch as Gwyn leaned down to kiss TK’s temple softly, Owen giving his son’s hand a squeeze.

“Take care of him.” Carlos couldn’t help straightening his back at those words, nodding at Owen in response.

“Of course, sir.”

He caught a fond eye-roll at that, and even Gwyn seemed to be holding back an amused grin, but the two had left the room soon after that. Which left him to head back to his spot on the uncomfortable hospital chairs, hands clasped before him as his mind raced again with the endless possibilities that could have happened tonight. He didn’t know how long he had sat there, thoughts a blurred haze, until TK had broken the silence.

Looking up, Carlos felt his breath catch at the tender warmth in TK’s gaze as he looked at him, quiet understanding lighting up his features.

“I’m only a few feet away from you. Miles may be overstating it, babe.” Carlos resorted to a tactic he thought he had under his belt, using humour to deflect. He could tell TK wasn’t fooled in the slightest, judging by the short huff of breath at that, before he was lifting a tired hand towards him.

“Still too far.” TK was definitely pouting now, but Carlos still caught the minuscule wince at the action, the movement definitely reminding the man of his injuries that would take a while to heal.

In all honestly, he didn’t know why he was hesitant to get any closer.

Back when they had finally found them, when he saw TK staggering against a table with a bloody bandage on his head, his feet had moved on autopilot, bringing him straight to his boyfriend’s side in a matter of seconds. There was an overwhelming urge, a need, to know that he was okay, that he wasn’t too late.

That trusting his gut had been right.

The overwhelming emotions that had his eyes clouding with unshed tears as he held TK in his arms then were unparalleled, and he knew that there was no place he would have rather been than right there. Everything after that had been a blur - his father arriving at the scene, their tentative conversation, a residual reminder of a family lunch date he had yet to inform TK about.

He had been so close to losing a part of himself today. Looking at TK who was still watching him patiently from the hospital bed, he felt as if the universe might tell him that this was all an illusion, that he had failed to protect the one thing he’s always vowed to protect, that everything he had worked for would disappear right before his very eyes.

“Carlos.”

Biting the inside of his cheek to stop the onslaught of emotions that hit him all at once at the sound of his own name, Carlos got up slowly and took a stumbling step towards the hand that had not stopped reaching for him.

“I’m here, and I’m okay.” TK whispered, and Carlos closed the distance between them, latching onto the offered hand like a lifeline, leaning down to pull TK into a tight hug, though still mindful of his injuries. Pressing a gentle kiss to TK’s hairline, right above the bulge of bandages, he closed his eyes and didn’t fight the tears that slowly slipped down his cheeks.  

“How are you feeling?” TK murmured, and Carlos laughed wetly as he pulled back slightly to wipe away the wet stains on his face. Gentle hands replaced his own, and Carlos gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, lifting a hand to cover TK’s that were still delicately wiping his tears away.

“How am I feeling? You were the one that had a rough day.” Carlos shook his head, and TK immediately made a noise of protest.

“You haven’t had the greatest day either. How – are you still suspended?” TK asked tentatively, eyes searching his, and Carlos smiled.

“Still pending investigation. But I think that after these recent events, I’ll be back to work in a few days.” Carlos felt his heart stutter in his chest at TK’s brilliant smile at that, his eyes shining proudly.

“I’m so proud of you.” TK murmured, and Carlos leaned into the hand still cupping his face, turning to kiss the palm of it. Sighing lightly, Carlos reached for the hand TK had dropped down on the hospital bed, the warmth emanating through him soothingly as the latter immediately intertwined their fingers.

“I was so close to playing it by the book.” Carlos admitted quietly, dropping his gaze to the dull blue hospital linens, having a sudden urge to pick at them but TK only tightened his grip on his hand. “It hit a nerve, I guess, when my father told me my instincts may have been wrong. I kept on thinking if I didn’t let that man go today, if things would have gone differently.”

He didn’t look up, and he knew that TK would wait until he was ready. His boyfriend was surprisingly patient in times like these, and it was a source of comfort Carlos could always trust in.

“If you had arrested him, you would have – “ TK’s voice cracked at the end, but swallowed it down and continued, “you would have died. You, your partner, and whoever was nearby. You would have all died.”

Carlos hadn’t visited that part of what could have happened thoroughly yet. Certainly, he wouldn’t be here if he had played by the book earlier today, and who knows what would have happened after. The bank robbers would still be free, they would have just hired someone else to do the job, and the world would have moved forward.

Without him in it.

It was definitely something that he should probably talk about, and he will.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know that now. But then? All I knew was that I could have made a terrible mistake just from trusting my instincts, and I – I started to doubt myself.” Carlos admitted quietly and TK must hear the resignation in his tone.

“Carlos…”

“But I didn’t.” Carlos continued, looking up now, and he didn’t know what his eyes were portraying but it had TK’s widen slightly. “I didn’t play by the book. I chose to follow my gut and I’m – I don’t regret it. I would do it a thousand times over. Your father was right, our guts are what we take out there in the field, and I should trust it.” Carlos could see TK starting to smile, and it was impossible not to smile back.

“He also said we should have a heart behind our shield.”

TK’s smile widened, and his eyes were filling with emotion the longer they stared at each other. Carlos tilted his head slightly when TK pressed a hand to his heart, patting the spot gently.

“And you have a damn good one.” TK whispered fondly. Carlos let out a wet chuckle, taking the hand that was pressed to his heart to kiss his knuckles. He let his lips rest there, a physical reminder of what he could have lost today creeping in on him, before leaning his forehead against the warm hand, smiling helplessly.

“What?” TK tilted his head adoringly, and Carlos looked up to meet his gaze.

“I just really love you.”

He falls in love all over again at the elated smile that lights up TK’s face every time he says that, endeared by the shy edges to it as if he could never grow tired of hearing it.

“I love you too.”

Carlos took that moment to scoot just a little closer, lifting an arm to wrap around TK’s mid-section to lean in further. He was completely content in just staying like this until the doctors approved of TK’s discharge, but they hadn’t been staring at each other very long when TK’s brows furrowed slightly. Carlos was immediately on alert.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry I missed dinner.” TK lamented, looking like he was almost a little frustrated at himself and Carlos raised an eyebrow.

“You were kidnapped, pistol-whipped, and almost shot. I think that gives you a free pass, babe.” Carlos teased, chuckling quietly as TK groaned, shooting him an amused glare.

“You do know that your glares don’t work on me? I’ve since built an immunity to them, and all they do is make you look more adorable than you already are.” Carlos smirked, not even dodging the light hit TK landed on his shoulder.

“Don’t talk to me as if I don’t know what I look like. My head’s practically a bloated marshmallow.” TK said pointedly, but Carlos wasn’t deterred.

“So, soft and cute?”

TK shot him an unimpressed glare, looking like he wanted to roll his eyes but remembered how much his head wound had protested at that the last time he tried and held back.

“Only you can find me cute lying in a hospital bed like this.”

“You’re always cute, no matter where you are or what you’re doing.” Carlos reminded, eyebrows lifting as if challenging him to continue and TK merely shook his head slightly, an exasperated smile on his lips.

“You really need to stop being so sappy right in front of my concussion.”

“Never.”

Leaning in, Carlos pressed a light kiss to TK’s lips, grinning when he tried to chase him as he pulled back, the lips he had just been kissing already forming a light pout.

“I go missing for hours and you won’t even give me kisses?” Carlos snorted at that, narrowing his eyes at the playful glint in TK’s gaze.

“Playing the kidnapping card? Really Strand?”

“Gotta keep you entertained somehow in spite of everything.”

Carlos smiled, leaning down to gently kiss the corner of TK’s lips, much to his weak protest.

“Not in spite of.”

TK frowned, a questioning look in his eyes as Carlos reached up to delicately run his fingers through TK’s hair. Looking into the green eyes that caught him heart and soul ever since their first meeting in the rain, Carlos felt his body fill with warmth.  

“I’m here, and I love you because.”

~.~

“You didn’t eat the pasta.”

Carlos locked the front door and turned to see that TK was staring at the dinner layout spread before him. He vaguely remembered being in such a frenzied rush to the Strand house that all he remembered was to blow out the candles, leaving everything else exactly where they were before he had sped out the door.

“You didn’t come home. I would never have started without you.” Carlos frowned. The very thought of eating without TK felt wrong in every aspect, and toed off his shoes, placing them neatly beside TK’s by the entranceway before padding over.

The pasta had gone cold, the sauce looking a little hardened against the spaghetti noodles. The salad was looking a little dry as the dressing no doubt seeped into the vegetable leaves and sinking to the bottom of the bowl.

“Well, let’s eat it now!”

At TK’s sudden exclamation, Carlos blinked rapidly, looking down at the slightly worse-for-wear food laid out before them to TK and back again.

“Now?” Carlos knew he sounded incredulous, which was only further emphasized by TK’s affirmative nod. “Ty, it’s – “ Briefly glancing at the clock, he continued, “four am in the morning.”

“And?”

Carlos couldn’t help a surprised laugh, his boyfriend’s eagerness to eat the food he had spent a better part of his day cooking slowly rubbing off on him. TK was already padding forward slowly towards the setup, no doubt wanting to heat it up, but Carlos laid a gentle hand on his arm, guiding him towards the couch instead.

“I’m pretty sure your mom already fed you a year’s worth of Matzo ball soup. How are you still hungry?” Carlos mused, his lips twitching in amusement when TK groaned when he realized he was not-so-subtly arranged on the couch comfortably.

“I know for a fact that you haven’t eaten much. If at all.” TK looked at him pointedly, and Carlos couldn’t exactly deny that. He had grabbed a coffee, maybe had a few bites himself of the soup that Gwyn had almost force-fed him too and that had been it.

Hunger had been the last thing on his mind, and in truth, he honestly hadn’t really felt it.

“Spaghetti at twilight. How romantic.” Carlos mused, pushing off the couch to head to the kitchen when a hand caught his wrist.

“I love your cooking.”

Carlos looked down at TK who was staring up at him, a sudden serious look on his face that had him falter in his steps.

“You know that, right?” TK asked, looking a little worried now, and Carlos immediately nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. You’ve never shied away from telling me, and the noises you make sometimes should be illegal.” Carlos loved how he could always make TK smile, and the soft smile that the man propped up on the couch was currently donning had his stomach flip pleasantly.

“Your cooking brings me comfort. You bring me comfort.” TK bit his lip, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek in that tell-tale manner of when he was trying to find his words. Carlos, frankly, has forgotten every single word he has ever learned in life when he realized what TK was implying.

“I will always want to eat your cooking. It’s – it’s comfort, it’s home.”

The hug was sudden, and he hadn’t even realized he had moved until he realized one moment he was standing, the next he was crouching next to the couch with TK in his arms. He felt lips gently press a kiss to the crook of his neck, and Carlos absently wondered how his life had suddenly turned a meaningful 180 with just one fateful meeting.

“You’re my comfort too.” Carlos whispered, squeezing TK a little tighter, smiling shakily when the latter didn’t hesitate to reciprocate. “When I think of home, you’re the first and last person that appears in my mind.”

TK let out a shiver at that, and Carlos pulled back slowly to run his thumbs along TK’s cheeks, the softness of the skin making his heart ache. And when TK reached up to grasp his wrists carefully, he couldn’t help but lean forward for a gentle press of their lips.

“But your cooking still has my vote pending.” Carlos let out a smirk before stepping out of their hold on each other to actually head to the kitchen, grinning when he hears a sound of offended disbelief from the living room.

“Rude!”

As he heats up their intended dinner, Carlos glances back at the couch where TK was still glaring at the pillow in his lap, muttering something under his breath. Shaking his head in fond amusement, he was about to re-toss the salad when TK’s phone that he had forgotten on the kitchen counter lit up with a call from an unknown number.

“TK! Your phone’s ringing, do you mind if I pick up?” Carlos called, and TK made a sound of affirmation. Picking up the device, Carlos pressed on the green ‘accept call’ button before lifting it to his ear.

“Hello?”

 The steady rhythm of raindrops falling suddenly sounded louder than anything in the world, the gray haze permeating through his thoughts as the onslaught of words slowly pieced together in his head.  

His grip on the phone slipped, eyes widening when the voice on the phone relayed news that he had never prepared to imagine, a call he had never been prepared to receive.

He could hear TK calling his name in concern and looked up to see a pair of worried green eyes fixated on him.

Swallowing thickly, Carlos let out a shuddering breath.

“Something’s happened to Judd and Grace.”

[the-voltage-diaries]

Το Βόρειο Αστέρι μου - Lucifer x Diavolo

AO3 Link

Το Βόρειο Αστέρι μου: Greek for ‘My Polar Star’

Word Count: 1859

A/N: I don’t know what this is. All I know is that @simpingw0lfi3​​​​​​​ refused to do it, so I did. Of course, please don’t expect this to be perfect because... it really isn’t. 

Vote of thanks: @akaiiro-yume​​​​​ for checking and correcting all the grammatical fuck ups I did, making sure I didn’t stop writing this halfway and going through any mental breakdown I might have had instead for me. And, of course, @some-ikemen-snob​​​​​ for making sure this SCREAMED Lucifer energy this way and that. only for now, but ily both.

Devildom 14th February, 20XX Saturday, 7:57 PM

Dear Diary,

      I suppose I've never written a journal entry such as this in the past, for I haven't found either the desire or the will to task myself with writing my thoughts down in a manner wherein I speak to an inanimate object. That said, I have been told writing is, in a manner of speaking, therapeutic, and I believe I could do with some of that right now. It would be false to assume I don’t still harbour any inhibitions towards using my time in this manner, especially when I'd much rather be by Diavolo’s side. The very same Diavolo who, as a matter of fact, happens to be the subject of this writing session today. Strangely enough, and if I recall correctly, he was also the one who introduced - which is putting it rather mildly - me to the “art” of journal entries. I admit, I haven’t given this activity the kind of gravity which was probably expected out of me, but then again, today is a little different from the rest. I'm not entirely certain as to where to begin, but I do believe I have been told in situations like these, one should do whatever... feels right.

      Diavolo is... well, where do I even begin? He is the future of Devildom, as a few might call it - myself included. While he does appear to be quite the cheerful and at times careless lord, it’d be a lie to deny that he is just as wise and compassionate underneath that wave of buoyancy radiating off of him. Honest to a fault, but with his moral compass always pointing towards the best interest of those around him. I’ll admit, sometimes it proves to be rather difficult to believe that he indeed is a demon. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to compare him to the Polaris considering he does quite radiate the charisma from himself, shining admirably amidst a dark sea of onlookers. While in name he rules over all the demons in the land of Devildom, the right set of eyes won’t take too long to deduce the eloquence with which his fingers reach out to the soul of every single resident of the land, holding them together better than gravity ever bound humans to the earth. 

      Saying that is all there is to him would be a lie whiter than the wet snow, making its way to the tips of my fingers and sliding off gently onto this page. That, of course, doesn’t mean describing how I feel towards him is no herculean task. There are some cases when a language -  no matter the plethora of vocabulary it offers - just isn’t sufficient enough, and this certainly is one of those cases. For the time being, let’s just owe my lack of articulacy to the bond of mutual respect and trust Diavolo and I share, built over centuries upon centuries, braving the ravages of time, and even perhaps the less than pleasing antics my brothers tend to pull. But while the impression the ruler of all demons and I tend to emit may seem to be distanced by a careful degree of professionalism, I don’t believe anybody knows that that might not be the case. Even Diavolo himself. Doesn’t come as a surprise, really, for they simply can’t know.

      Why do I believe that to not be the case, then? Well, I would wonder why I felt so strongly about it had I not known the reason myself. The very same reason which is now a secret so surreptitious that I can’t help but consider burning this piece of paper once I finish writing to ensure it is never revealed to another set of eyes. Such dastardly is the nature of this emotion, tricking one into its delusive warmth, encompassing them with the belief that nothing truly is impossible, that what they feel might just be true and meaningful enough to be returned by the other they feel for, only to cackle with glee and turn away when the reality doesn’t match the fantasy it was believed to turn out to be. The very same emotion which in layman’s terms is apparently called... love.

      I’m not entirely certain I understand the extent of its exquisite existence myself, to be truthful. All I know is no matter how intensely I try to shut the door on its escaping fumes, it turns futile the second I lay my eyes on the man in question. While the rest of the known universe sees an omnipotent leader binding everyone together, making them sing the same tune in harmony, I see what I can only consider an anchor, grounding me, making it so that I can’t ever fall into the abyss of the darkness that breathes inside of me and float away. He is the quintessence of the best of what the world has to offer, with his golden eyes sparkling like stardust, weaving their ever-lasting magic into the hearts of whoever they come across - be it human, or demon, or angel - wrapping them in their never-ending warmth, letting them sink into the depths of benevolence they promise. His hair are the cerise of a raging inferno, sheltering beneath their canopy a quick, sensible, erudite mind. His smile is but a warm culmination of everything optimistic and positive, like a flame inviting moths to it, reaching out to give their innermost yearnings a hand to grab on to and never let go. Simply divine. And this is where the paths diverge, I suppose.

