Desperately

So desperate to show the small quaint of happiness.
So desperate to not showing how much she suffers.
So desperate to not fall apart.
So desperate to stop clinging.

So desperate to not wanting to be heart-broken anymore.

6 more days.
I will stop dwelling for another 6 days.
Because finally we will meet again.

I just missed you so damn much it hurts.
So many things to say,
So many tears to spill.
So many smiles waiting to be curved.

Please Don't Cry, You Liar

He's caressing the barrel  of his gun. There's a hand on his shoulder, over his own hand, a voice in his ear, pleading, begging.

"No, don't do this, it's okay. I'll wait for you, you don't have to come to me."

He laughs, hysterically, and there's tears burning in his eyes, his cheeks, his chin, his chest. He clutches the gun tighter to him, fingers shaking, chest heaving.

"I miss you, never thought I'd-" he hiccups, "never thought I'd end it this way."

"You don't have to, you can stop this."

 "No, I can't."

"Please."

"You're dead, it doesn't matter."

There's the press of cool metal against his tongue, clacking against his teeth.

A flex of finger.

A noise, a bright light, a bang.

When he turns around, that person is there.

You are the hole in my head.
You are the silence in between what I thought and what I said.

The Kid's Scarred For Life, I Tell Ya.

Mumma?

If I die tomorrow
I'll make sure my family know
I'll let my closest friends know
so they'll have the strength to let me go

I will not ask for their prayers
for me to be placed in heaven
because l believe God has already
Decide where l'll dwell forever

l will hold my mother's hand through the night
saying "it's just another phase of life"
I will sing till my father's asleep
and whisper "the pain is not that deep"

I will tell my pillow, "thank you for hearing me"
When l cry about leaving everyone behind
l will coo to the night sky
and wonder,
will it be this dark when tomorrow,
l die?

Moments Of Normality

The room is dim, softly lit by the weak glow of the early morning sun, peeking through the window. It’s quiet, like the calm before the storm.

The bed is warm and soft in a way that can only happen in the moments before the world wakes up. He slips his arm around Tony’s waist, his skin softly sliding against the sheets.

Tony hums in satisfaction, wriggling back against his chest. Steve tightens his hold and breathes in deeply, savouring the smell of his husband in the morning.

He cherishes these moments, few and far between as they are. When they aren’t dodging bullets or defeating monsters, they are trying to raise Peter, or attending public functions. They so rarely have times like these, time for the two of them to just be quiet and comfortable together.

Tony rolls over and buries his face in Steve’s chest, his arm thrown over his waist. Steve pulls him close, burying his nose in Tony’s hair while they tangle their feet together. It is close and relaxed and perfect. He wishes it would never end, and he could just spend the rest of his days in companionable silence right here, right now, but the world has other plans.

“It’s Saturday. If Papa doesn’t come make pancakes in the next half hour, I’m going to try making them myself, and then won’t you two look silly trying to explain the kitchen fire to the firefighters.” Peter’s voice comes from the doorway. Steve looks up in time to see Peter walking down the hallway towards the living room. A few seconds later he hears the sounds of Saturday morning cartoons.

“When did our eight-year-old become so diplomatic?” Tony asks, his voice muffled in Steve’s chest.

“He must learn it from you. Either way, it is entirely too early for the kitchen to be set on fire. Will you be joining us for breakfast?” Steve asks as he gets out of bed. Tony just groans in response.

Even though his moment of peace has been disturbed, Steve can’t help but think that his life is still perfect. Even with the bullet dodging and the public functions with cloying reporters, it’s all for moments like these. Moments of normality with his family, spent with early morning cartoons, and pancakes, and cuddles on the couch.

Don't Sell Pots

“Daddies?” Peter asks timidly, his voice seeming smaller than he is himself, and in a moment, he’s appearing out of nowhere and crawling over Tony to sit himself down in Steve’s lap. JARVIS helpfully pauses the movie they were watching, and Steve frowns at why their four-year-old son is out of bed this late. His hand retreats from around Tony’s shoulders to rest closer to Peter’s back, keeping him from taking a tumble, and Tony is filled with warmth all over again at how much he loves how much Steve loves their kid.

