katiemwrd110-016-blog

[dirtbra1n]

before I forget Tomorrow and/or in a matter of hours. don’t recall the exact numbers. remastered video game Ghost Trick releases on nintendo switch and steam and elsewhere also. there’s a demo available. you should play that. I have it on good authority that the entire game is as good

[highway-tuna]

'777' (Chapter One)

pairing(s): Jake Kiszka x Reader, Josh Kiszka x Reader

wc: 3.4k+

warnings: depictions of anxiety, alcohol, swearing

Masterlist

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The loud slam of a palm hitting wood right beside your head shocks you straight out of your sleep, perking your head up and looking around. The scenery around you starts to piece together in your head that you didn’t go home last night, but instead fell asleep in the back office of the bar. “Jesus, hun. Again?” You whip your head to the direction of your boss, Eleanor, standing over your shoulder. Running your hands over your face and wiping the sleep out of your eyes, a yawn is the only thing that leaves you before any excuse even comes to mind. “At least you made it to the back this time.” She chuckles and shakes her head, collecting whatever she came back here for. 

“Sorry, El. Sorry. I was closing up last night and I-”

“You’re fine, kid. Just try not to make this a habit. Well… anymore than it already is.” She claps an assuring hand against your back. Eleanor’s been your support system for the last couple of years, almost like a mother figure since you lost yours. Hell, your job at El’s bar has practically been your entire life since you started working there years ago. Everyone here has become almost family to you, even some of the clientele. Which is morbidly ironic for you, all things considered. “You hoppin’ on to help? Because if I were you, I’d probably wait until tonight. We’re gonna be busy as shit.” 

It wasn’t uncommon for you to pick up shifts, sometimes even showing up to work off the clock. Just to help out. Just to be helpful. Was it probably illegal? Sure. Did you have a problem doing it? Not at all. There wasn’t a bone in your body that knew how to relax, take the day off. No matter how many times Eleanor would try to shoo you away to do so.

You tilt your head at her with slight confusion before taking a glance over at the perpetual calendar on the messy desk. “Oh. Friday night shift, yeah,” you mutter, mostly confirming with yourself. Time must really be escaping you lately, not even being aware of the days of the week. It’s been stressful. Especially with the anniversary coming up, you’ve been doing everything you possibly can to avoid your own thoughts.

She shakes her head, chuckling. An almost sly smile crosses her lips; a cat that swallowed the canary type of grin. “Not just that. There’s a big concert happening at the arena around the corner.” Her eyes narrow as if she’s testing you, clearly trying to garner some sort of reaction. You mirror her with an aura of confusion. “A homecoming concert…?” Whether it’s the brain fog from just waking up or simply not being in the loop, the discorded staredown continues. “Your buddies, those Greta boys! They’re back. Y’know, I’m awfully proud of them. My daughter’s actually a big fan...” 

Her tangent goes on, but it fades off while you process the information you’ve just been given. They’re… here? Sam and Danny, Josh and Jake are here? On top of the spiral of thoughts, your body reacts as well: stomach twisting in knots, heartbeat picking up, that tingling sensation in your limbs. You won’t even see them. You try to reassure yourself. There’s no way they’d come into this bar of all places. Rich, famous rock stars have better places to be, better things to do than trudge up the past. They probably wouldn’t even recognize you if they saw you. Would you even recognize them?

“(Y/N)?” El calls out your name, bringing you back to earth. With the slight shake of your head and a couple of blinks, you look back at her. “So are you hoppin’ on now or later?” A sigh escapes you while you wrestle with your options. You’re not even scheduled today. You could just go home… not that you want to be there either. You could hop on now and try to leave before the rush. Like an asshole. 

The chair beneath you screeches as you stand from it, bracing yourself against the desk. “I’m gonna grab something to eat first. I’ll… hop on when I get back, alright?” She gives you a wary smile and nod, letting you on your way. Practically storming out of the office, one of your coworkers catches you on your way out, just before reaching the door. Calling out your name in that shrill tone of hers, you debate even turning around. One hand already on the door, you whip your head around to respond, “What, Syd?”

Sydney’s the newest hire around here and as much as you hate to admit it, she’s basically already up to par with everyone else, both in skill and in relationships. Like the prettiest, daintiest little puzzle piece, she fits in perfectly. You’ve got no actual bad blood with her, but sometimes, you can’t hide your envy. She’s beautiful, she’s young, she’s great with people, the whole package. Unfortunately, she’s nice too. Her kindness blows every bitter feeling out of the water.

“Leaving already?” She asks, her head cocked to the side.

“Stepping out for food.” You push the door, ready to step out before she calls your name once more. You hide the roll of your eyes before turning to face her again. “Yes, Sydney?”

“Sorry, I could just ask you la-”

“Well, you’ve got my attention now. Go.” You hate being so stern, but she’s unfortunately caught you at a bad moment with the recent revelation that a whirlwind of history is performing around the corner from you. Your brow raises expectantly at her, waiting to finish her thought.

A sudden wave of nervous energy radiates from her which strikes you with guilt. “Right, yeah. Do you think you could cover part of my shift? Like twelve-ish onward? Only the last two hours, right?” Your face falls, for reasons unbeknownst to her, but she takes that as a cue to try to correct the situation. “It’s totally fine if you can’t. Or don’t want to. I get it. I just… I’ve been talking to this guy and he’s-”

“Yeah, I’ll take it.” Her smile’s uncontrollable and she’d probably shower you with praise and thanks if you hadn’t walked out as soon as those words passed your lips. You could’ve said no. You didn’t have to take her shift. Again, could’ve just left, but no. You never take the easy way out. As much as whatever feelings burn you up inside, you’d rather face it head on than be a coward.

Mindlessly walking to your favorite local eatery, a cacophony of screams and cheers cause you to stop where you stand. Right in front of the arena’s box office. A swarm of people seem to be clamoring around a general spot. Curiosity gets the better of you so you stick around, watching from a distance. The voices amongst the horde become clearer.

“Oh my god, Danny!”

“Sammy, hi!”

“I love you, Jake!”

A wry smile forms across your face. You can’t even help it. Luckily, the distance as well as the crowd block any view you might have had of the guys. Even luckier the same applies for them to you. It’s a funny situation that leaves you feeling empty. Only feet away stands a key to your past, a bittersweet trip down memory lane. The massive screen above the venue showcases tonight’s act. Greta Van Fleet. They’re bigger than ever, huh. They’ve grown, they’ve changed. You can barely recognize them. Especially the twins you once knew inside and out, who once knew you all the same. Taking a deep breath and one last passing glance at their ever adoring fans, you shove your hands into your pockets and keep walking on your way.

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

“A band?” You can’t hide the bewilderment in your voice as you sit straight up from Josh’s bed. “But what about all of your film stuff? You’re just dropping that?” The twins were always wrapped up in some musical endeavors, but to make it a main focus was completely out of left field for Josh especially with us graduating in a couple of years. His sights were already set on going to film school.

The bed shifts as he sits up beside you, completely unfazed by your shock. “Don’t think of it as dropping it. I’ll get back to it. Or I’ll do it simultaneously.” Before you could interject, he continues. “Jake has really big plans w-”

“And so do you, Josh.” Your brows furrow in his direction. 

“Sunny,” he speaks your nickname, loving but firm. His gentle hands find yours, interlocking fingers. “I know what I’m doing. I have a lifetime ahead of me to do everything I want to do. Right now, I want to help Jake do what he wants to do.” You sigh, knowing full well he won’t change his mind. You can see it in that determined glint in his eyes. Or maybe it’s the fact that both him and his brother are established stubborn asses. For better or worse. He lightens the mood with a hearty chuckle. “Hey, you get to be our number two biggest fan.”

“Who’s number one?”

Without missing a beat, you both come to the same conclusion. “Mom.” Karen Kiszka was the mother you never had. You were intertwined with the entire Kiszka family, but there were never ending pleasant things to say about Karen. She doted on you as well, treated you as if you were one of them. There were times you’d go to the Kiszka household to find the boys busy so you’d just spend time with her, helping around the house. It was a breath of fresh air compared to your home life.

“I could be your number one roadie, packing your shit up and following you guys around.”

Josh raises his brows with clear mischief. “Or our number one groupie?” The mere mention sets your cheeks aflame with blush. With a look of offense, you withdraw your hands from his to hit his shoulder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” He raises his arm to block the weak attacks.  

“You’re disgusting, Joshua.”

“Hey, I was joking. I’m not interested in groupies. Jake, on the other hand…” You roll your eyes and groan, cringing at that thought. It’s not surprising though. The second Jake could think about girls without the fear of cooties, he was off to the races. He never concerned himself with you, but maybe that was just because you’d always been around. 

As if on cue, Jake comes barging into the room. His mouth opens to speak, but he’s swiftly cut off. “Do we not knock around here, brother?” Josh complains for the sake of complaining. Jake raises his brow as his eyes dart between the two of us.

“Is there a reason I should’ve knocked?”

You have no time to react as Josh wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. “Maybe I was spending one on one time with our number one groupie.” Laughing at his antics, you push him off of you and shake your head. Crossed arms as he leans against the doorframe, Jake simply watches our dispute. 

“Stop calling me that!” You snap at him with laughter in the midst before hopping out of the bed, standing beside Jake staring at his twin with a look of disapproval. “As you can probably tell, Josh let me know about your little band.”

“And?” He smirks, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Wanna join, sunshine?” You narrow your eyes at him as both boys snicker.

“I’d be no help there. I can’t even play anything.”

Josh gets up from the bed and heads towards us, stretching. “Jake’s teaching Sammy the bass. I’m sure he could teach you something too.” You lock eyes with Jake as his twin offers up his services. A silent exchange is made; Jake is willing to teach you and you shrug at the notion. It’s not a yes, not a no, but you’re definitely not joining a band. Josh pushes past the two of you, walking down the hall.

“Where’re you going?” Jake asks, “We’ve gotta practice. Sam just got back, let’s go.” Josh looks back and rolls his eyes at his brother. As the boys began to get together and set up, you simply lingered around, trying not to be in the way. You got a sudden feeling that you were intruding. A reassuring hand squeezes your shoulder. Jake speaks quietly, Josh and Sam clearly too distracted to hear what he was practically whispering to you. “You can stay and watch… if you want, sunshine. I know your dad’s-”

Before he could even finish, you nod frantically. “Yeah, yeah. Thank you.”

“Mom wouldn’t mind you staying the night. I know you say no everytime, but the offer’s out there.” One more squeeze before he lets go, returning to his brothers. You’d love to take the offer. If only you could.

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

Your lunch (that just so happens to be your first meal of the day) is quickly wrapped up by the fact that your stomach can barely settle to eat so after finishing what you can, you head back to El’s. The afternoon shift moves pretty swiftly into the evening where things quickly start to pick up. The usual Friday night crowd pours in, working everyone out, but once eleven rolls around, things get out of hand. A horde of very wild and very sparkly people flood into the building. A group you could only assume came from a certain nearby concert. With one deep breath to prepare yourself, you plaster on your very best customer service voice and smile. 

Drinks are flowing and service is booming. Transactions go well if not for the occasional nagging in the back of your mind when you hear the fans speak excitedly about Danny, Sam, Josh, and Jake. It’s another strange reminder of your circumstance, hearing them speak so casually about ghosts of your past. Even El, who knew about your connection, rarely spoke of them to you at all.

As you're finishing up a drink, you hear your name being called out over all the chatter. You turn to see Syd wiping her hands on a bar towel before approaching you. “I’m heading out. Are you sure you've got everything handled?” She asks, almost absentmindedly. Her eyes scan every patron in the bar. Ah, her date or whatever. Before you could give her the okay, you get pulled away to deal with another person. Order, drink, and payment; the transaction’s complete. Returning to Syd, you see her leaning over the bar, speaking directly into a guy’s ear. 

He looks a little shady if anything. A hat, sunglasses, and a hood… inside a bar. If that doesn’t scream suspicious. You nudge her and give her a polite thin lipped smile as you get closer. “You’re good to go.” The shady man turns to you and clearly gives you a once over. Creeps at the bar are common, but to see Syd about to leave with a guy like that causes a sense of worry to fill you. We’re all grown adults, but the least you could do is get some information on this dude. “Actually…” You face the man and extend your hand. “I’m (Y/N). Your name?” The second the two of you touch, you manage to get a closer look at him and deeply regret this whole interaction.

“(Y/N)? Like (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” His jaw goes ever so slightly slack as he scoffs in disbelief. “Holy shit. It’s-”

“Hi, Sammy.” You immediately withdraw your hand, nervously running it over your face. “Sorry, you two have a good night.” You gesture to both him and Syd, quickly turning away to return to your work. Hoping and praying that he takes the hint and leaves you alone, that Syd just somehow understands and takes him out of the bar, you try to keep a straight face as you talk to other bar goers. Honestly, he should leave for his sake too, drawing a crowd would be a terrible idea. Although, Sammy has always been one for terrible ideas. 

You hear your name being called out once more by the dreadfully familiar voice. Trying not to give him direct attention, you tend to someone around him. “(Y/N), I’ve gotta tell the guys you’re here. This is an insane coincidence,” he speaks out and whips out his phone.

Hunching over, you lean low to speak to him. “Sam, you should go, there’s a ton of your groupies here and I don’t want to have to play bodyguard, alright?” It felt bad to be so short with him, seeing how happy he is to see you, but you don’t have much of a choice here. Stuck behind the bar, you can’t really get away.

“When do you get out?” Not taking no for an answer here.

Sighing, you prepare yourself to be firm, ready to just kick him out when Syd chimes in from behind you, “Oh, she gets out at two.” So much for not having a reason to dislike her. “El would probably let you leave early if you asked.” The anger behind your eyes can barely be hidden.

“Eleanor’s still here? I should say hi to her,” Sam turns towards Syd with an expectant look. She nods and guides him out of sight, presumably to the back office. How well do they even know each other? How do they even know each other? More pressing matters plague your thoughts. The rest of the guys are going to know you’re here. Jake and Josh will know you’re here. Will they want to see you? They will, but why? They shouldn’t. They should just take their fancy instruments and go. Like last time. 

Your body goes on autopilot as you continue to make and serve drinks. You jump at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder. “Hun, I’ll take over,” El gives you a sweet smile. “You should go see your friends, (Y/N).” It’s a command disguised as a charitable gesture. How her eyes pour into yours, she’s begging you to go. “It’ll be good for you.” The seething child inside wants to lash out at her. What would she know, right? She can’t tell you what to do. But the memories swirling in your head and the empty feeling in your chest reminds you that she does know. She saw you at your worst. 

Weakly, you nod wiping your hands on your shirt before leaving from behind the bar to the back office, collecting your belongings. Sam and Syd seem like they were almost waiting for you outside the backdoor exit. You inhale and exhale, closing your eyes just for a moment. As you walk up to them, Sam’s beaming with excitement. He takes off his hood, hat, and sunglasses, finally allowing you to get a good look at him. Over half a decade since you’ve seen him, he’s really grown up. Long hair, longer than before at least. Facial hair, very unlike how baby faced he was when you last saw him. But the Kiszka blueprint was still there.

You let your guard down and give him a genuine smile. Let’s try this again. “Hi, Sammy.” He doesn’t even respond, simply pulling you into a tight hug. It practically knocks the wind out of you.

“I’m sorry I had to hound you at work, but Josh would’ve had my head if I saw you and just let you go.” Just Josh? You chuckle and nod, slinking out of his tight grasp. “You should’ve come to the show tonight, you could’ve messaged one of us or-”

“Yeah, I didn’t know.” A half truth. 

“Oh, our biggest fan didn’t know?” He teases, nudging you lightly. When you flatly laugh, a lull falls between you two. Between you three actually. Syd clears her throat, bringing all eyes on her. It’s as if you two forgot she was there. “We’re uh- actually headed to an afterparty of sorts. Everyone’s already there.” In an attempt to self soothe, you wrap your arms around yourself, fingertips pressing into your flesh. “You have to come with us. C’mon.” 

The urge to turn around and head back into the bar or reluctantly just go home is extremely intense, but then you recall the look in El’s eyes. “That’d be- yeah, sure.” You gaze down at yourself, looking less than presentable. “Is there a dress code or something?��

Sam drapes one arm over your shoulder and the other over Syd’s. “Nah, you’re fine.” He laughs as we all start walking away from the bar. “If anything, you could work the bar over there. That’s probably where you’ll find Jake, anyhow.” Jake and alcohol has always been a recipe for disaster in your experiences. Fun.

[konigsfaerie]

Tell Me What You Want

Summary: Tony Stark can't deny himself of you anymore.

CW: Unprotected sex, rough sex, age gap.

Word count: 2,026

For anyone else, the sound of Tony constantly drilling, talking to himself and his beloved AI, and making other noises would bother them when doing their readings, but not you. Ever since he took you in after HYDRA’s experiments, you clung to him. Every time you thought never leaving his side was bothering him, he’d do something small to make sure your mind was at ease. He wasn’t one for big gestures, and that was alright with you.

Tony’s workshop was probably your favorite place on Earth. He talked to himself more than anyone else, and you often found yourself falling asleep on the desk you read at to his voice because it calmed you so much. There was a reason you fell asleep with a smile on your face, wishing he was whispering in your ear instead of talking to Friday about his latest design or upgrade to his suit.

But today Doctor Strange had assigned you some readings which you needed to complete by the end of the week, which meant you couldn’t take a nap while listening to Tony. Strange in combination with Tony and Wanda had been training you, showing you how to use your new abilities. You imagined physical training, falling on your ass, occasionally even kicking Cap’s ass, but it was mostly learning how to control yourself and your emotions.

You had been training for a year, had fought countless battles, had formally joined The Avengers, and still lost control sometimes. It was mainly when you thought about your family, or had flashbacks of the experiments they would do on you, but mostly it was when Tony looked at you. You had just hoped he didn’t realize the effect he was having on you. To everyone else, he was a father figure to you, and he was surely a mentor, but… You felt something else for him, too. You were fully aware of the age difference you two had, and the guilt that plagued your mind for what you felt for him never went away, not for a moment.

Lost in your readings, you jumped up as Tony slid a plate towards you and closed your book, moving it over and placing his own plate in front of him. He slid up a chair and took a bite of the sandwich. “You haven’t eaten all day,” he remarked.

“Oh… Yeah.” You moved in your chair, taking a bite as you only now realized how hungry you were, your stomach growling so loud that the entirety of the tower could probably hear. “Mmm, thanks!” You popped a chip into your mouth and gave a smile to him, even though from the look on his face, you knew you were in trouble.

His faculties weren’t as strong as he thought though, because he slowly returned the smile and shook his head.

“What time is it?” you asked.

“Almost eight,” he returned, collecting both plates after you were finished and put them to the side. “Why?”

You shrugged. “Just wondering.” Jesus, you had been in his workshop since you got up this morning. “Should I…” Your eyes fluttered up to his, worried you were overstepping or… Or just being too clingy again.

“You know-” he interrupted before you could get the thought out. “I’m working on a new suit for you so the water flows more easily between your fingers.” He went on a long tangent of mechanics he knew you couldn’t understand, pacing back and forth, so you only rested your head on your hand and listened to his voice, staring up at him.

“How does that sound?”

You gave a laugh. “I didn’t understand anything you just said.”

He only looked at you. “I like when you’re here. I like working for hours on end and seeing you every time I look over.”

Your eyes trailed from his facial hair to his eyes, where your heart was currently thudding inside of your chest. He wasn’t usually this blunt. It was hard to get affection from him, but when you did, it meant something special and caused your heart to do… this.

“I-I like being here,” you started, afraid of saying the wrong thing. You still weren’t sure why he took you in like this. He could’ve set you up in an apartment and checked in on you every few months, but instead he insisted you stay at the tower and you began being connected at the hip. Where he went, you went. “And I like hearing your voice when I study or train. I don’t know if I could focus without it.”

His face went from a softened glance to something relatable to shock. “My voice… makes you focus?”

Was that… the wrong thing to say? Well, no going back now.

Heat stained your face, a deep blush painting your cheekbones and nose. “It calms me, makes me feel safe,” you admitted.

His eyes raked down from your face all the way to your thighs. You noticed as he tore his gaze away in shame, instead deciding to flick his eyes to the suit he was working on. Before he could speak, before he could say something that would put you both back at normal, you walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing yourself into him.

Rejection. That was your fear. But you couldn’t imagine Tony pulling away from you at a time like this, or really ever. Anything you needed, he gave you. And you needed…

His arms wrapped around your back, his smell of amber and tobacco enveloping you. You gave a contented sigh.

Just as you were about to pull away, he placed a finger under your chin and looked into your eyes. “Look at me.”

At the sight of him looking at you, no- through you, your face went red. You struggled to keep eye contact but when you tried to look at the floor, he only adjusted your chin. “T-Tony…” You were sure everything was in that look. Everything you were far too ashamed to say to him.

I adore you.

I want to be yours.

I’ve fallen in love with you.

“Y/n…” he returned, his eyes flicking to meet your lips.

“Please,” you breathed. Suddenly, there were no other English words in your vocabulary. In times like these when all of your unsaid feelings came rushing to the center of your mind, you excused yourself to your room for the night and just cried. He would never want you. He was the smartest and strongest man you knew, a billionaire with years more experience with love or anything else for that matter. And you were… you. A failed experiment.

Despite your dark thoughts, his hands clutched your face and your heart stopped, confusion racking your face. “Tony?” you asked, barely able to get the words out before his lips were on yours. At first, it was tender. His lips explored yours, his tongue teasing your own. It felt like fireworks were going off in your mind. This was.. This was everything you had ever wanted.

But then he was pushing you up against the wall, his kiss getting rougher by the second. A moan slipped out of your mouth which only made your face even more red. Tony pulled away, and you could tell it painted him to do so, but he was searching your face for any apprehension, any tell that this was only one-sided. When it didn’t come, he spun you around against the wall and pressed a hand to your waist.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered.

Fuck, that voice.

“I want you,” you breathed back. “I want you to take me right here, right now. I want you to make me yours.”

A large, rough hand slipped into your hair and pulled roughly, taking you back against his own body. He let go only to move his strong hands down the center of your body, moving your dress up and feeling on the front of your panties.

“Jesus, y/n. How are you so wet?”

“I told you what your voice does to me, didn’t I?” You gazed up at him, daring to place a hand behind you and see if he was hard. Even through his pants you could tell that he wanted to burst free. You bit your lip as you looked up at him. “Tell me what you want.”

A growl escaped his lips as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you over to his desk. He unbuttoned his pants, slipping them down and sitting down in the chair. Your face was all want, all desire, and he could tell. He had the same look on his face. You sat on his lap, kissing him lightly, teasingly, before lifting up his shirt and revealing his muscled chest. Staring was not a choice for you.

In turn, he lifted up your dress and gulped. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” He grabbed your waist with one arm, pulling you up and sucking on your breasts, causing shocks to go down your body, you pussy dripping even more for him. Just for a moment, his face lifted to look at you. “You’re mine, do you hear me? All mine and no one else’s. I don’t even want to see another man so much as look at you or even glance your way.”

Your hands drifted down to his boxers as your lips found his again, your tongues teasing each other. You could feel how wet you were for him, and as you pushed his boxers away, you grinded your pantied pussy against his rock hard cock. “I need-” you struggled to get the words out, but he knew what you wanted. What you absolutely needed.

In a second, your panties were off and the head of his cock was at your entrance. “Oh Tony,” you moaned, wrapping your hands around his shoulders as his fingers curled against your waist and slowly lowered you onto him.

You were absolutely dripping for him and had been soaked since he said good morning to you hours ago, so it didn’t take long until his fat cock was completely inside of you, his long shaft already hitting all of the right spots.

He groaned, gripping your waist a little harder, moving you back and forth.

“O-Oh, Tony!” Your fingernails dug into his back, which prompted a groan from him. He was so big that you were still adjusting, but eventually you were bouncing along with him.

Pure ecstasy; that’s what this felt like. You started panting. “I don’t think I can last long,” you breathed into his ear as his hips began to thrust. He was absolutely feral, bucking along with you.

You closed your eyes, but not for long, because the sight of him watching you on the edge was too much for you.

“Tell me what you want,” he repeated through groans.

“I want you filling me up!” You could barely talk. Your head was only filled with desire for him as you wrapped your legs around his back and let him take you however he saw fit. His hands were digging into your sides, bouncing you up and down on his cock. There would undoubtedly be bruises in the morning, but it only edged you on. It was only a part of him completely claiming you as his.

This was it. You couldn’t hold off anymore. “Daddy!” Your mind reeled as your orgasm enveloped you, and you pushed his chest back into his chair as you took your climax for yourself. At that moment, you could feel hot ropes of cum shooting inside of you as he gripped your thighs and moaned your name, only making more bruises. Maybe these you could actually show off.

As your orgasm ebbed, you leaned against his chest, panting and still feeling him inside of you. “That was…” Once again, you were lost for words.

He kissed your forehead, wrapping his arms around you again and slipping out of you. Before either of you could say anything more, the exhaustion overtook you and you began to sleep on his muscled chest.

[letterstomilen]

i discuss the classification of igneous petrology as you fall asleep during my lecture (PART 2) (ASMR)

Childe/Zhongli, Alternate Universe  When Childe's younger sister tells him about the volunteer at the library, he does not make the connection between that and his new favorite ASMR YouTuber, Rex Lapis.

Childe’s unfortunate love life starts at the age of eight. He, of course, did not call it “love” when he’s eight. When he was eight, he plucked a couple of weeds and sunflowers from his neighbor’s garden before he went to the park and handed them over to a classmate he doesn’t remember the name of now.

Handed over is an understatement here, seeing that she fell over from him shoving the flowers towards her chest before declaring, “Please marry me!”

In hindsight, storming over with the delicacy of an elephant with two left feet was not the best idea. But as somebody who recently discovered that watermelons could not grow out of your stomach no matter what, he was not the brightest. (Lumine now would argue that this is still the case. Unfortunately.)

She, as all eight-year kids would when faced with a loud boy that shoved you to the ground, started bawling. It didn’t help that Childe wasn’t aware of the fact that some worm wriggled in with the weeds and sunflowers he uprooted, with said worm now wiggling on the glittery, cursive ‘i’ in ‘Magical’ on her t-shirt.

This promptly resulted in her mom heading over and a long talk over dinner that night on why you should not ask girls to just marry you at your age.

“So I can ask boys then, right?”

Pleased with the loophole he discovered at age eight, Childe toothily smiled at his mom, who sighed and shook your head.