      They see a to-be Demon King, I see Diavolo.

      But alas, love is a fickle mistress. Getting too lost in the charm of her alluring arms will only result in a doom of them wrapping around your neck, enticing, until you realise their hold is tightening. Not to hold on, but to suffocate. I might have gotten so lost in that fiery gaze that I didn’t notice it start to crawl along my skin, leaving a charred, burnt path in its wake. The very anchor which I believed to be the one to ground me and hold me close etched itself deeper into the oceanic floor of delirium, drowning me. The threads of his stardust wrapped themselves around me and clutched hard enough to strangle. Before I knew it, the symphony of something meaningful became the cacophony of a nightmare.

      This red thread strung through itself earlier today the series of events I’d rather forget. I’ve known how I feel towards Diavolo for a while now, and I had been searching for an opportunity to come clean and let him know about it for the last few days. Not to say I hadn’t gotten said opportunities at all, but one could owe it to me being too prideful to admit I was finally opening up to the idea of accepting feelings and... emotions. Around that time was when Solomon let slip a few details about the significance of Valentine’s day in the human world as an annual occurrence to celebrate romantic love, friendship, and admiration, and with enough persistence, Asmodeus managed to convince Diavolo to declare the day as an official holiday. Just a few hours ago I walked along the empty hallways to Diavolo’s office, knowing him, Barbatos and I to be the only ones in the building, still choosing work over any form of inactivity. By then, I had talked myself into finally telling the most powerful of all demons about the feelings I harboured towards him. I am a little embarrassed to admit that I was indeed a tad hopeful, wishing for the feelings to be returned. Once I reached the door to his private office, my hand settled above the smooth hardwood to give it a knock. And that’s when I noticed that the door was already slightly ajar. I heard a voice inside, other than Diavolo’s, and I took the liberty to glance inside, only for my hopes to come crashing down when the realisation struck me: I shouldn’t have done that.

      Inside his office, Diavolo sat in his seat with his mouth pressed against another, a hand trailing across the small face with dark green locks framing it with elegance while the other held on to the person’s waist, pulling him closer. My eyes widened when the smaller man of the two let out a muffled whimper, perched on Diavolo’s lap. Barbatos. I felt my heart squeeze out a pained croak at the sight, and even though every single nerve in my body begged me to move away and forget I ever saw anything, my legs didn’t move. They stayed glued to their spot on the floor even as I felt it crumble beneath my feet, just the way my eyes stayed on Diavolo. My lip trembled with a longing I never thought I’d experience when Barbatos intertwined his fingers with Diavolo’s, smiling into the kiss they shared, like the perfect harmony which was always meant to be. It was when Diavolo broke the kiss, eyes meeting the other’s and whispers of love and confessions floating across the room until they settled on my ears, that I finally felt the mask crack. The facade I had worked on for centuries to lay the foundation of crumbled as my fists clenched, letting myself have a moment of weakness when a lone tear of frustration, delay, anger, and self loathing dripped down my cheek. I looked up at the ceiling, a voiceless laugh tumbling across my lips at the cognisance that the Polaris I was reaching out for, shining proud in the middle of a dark, cloudless sky, was beyond my reach, and... never supposed to be mine. How far I could stretch, how willing were my fingers to make one last attempt to touch it’s light and bask in it - all of that didn’t matter anymore.

      I exhaled a shaky breath, blinking once as I tucked away whatever it is I was going to tell Diavolo in some corner of my mind, crushing the key with a hard snap of my fingers. My eyes found Barbatos again, glazing over with a heartfelt wish for him to find his happiness, at least. It was with one last aching smile towards Diavolo and a euphoric laugh spilling from Barbatos’ lips that I turned on my heel, shaking my head at the fate I was handed. Needless to say, I hold no malice towards either of them - they’re both precious to me, as much as I dislike admitting it.

      I believe I have shared more than what was required, and I shall burn this piece of paper lest anyone finds it. One might call it wishful thinking on my part, but I do pray that watching the last signs of anything I harbour towards the one who wasn’t meant to be mine from the start burn as the embers of the fire consume it whole makes me put a lid on my feelings once and for all, for they were never supposed matter. They weren’t supposed to exist to begin with.

      After all, only a prince deserves a fairy-tale with a happy ending, and I am no prince.

Lucifer.

[dameronology]

the one that got away {poe x reader}

summary: based on the song the one that got away by katy perry 

this song has been my jam since i was about 11 and i’m now closer to being 20 than i am to being 11 and that’s making me panic! everywhere and not just exclusively at the disco but it made me produce this 

warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of smut 

enjoy, 

- jazz

Poe Dameron had always believed in true love.

He saw it not only within his parents’ relationship but everywhere he looked: in the couple who lived next door to his childhood home, in the bar where he worked during his time at the academy, in couples walking down the street. It was everywhere and nowhere; the kind of thing that you could feel in your soul but never physically grasp - or, at least that had been his initial understanding of it. 

Then Poe met you.

That was how he realised that love was very much something he could physically feel. Not only could he feel it, he could see it and he could hear it and he could finally understand it. You were the answer to every question he’d ever had. 

He could feel it whenever you held his hand and he could hear it whenever you laughed at one of his terrible jokes. Whenever he simply looked at you - whether it was under the blinding morning light or simply the outline of your and against his chest in the dark - it was there. What had started as a stupid fling in the academy had turned into something more. You were his whole world, his everything.

Poe was your soulmate; your best friend and your partner-in-crime (or as you had affectionally dubbed him, your poetner-in-crime). You were always on the same wavelength, emitting the same chaotic energy and terrible jokes. You had each other’s backs to no end, the kind of bond that spanned the galaxy and back ten times over. The love between was the kind that very few people were lucky enough to experience. 

‘Poe, quick!’ 

You were tearing down the corridor, fingers intertwined. Almost tripping over each other, you skidded around a corner and into a dark classroom, slamming the door behind you. You fell back against the door, Poe’s arms on either side of you as he leant against you, body shaking with laughter.

‘His face!’ The pilot could barely control his laughter. ‘Maker, I’ve never seen the guy so angry.’

‘That’ll teach him to fuck with us again.’ You smiled.

‘Us.’ Poe repeated your words back to you.

‘Yeah?’ You grin grew wider. You pushed a few strewn, dark curls back off his face. ‘Me too.’

‘I love you.’ His hand ghosted your cheekbone, resting on your face for a moment. 

‘I love you too.’ You leant up to kiss him, revelling in the feeling of his lips against yours. It was the feeling of home; warm and soft and welcoming all at once. 

‘Forever?’

‘Forever.’ 

Nothing could come between you - until it did.

The war. 

The beginning of another civil war were in the making. People who had lived through the first one had the same sense of unease they did the first time around; the appearance of more TIE fighters in the sky, more recruits coming to the academy, training increasing tenfold. There was discontent across the galaxy and nobody knew what was coming. 

Poe left first. He was a few years ahead of you in terms of training, having been piloting since he was a kid. That, paired with his admirable recklessness and natural leadership, made him perfect for the Resistance. You were his whole damn world but he had to fight for the galaxy; a galaxy in which you could both have a future. 

‘I guess this is it.’ 

You were stood in front of Poe’s X-Wing, hands shakily intertwined as you tried your hardest not to digest what was happening. If you did, he would probably try to say. Or worse, you would try to go with him before you were ready. 

‘It’s only a few months.’ Poe’s voice was wobbly, and he gripped your hands tighter. ‘A year at most, and then you’ll come out and join me. Right?’

‘Right.’ You nodded, a tear splashing down your cheek. ‘And we’ll talk all the time. Beebs always knows where to find me.’

‘I love you.’ He pressed his forehead to yours, lips momentarily brushing together as he trembled. ‘I love you so much.’

‘I love you too.’ You murmured. ‘If this is it, I’m always going-’

‘- we literally just said.’ Poe almost reeled back. ‘We’re going to see each other again.’

‘But if we don’t-’

‘- say it.’ Poe’s voice was firm, his grip on your hands inhumanly tight. ‘Say that we’ll see each other again. Promise me.’

You sighed, trying to calm yourself for a moment. You wanted to be hopeful, to think of a future where two could find your way back to each other - but you had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the case. The galaxy was getting darker and darker by the day and the light at the end of the tunnel seemed impossibly far away. 

‘I promise.’ The words were barely a whisper.

‘Take this.’ Poe reached up to the chain around his neck, pulling the ring off. 

‘Poe, I can’t ask that of you-’

‘- you’re not asking. I’m telling.’ He shook his head. Taking your hand in his, he slipped his mother’s ring across your middle finger. ‘Forever, right?’

‘Forever.’

You would both come to learn that forever was a long time - almost as long as the months you spent apart. 

At first, you would talk every day. You would talk to him via the holo-link in your droids, sharing stories about your day and talking about what you were going to do when you saw each other again. It felt like you were hopelessly clinging onto a distant dream, desperately wishing that the promises you were making could ever be fulfilled. You spoke about where you were going to live (Coruscant, probably) and what you were going to name your kids (Leo for a boy, Shara for a girl). 

But then your calls became less and less regular. Poe was being taken all over the galaxy on his missions and you were busy trying to finish your training. What had been a daily thing turned into one of a weekly nature, and before you knew it, it was a two-or-three-times a month affair.

You were tired whenever you spoke, and Poe was grumpy. You’d been worn down with your training and his body had been torn through eleven different timezones in a week. The hope that you’d both once had was almost completely faded, replaced with concern for the war. All your energy was going into fighting - sometimes for the Resistance, sometimes with each other.

Then the calls stopped. 

You couldn’t exactly recall when you realised it was over but some part of you just knew; there was no conversation, no closure. It was over, just like that. You didn’t even have time to think about it or to cry about it. The fact that you’d lost Poe Dameron was just a reality of life - a painful one, but a reality nonetheless. 

You took the ring off, putting it in a safe space to give back to him should you ever cross paths again. You wouldn’t - not for a few years. 

Almost a year to the day that Poe left, Leia Organa recruited you into the Resistance. It was a different base to your former love, systems away in the Outer Rim. Your work was focused mostly on communications and collecting data for building new bases. It felt good to finally be doing your part for the cause but you couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. 

(It was Poe. Poe was the thing that was missing). 

Time flew by. You were jumping between planets, having a few near misses and experiencing your first real sense of loss; not only for your flyboy, but for your team-mates who didn’t make it back. You were haunted with thoughts of the same thing happening to Poe, of the idea that he could have already left for his last mission without knowing it.

So, you started wearing the ring again. Even when you met somebody new - Perry, a six-foot-tall blonde gunner with a kind smile and a moderate sense of humour - you kept it on. You wore it when you kissed Perry for the first time and you wore it when he declared his love for you. 

He wasn’t Poe. He didn’t hold your hand the way Poe did or kiss you in the way that Poe did. He didn’t make you laugh like him or smile like him or feel like him. He wasn’t the same. Nobody could ever compare but you weren’t going to find the love of your life twice. It was like you’d won the lottery on your first ticket. Nobody won the jackpot twice. 

‘This is the bar that Leia said most of the other guys went to.’

You and Perry were stood outside a cantina; it was dark on Ajan Kloss, the sky lit in a low navy colour by the yellow of the moon. The signs of the establishment flashed before you, a welcome invitation away from the cold night. The air inside was stuffy in comparison, smelling of stale beer and filled with the sound of other Resistance pilots chortling and chatting. 

You were on a two-day lay over at another base. The whole squad needed a drink, given how rough the mission had been - whilst they sat down, you ditched your jacket and headed to the bar up front. 

Falling against the wooden counter, you let out a small oof! as somebody dropped against the bar next to you, He was too busy talking to someone, but you could have recognised him from anywhere. 

Poe Dameron had a warm presence; there was an aura about him, something welcoming and sweet. He still wore the same after shave and laughed with his whole body - that’s how you knew it was him. 

‘Poe.’ Your words weren’t really there, but he still managed to hear you.

‘Yeah?’ He spun around, doing a double take when he saw you. ‘Oh, shit.’

He looked tired; his hair was still dark and curly, but littered with more greys than it had been five years ago. His warm brown eyes were decorated with dark circles and he had a five-o-clock shadow on his chin. Still, he looked good. 

‘I - wow.’ You couldn’t find the words. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’ A small smile fell onto Poe’s lips. ‘Hi.’

A moment later, he had dropped his drink and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. He hadn’t held you since the day he’d left all those years ago; a day that felt so alien to you both. Your immediate feeling was one of relief - Poe Dameron was alive, drinking in a bar and doing exactly what he said he’d always would (saving the galaxy). 

‘You’re...’ You trailed off, pulling back to stare at him. ‘You’re alive.’

‘Just about.’ Poe smiled at you. ‘And so are you - and you’re a Lieutenant.’

‘You’re a commander.’ Your eyes fell to the markings on his jacket. ‘That’s amazing, Poe.’

You were both thinking the same thing: we should have done it together. 

You should have been there to witness him rising through the ranks and he should have been there to welcome you to the Resistance with open arms. But life could be a bitch and she’d dealt you both the worst cards. The galaxy had done everything within its power to tear you apart.

‘It’s so good to see you.’ Poe bit his lip, brown eyes refusing to move from holding your gaze. ‘I know that we said-’

‘- don’t mention it.’ You shook your head. ‘We were pretty fucking naive, right?’

‘Right.’ He breathily laughed, nodding. ‘I still think about you, though.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ He smiled. ‘I think about the academy, and the day I left and - is that my mum’s ring?’

Poe’s eyes had fallen to your hand, where the metallic band still sat on your middle finger. You’d always promised yourself to give it back if you ever had the chance. After all, it was supposed to be a symbol of commitment, of your love for one another. It was a promise you’d made to each other before either of you knew what shit life was going to throw your way. 

‘Oh, yeah.’ You went to pull it off. 

‘No.’ Poe moved his hand to cover yours. ‘Keep it.’

‘Poe, it’s yours.’ You reminded him.

‘And I gave it to you.’ He replied. ‘I know...I know things didn’t go the way we wanted but I still mean everything I said.’

You smiled, nodding. ‘Thank you. Me too.’

‘Are you around later?’ Poe asked. ‘We should catch up. There’s a lot to talk about, right?’

‘Of course.’ You took a sip of your drink. ‘I’m staying in-’

‘- babe!’ Perry’s voice suddenly cut between the two of you. Your boyfriend appeared beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. ‘What’s taking so long?’

Oh, yeah. Him. 

Maybe you weren’t around tonight. 

Five minutes with Poe Dameron had been enough to make you forget two years with your current boyfriend. He’d made you feel more in that brief conversation that Perry had in your whole relationship.

You didn’t mean to compare them, truly. It was just that there was no coming back from Poe Dameron; he was your soulmate then and you had a feeling he was your soulmate now. In fact, it wasn’t just a feeling; it was a certainty. 

That was what you told yourself when you snuck out of bed that night to see Poe. 

It was what you told yourself when he kissed you for the first time in five years. 

It was what you told yourself when you made love for the first time in five years. 

But repeating it over and over in your head wasn’t enough to make you stay the next morning. Even when you woke up in his arms, pressed against his bare chest with scratches on your back and bruises on your thighs, finally feeling like you were at home for the first time in five years, you couldn’t convince yourself to stay. You couldn’t fall back to him; you couldn’t let yourself get hurt all over again.

Perry didn’t ask where you went that night - and you never told him. 

You didn’t confess when he found you the next day and he confessed his love for you. You didn’t confess when he asked you to marry him six months later. 

There was now another ring sat next to Poe’s; shiny and expensive and far too big for your hands. It was where his ring should have been; instead, Shara Bey’s ring stayed on your middle finger, a constant reminder of what could have been - of what should have been. 

You were glad for that night with Poe. It felt like a goodbye for you both; like you’d finally got closure. At the same time, you didn’t want your time with Poe to reach a conclusion - you still wanted to hold out hope that the promises you’d made as a twenty-something would come true. You were engaged to marry another man but for some reason, you couldn’t see a future with anyone else.

Then there came a point where you couldn’t see a future at all. 

The First Order was closing in; the war was getting rougher and rougher. There were losses left right and centre. Missions were becoming longer and darker. The bags under your eyes were getting darker and each day, you strayed further and further from the light. It was hard to hold on, hard to see past the dark forces at play. 

That’s when you’d think back to another time; six or seven years prior, when it was just you and Poe against the world. You’d let your mind wander back to the times that you would stay up late, laughing and crying together. You remembered all the pacts and promises you’d made. How did you get here? 