“Peter? What are you doing up so late?” Steve asks softly, and strokes his hair briefly. Tony thinks he looks wide awake, like he hasn’t slept at all since they tucked him in a little over two hours ago, and that’s not something that Tony likes to think about. He thinks he’s starting to understand the feeling Steve gets when Tony forgets to sleep for days on end.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Tony tries, because Peter seems hesitant. Peter looks to Tony with those big eyes, lit up by the blue from the frozen television, and he doesn’t look scared. That eases Tony’s heart a little.

He shakes his head and says “No,” confidently. Then, shifting himself so he’s more-or-less facing the both of them, he gets a determined look on his face. “I has a question.”

Tony can see Steve’s eyebrows shoot up out of the corner of his eye, but they both keep their surprise in check and Steve prompts Peter with “What is it?”

Peter taps his fingers against each other in a random pattern and looks down, hesitating again, and Tony is suddenly extremely worried that something is wrong, or that he’s going to ask them something that they’re never going to recover from, and he has no idea what that could be, but he’s suddenly terrified that his son has an honest-to-god worry about something. Tony is of the opinion that Peter is much, much too young to worry about anything.

They wait him out, though, and eventually Peter looks up and draws breath, and then, just as Tony’s gearing up to answer whatever it is he’s got for them right away, dispelling all his worries, he stumps them.

“Why isn’t you getting a divorce?” He says the word kind of funny, like he’s still learning it, and Tony has absolutely no idea where he even learned that word, let alone how to answer that question. Because…wait, what?

Steve, luckily, seems to recover a bit more quickly that Tony, though he seems just as worried as Tony feels. “What made you think we’d be getting a divorce, Peter?”

Immediately, Peter sucks in a big breath, gearing up for one of those four-year-old rants that he’s so good at, and says “‘Cause at school Mary said her parents is getting dee-vorced and Timmy’s parents already gots one and Paula says her Daddy went away and her Mommy don’t want a new Daddy and Bobby lives with his Gamma ‘cause his parents got dee-vorced and now his Mommy sells pots but I think they’s bad at cookin’ stuff ‘cause the gov’ment says he can’t see her no more.” He ponders this for a moment, and then nods as if deciding it’s a good argument before settling himself back down on Steve’s lap and looking up at them expectantly.

Tony’s glad he’s not the only one with his mouth gaping open at that. He doesn’t quite recover, but he is the first to speak, although it’s to Steve and not to answer Peter’s question, which, honestly, he doesn’t even know where to start. “I told you we should’ve home-schooled him.”

Steve ignores this, which is a testament to exactly how shocking Peter’s little rant had been, because bringing up Tony’s insistence that he should’ve taught their son here is always a hot switch. “Peter, what do you think a divorce is?”

Tony blinks because, hey, that’s a good question, and he never would’ve thought of that. He presses himself closer to Steve, as if seeking reassurance that Peter’s misunderstood suggestion is way off-target.

“I’s when a mommy an’ daddy or daddies or mommies don’t wan’ be a fam’ly anymore so they get a dee-vorce and then they don’t sees each other no more,” Peter answers intelligently, and then he just goes back to waiting for them to play catch-up. Long ago were the days when Tony could claim he was never slow on the up-take. His son has far outstripped him in that regard many times.

“Are a lot of kids’ parents divorced?” Steve asks, ever unshakeable, and Peter nods.

At this, Steve seems to run out of brilliant ideas, and it’s about damn time Tony joined in this little charade, so he clears his throat delicately and tries not to flinch when he asks “Do you want us to get a divorce?”

In seconds, Peter’s eyes fill to the brim with tears and his lower lip gets wobbly, and Steve is glaring at Tony and Tony’s mouthing ‘How was I supposed to know?’ and Peter wails “No!” and launches himself forward to try to hug both of them at the same time.