“You can’t ask anybody to marry you when you’re eight. And please don’t throw flowers at them too.”

The stolen flowers resulted in him being on his neighbor’s blacklist for the next couple of years; this in itself was fine, seeing that Childe was always a bit of a troublemaker and it was bound to happen at some point. However, the crying girl left a big impression on him even as he got older.

It did help that the older he got, the more silver-tongued he became, but this resulted in short-term relationships and a famous incident that once got dubbed ‘Tartaglia’s Shakespearean Slipup.’ (It involved a drunk retelling of Macbeth, several dumb questions, and a shirt that could never get the stain washed off of it.)

So in short, Childe’s love life is, to put it bluntly, a travesty. It has been downhill ever since he was eight years old, and nearly two decades later, he’s sure that he finally hit rock bottom.

“Tonia,” he begins, wondering how his little sister could be so cute yet so cruel at the same time, “what did you not tell Zhongli?”

“Hmm… Oh, I didn’t tell him about your obsession with his channel!” And cue the self-satisfied smile before she took another sip of his coffee.

Oh lord, she learned it from him.

“Anything else?” he presses, wondering what kind of image he has of him now — definitely not a good one. No amount of smooth talking or knowledge about petrology could save him from his past mistakes. He’s sure that Zhongli would not take kindly to the plethora of times that his insobriety has made him infamous among certain groups of people.

And he’ll admit just to himself, he was wholly unprepared for this. He couldn’t even be lulled to sleep by his voice last night — which is unfortunate because the series where he discussed the inspiration behind Tao Yuanming’s work just came out and if there’s one thing Childe likes, it’s poetry — because he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that he knew who he was.

Except not as Childe. As Tartaglia, his younger sister clarified, ever so proud of herself that she taught somebody how to say his birth name correctly, never mind that it stumped even the most persistent of professors.

“Not really! He said he likes listening to me brag about my older brother! ‘Cause he’s an only child and everything. Actually… he mentioned that you’d like to hear your stories sometime. Sweet, right?”

“My stories,” Childe echoes slowly. “The ones I told you when you were a kid? The fairytale rip-offs?”

“Yup.”

“Including the one where the kids locked the evil queen up and used her Magic Mirror to cheat on their tests?”

Admittedly, he was a bit lazy with that one. But Tonia was just eight and Childe was half-awake, trying to remember the difference between Hudibrastic and hija. So, like any good literature major with a bone to pick with their academic advisor, he decided that he’d very subtly rehash Snow White and make it all about cheating. (On tests of course.)

“Yuup. They got in trouble, right?”

They didn’t, but his mom would have his head if he said otherwise, so he smiles at her, ruffles her hair, and says with the attitude of a picture-perfect older brother, “Of course. The evil queen immediately sent them to the dungeon. So don’t cheat, okay?”

She nods, rewarding her compliance with another sip of his coffee. The library is fairly close to their apartment, as all things in Liyue are. A tightly packed city by the sea where you were sure to know everything about your neighbor and their neighbor. Which meant that the tenants next door still remembered when Childe first moved in and spent a week high on ambien, only to invest his time in writing a paper about how Snowpiercer was the sequel to Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. (When they spoke for the first time, they asked politely if he could please turn down the volume, because it was difficult to sleep when your neighbor watched the two movies consecutively with the volume all the way up at three in the morning, don’t you think?)

(The paper ended up being legible to only the most dedicated of readers anyways.)

Deciding that they’re an appropriate distance from the entrance of the library now, Tonia stops walking and drags her brother towards the benches. “Now, before I take you to meet Zhongli, I just want to ask you one thing.”

He looks at her expectantly, wondering if she’s going to ask if he remembers what Lumine said. Don’t embarrass yourself, don’t act shady, and before you do something—think ITWTWW? (A.K.A Is This What Tsaritsa Would Want? A joke that arose after a particularly hellish class last year after the professor’s attention towards Childe was a source of debate—did she hate him? Did she think of him as her son? Did he—a suggestion brought forth by Aether—remind her of annoying neighbors that’d spend all night partying? To this day, he still doesn’t know.)

“What is it?”

“Did you bring your library card?”

“Huh?”

It turns out, Childe learns five minutes later with relief that his long-forgotten library card was collecting dust in his wallet, that Zhongli has a limit on books he can check out because he’s always forgetting them. And his overdue fees are quite an impressive sum—both for a library volunteer and anybody that’s frequented a library for the past decade.

But to the library’s great relief, he’s only checking out books nobody has ever checked out in the past so by default they belong to him now. (No harm no foul—unless you’re the occasional poor individual that has to research an incredibly specific and niche topic only to find out that the book is not in the library at the moment.)

Tonia sounds immensely proud of herself as she informs him of this while they wait for him to finish help somebody find a book. Help is an understatement, Childe realizes, as he watches Zhongli talk, smiling as he ensnares the visitor in an answer to a question where “yes” or “no” would have sufficed.

It’s ridiculously cute. Really. Tonia seems used to this sight as she drags Childe closer to the two. Zhongli must’ve realized that he slipped into a tangent because he apologizes and points to the nonfiction section before opening his book once more.

“Oh… I forgot.” Tonia purses her lips the same way Lumine does as she sighs, lowering the hand that she was enthusiastically waving moments earlier.

“Hm?”

“He won’t notice us. Ah, Zhongli,” she says melodramatically while they watch him flip through pages in a book, her tone every bit the longing princess in books they poured over when she was younger. “Why can’t you see us? Isn’t my wonderful big brother enough to catch your attention?”

He’s very flattered. Really. He knows that compliment was partially influenced by letting her have a lion’s share of his drink and Lumine’s sarcasm, but he takes it in stride, squeezing her cheeks. Tonia rolls her eyes in response, and heads over to Zhongli, chatting him up quicker than Childe can respond.

“And this is my older brother,” she introduces, gesturing her hand towards Childe, who smiles brightly, hoping he looks every bit the composed person he doesn’t feel like right now.

Zhongli is just as charming in person and it doesn’t help that just the realization he’s standing right here makes Childe’s pulse race, contributing to his increasingly forced smile that he reserves for uncomfortable situations. Oblivious to that, Zhongli smiles at him—one that is ingrained in his memory from days of watching it on loop —and says, “You must be Tartaglia, right? Tonia told me a lot about you.”

Oh fuck. 

His first thought: of course she told him about him. He knew beforehand, the dread of being characterized through his sister’s dramatizations of Childe’s mistakes. It’s partially why he could only get up this morning through two cups of coffee and dunking his head in the freezer for several minutes.

But also his name— 

Childe’s torn between asking why the hell his sister told him his real name or excusing himself to go read a dictionary to cool his nerves. Even though he’s well aware most of his family calls him Tartaglia still—mainly his parents when he’s in trouble (which, to be fair, is most of the time)—most people in Liyue call him Childe for two reasons.

One, Tartaglia is a mouthful and two, after many questions about how his name was pronounced only to get it butchered on several occasions, he’s stopped. (Scaramouche, Tsaritsa, and Signora are the only ones who call him that at this point, really; but he’s convinced Scaramouche does it just to vex him.)

“Yes,” he chokes out. “That’s me. Tartaglia.”

Childe decides that if Zhongli would just say his name and nothing else, he would die happy. Which is a mortifying thought but maybe a little bit of an upgrade from falling asleep to listening him talk about rocks. Isn’t it?

“You can call him Childe,” Tonia offers. “My brother doesn’t like it when people call him Tartgalia.”

His mouth forms an ‘o’ out of realization and sheepishly says, “My deepest apologies, Childe.”

“N-no—” Childe starts, his sister’s expression burning into the back of his head. “It sounds really nice when you say it. Call me Tartaglia—anything you’d like, really.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” Tonia smiles mischievously, implying that she never forgot all along as she raises a finger to her chin in mock thought. “You watch his ASMR channel, don’t you?”

“You do?”

They both turn to Childe, who’s sure this is turning into an interrogation; their burning gazes, the expectant silence, and a question he’s reluctant to answer.

“Yeah. I’m a huge fan,” he confesses brightly. “My favorite series of yours is the petrology one. It felt really nostalgic.”

He never thought he’d remember high school clearly ever again, but the videos made his classes a little less lazy. And the heat of the sun on the back of his neck as he slept in class would follow, lulled to sleep by a lecture he couldn’t quite remember. But he recalled his friends’ amusement clearly when they asked how he managed to sleep nearly every class, only to get a cheeky smile as an answer.

“Is that so? May I interest you in some books then? There’s quite the collection here, although I’m not sure which would interest you the most then. Any preferences?”

Ohhh, his expectant look was so cute. But Tonia looks bored at the prospect, so he clears his throat instead.

“Actually, I came here to check out Legend of the Lone Sword so I could follow along with your newest video,” he finally says. “Could you show me where it is?”

“Hmm… We do have two copies but unfortunately both have been checked out. One has just been checked out by Xingqiu and the other… ah, it’s still at my house. We’re having difficulties with the video unfortunately because Venti said… now what did he say?” Zhongli asks himself, humming as he takes out his phone and reads out loud.

“’Find somebody that’s willing to record the video and help you set up b-c’… er, before Christ?”

“Because,” Childe clarifies.

“Thank you. ‘Because I can’t do it without laughing’,” he finishes before sighing. “Also several crying emojis followed by a wine emoji and a suggestion for me to find Diluc…? There are also several other texts that I would not be able to read out loud but that’s the gist of it. As soon as I manage to find somebody, I’ll be able to return the book so you can check it out. My apologies.”

Diluc? All Childe remembers about him is what Lumine once said about him.

‘I was convinced him and Kaeya hated each other until I found out they were siblings.” A pause. Then: ‘I’m still fairly sure they hate each other. They’re at each other’s throats a lot. Diluc more so.’

He had not considered him to be a rival in love. Granted — that’s limited information from several years ago but it’s not as if Childe knows that many people outside of his own department. But still. 

Eager to save any chance of a love life, Childe says, “Why don’t I help you record?”

“That’s a great idea! Then my brother can read the book while he stays over. Right?” Tonia presses on, smiling far too brightly for his taste as Zhongli muses, considering the possibility.

“Are you sure that wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

Childe nearly stumbles at the sight of his relief. Really, his smile isn’t good for his heart—neither is the look he gives him, as if he hung over the moon that very moment. “None at all.”

“What a relief… I’ll tell Venti immediately that I can record the ‘ASMR: Boyfriend Reads to You’ video.”

—What?

Zhongli looks up from his phone after he texts his friend and tilts his head slightly in confusion, his earring brushing against his shoulder.

He looks adorably concerned and maybe a little bit aware that he’s responsible for Childe’s reaction. “Is there something wrong?”

“N-no. Nothing. That’s great. Good. I’m excited to be your boyfriend.”

Tonia lets out a little giggle and he’s sure that there’s somebody at the library silently praying for his downfall as he hurriedly corrects himself. “For the video, of course. Should I give you my number so we can set a date?”

Not deterred by Childe’s flustered expression, Zhongli nods as he hands him his phone. Maybe this is what he expected—that’d most likely be the case if most of his prior knowledge about Childe came from Tonia, who delights in both embarrassing and complimenting her brother like there’s no tomorrow. “Of course. Please give me your number.”

So with the shame of a college student that never managed to shake off his competitive streak from high school, Childe types his number in and promises himself that this won’t happen again.

(His younger sister lords it over him anyways on the way home, a skip in her step as she recalls it.)

Childe 2:34 i got his #

Twin 1 2:35 for the video recording*

Twin 1 2:35 u also embarrassed yourself. tonia told me all about it lol

Ugh. Of course she did. Childe peeks his head into his sister’s room, hearing her recount the library incident with a few more exaggerations poking fun at what he did than he’d like. Aether must be having the time of his life, which should make them equal considering that Childe made him think that Scaramouche was the best TA ever and would be even nicer if you made him an apple pie. (He hated apples.)

Well. They’re even now, aren’t they?

Childe 2:38 ya but he didn’t notice so its ok. BTW neither of u told me he was that airheaded

Twin 1 2:38 itd be funnier that way

Childe 2:39 oh yeah it was really cute

Twin 1 2:41 didn’t need to know that. anyways u do know how to work a camera right?

Childe 2:41 yea…? who do you think takes all of tonia’s pictures

Twin 1 2:42 no i mean like actual professional cameras used to record

Hm… That was a bit of an oversight on his part, wasn’t it? He texts a quick ‘yeah’ because it couldn’t be that bad and he’ll watch several videos on how to work a camera later, won’t he? There should be three buttons max. Easy.

Not to mention he took an elective on film and he’s watched Zhongli’s videos more times than he can count at this point. So really, there’s not much to worry about. The only problem is that he needs to build up immunity.

If he looks like a “blushing maiden”—Tonia’s words, not his—every time Zhongli looks at him, wouldn’t that be trouble? It’s bad enough that he embarrassed himself in front of his twelve-year-old sister but to look like a fool in front of the same guy his sleeping schedule depends on would be debilitating in more ways than one.

Deciding that he won’t let himself lose this time around, he sends a quick text to Zhongli saying ‘Saturday at 4:00 PM, right? See you there :)’ to psyche himself up before deciding a plan of action. There must be something that’ll impress him—no, completely sweep him off his feet.

More aware than ever that he’s fitting the image of a lovestruck idiot his sister painted him as, Childe watches his phone as it pings with a single ‘OK’ and ‘I am looking forward to working with you’ trying to convince himself that his erratic heart rate and the heat rushing to his face is just a side effect of working with somebody that he greatly admires. (It is, by all accounts, infatuation — but he’ll try to ignore that for now.)

[joonsrack]

Masterpiece | KTH x KNJ

+PAIRING: Kim Taehyung x Kim Namjoon

+GENRE: Oneshot, crack, angst, smidge of smut, College AU, stranger to lover

+WORD COUNT: ~13k

+RATING: 18+

+WARNING: Taehyung has face blindness, NSFW, (very) foul language, overuse of the word penis and it’s synonyms, pinning, misunderstandings, Namjoon is like real’ dumb, a little hanky panky but nothing scandalous.

+SUMMARY: 

“So let me recap here, you don’t know his name, his major, his department, his age, his number, nor his face. The only clue you have is this drawing, which basically looks like a textbook example of unrealistic body expectations. You apparently know every nook and cranny of his [REDACTED], but you didn’t have the decency to ask his name? You deserve this.” He cackles, angering Taehyung.

(OR the one where Taehyung has face blindness but that won't stop him from finding love. )

+A/N: Well, it’s been almost a year since I’ve posted anything, and almost as much time since i last wrote anything (except for the occasional guilt writing lmao). So this is me coming back with a vengeance (and the dumbest thing i’ve ever written). This is all thanks to (or to be blamed on) @minloop who put up with my non-stop messaging, gave me some plot ideas, and actually inspired me to finish this in three days. Thank you to my baby @emojihobi​ for the emotional support and the beta reading 💖

+Disclaimer: I got all my info on face blindness from google searches, so please forgive any inaccuracy.

Face blindness has definitely made Taehyung’s life difficult. 

There’s the obvious problem of not being able to recognize your parents. Remember this childhood trauma of holding a random stranger’s hands in the mall, thinking it’s your mother or father? Taehyung had to live through that many, many times; except he wouldn’t realize until said stranger would shake his hand off, or until his parents would swoop in to get him. The fact that he’s never been kidnapped is down to pure luck, really.

Making friends, you guessed it, has also been a challenge. It’s difficult explaining to kids why you ignored them when you saw each other in the hallway. Kids don’t always understand “I didn’t recognize you” as an explanation, especially if you’ve been in the same class since pre-k.

But this? This is a new and unforeseen crisis.

+

 His dorm room is very quiet, which is not unusual since he has a solo room. But he’s pretty sure he went to sleep with a plus one, and said plus one is nowhere to be seen. 

Now, he isn’t a stranger to one-night stands sneaking out after he falls asleep. He likes to take night conquests to his dorm room for this exact reason; He can go right to sleep, while they take themselves out. Easy breezy no string attached-y. That’s usually the way he wants it to be. 

But this time is different. Last night was different. Last night, Taehyung had the best night of his life, hands down. Best bangs of his existence. Bangs plural because they went more than once. How that’s even possible when his teenage years are long gone and days with multiple orgasms are less and less common, he has no idea.

He’s probably ruined for anyone else. Nothing could ever compare to the night he just spent getting his back blown out. 

Now, Taehyung is a sculptor. A very gifted one at that (if his teachers’ praises are anything to go by). Taehyung knows body proportions, knows perfect rations, all that stuff. He knows it on marble bodies, in sketches, in painting. Not on actual human beings.

Until last night.

Last night, he witnessed the body of a god. He scratched at perfect skin, held on to beautifully defined and strong arms, rode perfect thighs. Last night, he shed a tear at the view of some perfect knees. Last night, he realized that art truly imitates nature. 

And that’s not all.

Taehyung can admit he owns a nice dick; it’s decently shaped, the color is nice, and the size is slightly over average. 

But what he witnessed the night before?

The Narcissus of dicks; the most beautiful dick on the planet. The most beautiful dick in history . Probably even prettier than Narcissus’ face himself. (But Taehyung doesn’t know what Narcissus' face looks like, so he’s only assuming.) 

From the perfect red color of its beautifully shaped head to the gracefully intertwined veins leading to a sturdy looking hilt, peppered with well-kept pubic hair, ending in an exquisitely wrinkled ballsack. The girth was over average; big enough to make size queens (such as Taehyung) salivate, but not big enough to scare away enthusiasts. And the length? The dude is lucky he’s a grower and not a show-er, or he would never know peace. Mainly because the likes of Taehyung or Park Jimin would never let him be.

But where is that most perfect penis right now? 

Attached to its perfectly shaped and mysterious owner, probably miles away.

Very problematic, indeed.

+

“So what you’re saying is, you fell asleep, and when you woke up he was gone? Isn’t that how it’s usually supposed to go?” Yoongi sounds disgruntled on the other end of the face call, face half mushed in his pillow, hair disheveled and eyes squinty. It’s not yet 1 pm after all, which is still considered morning for people like Min Yoongi.

“Noooo, not this time.” Taehyung whines,” This time he was supposed to stick around and ask me to marry him in the morning. Isn’t that obvious? We went at it four times for fuck sake, doesn’t that mean anything anymore?”

Jimin chokes on his matcha oatmeal milk latte, eyes going wide. “Four times?! Now that is a monster stamina. He basically squeezed your balls dry.” There’s a pause, then he says to someone off-camera, “It’s rude to stare, ma’am.”

“Stop ruining my morning with your screaming,” Yoongi grunts out, rubbing his eyes. “So what do you want us to do about this?”

Taehyung fumbles around his desk for a moment, looking through his piles of sketches until he finds it, his only clue.

“Do you two know this man?” He asks, pulling out a sketch he did quickly off his memory of the mystery man’s body. He pulls out a second one, this one is a close-up of his perfect penis. He might have gone off tangent with the shading, but he couldn't stop himself, that dick deserves all the shading.

“Jesus fuck.” Yoongi signs.

“Baby, I’m sure you’re aware that if I knew anyone with a body and a dick like that, you would never have been able to put your dirty paws on him.”

Taehyung turns hopeful eyes to Yoongi after glaring at Jimin for a good 10 seconds, but Yoongi only shakes his head no.

“I don’t have a habit of making my friends strip around me, sadly. I wouldn’t be able to tell even if I knew him.”

“You two are useless” Taehyung signs, his body deflating. Yoongi takes offense and hangs up. Or maybe he was going to hang up either way.

“So let me recap here, you don’t know his name, his major, his department, his age, his number, nor his face. The only clue you have is this drawing, which basically looks like a textbook example of unrealistic body expectations. You apparently know every nook and cranny of his penis, but you didn’t have the decency to ask his name? You deserve this.” He cackles, angering Taehyung. 

“I was busy sucking his dick, asshole.” He spits, but Jimin only snorts in answer.

“Good luck finding the owner of Mystery Penis.” He quips back, before hanging up as well.

+

All hope is lost. Never in his life has he despised his face blindness as much as he does right now. Of course, it’s never been easy dealing with it throughout his life. He’s lucky he has two solid friends he can count on. Although Jimin regularly dyes and changes his hairstyle without warning to mess with him. And Yoongi basically has two hours of availability per week, usually arranged around his sleeping schedule. 

But he knows they care for him, and he cares for them. 

He drags his feet to class. He uses ‘class’ lightly; being a third-year means most of his courses are spent in the workshop, working on his graduate exhibition. 

He’s got his trusty overalls on, covered in clay stains. He’s been working with clay for the last few weeks, using the medium for two of his exhibition pieces. 

He greets his teacher at the front desk with a nod, before making his way to his desk. Today’s playlist consists of oldies, and he makes it to his desk just as Lionel Richie’s voice fills the room. 

He snorts, rolling his eyes.

Hello is a classic of sculpting classes. No matter the teacher or the Instructor, they all love to play that song on repeat, and he usually doesn’t pay it any mind. But right now, isn’t there a more perfect song to taunt him?

Lionel Richie asks if it’s him he’s looking for, as he’s pulling his tool out of his bag. He unwraps the plastic wrap from around the latest project he’s been working on, already planning his next move. 

He’s pretty sure the sculpting world is all over that song only because of the music video.

It’s obvious that the whole ‘blind girl sculpting’ thing– 

Oh.

Oh dear god. The music video. 

The music video.

Taehyung has an idea.

His hands move before he can fully realize the plan in his head, rewrapping his project, and getting some new clay from the front of the class.

His teacher looks him up and down in all his frantic and excited glory.

 “A sudden stroke of inspiration?” He questions, sounding curious.

“Something like that.” Taehyung smiles, trying to act inconspicuous. His teacher won’t let him take the clay if it’s not for his graduate exhibition.

He makes it back to his station without any more inquiry and starts to work right away.

Jimin was right, he does know every nook and cranny of that penis. He spent hours getting acquainted with it, and he has an excellent memory (Except for faces, obviously).

All the other students are too busy working on their final projects to notice the massive penis under construction a few feet from them. If anyone asks, Taehyung will proudly answer that it’s a life-sized depiction. But no one is asking, so he simply works on bringing the piece to life. The students in his class rarely talk to him, since he hasn’t gone out of his way to develop any type of relationship with them. It’s easier like that.

Once he’s done, many hours later, he’s alone in the workshop with the sun setting outside.

He ogles proudly at his masterpiece, the erect penis standing tall on his station, truly a creature of beauty. It’s a perfect replica, down to the ballsack wrinkles; down to the cute mole at the hilt. Of course, it’s clay-colored, and it probably won't change since Taehyung hates painting his creations, but he’s absolutely certain that everything else is exactly like the original.

The oven has been preheating for a while, so it’s hot and ready to bake some penis. The only thing left is to leave it to cure for a while. Any ol’ regular penis would have taken less than an hour to cure, but we’re talking about a monster cock here. 

He pops it into the oven, sets a timer, just in time for a knock at the door to pull him out of his penis-induced craze.

“Yo, Tae,” Yoongi’s voice resonates from the door frame.

Taehyung grabs a rag from his station to clean his hand with before making his way to his friend. There’s someone with him, and Yoongi signals at his friend with a lazy wave of his hand. 

“Remember Namjoon?” He asks, but it’s a rhetorical question. Jimin and Yoongi have taken to the habit of identifying the people they’re with, so Taehyung doesn't have to embarrass himself trying to figure it out on his own. That way, they don’t have to explain his condition to every single person that isn’t in his immediate friend circle. 

(Is it even a circle if it’s two people?) 

He sends a nod in Namjoon’s way and gets a wave back, and that’s as far as their exchange goes, as usual. Except today, his whole body language reads nervous and tense. But that’s none of Taehyung’s business.

“We’re going to see some juniors perform in a pub, you want to come with?” Yoongi asks him, and Taehyung knows he means well, but he also knows that Yoongi knows he doesn’t like crowded spaces. 

He and Jimin have tried to get him to go out more, but the only time Taehyung steps foot inside any type of alcohol selling establishment is when he wants to get laid. And there’s only one place he goes to then; that crappy little Bar near campus that’s only frequented by broke students who also want to get laid. 

He doesn’t like anywhere that’s dark where there’s enough people to make him lose sight of his friends. Something about losing his parents at the mall one too many times.

“That sounds nice, but I have to finish this piece I’m working on.” He answers, trying to sound as regretful as he can. It doesn’t really work, judging by Yoongi’s unconvinced humming. 

“Alright, careful when you go back home.” Yoongi finally answers, patting him on the shoulder. 

He starts walking away, but his friend, Namjoon, stays frozen on the spot, facing him. He’s looking at Taehyung in some kind of way, but face blindness makes it hard for him to read other’s expressions. He raises a single eyebrow in interrogation, and that seems to make Namjoon snap out of it. He turns on his heel without as much as a goodbye, which, rude .

“'Kay, bye.” He mutters after him.

But he can’t hold it against him. He knows that ‘Namjoon’ has been a long-time friend of Yoongi and that they’ve spent some time together by association. Taehyung doesn’t go out of his way to get to know new people, so there’s a high chance Namjoon might have tried to approach him with friendship in mind, only to end up frustrated by Taehyung’s lack of interest. Happens all the time. He can’t really help it, reading intentions is not in his toolbox.

He should probably tell Yoongi to share his ‘secret’ with Namjoon. He seems nice enough from what he heard, so he would probably be understanding. It should at least clear up the misunderstanding, and Taehyung might even gain a new friend, who knows?

He makes his way back to his station, works on his actual project while the oven takes care of making his penis nice and hard. 

+

The next morning, he wakes up to ten texts from Jimin, one from Yoongi, and multiple missed calls and voicemail from his workshop teacher.

 Asshole with pink hair:

9:40 am    ur crazy

9:40 am    CRAZY

9:40 am    This is hilarious

9:41 am    That’s why i love u

9:41 am    That is a beautiful dick

9:41 am    Like it was nice on paper, but the 3D version definitely makes me wonder about its  owner

10:26 am  All the student body is buzzing about the mystery penis

10:27 am  It’s on the front page of the school newspaper

10:27 am  omg you dumbass u didnt write your number

10:27 am  you didn't write your number anywhere brb dying of laughter

Hyungie:

11:32 am  You didnt write your infos dumb dumb

Taehyung bangs his head on his pillow, hoping for quick death. How could he forget to write down his infos? How is anyone supposed to contact him?

+

Namjoon has come to learn quickly that university isn’t always the most sanest place on the planet. Cramming, into a single building, that amount of genius with that amount of insanity is bound to create interesting events.