Before you knew it, you were back on Ajon Kloss. Everyone had gathered to begin making preparations for the final battle. Nobody was calling it that - final was too scary of a word, after all - but everybody knew it. You were powering up your jet for what felt like the last time. 

‘Trident Squad, you’ll be behind Dagger. You know your orders.’

You were hardly listening to your commander, hands shaking as you played with the straps of your helmet. You were leaning against your X-Wing, trying to calm your breaths with clammy hands and a pounding chest. 

‘Hey.’ 

You looked up, eyes meeting Poe’s. Despite everything, you smiled. ‘Hey.’

‘You got engaged?’ His words were breathless. There was no greeting, no question of how you were. There was just the hurt in his words; the disbelief and the grief. 

‘I got engaged.’

‘Fuck.’ 

‘Fuck?’

‘Fuck.’

‘Yeah, you’re right.’ You nodded. ‘Fuck.’

Dropping your helmet to the ground, you met Poe half-way across the gap between you. He took you in his arms, lifting you off the ground for a moment as your bodies collided. He held you in his arms, a sad imitation of the last time you’d been stood together in front of an X-Wing. 

‘Do you...’ your words were muffled by his shoulder. ‘Are you sure you don’t want your ring back?’

‘That’s what I was trying to say last time I saw you.’ Poe put you back down; his hands stayed on your waist. ‘My mum told me to give it to whoever I wanted to spend my life with.’

‘Poe-’

‘- I know.’ He cut you off. ‘You promised to marry Pete-’

‘- Perry-’

‘- whatever.’ You couldn’t help but laugh at his flippancy. ‘Just because I can’t spend my life with you doesn’t mean I can’t want to.’

‘That makes no sense.’

‘None of this makes sense.’ Poe corrected you. ‘Normally I’m more than happy to respect the boundaries of another guys relationship but...but it’s you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I gotta ask.’ He have your hips a light squeeze. ‘If we make it out alive, there’s no chance at all that you and I can finally be together?’

‘Poe, I-’

‘- Captain!’ The sound of your commander’s voice came from around the corner. ‘We’re heading out now! Power up!’

‘I have to go.’ You took a step backwards, but he still clung onto your hands. 

‘I love you.’ Poe gave you a watery smile.

‘I know.’

‘Forever?’

‘Forever.’ 

tags: @blacksquadron-rougetwo​ @drinksomecoco​ @obi-wankenobae​

[burgerkang000]

Who needs a soulmate?

also this is a wooyoung fic

yes, ill be adding the read more thingy

@beyoncesdragon @aixy-hpsa (if anyone else wanna be tagged, tell me )

enjoy? :/

THIS FIC IS BEARABLE BECAUSE OF @mingination​ so, actually most of my fics are bearable cuz of her so uhm go hype her up?

In a world where soul mates exist, your soul found amity whenever you were with Jung Wooyoung. You always thought people had soul mates because it brings peace to their souls. You thought it exists because when two people were together; their souls go on an adventure, an adventure that was never the same for a pair, or even a trio of people. 

But all that changed when you met Wooyoung. It happened when you were dragged outside by your friend, because you tend to hole up in the dorms. As she was dragging you to her car, you bumped into a stranger holding a house plant, the glass pot shattered and the soil scattered, making quite a mess.

“Ah, that hadn’t had set yet.” The stranger exclaimed. You had no idea why he was so calm about it as you expected him to lash out any moment, but instead he smiled at you, displaying his beautiful pearly white teeth and told you not to worry about it.

You stared at him dumbly as he tries to pick up the shattered glass, and that’s when you decide to speak up.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” You kneel down to help him with the glass all the while expressing how sorry you are, and rush up to your room to grab cleaning supplies to clean the soil. After the both of you cleaned up the mess, you offered to go plant shopping with him, to pay back for the one you clumsily broke.

Of course, he refused, but you insisted and he gave in.

Your friend had seemed to leave, leaving you to make small talk with the stranger.

Later that night, you shrieked at your friend for leaving you alone with the handsome stranger and she laughed it off leaving you absolutely furious.

The day that you had planned to go to the greenhouse, Woo contacted you and said that there was a change of plans, you were confused but agreed anyway. But you were a little surprised when he took you to the flower shop, where the enthusiastic florist explained the meaning behind all the flowers Woo had picked. You had enjoyed yourself very much that day, surrounded by the scent of different flowers and the rays of sunshine that had brought a specific kind of warmth to the store, even though this was going to burn your savings for a good whole month and you’d have to stick to ramen if you wanted to pay rent for the shared college dorm you were in. When you were done picking flowers, Woo ended up paying, saying that your company was enough as a payback for breaking his plant.

Before he dropped you off at your dorm, you were shocked when he handed you the flowers he bought and your eyes widened as he leaned in closer to leave a soft kiss on your cheek and whispered to look forward to his texts. As he left you stood there dumbly, blushing profusely and unable to comprehend what just happened. And that night you went to bed with a smile on your face, sniffing the flowers which now were placed on your bedside table.

 .

.

.

That was how it started; now you have a theory on what soul mates are; they’re people who were created to be perfectly adaptable to you, but the chances you find them were 0%, except for the few people who would search everywhere for their soulmates and find them. You’ll never meet your soul mate in this world or the next one, because there is a definition of perfect for the universe, but everyone else’s definition of perfect is different.

And even if you do meet your soulmate, there is no guarantee that they’re the one for you, since the universe is changing. And it’s about time it changes the rules set for humans.

You find amenity when you’re with Jung Wooyoung and that’s all the reassurance you need.

 .

.

.

Even though your theory has helped ease (like the tiniest bit) of your frustration over the resounding problem which was, what if Woo finds his soulmate? The thought of that suffocates you; you turn into a human zombie pondering through assumptions, and possibilities. Until one day Woo sits you down and asks what’s wrong.

“What would you do if you find your soulmate?” you ask quietly. He shakes his head, conveying silently that your worries are unnecessary or maybe he’s disappointed in you for thinking things like that, but it’s not like you can help it.

“I’d tell them, no thank you, I have a lovely girlfriend who wants the universe to change its rules and I stand by it.”

You lightly hit his arm and huff out a laugh.

“I’m serious”

“I’m Wooyoung”

‘’I’m sick of your bad jokes” and as you get up to leave, he pushes you back down, places a hand under your chin and says-

“I won’t leave you for the fucking world. You hear that?” 

 .

 .

.

After a few weeks of dating and becoming official, Woo took you to visit his friends, who were the reason you met in the first place, the innocent plant was asked to be delivered by one of his friends, you needed to thank them, since the plant was long gone.

And, you’ve heard a lot about his seven friends, who share an apartment house, with four rooms. When you were led inside, you were attacked with greetings, compliments and questions; you tried to reply to all of them, you really did. They were more intimidating in the beginning, but now you wonder what was it about them that made you feel that way.

Jongho was a person you would always avoid, you were mostly shy (read: terrified) of him. But one day you were eating an apple, and he wanted to show you a trick. And you were beyond shocked when he just broke it into two halves with his bare hands. And every day after that, you’d bring an apple when you feel like it, and pass it to Jongho and tell something utterly ridiculous like

The cat ate my knife

I’m too broke to buy a knife

It’s banned to cut apples with knives; I heard it on the news

And he would roll his eyes and do it for you anyways. 

Once you handed him a melon, and you were surprised that he attempted to break it open. He banged it on the table twice and glared at you for making him look weak; you ran as he chased you around with a melon.

Seonghwa was your favourite. He’d come over, be annoyed at the mess you and Woo made and then proceed to clean it up. But all jokes aside, you really liked Seonghwa, and he does laundry too!

Hongjoong, you assumed would be very authoritative, was actually an adorable goofball. And you enjoyed teasing him about his height.

Yunho along with Mingi were the dorky and mischievous pair, and always managed to earn a yell from Seonghwa for dirtying the place with their ridiculous pranks.

Yeosang, who was Wooyoung’s friend for over 5 years, appeared to be a very quiet person and somewhat normal compared to the others. That's what most people would think anyways, but once he opens his mouth you’d regret ever calling him quiet. The guy knew how to expose people better than Dispatch did.

San, now San you have beef with.

Because he takes Woo away from you, and you keep on complaining to no one in particular-

“This is not fair-” you ramble off

“Look I’m only helping, it’s for the greater good-“

“Oh? What would that be?” you shot.

“Woo, likes it when you get all jealous”

Your cheeks heat up and then you angrily look at Woo who shrugs and says “I didn’t say a thing”

You storm out the room and hear something along the lines of

“He also likes it when you get all hot headed; I’m helping you get laid, your welcome….”

.

.

.

 You and Woo have fights too, But you have an unspoken, but definitely existing rule; communication. Sure, there might be couples out there who can guess what the other person is feeling, or what the other person wants-

But for you and Woo, communication is key and you like it that way.

.

.

.

It’s impossible to wake Woo on Sundays, so you have taken the matter into your own hands.

Despite being adults who have different jobs and no longer go to school, you aggressively shake him and yell

“Woo, time for school, you missed the bus, wake up”

Or

“There’s a fire, the cat is dying”

.

.

.

“I love you”

 You were the first one to put it out there. You just blurted it out one night, lying in bed, when you were lying next to each other, hands intertwined in between you both, just staring and outlining each other with your eyes. You were ready to drive off the nearest cliff when-

“It’s obvious I do too, no words necessary”

You were suddenly embarrassed and rolled over to the other side to hide the colour of your cheeks, yanking your hand away and muttering-

“Great or else you can find me at the bottom of a cliff with your damaged car.”

“Didn’t know your life was on the line”, he says back hugging you and grabbing your hand back.

“It’s clearly an exaggeration, dumbass”

He chuckles and both of you fall into a silence of nothing but the sound of your breathing and the clock ticking. And right when you were almost asleep, you hear him mutter I love you, I love you, I love you and press a kiss to the side of your head before pulling you closer and tightening his hold around you.

You think you’ve never felt more content, sharing a complex emotion, which is filled with other complex emotions and being understood, it was profound to be understood.

Who needs a soul mate, you’ve got Jung Wooyoung and that was more than enough for you.

.

.

.

[thevengeanceuniverse]

Music is Worthless [COMPLETED]

A twist on the soulmate theme where Tony hears the music of other people’s souls. Warning, ready yourself for angst and pining (but there’s a happy end). 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony learned from very young that others didn’t hear the music. The music that underlaid a person, their own symphony that exposed the truth of what they were behind the fake smiles and the pleasant expressions.

It was constantly there, sometimes soft, sometimes loud, sometimes heartbreakingly sorrowful.  He loved the times it was bright and joyful, inviting you to rock your knees to the melody. And when he was young and innocent, Tony danced to the music playing in his mind with uninhibited freedom, letting his childish laughter intertwine with it and create new harmony.

That didn’t last long. Howard lost the charm in Tony’s tales of the music quickly, shouting to grow the hell up and stop telling lies. Tony didn’t understand how his father could say he was lying when the music was so obvious. It was there all the time when there were people around. Tony only heard silence when he was with himself, so surely his father would hear the music he himself was producing.

It was Jarvis who told him the truth. His father wasn’t the one who was deaf to his music. Tony was the one with the problem. 

He was the one hearing music no one else could hear.

The sent him to doctors to “fix” him. ENT specialists, neurologists, psychologists, anyone who might be able to figure where the delusions of sound were coming from. Test after test after inconclusive test, being poked and prodded and questioned and given that same pitying look. That’s the boy who was born Stark mad. His poor parents, they have so much to deal with. Insert sad head shake here. But I guess genius comes with a price.

Maria became more and more distant as time passed. Being married to Howard was its own difficulty, but having a son who could hear things that no one else could? No. It wasn’t getting any better and eventually, she just stopped wanting to know anything at all.

~~

By the time Tony was six, he informed everyone that things had changed. One day he woke up and the music was just gone, he told his doctors, his parents. He didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. He was better.

He lied. It was hard in the beginning, to stop reacting to the music outwardly. But he knew that it wasn’t safe anymore for him to mention it, that being broken had punishments attached to it. Only Jarvis knew.

Even with everything, he was sometimes grateful for the music, for the warning it granted him. He knew his mother was broken and melancholy inside before she even started taking her sleeping pills during the day. Knew from the sound of the banging drums that his father was in a vindictive mood before he even heard the footsteps. The music warned him, and he always ran to Jarvis in that time because Jarvis was calm classical music that played over his frayed nerves like a rock skipping gently over a placid lake. Soothing him while he rocked in place, hands clamped to his ears and tears streaming down his face, everything around him loud and disjointed and breaking over him like waves trying to drown. In those ways, Jarvis saved him.

~~

The silence after his parents died was worse than any of the music he had heard over the years. It ate at him incessantly like rats nibbling at his toes, sharp reminders that he was alone, that they were dead and never coming back. In those moments, he prayed for loud banging drums to force his eardrums to bleed, melancholy music to pull at his bones and make tears fall from his eyes. But there was nothing. Only emptiness.

He broke into Howard’s drinking cabinets on one of those nights, laughing hysterically at the realization that this was now his study. Howard was never coming back. Everything was his now, but he didn’t want it.

The alcohol blurred his awareness enough that he could fool himself that the sounds of the record player were people. That he wasn’t alone. He fell asleep there, sprawled on the couch and liquor bottle in his hand, clutched like the only lifeline he had.

Jarvis found him the next morning, the disapproving look on his face a clear enough message. Tony may be a prodigy and wealthy beyond imagination, but he was still underage and drinking alcohol was illegal.

Tony became very good at hiding it.

~~

MIT Tony didn’t waste time hiding his drinking or trying to make friends. He could walk into a party and have 10 people hanging off his arm in 2 minutes or less. Sycophants who wanted to be friends with the Stark heir to millions, trying to use sex or charm or alcohol to win over him.

It became a game to him, to see who he could mess with by using their music against them. He sunk his teeth into the secret inner parts of people they didn’t know were exposed to him, prying open their carefully crafted shells to the soft white underbelly of their insecurities.

He turned the game around, mastered it, playing with the hearts and minds of the people who offered their bodies to him, expecting that he would fall into the honeyed trap and get stuck. He had no compunctions, his own heart locked away with the dead. Even Jarvis was gone now.

But then came Rhodey and his jazz music, a beat so tantalizing that for the first time in ages, Tony was tempted to dance again. And when Rhodey was happy, oh that was when the trumpets came out and everything was just 1000 times better. Tony fell for Rhodey’s music before he even spoke to him. And when he told Rhodey he heard things that no one else did—openers like that were sure to push sane people like James Rhodes away—Rhodey just shrugged and said: “Well, if that means you won’t complain about my snoring then that’s great.”

Tony did complain about his snoring because Rhodey was worse than the heaviest train car, but it all faded into the music of who Rhodey was. And once Tony tasted that unequivocal acceptance, he attached himself like a limpet and never let go.

Even crazier, Rhodey never asked him to, always holding on just as hard.

~~

Yinsen had gentle music that reminded Tony of Jarvis, the same kind of person to be a shelter in a storm. His music was lullabies, nursery rhymes that were dark and cheerful all at once, an incongruous soundtrack to the sound of his hammering his desperate attempt at salvation together.

Listening to the bare moments when he would talk about his family, Tony saw how Yinsen’s music fit him. He was a father, through and through. The kind of father unfamiliar to Tony, the one that loved his kids with all his heart and all he wanted was to get back to them, reunited again.

He wove hope to the sounds of Yinsen’s soft music, praying to some entity he didn’t know if he truly even believed in for a chance. Just one chance.

Hovering over Yinsen’s broken body riddled with bullet holes, he listened to the music grow softer and softer until it disappeared altogether. Hating himself that he had been selfish enough only to pray for the one chance.

~~

Merchant of Death.

Returning from Afghanistan confronted him with the reality of his moniker, the tens of thousands of souls that rested on his conscience because of the weapons that were his legacy and the gift he had given the world.

No wonder he had no music. With a death toll like that under his feet, Tony doubted he had a soul at all for music to stem from.

~~

He should have known about Obie. The man’s organ music had always been unnecessarily dramatic, but Obie’s music hadn’t changed in all the years Tony had known him—even before Howard had kicked the bucket. Tony had assumed that all the political and economic manoeuvring the man did on a regular basis that affected his personal music, that the fact that he was prepared all the time to deal with damage control became who he was.

Turns out that Tony still had the capacity to be naïve to the worst extent because Stane wasn’t prepared so he could save the company, he was just prepared to be an outright backstabbing son of a bitch.

Lying there in that dreaded silence only interrupted by his own gasping breath, Tony wondered if this was how he was going to die. Surviving loss and torture only to be betrayed by the music he had come to rely on. Given hope and then having it seized away.

Tony didn’t know if he felt relieved to hear the violins that preceded Pepper’s rescue. He didn’t want to hear the music anymore.