Tony’s heart pretty much shatters at that point, and he reaches around to stroke his son’s back and try to shush his crying, Steve doing the same. Peter starts talking rapidly against Tony’s shirt, tickling a bit while he tries to explain. “I dun want you an’—” he hiccups, “an’ Papa to go ‘way, or—or daddies to go be in diff’nt houses an’ I dun have a mommy but I dun want a new mommy or daddy an’—an’ you can’t sell our pots ‘cause then I can’t have chick-noodle sooooooouuuuuuuuup,” he draws the last word out, crying into Tony’s shirt.

“Oh, Peter,” Steve says softly, as much of an emotional wreck as Tony is right now. They share a brief, desperate look over their distraught son, and then something steels in the both of them. Steve gently pries Peter away from them so he can see their faces, and Tony wipes the tears and snot from his face with his thumbs, and he sits there, sniffling, watching them with watery eyes like he expects them to break apart at any moment.

“Peter,” Tony tries gently, but doesn’t get much of a response. “Peter, look at me,” he says, still being delicate, and Peter looks at him. His bottom lip is still sticking out in a pout, ready to start wobbling at the first sign of trouble, so Tony doesn’t waste any time.

“Your Papa and I aren’t getting a divorce.”

It takes a moment, but he seems slightly mollified by this, even if he’s still precariously close to going off again. “Never ever?” He asks quietly, unsure, and starts fiddling with his Hulk pajama shirt.

Tony opens his mouth and starts to say “Well—” but before he can get anywhere, Steve commandeers Peter’s attention, leaning forward and saying “Never ever.” He flicks softly at Peter’s nose and that finally, finally draws a bright smile out of their son. Tony’s heart unclenches, partly because their son has stopped crying, and partly because Steve managed to completely assuage all of Tony’s latent fears in two words.

Just when he thinks they’re out of the woods, Peter seems to screw up his face in deep thought and then he asks “Why?”

Tony blinks at his son’s unparalleled ability to ask every hard-hitting question that Tony has no idea how to answer, but Steve saves him from answering this one, too, by saying simply “Because we love each other.”

Tony swallows back his own breakdown and blinks rapidly, trying to clear his head as Peter starts voicing his confusion at this entire concept. He manages to find his way back to his voice soon enough to explain instead of Steve, mainly because in Steve’s day, divorce was far less common, and Tony thinks he’d better try to tackle this one before something gets lost in translation.

“Look, sometimes—” he pauses and tries to figure out a way to word this that won’t have their son asking them about the birds and bees a few years before they’d hoped to put that off. “Sometimes, two people get married, but then later, they don’t want to be married anymore.”

“Why?” Peter asks, frowning in confusion.

“Um,” Tony hesitates, and then decides on “Usually because they don’t love each other anymore.”

Peter’s eyes widen at this, like he can’t believe it’s true, but also like he’s ready to start crying again, so Tony hurries through the rest of the explanation that he’s sure he’s already screwed up beyond belief. His kid is going to need so much therapy.

“Yes, um. And so—so the two people get a divorce, so that they can—can go fool around with the maid, I don’t know, and—”

“Tony!” Steve interrupts angrily, and Tony just shoots him a helpless look like ‘You try explaining it, then!’ and Steve backs off because he’s way out of his depth here, too, and they both know it.

“Look,” Tony takes a breath and tries again, and Peter isn’t crying so that’s good. “Sometimes, even when parents love their children very, verymuch, and that never changes,” Tony very carefully doesn’t bring up the fact that this isn’t always the case. He doesn’t have the energy to attempt explaining Howard to a four-year-old. “Sometimes, they just don’t love each other anymore, and so they get a divorce. But there are lots of parents that will always love each other, and never get a divorce.” Though apparently there are none in your pre-school, Tony thinks darkly, and makes a mental note to have JARVIS run background checks on every one of Peter’s classmates’ parents.