He’s stopped being surprised by most things, might be guilty of doing some of those surprising things from time to time. But today? Today is on a whole new level.

Somehow, his dick is plastered all over the school, in every hallway, on every door. Think Regina George distributing the burn book copy all over school but, multiplied by 50, that’s how many pictures of his dick are distributed around school right now. Not an actual picture of his actual dick, but an actual picture of an actual clay replica, with big bold yellow letters spelling out 'HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PENIS?', and nothing else.

It’s vaguely threatening.

He wishes he couldn’t tell that it’s his penis, then maybe he could laugh with the rest of the student body. But there’s no mistaking it. One look and he knew. The person who printed those flyers made sure to include all the possible angles, too. 

It’s 100% his dick. 

The slight curve is there, the mole is there, everything is there.

The intentions of the maker are unclear, but there’s one thing for sure: he knows exactly who’s behind it. He only knows one sculptor who has seen his penis, and that’s the current bane of his life, Kim Taehyung.

It’s not enough that Taehyung has been completely ignoring his existence before their night of passion together, he’s also been ignoring him after. 

And now this? Plastering his dick all over school? For absolutely no reason? Did he not like the night they spent together? Was this a great big ploy to make fun of him? Is this Taehyung’s way to reject him? To tell him to stay away from him? He knows he’s never been really subtle with his crush, but isn’t this going way too far? 

At least he had the very, very basic decency to forgo his name from the flyers, or Namjoon might have had to run away to the next town. 

Namjoon is not dumb, he knows his ancient Greece lore and what they thought about big dicks.

Taehyung didn’t write this so people would look at the dick, he’s obviously calling him a dick.  And for what, pinning on him for the last year? Can’t a man have a crush in peace?

Maybe he shouldn't have approached Taehyung that night. 

One thing is for sure, Taehyung is sending him a very clear message to stay away from him.

+

He spent a fortune printing all those hands out, and now he has to reprint them all? Taehyung knows very well he can’t afford another round of mass printing. Plus the librarian probably won’t ever let him walk into the library again. She had to come and refill the printer at least three times in the hour he was there. The environmental club was even called on scene by one of the students waiting for his turn at the printer. Talk about a snitch.

He can’t afford to reprint everything, and there’s no way he’ll go around school writing his number by hand.

He listens to the voicemails from his teacher then, uncovering a new hurdle.

The first one goes like this:

"Kim Taehyung I know it’s you, you left that thing on your desk."

Then the second:

"Kim Taehyung, you will take down these handouts right this instant before the Dean can see them, you hear me? He'll put you on probation and my head on a stick."

Taehyung muffles his groans into his pillow. Maybe it’s a good thing he forgot to include his number. He should have thought of that before.

He throws on some clothes, heeding his teacher’s warning. He better get to school quickly.

He texts Yoongi and Jimin to take down as many as they can if they want to see him live for another day. Yoongi doesn’t answer and Jimin only texts back asking if he can keep one for his room.

Some friend circle he’s got there.

He makes it onto campus in under half an hour, and gets to work, taking them down as quickly as he can.

He’s got only a few hallways left to do when someone taps him sharply on the shoulder. He spins around, dreading the moment he comes face to face with the Dean. Not that he could recognize the Dean.

“Are you the Dean?” He stammers in a small voice.

“What? No- you. I swear to god. Just tell me if you hate me that much.” Stranger says, before putting his long leg to good use, striding away from him. He throws a bunched-up flyer on the floor before disappearing down the hallway as quickly as he’s appeared.

Taehyung is stunned for a good minutes, utterly confused

The voice sounds similar, but other than that he has no idea who just spit those words at him. He doesn’t hate anyone, and he doesn't see why anyone would believe he has those kinds of ill feelings towards them.

+

Now that his plan has miserably failed, Taehyung falls into hopelessness once again. He lays in bed, holding his precious sculpture to himself. It’s the only thing he has left from his fateful encounter. Or he thought it was fate, but now he’s wondering if that was life making fun of him. 

Jimin is laying by his side, examining the sketch of the body with clear interest. It’s making Taehyung feel a little possessive. 

“Maybe you should try again in the school gym, no one gets a body like that from not going to the gym. You could say you’re looking for a model or something.”

Taehyung stares at his friend with all the admiration he can muster. 

“I would kiss you so hard right now.”

“We tried that once, remember?”

“Yes, and that’s why I won’t be doing it, but I would, just so you know.”

“Cool.” 

He snatches the sketch out of Jimin’s hands to get to work on the shading, trying to get his drawing as realistic looking as possible. Making a whole body out of clay would take too long, so Taehyung will have to settle for his sketch. 

Once he’s done, some 30 minutes have passed. He whirl around on his desk chair, waving the sketch around successfully, only to stop dead in his tracks. He finds Jimin with his precious sculpture halfway down his throat.

“Jimin!” He exclaims, fuming. “Get your dirty mouth off my penis!”

Jimin startles and chokes in surprise, but then bursts out laughing once the sculpture is safely out of his mouth.

“Sorry, sorry. I was just really curious about the size. You never cease to amaze me.”

Taehyung snatches his precious phallus back, grabbing some tissues to wipe off Jimin's drool.

“If I can’t find him, this is going up my ass, so don’t touch it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jimin grimaces, rearranging himself on the bed. He grabs his phone to waste some time, probably ignoring his other responsibilities as the end of their final semester is quickly approaching. “You want to end up in the emergency room? Just use it to make a mold and replicate it with some silicon at least.” 

Taehyung raises both eyebrows in astonishment.

“Jimin, your genius never ceases to amaze me.”

+

He successfully drags Jimin with him to the campus gym. Normally the prospect of hot sweaty people grunting, in various states of undress would attract Jimin like a bee to honey, but since he’s already banged or broken up with half the people that go there, Taehyung has to keep a firm hold on his friend’s wrist.

“Why do I have to come with you again?” 

“It was your idea, so you’re taking responsibility.”

“I don’t like taking my responsibilities, they suck,” Jimin grumbles, but he stops trying to run away.

The moment they step into the gym, they’re assaulted by the musky smell of sweat and determination. There’s a high volume of people working out, probably wanting to channel their end-of-semester jitters into iron pumping. 

Taehyung spots the front desk, putting his business smile on while reaching into his folder. He hears Jimin greet someone, going off by himself, but Taehyung bears him no mind and heads straight for the Woman working the counter.

“Hi there,” he says, charm on, “ I was wondering if you could help me out,-”

“Yes you can put your flyers up, no you don’t have to pay for it, no we won’t take it down before the end of the semester, yes I do have some tape.” She says without missing a beat, not looking up at him.

“Damn, maybe I’m here because I want to sign up for a membership.” 

She finally looks up from her computer, assessing Taehyung from head to toe.

“No you don’t babe. Here’s the tape.” She says, handing him the tape while blowing a bubble with her pink gum. Multitasking at its finest.

Taehyung doesn’t feel like taking her on a debate, so he gets hold of the roll of tape and gets to work, spotting where other people left their flyers so he can put his right by them. 

He scans the gym once or twice with a quick look, trying to see if, by a stroke of luck, Mystery Man could be there. No one that is shirtless has the body he’s looking for, and he sadly doesn’t have x-ray vision to check the rest. No amount of wishing as a kid made him grow that ability.

He puts up the first flyer, this time containing all his info, and stares at it proudly. He's got a good feeling about this.

Jimin finds him again as he’s putting up his last flyer, sounding excited about something.

“I had no idea Namjoon worked out. He’s got nice arms hidden beneath those sweatshirts.”

“Namjoon? Yoongi’s friend?”

“Yeah! And he changed his hair color, it looks really good on him. A little lighter than he used to have.”

Taehyung nods along, not really pressed to know more. He’s got other fish to fry.

+

Namjoon slowly counts to 30 after seeing Taehyung leave the premises, before he basically sprints to the nearest wall, spotting the flyers Taehyung has put up.

There’s a sketch on it, a sketch of a body. A body that looks strangely like his. He frowns, before reading the caption.

“Sculpting student looking for body model. Body must look like this. Call XXX-XXX-XXXX. Food as compensation. ”

Namjoon cannot believe his eyes. Taehyung knows he’s got that exact body type, yet he didn’t ask for his help. If he needed any other confirmation that Taehyung hates him, there’s one right there.

Just what did he do to the man to make him hate him so much? 

Since he’s confronted him in the hallway, Taehyung still hasn’t reached out to him. It would be easy to do. He knows Taehyung has his number, they exchanged it when they first met, so nothing is stopping him. Unless he’s happy with the way things are.

+

Maybe Jimin is not as much of a genius as he thought. By the sixth person that walks in to be a body model, he realizes this is getting expensive in food bribes and studio fees. He has also stopped putting up the pretense of wanting to sketch anyone anymore. 

But this time, It’s one Jung Hoseok who walks in.

“Have we slept together before?” He asks right off the bat, tired of wasting his precious time. It’s his new modus operandi; invite them in, ask the burning question, then send them on their way with the promised food to avoid complaints. 

“I don’t believe so, but maybe we should fix that,” Hoseok answers, taking off his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Your flyers have a nude body on it, you made me come to a private studio, isn’t this a nude modeling thing?” Hoseok questions, but doesn’t stop undressing. He’s already reaching for his belt. 

Something tells Taehyung this man would be really sad to be told to put his clothes back on. The way he’s unapologetically getting naked tells Taehyung everything he needs to know. 

“So, why are you asking?” He inquires while posing, everything hanging loose and stuff. “Is that how you get laid? Asking hot dudes to model, then seducing them once they’re naked and vulnerable?”

Jung Hoseok doesn’t seem to be feeling very vulnerable right now, but Taehyung keeps that to himself.

“God no. Jesus that would be sleazy of me.”

“Not as sleazy as asking me if we’ve slept together 5 seconds into our first meeting.” Hoseok points out.

“ Touché. ” He admits, a soft chuckle escaping him.

Hoseok doesn’t press him for an answer, and they spend the next few minutes in silence, the only sound coming from Taehyung's pencil on the thick page of his sketchbook.

Jung Hoseok, standing confidently in front of him in all of his naked glory, has a certain aura around him. The way he holds himself, no hesitation to bare it all, head held high; it's like he never had to hide anything in his life. Like he never knew shame. To the point where it inspires Taehyung to utter the next words:

“I have face blindness.” He starts off, which gets his model’s attention. He keeps his eyes down on his paper to avoid eye contact, feeling rusty when it comes to revealing this part of himself. He continues quickly, “I had a one-night stand with this– perfect greek god. He had the perfect penis, too. Best sex of my life.” He's making good progress on his sketch, Hoseok’s body graceful and easy to put on paper. “I’m trying to find him, but I don’t know anything about him, and I can’t tell people’s faces apart." He chuckles deprecatingly, "The only clue I have is the way his body looks. So I put up this ad for body models hoping he would show up.”

Hoseok breaks his pose to slap his hands together, then pointing at him. “Oh my god, are you the one that plastered the whole school with the penis sculpture a few days ago? Was that your version of a ‘Wanted’ poster?”

Taehyung feels his cheeks warm up.

“Yeah, but I almost lost my diploma over that so let’s not mention it.”

Hoseok laughs with his whole body, clapping his hands together a few more times as if to express his excitement.

“That was the best thing to ever happen on this campus since 1993, thank you for that.”

His statement piques Taehyung's interest.

“What happened in 1993?” He asks, expecting anything but what comes outs of Hoseok's mouth next.

“My mom and dad conceived me in the bathroom of the literature wing.”

Taehyung chortles, surprising even himself with how loud it is.

“Now that’s a conception story worth telling your kids.”

“They didn't tell me; They got caught and got expelled the next day. They framed their expulsion letter, it’s still on display in the kitchen.” Hoseok’s voice is dripping with fondness, betraying his love for his family. “The thing is, I learned how to read at a very early age.”

Taehyung is possessed by another wave of uncontrollable laughter. He wipes a stray tear from his eyes, taking a second to compose himself.

“There, you’re looking a little better now. “

Taehyung looks up at the man, standing there in his birthday suit, going out of his way to cheer him up even though they’re perfect strangers.

(Maybe not so perfect since he’s seen him naked, but still.)

He chuckles again, going back to his sketching.

“Wait does this mean you don’t actually need models right now?”

“Well yeah," Taehyung answers, shrugging his shoulders, "But you looked like you would be really disappointed if I told you to stop undressing, so I just went along with it.”

Hoseok nods his agreement, going back into his original position.

“Good call. Now that we’re here you better get the shading of my calves right. They’re my pride and glory.”

“On it.”

+

Who would have thought that this whole ordeal would have somehow turned into Taehyung making a new friend.

He looks at the contact number in his phone staring back at him. It’s written 'Jung Hoseok' with a little sun emoji. He’s told him everything he needs to know to avoid misunderstandings, and Hoseok left with the promise to always greet him first when they see each other in the hallway. It’s sad that he only met the man in his last stretch before getting his degree, but as they say: better late than never.

He’s excited to get to know Hoseok, but he doesn’t know if he should text him first. He’s feeling a little socially rusty, having not approached anyone with the intention of being friends in a long, long time. Which is why he jumps with glee when he sees he’s got a text notification from his new friend. But then he reads the text, and the glee morphes into unadulterated excitement.

 Jung Hoseok 🌞:

4:56 pm    I think i know who your penis belongs to

4:56 pm    can you send me a picture? I lost the flyers i kept from that time

                                       4:59 pm    You sent a picture

 5:01 pm   Yeah it’s really similar 

5:01 pm    Kim Seokjin, XXX-XXX-XXXX, probably currently working the counter at the campus coffee shop. 

5:02 pm     He’s tall, broad shoulders, awesome dick

Taehyung doesn’t even take the time to text back his thanks; he wraps up his project in a disorderly manner, wiping his hands on his shirt with no care in the world. He throws his backpack on and basically sprint to the coffee shop he usually tends to avoid. The owner is totally an evil capitalist, ripping off students with his overpriced coffee.

He gets there in record time, gasping for air as his poor lungs try to keep up with enough exercise to last him a lifetime.

He’s covered in clay stains, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, clothes in dismay, lungs wheezing, so he should probably expect the next few events that unfold. 

He walks into the coffee shop still out of breath, asks if Kim Seokjin is there to the first employee he sees. This is one of those times where he’s happy he can’t read people’s expressions, because he has a feeling he’s being judged very much right now.

“He… just got off his shift.” The man at the counter answers hesitantly.

“Can you tell me where he went?” And what he was wearing?” Taehyung may be sounding a little desperate, but he doesn’t have the time to care.

“He was still in his uniform, so green, and he went that way.” He indicates with a vague wave of the hand.  

Taehyung starts running again, this time looking even more crazed as he scans his surroundings like a mad man, looking for someone tall with broad shoulders wearing green.

He spots him after running for a few minutes, thanking the heavens that the employee sent him in the right direction. He had every reason not to.

“Kim Seokjin!” He calls out, picking up his pace despite his lungs begging for a break. “Wait!”

He sees the man stop, take one look at him over his admittedly very large shoulders, then start sprinting away from him.

“No! Wait up!” He pushes himself harder than he ever has, his legs and lungs burning under the continuous strain, head feeling a little faint. “Please!” He calls out again in desperation. “Please look at my penis!”

This catches Seokjin’s attention, and he thankfully stops running, turning around as if to wait for him. Taehyung slows down to a jog, then to a complete stop, bending over gasping for air. Once his breathing is finally somewhat back to normal, he straightens up, only to come face to face with a bottle of pepper spray.

“W-wait!” He stutters, falling on his ass. “I swear I’m not a creep!”

“That’s exactly what a creep would say.” Seokjin answers, hovering over him threateningly, aiming the pepper spray directly at Taehyung’s face.

“I swear I just need you to look at my penis.”

This was the wrong thing to say apparently, because Seokjin gives the bottle a good shake as if to activate it. “That doesn’t sound as reassuring as you seem to think.”

“No! Wait!” He pleads again. “Not my penis.” He takes off his backpack, frantically digging through it until he finally pulls out his sculpture.  “ This penis.”

Seokjin doesn’t look totally convinced, but he finally lowers his weapon. “That’s a beautiful cock.” He admits after a moment of staring in silence. 

“Thank you. Is it yours?” 

"I don't remember owning that sculpture."

"Not the sculpture; the Penis."

Seokjin frowns, extending his hand, and Taehyung gingerly deposits his precious sculpture into his palm. The man finally puts away his pepper spray to free both his hands. He examines the penis under every angle, trying out the hold, measuring the testicles with his palm, staring at it long and hard.

Taehyung takes the opportunity to stand back up, keeping his distance this time.

“It does look very similar,” he concludes, hands going to his chin. “But this is not my penis. I don’t have a mole there.”

Taehyung deflates. He still asks, just in case. “So we haven’t slept together?”

Seokjin gives him back his sculpture with a snort. “You don’t look like anything I've ever slept with.” 

Taehyung realizes the state he’s in. He must look ridiculous right now.

“I’m from the sculpting department. I didn’t have the time to clean up. I don’t usually go around looking like I just rolled in the mud.”

“Explains a lot.” Seokjin nods, looking him up and down.

He dusts himself off as best as he can, but he can’t do much more cleaning up than that. He’ll probably have to go back home looking like that.

“So what’s your name?”

Taehyung feels dumb, he didn’t even have the decency to introduce himself before pulling out his penis. His social skills are frankly lacking.

“I’m Kim Taehyung. Sorry about all that, someone told me you could have the original version of this sculpture.”

“I’m flattered. It is pretty similar. Can I ask why you’re going around asking people to look at your– At this penis?” 

Taehyung sighs deeply, looking down at the penis in his hand. He did it once, he can do it again.

“Long story short I had an amazing one-night stand with the owner of this beautiful creature, but I have no idea who he is and the only clue I have is my perfect memory of his penis.”

“Sounds like a proper modern-day Cinderella story. But how come you don’t remember his face?” Seokjin questions, a hint of worry in his voice that would make sense in any other situation than Taehyung’s.

“I…. have face blindness, it’s this whole-”

“Ah, Yes, Prosopagnosia, I heard about that in class.”

“Oh. Well, yeah, so this is my only way of finding him.”

“So the Penis Flyers-”

“Yeah, that was also me. Forgot to write down my info, got caught by my teacher, that was a whole mess.” Taehyung admits, feeling discouraged.

“So now you’re basically going around town asking every man to try on the metaphorical glass shoes.”

“Basically.”

“Maybe don’t start off with ‘please look at my penis’ next time?” Seokjin recommends, which makes sense.

“I’ve been told that asking if we’ve slept together first thing is making me sound sleazy.”

“Yeah well, asking people to look at your penis isn’t better.”

“I’ll take good note of that.”

+

He drags his feet all the way back home.

He sees, pushed in the corner of his room, the material he got to make a mold, and wonders if now is the time to give up.

His exhibition is coming up, this whole thing made him late on his projects, and now he’s certain he’ll never reunite with Mystery Man. Maybe Mystery Man just doesn’t want to be found. Maybe he’s seen all his attempts and has simply steered clear, avoiding him all along. Maybe it’s time for Taehyung to make himself a silicon version and move on. He’s exhausted all his options, he’s out of time, and out of ideas.

He’s reading through the molding instruction, glad that this should be easy since he’s using a sculpture and not an actual living and breathing dick, when he realizes he hasn’t exhausted all his options. There’s still hope.

He jumps in the shower, picks out an outfit befitting of his destination, and goes off with hope in his heart.

+

The Bar isn't too busy, this being the middle of a school week, but there’s still some people going about, sharing drinks and being loud, in total denial of the oncoming train that is the end of a semester

Taehyung spots the barman, beeline for him. 

“Hey, do you know who usually works on Sundays?”

“That would be me.” Mr.Barman says, convincing Taehyung he finally has luck on his side.

Mr.Barman is on the tall side, with nice tattooed arms and wavy over-bleached hair tucked behind his ears. He’s making his forearm bulge seductively by polishing some beer glasses, and if Taehyung wasn’t on a mission to find his possible Mr.Perfect, he would be actively trying to get into his pants. 

“Do you, by any chance, recognize me?”

Mr.Barman doesn’t miss a beat.

“You’re a regular. And you gave me a blowjob once. Why are you asking?”

Well, Taehyung might have many flaws but at least he’s consistent.

“I was wondering if you remembered seeing me a few weeks ago– I was with a dude, about this height, with this body,” he adds, pulling out the sketch. He looks a little crazed, once again. But it’s ok, he’s reaching for straws here. “He had dark hair, but that’s all I can tell you. See, I have face-”

“-Blindness, I know, you cry about it every time you get drunk.”

Hm. And Taehyung thought he was a character full of mystery.

“I do know who you’re talking about. He’s a regular too.”

The irritation Taehyung feels is only momentary, everything melting away with this new bit of information. Someone saw them, someone knows what his Mystery Man looks like. He didn't hallucinate the whole thing. 

“Do you know his name??” He asks, pleading with his eyes. His heart is thumping wildly in his chest, desperation tangible.

“No. And he hasn’t been here since that night.” He says, crushing every hope and dream Taehyung mustered up in the last five seconds. He pauses his polishing, head tilting to the side. “But I do remember his face. I can try and draw him if you want.”

10 minutes later, Taehyung is looking at his disability in the face.

“Wow, you did it. You perfectly illustrated how people with face blindness see others.” Taehyung says, looking down at the drawing Jungkook (he asked for his name) quickly scribbled on a piece of napkin. It looks exactly like how he sees others.

Jungkook being good-natured, only laugh it off. “I can’t do much here, I’m working. But if you give me your number, I can try and do a better sketch once I get home. I’m from the painting department.”

“You would do that for me?” Taehyung asks, feeling deeply moved by Jungkook’s kindness. 

“Sure, it’s good practice for my portrait class anyways. You can take this as a thank you for the blow job.”

Taehyung nods to himself. 

“I do give amazing blowjobs.”

+

Jungkook, like any good art student, does not appreciate being rushed.

After a whole week of being told “it’s not ready yet”, Taehyung stops asking. 

He also wakes up one morning and realizes he only has a few days left before his exhibition.

Not only is he not done with all his pieces, he still hasn’t started studying for his finales which happen to be the week before��his exhibition, meaning, the next day.

He pushes aside any thought of Mystery Man (except when he hugs the sculpture at night, heart yearning for the original), and jumps straight into his cramming strategy, which consists of hitting himself with the books until he’s absorbed the material. If he’s not studying, taking a finale, or sleeping, he’s huddled in the workshop with the other students of his department, functioning on coffee and eating various shades of sculpting material for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. This is not what Taehyung expected when he was told that artists live from their arts.

The day before his exhibition, he’s barely feeling human, he’s got dried clay in places clay should never find itself, he doesn’t know words anymore and he has basically forgotten his own name.

No matter how fast he works, he realizes he won’t be able to finish his last pieces in time. He’s wracking his brain for a solution, thinking long and hard about just what he could do, when it hits him. 

The solution is right underneath his nose; 

His penis. It was always his penis. 

He’s supposed to expose pieces that he finds impactful, and if there’s anything that had a big impact on his life in the last few weeks, it’s his sculpture.

He can’t tell his teacher, he’ll categorically refuse. Not after the stunt he pulled with the flyers. Plus he wouldn't understand the cultural reset it was for Taehyung, finding and crafting that beautiful creature.

So he sets to work in secret. It shouldn’t be too hard, he hasn’t printed his labels yet. Plus the students are in charge of installing their own corner, meaning he can wait until the very last moment before the opening to put his penis on display.

He needs to find a name for his sculpture, so he texts his friends for help, but as usual, they are unhelpful.

 Asshole with pink hair:

6:45 pm  ‘ Suck on that’

 Hyungie:

6:45 pm    why are you asking me idk

 Jung Hoseok 🌞 :

6:50 pm   “ Long lost lover”

 He’s glad to see that his new friend will fit right in once he introduces him to everyone. 

He isn’t satisfied with the answer he gets, so he sends more text.

 Kim Seokjin:

7:05 pm  “Is this your penis?”

7:06 pm   Or better yet, “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PENIS?”

7:06 pm   that way people will understand how current your art is

7:10 pm   Also I didn’t give you this number to chitchat

7:10 pm   after we find out his identity im cutting all ties with you

7:11 pm   Im just feeling invested right now

7:11 pm   that’s all

7:17 pm   Where’s your exhibition again?

Jeon Jungkook barman and artist:

9:56 pm  idk

9:56 pm  im almost done with the portrait btw

9:56 pm  you mind if I use it for my exhibition

9:56 pm  im really proud of it

 So not much more help on that side either.

+

The next day, Taehyung is busy setting up his corner and feeling emotional over his last exhibition.

He’s done with uni. He can go off into the world and live from his art. Or more like, he’ll first find a side job that’ll suck the life out of him, to pay for his art. Then he’ll spend a few years regretting every decision that led him to be an artist, but just as he’s about to give up, his sculptures will be noticed by a mysterious millionaire that’ll commission him thousands of dollars at first. He’ll refer him to his rich friend who will be all over his art and will throw their money at him.

Yeah, it’s a nice pipe dream.

He makes sure all the labels are in place, the lights are hitting his pieces in all the right way, and that no one notices him putting his penis in the middle of his space 30 seconds before they open the doors.

By the time his teacher notices, it’s already too late; the place flooded with friends, family, and even the occasional art critics that the university invited.

It’s not like his penis feels out of place in his setup. Most of his pieces are on the theme of the human body; studies of movement, skin texture, whatnot. If you look at it as a whole, you almost have a whole body. The only thing missing is a face, which is extremely fitting for Taehyung.

The wave of people coming is not preferable for Taehyung, since he doesn’t like crowded places. He’s never been a fan of their exhibition opening nights over the years. He keeps himself busy by trying his best to merge with the wall while people circle his pieces. His friends know he won’t be able to recognize them in the crowd, so they’ll come to him by themselves, he simply has to make himself visible.

“Hey babe,” Jimin says with mirth in his voice, “Is that greek?”

“Yeah” Taehyung answers, fixing his eyes on his most beloved and central piece. 

“I didn’t know you knew greek”

“I don’t, but Google does.”

The Penis is standing directly underneath his own spotlight, looking like a beacon of light, grabbing the envious stares of the people around it.

There’s a little white label by its base:

   Kim Taehyung

πέος, 2021

Red Clay  

(if you recognize this penis, please ask for the artist)

  “ What does it mean?”

“ Penis ”

Jimin hums, crossing his arm over his chest. “I guess I was not expecting anything less.”

Yoongi chooses that moment to appear, whistling his praise.