~~

Don’t waste it…Don’t waste your life…St…ark….

Yinsen saved him again.

“I am Iron Man.”

Steve Rogers was silent. In a world populated with people who had their own music, Tony had never met anyone alive who was silent the way Steve Rogers was. It wasn’t soft music, it wasn’t something with long pauses interspersed, it wasn’t anything at all. His very existence should be impossible. And yet.

Tony went on the defensive immediately, reminded of all the instances of loss that preceded quiet. Maria, Howard, Jarvis, Yinsen, even Stane.

He no longer wanted to hear the music if he could help it, not after Obadiah. These days he was good about separating himself and blasting music that didn’t have feelings or secrets intertwined with them, the living people that entered his life for more than a few hours’ time few and far between.

He was fine with silence when it meant there was no one there, but no music with a living human being disconcerted him. As far as he had known, he was the only one in the world who had no music, but Tony had developed hypotheses to explain that, all of which based on the fact that he was broken in some way.

But Steve Rogers wasn’t broken, he was the perfect specimen of a man and a hero. Steve Rogers was honourable and good-hearted and had a beautiful smile and Tony knew all of that without needing to be able to hear his music.

But no music meant he couldn’t read Steve, couldn’t protect himself against the mystery of his thoughts and emotions, couldn’t prepare himself for the inevitable fallout.

He was Tony Stark, there was always going to be an inevitable fallout.

With Steve Rogers, Tony was what he always wanted to be, like everyone else but he hated it. Being like everyone else meant doubt and insecurity and never truly knowing the right thing to say. It meant vulnerability. He wanted nothing to do with Steve Rogers and his impossible silence.

Thankfully, Steve didn’t want anything to do with him either.

~~

The fought the Chitauri. They won.

Tony was plagued for endless nights about the complete, soul-sucking silence of space. In his dreams, he never returned. He continued to float unto eternity, the silence unbreakable by any kind of life. Tony was alone. Always alone.

He woke up gasping those nights, leaping from the bed and the room and going into the common areas of the Tower where his new occupants were taking up space with their stuff strewn all over. It took time to adjust to their presence in the Tower, but after the emptiness of space, he wrapped their music around him like a security blanket and tried to find peace.

~~

Sighing when he heard no one around, Tony made his way to the coffee machine, already planning to head to his lab and blast music there until the chill in his bones was forgotten. Tonight was a bad night and his hands were still trembling slightly, cold and anxiety twisted in his gut in a toxic mixture.

Hearing a shuffling behind him, Tony whirled around and came face to face with Steve who was coming in from one of the side balconies. God, he did not want to be near Steve now, couldn’t stand to try and wrap his mind around the mental gymnastics that came with their every interaction.

“Hey Tony,” Steve greeted softly, his body swathed in a giant fluffy blanket.

“Cap,” Tony returned, nodding before turning back to grab his coffee. He didn’t know if he should linger and make awkward midnight small talk or if he should just make a break for it.

They had reached a place of congeniality, but Tony didn’t know if that was just because Steve didn’t really care one way or another or if he actually hated Tony’s guts and just wanted to keep things professional for the sake of the team. That was the problem with Steve, Tony just never knew and he was still struggling to figure out how to deal with that.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Steve asked, pulling out a chair at the table and settling in. Apparently, they were doing small talk.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Tony quipped, grabbing another mug. If Steve didn’t drink the coffee, it would just mean more for Tony and even at two in the morning there was no such thing as too much coffee for Tony.

“The serum means I don’t need as much sleep. More often than not, I’m just lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling and talking to JARVIS.” He accepted the coffee, wrapping his large hands around the cup.

Tony snorted. “You talk to JARVIS? About what?”

Steve was silent for a moment, his finger idly tapping his cup and his eyes focused on the ripples the movement made. “There’s a lot that I don’t know about the future. It’s like being transported to a whole other world, something familiar and alien all at once. I’ve been doing research, trying to catch up with the last 70 years, but there’s a lot to cover.”

His voice was matter of fact, but Tony knew how difficult it was to feel like you didn’t belong in the space you were in, like you could no longer find solid footing in a world that had been your own.

In the months after his kidnapping, he walked around feeling as if he was looking at a distorted reality of what he knew. Everything was the same except for little things here and there, but it no longer felt like home, like a reality he could trust.

Instead of saying any of that, he remained silent and the two of them sat lost in their own thoughts, the quiet surprisingly not at all awkward like Tony had suspected it would be.

“What’s your excuse?” Steve eventually said.

“For?” Tony finished his cup and got up to get a fresh batch, lifting the carafe in wordless offering.

Steve shook his head and Tony returned to his place across from him. “Not sleeping.”

“Genius burns at all hours of the day, gumdrop,” Tony said, winking cheekily, “and sleep can’t hold a candle to the miracles that go on in my lab.” He grinned at the tiny quirk of Steve’s lips, feeling like he had won something by making Steve smile even that little bit.

“What do you do down there anyway? I know you work on projects, but you’re in there so much we never see you.”

“I’m a busy man.” Tony shifted uncomfortably, knowing that Steve is hinting at the fact that Tony had kept himself at a distance from the rest of the team. They’ve made moves to include him, inviting him out for drinks or for team movie nights but Tony always declined. With his gift, he knew more about the various members of the team more than they would ever want him to know—then he wanted to know.

Steve hums noncommittally and Tony’s guard immediately goes up, wondering what Steve’s thinking, if he’s silently judging Tony for not having time to spend with the team. It’s not like he could explain what he’s really thinking. If he did, at best they’d think it was another practical joke or one of those billionaire eccentricities that Tony does because “he wants attention.” At worst, they’d force him to get a psych consult and bench him from the team. No, it wasn’t worth it.

Knowing it was time to end whatever this little moment was, Tony rose and got another cup for the road. “Well, this was fun, Cap but speaking of my lab, I probably should head there now.”

“Wait.” Steve rose too. “Can I come with you?”

“You want to see my lab?” Steve nodded and Tony thought about having the other man in what was probably his most sacred space. But this interaction was the most civil they had been, and Tony liked the glimpse of Steve he had seen and though he didn’t want to admit it, he wanted to see more.

It was almost like a challenge: How to Decipher the Enigma that is Steve Rogers. And Tony could never resist a challenge, or a mystery.

“Okay, follow closely, young padawan. I’m going to blow your fucking mind.”

~~

Tony gets used to the presence of Steve in his life, his silence that had been so initially unnerving becoming an unexpected gift to him. Steve just plants himself in the couch in the corner in his lab, leaving and coming as if he owned the place and as antisocial Tony could get sometimes, he never felt the need to push him out.

It was nice, having company. It spoiled him. He wasn’t used to having anyone (except JARVIS) listen to him when he spoke, let alone listened enough to ask pertinent questions.

But though Steve wasn’t an engineer, he was an artist and a strategist. He had a keen ability to extrapolate how multiple moving pieces could come together as a cohesive unit and his insights were—surprisingly enough for Tony who rarely had someone who could make him fall into spirals of thought and genius that weren’t his own—inspiring.

They got closer and the team got better with their friendship. Tony allowed Steve to convince him to bond with the team, agreeing to a couple movie nights at first and then team bonding outings to play laser tag of all things.

Even after all this, Tony still hadn’t figured out why Steve was silent, but he did discover three things almost as alarming.

1. He had fallen in love with Steve Rogers.

2. Steve Rogers had not fallen in love with him.

3. When Steve Rogers touched him, he could hear the music too.

~~

It started small.

They’d been working together on one of Tony’s vintage cars, Tony on his back with his hands buried in the elegant machine and Steve passing him the tools he needed. They’d been talking through what they were going to do so the background music had been low, when Natasha had walked in to ask them what they were feeling to eat.

A brush of hands when Steve passed Tony a tool he’d been looking for, and the blond paused what he was saying and tilted his head.

“Did you hear that?”

Natasha rose a brow in question. “What?”

“I don’t know. It sounded like something guttural…?” Tony froze from his position, ignoring the drip of oil down his arms. Natasha’s music today was low, guttural voices, like the meditative chanting music she used to calm her down when she was having a bad day. That it was playing with her emotions instead of her having to listen to it revealed that it was a good day for her, but no one but Tony knew that because he was supposed to be the only one to hear it.

“I guess I just imagined it,” Steve continued, shrugging unconcernedly. They spoke a little longer and Tony let her know what he wanted automatically, wondering if it was just a one-off.

The next time was one morning in the kitchen with Clint. He looked to be half-asleep and utterly unconcerned with Steve behind him who was humming while making pancakes, but he had the soundtrack of The Lion King playing in his head.

Lion King always meant that Clint was thinking of his brother and that was never a good day.

Grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl, Tony whipped up a banana and peanut butter sandwich and put it in front of Clint. He huffed out a surprised laugh when arms wrapped around his waist in a fond embrace.

Rolling his eyes, he patted Clint on the back while reaching out with the other to grab the cup Steve was handing over to him. Their hands brushed again and this time Steve jerked in surprise, letting go too soon. The hot cup jostled in their hold and tumbled to the floor, shattering and sending ceramic shards and hot liquid careening every which direction.

“Damn,” Steve swore. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

Tony shot a quick mournful look at the coffee before he called out to Steve to don’t worry about it. “It’s fine, really. The cleaning bots will take care of it. Actually,” Tony looked around, “they should have been deployed already. JARVIS?”

“I’m afraid Captain Rogers has disabled the cleaner bots for the common areas, Sir.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I found Clint feeding them food like they were pets,” Steve replied, returning and aiming a sardonic look at Clint.

“They looked hungry!” Clint protested. “It was a humanitarian service really—”

“They’re robots—”

“—but they also have a grand purpose that needs to be fulfilled! And they get sad and listless if they can’t fulfill their duty. How would you feel if you couldn’t be Captain America anymore? Wouldn’t you want to fulfill your life’s purpose securing justice and freedom and whatever and whatever?”

“I want you to shut up now about the pet robots and help me clean.”

“It’s your fault!” Clint paused, brows scrunching together in confusion. “What happened anyway?”

Tony looked at Steve intently, not sure what answer he was hoping for.

“I thought—” Steve smiled sheepishly. “I thought I heard someone singing Hakuna Matata.”

Clint burst out laughing.

“Wow, Cap, must be your old age getting to you. Maybe you should go get your hearing checked out.”

Steve ended up giving as good as he got and they ended up bickering in the kitchen good-naturedly as they cleaned up. Through it all, Tony wondered if he should just grab Steve’s hand, press skin to skin and see if he could hear everything Tony heard. Every beat of a person’s true heart, every note of their inner emotions.

Did he truly want to test if he was no longer the only Listener in the world? Tony imagined what it would be like to no longer be the only one as Can You Feel the Love Tonight? played softly in the background.

~~

Tony never has a chance to test his theory.

The next week, Steve found out that Bucky Barnes was alive.

Barnes took a hell of a long time to find, leading Steve in a merry chase around the world as he thoroughly waged war on any Hydra bases he had ever been housed in or heard whispers of.

Steve was gone more often than not, coming back for a few days every few months when he lost the trail, back to Tony so he could aim him in the right direction.

Tony didn’t blink at Steve’s increasing favours. He provided all the funds, created new algorithms for the search, researched the background of Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier program, kept the team together and safe during battle. He did not think about the fact that Steve had dropped everything at the mere mention of Bucky Barnes, that there were no more moments between the two of them.

He did not feel abandoned or used or any of those ridiculous dramatic emotions that would indicate that he was stupid enough to have expectations of a man he never truly had anything with. Even if he did, he was smart enough not to say anything that might reveal him. Horribly cheesy things like I need you or Don’t go.

Please don’t leave me.

~~

Sifting through 70 years of torture and brainwashing protocol brought back his own nightmares. They blended together, making him remember the waterboarding, the yelling in his ears, the shock that lit him with painful intensity as car battery met with water and became electrocution.

Electrocution would turn into Barnes’ electroshock therapy and the hands holding down his arms would be bound to a chair. He would scream and scream, but there would be no sound. Gagged with the mouth guard, there would only be heartacheing, back-breaking, soul-shattering pain and that black hole of silence.

Once again, sleeping wasn’t the most successful experiment so far, but at least when he pushed himself far enough his body took over and knocked him out. He would catch a precious few hours before the nightmares came to say hi and then he would wake up with the trapped screams in his throat and get back to work.

It was like an alarm clock.

Even as he adjusted to his new normal, life decided to be the everlasting gift that it was and exposed a buried video from December 16th, 1991.

He threw up the first time he saw it, the image of Bucky Barnes killing Howard playing in his head over and over against the soundtrack of his mother having the life choked out of her.

Then he watched it obsessively, disturbed by finally seeing his parents after so many years with none of the accompanying music that made it feel like them. If he didn’t recognize their faces and voices, he could almost fool himself that it was strangers, people he didn’t know that wouldn’t make him feel grief and anger and sadness and every other negative emotion under the sun.

The one bare comfort he got out of it was that the main thing that Howard thought of as he was dying was helping Maria. Maybe he wasn’t such a heartless bastard after all.

He was still dead though.

~~

He decided he wasn’t going to tell Steve, continuing to update him on the Winter Soldier’s movements and seeing him off to places unknown as scheduled.

He was so wrapped in the process of finding the man that he forgot what actually was supposed to happen when they found him. Until Steve landed the Quinjet on the Tower’s pad and out walked him and James Buchanan Barnes following like a dark, solemn shadow.

Tony locked down the lab immediately, bending over his knees as he struggled to breathe and remember what he’d been trying to convince himself of: Barnes was separate from the person responsible for the murder of his parents, that that sin lay at the Winter Soldier’s feet and the man had been tortured and had his memory and his very self wiped away like condensation on glass.

He didn’t come out of the lab for three days.

~~

Tony was being an absolute creep and watching James Barnes through the safety of JARVIS’ many, many eyes in the sky. Barnes was subdued most of the time, always scanning the room as if he expected to be attacked at any moment and stiffening any time anyone touched him, even Steve.

But even as Steve’s face fell every time Barnes pulled away, Barnes’ face was impassive, set in a blank mask that said nothing of how he was feeling. It was as if he had no emotion at all. He watched everyone, and from where he was sequestered away, Tony watched him.

He decided to attempt his escape in the middle of the night when no one would see him. His stomach had started to cannibalize itself and all he had left was a moldy piece of bread. Tony wasn’t desperate enough to sink to that yet.

Peeking down from the elevator and seeing the lights off in the kitchen, he crept forward as carefully as he could while listening for any sounds of music or movement. When he heard nothing, he gave up on his Mission Impossible moment and strode into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee pot.

The magic mix successfully brewing, he opened the fridge and started rummaging through the leftovers. Clint would be pissed that he’s taking the last of the Thai food, but Tony wasn’t worried. Thor was the only one you looked out for when stealing food, Tony didn’t even dare look in the direction of his PopTarts.

Popping the food in the microwave to reheat, he took the time when he was waiting to scrub some of the grease caked on his hands. He didn’t even remember how those got there.

“So you’re Tony Stark.”

Yelping, Tony whipped around to be confronted with one James Buchanan Barnes, shock and disbelief radiating through his core.

Holy shit, this motherfucker is Silent too.

~~

Tony and Barnes stared at each other a long moment. Tony because he was trying to wrap his mind around two impossibly Silent people and Barnes because he just didn’t care to end it.

Packaging up his shock to deal with later, Tony plastered a welcoming grin on his face. “Sergeant Barnes, well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Barnes forehead creased at Tony’s flirtatious tone, not responding even as he watched him. Tony was unnerved by the intensity of his attention, but he covered that with babble.

“I hope you’ve been having a wonderful stay here at Chez Stark, has Steve given you the grand tour yet?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me here, seeing as you’ve been avoiding me.” Barnes folded his arms across his chest, gaze still pinned on Tony.

“No, you misunderstand,” Tony waved off the accusations. “I’ve just been busy with a few very important projects—of which I would tell you about but then I’d have to kill you.”

Barnes gave him a once over sceptically. “I am absolutely sure I can take you.”

“Is that a diss?” Tony responded, astonished. “Do you actually have a sense of humour buried under all those scowly eyebrows, Robocop?”

Barnes shrugged succinctly.

“Ah, I see, a man of few words. Okay, Snowflake I’ll have you know that if I had the suit on, your ass would be kicked three ways to Sunday.”

“Maybe I’m too old for generation, but when people said that when I came from, you actually needed the ability to back up those words, Shortstuff.”

Tony let out an insulted squawk. “I am not short.”

Barnes raised a brow and Tony could almost hear the “Really?” Reaching behind him for Tony’s coffee cup, he offered it for Tony to take, only to pull it back and hoist it above his head the moment Tony reached out. Lunging for it, Tony came up short and ended up banging his knee on the bottom counter door on the way down.