Either way, he’s going to have to talk with certain people about just who is selling ‘pots’ and being obvious enough about it that their pre-schooler knows about it.

“Like you an’ Papa?” Peter questions quietly, but with a kind of hope in his eyes, and Tony has to think for a moment to figure out what that’s in response to.

Steve just smiles and ruffles Peter’s hair, saying “Like me and Daddy. So no worries, okay?” Peter nods vigorously at that, and Tony lets out a sigh of relief. Steve declares bedtime, and Tony whole-heartedly agrees, and watches as Steve chases a sleepy Peter back to his room to tuck him back in and, hopefully, let him get to sleep this time, worry-free.

Tony lets himself sag back against the couch, trying to get used to breathing again, and he closes his eyes and tilts his head back over the back of the couch. Jesus, his kid doesn’t pull punches. Every time Tony thinks they’re finally going through an “easy” phase, he throws something like this at them. Tony had thought life was going to get easier after Peter stopped having tantrums every time they ran out of peanut butter. He still hasn’t forgiven Clint for the Great Peanut Butter Tantrum of 2013.

Tony’s eyes snap open when he feels someone watching him, and he’s immediately greeted by a pair of bright blue eyes, staring down at him with a hint of amusement dancing in them. Tony just raises one eyebrow as Steve straddles him on the couch, and figures they’re not going to finish their movie tonight.

“No using the Iron Man suit to intimidate people,” Steve says seriously, even if there’s a hint of a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“I would never do such a thing,” Tony says flatly, and Steve’s eyebrows just twitch up before he kisses Tony chastely.

“I’m serious,” he mumbles against Tony’s lips, and Tony waits until he pulls away before responding.

“Selling pots, Steve? I’m not going to have that kind of thing happening around my son. Next they’ll be selling pans, and then you’ll wish I pulled out the suit.”

Steve smiles at that and presses his grin back against Tony’s mouth, and this time, they kiss until Tony licks inside Steve’s mouth, bringing his hands up to frame Steve’s face and pull him closer.

Steve just rolls his eyes good-naturedly and offers Tony a hand. “Come on, tin man. Remind me why I’m never going to divorce you.”

Tony grins predatorily as he takes Steve’s hand, and lets himself be pulled up and dragged to their bedroom.

“Challenge accepted.”

I'll Wait

Can you blame me for trying to keep you around?

Well, yeah. I mean, there's no future, no hope for us. You realize this is from a man who was deemed clinically insane by numerous doctors calling YOU crazy?

Love makes people do crazy things.

I know that things are broken, and though there's too many words left unsaid.

You say you have spoken, like the coward I am I hang my head. And all these things I can't describe, you would rather I didn't try.

I didn't mean to hurt you.

I know.

If I yell "Marco", would you reply "Polo"?

We already have one deranged psychopath here. Don't need two.

I was so desperate to make you stay.
Whatever works, I say.

Why do you want to get away so forcefully?
Am I that loathsome to be with?
My presence annoys you that much?
My existence is just a burden?

RIP Cory Monteith

She should be wearing white,
not black.
She should be planning a wedding,
not a funeral.

Glee lost Finn,
His mother lost her son,
A girl lost her fiance.

She's trading her wedding gown for a black dress,
an aisle for a graveyard,
and happiness for a heartbreak.

fireworks..

The sound of the fireworks is still the same
But it wasn't as pretty as that one particular time
Because the fireworks we saw that time was the prettiest.

The first person to tell me that he loved me.
The first person to melt this stubborn heart
The first person that promised "forever"...

Only when I lost you I realized how important you were to me

The fireworks that blooms on the night shows a miracle
In a blink of an eye,
He left his warmth,
And gone with the fireworks' sparks.

Somehow, you always surprises me.

That Small Scar

He cried for everything that will happen.

Hatred is not similar to love.
But a feeling that once named love can turn into hatred.

The small scar was not painful anymore.
But it was a proof.
And for what?
Did love still have such a hold after all these times,
Or was this scar a remainder of hatred?