“So you did work this semester.” He jokes, bobbing his head with approval.

“Har, har.” Like he’s one to talk. He basically spent the last few months becoming one with his bed.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he expects it to be Hoseok or Seokjin telling him they’re here, but instead it’s from Jungkook, and it’s a picture.

A little gasp of surprise escapes him.

His hands shake as he opens up the text app, his heart thumping as the picture loads. He presses on it once it’s ready, taking up the full screen, and Taehyung can finally-... well, Taehyung can’t do anything with that. His case of face blindness is pretty severe, so even drawings are unrecognizable for him. But it’s something! A new clue! He can make a flyer out of this! He can-

“Why do you have a portrait of Namjoon on your phone?”

Time stops.

Yoongi’s voice echoes in his head, mocking him, but also stealing the carpet right from underneath his feet.

Why do you have a portrait of Namjoon on your phone?

A portrait of Namjoon

Namjoon

Namjoon, who stood in front of him silently, that day Yoongi invited him out, probably expecting some kind of reaction from Taehyung.

Namjoon who frequents the campus gym.

Namjoon, who’s tall and broad-shouldered.

Namjoon, who’s been around Taehyung for a while but was never told about his condition. 

Namjoon, who probably thinks Taheyung has been ignoring him all this time.

“Jesus fucking christ, My Mystery Man Is Kim Namjoon.”

Both his friends voice their confusion as Taehyung tries to rip his hair from his head.

“This penis belongs to Kim Namjoon, who doesn’t know I have face blindness, and who probably think I’ve been ignoring him all this fucking time.”

“Holy shit,” Yoongi says at the same time as Park Jimin, that prick, starts cackling uncontrollably. Taehyung always knew he was evil.

“This is- I’m so sorry but- This shouldn't be funny– But I can’t, it’s too funny.” He wheezes out in between laughter. “He was right there, probably confused as hell as to why you were showing his dick to everyone- I’m sorry this is so funny but also so, so sad. You never- oh my god.”

Under the attention of about half the gallery, he wipes the tears from his eyes, body convulsing with laughter.

“What the fuck are you waiting for.” He finally manages to say, taking a deep breath. “Hyung, didn’t you drag him here tonight?”

That seems to snap Yoongi out of his stupor.

“Fuck, yes he’s here, he’s... There!-” He says pointing somewhere, but then his voice dies down. “And now he’s leaving...”

Taehyung spots the man with a black cap currently walking out the exit with an angry stride. He reacts on instinct, running after his Not So Mysterious Man Anymore.

+

Kim Namjoon is having a very no good, very bad day. 

Not because of school, no. He aced all his finales, he doesn’t even need to get his grades back to know.

Not because of the weather either. No, it’s a beautiful spring day, and there’s a hint of cherry blossom in the air, wrapping the world in a romantic tint.

No, the reason he’s having a very no good very bad day, is because he can’t, for the love of God, get Kim Taehyung out of his head. 

It started with a very interesting dream, clearly drawing inspiration from the night they spent together. It woke him up at the crack of dawn, sweating up bullets and hard as a rock. Finding sleep afterward was nearly impossible, meaning his first precious day of vacation started way too fucking early.

Now music theory never sleeps, so he simply spent his morning trying to forget his dream, channeling all his energy on composing. 

But then Min Yoongi, long-time friend and co-compositor, had to go and ruin his fragile peace of mind by reminding him he had two tickets for the sculpting department exhibition, and Namjoon was obligated to show up. Meaning he would inevitably run into Kim Taehyung; Meaning he would agonize about him all day; Meaning , that he would be thinking about Kim Fucking Taehyung all day.

But it’s ok, because he was finally starting to come to terms with that too. Taehyung would probably ignore him again, and all he needed to do was circle the gallery once and get the fuck out.

But no.

Oh no.

Life had better plans.

Because right into the center of Taehyung's exhibition space, is his very own penis, standing proudly, mocking him.

He can recognize it from the flyers, so he knows instantly that it’s Taehyung’s work. 

He’s stunned by the audacity, wondering once again what he did to draw Taehyung’s ire upon himself. The flyers were not enough, no he had to go and put it on display as his final fuck you to Namjoon. Even wrote 'penis' in greek as a title, confirming Namjoon's theory that this is all a ploy to make fun of him.

Namjoon has had enough, he’s getting the fuck out of there. 

He spins on his heel at the speed of light, taking advantage of every inch of his long legs to walk out as fast as possible. He ignores the call of his name that follows after him, readjusting the cap on his head.

He’s fuming, feeling tears of frustration building up. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s been nothing but respectful of Taehyung. He’s been staying away from him too. 

He doesn’t deserve this.

He makes it a few blocks before his phone starts going off every 5 seconds with incoming texts, forcing him to finally look at it.

 Yoongi Hyung:

6:14 pm   Before anything, know that Taehyung suffers from severe face blindness.

6:14 pm   I know you know what that means you wikipedia rat

6:15 pm   I didn’t tell you cause it’s none of my business who he chooses to tell

6:15 pm   But the dumbass has been trying to find you for weeks using your dick because he had no other way to identify you

6:15 pm   Your pinning hasn't been exactly subtle either

6:16 pm    he ran after you when you left but I bet he’s pleading with the wrong person in the street right now

6:17 pm   Nice dick by the way

 He rereads the series of text to try and make sense of them. Only after the third read, does he finally understand.

Well, shit.

+

“Please Namjoon listen to me, you have to listen to me, I didn't mean to ignore you, I just didn't know it was you!-” Taehyung pleads, holding on to his sleeve.

“Can you please let go of me?!”

His voice sounds a little older than what Taehyung remembers, but he doesn’t have the time to think too much about that. Maybe he’s got a cold or something.

“-I can explain everything if you can just give me two minutes-”

“I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not this kind of person.”

Taehyung isn’t deterred, holding on to him desperately “-Please I swear just two- no, one minute, even one minute is enough-”

Someone clears their throat, tapping him softly on the shoulder. 

“Sorry sir, I believe my friend here is mistaking you for me.”

Now that’s a familiar voice. A voice he recognizes from many occasions. 

Taehyung lets go of his poor unsuspecting victim, taking a step back which is all it takes for them to run away from him.

He finally comes face to face with the source of all his past weeks' torment.

The height is there, the shoulders are there, the body proportions are there, the hair color is completely different, but Jimin did mention he changed it recently. He’s got the black cap on, the one that made Taehyung mistake a perfect stranger on the street for him.

It’s him. He found him. It’s his Mystery Man, his cinderella. He’s got him.

“Namjoon?”

“Yes, that’s me.” He confirms, voice gentle.

“Kim Namjoon.” He repeats, trying the name out on his tongue. His body is filling up with butterflies, and he can’t feel his toes.

“And here I thought you just could never remember my name.”

“I can explain–” He rushes, eager to get rid of the misunderstanding.

“It’s ok, Yoongi told me.”

“And about your penis–”

“Yes, Yoongi told me about that too.” Namjoon cuts him off, the tip of his ears getting pink.

“I’m so sorry– I should have asked your name then. I mean– you made me come four times .”

Namjoon chuckles, catching one of Taehyung’s hands mid flail and holding it with both of his, making his heart jump.

“We’ve basically known each other for years, so maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t. I don’t think I would have appreciated it then.”

“I guess that’s true. I’m still sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, I could have come up to you first. I mean, I’m the one who sneaked out in the morning. I had an 8 am class, by the way. I didn’t leave because I wanted to. But you have my number so… I assumed you would call me. ”

“I have your number...?” It's pretty vague, but it does ring a bell. He's got a blurry memory of time, around their first meeting, when Namjoon and he had exchanged their numbers for Yoongi related reasons. “That’s right, I do have your number. Fuck.”

“Well, I know now this wouldn’t have changed anything for you, since you simply didn't know it was me you were with.” Namjoon snorts, but not unkindly. More at the situation. 

But Taehyung still feels terrible.

“I’m so sorry.” He whines, feeling like burying his face in Namjoon’s chest. But they’re not there yet. “I tend to keep people at a distance to avoid misunderstandings.”

“It’s ok, I get it now. I guess I wish I knew before, but I get it now.”

“Good. I should have told you sooner. I was actually planning on doing it soon if that’s any consolation.”

“It is.” Namjoon murmurs, inching closer to him.

“Cool, cool cool.” Taehyung blurts out nervously.

This is it. This is his chance. Everything that has transpired in the last few weeks is leading up to this moment. 

"So," Namjoon starts when Taehyung has been silent for too long. "Yoongi said you were looking for me... Any particular reasons?"

"Well, yes." He answers but stops. All of this means nothing. It doesn't mean that Namjoon will accept to go out with him. He has no idea how Namjoon feels about him, and he sure as hell cannot tell by his facial expression. He's going in blind, no reason to believe that Namjoon wants to have to do anything with him. For all he knows, Namjoon is only here to settle the misunderstanding, and then be on his way. Maybe he's even mad about the penis flyers.

But then he also remembers that Namjoon is holding his hand right now. It's now or never.

He takes a deep breath for bravery and goes for it.

“Kim Namjoon, can I please take you out on a date?”

Namjoon doesn’t let him second guess himself, word leaving his mouth as fast as a blink.

“Absolutely.”

Apparently, they’ve gathered a crowd because there’s cheerful hooting and shouting erupting around them. But Taehyung pays them no mind as he goes in for a hug, Namjoon meeting him halfway.

“Wait, wait,” Namjoon says, suddenly, taking a step back. “I still don’t know why you put my penis on display at the center of your exhibition.”

Taehyung chuckles, bringing Namjoon back in. 

“Simple, ‘cause it’s a masterpiece.”

+

 2 months later

There’s a knock at the door, which throws Taehyung off. He’s getting ready for his date with Namjoon– their actual first date– and is not expecting anyone. Jimin knows the code, so it can’t be him, unless–

“Hello sir, would you be open to receiving the words of our lord and savior, Jesus Christ?”

“Jimin, I swear to god, I can tell it’s you by your voice. And no one from church would dress like you do, slut.”

Moving in with Jimin is as much a blessing as it is a curse. A blessing because, well, they’re best friends. A curse because his best friend’s favorite hobby is to try and prank him. Taehyung almost misses the time where Jimin was treating his face blindness as a taboo. 

Almost.

The last two months have been a whirlwind of life-changing events for Taehyung. 

First, moving in with Jimin is a pretty big deal. Not only has Taehung been living alone for the last three years, living with someone is sometimes a challenge for him. Wondering why a stranger is standing in your kitchen at 3 am, brain slowed down by sleep and the weak lighting not helping, isn’t always a recipe for success. But he’s slowly getting used to it, and Jimin, as much as he can be a prick, is being patient with him.

The second big event is, well, his current job. Somehow his workshop teacher, even after everything, recommended him for a job at a sculpture academy. He now teaches different types of sculpting medium to children, four nights a week. Pretty sweet gig.

At first, he was going crazy out of his mind worrying about working with children, but four weeks in and he’s feeling confident. He sat down with the kids the first week to explain to them what face blindness is, and although the children were initially confused, they now enjoy switching names with each other for the duration of his classes, to mess with his head.

Jokes on them, Taehyung also called their parents during that first week. So far, none of the children have noticed that their parents have been making them wear certain accessories every time they leave for the academy. Checkmates.

And the last big event, of course, is Namjoon. 

In between moving, his new job, and Namjoon’s own busy schedule, they have yet to go on an actual full-blown date. But they’ve slowly been getting to know each other. They make time to go on quick coffee dates sometimes, and they text none-stop. Namjoon hasn’t seen his new place yet, but they’ve hung out at Namjoon’s plenty of time. 

His boyfriend (he gets giddy thinking about that word) also showed up at the academy a few times to walk him back home (The first time he kept it as a surprise, but he quickly realized Taehyung didn’t like surprises; especially when it means having a tall stranger approach him in the dark without saying anything. Now he texts beforehand.)

“Do you like this outfit? Or should I go with my floral button-up?” He asks Jimin, who’s lounging on his bed after his failed prank attempt. 

“Why are you so stressed? It’s not like it's the first time you two see each other.”

“Because the chances of me getting laid tonight are extremely high and I want to look good.”

“Oh?” Jimin perks up, knowing full well Taehyung and Namjoon have been taking their time to get to know each other. “Should I sleepover at Hobi’s tonight?”

Another new development from the last two months: Jimin and Hoseok’s instant attraction. They’ve been dancing around each other since the exhibition, but it looks like it’s finally getting ‘ sleeping-over-at-each-others-place ’ serious.

“...Good idea,” Taehyung answers, not because he wants the house to himself (though it’s a nice perk), but he likes giving a little push to love sometimes.

His friend circle can finally be called a circle now. Somehow, Hoseok, Seokjin, and Namjoon just naturally fit into his now actually social, social life. Namjoon was the easiest since he already knew Yoongi and Jimin. Hoseok got it easy by becoming Jimin’s more-than-friend, and Seokjin just showed up one day with a video of that time, outside the gallery, when Taehyung thought an older gentleman was Namjoon because of his black cap. 

He looks at the time, curses when he realizes he’s going to be late. He grabs his wallet and puts on his shoes in a rush, and makes it out the door accompanied by Jimin shouting “Don’t you dare fuck on the couch or you’re buying a new one!”

He makes it to the Bar with only a few minutes to spare, and as luck would have it, Jungkook is working. He’s come to recognize his tattooed arm and bleached locks instantly. 

Namjoon would have texted him if he was there, which means he’s cutting it close as well, so he sends a quick ‘here 💖’ text before sitting down at the Bar with a big smile.

“You make me want to puke,” Jungkook says, disgust dripping from his words. 

“Hey now don’t be jealous, I’m sure you’ll find yourself a monster cock as well one day.”

Somehow, he and Jungkook started texting on a semi-regular basis. It’s mostly Jungkook begging Taehyung to introduce him to Seokjin (apparently he’s been crushing on the man since he first saw him at the coffee shop), which Taehyung has to find excuses every time to avoid telling Jungkook the cold, harsh truth.

(“I don’t date men with bleached hair, it ruins my whole aesthetic.” Jin said after the first time Taehyung asked. Which aesthetic he’s talking about, Taehyung has no idea.)

But that also means that Jungkook has heard all about his very fascinating and blooming love story with Namjoon.

“Did you tell Seokjin I said hi?”

“Dude, just go and ask him out. You know where he works, you know where he studies, you even know his birthday, which is really creepy when you two have never talked by the way. Just, go ask him out, he won’t be able to resist you once he actually sees how attractive you are.” He pauses for a second, then adds for safety measure, “But if he reaches in his pocket, just run the other way.”

“What?” 

“Don’t ask, just trust me.” Taehyung has some unpleasant flashbacks of a bottle of pepper spray being waved in front of his face. He shakes his head to try and get rid of the memory.

“And how would you even know that I’m attractive, you don’t actually know what I look like.” Jungkook retorts.

“Shut up, just go and ask him.”

“Just go and ask him what?” A familiar voice asks from behind him, and Taehyung's smile is back full force. He rotates on his chair and jumps into Namjoon’s arms, hearing him groan under the strain of his weight. He can hear Jungkook fake gagging behind him, the actual child.

They share a quick kiss before they both sit down at the bar.

“You’re not seriously thinking about having your date here, are you?”

Taehyung snorts, tempted to mess with Jungkook, but Namjoon is the one to answer.

“No we just wanted to get the evening started with a nice drink, but we have a reservation to an actual fancy restaurant, paid graciously by Taehyung's actual serious adult job.”

“Is it a serious adult job if he had to stop a kid from eating his donut-shaped clay yesterday?”

“Shut up. If you keep being like that I’m going to order the most annoying thing on the menu.”

Jungkook scoffs and walks away, without actually taking their orders.

They both watch him do a big show of ignoring them, answering other customers without turning in their direction.

“Let’s just get out of here.” Namjoon whispers in his ear. “We can go waste time walking around aimlessly, hand in hand.”

“God, you’re so cheesy,” Taehyung mutters, but he actually loves it.

His dating experience before Namjoon amounts to an enormous zero, but it’s not because he’s one of those unattainable, i-don’t-believe-in-love types of people that live rent-free in Hollywood movies. He simply never thought it would be possible to get close to someone romantically with his condition. But since officially meeting Namjoon, he’s been researching, and turns out, he totally can. 

There are even people, artists like him, who've noticed that repeatedly drawing or painting their loved one has made them actually able to remember their face (not 100% of the time, but he’ll take what he can get.). So he’s been sketching, using pictures, trying out different angles. He’s planning on using clay at one point. He’s totally the girl from Lionel Richie’s music video. Which makes Namjoon Lionel Richie.

“Did you know that I was inspired by Lionel Richie’s music video to sculpt your penis?”

Namjoon chuckles under his breath, squeezing Taehyung’s hand just a little bit more. The hot summer air is making their palms sweaty, but they both don’t care. 

“Where is that thing, by the way? It’s been a while since I’ve last seen it.”

“I put it on my bedside table when I moved in and I haven't moved it since. I’m thinking about making it into a lamp. I have to keep it out of reach of Jimin and Hoseok, they both seem a little too interested.”

Namjoon grimaces. Or Taehyung is assuming that’s his grimacing face. 

“Please never let it fall into their hands.”

“I swear on my honor, I shall protect your penis.”

“Thank you, I feel better now. I still can’t believe they put it on the first page of ‘Sculpting Now’. Crazy how all of your friends and the sculpting world know what my dick looks like.

“It’s a masterpiece. If it was mine I would never keep it in my pants, I’d always want to show it off.”

“How are you not in prison right now?”

“I don’t have your dick in my pants, sadly. Did you know that Seokjin almost pepper-sprayed me the first time we met? In retrospect, having a stranger run after you, pleading for you to look at their dick is a good excuse to pull out your pepper spray.”

“Wait, you did what?”

“It was all in the name of love.”

Namjoon shakes his head, probably disappointed in him.

+

Namjoon is utterly enamored. Every time Taehyung recalls a story from when he ran around school trying to find him, he falls a little bit more in love. 

He was so nervous for their first romantic date that he couldn’t eat during the day, but Taehyung is making him feel at ease, as he usually does, so hunger is coming back with a vengeance.

“Should we go to the restaurant now?” He asks, pulling Taehyung along with him. "It's almost time."

“Let’s.” Taehyung agrees readily, “I’m ravenous.”

They quickly make their way to the restaurant, only to find its door closed. There’s a sign in the window reading “Closed for vermin infestation”.

“Oh.” Namjoon says, “Dammit. That’s not good.”

There’s this awkward silence, filled with growling sounds from both their bellies. It’s too late to make reservations anywhere nice, and anywhere else risks being too loud for a romantic Rendez-Vous. Namjoon is scrambling his brain for a solution when Taehyung’s shy voice interrupts.

“Hum, if you want to– Jimin told me he wouldn't be home tonight, so… You want to come over? We can pick up some ramen on the way.”

Taehyung’s face might be neutral, but the blush growing on his cheeks is anything but. Namjoon takes a moment to appreciate the sight that he makes, burning up in embarrassment. Without the blushing, Namjoon would have believed he’s only inviting him for ramen, but the angry red of his cheeks is definitely betraying Taehyung’s intentions.

He nods his agreement, feeling anticipation replace hunger in the pit of his stomach.

+

 Having Namjoon in his space is a new experience. 

The apartment is still messy from their move, boxes lying around, but they’ve managed to make it quite homey. Everything that is necessary to their everyday life has been unboxed, only the odd objects being ignored by Jimin and him.

He puts on some soft music to set a nice mood, and Namjoon is humming along straight away, which is all the approval he needs to feel confident about his music selection. Music Theory graduate approved. 

 He gets to work on the ramen while he directs Namjoon on where to find a cheap bottle of wine and some wine glasses. He sets the table, trying to make it as nice as possible, but it’s really just a pot of bubbling ramen and two bowls with some chopsticks. 

They eat in comfortable silence, the music playing in the background mixing with the sound of their eating.

But then Namjoon dumps the content of his wine glass on his tan-colored pants, and it’s downhill from there.

“Damn it!” He curses, jumping to his feet. He grabs some napkins to try and pat some wine off, but it’s already been absorbed by his fancy suit pants. 

“Quick, take them off,” Taehyung says, not thinking too hard and only reacting to the situation at hand. “Let’s rinse them in the sink.” 

Namjoon complies, taking them off in record time, passing them on to Taehyung like it’s a relay race.

Taehyung deposits them straight in the sink, opening the tap and letting the water hopefully get rid of most of the stain. They both stand there for a minute, staring at the water filling up. 

But then it hits Taehyung that Namjoon’s thighs are currently bare and in his vicinity. He sneaks a quick peek to satisfy his horny brain, but he’s quick to snap his eyes back to the sink to avoid doing anything stupid.

Like, let’s say , dropping to his knees. 

He can feel himself blushing, his cheeks, ears, and neck feeling hot. He knew exactly what he was doing, inviting Namjoon for some ramen, but now that he can act on it, he’s suddenly feeling very shy. 

Plus, not being able to read facial expressions never really impaired his ability to get laid. He used to just– go to the bar, wait until someone would offer him to get out of there, and go for it. 

But this is not a bar, and Namjoon won’t ask him if he wants to get out of there. He has no idea how to tell if Namjoon wants to jump into bed with him. Or not. 

He takes matters into his own hands.

“So, as you know,” He starts, staring intently at the water flowing out of the tap, “this whole face blindness thing– I can’t really read your facial expressions. So in the future, it’ll be hard for me to figure out if you’re angry or happy, or sad, or… or horny. I’ve never done this whole– Romantic relationship thing, but I’m guessing we’re going to have to be really vocal with how we’re feeling, what we want, whatnot.”

He lets his statements hang in the air, staring at the stain that doesn’t seem to want to go away. He’s thinking maybe this will have to be removed professionally. 

But then, Namjoon chooses that moment to drop a soft kiss on his nape.

“Are you asking me, right now, if I want you?” 

Taehyung turns around, letting himself be cornered against the counter. Namjoon has his nicely defined biceps, somehow peeking through his suit vest, on each side of him. He absolutely loves it.

“Yes. I am.”

Namjoon kisses his neck once again, and Taehyung is this close to losing it. 

“I absolutely want you.” His boyfriend finally answers, landing a heavy kiss on his lips, sucking all the air out of Taehyung’s lungs.

 After turning Taehyung’s inside to mush via lips on lips crime, he returns to his assault on Taehyung’s neck, peppering the skin he can reach with sweet kisses, each one sending electricity straight to his groin. 

“Do you want me?” Namjoon questions softly into his ear, making Taehyung's eyes roll back so far he’s scared they’ll never come back. 

“Fuck yes.” He grinds out, voice turning to a whine when Namjoon, emboldened by Taehyung’s enthusiasm, rocks his pelvis into his in a languid motion.

He sees white then, bringing Namjoon’s mouth back to his, smashing their mouths together in a wet and messy kiss.

“How important are your pants?” He inquires in between kisses, enjoying the slow grinding Namjoon has going on. He’s still in his suit pants, but Namjoon only has the thin cotton of his boxer brief as a barrier. Taehyung can clearly feel his monster cock waking up from its slumber. 

“Not very important.” He finally answers, hands letting go of the counter to firmly grab at Taehyung’s ass. 

Taehyung can proudly say he’s got a fat ass, and Namjoon seems to appreciate it if the growl that escapes him is anything to go by.

He gets to work on the buttons of Namjoon’s dress shirt, Namjoon getting the message and taking his vest off by himself. Soon he’s standing there in only his boxer briefs and socks, while Taehyung is still fully dressed.

It’s kind of hot. 

They slow it down a little, Taehyung pushing Namjoon away so he can take a good look at him. 

The light of the kitchen falls almost gracefully over Namjoon’s defined chest, creating shadows that chisel out his muscles even more. It’s a sight to behold. 

He drags his hands down Namjoon's body, teasing a nipple as he goes with a flick of the thumb, mapping out his taut stomach with the tip of his finger, then coming back up to hold onto his strong shoulders.

“You know, I’m like, really good at massages. I feel like this is something you should know.”

Seems like this is all the time Namjoon will allow him away from him. He reels him back in with an arm around his waist, the other taking hold of one of Taehyung’s hands and bringing it to his mouth. He nips at his fingers, maintaining eye contact while he uses his tongue to soothe the sting.

How he’s even real is beyond Taehyung.

“Do you need help undressing?” Namjoon teases, reaching for his belt.

“Let me close the tap and we can move this to my room.” 

Namjoon doesn’t give him a response, only cages him once again against the counter, plastering the full length of his warm body to his. He reaches behind Taehyung and moments later, the soft ambiance music is the only thing they can hear again. 

Taehyung leads him to his bedroom, taking off his vest as they go. Somehow Namjoon already got his belt buckle, so he unceremoniously drops his pants to the floor, then jumps on his bed.

“Welcome to my room. That’s my desk, that’s my bedside table, that’s a replica of your penis, but I heard the original is planning on making an appearance tonight. This is my bed. Hope you enjoyed the tour.” He finally gets to the final button, looking up eagerly as he sends his shirt off to the side, wondering what’s taking Namjoon so long to get on the goddamn bed.

He finds his lover completely captivated by his penis duplicate.

“You’ve got the same one in your pants, you know. Get you your ass over here.” 

“Sorry I was just thinking… it’s crazy how similar you made it only from your memory.”

“Excuse me?” Taehyung objects, crossing his arms over his chest. “They’re not just similar, they’re identical.” 

“Only one way to check, is there?” Namjoon taunts, before finally, finally getting rid of his briefs, releasing the Kraken. 

Except he also grabs hold of the sculpture, bringing it close so he can do a side-by-side comparison. 

“You’re right, it is identical. How did you even manage that?” He says, awe in his voice. “Have you ever used it on yours–” 

Namjoon loses his train of thought as he takes in the sight of Taehyung, laying in bed completely naked, pumping himself at a leisurely pace and looking very unimpressed. 

“No, I haven’t. But if you don’t get into bed in the next 5 seconds I just might consider it.”

Namjoon doesn’t have to be told twice.