“What are you, five?” Tony retorted scathingly, glaring when he caught the sound of Barnes’ snort. In response, the man just handed Tony his coffee without fuss, before pushing him into a chair at the table. Grabbing the food from the microwave, he put it on a plate in front of Tony with a quiet order, “Eat.”

Suddenly remembering that he was ravenous, Tony arrowed in on his (stolen) food, groaning happily when spices exploded on his tongue. Yea, free food really was the best.

“You know, you aren’t half bad Barnes,” Tony complimented as he finished up, wiping his face and putting his dishes in the sink.

“Is that something you decided right now?” Barnes paused and Tony felt the air on the back of his neck prickle. “Or is that what you decided after watching me on your cameras for three days?”

Tony debated whether to deny it or not, raising an innocently curious eyebrow when he decided that a silent response was the best response.

“I could hear the whir of the cameras adjusting on me when I came into the room.”

“How the hell did you hear something as soft as that?”

Barnes just tapped his ear casually, as if being able to hear near soundless noises even in a room full of people was an everyday occurrence.

“I wondered why you would want to keep an eye on me even when going to such lengths to avoid me. The only reason I can come up with is that you know I killed Howard and Maria Stark.” At this confession, emotion flashed across Barnes’ face too fast for Tony to read, like the bare glimpse of silvery fish in water

Tony flinched at the confirmation, at the reminder of what he had spent the last three days struggling to reconcile with. Taking a breath, he reminded himself of the other videos he had seen in his search for Barnes, the ones that revealed the extent that James Buchanan Barnes’ personality had been wiped away to become the Winter Soldier. He had felt connected to this man, and Tony pulled on those memories of connection, trying to let those emotions guide him.

“It wasn’t you, it was the Winter Soldier. You had no choice.” It sounded rehearsed, like Tony was just trying to convince himself of his own words and it wasn’t working, not on him and not on Barnes.

“Mr. Stark—”

“—was my father. And your friend.” Tony let out a sigh, giving up on trying to say the right thing and just going for the truth. “He was your friend, someone you knew and someone who knew you. I watched the video, listened to the way he greeted you a million times. He was happy to see you Sergeant Barnes, recognizing you even after all those years and relieved to see you alive and well. And that more than anything says that the man you were that day was not the man that my father had known, was not a man you chose to be. You were robbed of your choice that day, and many more days before and after that and I can’t blame you for things that were beyond your ability to control.”

Tony extended his hand. “But we both are in control of this situation right now, Sergeant Barnes and I choose to forgive you. But you also have to make the choice to forgive yourself.”

Barnes shook his head in a negative immediately and made no move to take Tony’s hand.

“It won’t be easy—trust me, you’re talking to the Merchant of Death here and I committed my sins fully in control of my decisions, but you have to at least be willing.”

Barnes scrutinized him for a long minute before slowly, hesitantly grasping Tony’s hand with his own and shaking firmly.

“Sergeant Barnes, it’s good to finally meet you. Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Tony. Call me Bucky.”

Bucky told Steve about Howard and Maria and about the fact that Tony had continued to search for him and welcomed him into his home even after discovering the fact that he murdered his parents.

Tony found out when Steve barged into his lab (which was no longer blacked-out thank you very much) and pulled him into a hug. Bewildered, Tony returned the embrace thoroughly confused as to what could cause this influx of emotion until he caught the soft thank yous pressed against his hair.

Uncomfortable, Tony wiggled in Steve’s grasp, managing to get his hands between them and pushing away slightly. After a second of resistance, Steve pulled away, hands still securely holding on to Tony’s elbows as he gazed down at him avidly.

“So he told you.”

“He did.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. It means everything.”

“Steve—”

“No, Tony. Please, accept my thanks and my apology. We got off on the wrong foot and I never truly apologized for the things I said on the helicarrier. You’re a better man than I gave you credit for and you’ve proved that every step of the way.” He pulled Tony back into his arms. “Thank you.”

Dazed, Tony nodded when Steve waved goodbye and went back upstairs. Against his will, he felt a warm glow in his chest, as if Steve had planted some of his own happiness there to grow.

~~

With the dreaded confrontation out of the way, Bucky became a regular visitor to the lab, sometimes with Steve and sometimes not but when they did come together, they didn’t interact that much, all of their focus on being with Tony.

If Tony had been spoiled before with Steve’s attention, now he was downright rotten. He got used to Steve reclaiming his spot on the couch to draw or call out questions as Bucky and Tony ran around conducting fun (explosive and dangerous) experiments with the arm.

Sometimes Bucky came alone when Steve was out or when things turned bad. He never begrudged Tony for not always noticing him at first, playing with the robots until Tony was ready. Then they would sit next to each other and they would drink the expensive Turkish coffee Bucky would bring in a thermos and he would talk about all the things he didn’t feel ready to talk about with Steve.

Bucky would bring out the broken parts of him he only felt safe enough to entrust to Tony and Tony was listen and sometimes entrust his nightmares to Bucky.

Sitting with the shattered pieces of their selves around them, Tony realized that he had also fallen in love with Bucky Barnes.

~~

Tony was looking forward to team bonding night. He had JARVIS set an alarm so he wouldn’t be late, thinking that maybe he would help Bucky and Steve cook the dinner this week (okay, supervise).

Miraculously, he was early so he strode confidently into the kitchen where he heard voices. A grin already painting his lips and a quip ready for Bucky, he stumbled to a halt when he caught sight of what was happening inside the room.

Bucky had Steve pressed up against the sink, flesh and metal hands buried in blond strands. One of Steve’s hands was holding a strainer full of rice over the sink while the other clutched at Bucky’s side.

There was a clatter as Steve dropped the rice, turning slightly to fit himself more fully against Bucky and deepen the kiss. As Tony watched, Steve’s hand crept up to cup Bucky’s face, cradle it as if it was something precious and Tony could swear he heard the sounds of a rising crescendo.

Wait, no, there was music playing. Separate, Steve and Bucky had been as Silent as the dead, but together they made the most beautiful music that Tony had ever heard, sounds that were a tangled mix of loss and anguish and hope and redemption. It was as if they had no music without each other, as if they didn’t even fully exist when the other wasn’t present, but together they were whole, they were complete.

And they had no place for Tony.

Backing away carefully, Tony left the room and ignored the way his heart wrenched in his chest as if it wanted to stay behind with them.

~~

Tony did what he did best. He avoided the problem and he called Rhodey.

Rhodey called back with an offer to get away and a few days later Tony went on a several month long tour of army and naval bases. He wasn’t in the weapon manufacturing business any more, but he did invest time and energy in creating protective gear for the troops. This way, he got direct feedback right from the source, instead of trailing through a line of intake forms and interview surveys that eventually made its way to him.

Having a worthy cause to keep him busy was doubly blessing. Not only did he truly feel useful, but he was successfully distracted from thoughts of Silent supersoldiers. Inevitably, he was able to convince himself that he hadn’t actually lost anything. There had been nothing between him, Steve and Bucky but friendship and one-sided feelings. And even if he was no longer under the illusion that that friendship could turn into something more, he still had his friends. Even when he was gone, they called to check in on him at least once a week and tried to convince him to let them tour with him on more than one occasion.

He always said no.

~~

He flew back in time for the wedding, congratulating the two long lost lovers for finally taking the next step with a wide smile. He did not let his hand shake when he handed over the wedding rings and did not let his voice break as he gave a rousing, hilarious speech at the wedding reception. He watched them look at each other as if no one else existed in the world and ignored the part of him that crumbled at the sight of it.

And if he shed a few tears as the sounds of their symphony rubbed over his raw nerves as if it was trying to sooth him? Well, everyone cried at weddings.

~~

Natasha was the one who found him after. Steve and Bucky were long gone, shipped off on the Quinjet to one of Tony’s private islands somewhere in the middle of the Pacific where they would have an uninterrupted honeymoon.

Tony was sitting in the common room contemplating if he wanted a drink, thinking about the instances over the last few years where he almost crossed the point of no return. Natasha made the decision for him, taking the bottle and gifting it away to a young couple who were getting ready to leave. Tony believed they were some of Bucky’s sisters’ grandchildren.

“That was a $500 bottle of scotch Natasha.”

“You’ve had enough for a lifetime.”

“You don’t get to make that decision.”

“And you don’t get to fall off the wagon right in front of us.” She sat down next to him, pushing her feet into his lap and wiggling her toes. He sighed, but he obliged her unspoken request and dug his thumbs into her heels, making her groan out loud.

They were quiet for a while, Tony focusing his energy on Natasha’s pressure points and Natasha lost in her own thoughts.

“You always know,” she eventually says.

“What do you mean?” he didn’t pause in his moments, dragging his fingers along the veins on the top of her foot and massaging the sides.

“You always know if I’m near you, no matter which direction I’m coming from or how quiet I am.”

“Oh.” He forced a careless smile. “That’s just because I’m a Secret Agent: Legacy Edition.”

“That’s not a thing,” she murmurs.

“It is so a thing!”

“Howard wasn’t an agent.”

“Pssh,” he flapped his hand dismissively. “I don’t mean Howard, I mean Peggy. She was like my other parent when I was younger and I would swear on my mother’s grave that Jarvis was under her command, not Howard’s.”

She shrugged. “You may be right about that part.” She pulled her feet off his lap, folding them beneath her as she turned to face him. Seeing her this way, Tony was reminded that Natasha wasn’t actually that big, she just had a large presence that made her seem tall.

“Clint has been my partner for years and even I get the jump on him sometimes. But you, not only do I never surprise you but you also always know what kind of mood I’m in and what I need to feel better even before I do. How?”

“Have you ever thought that maybe I just see more than you give me credit for?”

“I think you see more and feel more than you let people know.”

Tony knew he should feel probably feel alarmed, defensive even. But he just didn’t have the energy to be. He was lonely. There was an overload of emotion that sat heavy in his chest that he didn’t what to with, something he suspected had been building up for years. So he told Natasha, from the beginning, everything that had to do with the mysterious music only he could hear.

Along the way it shifted to Steve and Bucky, how they were unique, how he was fascinated by the complete enigma they were and how their love story was written out in their song.

“But that’s not just scientific curiosity, is it Tony?”

“No,” he whispered, finally daring to put words to his feelings, share their existence with someone else.

Natasha didn’t say anything to his confession, did not rebuke him for his truth.

But also did not urge him to share it with the Brooklyn Boys. They had just finished celebrating the wedding of Steve Rogers to James Buchanan Barnes in front of everyone who cared for them. If that wasn’t a clear indication of where things stood, nothing would be. All she did was pull him in close, pressing his head against her neck and holding him to her.

Gradually, Tony relaxed into her frame, allowing himself to let go and hurt while her music washed over him without any expectations. He was never going to be able to tell anyone else, but at least he had this one moment of acceptance.

Steve and Bucky didn’t stay gone for long, coming back a week later tanned and golden from the sun, rings shining on their fingers. Natasha did the only thing she knew to keep Tony busy and his mind off of their return. She posed an experiment.

All the things he wanted to learn about the music but couldn’t research before without other’s knowing was now possible for him to measure. What was the farthest distance that he could hear someone? Did proximity increase volume? How did emotion affect sound intensity? Could someone consciously change their music like a radio channel? Could they send out distress signals?

Tony threw himself into the work, hooked himself to a machine that scanned his brain waves as he listened to Natasha move in and out of the room, try to change her music or increase its volume. They discovered that Tony had a range of 15 feet at rest, but if he focused he could extend his range to 30. Natasha couldn’t change her music like flipping a radio dial so she wasn’t going to be blasting “Pon de Replay” anytime soon, but she could make her music turn sour and clamouring for attention if she focused on some bad memories from her past.

It wasn’t quite the distress signal they were thinking about, the noise sounding like an off-tune, off-sync marching band, but it would do in a pinch.

Steve and Bucky didn’t understand why they weren’t welcome in the lab, but Natasha was the one to put down the order and even if Bucky was tempted to outright ignore it, Steve wasn’t.

Tony told himself it wouldn’t be forever, he just needed time to figure out how to turn his love for the two supersoldiers into just friendship again, that was all.

~~

The Avengers Alarm went off in the Tower and Tony jumped up from where he had passed out the night before to suit up. Soon enough he was soaring off, coding into the comms to the team on the Quinjet.

Tony arrived first, taking in the gelatinous giant that was releasing some kind of slime. Swearing when he realized that the slime was corrosive, he quickly ordered JARVIS to analyse its properties. While the team’s uniforms should hold up to the acidic compound, it was only be for a finite period before it would start eating away at their skin.

Tony fired repulsor blasts at the jelly-like creature, but it evaded his attacks, simply creating holes that made his blows go straight through and out the other side. Noticing one of the arms aiming a hit to Clint, he dove to catch the archer as he overbalanced when evading the blow and fell off the side of the high-rise.

“You’re supposed to be light on your feet, twinkletoes.”

“I was an acrobat in my past life, Stark, not an Avatar. If I was an airbender, I would have a fluffy flying bison to catch me when I fell, not a tin can,” the archer mocked back.

“Chatter,” Steve snapped out. “My blows are just rebounding and not causing any harm. What do we see from up top?”

“There’s a slight rough patch on its side,” Bucky broke in. “High up on its left.”

“I see it. Anyone have a good angle?”

“I can get it,” Natasha replied. “I just need a ride.”

“Your chariot is on its way, madam.”

Tony grabbed Natasha and flew her high up the side of the blob, letting her launch herself off of him once they got into position. She slipped at first but she caught herself and started prying away at the giant scab. The skin underneath was more solid than the rest of the thing’s body but still vulnerable and Natasha shoved some of her Widow Bites directly against its flesh.

“Ready when you are, Thor.”

Thor brought down lightning directly onto the monster the moment that Natasha activated her Widow Bites. The creature started to writhe wildly, it’s insides highlighted by the energy before collapsing in on itself and releasing cloudy gas that mixed noxiously with the scent of ozone.

Temporarily blinded, Tony checked in with everyone through the comms, scanning through the rubble when Natasha didn’t answer.

Finding no sign of her, he retracting his helmet in order to listen better, searching for the sound of her music. After a few minutes of flying over various ruined areas from corrosive slime, he tracked her down to one of the ruined buildings.

She was out cold, looking as if she’d been thrown from the monster when it had bucked. Reaching out, Tony had JARVIS check her vitals, sighing in relief when it showed that she had no major internal injuries, just a broken ankle.

“Sir, it looks like the structural soundness of this building has been deeply compromised. I advise you to leave now.”

“On it, J.” Picking up Natasha carefully, he followed JARVIS’ directions and was almost clear when he heard a little wind chime tinkle. Stopping, he listened again, realizing that it was someone else’s music, someone else who was in danger.

Flying out as fast as he could, he arrowed in towards Bucky, dropping Natasha in his hands before doubling back, ignoring the shouts in his wake and focusing on getting back in the building and tracking down the person before it collapsed. Because this music was soft, indistinct in a way that was only common in children.

“J, I need you to scan for any signs of life.”

Tony wove around abandoned corridors, the countdown in his data giving him a bare 3 minutes to track down the source of his wind chime. Luckily, after a few winding turns, Tony flew into a decrepit room to find a small infant wrapped in a tight bundle.

Tony picked her up oh so gently, careful of her head and uncomfortably aware of how kid friendly the armour was not. Opening the chest plate, he tucked her into his shirt before directing JARVIS to make sure she was getting enough air supply and wasn’t squished, but he was out of time to do more.

Hearing the crash of an area caving in close by, Tony blasted through walls to make his own door out of there, getting hit by a stray sheet of concrete that sent him spinning. Curving to protect his middle and his precious burden, Tony grit his teeth and forced himself to stop spiralling enough to collapse on his back a safe distance away.

~~

Voices and music surrounded him before he saw them and suddenly arms were pulling him up into a sitting position and knocking at his helmet. Retracting it, he came face to face with a pair of worried blue eyes.

“Stop staring like you’ve seen a ghost, Rogers, I’m not dead yet,” Tony coughed out.

“God, you’re an asshole just like him,” Steve said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Bucky who was holding up an awake Natasha. “I don’t know why I put up with you two.”

“Nice to see you awake, Sleeping Beauty,” Tony called out to Natasha.

“No one could sleep through the racket these two made when they saw you fly back into a collapsing building,” Natasha retorted.

“Oh god, J, is she okay?” Retracting the top half of the suit, Tony moved frantic hands to his chest to check on the infant resting there. She seemed no worse for wear, but she had woken up over the course of their bumpy ride and blinked chocolatey brown eyes curiously up at Tony. When JARVIS declared that she was okay, Tony sighed in relief though he knew he was going to get her fully checked out when they went back to the Tower.