Why did you do it?
I did not think you were capable of such thing.
Because you did it to me.
I thought you would let the rest of the world fall,
but never me.

I wish we could be done.

Why couldn't you just have listened to me?
But I did listen. I listened to every word.
I simply disagreed.
And now look what has happened.

You can't undo what you have done.

Her Every Wish Is My Command

I am actually very envious of my friends who gets to buy things for their Moms.
Because mine...
Well..
Mom has better, no, scratch that, WAAAY BETTER sense of beauty than mine.
In clothes..
In jewelries..
To sum it all up,
I can never outcome her sense of exquisiteness.

But there's one thing..

a place she wanted to go, a place where tulips field grow.

If I can make this one wish of hers come true, Insya-Allah...

Then I'd do anything to make it true.

Like A Fool

For once it feels like a lifetime.
For once it was weirdly enough.
For once everything else seems trifle.
For once it was shattered in a blink of an eye.

Nothing matters anymore.

It was easier to not bats an eye.
Just walk away like nothing happens.
Ignorance was a bliss.
But it also was an idiocy.

As I paced slowly in a pool of mud,
I kept on thinking how beautiful a life can be,
If only I never met you.

Because all I can focus on,
Will always be right in front of  me,
The ones who came,
And never had intention to leave.

But I was blinded.
You must be laughing right now,
Seeing me making fool of myself,
Being an idiot like I am.

Smirking in triumph,
As I struggling my way out.

What Was Dead Was Hope

"Each man kills the thing he loves."

The worst part is how quickly things had changed.
Broken, twisted and painful beyond repair.

It's scary to confess and face up to everything you are.

It's not fair to make someone wait just because you're scared,
Or the inability to decide.

If this thing keep me hanging on nothing,
All it'll end up is breaking my spirit;
and me.

It's hard to be on the other end, to have to keep holding on when the other party have already let go off the rope.

it's literally choking to hang on for dear life.

In The Dark

In the dark I stand alone

In the dark I think this is my home

For every tear I shed, you take a piece of light

With every piece of light you own my soul

In the dark I stand alone.

You, The Dark

Dark, she is the mind of yours.
Icy chill of thought becomes
A steely shimmer.
Behold a glimmer in the black-
A flash of grey that even glows
In show against the hallowed dark of you.

And that is why you scream in jarring tones
"I have no heart for joy!
My white and brittle bones have died"
You cried in dark and fractured moans.

So now the Queen of Black you writhe
Whence from dark of shade
That honed an evil form afar
In curse of me you bade.

And now, the bitter tinge
And bleak of waste
That eyed the death of once your soul
Will here forever be!

Just A Tiny Distraction

I didn't give you up.
You ripped yourself from me.

A Still Moment In Time

Wade doesn’t remember much. He remembers carrying Peter’s limp lifeless body in his arms and laying it on the bed they shared just the night before. He remembers wetness staining his cheeks, not sure whether it was tears or blood. He remembers stroking Peter’s hair as he murmured futile pleas into Peter’s deaf ears. He remembers how cold Peter’s mouth was as he kissed them.

Then nothing.

Wade doesn’t know how long he was out; it could have been minutes as well as hours. But now he knows Peter is dead. Now he knows he was the one who killed him. He knows it’s useless to hold his body pressed to close his and kiss his hair. He knows there is no point in talking to Peter. He knows Peter won’t answer him. Now he knows. He knows.

And yet.

Wade wraps his arms around Peter’s middle, rearranging them on the bed as comfortably as even possible with a dead body. Corpse. Wade doesn’t see corpse when he looks at Peter’s face. Not yet. He still sees Peter – asleep, peaceful, beautiful. He touches Peter’s nose, chin, eyebrows. He smooths out the nonexistent frown on Peter’s forehead, already missing its usual presence.  He prods at the left corner of Peter’s lips, where his smile used to form before spreading further, all the way up to the eyes.

Peter still feels warm. And Wade feels sick.