[tooruluv]

Kozume Kenma x F!Reader x Tetsurou Kuroo ( part 2 )

❝ i’m right here, when are you going to realize that i’m your cure, heartbreak girl? ❞

description: kozume kenma didn’t know the exact day in which he realized that he was in love with you. he knew very well that it was sometime after your first “hello”, but the exact moment got whisked away in the many memories that included you. the problem was, though, that you were in love with and in a serious relationship with the boy he claimed as a best friend.

genre: angst, pining, unrequited love, (characters are aged up as the story continues)

word count: 2,527

warnings/notes: next chapter will be more kenma!! think of it like a back and forth between kuroo and kenma's views but also.. not like that. ANYWAY i love feedback so please let me know what you think!! <3

tag list: @elianetsantana​ @vhskenma​ @jennasquishy8​

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“ it was that summer i learned your number like it was my own. i still remember that first september driving you home. ”

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Tetsurou Kuroo was a very patient person. But when it came to you, it was the opposite. He fell in love with you instantly, like a grain of sand being washed away by a wave. And the second he realized his feelings, he told you.

You were a year below him, beautiful and intelligent. You didn’t attend Nekoma, but he always found you wherever he went. At the convenience store, you would happen to be checking out. At the mall, you would be in the food court. It felt as though he would see you everywhere, as if fate were telling him to find you.

Kuroo took his shot at flirting with you, though it was unsuccessful because the man may be good looking and quite popular but an awful flirt. You thought it was cute.

So, he was ecstatic when you told him you would go on a date with him.

And that little movie date turned into a million dates. Cue the montage of the both of you, giggling together and having the best summer of your lives. Cue the scenes of water gun fights and laughter, of dancing in the moonlight and falling down hills, of picnics and jumping into pools. He really did fall in love with you in the matter of two months.

He told Kozume Kenma about you the minute he realized he adored you. He told his best friend about the summer romance, talking nonstop about the girl he knew he fell for with ease. Kenma didn’t believe him at first, rolling his eyes at Kuroo’s claim of “dating a girl from a different school”.

But Kenma was observant above all else, and Kuroo knew that he didn’t have to prove it to him. He knew that the second Kenma noticed his lockscreen, he would know that he wasn’t lying.

“That’s her?” Kenma asked at lunch, eyes catching the cute picture of you two as Kuroo’s wallpaper.

“Yes it is!” Kuroo locked his phone again, showing it off. It was a selfie he took, both of you smiling and shining against the sun. It was his favorite picture.

But pictures only last a moment.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Tetsurou Kuroo asked you one night.

You giggled, staring at the most handsome man in the universe, “Of course. I thought you would never ask and I would be pining forever.”

You were crying. That was for certain.

It was September, the crisp air and the reds and oranges brought the world to rest. But you were up, and Kuroo was a phone call away.

“Hello?” Kuroo asked the instant he answered his phone. It wasn’t every day that your summer romance calls you at the asscrack of dawn. In the middle of a thunderstorm, no less.

“Hi.” Your voice was small and choked. Kuroo wasn’t asleep yet, but now his body was fully awake.

“What’s wrong?”

“Can you come pick me up? Please?”

You didn’t need to explain any more. You didn’t have to give him a reason to put on some sweatpants, get into his car, and drive to where you told him you were. It was an hour drive but it felt like five minutes.

When he arrived, you were curled on the porch of a cabin with dried tears on your cheeks and his hoodie on (and soaked to the core). He parked his mom’s car and you instantly stood and rushed to the car as if it was the safest place in the world.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He offered as you closed the door. You hadn’t looked at him.

“Not really. Just family, I guess.” You shrugged. He watched you shiver a little.

“Here.” Kuroo reached to the backseat and handed you an extra hoodie he had laying there. “It was in my practice bag so it might smell like sweat.”

“Thanks.”

It was the most silent that it had been between the two of you, and you had been together for a little while. Not officially, but a summer’s worth. Small sniffles and little sounds of the rain hit the window were the only sounds.

He decided to reach across the seat and place a hand on your thigh. You shivered at the touch and instantly started to cry harder, grabbing his hand with both of yours.

With your two hands clasped around his, and his still grabbing your thigh, you finally told him of that night. Through tears, you told him about how your family wanted to go to this cabin on the lake for a little get away before it got too cold, but it quickly turned into a million different fights. You told him about how awful your family life usually was, and why you are constantly out with him or with your friends from your school. You told him everything. And he listened.

By the time you were done, you were nearly home. Your eyes were still red.

“You can stay with me.” Kuroo told you as he pulled into his house. You looked so small, with a red face, wet hair, and his hoodie swallowing you. You were beautiful.

You blinked at him. “No, it’s okay. I can just go home. No one is there and…”

“I’m not telling you to sleep with me.” He tried to lighten the mood. You let a smile creep onto your lips, he noticed. “I just don’t think it’s best for you to sleep on your own tonight.”

“I do want to sleep with you.” You said. “I mean… sleep beside you. Sleep in the same bed.”

Kuroo flipped his hand up to intertwine your fingers with his. You were still kind of cold to the touch. “Come on. You need sleep more than I do, and I had like nine tournament games earlier.”

Tetsurou Kuroo was a brutally honest person. His intellect matched his wit, and he knew more than he ever let on. He could very well insult you and compliment you within the same two words. But it was this honesty that started the first decline in the relationship.

But you fell in love with him anyway.

The sun hung low in the sky as the two of you laid on the grass. Kuroo’s legs touched yours as you leaned against his side. The air got cooler and the evening grew.

“You should meet my friends.” He told you. It was his first time offering. It was something that you were kind of nervous about, knowing that he had an entire team that looked up to him and knowing that he was incredibly popular. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He turned his head to the side, taking you in with a beautiful gaze. He thought you were brilliant in the sunlight. “I’m sure they think I’m insane, talking about a girl that they’ve never met and think I’m making you up. Oh, and you’ll love Kenma.”

“I finally get to meet the infamous Kozume Kenma?” You chuckled. He did too.

You’ve heard so much of the claimed best friend, and you were intrigued. He sounded like the perfect best friend, for both you and for Kuroo. He sounded to be the perfect piece of earth to ground the cloud that was your boyfriend.

“There’s a party coming up, you have to come.” He started to go off on a tangent and go on and on about his friends, his volleyball team mostly, and you just listened.

You kissed him to shut him up, and he stared blankly at you.

“You’re gorgeous.” you told him.

“And so are you.” he replied.

Tetsurou Kuroo wasn’t an idiot. He was actually incredibly intelligent and observant. However, he didn’t catch the sparks fly off of Kozume Kenma at the very first interaction between you and him. He didn’t see the heart eyes glowing out of Kenma’s head, and he didn’t feel the warmth Kenma grew at the very sight of you.

As your friendship grew with Kenma, Kuroo couldn’t help but be happy. Not only because you were getting along with his best friend, but because he could see how Kenma let down his walls with you. It wasn’t very often that Kenma opened up to anyone. For that to be you meant the world to Kuroo.

One day, after practice and then studying, Kuroo called you. “Hey baby.”

“Hey!” you answered after, like, one ring.

“What’s up, do you want to have a movie night or something?” Kuroo heard noises behind you. “It’s almost Christmas! We can watch a corny Christmas movie and eat terrible snacks.” Another noise from behind you. “Hey, where are you at?”

“I’m at Kenma’s.” You answered. Kuroo didn’t know why he felt his stomach drop, but he deflected it.

“Oh, okay cool!” He started to put on his shoes. “I’m on my way, then.”

“Okay! Hey, Kenma!” Your voice distanced. You were talking to the background noise, aka Kozume Kenma. “Kuroo’s on his way over!”

Not that Kuroo should feel jealous of you hanging out at his friend’s house, but he did kind of feel something in the back of his mind. Because Kenma had become your friend, too. And Kenma’s doors were always open (and he knew how important that was to you).

All of his strange feelings went away the second he entered the house and saw the two of you. The two most important people in his life.

The fights got worse and worse as the relationship continued. They started as small bickerings; “I told you that I didn’t want this!” or “Please call me back, I haven’t heard from you all day”. Simple things that could easily be resolved. They spiraled into a constant fight about things such as “what ifs” (what happens when Kuroo goes to college, what if this happens), and into the same fight about Kuroo being terrible about communication and about you just wanting to ignore the fight instead of discussing it.

By half a year into the relationship, you spent most of your free hours with Kenma.

All fights would end with you calling him. Or just coming over and not speaking. Or even just enjoying dinner with his family. Any reason for why you wouldn’t come home or talk to your boyfriend.

The fight at the time had ended pretty brutal.

You waited and waited at a restaurant, sitting at a booth by yourself. You continued to order waters, typing on your phone to see where Kuroo could possibly be when he promised you that he would meet you for a dinner date. You sat through the stares of the waitresses. You sat through free bread and free water.

After a couple of hours, you gave up. You weren’t even upset, you were angry. It isn’t the first time that he had left you hanging, and you decided that it wouldn’t be the last. You were so pissed off that you texted him one last sentence, “seriously fuck you”.

You stormed into Kenma’s house, rage seething off of you. Kenma only looked up from his game for a moment and moved over so you could sit next to him on the bed.

“I’m guessing the dinner date didn’t go well.” was all he said. You sighed, rolling your eyes and shoving your feet under his blanket. You were still dressed up.

“Don’t even get me started.” You huffed.

Your phone started to ding with Kuroo’s replies (finally, after hours of silence). You just turned off the sound and watched Kenma play.

For a while, you curled next to him and watched him play. He was extremely aware of your warmth, of your heat. He had to stop himself from putting his head on top of yours.

He paused the game. “You should answer him.”

But you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to sit and tell him for the million and first time that he needed to communicate with you. You didn’t want to answer it and hear his apologies. You wanted to sit with Kenma, in silence, and watch him play his stupid (but actually pretty interesting) game. You just wanted to relax after stressing for the past hours.

“Fine.” You clicked the green button the next time it rang.

“Hey babe.” Kuroo sounded solemn. Sincere. Guilty. “Hey. I’m so sorry I haven’t texted you, I stayed after practice for a while and ended up hanging out with some of the Karasuno first years. I totally forgot.”

“I waited there, you know.” Your voice was laced with venom. Kenma had never heard you speak like that, and frankly, he was a little bit scared of you. “I waited. For hours. In the fucking restaurant, Tetsurou.”

Tetsurou. He had never heard you call him that.

“I know, I know. I’m so sorry. You should’ve reminded me!”

“I should have reminded you?” You let out a laugh. Kenma tilted his head. “I should have reminded you? Did you not read my texts or are you just blind? Don’t you turn this on me like you always fucking do.”

It spiraled from there. Halfway through the fight, you turned to Kenma. You muted yourself, vaguely listening to him argue over the speaker.

“I’m sorry. I’ll go outside.”

“It’s okay.” Kenma shrugged. “It isn’t like it’s the first time.”

You bit the inside of your mouth. You squeezed his shoulder before getting back on the phone, heading outside. You mouthed another apology to him as you left.

Things weren’t always that way. The fights and the arguments were just between the love and affection. Because Tetsurou Kuroo really did love you, and you loved him.

It was coming to the end of his third year, and the majority of your time consisted of spending a lot of time with him. You were laying with him at his house. His body was wrapped around yours, your back against his chest.

“Hey, you should join us for the trip this summer.” He asked.

It was still months away. The graduated third years from Nekoma and some from other schools that you’ve seen them go against (Fukurodani Academy, Karasuno, Aobajohsai, some others you couldn’t think of). It was basically “let’s get all of the volleyball boys, and our girlfriends, and get away for the summer after we graduate and get drunk/high every night”.

“Really?” You turned around in his arms. His hand didn’t leave your waist. “You really want me to come along? I thought it was supposed to be just the volleyball boys.”

“No, I know Bokuto is bringing his girlfriend. And so is Tanaka from Karasuno, and I think little Hinata has a girlfriend now too.” Kuroo smiled at you. “You should come. I really want you there.”

You pecked his lips. “Yeah, of course I’ll come.”

That’s how you ended up in the backseat of Kotaro Bokuto’s car in between Kuroo and Kenma on your way to a cabin by a lake.

[blackenedwhite97]

Storge (Familial Love)Pt.2- EraserMic x Student!Reader

This post includes: Mentions of loss of family, cursing, mentions of fiscal problems, mild violence and injury, a prominent homosexual relationship, and mentions and depictions of anxiety.

Original Request: “Imagine living all by yourself. You’re a teenager that lost their parents years ago and refused to become a part of the foster system. So now you work and take care of your own apartment all while going to school at U.A. It was starting to take a real toll on you when Mr. Aizawa and Mr. Yamada approached you, like concerned parents. It could be written as platonic or romantic. (Not with the reader, I'm talking about Mic and Eraser)”

Authors Note: 

As per usual I over wrote! This will be divided into two chapters. I went off on a bit of a tangent with this one but to be fair i wrote the first half over two months ago and the second half this week.

Word Count: 5.6k

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Chapter 2

That day you walked home in your new coat; the wind’s bitter teeth unable to gnaw at your bones like it used to. When you reached your front door, you didn’t want to shrug it off and toss it into the pile of sweaters and hoodies you kept near the door for cold days. You wanted to keep it on even if that meant, for the first times since the weather had changed, you’d be sweating through your clothes. It was new, you like new. It was a gift; you’d forgotten how much you like gifts. You cooked in the coat, did your homework in your coat and eventual fell asleep on your couch swaddled in the warm fur hood.

When the sun broke through your blinds the next morning you uncurled yourself, reluctantly peeling off the coat in favor of getting some fresh air on your sweaty skin. You checked the time on your phone, 5:32 AM. It was still early and you wagered you could sneak in a couple more hours of sleep before you had the be in class, but you overflowing kitchen garbage can caught your eye and you decided you’d rather use this time to maybe take care of somethings you’d let slide. First order of business was to clean your dishes, the counters, and gather all the miscellaneous trash scattered around your apartment. The second was to take said trash to the complex’s communal waste bin across the parking lot. Your apartment was starting to look like a functioning home again, the next thing to go was the pile of warm layer next to the door, you wouldn’t be needing those anymore.

The snow crunched under your feet, more had fallen throughout the night and it hadn’t yet been disturbed by the day’s traffic. The sky was pink and the rooftops white, and in the early morning silence your neighborhood didn’t look half bad. You lifted the heavy metal lid to the trash bin, tossing your over-stuffed bag before the seams could give way. With a clang you dropped the lid, the sound resonating through the streets. A dog barked in response and the world returned to silence.

You took a deep breath of crisp clean air and for a moment everything faded, only the blazing sky and your swirling breath mattered. Then the snow behind you started to crunch, footsteps moving closer. You turned around, suspicious of anyone else up and about this early in the morning. You were met with two familiar sleepy eyes peeking out from behind a thick grey scarf.

“Mr. Aizawa, G-good morning?” you greeted awkwardly.

“Uh, yeah. Good morning.” He said back, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I’m- just heading back from a night patrol. Sorry if I startled you.”

“I didn’t know you patrolled around here.” You’d never seen him before, which you guessed was technically the point.

“I-” he paused. “Just expanded my patrol range recently.”

“Oh, good to know.” You smiled at him; you rarely saw heroes here. If you did it wasn’t for long.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you in class.” He started to turn away.

“Hey, Mr. Aizawa?” An idea suddenly popping into your head. He paused and looked back at you. “I- since I have my provisional licence I’m allowed to patrol with a licensed hero and if you’re in the area on my night off-”

“No.” He said, turning back away. “You’re too loud. I’m sure Mr. Yamada would be willing to take you on patrol, if you ask nice enough. He can’t stealth to save his life.”

“I am not!” you huffed. “I can stealth if I want to!”

Still turned away from you chuckled. “Prove it in class today, then maybe.”

He started away again and in mere second scaled your building and leap across the roof out of view. You made you way back to your apartment, taking care to step slowly and as carefully as the snow would allow it. You’d show him stealth!

Mr. Aizawa wasn’t kidding about class. The whole obstacle course was built around stealth, evade capture for thirty minutes with no use of force and pass. It was in teams, you failed, your team also failed. You, as you were fully aware were, the least subtle out of your teammates. He had grouped you together on purpose, you knew it. You had to think logically, you had to plan to move around as little as possible. You ended up pulling a cluster of debris around you and your team in the middle of what looked like a junk yard, using your power to keep them in place as All Might thundered around looking for you.

        While it definitely was suspicious that this pile of debris wasn’t moving while the world’s strongest hero was lunging around, shaking buildings with each impact Mr. Aizawa passed your team. You were dismissed early for lunch with your team, beaming as you left the training grounds. You’d passed, proved you were stealthy.

        After you had wrapped up your lunch you decided to head back to your home room early, you were tutoring a first year in history and needed to take time to refresh your memory. Why not in an empty classroom?

        You knocked on the door tentatively, hoping Mr. Yamada had taken his lunch outside of his room. That, however, wasn’t the case. “Hello?”

        You slid the door open a fraction. Mr. Yamada and Mr. Aizawa sitting across from each other on two student desks, a convenience store bought bento open between the two of them. “Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt I was looking for a quiet place to study.”

        “Your always welcomed in your homeroom! Come in, we’ll keep the talking to a minimum.” Mr. Yamada waved you inside as he hopped off his desk to grab a white steaming cup from the edge of his desk. “What are you studying?”

        “First year history.” You held up your worn out textbook. “I tutor some of the underclassmen.”

        “Any from my class?” Aizawa asked.

        “E-Eijiro Kirishima.” You were pretty sure he was in Mr. Aizawa’s class, the kid sure complained about him enough anyways.

        “Hm.” He shrugged to himself. “I wondered how he suddenly started passing most of his tests.”

        “Speaking of passing…” you trailed off looking at Mr. Aizawa expectantly.

“Yes, you did.” He sighed into his coffee.

“See, I can be stealthy!” you exclaimed, clutching your book to your chest.

“No, you can hide. You tripped over your own feet leaving for lunch.” Mr. Aizawa grumbled.

“But you passed me!” You chirped. “You said that if I passed you’d take me on a patrol!”

“I said maybe I’d consider it” he corrected you.

“Sho.” Mr. Yamada chided him, eyes peering over his orange glasses.

“I-” Mr. Aizawa looked at his partner, then over to you. You gave him the sweetest smile you could muster, Mr. Yamada doing the same. “When’s you’re next night off?”

“Thursday.” Your smiled grew genuine.

“I’ll be in your neighborhood around 8, take a nap after school and don’t be late the next day.” He instructed, eyeing Mr. Yamada frustratedly.

“Yes, sir!” you bowed. You began backing out of the room.

“Aren’t you going to study?” Mr. Yamada called as to were just about to breach the doorway.

“Right! Yes, thank-you!” You scurried forward, taking your usual desk and opening the textbook.

The next few days passed, work claiming your evening, classes taking up your days until you found yourself lacing up your boots at your front door waiting for 8 o’clock on Thursday evening. You’d seen Mr. Aizawa once in your neighborhood since Tuesday morning, and he was sporting a bruise that seemed to disappear by the beginning of class that very same day. You supposed he had access to Recovery Girl’s powers in the morning before the building filled up with students.

You leaned against your window frame, staring out into the parking lot waiting for the familiar darkly dressed silhouette to appear against the snow. When he finally leaped down from your roof you raced out the door to meet him. you slide to a stop in the slippery snow, spattering his legs with wet slush.

“Subtle.” To your surprise an entertained grin tugged at his lips. “I have a specific surveillance target tonight. I want you to get your patrol experience but if I tell you to turn tail or stay back you do as I say, got it?”

You nodded. “Who is it?”

He stared walking; his footsteps impossibly silent in the dense snow. You now realize, if had wanted to hide his presence the other morning, he could have. You tried to mimic his soft steps, but your pace suffered and you found yourself trailing behind him.

“His alias is Earth Breaker, he’s an elemental type villain. He can control earth at his will, that means projectiles of stone and a solid defense.” Mr. Aizawa briefed you.

“Any we’re surveying him because?”

“Remember that apartment complex that went down last month about six block from here?”

“That was him?”

“Yeah. He killed lots of people in that building.” Mr. Aizawa paused and looked at you. “I’ll tell you when we need to stealth you can just walk normally for now.”

You straightened up and jogged to catch up to him matching his strides until he began to slow about six blocks later.  He held up a hand and turned to you. “Stay fifteen feet back, don’t lose me.”

You nodded and strayed off to the side of the sidewalk where a hedge of wild bushed would give you quick cover if you needed it and began to follow Mr. Aizawa from a distance. He ducked into an open gate, melting into the darkening yard, you hugged the fence and peered into the dark until you caught a glimpse of him moving again. He darted across the yard and you ducked into the gate just in time to see him jump the farthest fence. You dashed to the fence, careful to slow down so you didn’t make a loud impact against it. On the other side Mr. Aizawa’s rough voice whispered through the gaps in the wood. “The house across the street to the east, you see it?”

You looked to the east along the fence, you were in a perfect position to keep an eye on the top floor of windows. “Yeah.”

“Keep an eye on the top windows, I’m moving in. Text Mr. Yamada- Hizashi- the street name and district if things go awry. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary. Understood?” this a quiet thud a phone landed at your feet, a text chain with Hizashi already on the screen.

“Roger.” You nodded, grabbing the phone from the ground. You heard him leave but not where he went, and for several long minutes you waited in silence. Nothing in the windows stirred save the lights going on in a room, then going out again. You pre-typed the text to Mr. Yamada in case you had to send it quick and waited. You kept waiting. The street was so silent that you felt as though outside of yourself time had stopped.

You sat in limbo until suddenly the ground beneath you began to tremble. Waves of tremors rolled past you, flowerpots clattered on their saucers and fences began to sway. You stood up and dashed toward the gate, fighting against the tremors to stay on your feet. A loud bang rang out through the streets, echoing from the house across the street. You latched onto the top of the gate and peered over it just in time to see a cloud of dust washing towards you. You ducked until the worst of it washed passed you, by this time lights all around the neighborhood had begun to turn on a civilian peaked out of windows and doors.

You held your breath and hauled yourself over the fence, landing in a bed of flowers, you felt a tinge of guilt about crushing. Through the settling dust you could see the front of the house you’d been watching; it was covered in dust and the front door was hanging on by a single hinge. In the doorway a hulking man stood, his arms braced against the door frame which had fishers running through it that bled into the walls. His eyes were a light with an animalistic rage, the type of rage only a mad man could carry inside.

As the dust continued to roll back you could see more of the street, rocks and dirt scattered everywhere. Shingles and chunks of siding rained down from the house and bounced off the street. Mr. Aizawa crouched in the street, dust rolling off of him as he shielded the bottom half of his goggled face. You looked at the phone in your hand then back at him, he still seemed so calm. You left the message unsent.

“A SPY?!” The man in the doorway roared. He brought one of his great fists down onto the stone walkway at the front of the house and a fissure formed, snaking across the ground towards Mr. Aizawa. “THEY SENT ANOTHER SPY?!”

Mr. Aizawa launched himself backwards, barely escaping the crumbling ground beneath him. He should have been faster; you could have gotten away quicker than that. You watched as he landed, quickly shifting his weight to his left foot immediately after hitting the ground. He’s hurt.

You hit send. Better safe than sorry.

Earth Break fired off two quick fire blasts, Mr. Aizawa easily skirting one but heading straight into the middle of another. You shot out your hand and thought about pulling him towards you out of the way. He grunted as he was jerked backwards, landing and sliding into the grass. He side glanced at you, keeping his head turned towards the enemy. His hand hung at his side flinched, his fingers motioning for you to back up. You did as you were told, scrambling sideways into some bushes that lined the yard you were in. He stood and took off, even on his injured leg he managed to fade away into the night.

Behind you a low creak altered you to someone peeking out of the front door. You turned around and saw a man wrapped in his house coat staring wordlessly at the behemoth across the street currently smashing apart the driveway. You whistled quietly at him, his eyes darting to you. He stopped himself from shouting in surprise with a hand over his mouth and a calming breath. You crawled closer to him with a finger help to you lips.

“Get back inside, to the rear of the house!” you whispered.

He looked back across the street and his eye swelled with fear as he took a step back inside the house, this time a yell escaping him. You spun around to see a chunk of the road hurdling towards the house. Thinking quickly, you darted towards it and just as it passed over head pulled it towards you with your quirk. You rolled to the side narrowly escaping being totally crushed, instead getting away with a nasty gash in your arm from a stray piece of rebar. You jumped to your feet and looked back at the house, the owner was a few feet inside frozen with fear.

“Run!” you shouted at him. With a tremendous grunt behind you another chucked of road was launched towards you.

“ANOTHER ONE!” he roared.

You darted in the only direction you could at the moment, the house. You rushed in through the door,  and pushed the man inside along as you did. You breached the kitchen just as the boulder crashed through the doorway, tearing into the walls as it did. Debris flew everywhere, pieces of wood and insulation filling the air. You pulled the man through his house until you both burst through into the backyard.

“Keep going!” you huffed as you spun around and darted back through the house.

You breached the crater where the front door had once been, the shadow of a massive dust storm beginning to swallow the top of the house. Rocks and dirt and chunks of boulders began whipping around, leaving the house was next to impossible unless you wanted to be bludgeoned with debris. Windows shattered, the ground shook and the foundation began to crumble beneath you. The cement base tore through the carpeted floors in spears, you had to jump left and right narrowly avoiding serious injury until you made it to the stairs where the spears were having a harder time getting at you.

Then everything stopped, the spears crumbled into sand and the ground stilled. The house moaning as it settled back into its uneven foundation. The street quieted, almost back to the timeless silence before the chaos had begun. A single roar of anger pierced the air, cut short with a grunt. You steadied yourself on the stair railing and made your way on uneasy legs to the front yard. Mr. Aizawa stood, covered in dust and debris, with a single boot pressed into Earth Break’s chest. His hands pulled tightly on his capture weapon, restraining the boulder of a man below him.

The street began to fill with lights and sirens, the cool blue darkness of the night flooded with red and white. Police piled out of their cars and vans to load the villain into an armoured truck for transport. You plopped down onto the front steps, brushing aside an uprooted plant. You sat and watched the arrest, watched how many officers it took to contain just one man. He was the definition of raw power, one stray kick tearing off a police car door.

Once he disappeared into the truck you leaned back onto your arms, you were beat. You were sore and exhausted, but you were also in a strange perverse sense happy. Perhaps it was the adrenalin of what you’d just gone through still coursing through your system or the afterglow of a technically successful patrol, but you felt like this was what you were meant to be doing. This hero thing, this was for you.

When a pair of ambulances arrived, you watched as the paramedics jumped into action. One of them offering medical treatment to Mr. Aizawa who, you had only just noticed, was making a b-line towards you. He waved off the paramedic, limping towards you on his injured leg.

“Are you alright?” He grunted, lowering himself onto the step next to you.