“You gave me a hell of a scare, you know that?” he whispered to her, listening to the cheerful sounds of her wind chimes. She blew a spit bubble at him. “Yea, I know you weren’t worried, fearless heroine you are, yes you are,” he cooed, completely oblivious to his surroundings until a snicker broke through his haze.

Looking up, he saw Clint stifling a laugh as Natasha reached up to whack him on the back of the head but his eyes were caught by the soft expression on Steve’s face as he gazed down on them.

It’s the baby, idiot. He just thinks the baby is cute, don’t get caught up in this again, he reprimanded himself. Looking down at the child, he couldn’t help but smile, helplessly charmed.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

“Yea,” Steve reached out to touch where she had a hand firmly gripping Tony’s finger, “Beautiful.”  His fingers pressed against Tony’s and Tony looked up at the sound of Steve’s choked breath.

He had swung his head around, staring at the others uncomprehendingly. Lifting his hand away from Tony, he looked back and forth between them.

“Stevie?” Bucky asked worriedly, stepping forth to cup his face with his metal hand. “You okay?”

Steve nodded at Bucky’s question, taking his hand in his own, but reaching out another to Tony where he was touching him before.

They both gasped at the contact, Steve’s eyes widening with wonder as he heard the music of the others around him, swirling around in an orchestra of triumph and victorious weariness. He was looking at Tony as if he had never seen him before, as if he was the answer to a question he had given up hope in solving.

Tony on the other hand was trembling because Steve’s touch made a current run under his skin in a low vibration. Bucky quickly reached out a hand to steady him as he swayed under the feeling, grabbing him by the flesh of his arm exposed by his light t-shirt.

The feeling multiplied tenfold, as if instead of just hearing Bucky and Steve’s symphony, he was feeling it played underneath his skin. It coursed through him in brilliant waves, an intense combination of pleasure/pain that lit a fire through his veins like he was the burning, collapsing heart of a star.

He heard Steve and Bucky cry out but he couldn’t summon the strength to even open his eyes—when had he closed them?—and see what was happening.

Overwhelmed, he gave in to the feeling and everything went black.

~~

Things came to him slowly, as if he was floating in a pleasurable haze that made everything warm and happy.

Drugs? He wondered idly, gradually becoming aware of the fact that he was in a hospital bed and that someone—no, someones—were holding his hands.

“Steve, he’s awake.”

Two heads appeared above him, faces painted in relief.

“Tony,” Steve breathed out. “Welcome back.”

“You had us worried there, dollface.” Bucky brushed over the arch of his cheekbone tenderly and instinctively Tony leaned into the light contact, nuzzling into the warm palm.

He’s not yours to have, a voice reminded him and Tony abruptly became aware of what he was doing, pulling away from the both of them quickly and sitting up.

“What happened?” he asked, to busy wrenching his emotions under control to notice the way hurt flashed across their faces.

“Well, after Bucky touched you, you passed out. Luckily, he caught you before you or the baby could get hurt and then we brought you both back here to Medical to get you checked out.”

“How is the little butternut squash? Have we found her parents yet?”

“No sign of them,” Bucky reported. “So far, it looks like she might have been abandoned.”

“Poor kid,” Tony sighed. “Where’s she now?”

“Thor’s walking around with her. She started crying when we took her away from you so we’ve all been taking turns.” Steve smiled. “I think she’s rubbing off on all of us already. Do you want to see her?”

“Please,” Tony nodded.

Steve stepped out, leaving Tony alone with Bucky.

~~

“You knew, didn’t you? That Stevie had been hearing sounds when he touched you?” Bucky turned his intense attention to Tony, which probably should have made him feel uncomfortable but instead had the opposite effect.

“I did,” Tony shrugged. “But it only happened a couple times so I didn’t think he even really noticed it.”

Bucky scoffed. “It’s been driving him crazy for months. He once told me that it felt like he couldn’t ignore it, like every time he wanted to dismiss it, it would pull at him like an achey tooth.”

“Sounds about right, it’s impossible to completely ignore.”

“That’s not really what I meant.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Then what?”

“It’s more like, he couldn’t ignore it. It became an obsession for him that I didn’t understand until now, like something was calling to him that he just didn’t understand. We’ve been doing research on sound theory for months now, even delving into Greek myths and sirens.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” Bucky challenged.

They stared down at each other before breaking into laughter.

“So, essentially, we’re all crazy,” Tony concluded.

“Yea, sounds about right. How do you deal with it?” Bucky gestured to his ear. “Constantly hearing sounds that others can’t?”

“You learn to tune it out to a certain extent, like the noises of the city. Like the sounds of the trains going by or the blaring of a police siren, you’ll notice them but it doesn’t overwhelm you. That’s why I like living in the city. If I was living somewhere isolated, I would get used to the quiet and the sounds would overwhelm me the moment I get back to anywhere that’s populated.”

“Sounds tough.”

“It is what it is.” Tony turned slightly to adjust his pillows so he was a little more supported, Bucky reaching out to help him.

“I heard it too,” Bucky admitted.

“When?”

“When I touched you after the battle. There were sounds that were coming in from all around and from within us as well.”

Tony shook his head. “Yea, that’s not how it always is. Usually you two are Silent.”

“What does that mean?”

“Here,” Tony reached out and grabbed Bucky’s hand.

Bucky tilted his head to the side. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly, unlike the rest of the planet, you and Steve are the only ones I can’t hear all the time.”

“Why? Is it because of the serum?”

“I don’t know really.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say you don’t know something.”

Tony scoffed. “Yea, well, it’s not as of it’s an exact science.” He moved to pull away, but Bucky just held on tighter.

“Is it weird for you?” he asked softly, eyes searching Tony’s.

To his horror, Tony felt heat wash across his cheekbones and he resisted the urge to press his hands against his face to hide the blush.

“Huh?” he asked eloquently.

“Not hearing anything when you touch me?”

God, what a way to phrase it.

“Ah, well,” Tony stumbled over his tongue before managing to pull himself together. “No, actually.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. “You said we were the only ones in the world though. Wasn’t that even a little alarming?”

Tony chewed on his lip, thinking back. “Initially, yes but then I got used to it. Or maybe I should say, I came to rely on it.” Tony squeezed Bucky’s hand in his. “It’s peaceful, as if the way I share the music with you, you’re sharing your silence with me. It’s like the reprieve I need sometimes, surrounded as I am constantly.” He smiled

Bucky grinned back. “I’m glad we can actually provide something for you for once.”

“Do you feel anything?” Tony asked, curious. “I don’t remember feeling anything specific when Steve heard the music through me.”

“Oh, I definitely feel things holding onto you, doll,” Bucky replied promptly.

Tony laughed, but before he could ask for clarification, but Bucky shushed him, tilting his head to listen.

“Wait, I think I hear something.” At that moment, Steve walked through the door, baby Jane Doe in his hands and the air was filled with the sounds of her happy gurgling mixed with the dainty tinkles of glass chimes.

“That’s amazing.” A grin broke out on Bucky’s face as he watched the baby ensconced in Steve’s large arms and he let out a low laugh as he heard the music through his connection with Tony.

Tony smiled back at him, “Yea, sometimes it really is.”

Tony picked up the baby from the crib, rocking her in his arms. After months of not being able to locate tiny Jane Doe’s parents, Tony had decided to adopt her and give her a home with him. He knew that he didn’t live the most safe or stable life, but he couldn’t turn his back on the tiny infant, her wind chimes having set up a place in his heart.

He named her Aria, in honour of his mother who had loved him to the best of her ability as well as the music that has always been a part of his life, whether he wanted it or no.

The team knew about his grand secret now, the whole revealing process disappointingly anticlimactic.

It turned out that Steve and Bucky were the only ones who could hear when they touched him, and location or pressure did not affect the ability. They could hear just as clearly if they touched him just the slightest bit as they would when they held him in a full-bodied hug.

He no longer avoided them, at first because he was unable to with the way they and everyone else had become immediately attached to Aria, but then because he found he was more at ease when he was in their presence than he was when they were apart. Even with his hidden feelings.

“Is she ready?”

He turned to face Pepper and Natasha who had claimed Aria for a girls’ day out. He knew his daughter would be safe with the CEO and the secret agent, but a part of him panicked at the idea of letting her out of his sight. She was still so delicate, with tiny little fingers and toes and the willingness to pick up and put in her mouth the exact thing that could choke her.

God, raising a child was terrifying.

“Are you sure she’s ready for this?”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “She’ll be fine, Tony. We’re just taking her out for a walk.”

“Yes, but what if she’s allergic to pollen? Spring is prime time for allergies.”

“You had her tested and the only thing she’s allergic to is pineapples.”

“Which just means she won’t be ruining pizza with fruit.” Natasha beckoned. “Now, hand her over.”

Tony cuddled Aria to his chest for another moment before reluctantly handing her over to Natasha, following them out with the baby bag as they headed for the elevator.

Before they reached it, Bucky stepped out, face lighting up when he caught sight of Aria decked out in her yellow ducky dress.

“Hello, darling,” he cooed, stealing her away from Natasha to press kisses on her breathy wisps that passed for hair. “Where are you going?”

Aria giggled happily in Bucky’s arms, kicking her legs and blowing enthusiastic spit bubbles. She had inherited her father’s taste in men.

“They’re kidnapping my baby,” Tony complained, pouting in the face of a possible ally.

“No, we’re just making sure that Tony doesn’t become a dictator daddy,” Pepper retorted, giving Bucky a few more minutes with Aria before snatching her away decisively.

“We’ll be back in a few hours and we will call if there are any issues at all, okay?”

With that, all three of the women in his life disappeared and Tony sighed mournfully.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky greeted him, wrapping him up in a comforting hug. “Are you free now?”

“Seeing as I’m without my child, the light of my life, yea I guess so.”

“Will you come with me then? There’s something I wanna show you.”

Curiosity piqued, Tony nodded. “Lead the way, Terminator.”

~~

Bucky led him up to the roof where a picnic had been laid out on the grass Tony had installed there. There was champagne and Tony could spot mini quiches and stuffed panini sandwiches amongst the variety of other dishes.

“Wow, this looks great, what’s the special occasion?”

Hearing the sound of the elevator, Tony turned around to see Steve approaching them with a heavy bouquet in his hands, and extravagant mixture of purples and blues and reds and bright oranges.

“Okay, flowers, champagne, picnic on the roof…this is giving me date vibes you guys. Am I actually interrupting an anniversary or something because I can go…?” he trailed off when Steve handed him the bouquet, confused but unable to help burying his face in the blossoms, inhaling their fresh sweet scent.

“This way.” Tony let Bucky pull him forward by the hand, toeing off his shoes and sitting on the blanket obediently with each other the supersoldiers creating the other parts of their little triangle.

“Tony, we have something to ask you,” Steve began.

“Sounds ominous.”

Steve smiled, but his eyes were serious. “The truth is, I’ve been in love with you for years now.”

“You’re lying,” Tony denied. “Look, if this is some pity thing, you really don’t need—”

“Tony, no, I would never lie to you about this,” Steve interrupted. “Please understand, it was difficult coming to terms with my feelingsnot because of anything you did but because I felt too guilty about loving someone other than Bucky. Like I was betraying his memory when I was the one who failed him all those years ago.”

“Steve,” unable to ignore the pain he heard in Steve’s voice, Tony grabbed his hand in comfort. Steve squeezed back tight.

“And then, when he came back…well, I was so happy that I was given a second chance with him, I was scared what would happen if I told him about my feelings for you.”

“The punk felt he was being unfaithful to me for loving you even when he was with me and didn’t want to tell me,” Bucky broke in before Tony could even fully process what Steve had said. “Only to realize when he finally did tell me that I feel the same way.”

It probably said a lot about Tony that the first reaction to hearing two confessions of love was doubt. “Why tell me now? If you’ve loved me for months, why not tell me earlier?”

“Because even though we love you, but we didn’t know if you wanted us.”

“We were worried that it would be too much to ask of you,” Bucky elaborated to get involved with us when we were married already. We didn’t want you to feel like you were less a part of us just because you weren’t part of the legal ceremony because we love you just as much as we love each other.”

“And then there’s this.” Steve reached out to grasp Bucky’s with his free hand and Bucky reached out to Tony to complete the circuit. Like it had every time before, the symphony rose up between them, passing in waves of sound and feeling.

“When you explained it to us, you said that the song was proof of our love for each other, that we didn’t have a song if we weren’t together. But Tony, if you listen, there are three parts to this melody.”

Tony listened to the song, familiar to him as his own heartbeat at this point and realized that Steve was right. If you separated out the notes, there were three threads of music being wound together so tightly it was difficult to distinguish who was who.

“I’ve never had my own song,” Tony whispered, disbelieving. “Never. I’ve only ever heard Silence when I’m alone.”

“Maybe doll, it’s because the same way Stevie and I belong to each other, you belong with us. You just had to hear our song together to guide you to us.”

Tony wanted to deny such wishful thinking, but he remembered every time he had sat apart from Steve and Bucky, heart aching with the desire to be with them. The way their music would seem to call out to him in those moments, the way that it would surround him and wrap him in comfort and warmth as if welcoming him.

“Tony?”

He looked up at them both, the earnest hope shining in Steve’s eyes, the soft love in Bucky’s and let himself be brave and trust that this time if he leapt, the music would catch him.

“I love you too.”

Steve broke into delighted laughter and Bucky pulled him so his back pressed against his chest, wrapping flesh and metal arms around him tight. He buried his head in Tony’s neck and let out a deep sigh against the sensitive hairs there, causing Tony to shiver in response.

“I hope you know that this is forever, Tony Stark, because we are never letting you or the little munchkin go.”

“Watch out. That sounds like a marriage proposal, Snowflake.”

“It is,” Steve affirmed. “You don’t have to answer right now, but the offer’s there. If you want it.”

In response, Tony just let himself melt back into Bucky’s arms, pulling Steve to press against his front and kissing him as he had wanted to do from the first moment he saw him. Lost in the taste and sensation of Steve, he chased the sparks that flew between them in bright spirals, only pulling away when his body remembered that it needed to breathe.

Steve’s eyes were hot as he tilted Tony’s head helpfully to face Bucky, who didn’t waste a moment is stealing his own kisses. It was wet and dirty and glorious and Tony wanted to stay between their arms forever.

~~

Eventually they got to enjoy the food and Natasha and Pepper brought Aria back to join them. Turns out, they had been in on the whole thing, the clever minxes. The rest of the team gradually wandered up and by evening, Tony was firmly ensconced between Bucky’s thick thighs as they watched Steve and Thor be utterly charmed at the way that Aria beat at a toy drum noisily.

“That’s not coming home with us,” Tony informed him.

“Definitely not.”

“You get to tell Steve.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I’ll trade you kisses.”

“Deal.”

Watching Steve walk back over to him, he accepted his child in his arms again and revelled in the way that Bucky and Steve trailed teasing hands over his skin, playing with their melody as if it was their own personal concert. He listened to the way their song wove together, all three of them melding together in a beautiful cacophony that told him that finally, he had found home.

If you made it this far and liked it, let me know here or on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563422

[slutforgoodliterature]

Pietro Maximoff x Reader - Let Me Prove It To You

This was a request from one of you guys! I’m so excited to start doing more requests so feel free to send them in. 

To the babe that requested this, this one’s for you! You know who you are ;)

Summary: Pietro and Wanda are introduced to the rest of the Avengers, and he is immediately drawn to you. You, however, believe that no one like Pietro could ever be into you... until all of a sudden he really, truly, deeply is. 

Warnings: smut (slow burn), angst, dirty talk (in his accent omfggg) 

Hold on to your seats guys and dolls coz it’s gonna be a doozy

AU | that Pietro didn’t die bc that shit is sad as heck, so let's pretend he survived Age of Ultron ok :))

“Listen up you lot!” Tony’s voice rang out across the common area, where he and Steve had called a team meeting. 

They had just returned from a massive fight in Sokovia and brought with them not only a strange floating red man but also a set of arguably stranger twins. 

You had been out of action for the last few weeks due to a couple broken ribs and so had been sent on vacation by Tony. For three weeks, you were peacefully soaking up the sun in Honolulu, Hawaii, until you saw new reports of a freaking floating city with all of your friends on it. 

By the time you had flown back into New York, it was over and dealt with, but you were left feeling useless and unneeded.

“Earth to Y/N,” Steve called, bringing you back to the present, and you went red, even though he was sending you a reassuring smile and there was no real heat behind his words. The whole team knew how you were feeling and tried to comfort you, but there wasn’t much they could say to cheer you up. 

You looked towards the front of the room and were instantly drowning in a pair of cerulean blue eyes that locked onto yours. You froze in place, unable to tear your eyes away. 

The young man who owned those eyes was just as gorgeous. White blonde hair that fell over his forehead, arched brows, a strong jaw, full lips, wide shoulders, narrow hips and-

Wait, are those New Balances? 