It’s like a haze. A still moment in time where seconds are minutes are hours are days. Everything is motionless. But with each passing moment Peter’s body turns colder and harder. More distant. Too out of reach. And it doesn’t make sense.

Wade keeps talking. He tells Peter everything that comes to his mind. He tells him how freezing the cold December air is because he didn’t close the window to keep the room as cold as possible. He tells Peter he’s hungry and that he wishes they had a TV set in the bedroom. He tells him he loves him. He doesn’t tell him he misses him. He still has Peter right here in his arms after all.

At some point – hard to tell exactly when if you lost track of time – Wade untangles himself  from Peter’s stiff limbs, grabs a half-bad orange juice from the fridge and half-empty box of Pop Tarts from the cabinet. They don’t need more than halves now, do they? He rests his head on Peter’s chest, where he can’t feel a heartbeat anymore. It’s too still and too quiet to bare. But the telephone keeps ringing, and the answering machine keeps flooding the flat with indistinguishable voices.

When he runs out of stories to tell he’s ready to break something. It’s aggravating, that there is no one to stop him from talking now. He shoves at Peter’s arm, but there is no reaction. It only makes Wade shove harder. He remembers that one time when Peter used Wade’s own stinking sock to shut him up. Those were good times. Wade sighs deeply and it hurts. It hurts very much to breathe, when Peter can’t. When Wade had sucked the last breath out of him. Breathing feels like a profanation now.

Wade starts humming, softly, soothingly, a lullaby. Not for Peter, no. Wade wants to sleep too.

Peter, it’s Robbie. Are you there? Pick up if you’re there. Peter. I guess you’re not there. Listen man, we can’t reach your cell phone either. . You better come by tomorrow morning. Jonah is hell-bent on having you fired. This time for real. For life.

Wade never met Robbie Robertson, but he sounds like a swell enough guy. He will probably miss Peter. Peter neither confirms nor denies. He tells Peter he’s starting to smell and oh how the tables have turned. He forgets to laugh at his own joke. He may have forgotten how to laugh at all. They’ve run out of Pop Tarts. There is still beer in the fridge, and he found a month old taco under the couch when he went to the bathroom last time. He tells Peter that now he’s not so sure if the smell was from Peter after all. Again, neither of them laughs. It’s not that funny anyway.

Wade looks at Peter, studies this almost unfamiliar face, closed off and pale. It’s completely different now, the color of Peter’s skin, the feel of it, the smell of it. But the memory is still fresh enough. It’ll do – Wade has a vivid imagination. He asks Peter if he minds that Wade prefers his alive self. He takes Peter’s silence as a no and kisses Peter’s temple. It tastes vile on his lips. He places another kiss there.

Hello, Peter? It’s your aunt. You listen to me now, young man. You were supposed to be here for dinner. Care to explain why aren’t you? And why you’re not calling? At all? Pick up, Peter, I promise I’m not mad. Just tell me what’s going on. Peter? Are you there? I swear I never know anymore what is going on in your life, boy. Call me as soon as you can.

Aunt May. Sweet, lovely Aunt May. Wade clicks his tongue and shakes his head. Tells Peter that’s no way to treat a lady like May. Peter should be ashamed. But Peter is silent, like he doesn’t care at all. He just lays there, looking like anyone but himself, silent like he never were and just lets Aunt May worry about him. Wade grabs his arms, suddenly angry, and shakes him as hard as he can. He yells. He want’s Peter to open his eyes. He wants Peter to be alive.

He drops Peter on the bed and sees his own fists fall down Peter’s shoulders and chest. He punches with all he has – he wants to pound life back into Peter just like Peter used to want to pound some decency into Wade. When his hands are numb, he slumps on Peter’s body and sobs. It feels like he hadn’t cried in years. He hugs Peter and lets himself go. He cries until his eyes are dry. He screams until his throat is sore. He trembles until he falls asleep.