You looked over yourself, your sleeve was torn, and arm was scratched up from the rebar in the boulder but you would live. It immediately started to thrum with pain when you looked at it, the blissful ignorance of adrenaline wearing off as soon as you actually took stock of the injury. You were covered in dirt and dust, but you still felt good, despite your injuries.

“Yeah. Just a scratch.”  You shrugged. “How’s your leg?”

“I’ll live.” He grumbled looking down at his torn pant leg. “Thanks for that by the way, the save earlier. Even if you did put yourself directly into harm’s way, like an idiot.”

You chuckled to yourself. There was always a learning opportunity with him.

“No problem?”

You both sat in silence for a moment, watching some of the police cars start to leave.  It was him who spoke next. “So, where’s my phone?”

“Oh,” you looked over your shoulder at where you had dropped it, a large boulder sitting in the wake of a deep groove in the lawn. “it’s-”

“Under that boulder?” he sighed.

You nodded solemnly; you couldn’t afford to replace that phone.

“Well, at least it’s not you under the boulder.” He turned back to face the street.

Was that… a glimmer of fondness? You smiled to yourself, a familiar warmth blooming in your chest. You still missed that, people being glad to have you around. You didn’t really spend enough time around people to feel that anymore.

“Okay,” Mr. Aizawa pushed himself to his feet. “let’s get that armed checked out.”

“It’s a scratch, I’m fine.”

“It’s flesh eating bacteria waiting you kill you.” He said, pulling you up with surprising strength for a guy with a bum leg. It wasn’t quite the same as Mr. Yamada’s unbridled kindness, but you got the feeling this was Mr. Aizawa’s version of fussing over you.

***

“Hey.” There was a quiet knock at the door of your room. You looked away from the fuzzy TV screen to find Mr. Yamada leaning up against the door frame, a disappointing looking cup of coffee in his hand.

“Hi. What’s are you doing here?”

“Sho- Mr. Aizawa had to get an x-ray for his ankle so I thought I’d stop by and keep him company while he waited.” Mr. Yamada looked over his shoulder, sighed, shook his head and turned back to you. “It would seem he needed so such company though.”

“What do you mean?” You gestured at the chair in the corner of the examination room for him to sit.

“Well,” he gladly took the seat, propping his boot clad feet up on a basket of magazines. “he’s been on the phone passing around the emergency room, probably hurting himself even more. He’s giving the station an ear full right now, he’s not very happy with them.”

“Why? They came pretty quick.” You picked at the paper rolled out across the bed.

“You.” Mr. Yamada placed the cup in his hands on the ground and looked up at you. “He only let you patrol with him because the report he was given on Earth Breaker misclassified him in threat level.”

He leaned back into the chair, sinking down like a bored teenager trying to slip away. “I’ve never heard him chew someone out for so long.” Mr. Yamada grumbled.

“Really?” You didn’t really know what to say, partially because you couldn’t picture Mr. Aizawa being upset and the other part because you were trying not to fall asleep. The adrenaline had worn off about half an hour ago and the pain meds the nurses gave you were strating to lull you to sleep.

“Yeah.” Mr. Yamada pushed himself back into a proper sitting position, tucking one leg under himself. He was obviously uncomfortable in the wooden waiting chair. “I was surprised when the nurse said you were still here, I thought you’d have gotten stitched up and went home.”

You blinked a few times, begging your eyes to stop drooping.

“I have to wait for my case worker to come get me, since I’m a minor leaving the hospital after treatment is kind of tricky. I can’t check myself out.” You shrugged.

Mr. Yamada sighed, not particularly happy with his new position but seemingly not bothered enough to fix it either. “How long have you been waiting?”

“I called and left a message like, an hour and a half ago.” You looked down at your phone, there was a new crack in the screen. No New Messages.

“And?” Mr. Yamada asked.

“Well, it’s currently 2:30 in the morning,” you breathed, “so I assume she’s asleep. If I don’t hear form her in another 30 minutes the hospital will call child services and they’ll send an overnight clerk to get me.”

“Shit.” He mumbled. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah. Mr. Yamada?”

“Mm?” he looked at you, his body sliding down in the chair.

“Don’t expect me to make to class on time tomorrow okay?” you grinned. You were tired and it was the best approximation of a joke you could make.

“I’d be upset if you even showed up.” He huffed, pushing himself up.

You both sat in silence for a few minutes, the distant gruff voice of Mr. Aizawa lecturing someone filling quiet. You looked at the TV for a bit, our eyes burning with exhaustion. You tried to read the medical posters, but the reading made it hard for you not to nod off. Eventually, after a particularly long blink Mr. Yamada spoke up.

“Lie down, go to sleep. I can wake you up when someone comes to get you.” You were about to protest when he reached up a turned off the lights. The open door still letting in the cool light from the hallway. “Shhhhhhhh.”

You could have sworn you’d seen his silhouette sink down in the chair as his shush came to an end. While you hated the idea of sleeping around other people you couldn’t fight the urge to close our eyes and fine rest.

***

“Should we wake her?”

“We have to, she has to sign a form before she can leave, Zashi.”

“Shit, right!.....Hey Sho?”

“Mmmm?”

“Thank-you.”

A hand gently shook your leg, waking you from your shallow sleep. You blinked into the dark room, a figure leaning in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall lights. At the end of the paper topped bed was Mr. Yamada, or rather his very recognizable silhouette. Still dazed with sleep you rubbed your eyes and started to pull yourself up, the paper crinkling and tearing under you.

“Hey, kiddo.” He greeted softly.

“They here?” you mumbled, stifling a yawn.

“No, no, no.” he seemed somewhat nervous, glancing behind him at the figure in the doorway. “Mr. Aizawa called in a favor with someone at Child Services, he got permission to check you out. We’ll give you a lift home.”

You blinked. You weren’t entirely sure if you understood what was happening, you were too tired to really care. Home sounded good and he said you could go home. You nodded anyways and slid off the table, Mr. Yamada putting a pre-emptive supportive arm around you. You were on auto piolet, the pain meds and sleepy daze that hung over your head making it impossible for you to fully wake up. You signed some paper, a nurse said something nice. Mr. Aizawa looked…soft. No, nice…nicer than usual.

Then you were in the back seat of Mr. Yamada’s car, drifting off against the car door and dim streetlights passed you by.

***

You woke up to the sun piercing through your blinds, hot rays of light warming your chilled skin. Your room, perusal was chilly, though you were curled up under several blankets. You stretched and groaned, the that fog that hung over. You last night lifting. Lifting. Lifting. Lifted. Panic. You shot straight up, your aching muscles expressing their displeasure at the sudden movement. You looked around for your phone, it was usually under your pillow but then again you didn’t even remember getting into bed.

You didn’t really remember getting home or leaving the hospital. You ran your hands up and down the bed until your phone caught your eye as it rested atop to dresser across the room. You crawled across the bed, stumbling to your feet and looked at the time. 12:14 pm. You’re heart sank. It was Friday and you were late, again. Then your eyes caught sight of a folded piece of paper, a hastily written note on the back of your grocery receipt.

‘Don’t you dare come to class today. Here’s my number, send me message when you wake up. Let me know you’re not dead. -Mr. Yamada.’      

        You looked down at yourself as the panic subsided. You were in the most basic configuration of your hero costume, the jacket, gloves boots and utility items were folded up next your phone. All that remained what your pants and undershirt, both in need of some patch work and cleaning. You dethatched all of the pieces that couldn’t be washed and gathered up those that could and threw them in the communal washing machine on the floor below. When you reached your apartment again all you wanted was to eat and shower, but you typed out a brief, to the point text and sent it.

               ‘Not Dead. – Y/n.”

        A hot shower warmed you right up. You got a better look at the bruising on your arm and knees, noting too serious nor life threatening. In fact, you’d think you’d probably gotten worse during training. When you got back to your phone you quickly found out Mr. Yamada was an emoji texter. You could only imagine how he and Mr. Aizawa’s message exchanged must look now.

               Glad the hear it! Got something I wanna talk to you about when you have time!’

                    ‘IT’S NOT BAD! I promise!’

                    ‘Is there a time I could stop by this weekend?’

‘Mr. Aizawa would be there too or course! Not like a one on one thing, that would be weird.’

        You could see his energy channeling into texting anxiety. You checked your work schedule, you had day shifts this weekend so any night would work. You responded as such, suddenly realizing you had invited them over to your dumpy apartment. You could kick yourself. You looked around; this place was so rundown that it needed to exorcized of its dust. You flopped back onto the bed, dreading all the cleaning you had ahead of you. To top it off you had a night shift to get ready for.

***

        Saturday. Within the next day you had gone to work twice and between shifts thrown out everything that wasn’t wearable, washable or too offensive to be allowed continued existence. By the time you were moderately happy with your place it looked like a college dorm pre-move in. It’s not that your place had much personality to begin with, but over the last few months the mess had become your only sense of self here. Between your busy schedule and lack of motivation to do anything outside of work and school, you had gotten comfortable living in the product of that life.  Despite the stress of having guests over to a home you were ashamed of, the cleanliness was…nice. You could get used to this.

        You were almost able to enjoy the new environment when a knock sounded at your door and your gut squeezed in on itself. You tried to relax, telling yourself that they weren’t going to judge you. They fought villains for a living, you were not their idea of a bad person. A bad apartment doesn’t make you a bad person. You still felt shitty, though.

        You opened the door. The two of them stood in the hall, shoulder to shoulder, in casual clothes. Mr. Aizawa looking tired, but not as frustrated as he seemed to be when lurking in the halls at U.A. Mr. Yamada was bright and smiling, without the cockatiel hair he seemed less larger than life, more puppy-esque.

        “H-hi!” He greeted.

        “Hey.” You smiled back politely. Okay, now let them in. “C-come on in.”

        It took you a second to open the door wider and step aside, hopefully they didn’t notice. Who were you kidding, Mr. Aizawa definitely noticed, hopefully Mr. Yamada was still unaware of your currently mortified state. You turned around; they were taking in your space. You followed their eyes. Your walls were too bare, your couch sagged awkwardly in the middle, you didn’t even have a kitchen table.

        “This is nicer than your place when you first moved out.” Mr. Aizawa mumbled under his breath, ginning as he elbowed Mr. Yamada.

        “I mean,” Mr. Yamada blushed. “there’s a reason that building doesn’t exist anymore.”

        “Did you guys want to sit? I have… water?” Yes, those were things you said when you had guests.

        “No, thanks.” Mr. Aizawa said, nudging Mr. Yamada towards the couch.

        “O-okay.” You rubbed your arm awkwardly.

        The three of you went towards the couch, the couple sat on the couch and you leaned against you leaned against the T.V. unit. Silence hung in the air; it was a dense silence filled with unspoken words. You were nervous, it felt like you were doing your own parent-teacher interview. Mr. Aizawa remained ever calm, he looked almost serene compared to, not only how you felt but also, to how Mr. Yamada’s vibrating leg betrayed him to be feeling.

        “So,” Mr. Aizawa started.

        “So,” Mr. Yamada trailed behind. With a stern look from his partner he continued. “I know, when you lost your parents you didn’t want to be mix matched with other families.”

        A strange feeling began rising from your stomach, it was somewhere between anxiety and comfort. It made no sense, but you pushed it down and let him continue.

        “And since you’ve been on your own you’ve done really good for yourself.” He fiddled with a loose thread on a tear in his jeans. “But there are some drawbacks, like last night with the whole hospital thing, right?”

        You nodded. Wanting desperately not to jump to the conclusion you felt tickling the back of your mind.

        “I, uh, I was… Well, we were-” Mr. Yamada swallowed hard.

        “We were wondering if, just until you turn 18, you would consider letting us foster you.” Mr. Aizawa has said it but all you could see, and feel was the sheer panic and surprise of Mr. Yamada’s face.

        “Y-you want…to-” you breathed. That warm feeling refused to be repressed any longer and spray forth, a bright shiny joy engulfing you. You had thought you didn’t want this, that you were better off just waiting out your years as a minor. You hadn’t thought about how much you missed family in a long time, how much you missed having people fuss over you and worry about you and even make assholes of themselves for you.

        “It’ll also be easier if you go on school trips or want to apply for a licensing exam, we can even help out with, like, normal everyday life stuff maybe.” Mr. Yamada threw in.

You grinned to yourself. You had five months left to be a kid.

Read Chapter 1 of Storge here!

[komahinasecretexchange]

Fools

Author: @izurusfattiddies/fxckthisfxckthat

For: @hadrian-pendragons

Pairings/Characters: Komaeda/Hinata, Nagito Komaeda, Hajime Hinata, and a splash of Izuru Kamukura and a few mentions

Rating/Warnings: Self Doubt, Hurt and Comfort

Prompt:  Hurt/comfort Hinata and Kamakura and trying to figure out Komaeda.

Author’s notes: This is actually my first ever Danganronpa fic! If the characters seem a bit off I apologize.  I had a lot of fun writing this however and I hope you like reading it!

Komaeda was certainly a man of… puzzling standing. While a seemingly normal person, the moment he opened his mouth made anyone jerk to a halt. He was needlessly self deprecating, and his mindset was far too complicated for most people to decipher. Even Kamukura had difficulty understanding him, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Then Komaeda would likely become boring. But Hinata wanted that. So they’d work together to figure him out. It couldn’t be that hard, right?

“I’m surprised you wanted to spend time with me.” Komaeda spoke as Hinata held out a trip ticket for him. Hinata sighs. “Of course I want to. You are one of my classmates.”

   “I’m not sure I’m worth wasting the-”

   “Where do you want to go?”

Komaeda paused then. Hinata could see the gears turning in his head, as if trying to figure out where Hinata wanted to go. A hand under his chin as he debated their options. “I suppose we could go to the beach…” And then they went off, changing into their bathing suits in their rooms. Though for a while, Hinata just stared into the mirror.

You know this won’t help, right?

“I just want to know him better, that’s all.”

You get attached too easily. It would be easier if I did this.

“You’re too cold. He’ll notice. He’s not an idiot.”

The little trip went well, though for the most part Komaeda stayed out of the water. They made a sand castle together, but a coconut fell on top of it as soon as they finished to Komaeda’s displeasure. He apologized for his luck ruining the event with the sweetest smile that almost made Hinata’s heart jump out his throat. Why was that smile so appealing? Hinata couldn’t tell you why but he just returned one of his own and reassured the other that it was fine.

But that smile kept him up that night. He couldn't wrap his head around why he felt the way he did. Hinata seemed to just be missing a piece of the puzzle. Izuru had other ideas however.

You l-

"No, I don't. I'm just curious about him."

...If you insist.

"I do insist."

Izuru seemed to have had their Hinata's feelings in order, much to Hinata's disappointment. The mystery of his own feelings had been solved by someone who couldn't feel in the first place. It was frustrating, to say the least.

The rest of the night is spent trying to figure out his own feelings and Komaeda. Trying to find out how he ticks. It didn't seem to click with him. All of those gentle smiles with such harsh words about himself. Holding everyone on such a pedestal due to their talent. His near obsession with hope. It was all just confusing.

The next day something suprising happened.

"Would you like to spend time with me? I know I'm not worthy of your time, but-"

"Sure, I don't mind." Hinata is quick to nip the self deprocation quickly. He has to admit, he's never liked when Komaeda goes on one of those tangents. "Any place in mind?"

Again, Komaeda seems to put just as much thought into his suggestion like the time before. "How about the library?" The curly haired male spoke up after putting far too much tought into his answer.

It didn't take long for them to arrive at the building due to the nature of the island's set up. Pushing open the large door, the two enter. Komaeda seems to be on auto pilot then, maneuvering over to a certain section, Hinata just seems to mirror his pattern, following behind. "Know what your looking for?"

Komaeda nods with a small hum, crouching in front of the shelve, running his finger along the spines of the books. He seemed so focused, to the point where Hinata didn't want to break his trance. Soon enough, he plucks a book from the shelf, standing and reading the back for a moment before nodding to himself. "I've been looking for this for a while," Komaeda spoke up then. "It just always seemes to disappear when I came to get it. Just my luck really." He let's out a small laugh and that leaping feeling came back, a faint blush threatening to creep up on Hinata.

Komaeda's laugh seemed to have this way of lighting up the room. He wanted to know why.

"Is there anything you want to read?" Green eyes blink curiously at him. To be honest, he wasn't very big on reading. He mainly came just to spend more time with him.

"Not really, but what's your book about?"

Those same green eyes widen slightly, blinking a few times. Was... Was he not expecting to be asked that?

"Ah, I'm not very good at describing things, however-" He hands over the book, attempting to give a rough summary. The book was supposed to be a romance novel, and it seemed intresting enough even though he had no clue of what was happening, since he was jumping into the middle of the series. "If you want to, we could read it together...?" Komaeda offered.  

Well a little reading wouldn't kill him.

Apparently Komaeda read much faster than him, having to wait for Hinata to catch up before turning the page. Though it didn't help that instead of reading he couldn't help but to let his eyes wander over to Komaeda, focused on reading with his head propped up on his hand.

Like the little frown on his face when Komaeda was focused on something. Or his little reactions as he read something, from having his eyes widen a bit to that frown deepening, to a ghost of a smile.

At some point during Hinata's reading. He feels something hit his shoulder. He's quick to glance over and what he saw caught him off guard. Komaeda had fallen asleep and fell against his arm.

Had his eyelashes always been white? Hinata never noticed before now. And he swore he saw faint freckles across his face. A part of him wanted to wake him up but it felt like doing that was a crime. For now, he just draped an arm over him so he wouldn't fall.

You should tell him.

Kamukura spoke up, as Hinata lie awake in bed once again.

"Tell him what?"

That you like him.

"Of course I do. He's my friend." He laid an arm over his head, staring up at the ceiling. At this point he had the pattern memories. He wondered if the other rooms had the same pattern.

Don't lie to yourself. I see how you look at him. You're infatuated with him.

"Whatever."

Days turned to weeks, the two kept spending more and more time together much to their classmates' dismay. Stolen glances had been frequent among each other. It had been a wonder how neither had been caught, though Hinata swore he'd seen a blush creep up on Komaeda more than once.

But now it was the night before the end of their trip. Everyone had been celebrating how close they'd gotten, and they were enjoying their last night together in this strange predicament regardless of the storm outside.

Hinata didn't mind sticking to the wall, occasionally chatting with his fellow classmates. However there was something missing. Well, someone to be more specific.

He hadn't seen Komaeda in the past couple of hours which was strange. Komaeda might not have always spoken up much in the group, but he always lingered near by. Hell even Nanami had been chatting, playing video games with some of the others.

He decided to go find him and drag him back if need be. The rain had picked up significantly since the party had started, Hinata being drenched with minutes of being outside. He looked around the hotel, even going to check Nagito's room and having no luck finding the male. He keeps looking however and it pays off, finding Komaeda sitting on the beach.

He's soaked to the bone, curls clung to his face as he stares out into the ocean. He looked like a wet dog, to put it nicely. Hinata makes his way over, standing next to the other.

"You're going to get sick out here, you know that right?"

Komaeda flinched hearing a voice he hadn't expected, though he looked up with a smile. "I'd get sick regardless Hinata. You of all people should know that."

He sits down next to the other then. "Gonna tell me what's got you out here?"

The response he gets is a shrug as he returns to staring out at sea. "I know I should be happy, that we all get to leave but... I'm not."

"Want to tell me why?"

"It's pointless."

"I'm not so sure about that."

A few moments pass in silence, though it never feels uncomfortable, like when a conversation falls between two close friends, enjoying the silence and each other's company.

"Do you think we'll keep talking?" Komaeda finally spoke, breaking their mutal silence.

"What do you mean? Of course we will. I mean, we did spent time together as a class-"

"That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

"My luck gets people taken from me, Hinata. People die, or abandon me, or worse. I'm a hazard. Being around me is dangerous." Komaeda seems to curl in on himself then, pulling his knees closer.

"Maybe I like danger-"

"Don't say that!" Komaeda snapped, taking Hinata aback. He's not sure he's ever heard him yell before. "This isn't a joke! People have died because of my luck! I don't want to lose more peopl because of it! Not when I care so much for you!"

"Komaeda..."

"I've lost so much because of my luck!I can't lose you too! I've been trying so hard to hold you and every one here at arms length! Yet you just came back over and over!" It was hard to tell, but he knew some of the water on Komaeda's face wasn't just rain.

"Because I care about you Komaeda. I wanted to understand you, fuck I still don't fully.  You're an amazing person,  I just wish you'd see that." He tries to keep his voice calm, reassuring even. Though Komaeda's distraught look made that hard.

"You don't understand! My luck hurts everyone I love! I can't let you get hurt too because I love you too much!" The words blurt out before Komaeda can stop them. He's quick to try and get up and flee before Hinata grabbed his wrist.

"Komaeda I know the risks involved. I know you think you're dangerous but I know better. I know you have barely there freckles. I know your eyebrows furrow when you read. I know you have a soft spot for animals. And I know how I feel about you."

Slowly, Komaeda turns to face Hinata again. "You do?"

For once, Hinata reacted on impulse, pressing his lips against Komaeda's.   He felt him tense at the contact before melting into the kiss. Saying it felt like two puzzle pieces clicking together felt like something from that cheesy romance novel, but it felt right.

Slowly, they pull away staring at each other. "Hinata-"

Suddenly a loud cheering is heard and Hinata's face burns a bright read as he recongized the sound.

"They finally did it!" Mioda cheered loudly. It seemed at some point the class had gone after the two as well. He also sees Souda forking over some money to Kuzuryu. He looks back to Nagito, who had a big smile worn like a medal.

Yeah, he was okay with this.

[evening-starlight]

Chances {Chapter Ten}

I think this is my longest Chapter so far lmao

Master List

Tainted

Word Count: 1867

    I'll be honest with you guys, our first kiss is tainted. This chapter will explain it. I will also mention that this might be hard for some readers to read, so reader discretion is advised.

    I pray for the world to open and swallow me whole right then and there. Of course, he would show up. He has to insert himself into every wonderful thing in my life. He has to plaster his face in every corner of my mind. Tom looks over my head at the man I used to be married to. This is not how I wanted to tell Tom about who it was. I slip my hands out of Tom's and turn around to Jared.

    He smiles wickedly like I've fallen into his trap. The smile sends waves of nausea and anxiety coursing through every vein in my body. "What do you want, Jared?" He hands me a bouquet of flowers. Purple and green daisies. I cross my arms to avoid taking them. "I was thinking of you, so I bought you some flowers." Jared's attention shifts his attention to Tom behind me. "Thank you for dropping my wife off. I really appreciate it." Oh, absolutely the fuck not.

    "Jared," I snap, pushing him away from Tom so we can speak semi-privately. "Why in God's name are you here? I am not your fucking wife. I don't want your damn flowers, which you never bought me when we were together anyways. I don't want you near me." My voice rising with the anger I feel boiling inside me. "You are nothing but a horrible stain on my history that I wish I could erase. You have ruined my life from the moment you walked in with that stupid book. You are the most possessive prick I have met in my life, and I regret every minute I spent with you." Jared continues to smile down at me. He has me right where he wanted me, yelling and spewing venom.

    "I just wanted to show Tom what kind of girl you really are," He says, looking at Tom behind me. "A venomous bitch." My jaw drops to the floor when I realize I walked right into his trap. He pushes the flowers into my chest and grabs my face roughly in his hands. The kiss is forceful and possessive. I feel the bile rising in my throat the longer he keeps his lips pressed to mine.

    Jared finally pulls away, wiping his lips. "I'll see you later, Jules." He walks off like nothing volatile just happened. I have approximately five seconds before I spew popcorn all over the steps. I drop the flowers on the ground and rush to the door, slamming my keys against the sensor pad and hoping it works. The door clicks like a heavenly sign. The gold trash can next to Will's desk is the closest and safest spot for the vomit.

    "Holy shit, Stella. Are you okay?" Will asks, standing up from his desk as I empty my guts into his freshly cleaned bin after falling to my knees. Someone rests their hand on my back before pulling my hair out of my face. I wave them off.

    "Fuck off, Jared." I manage between heaves.

    "It's not Jared." Tom answers. "I want to make sure you're okay, and then I'll leave if you'd prefer." I have no energy to fight as I continue to dry heave, nothing but saliva and air coming out. Will hands me a handful of tissues as I sit back on my heels. I manage a small smile in return as I wipe my mouth.

    "Sorry, Will." I apologize.

    "Don't be. I'd rather it the trashcan than across the floor," Will jokes back. "Let me get you a water from the back." I look at Tom when Will leaves.

    "I'm sorry. Theater popcorn doesn't taste good coming back up." He shakes his head with a small laugh.

    "Don't apologize, Love. He seems like a cock." I chuckle with a nod. "I'm not going to force you to talk about it now, but I would like to understand more about that relationship." I nod. It's a fair request.

     "If you grab those stupid flowers for me, we can head up to my apartment and talk. If you want," I suggest. Tom gets up to grab the flowers as Will comes back with a cold water bottle. I trade Tom the bottle for the flowers, pushing them bud first into the bin I just hurled in. I give Will another apology and tell him I'll get him his favorite bistro next time I'm at the studio.

    Tom follows me back to the elevator silently. I have no idea what to say to him, especially after something like that. What are you supposed to say when you kiss the guy of your dreams, and your abusive ex comes by and forces one on you? Sorry I have a fucked up past I've been conveniently avoiding? I unlock my apartment door and walk in first. "You can sit anywhere. I have to go bleach my mouth." I mumble, making my way to the bathroom.

    I avoid looking at myself as I gargle mouthwash, turning my back to the mirror. I can't believe I let that happen. I should have done something other than stand there like a statue. Why couldn't I do anything other than stand there and let Jared do that? Tom must think I'm a whore.

     The mouthwash is traded out for my toothbrush and toothpaste as I continue replaying what the hell just happened. Jared showing up out of nowhere with flowers after years of saying they're meaningless because they'll just die. And of course, they were purple and green; self-centered prick was probably thinking of himself as he bought the Joker colors. I meet my own eyes in the mirror as I stand straight after spitting the toothpaste out. I have mascara tear streaks running down my cheeks. I've paled considerably enough to enhance the dark circles under my eyes. I look terminally ill.

    I fix my makeup steaks quickly before walking out to the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?" I ask Tom. "I have beer, Capri Sun, and water, but you'll have to drink out of a shot glass because the two cups I have are dirty." Tom opts for a CapriSun. I hand it to him as I sit on the opposite end of my couch. We sit in silence for a few minutes while I think of how to start talking and how much I want to tell him.

    "Your apartment is quite nice," Tom starts, looking around at all the frames I have of the band and I. "Do you play all those?" He asks, gesturing to my elevated music area by my balcony door. On it is a bass guitar, acoustic and electric guitar, along with a keyboard and violin.