You ignored the odd choice of runners and looked back up at this mysterious newcomer’s eyes and were shocked to find he had just down the same sweep of your body as you did to his. His lips curled up in a small grin and he once again caught your gaze, boring into your soul with his piercing eyes. 

“Team, most of you know Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, for those who don’t, this is them.” Tony pointed unceremoniously to the twins and was met with silence. “Cool, good chat.” He sent everyone a thumbs up before briskly leaving the room, probably to find Pepper. 

“He sure has a way with words.” The guy, Pietro, said and his accent caught you unawares. It was rich and silky, like honey in your eyes, and you swear you would have melted into a puddle on the floor if it wasn’t for the kitchen counter you were currently sitting on. 

He shared a smile with his sister before she edged over to the floating red dude. Speaking of...

“Is no one going to introduce floating red guy?” You blurted out, not addressing anyone in particular but finding the entire teams' heads whip your way. 

“Oh right, yes of course, sorry-” Steve began, but floating red guy cut him off with a calm hand raised and landed back on the floor before walking over to you. 

“Allow me, my name is Vision. You are Y/N.” He said simply, holding out a flat palm. You regarded it, completely bewildered as to what you were supposed to do, give him a high five? 

“Um, nice to meet you...” You said and placed your palm on top of his, thinking it was maybe a custom of his, but when his palm began to rise and fall, you were even more at a loss.

“Are you trying to shake her hand?” A sudden voice from over your shoulder made you jump. Somehow, Pietro had moved silently behind you and was watching the strange exchange between you and Vision, his eyebrows furrowed in amusement. 

“Yes. Is that not a common human custom?” Poor Vision said, making Pietro laugh and shake his head. 

“It is, it’s just not whatever you were doing.” He chuckled, stepping in front of you and grasping your hand firmly in his. He began to shake it, but you couldn’t focus on anything except his warm hand in yours. “This is how you shake a hand, Vis.” He stated, continuing to still pump your hands. 

You looked up and saw him looking straight at you once more and you quickly pulled a reign in on your emotions. 

Cut it out, a guy like him would never be into you.

You withdrew your hand abruptly, ending your contact, and thought you noticed a small look of hurt cross Pietro’s face, but of course, there wasn’t one. 

At least, that’s what you told yourself. 

Without another word, you turned around and left the room, unable to stand another second with the boy with the brilliant blue eyes and killer watt smile. 

As the weeks passed, you tried to ignore Pietro, but it proved to be a near-impossible task. 

He always found a way to be around you. Whether it was matching his training schedule to yours, or eating at the same time as you each morning and night, he was always there. 

Slowly but surely, you could feel the inklings of a crush begin to form until they became so strong you were scared you’d accidentally blurt it out in front of him. He wasn’t exactly helping the situation either; he always sat a bit too close on chairs, his hugs lingered for a couple of seconds too long, an innocuous-seeming wink or a squeeze of his hands on your as you traded gym equipment or passed the salt. 

You tried to keep your distance. You kept your conversations brief and answers blunt to the point it became borderline rude. You felt bad, but you needed to keep that layer of animosity there, lest you and your stupid emotions accidentally cross a line. 

One day, just over a month since he and his sister arrived, he cornered you in the training room. 

“Can I ask you a question?” He began abruptly. You regarded him through between your legs as you were bent over trying to stretch them. You realised the current view he had and flushed, straightening up before answering a curt “If you must,” all the while ignoring his eyes. 

“Do you hate me?” He asked in such a simple manner it had you sputtering. 

“What? No, of course not.” You shook your head, still avoiding eye contact, even though you could feel his eyes burning holes in the back of your head. You pretended to be studying the weights intensely, hoping that he would give up and leave you alone. 

I far from hate you...

“Then why are you such a... bitch... to me?” He struggled to find the right word, but when he did, it shocked you. Your jaw dropped, as did the weight in your hand. It was heading straight for your toes but before it could crush them, he had raced over to you and stopped it in its tracks. 

In a blink, he was leaning on the weights rack next to you, toying with the dumbbell in his hands with ease. 

“I am not a bitch.” You clarified, feeling your face slowly redden and heat up. 

So much for thinking he didn’t notice or care. 

“Yes, you are. At least, to me you are.” He argued and he still had a cheeky smile plastered on his face, but you could see real hurt and confusion in his eyes. 

“I...I don’t know what you mean.” You mumbled, turning away from him but he caught your wrist. You glanced at him over your shoulder through lowered lashes. 

“Y/N, please. You can drop the act. I don’t know why you do it, but I know it’s not you.” His hand slowly slipped into yours as he stepped towards you, his fingers intertwining with your own. 

“Stop it.” You whispered, silently willing your legs to move but they wouldn’t. He held you prisoner in his gaze. Your heart was nearly beating through your chest, so loud you were certain he could hear it. 

“Tell me why.” He pleaded, his head dipping closer to yours and your eyes dropped to his lips, which were mere inches away. 

“I...” you began but your tongue became dry and your throat began to close. His proximity was driving you crazy, but although he was so close, he was still so far away. “I can't...”

No one like him could ever like someone like you. 

“That’s a shame because...” He let out a deep sigh and his other hand lifted to cup your face. “...because I like you. A lot.” His confession made you blanch. 

“Don’t say that.” You whipped your head away from his hand and pulled your other hand out of his grip. You were unable to look at him and his blue eyes for fear you would see the insincerity you were sure was there. 

“Y/N-” He reached out to you. 

“No.” You shook your head and began to back away from him. ‘You don’t mean it. Don’t say that.”

“I don't mean it?” His tone was laced with anger and frustration as he repeated what you said, making you flinch. “I don’t mean it?!” In a flash, he was directly in front of you again, towering over you. 

“Pietro, you...you can’t.” You whispered, your voice beginning to shake no matter how hard you tried to hide your emotions. “You can’t like me. You couldn’t.”

He gripped your chin and lifted your head so you could see his face and his narrowed eyes. 

“Who are you to tell me what I mean?” He breathed. “Who I can and can’t like? You don’t get to decide that. That’s my decision and mine alone.” 

He stepped closer to you and rested a hand on your waist, making you draw in a shaky breath. 

“Now, if you don’t like me back, that’s fine. I’ll stay away from you.” His voice shook as he announced that, but he steeled himself. “But don’t run from this because it scares you. It scares me too.” He rested his forehead against yours, stealing your breath away. 

“But you thinking I couldn’t love you... that scares me more.” 

Your eyes widened as you realised he was serious. Your heart began to rejoice and do flips in your chest. You were silent, at a loss for words as he studied your face. 

He took your silence as a refusal and his eyelids fell shut as his lips pulled into a grimace.

“Ok, I’ll leave. I’m sorry-” He was cut off by you grabbing his face and kissing him. 

Hard. 

He froze, and for a second you were scared he was going to take it all back and yell ‘fooled you!’ but he didn’t. He came to life under your hands and circled your waist in his arms, pulling you impossibly close. 

You were broken apart by his uncontainable grin, which you couldn’t help but return. 

“That went better than expected.” He breathed a laugh, keeping his forehead pressed against yours. 

“What did you expect?”  You questioned, tilting your head to the side. 

“Honestly? A slap.” He chuckled and you blushed once again. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a...” you thought about how best to describe your abrasive behaviour, but he filled in the gaps for you. 

“Bitch?” He supplied with a laugh and a raised brow. 

“Yeah, a major bitch.” You agreed, laughing with him at your own expense. “I just thought that... well, no one like you could ever...you know...like me or anything.” Your smile fell and he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips. 

“No one like me? An orphaned mutant from a city that no longer exists?” He shook his head and pressed a finger to your lips to stop your protests. “Listen here, princessa.” He stared deeply into your eyes and you felt his gaze caress your soul. 

“I think you are incredible. Beautiful. Amazing. Magical. Stunning. ” With each praise, he mapped your face with kisses. On your nose, your eyelids, your cheeks, your forehead, and finally on the corner of your mouth. “Please, don’t ever doubt that.” 

His words had brought tears to your eyes and you simply nodded, a smile tugging at your lips, and your heart feeling so full it could burst. 

A month had passed since you and Pietro had become ‘an item’, and every day was better than the last. You had fallen in love with him, and in the process, came to love yourself. 

Pietro, on the other hand, was like a giddy teenager. Constantly sneaking heated kisses and touches wherever you were, whether it was in the bedroom or under the table at breakfast, he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Or his eyes.

“Brother, if you don’t quit staring at Y/N you’re going to miss the entire movie,” Wanda said with a smirk one night as a group of you had settled down to watch a film.  You were curled up into his side with your legs tucked beneath you, and his arm was circling you, bringing you closer. 

You looked up to find that he was indeed staring at you. You grinned and pressed a kiss to his lips. 

“But she’s nicer to look at.” He stated simply with a smirk. He was met with a groan from nearly everyone in the room. 

“Yeesh, you guys make me sick.” Natasha fake gagged but sent you a playful smile and a wink anyway. 

“Yeah, get a room, you rabbits.” Tony quipped, making the rest of them laugh at your red face. 

That was one thing that hadn’t happened between you and Pietro. Sex. You had done everything but. It was beginning to make old doubts bubble to the surface. 

Maybe he realised he doesn’t like you like that... 

You scowled at the voice in your head before standing up abruptly. “I’m going to get some water.” You announced to no one in particular. You raced to the kitchen, ignoring the questioning eyes you left behind you. 

You were filling up a glass when you felt him behind you. As silent as a breeze yet as fast as a tornado. 

“What’s up?” He asked, his arms circling you from behind. You shook your head in answer, not trusting your voice to be steady. 

Pietro pressed a kiss to your neck, just below your ear. “Tell me, princessa.” 

You remained silent, taking a big sip from your water to give yourself time to formulate an answer. Before you could, however, Pietro seemed to have figured it out. 

“This is about what Tony said, isn’t it?” He realised. “Y/N, listen-”

“No, Pietro, stop.” You said suddenly, cutting him off. You turned around and twisted out of his arms, distancing yourself from him. “It’s okay if you don’t like me like that-”

“That’s not fair-”

“You don’t have to pretend-”

“You can’t be serious-”

“-that you like me.” 

“Stop.” He growled, rushing over to you and clamping a hand over your mouth. 

You stood in the kitchen, staring at each other, your eyes filled with different emotions. 

Yours with sadness, his with anger. 

“Now, we are going to continue this discussion in my room.” He stated in a deadly calm voice, and before you could protest, he had scooped you up and ran you to his room on the 41st floor, leaving you standing in the middle of the room. 

“Pietro-” You began, reaching out a hand to him but he silenced you with a look. 

“No. Listen to me, Y/N.” He rounded on you and began to advance towards you. “You’re so smart, but you’re also so fucking naïve sometimes.” He growled, stepping towards you, making you take a step back. 

You stayed silent, knowing better than to talk at this point. And also because you felt guilty about upsetting him. 

“I didn’t want you to think I was just using you for sex.” He explained, running a hand through his hair. He took another step towards you, and you mirrored him by taking yet another step back

Realisation dawned on you and you felt even more guilty if that was even possible. “I’m sorry, Pietro.” You whispered sincerely.“I didn’t realise-” 

“I’m sorry I made you doubt me.” He said, taking another step forward. “I’m even more sorry that this has taken so long.”

 The next steps you both took had you backed up into the wall, the cold plaster causing goosebumps to rise across your back. 

In the blink of an eye, he was pressing you against the wall with his hips and was holding your arms above your head, trapping you there. 

“Don’t you know what you do to me?” He whispered and ground his hips against yours. 

You could definitely feel what you were doing to him. 

“Please,” you gasped, feeling his lips ghost the shell of your ear. 

“I’m going to fuck you, princessa.” He promised and you let out a moan at his words. “But first, I’m going to worship you.” 

Without another word, he dropped to his knees in front of you and yanked down your jeans and panties before you could suck in another breath. He circled his arms around your thighs and pulled your legs over his shoulders. 

You carded a hand through his hair and he held eye contact with you as he pressed a kiss on the inside of both of your thighs before placing one straight over your core. Your hand tightened in his hair.

Pietro licked a stripe up your centre, flicking his tongue around your clit. You let out a moan and your head fell back against the wall, your eyes squeezed shut.

“Look at me, princessa.” He ordered, and you complied, regarding him through half closed eyes. “I want you to watch me as I make you cum with my mouth.” 

He delved into the heat between your legs, licking and sucking and nipping. You writhed against his mouth, biting your lip in an effort to keep quiet but it was no use. 

His tongue teased your entrance before suddenly sliding inside, creating a whole new sensation in you. You gasped and arched your back, driving his tongue further inside you. 

The sensation of a tidal wave of pure pleasure building in your lower stomach was torturing you, all brought on by the man between your legs and his magical tongue. You ached to have his fingers in you, or better yet, his dick. 

“Pietro,” You moaned, which made him look up at you in question, but he never took his mouth off you. “I need you inside me.” 

He just shook his head in response and you could feel him smirk against you.  His nose bumped against your clit, sending your head into a spin. 

“Please...” You groaned, but he ignored your requests and simply sped up his tongue, eager to bring you to orgasm. 

As he coaxed you closer and closer to the edge, your legs began to quiver around his head. His tongue delved in deeper and with a speed you knew was only possible with him. 

You tried to grind yourself against him but he held your hips still with a strong grip, only allowing you the pleasure he was willing to give to you. 

He sucked hard at your clit before biting down on your bundle of nerves ever so gently, and that was it. 

The knot in your stomach unravelled, and you along with it. It was impossible to keep your eyes open, and you screamed his name as your head tipped back against the wall.

Your legs shook as he carried you through your high with his tongue. The next thing you know, the softness of his comforter replaced the hard wall on your back and your head was nestled on a pillow. 

He’d carried you to his bed and laid you down softly, lying over you and caging you in with his arms. 

His eyes were filled with adoration, but also the hint of the hardness you knew always existed below the surface. 

“Do you still doubt me?” He asked, trailing a hand up your side and under your shirt. 

“It was never you I doubted.” You breathed, still trying to catch your breath after your mindblowing orgasm. 

His eyes widened infinitesimally and he sat up abruptly on his heels, looking down at you from between your legs. He pulled his shirt off in a single tug and your eyes dropped to his chest and abdominals. 

This man is a god.

He dipped back over you, arching his back into you as he ravaged your mouth with his own and ground his tracksuit-clad hips over your dripping pussy. You moaned into his mouth and traced his abs with your fingertips, earning a low groan in response. 

His hand cupped your heat, sending shivers down your spine and causing a litany of curses to leave your mouth. 

“Who did this to you, princessa?” He growled, slipping a finger between your folds. 

“Y-You did.” You managed to get out between hitched breaths. 

“And who is going to fuck you until you can’t walk?” He pushed down his pants and boxers until he was able to kick them off, leaving you both naked apart from your top.

“You are.” You breathed and allowed him to slide your top over your head and fling it across the room with great speed. 

“Who do you belong to?” He murmured against your skin, tracing his lips across the top of your breasts. You arched your back so he could unclip your bra and skillfully remove it from you. 

He sucked a nipple into his mouth and pinched the other, sending shockwaves to your core.

“You.” You answered, cupping his jaw and guiding his lips back to yours, where he met you with a punishing kiss. You could feel him lining up at your entrance and you wrapped your legs around his waist, encouraging him closer. 

“And who loves you?” He whispered as he slowly began to enter you. Your eyes widened and you sharpened your gaze on him in shock. 

“Wha-” He gripped your jaw and pressed his forehead against yours as he slowly entered you, never breaking eye contact. 

“I said,” With a single thrust, he buried himself in you completely, laying a firm hand on your pelvis to stop your hips from writhing against him in pleasure. “Who loves you?” 

He regarded you with such sincerity that you couldn’t return his intense stare, but the grip he had on your jaw refused to let you look away. 

“Tell me.” He demanded, not moving inside you. You swallowed your fears, doubts and insecurities and levelled his gaze with yours. 

“You do.” As you said it, you felt a smile overcome your features. “You love me.”

His eyes darkened with lust, and what you knew now to be love, and he kissed you passionately. You wrapped your hands around his biceps and gave yourself fully to him. 

He drew out of you and thrust in again slowly. The little discomfort you had felt at the beginning was melting away and sheer, toe-curling pleasure was taking over.

You were still sensitive from your last orgasm, so every drag of his hips and drive of his cock in you added quickly to the coiling behind your navel. 

You dug your nails into the flesh of his back as he continued his languid strokes. You could feel every vein of his member, its pulsating heat as it pushed and pulled you closer and closer to the edge. 

“You’re mine,” Pietro growled against your lips, his hand on your hip tightening so much that you knew there was going to be a bruise there tomorrow, but you relished in it. 