Oh…

He doesn’t go back to bed. He sits under the window, pulls his knees to his chin, watches Peter. No, it’s not Peter. It’s a corpse. A corpse like hundreds before it – slain by Wade’s hand. There’s no Peter anymore. Wade killed Peter. Wade loved Peter and then he killed him. He didn’t mean to. He loved him. He didn’t want him dead. He wanted him alive and in his arms. How did this happen? What is Wade even doing?

He lets his head fall back against the wall. He rubs his eyes with his fists, because they sting. He tries to breathe, but the smell is unbearable, even so close to the window. He snickers, and he feels dirty. He apologizes. Peter doesn’t react, because there is no Peter.

He misses Peter.

Wade doesn’t know how long he sits there. He doesn’t notice when it gets dark. The noise from the street is almost inaudible to his ears. He can only hear his own ragged breath, his own frantic heartbeat, his own voices telling him he fucked up.

Something feels off. Something is missing. Something that was there not so long ago. Something that made Wade not miss Peter before. Something that made Peter there. But Wade didn’t do anything. He was stuck in a moment in time, he was motionless, nothing changed.

The phone.

Wade scrambles to get up and reconnect the phone and the answering machine. Wade didn’t even notice that before each message from whoever the fuck, there was something. Something that stopped Wade from… realizing. He presses the button.

I’m not here. Leave the message after the beep.

Peter’s voice. Before, Wade heard but didn’t listen. Now that he couldn’t hear, he starts to listen. Peter’s voice. Peter’s voice telling him Peter is not here. Peter isn’t here. Leave the message after the beep. Peter is not here. Wade made Peter not here. Wade killed Peter. There is no Peter. He can let go. He can go. There’s nothing left. He can let go.

Peter is not here.

Wade presses the button again.

You In The Corner

I notice you in the corner,
your tears sadden my heart.

I approach you like a puppy to its owner,
your gaze of sadness is a sad work of art.

I ask you if you are okay,
you respond saying go away.

I take a seat,
your heart skips a beat
I blush from the rush of being near you.
The same happens to you.

Our eyes meet,
Our mouths don't speak.

I lift my mask,
Before you ask,
Do you like me,
I reply, without a lie,
Then placed a kiss upon your lips.

My answer, I do.

Sweet Revenge

"When the hell did he get here?!"

"Quiet, Tony. You'll wake him"

"I better as hell wake him" Tony pushed the scarred shoulder roughly, receiving a lazy groan from Wade.

This obviously wasn't going to work. He turned to plan B, pulling his phone from his pocket and touching the screen with fluent speed as a grin covered his face.

"Wakey wakey, sleepy head" Tony chimed, pressing play and laughing as Wade practically hit the ceiling. The sound of Iron Maiden echoed loudly through the speakers in the living room, causing Steve to cover his ears as he flinched. Tony simply chuckled loudly as Wade landed on the living room floor, a mess of flailing limb as he struggled to get to his feet.

"The hell dude!" he shouted over the music, rubbing his eyes as Tony finally stopped the racket.

"The hell?! You were sleeping on my sofa! Who the hell even let you in?!" Tony raised his voice, and Steve stood behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm the brunette whilst holding his own stern glare on the Mercenary.

"Ok, one, as if I would need someone to let me in. I'm a trained assassin, dickshit" he smirked when Tony launched forward at him, only restrained by Steves hands on his shoulders. "And two, your son let me in"

A look of shock invaded both the parent's faces at this comment, Tony snapping out "Peter wouldn't do that"

"Actually he would"

They all turned to see said brown haired teen stood in the doorway to the room. He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. "He needed a place to crash, so I offered him the sofa"

"Peter" Steve turned to him with his strictest parent voice on. "You know you should always ask permission before bringing people here. Tony's lab is full of stuff that is top secret"

"Wade wouldn't do that. And you weren't answering your phone" Peter shrugged, strolling into the kitchen and flicking the coffee machine on.

"How do you even know him?!" Tony demanded rather than asked, to which Peter froze on the spot and Wade lowered his head.