    "Yeah, when my parents heard I wanted to make music because Jared was, they paid for multiple lessons. I fell in love with singing, but I can definitely shred it on bass." I joke. Tom laughs with a slight nod.

    "How old were you when you met Jared again?" Tom asks in such a casual tone it calms me down slightly. Maybe he's just worried about me. Or maybe he just wants to know where Jared went wrong so he won't make the same mistakes, good or bad.

    "I was introduced to him at fourteen." I avoid Tom's sudden worried look by looking at the floor beneath my sneakers. I should get a carpet in here. "My parents wanted to be millionaires, so they moved us all to LA when I was, like, three, I think. I don't know how they met Jared's family. They never told me, and neither did Jared.

    "Everything was really innocent at first. He was my closest friend for years. He helped me with homework and practicing my music. I wanted to be just like him." I let out a bitter laugh. "I was sixteen when I realized I like him as more than a friend. We had to share a bed in a hotel on tour, and I remember not sleeping because he was right there, and he was cuddling me. He asked me out the day of my eighteenth and proposed two months later, married two more after that. We got divorced when I was twenty when I realized how much I really did miss out on life, and he was so possessive he stopped letting me go to band practice without him.

     "The band started pointing it out too. Robbie was the one who literally slapped sense into me. Because why would I hit Robbie back and tell him off, but not Jared? So, yeah. Jared's super possessive and still is." I finish quickly, realizing I was going on a tangent.

    "And he called you Jules?" I almost wished Tom would have forgotten about that. I know it's somewhere on my Wikipedia page, but would Tom have gone that far in learning about me?

    "I've had three legal names in my life," I say, finally bringing myself to look at Tom. He seems concerned, and his eyes are so soft and welcoming I could curl up into his chest right this second. "Juliet Davis is my birth name, and I took Jared's last name when we got married. Then, about a year after our divorce, I decided to rebrand myself and use a new name entirely. Don't ask me why I chose Thompson; I googled it when I was drunk, and it just stuck. Stella is from this one kids' book I was obsessed with for years, Stellaluna. I don't know why, but I carried it everywhere with me until about junior high."

    I guess I didn't notice the tears falling or that my voice was faltering. However, Tom did. Without hesitation, he pulls me into his arms, resting his head on mine. "I'm so sorry you had to go through all that, Love," He says in a soft voice. "You didn't deserve any of that. Thank you for sharing with me." I let him hold me for a while longer. I enjoy his touch, but I really just want to be alone to cry and break shit.

    I don't know when I fell asleep; I just know when I woke up on the couch with a blanket on top of me and water on the coffee table in front of me, that Tom had taken care of me. He left a handwritten note as well, which I still have in my house. It said, 'I didn't want to leave you alone after something like tonight, but I felt it weird to stay the night uninvited. I truly appreciate you sharing something hard with me. I hope it's alright I washed a cup for you, and found some medicine as well, in case the crying caused a headache. Text me when you wake up. Much love, Tom.' Yes, I did run through the house like a crazy lady trying to find the letter so I could write it down verbatim.

[acavatica]

i-wakeupstrange said:

i’m not including this in my review of the elevator fic because it was becoming its own huge, ridiculous tangent, but in short: it’s now my headcanon that Marco is into anime (OF COURSE why didn’t I realize sooner) and in a roundabout way that’s Peter’s doing. (he’s a little old for NGE but, I think, about the right age to have gotten real into, say, Robotech. and decide to show his son these shows. because he’s a Cool Dad. or tried to be before... you know.)

Peter told himself that he was watching cartoons because of the baby, but also all the baby books he’d tried to force Eva to read had said that babies have about a foot of vision and see colors like a dog. Then he told himself that he was watching cartoons because the bright colors and laser sounds kept him awake. At least that wasn’t a complete lie. 

The full truth was that he thought Robotech was cool. It was serialized, which was more than he could say for any American TV shows. It wasn’t as if Peter could read Dune with a baby in his arms no matter how much he wanted to, even if he’d missed the last two books and another was coming out later that year. And it wasn’t as if Peter could read Dune anyway since he was off Ritalin again, but that was neither here nor there. TV shows would catch up to book series eventually.

The fact that it had a story he could follow was just a bonus. The real draw of Robotech was that it aired in marathons in the middle of the night. That was a lot less likely to wake up his ten-week-old than changing his Doctor Who tapes every four episodes. Plus, he’d had to pay someone on USENET to ship the tapes all the way from Brighton. If he wore them out, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find the guy ripping VHS tapes on net.tv.drwho again.

Eva’s alarm went off, muffled by the bedroom door. Peter closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the couch cushion. 5:30 already. He’d been letting her get most of the sleep to reimburse her for the whole pregnancy thing, but now that she was going back to work, he wouldn’t even have a choice.

He listened to her shuffle around the kitchen. He heard every step of her putting on a pot of coffee. Eva never did anything quietly, but it hadn’t taken him long to get used to it. After all, there was nothing more comforting than knowing his ever-so-slightly evil partner would at least never be able to sneak up on him. 

He opened his eyes to catch her shaking out her still-rumpled hair and stretching out the crick in her back. He heard that too, from all the way across the room. Another thing Peter was repaying her for. She saw him watching and closed the distance between them. Eva draped her elbows over the back of the couch and touched her cheek to Peter’s head. Peter took a deep breath, and he smelled her shampoo and the coffee and their new baby. 

Putting his PhD on hold was worth it.

Eva cocked her head to the side, rolling her chin over Peter’s forehead. “Wow, look at her hair. Japan really has progressive ideas about the meaning of ‘spiral curls.’” She walked around to the front of the couch, plopped down, and held out her arms. “Hand him over.”

Marco started whining almost immediately. 

“I’m surprised you know it’s Japanimation.”

Eva rolled her eyes. “We had Japanese cartoons in Mexico. And actually, the acting was way better than this.”

“Yeah, but were there giant fighting robots?”

“I dunno, this shit is for nerds.” Marco was still fussing in her arms, but she was looking down at him like she understood where he was coming from. “You’re gonna make our kid a nerd, aren’t you?”

Peter smiled. “I don’t know what you expected when you decided to have a baby with me.”

“Feh, yeah, ‘decided.’” Eva stretched her leg out and gave Peter’s knee a good nudge.

She pulled her leg back, crossed her ankles, and cradled Marco with her whole body. All three of them fell quiet, and Minmay sang Marco back to sleep.

⁠—⁠—⁠— 

Marco was born whining, and after four years, he still only stopped when he was asleep.

“Why do I have to do daycare?”

“You asked to watch Voltron. It’s the fifth time we’ve watched Voltron. Please watch Voltron.”

Marco bobbed his head back and forth as he quoted the onscreen conversation between Queen Merla and King Zarkon: “The chamber is full of quarks. ⁠— Quirks? ⁠— No, quarks. You see, everything is made of atoms, and all atoms are made of quarks. ⁠— Hm, nice, but how does it work? ⁠— Well, there are six kinds of quarks: up, down, top, bottom, strange. And my favorite kind, charmed.”

“Well. At least we can be sure you’re my kid. And Eva’s. And of why I like this show.”

“If you like it, don’t complain.”

Peter ran his hand over his hair and tried to ignore how thin it was getting. “Definitely Eva’s kid…” 

Marco rolled over closer to Peter and looked up at him pleadingly. “Whyyy do I have to do daycare?”

“Because,” Peter said reluctantly. “I finally finished school, and it was really hard, but I got a cool job out of it.”

Marco’s eyes basically tripled in size, and he poked out his lower lip. Definitely, 100% for sure, Eva’s kid. “But I’ll miss you.”

Peter sighed. “I’ll miss you too. But you’re starting school in the fall anyway, so think of it like practice.”

Marco crossed his arms and turned his eyes back to the TV. He stayed quiet for maybe a minute, long enough for the pilots to form Voltron. Without taking his eyes off the TV, he said, “What if they don’t know how to microwave Spaghetti-Os?”

“If there’s any lesson you have to learn, it’s that sometimes you have to settle for Spaghetti-Os that aren’t made by Chef Boyardee Champion of the World, Your Dad.”

“Spaghetti-Os aren’t even Chef Boyardee,” Marco mumbled.

Peter reached his leg over and nudged Marco’s knee with his foot. “Don’t you want to be brave like Lance?”

Marco pushed Peter’s foot away, crossed his arms again, and sank into the couch. “No. I wanna be diablo-lolical like Prince Lotor.”

“Well, Prince Lotor doesn’t even need his dad.”

Marco glanced over at Peter, and Peter grinned. Marco sank even further into the couch until his feet almost touched the floor.

⁠—⁠—⁠— 

The bluish glow of the TV cast long shadows across the room. There wasn’t much contrast because it was a pretty dark movie, but Marco was still illuminated against the dull, colorless room. The volume was only one notch above mute, but he was sitting on his knees, so close to the TV that he could almost make out every word. It’s not like the sound would have bothered his dad, even if he turned it all the way up. Marco kept it low so he could still hear Peter breathing, and even acknowledging that feeling ate away his insides.

It had been a whole year, and for a while Marco had tried not to think about how he was the only thing keeping his dad alive, in more ways than one. It got harder the longer Peter didn’t get better. Marco didn’t even have cable to distract himself from his messed up life. He just had the same old VHS tapes, and they’d had to donate a bunch of them to Goodwill when they’d moved. 

The box was still there, still packed and next to the TV, labeled in Marco’s sloppy kid handwriting. Peter hadn’t helped with the move⁠—it had mostly been Jake’s family and his mom’s relatives he’d never met and would probably never see again. Marco could still see his hands pulling the tapes off the shelves, sorting them, reading the labels in Peter’s sloppy grownup handwriting, and not being able to bear to throw away the memories of sitting between his mom and dad with popcorn in his lap, even if he might never be able to watch those tapes again.

There were only a few tapes scattered around the plastic milk crate the TV sat on. The rest were still in the box. Marco had gone through them dozens of times, and he was still limited to the few tapes he didn’t associate with a time when he had a family. 

He’d never watched Ghost in the Shell with his dad. That was probably a good thing, because there was a lot of nudity, and that was always awkward. There was also some gore, which Peter knew gave Marco nightmares, even if he pretended not to be scared. Marco had played the movie in front of Peter dozens of times anyway, but his eyes didn’t track it, and he didn’t tell Marco that he should turn it off, he was too young to see all these nipples.

Marco turned around, blinded from sitting so close to the TV. He didn’t need to see his dad. He knew he was curled in on himself, his face buried in the place where the back of the couch met the seat and the arm. There was no way to know if he was asleep or awake, and Marco wasn’t even sure those words had meaning in Peter’s life anymore.

“Hey Dad,” Marco said, his voice creaky, either from disuse, disgust, or some other kind of emotion. “What do you think about the whole brains jacking into the internet thing? Realistic? It seems like the kind of thing you’d have worked on.”  Marco listened to Peter’s breathing. It never changed. Marco could say anything. “You know. When you worked.”

Marco turned away, back to the TV. He pressed Stop, and the tape clicked off, flooding the room with light so bright and blue, it hurt his eyes. He pressed rewind and the whir of the tape drowned out Peter’s breathing. It was crazy, but as the VCR started to grind to the end of the tape, Marco was suddenly, irrationally, completely sure that when the tape stopped rolling, the room would be totally silent. His body flashed hot and then cold and his pulse pounded painfully in his temples.

The tape clicked off. Marco held his breath.

Peter breathed in. Out. In. Out.

Marco pressed play, turned the volume up a few more notches, and got to his feet. As he passed, he shoved his dad’s leg with his foot. He stood over him, waiting like he expected some kind of reaction. The TV lit up his motionless body in green, gray, white. The cyborg pulled the cables out of her neck and stood.

“If only someone would ghost hack you.”

Marco went into his bedroom⁠—the only bedroom⁠—and slammed the door.  

⁠—⁠—⁠— 

Marco’s back was flat against the dirt floor of the scoop, his head resting on his folded arms. His right leg was draped over Ax’s back and he’d slowly tangled his left leg up in Ax’s tail. Ax didn’t like that, and he knew Ax didn’t like it, and that’s why he’d taken it slow. He’d started by sticking his leg under Ax’s tail. He’d waited a couple weeks, and then he’d surreptitiously make a loop over the course of an hour. Now, after like a month of acclimating him, Ax’s tail was wrapped around Marco’s leg like a boa constrictor, and maybe Ax didn’t even notice.

He definitely noticed. Marco had just pulled off an incredible feat of exposure therapy. Ax just wasn’t allergic to how annoying Marco was anymore. Too bad the allergy was familial, and it was harder to wallow a hawk into submission.

<You’re not even watching,> Tobias complained.

Marco lolled his head to the side and pointed his eyes at the TV. “Why are you making me read TV, Tobias? The point of TV is to not have to read.”

<Subtitles are more authentic,> Tobias said, his voice dripping with condescension.

“But what about Ax? Poor Ax can’t read at all.”

<I can read,> Ax said, his voice a mixture of defensive and arrogant. <And even if I couldn’t, my translator chip has no trouble processing Japanese.> Snobbiness ran in their family too. 

“I’m just saying, I’d be able to pay more attention if I could understand the words and look at the pictures at the same time. You know, how it’s intended to be consumed?”

<It’s intended to be consumed in Japanese.> 

Marco rolled his eyes and sighed. It was the obnoxious kind of sigh, the voiced kind that’s practically a groan. “It’s just robots, dude, it’s not that serious.”

<Neon Genesis Evangelion is art, Marco,> Tobias said, ratcheting the pretension up to eleven. <It’s an exploration of how humanity would develop, given exposure to advanced alien technology in the face of an oncoming alien threat. And the only thing protecting humanity from annihilation is some teenagers with special powers. It’s like, relatable.> 

“Wow,” Marco said sarcastically. “Never seen anything like that before.” That was basically the plot of Robotech mixed with Voltron, but boring.

<I mean, you must have never seen anime before, or you’d know how terrible the English dubs are.>

Marco sat up on his elbows and narrowed his eyes. Ax tightened his tail ever so slightly around Marco’s leg, like he was trying to hold him back. Marco pulled his leg free. “That’s pretty funny, since how could you even have watched so much subbed anime when no one cared enough about you to buy you decent clothes or new shoes or Clearasil? Let alone to go out of their way to buy you anime, subtitled specifically, the way it’s intended, of course.”

Tobias stared at him. Ax stared at him. Hell, Shinji Ikari stared at him.

Marco couldn’t take even a minute of it. “Say something.”

<I just wanted to share something I like with you.> 

Tobias opened his wings, fluttered to the edge of the scoop entrance, and flew away.

Ax was still looking at him with all four eyes. Marco squirmed, but he pressed his lips into a line and didn’t break eye contact.

<That was too far,> Ax said finally, his voice more gentle than Marco deserved. <Why did you react so forcefully?>

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Marco leaned around Ax, grabbed the remote, and changed the audio to English. “Let’s just watch this dumb robot show.”

[magnolia-penn]

A Helping Hand

Noriaki Kakyoin x Reader

A totally late self comfort fic that I wrote to help cope with terrible parents

WARNINGS: Just some Part 3 spoilers. Nothing that you wouldn't know after watching the fist few episodes. Other than that, there's none. Just self indulgent fluff.

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□

Dealing with Jotaro Kujo isn’t the easiest of tasks for anybody unless you’re his mother. He’s cold, abrasive, and a bit of dick. He detests people who can’t take care of themselves and hates covering anyone’s ass.

 

            Not a good situation for you.

           

            You had only developed your stand, Magenta Sunset, ten days ago. A week before your meeting with the StarDust Crusaders. It happened during a business trip to Cairo that you attended with your father.

 

            The night it manifested, you were approached by a man named DIO. He used sweet words and promises to help you better understand this strange new power you had received, as long as you helped him when he needed it.

 

            You naively agreed.

 

            He took your hand and whisked you across Cairo’s rooftops to his mansion, the wind and his deep voice almost drowning out the screams of your father.

 

            True to his word, he taught you about Stands and how to control yours, by inserting a flesh bud into your forehead and giving you your orders to eliminate the Joestars.

 

            You encountered the Crusaders in a small desert town, and you launched your attack. The battle only lasted about fifteen minutes, and you shouted your apologies the entire time.

 

            After being apprehended by purple and green tendrils, it was the redhead’s idea to have you join them, stating that your circumstances were no different from him. The old man agreed and ordered the teen dressed in all black to remove the flesh bud, and you were put under the care of the redhead, now known as Noriaki Kakyoin.

 

            It soon became glaringly apparent that without the flesh bud dictating your movement, you were at an infant level with your stand. After some deliberation, the old man, Joseph Joestar, and the Egyptian, Muhammud Avdol, chalked it up to inexperience. Everyone had theirs for quite possibly years, while you only had yours for a mere couple of days.

 

            With introductions and backstories out of the way, it was time to get back on the road. You took every opportunity to practice with your stand, and everyone agreed to help, except Jotaro, which was to be expected.

 

Kakyoin was your sparring partner more often than not. Under his guidance, you improved significantly, but you still faltered in defense. You always struggled to keep an eye on your surroundings and were slow to block. 

 

            The others would offer words of encouragement, but Jotaro would only scoff and throw an insult. His words hurt because you knew he was right. He was the strongest member of your team, and the team is only as strong as the weakest link. AKA, You. You started pushing yourself too far beyond your limits, to the point of exhaustion, and it was beginning to show. Your performance would drop, and Jotaro would degrade you more.

 

            Kakyoin was always quick to rub salve on the wound, though. Every word he spoke lifted your spirits and inspired you to keep pushing. This might sound cliche to say, but you thought you might be falling for him.

            Sadly, good things never last, and it all came crashing down after an actual battle. In a last-ditch effort, some C rated thug, who probably wasn’t even one of DIO's minions, launched a full-powered attack straight at you. Even the almighty Jotaro wasn’t prepared for it, and he just barely managed to pull you out of the way by the back of your shirt. He let you fall to the ground and quickly finished the thug off. He turned back to you and glared while looking you up and down. After a few tense seconds, he turned and walked away. He didn’t say anything. Not even a “Yare yare daze.”

That hurt worse than anything he could possibly say.

 

The other members of the group quickly came to your aid, gently pulling you to your feet and checking for injuries. You brushed them off with a smile and a wave. Kakyoin lingered longer than the rest, eyes filled with fear and pure relief at your safety. He embraced you in a giant hug, and you quickly returned it. Kakyoin pretended not to notice the way your body quaked in fear and how you clung to him like your life depended on it.

 

He knew Jotaro was harsh, but he didn’t expect it to affect you so severely. He worked with you every day, and none of his criticism ever got under your skin. But after seeing the sheer despair in your eyes after Jotaro turned his back to you solidified his belief that you cared about how Jotaro saw you. 

 

His mind was telling him that it was only logical that you wanted Jotaro’s approval. He was the strongest of the group, and Jotaro’s harshness was a way of showing he cared. Still, Kakyoin’s heart overrode the system, and he couldn’t help but get angered at Jotaro’s lack of sympathy for you.

 

Later, out of the prying eyes of anybody else, he talked to Jotaro. It took some will power to keep his voice even as he tried to explain your side of things. Eventually, Jotaro acquiesced, promising to apologize to you.

 

            That night, after everyone fell asleep, you snuck out over a sand dune to get some practice in. Every kick, every punch, every block seemed slow and sluggish as all of your pent up emotions chiseled away at the wall you put up. Letting out a frustrated groan, you dropped to your knees and cradled your head in your hands.

           

            Large tears threatened to spill as you tried to suppress a sniffle. You knew it was useless to cry, but that didn’t stop the tears from falling

            You were so wrapped up in your own emotions that you didn’t hear someone come up from behind and sit beside you.

 

            “Messed up that badly today, huh?”

 

            You jumped and quickly manifested your stand, ready to attack. Before you could, Emerald coils wrapped around your arms and pinned them to your sides.

 

            “Hey, hey. Calm down. It’s just me.”

 

            It was Kakyoin. Honestly, as much as you cared for him, he was the last person you wanted to see. He put too much time and effort into your training to see you on your knees, sobbing like a baby.

 

            “It is just you. What do you want?” You managed to push Hierophant's coils off and sat up, pulling your legs to your chest.

 

            “A reason to why you’re in the desert trying not to cry? A moment of your time? Penny for your thoughts?”

 

            You let out a half-hearted scoff and played with the hem of your shirt.

 

            Kakyoin chuckled. “A nickel?” No reaction. “A dime?”

 

            Your face broke out into a smile against your will. “How about a quarter?”

 

            Kakyoin rooted around in his pocket for a bit. “Aha! One quarter. You’re thoughts, M’Lady?”

 

            You took the quarter and sighed, setting it between you as a time filler as you figured out what to say. You always admired Kakyoin. His stand is well-rounded, and he was so strong. He never walked out into the desert to lose control of his emotions. You knew it would be hard to explain everything you felt in a way he would understand.

 

            “I’m weak.” You finally say after a long pause.

 

            Kakyoin blinked in surprise. “You’re not weak.”

 

            “Yes! I am! I can’t block attacks, and I’m painfully unaware of what’s happening around me! Anybody and their mother could sneak up on me! You did! I have to rely on everybody else to protect me, and there’s nothing I can do to get better!”

 

            You threw your arms around Kakyoin and buried your face into his chest to hide your shame. He sputtered on air, and he prayed that you couldn’t feel the way his heart sped up.

 

            He wrapped his arms around you and said, “That still doesn’t mean you’re weak.”

 

            “How so?” You asked teary-eyed.

 

            “Y/N. You are one of the strongest offense fighters on our team. Magenta Sunset might have lower defense, but you really make up for it in offense and improvisation. The others only wish they could come up with crazy ideas that just might work on the fly like you.”

 

            Your ears twinged pink at his kind words. “Even you?”

 

            “Especially me.” Kakyoin moved his hands to cup your face, forcing you to look at him. “ Look, you’d never be able to guess it, but Hierophant is actually kind of terrible at offense. Sure it has the Emerald Splash, but it works better out of the spotlight. And every time I see you and Sunset spring into the thrall without a moment’s hesitation, I get so jealous because I could never just jump in guns blazing. Hierophant works better in enclosed spaces, but Sunset works great just about anywhere.”

 

            Kakyoin suddenly caught himself.

           

            “Sorry. I was rambling again. But you get the idea, you are so amazing and so far from weak. I know I’ve only known you for a couple of days, but I really like  you, Y/N.” He accidentally confessed.

 

            Your eyes widened in surprise at the redhead’s words. You never imagined that anybody thought of you like that, not even Polnareff. When you didn’t respond, Kakyoin’s face lit up in a fiery scarlet.

 

            “I.. I mean-I mean! I look up t-”

 

            “I have an idea.” Your words cut off any excuses in his throat. “It’s crazy, but it just might work.”

           

“Yeah?”

 

            “Hierophant sucks at offense,” You said as you pulled yourself off of Kakyoin.

 

            “You don’t have to put it so bluntly.”

 

            “Sunset sucks at defense.” You twirled a lock of hair while deep in concentration.

           

            “I’m not sure where you’re going with this.” Kakyoin gently pulled his curl from your fingers.

 

            “We both like each other, and we will spend a lot of time together now, since you confessed,” You took his hand in yours.

 

            “Naturally. Wait, what?”

           

            “Why don’t we partner up and give each other a helping hand.”

 

            Kakyoin was going to ask about what you meant, but the realization of how great an idea that was hit Kakyoin like a truck. “Oh my God, that’s a great idea!”

 

            Kakyoin pulled you to your feet and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. He went on a tangent about how great of an idea that was, and you couldn’t help but to laugh and go along, shushing him to keep his voice down.

 

            As the two of you lost yourselves in tactics and techniques, you didn’t notice a tall figure stand some distance away.

 

            “Yare yare. I guess I’ll apologize tomorrow. Lovebirds are having too much fun.”

[summonerscenarios]

Oh no! The protagonist is drunk from accidentally drinking alcohol! (They thought it was juice) What are your headcanons for how they act inebriated.

These are pretty damn self indulgent and are my own personal hcs for my protags but I do hope they suffice!  (Also mandatory parental warning to drink responsibly kiddos and chug water like your life depends on it)

------  Protag 1 gets drunk very easily - the type that after a couple of swigs is already kind of buzzing and it’s plain to just about everybody that what he ended up drinking definitely wasn’t juice. A very giggly drunk, anything from sneezing to puns is enough to have him wheezing - seriously Protag 2 toppled back of her chair once and he cracked up bad enough that he choked on the air and fell right back down beside her. His emotions normally get the better of him and this is only cranked up by 10 so when he’s happy he is really happy, joking about with his siblings and practically lounging across the tables to hug people (Much to Toji’s chagrin as he’s typically the first target the guy goes for). But if someone tries to start something he’s the first person to try and square up especially if they’re looking for trouble with his family! This ends swiftly with the others stepping in and promptly hoisting him up and away from the line of fire, but the whole time he’ll still be throwing shade until someone else comes along to pick his mood back up, then he acts like the whole thing never even happened.

Protag 2 is the chill drunk. At first it’s easier to think that she can hold her liquor rather than suspect that she’s just really, really good at hiding the fact she’s absolutely smashed, but when you hang around her enough you can tell when something’s up. She gets very talkative with people that pass by the table, and she’s charismatic enough that pretty much every chair in the house gravitates towards the table's direction as she recalls some of her favorite stories - the thing is you never know if those stories are true, they’re just outlandish enough to make you skeptic but convincing enough a nagging part of you wonders if they really are true, for better or for worse. She winds down fast however, once the energy gets overwhelming she’s quick to switch back to chill mode and likes to spend some time on her own till she’s up to joining back in on the conversation, though she spends the whole time stuck close to Protag 5 while she recovers her social meter.

Protag 3 is the affectionate drunk. He’s already naturally warm and open to people but this is seriously cranked up when he’s got some alcohol in his system. He’s very susceptible to others emotions so if he even glimpses someone who’s not having as much fun as everybody else he’ll latch onto them for the whole night, refusing to budge until he’s able to at least get a smile out of them. He disappears halfway through the night to go to the bathroom and no one has any idea where he’s gone until he comes back half an hour later, arm in arm with several people he’s now officially adopted as new friends. Anyone with a maternal bone in their body flocks to him while he’s like this, with an inexplicable urge to protect him but he’s completely oblivious to this fact, just happy with the fact that he’s surrounded by new friends. Though he gets emotional when they all have to go their separate ways, constantly trying to hold everyone’s hand just one last time before his siblings finally convince him to head home after extensively convincing him that he’ll have plenty of time to see them after he’s sober.