As if to prove his point, he traced a trail of kisses to your neck where he began to suck and nibble a large hickey. 

“All yours...only yours, Pietro.” You agreed in moans, running your hands through his hair and tugging when the sensations became too much. 

You were so close, and you told him so. 

“Hold on, princessa.” He groaned, his hand cupped your jaw so gently that it threw you off balance; the rough snaps of his hips and the loving stroke of his thumb on your jaw. 

“I want you to remember who made you like this, Y/N.” He said, his jaw clenching with the effort it took to hold off his impending orgasm. “Every time you close your eyes, you’re going to see me fucking you into the mattress.” 

His accent along with his dirty words made your eyes roll into your head and you were so close you were certain you were going to fall off the edge with his next thrust. 

“Say my name as you cum, baby.” He growled and the hand on your hip dipped to rub circles across your clit. 

You exploded. Or maybe imploded is the right word. 

His breath ghosting across your face as he whispered his native tongue to you, telling you to cum, his hand on your clit, his cock hitting spots in you that you didn’t know could cause so much pleasure... it was enough to bring tears to your eyes as your soul detached and shattered into a million particles. 

Like you were told, you screamed his name as you orgasmed, your hands scraping down his back and your legs shaking around his waist as he continued to thrust into you, spurring on the waves of pleasure that assaulted you. 

As you came down from your high, you caressed his face gently and looked deep into his eyes. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” You murmured over and over again before he captured your lips with his and emptied himself in you.

His eyes screwep up and he let out a loud moan as he too reached his climax. 

The last throes of your orgasm released you as he collapsed on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck. 

He rolled off you and onto his back, dragging you with him and pulling you until you lay across his chest, your head resting over his loudly beating heart and your arms wrapped around each other. 

“I love you, Y/N.” He whispered into your hair and you felt like you could fly away, you were that happy. 

“I love you too, Pietro.” You tilted your head up and he kissed you sweetly on the mouth. 

“That was something else.” He murmured as you both came up for air. 

“Yeah, it was pretty...” You struggled to adequately describe the sex you just had. 

“Mindblowing?” He offered with a cheeky grin. 

“Exactly. Mindblowing.” You agreed and tucked your head back under his chin. 

“You didn’t see that coming?” He questioned playfully. 

“A month ago, definitely not.” You stated, tracing circles on his chest. 

“And now?” He coaxed and this time it was you with the cheeky grin as you raised your head to look at him and hitched an eyebrow.

“Now...I wanna see how fast you really are.” You winked at him.

Pietro was suddenly the one blushing and flipped you onto your back in less than a second. 

“Oh, you’re on.” He laughed and attacked your mouth with his. 

You never doubted yourself after that. 

[hummingluke]

among us

pairing: luke/ashton content warnings: major character death, blood, swearing word count: 2.9k

a/n: i finally wrote a thing! the among us au that absolutely no one asked for. it’s pretty dark and def not for everyone so no pressure to read at all, but if you do please please let me know what you think!

ao3 link

They’ve only been on Polus for two weeks. Two weeks, and already their crew of ten has dwindled down to four. When they’d first landed, and stepped off the dropship into the icy, biting air of the barely-habitable planet, the energy among the crew had been wary but overall positive. It’s no secret that Polus is the most dangerous base - a favourite haunt for impostors given its distance from other MIRA colonies and its general dark and dreary environment - but many of the crew were new recruits, excited to be visiting their first faraway planet and eager to conduct their research. The fact that an incident hasn’t occurred on Polus in a few months is a good sign, to them: a sign that maybe things are taking a turn for the better. They should have known it was only a matter of time.

The most recent death had been two days ago, and tensions had been thick among the remaining crew since. The meeting following the discovery of the body had been hours long as the last four argued over who could be an impostor. Luke had spent most of the meeting slumped in his chair, dread clutching at his heart as the very real possibility that none of them would ever make it off this damned planet began to sink in. Michael and Ashton’s voices had been hoarse from all the yelling by the end of it, and Calum seemed to be the only one satisfied with the final decision that no one would get thrown into the lava pit. It had only made Michael more suspicious of him, but Luke knows better. He’d seen the pain on Calum’s face when, a week ago, they’d thrown one of their own crewmates into the pit - a crewmate who’d turned out to be innocent, after all. Calum might seem stoic, but Luke can tell he has a gentle soul.

None of them had known each other before being sent on this mission, but spending two weeks trapped on a frozen planet with less than a dozen colleagues and a killer on the loose tended to provide for some rapid and intense bonding. Up until the most recent death, Calum and Michael had been two peas in a pod, often partnering up to complete their daily tasks and spending all of their free time together. Now that potential suspects are narrowing down, and with Calum’s general habit of not speaking unless spoken to, Michael has completely detached himself from his former friend. It makes Luke sad to see what seemed like such a strong bond break so quickly, but he doesn’t think it actually has anything to do with Calum himself. Michael’s paranoid of everyone, now, as evidenced by the way he’s watching Luke from the office doorway as Luke pours two mugs of stale coffee.

“Do you want me to pour you one?” Luke asks, attempting to ignore the scowl on Michael’s face. Michael doesn’t reply, instead giving Luke a once-over before walking away with a huff.

Luke clenches his jaw as he looks back down at the cups of swirling black sludge. He hates this. They’re scheduled to be on Polus for another month and a half, but more and more he finds himself hoping it’s over sooner than that, because he can’t stand the fear and distrust permeating every space on the base. He just wants to leave this hell, and he’s starting to care less and less whether that happens via the dropship, or a quick fall into the lava pit.

Luke dumps cream and sugar into one of the mugs until the coffee is almost as pale as him, and emitting a sickly sweet aroma, then he puts on his helmet and heads outside to the O2 building.

As Calum and Michael’s friendship developed (and then shattered) Luke himself had grown close with Ashton, the most experienced member of their crew and one impostor-survival story away from becoming somewhat of a legend at MIRA. None of them knew each other before, but everyone knows of Ashton. Luke’s known from the beginning that if he was going to survive this mission, Ashton would be the one to befriend. He was strong, and intelligent, and had a disarming stare that made other crewmates swear that he could tell whether someone was an impostor just by looking at them. Luke knows that isn’t possible, but the man certainly does seem to be a good judge of character. Well, fairly good.

Ashton’s working in O2 all day today. There had been some odd anomalies with the tree last night, and he’s spent most of the morning sitting at its roots, hunched over his tablet as he examines the data. It was how Luke had left him an hour ago when he popped in to change the oxygen canisters, and it’s how he found him now, tiny crease in his brow, though he looks more focused than confused.

“I brought you some coffee,” Luke speaks up softly from the doorway, not wanting to startle Ashton. “Thought you could use a break.”

Ashton’s small frown dissolves into a warm smile as he looks up at Luke. He sets his tablet aside with a sigh and holds his hand out, but when Luke hands him the mug, still steaming despite the trip outside in below-freezing temperatures, he sets that down as well and extends his hand once more. 

“Sit with me?” he asks, and Luke blushes ever so slightly as he takes Ashton’s hand and allows himself to be guided to a spot on the floor clear of roots and wires.

“How’s it going?” he asks as Ashton takes a sip and hums in satisfaction. Ashton’s the only person on the crew who actually likes the coffee here, and for the first few days Michael had liked to joke about how that must mean he’s an impostor.

“Well, I’ve ruled out sabotage,” Ashton replies, looking over at the tree as if it might suddenly decide to reveal its secrets. As senior researcher, Ashton is solely in charge of monitoring the tree, and Luke admires how much he takes his duties to heart. Everyone understands the work MIRA is doing is important, but Luke has never met someone as passionate about it as Ashton. “My best guess is that something flew by that upset the energy field. Probably an asteroid. With only four people, it’s getting harder to keep them away.”

It sounds to Luke like this is something to be concerned about, but Ashton seems unfazed as he takes another sip of his coffee, his thumb tracing the back of Luke’s hand where it rests on his knee, their fingers still intertwined. Ashton always appears unfazed, though. Apart from his screaming match with Michael the other day, he’s well-composed, carefully observant, and the voice of reason. Luke supposes that’s just what happens when you survive a dozen impostor attacks - if they don’t drive you insane, that is.

“Should we be worried?”

“The tree will be fine,” Ashton turns to Luke with that same smile that seems to be reserved just for him, and Luke’s stomach flutters, though he’s not sure if it’s from Ashton’s gaze, or his carefully-chosen words. He looks down at their hands, and when he gives Ashton’s a slight squeeze, Ashton squeezes back. “Hey, you’re safe with me, Lu. You know that, right?”

Luke nods. He wishes that Ashton would say more, would promise him that they’ll make it off this stupid base alive, but he knows better. Ashton doesn’t lie, and he doesn’t make promises he can’t keep.

“Michael won’t stop glaring at me,” he mumbles, toying with the strap of his helmet with his free hand. “He’s making me nervous.”

“Michael’s fine. He’s just nervous, himself. We all are.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m always nervous.”

“You don’t seem nervous.”

“It’s not so bad when I’m around you.”

“Oh.”

It’s the closest either of them has come to actually acknowledging the feelings they’ve been dancing around for the past two weeks. What had started as soft smiles and fond glances, a brush of a hip here or there, has slowly graduated to hand-holding in their moments alone. Relationships are almost impossible in this line of work, and Luke has never been in one himself, so it’s all kind of a big deal to him, and he’s grateful that Ashton seems perfectly content to let him set the pace for whatever this is between them. Luke doesn’t really plan on letting it go much further, though. When this mission is over, they’ll leave this little bubble they’ve pulled over themselves, and go their separate ways, on to another mission, on another planet. They might not even cross paths ever again. MIRA is a big company, and the galaxy they operate in is even bigger.

Never really one for words, Luke’s not sure how else to respond to Ashton’s confession. He takes Ashton’s hand in both of his, plays with his fingers, and hopes Ashton understands it as the reciprocation it is.

They find Michael’s body the next morning. It’s a sloppy job, his throat slit right outside the sleep quarters, in full view of the security cameras. Luke almost throws up in his helmet as Calum, face devoid of any emotion, gently picks up the corpse, and Michael’s head rolls, a bit of blood trickling out from the gash in his neck.

“He’s still warm,” is all Calum says, before standing up and making his way towards the lava pit.

Luke shares a look with Ashton, then the other man bends down to pick up Michael’s discarded helmet. The collar is ripped and soaked in blood, the visor cracked. Ashton stares at it for a moment, expression unreadable, before following Calum to the pit. Watching them dump the body is the last thing Luke wants to do, but his feet pull him forward without a second thought, following after Ashton like a lost puppy.

It’s as unceremonious as the other five times they’ve had to do this. Calum hesitates for longer this time, kneeling at the edge of the pit, clutching Michael’s body, and for a moment Luke thinks he might just launch the both of them over the edge. When Ashton approaches him and rests a hand on his shoulder, Calum seems to be pulled from a daze. He rests his forehead against Michael’s for a moment, then slowly lets go. Michael’s body rolls out of his grip and over the cliff’s edge. Luke flinches at the dull thud and subsequent roar as flames immediately consume the corpse. Ashton adds Michael’s helmet to the row next to the pit, a tribute to their fallen crewmates. For most, it’s the only thing left of them at all, the only way they’ll ever be remembered.

It’s mandatory procedure to hold a meeting after a body is discovered. Luke’s as sullen as he was during the last meeting, but this time Calum and Ashton are the same. Nobody speaks for a good ten minutes. They all just stare at the table, undoubtedly thinking the exact same thing: there’s only three of them left, and someone at this table killed a person less than an hour ago.

Calum’s the first to move.

“I can’t fucking do this again,” he grunts, standing up from the table so quickly that his chair falls back. “I can’t- I’m going to check on my samples. I can’t do this right now.”

Ashton looks just as surprised as Luke feels as Calum walks out of the office. They turn to each other, an entire conversation taking place between them without either saying a word, until Luke shakes his head in denial.

“No, he wouldn’t.” He wishes he sounded more convinced. “He couldn’t. Not Michael.”

Calum wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well, he did one time, accidentally; he stepped on a bug in the lab with his massive boots and then stressed about it for days afterwards. He could never do it intentionally, though, right? He was quiet, but he was a good colleague. A good person. Not a killer. At the very least, he could never do... that, to Michael.

“I can’t believe it either, Lu, but who else could it be? Me?”

“No.” Luke has never been more certain of anything in his life.

“You?” Ashton asks, inevitably. Luke doesn’t even get a chance to open his mouth before Ashton answers for him. “No. So who’s left?”

Luke can’t accept that, yet, and so he racks his brain for a different answer. His eyes fill with tears of frustration and resignation.

“Well, what do we do now?” he finally asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“We keep doing what we always do,” Ashton replies, voice steady and sure. “We do our job. We stay together. We watch each other’s backs and we fucking make it to the end of the two months. We survive. And if we get the chance, we…”

Luke’s grateful that Ashton doesn’t finish the thought. Calum’s words from the meeting three days ago ring through his head, accompanied by a nagging feeling of guilt and shame.

“If we kill them, even to avenge, we’re no better than they are.”

“I don’t want to,” Luke murmurs. “I’m so tired of it, Ash. I can’t do it anymore.”

His vision is so blurry, he doesn’t realize Ashton’s reached out until his thumb runs along his cheekbone, collecting the tears under his eye before they can fall to the floor. He moves to grasp Luke’s chin, turning his head until Luke’s forced to look at Ashton, hazel eyes piercing his soul.

“You don’t have to, Lu.”

It’s so heavy, so final, that Luke wonders whether Ashton knows more than he’s letting on.

That evening, Luke slumps against the bathroom wall, watching Ashton get ready for bed. As the other man bends over the sink to rinse his face, Luke toys with the knife in the pocket of his jumpsuit, trying to work up the nerve to do what he has to do.

He’s known all along that it was only a matter of time before it came to this, but he’d hoped, he’d wished, foolishly, that he’d have more time. More time to think of a way out of this, for himself and for Ashton, maybe for the other crewmates. If not that, then at least more time to just feel. Years of working for - no, of being a slave to - the fringe group trying to take down MIRA meant years of wasted moments, of aborted feelings and almost-friendships, years of having the rug pulled out from under his feet every time he felt he was finally planted on solid ground. Luke hasn’t met someone like Ashton in so long, someone who makes him feel like he can finally breathe, who gives him hope for something more, and he just wants some fucking time. But, since when has he ever gotten what he wants?

He meets Ashton’s gaze through the polished metal sheet that acts as a mirror. The scratches and rust spots somewhat distort their faces from this distance, and make them both look much older than they are, though that could have more to do with the years of endless work and trauma they’ve both been through. 

Ashton smiles, and while it does reach his eyes, it’s a tired one. Luke swallows hard. Ashton turns off the tap, picks up his toiletry kit, and heads out of the bathroom, pausing with his hand hovered over the light switch. 

“You done in here?” he asks, and Luke hums.

“Was waiting for you.”

Ashton huffs an almost-laugh and shakes his head as he flicks off the light. 

“You’re a sweetheart.”

The compliment makes Luke’s stomach drop as he follows Ashton down the hall to his private quarters.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” he asks warily. “I’m scared of…y’know.”

“Of course you can.”

Luke sways in the doorway as Ashton turns his back to him once more, crouching down to open the small locker next to his bed. Luke grips the knife in his pocket, takes a deep breath, and counts to three. Killing has never come easy to him, but this is, by far, the hardest one yet.

Ashton shuts his locker and stands up, and when he turns back around, Luke has the knife pointing at his throat. One swipe, and Ashton will crumble to the floor, and then Luke can go kill Calum while he sleeps, and then he can leave this fucking planet and try and forget about the horrible, horrible things he’s done here, and go and do more horrible things somewhere else, because it never fucking ends, does it?

“Lu,” Ashton breathes, composed as ever. He’s not pleading, like the others did if Luke was slow enough to give them a chance to do so, and he doesn’t sound particularly surprised, either. He sounds...sad. Disappointed.

“I’m sorry.” Luke tastes hot, salty tears on his chapped lips. “I- I have to. They’ll kill me if I don’t, or worse.”

Ashton’s gaze flickers between Luke’s face and the knife, glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights as Luke’s hand shakes.

“You don’t have to, Luke,” Ashton repeats his words from earlier, confirming Luke’s suspicion that he already knew Luke was the impostor, perhaps all along.

Luke shakes his head roughly.

“I’m so sorry,” he hiccups. “I have orders.”

Ashton’s own eyes are hazy, and Luke knows it’s now or never, but he can’t bring himself to move, to take one more step forward and swipe the blade. He watches, frozen, as Ashton slowly closes one hand around his extended wrist, pushing down so the knife is no longer level with his throat. Ashton’s other hand comes up, and Luke hears the soft click before he actually sees the gun, pointed straight at his head.

“So do I.”