"We-we're friends" Peter stuttered, facing the wall to hide his facial expression, pulling some mugs from the cupboard. At this Tony quirked an eyebrow, turning to see Wade flash him a goofy smile.

His eyes widened as he suddenly realised, marching over to Peter and pulling the shirt away from his neck to confirm his suspicions.

Hickeys. And a lot of them.

Peter pulled away, smacking a hand to his neck, but it was useless. Tony had already seen the dark purple marks scattered across his neck.

Steve looked with confusion between the three of them, catching sight of Peters blush when finally the bomb dropped.

"FONDUE!?" his voice adopted an unusally high pitch as he shouted the word.

Wade gave him a quizzical look, raising an eyebrow. "Fondue? What the hell has melted cheese got to do with this? We're just dating"

"Wade!" Peter shouted, stomping his feet a little as he approached him, hitting his shoulder semi-playfully.

He simply laughed. "What? You think your dads wouldn't have figured it out eventually?"

Peter gave in, banging his head against Wade's chest. The merc responded by putting his arm around Peters shoulders in a one armed hug and kissing the top of his head. He could feel Peter smiling against his chest and he knew everything would be ok.

Steve's face had softened dramatically, although Tony still wasn't sure, his eyebrows remaining furrowed suspiciously. Peter removed his head from Wades t-shirt, turning to look his parents in the eye.

"Dad, Pops, this is my boyfriend" Peter gestured to Wade who simply smiled at them, much to Tony's annoyance.

"How long?" Tony asked suspiciously, crossing his arms. Peter said nothing, lowering his head until his father demanded. "How longPeter"

"5 months" he muttered under his breath. He could hear Steve tut and Tony take in a sharp breath. "I would have told you but you"-

"No excuses, mister" Steve stepped in. "You shouldn't have hid something like this from us, we are you parents and we care about you. Please promise us you won't do this again"

Peter nodded and removed Wades arm from his shoulder. "I better get my things" Wade spoke, pointing in the direction of Peters room.

"I'll come with" the two walked off toward the hallways, desperatley trying to ignore the feeling of Tony and Steve's glares on their backs.

"I totally need to get your dad back for waking me up like that" Wade muttered as they walked into Peters room, closing the door behind him and picking up some of his stuff that was scattered around the room. "Also, from now on, you stay at mine, there's no cameras...unless you’re into that kinda thing..."

Peter simply scoffed. "If you didn't set fire to your apartment trying to make tacos then we would be at yours"

He shrugged the comment off, replacing his dirty shirt with a clean one before stuffing the old one in his bag. "So about this camera thing" Wade said, stopping when Peter crashed his lips again his.

The brown haired teen broke away, leaning into his ear and whispering, "We'll talk about it".

With that Peter walked Wade to the door, pressing his lips to his lightly before he left.

---

Two weeks later...

---

"Tony" Steve said as he marched into the living room, some opened mail in his hands. "What were you doing on Tuesday night?"

Something about the edge in Steve's voice set him on edge, so he racked his brain until he was certain he knew. "I was with you. Remember, we went to that new restaurant then caught a movie. Why?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

The soldier simply handed him a sheet of paper, crossing his arms. "Care to explain this?"

He took the sheet, realising it was the cable bill. He looked down the list of titles, wincing when he read one.

"Is this...porn?" Tony asked, his eyebrows furrowing further, which Steve didn't think was possible.

"Yeah it is. $600 worth of pay-per-view porn to be precise" he unfolded his arms when he realised. "Wait, it wasn't you?"

Tony gave him a look that practically said 'seriously?'. "I still have those videos of you on my phone, why would I need shitty pay-per-view porn?"

"Well then who was it?" Steve seemed generally confused. Just then Peter walked in, a confused look on his face too.

"Dad" he said, moving his gaze from Tony down to the screen of his phone. "I don't know why, but Wade asked me to tell you" he air quoted, "revenge has been served"

Tony winced his eyes, returning his view to the bill in his hands.

"Well played, Wilson. Well played..."