Protag 4 actually gets a headache if he drinks too much so he realizes he’s drunk when he starts feeling pangs faintly throbbing against his temple. If he cuts it off there he’ll be pretty fine for the rest of the night, but if he downs the whole thing then he’ll spend the whole night with his head buried in his arms, booting anyone under the table if they’re too loud for his poor ears(looking at you Kengo). He’s rather relaxed without the headaches though - he’s in significantly higher spirits and often hangs around with Protag 2 to chime in on her stories, swearing in as a witness for some of the more bizarre stories when he sees that people start doubting her. However sometimes he’ll go right into a silent contemplation and blurts out something philosophical, often about something he shouldn’t rightfully know. At one point he even went on a tangent about the undisclosed mysteries of the ocean and some pretty damn deep thoughts about what exists outside of Tokyo - after a while he goes right back to normal, but god help if he finds someone to talk about this with because he will quite literally ramble the ear off of whoever shows a significant interest in what he’s saying. Remembers absolutely nothing about said philosophical thoughts the next morning.

Protag 5 is the hardest to tell that he’s drunk - he’s got his glass cupped in both hands and staring at the wall with a really focused gaze as if trying to figure something out that no one else is aware of. It’s actually pretty intimidating if anyone catches his eye while he’s like this, assuming that he’s glaring at them. But then Protag 3 prods him to ask if he’s okay and the guy just about melts into his chair, mournfully sniffing that he left his jacket back in the dorm so he won’t be able to help if one of them gets cold as though it’s the worst mistake he could have ever made. He’s still rather quiet but talks significantly more when compared to the normally silent persona he presents around anyone who isn’t the Summoners/his siblings and he’s a lot more comfortable expressing affection with his friends. During different times throughout the night you’ll find him with his head resting against someone’s shoulder, eyes closed and listening in on the conversation being passed back and forth across the table with the occasional content hum to let people know that he hadn’t just fallen asleep. By the time it’s time to head back he’s very insistent on making sure everyone’s back in their rooms and safe in bed before he’ll go sleep off the drink himself, and will absolutely be firm on this even as Shiro and Toji both try to convince him that they’ll be fine getting back on their own until they eventually cave.

[artificialqueens]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered, Chapter 1 (Crygi, Jan x Nicky) - Joley

ao3 link

“Mail call!” Crystal called out, even though it was only her and Jan in the apartment. She sorted the pile out between the two of them, ending up with two slightly messy stacks. “Looks like you got an international package!”

That brought Jan barreling out of her room, nearly slipping on the rug on her way in. She grabbed onto the counter to support herself, taking a gasp of air before standing upright. “Oh yay!” She grabbed the package with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning and took it back to her room along with the rest of her pile, not bothering to close the door behind her.

Crystal chuckled, looking over to see her cat perched on the couch, staring into Jan’s bedroom with something of a perplexed expression. “It’s nothing for you, Tic. But maybe she’ll let you play in the box,” she mused before her gaze drifted back to her pile of mail, sifting through what inevitably turned out to be nothing but junk. With nothing else of her immediate interest, she wandered into her roommate’s room, sitting on the bed while Jan was at her desk. “What’d you get?”

Jan carefully opened the box, gliding the box cutter down the tape seams so she didn’t have to rip and yank and risk tearing anything inside. She took the neatly folded letter out first, holding it to her face and taking a deep inhale. The scent of patchouli and vanilla wafted into her nose and made her smile. It was the smell she most associated with Nicky, every package and letter she sent came laced with the aroma of her perfume.

“Bonjour, mon petite poupée,” she started to read, ignoring the way Crystal started to laugh at her butchering of the French phrases. “I hope spring is as beautiful there as it is here. I have sent you a box of macarons—I enjoy them year-round, but my mother always loved to bake them the most this time of year. I wanted to send you some of hers, but hopefully bakery ones will suffice. I’d love it if you FaceTime or Skype me when you get them, I want to see your live reaction, and I sent you enough to share with Crystal, so be nice. Until then, câlins et bisous, Nicky.”

Jan smiled broadly as she finished reading the letter, noticing the lipstick kiss print that Nicky signed off every letter with, and gently set it aside. “Okay, it’s like nine at night where she is, she’ll still be up,” she said as she took the pastel box tied neatly with a white lace bow out of the package. “Oh look, this is so cute.” She took out another piece of paper where Nicky had hand-drawn each macaron and wrote the flavor next to it, making a color-coded guide. “Isn’t she so sweet and thoughtful?”

“She told you to share, so yes.” Crystal chuckled, running her hand through her hair to look presentable while Jan called Nicky on Skype.

Nicky answered the call right away. “Hi Jan! Hi Crystal!” She greeted them with energy even though she was dressed for bedtime, wearing a black tank top and white cotton shorts (the latter not being visible in the frame). Her hair was damp, air-drying, and draped over her desk chair. “Did you get my mail?”

Jan nodded, holding the box up for her to see. “Just did. Thank you so much, Nicks. That’s so sweet of you.”

“Of course, I’m still making my way through the gift basket you sent for my birthday. I have opinions on all the different Oreo flavors.” Nicky giggled. They had gotten into a discussion about all the different flavors of the cookie, and she had become obsessed with the idea of trying the variety. So, when her birthday rolled around, Jan had painstakingly arranged a cookie bouquet (along with a few other treats) with as many flavors as she could find.

In the year they’d been communicating, Nicky had both come to expect Jan to go the extra mile and would still be surprised every time. The university course that had brought them together through its pen pal program certainly didn’t require an exchange of presents, but it started with Jan not being to help herself and (unbeknownst to Nicky) progressed into an ever-present desire to impress her.

“We can get to that next, I’m really excited to try these. Which one is your favorite?” Jan asked as she took the bow off the box without untying it and opened it up. “Oooh, it still smells fresh-baked.”

Nicky grinned as she watched her, opening up a bottle of rosé and pouring herself a glass. “I am partial to the red velvet and the apricot.”

Jan licked her lips. “You know I love red velvet.” She plucked the deep red cookie from the box before handing it to Crystal, who was making grabby-hands at it. She waited for her friend to choose and set the box down on her desk. “On three.” She counted down, then took a bite. “Holy shit.” She covered her mouth, not wanting to talk with her mouth full. “Nicks, these are delicious. You’re gonna have to send these on the regular.”

Crystal was enjoying herself just as much. “Is there a word for like, food horny? You know, like it tastes so good, I’m kind of turned on?”

Nicky snorted and Jan looked down and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just say you like it, Crystal.”

“I do,” she confirmed, then looked down at her phone. “Anyway, gotta go. Bye Nicky, thanks for the cookies!” She waved at the screen before darting right out of the room.

Jan chuckled, knowing exactly what propelled Crystal out of the room so quickly and shouted “Tell Gigi I said hi!” after her. Then she faced forward again, her attention effortlessly returned to Nicky. “Anyway, how have you been?” “No complainings,” Nicky hummed, aimlessly strumming her fingers against her glass. “Did you get around to listening to that study playlist I sent you?”

“Oh my god yeah, I forgot to say anything because I kept listening to it after I was done studying and fell asleep,” Jan admitted with a laugh. “You have impeccable taste.”

She twirled her slowly drying hair around her manicured finger. “Tell me something I do not know, darling.” She winked.

Jan’s breath hitched in her throat and she covered it with a cough. Nicky exuded a seductive beauty so effortlessly and it didn’t take much for Jan to get flustered. If their friendship wasn’t exclusively long distance, her crush would have been impossible for Nicky or anyone else to not pick up on. Hell, Crystal only knew because she had been aching for the release of gushing about her feelings and her roommate lent a willing ear. “Last time I did that, we ended up talking about juice boxes for an hour,” she retorted once her body had unclenched.

Nicky chuckled softly at the memory. It was so easy for them to go off on tangents about the smallest things. It was probably her favorite part of her conversations with Jan, everything flowed so easily, awkward silence simply didn’t exist between them. “That is true,” she conceded. “But I’ve got to go eat dinner. We’ll talk tomorrow, yes?”

“Go eat.” She never quite grasped how Nicky always ate dinner so late at night, but she had all but memorized her schedule by now. “Au revoir,” she cooed, just because she knew it would make her laugh, and waved as she ended the call.

——

When Crystal got the text ‘come hang out, im done with class,’ she was out the door before she even sent ‘ok.’ Gigi was a junior while she and Jan were seniors, but all of them going to the same university had their schedules aligning relatively often. But she and Jan were living off-campus, so she didn’t want to waste any time on getting to her.

“Hey.” Gigi smiled, greeting her best friend with a hug. “Come on, we’re going on a coffee run,” she said, leading the way. Her direct nature was something Crystal had appreciated—she didn’t ask questions, she made statements, and it came off as harsh to some, but Crystal was terrible at making daily decisions, so she was happy to leave it in her hands.

“Sounds good. You should come over soon, Jan got these amazing French cookies from Nicky. I think she’ll let us steal some,” Crystal mused, linking their arms as they walked.

“Cool.” She nodded. “Has Jan told Nicky she’s in love with her yet?” It had come up in conversation in the past, leading to Crystal giving the entire backstory of Jan and Nicky’s relationship. Luckily, Jan hadn’t held it against her and could live with one more person knowing the truth.

Crystal laughed softly and shook her head. “Nope. But, you know, you can’t push someone to admit how they feel if they aren’t ready.” Her tone was a bit strained in the remark, looking straight ahead as she spoke.

But Gigi didn’t notice the shift in her voice anyway. “That’s stupid,” she said flatly. “They’re like, four thousand miles apart, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Feelings are feelings.” She shrugged as they entered the café. Of course, she could relate to what Jan was going through, but as far as she was concerned, her situation was worse. A pen pal could be out of sight and out of mind, she reasoned. But having a crush on your best friend made day-to-day life excruciating. She was constantly torn between the desire to distance herself so her emotions didn’t overwhelm, and the powerful urge to spend as much time and be as physically close to Gigi as possible. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the latter would always win. “So, how’s your final project going?”

Gigi let out an exasperated groan. “God, I’m killing myself making a dress for the wedding I’ll never have,” she lamented. “I never want to see white lace again once I’m done with it.”

Crystal winced, averting her gaze. “You don’t think you’ll ever get married?”

“Not the takeaway here, Crys,” she rolled her eyes, but there was still fondness in her expression. “Listen, I’ve made it this far in life without a relationship, maybe that’s just my destiny. I’ll just be far too busy taking over the fashion industry to worry about it.”

It wasn’t a personal rejection, but it was painfully difficult for Crystal not to take it as one. Her heart ached and her chest felt heavy with a sudden sadness, coupled with her active efforts not to let it show. “No, yeah, I get it.”

Gigi rubbed her arm gently. “Don’t let my cynicism ruin that hopeless romantic in you. It gives me hope in this cold, dark world.” She looked into her eyes, silently offering the apology she was just a little too proud to verbalize.

Crystal lightened back up, though she was embarrassed that Gigi had such a hold on her emotions without even realizing it. “I’ll do my best.”

——

Crystal returned to the apartment just as the sun was setting. Coffee had turned to dinner and time had just slipped away from her. But when she got inside, she went right over to knock on Jan’s door, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Come in!”

“Jan, I had an idea!” Crystal let herself in and sat at the desk, as Jan was now in bed with her laptop.

Jan closed the laptop and set it aside. “I’m scared already,” she joked.

“No, no, no, I’m totally serious, and it’s a good idea,” Crystal insisted, shifting to sit cross-legged on the chair. “You and Nicky are like, a million miles apart and that really sucks, right?”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me.”

Crystal waved the comment off and continued. “So here’s the plan—you tell her there’s a big event that you’re going to this summer and you want her to come to visit. Dunno what the event would be, but we can worry about it later.”

The brunette tilted her head to the side. “Like graduation?”

“That’s not enough time. It has to be something that’ll happen in like, a month or something,” she explained. “But you guys will just be so excited to be together that you’ll forget about the event entirely, problem solved.”

Jan stared blankly at her friend, wondering if she had become delirious from too many all-nighters. But then she shrugged, what did she have to lose? “I’ll talk to her about it in the morning, then. It couldn’t hurt to bring up…”

“That’s the spirit!” Crystal clapped her hands together. “Let me know how it goes!” And with that, she left the room with a spring in her step.

And Jan did sleep on it, weighing out the pros and cons of creating an elaborate ruse just to get the girl she was pining after to travel overseas. It wasn’t that they hadn’t talked about visiting each other, but they could never ‘justify’ it, there was always something else they needed to focus on, or the finances just wouldn’t allow it (she wasn’t about to ask her parents to send her to France when they were already paying her bills). The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a decent idea.

After breakfast and a shower, Jan called up Nicky on FaceTime. “Are you busy? I’ve gotta ask you something.”

“You have my undivided attention,” Nicky assured.

Jan smiled, sitting down on the couch. “So, I’ve got this big event coming up next month, and I know we haven’t been able to arrange a visit yet, but I think this would be the perfect opportunity. I really want to see you.”

Nicky tilted her head in curiosity. “I want to see you too. What is the event?”

“A wedding,” Jan answered confidently. She had decided that it would make perfect sense for the time of year.

“I love weddings.” Nicky’s face lit up. “Whose is it?”

Fuck. Why hadn’t she planned one step further? “It’s…” At that moment, she somehow forgot the name of everyone she had ever known for a brief moment, and she wanted to yell at Crystal for giving her this stupid idea in the first place and—

“Crystal and Gigi’s,” she blurted out.

Nicky knew Crystal had a romantic interest in Gigi just from passing conversations, but she had never quite pieced together the nature of their relationship. She was a little surprised at how serious it apparently was, but decided there was no need to question it. “Oh, good for them. I’ll have to double-check, but I think I will be able to be your plus one.”

Jan didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she exhaled in relief. “Great! I’m so excited, I’m sure Crystal will be thrilled to hear it.”

“Send her my good wishes, I have to get to class, though,” Nicky replied, exchanging goodbyes before the call ended.

“What am I gonna be thrilled to hear?” Crystal asked as she tossed her bag into her bedroom. The door was always left open so TicTac could go in and out as he pleased. She had just returned from class, dried paint splotches still staining her fingers and palms.

Jan’s face froze. Yet another issue she had not accounted for. “Nicky is going to come visit.”

Crystal beamed triumphantly, getting ready to rub her brilliance in the other girl’s face. “See? I told you it—”

“She’s visiting for your and Gigi’s wedding.”

She blinked, looking at her incredulously. “Mine and Gigi’s what now?”

“Look, I panicked, it was the only thing I could think of. And this was your idea anyway, so if I’m going down, you’re coming to hell with me,” Jan got up as she spoke, pacing around the room as she desperately tried to figure out what to do next. “Just go with it, please.”

It had taken another moment for Crystal to fully process the information. How was she supposed to tell Gigi? What was she going to do if she couldn’t get her on board? But she didn’t want to compound Jan’s panic and make everything worse. “Well, Gigi does have a wedding dress in the works…” She looked over at her friend who was still on the verge of an anxiety attack and rushed to her side, wrapping her arms around her. “Listen, we’ll make this work. I don’t know how, but we will, I promise.”

Jan took a few deep breaths, allowing herself to be calmed down. She hugged Crystal tightly, hiding her face against her shoulder. “Where do we go from here?” Her voice couldn’t reach above a whisper.

Crystal chewed her lip as she rubbed Jan’s back. “I guess first thing’s first—I have to tell Gigi we’re getting married.”

[missjanjie]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered | (1/?)

Title: Signed, Sealed, Delivered Summary:   Jan is in love with her French pen pal, Nicky. Her roommate, Crystal, is in love with her best friend, Gigi. A (perhaps ill-thought out) plan emerges: give Nicky a reason to visit by inviting her to Crystal and Gigi's wedding. With a month to pull the scheme together, no one knows how this will end up. Word Count: 2.8k (this chapter) Relationship(s): Sportsdoll (Jan Sport/Nicky Doll), Crygi (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode Rating: T (so far)

Read on AO3

also, thanks to @janssports and @imalwaysaslutfordrag for beta-ing xo

“Mail call!” Crystal called out, even though it was only her and Jan in the apartment. She sorted the pile out between the two of them, ending up with two slightly messy stacks. “Looks like you got an international package!”

That brought Jan barreling out of her room, nearly slipping on the rug on her way in. She grabbed onto the counter to support herself, taking a gasp of air before standing upright. “Oh yay!” She grabbed the package with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning and took it back to her room along with the rest of her pile, not bothering to close the door behind her.

Crystal chuckled, looking over to see her cat perched on the couch, staring into Jan’s bedroom with something of a perplexed expression. “It’s nothing for you, Tic. But maybe she’ll let you play in the box,” she mused before her gaze drifted back to her pile of mail, sifting through what inevitably turned out to be nothing but junk. With nothing else of her immediate interest, she wandered into her roommate’s room, sitting on the bed while Jan was at her desk. “What’d you get?”

Jan carefully opened the box, gliding the box cutter down the tape seams so she didn’t have to rip and yank and risk tearing anything inside. She took the neatly folded letter out first, holding it to her face and taking a deep inhale. The scent of patchouli and vanilla wafted into her nose and made her smile. It was the smell she most associated with Nicky, every package and letter she sent came laced with the aroma of her perfume.

“Bonjour, mon petite poupée,” she started to read, ignoring the way Crystal started to laugh at her butchering of the French phrases. “I hope spring is as beautiful there as it is here. I have sent you a box of macarons—I enjoy them year-round, but my mother always loved to bake them the most this time of year. I wanted to send you some of hers, but hopefully bakery ones will suffice. I’d love it if you FaceTime or Skype me when you get them, I want to see your live reaction, and I sent you enough to share with Crystal, so be nice. Until then, câlins et bisous, Nicky.”

Jan smiled broadly as she finished reading the letter, noticing the lipstick kiss print that Nicky signed off every letter with, and gently set it aside. “Okay, it’s like nine at night where she is, she’ll still be up,” she said as she took the pastel box tied neatly with a white lace bow out of the package. “Oh look, this is so cute.” She took out another piece of paper where Nicky had hand-drawn each macaron and wrote the flavor next to it, making a color-coded guide. “Isn’t she so sweet and thoughtful?”

“She told you to share, so yes.” Crystal chuckled, running her hand through her hair to look presentable while Jan called Nicky on Skype.

Nicky answered the call right away. “Hi Jan! Hi Crystal!” She greeted them with energy even though she was dressed for bedtime, wearing a black tank top and white cotton shorts (the latter not being visible in the frame). Her hair was damp, air-drying, and draped over her desk chair. “Did you get my mail?”

Jan nodded, holding the box up for her to see. “Just did. Thank you so much, Nicks. That’s so sweet of you.”

“Of course, I’m still making my way through the gift basket you sent for my birthday. I have opinions on all the different Oreo flavors.” Nicky giggled. They had gotten into a discussion about all the different flavors of the cookie, and she had become obsessed with the idea of trying the variety. So, when her birthday rolled around, Jan had painstakingly arranged a cookie bouquet (along with a few other treats) with as many flavors as she could find.

In the year they’d been communicating, Nicky had both come to expect Jan to go the extra mile and would still be surprised every time. The university course that had brought them together through its pen pal program certainly didn’t require an exchange of presents, but it started with Jan not being to help herself and (unbeknownst to Nicky) progressed into an ever-present desire to impress her.

“We can get to that next, I’m really excited to try these. Which one is your favorite?” Jan asked as she took the bow off the box without untying it and opened it up. “Oooh, it still smells fresh-baked.”

Nicky grinned as she watched her, opening up a bottle of rosé and pouring herself a glass. “I am partial to the red velvet and the apricot.”

Jan licked her lips. “You know I love red velvet.” She plucked the deep red cookie from the box before handing it to Crystal, who was making grabby-hands at it. She waited for her friend to choose and set the box down on her desk. “On three.” She counted down, then took a bite. “Holy shit.” She covered her mouth, not wanting to talk with her mouth full. “Nicks, these are delicious. You’re gonna have to send these on the regular.”

Crystal was enjoying herself just as much. “Is there a word for like, food horny? You know, like it tastes so good, I’m kind of turned on?”

Nicky snorted and Jan looked down and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just say you like it, Crystal.”

“I do,” she confirmed, then looked down at her phone. “Anyway, gotta go. Bye Nicky, thanks for the cookies!” She waved at the screen before darting right out of the room.

Jan chuckled, knowing exactly what propelled Crystal out of the room so quickly and shouted “Tell Gigi I said hi!” after her. Then she faced forward again, her attention effortlessly returned to Nicky. “Anyway, how have you been?” “No complainings,” Nicky hummed, aimlessly strumming her fingers against her glass. “Did you get around to listening to that study playlist I sent you?”

“Oh my god yeah, I forgot to say anything because I kept listening to it after I was done studying and fell asleep,” Jan admitted with a laugh. “You have impeccable taste.”

She twirled her slowly drying hair around her manicured finger. “Tell me something I do not know, darling.” She winked.

Jan’s breath hitched in her throat and she covered it with a cough. Nicky exuded a seductive beauty so effortlessly and it didn’t take much for Jan to get flustered. If their friendship wasn’t exclusively long distance, her crush would have been impossible for Nicky or anyone else to not pick up on. Hell, Crystal only knew because she had been aching for the release of gushing about her feelings and her roommate lent a willing ear. “Last time I did that, we ended up talking about juice boxes for an hour,” she retorted once her body had unclenched.

Nicky chuckled softly at the memory. It was so easy for them to go off on tangents about the smallest things. It was probably her favorite part of her conversations with Jan, everything flowed so easily, awkward silence simply didn’t exist between them. “That is true,” she conceded. “But I’ve got to go eat dinner. We’ll talk tomorrow, yes?”

“Go eat.” She never quite grasped how Nicky always ate dinner so late at night, but she had all but memorized her schedule by now. “Au revoir,” she cooed, just because she knew it would make her laugh, and waved as she ended the call.

------

When Crystal got the text ‘come hang out, im done with class,’ she was out the door before she even sent ‘ok.’ Gigi was a junior while she and Jan were seniors, but all of them going to the same university had their schedules aligning relatively often. But she and Jan were living off-campus, so she didn’t want to waste any time on getting to her.

“Hey.” Gigi smiled, greeting her best friend with a hug. “Come on, we’re going on a coffee run,” she said, leading the way. Her direct nature was something Crystal had appreciated—she didn’t ask questions, she made statements, and it came off as harsh to some, but Crystal was terrible at making daily decisions, so she was happy to leave it in her hands.

“Sounds good. You should come over soon, Jan got these amazing French cookies from Nicky. I think she’ll let us steal some,” Crystal mused, linking their arms as they walked.

“Cool.” She nodded. “Has Jan told Nicky she’s in love with her yet?” It had come up in conversation in the past, leading to Crystal giving the entire backstory of Jan and Nicky’s relationship. Luckily, Jan hadn’t held it against her and could live with one more person knowing the truth.

Crystal laughed softly and shook her head. “Nope. But, you know, you can’t push someone to admit how they feel if they aren’t ready.” Her tone was a bit strained in the remark, looking straight ahead as she spoke.

But Gigi didn’t notice the shift in her voice anyway. “That’s stupid,” she said flatly. “They’re like, four thousand miles apart, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Feelings are feelings.” She shrugged as they entered the café. Of course, she could relate to what Jan was going through, but as far as she was concerned, her situation was worse. A pen pal could be out of sight and out of mind, she reasoned. But having a crush on your best friend made day-to-day life excruciating. She was constantly torn between the desire to distance herself so her emotions didn’t overwhelm, and the powerful urge to spend as much time and be as physically close to Gigi as possible. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the latter would always win. “So, how’s your final project going?”

Gigi let out an exasperated groan. “God, I’m killing myself making a dress for the wedding I’ll never have,” she lamented. “I never want to see white lace again once I’m done with it.”

Crystal winced, averting her gaze. “You don’t think you’ll ever get married?”

“Not the takeaway here, Crys,” she rolled her eyes, but there was still fondness in her expression. “Listen, I’ve made it this far in life without a relationship, maybe that’s just my destiny. I’ll just be far too busy taking over the fashion industry to worry about it.”

It wasn’t a personal rejection, but it was painfully difficult for Crystal not to take it as one. Her heart ached and her chest felt heavy with a sudden sadness, coupled with her active efforts not to let it show. “No, yeah, I get it.”

Gigi rubbed her arm gently. “Don’t let my cynicism ruin that hopeless romantic in you. It gives me hope in this cold, dark world.” She looked into her eyes, silently offering the apology she was just a little too proud to verbalize.

Crystal lightened back up, though she was embarrassed that Gigi had such a hold on her emotions without even realizing it. “I’ll do my best.”

------

Crystal returned to the apartment just as the sun was setting. Coffee had turned to dinner and time had just slipped away from her. But when she got inside, she went right over to knock on Jan’s door, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Come in!”

“Jan, I had an idea!” Crystal let herself in and sat at the desk, as Jan was now in bed with her laptop.

Jan closed the laptop and set it aside. “I’m scared already,” she joked.

“No, no, no, I’m totally serious, and it’s a good idea,” Crystal insisted, shifting to sit cross-legged on the chair. “You and Nicky are like, a million miles apart and that really sucks, right?”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me.”

Crystal waved the comment off and continued. “So here’s the plan—you tell her there’s a big event that you’re going to this summer and you want her to come to visit. Dunno what the event would be, but we can worry about it later.”

The brunette tilted her head to the side. “Like graduation?”

“That’s not enough time. It has to be something that’ll happen in like, a month or something,” she explained. “But you guys will just be so excited to be together that you’ll forget about the event entirely, problem solved.”

Jan stared blankly at her friend, wondering if she had become delirious from too many all-nighters. But then she shrugged, what did she have to lose? “I’ll talk to her about it in the morning, then. It couldn’t hurt to bring up…”

“That’s the spirit!” Crystal clapped her hands together. “Let me know how it goes!” And with that, she left the room with a spring in her step.

And Jan did sleep on it, weighing out the pros and cons of creating an elaborate ruse just to get the girl she was pining after to travel overseas. It wasn’t that they hadn’t talked about visiting each other, but they could never ‘justify’ it, there was always something else they needed to focus on, or the finances just wouldn’t allow it (she wasn’t about to ask her parents to send her to France when they were already paying her bills). The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a decent idea.

After breakfast and a shower, Jan called up Nicky on FaceTime. “Are you busy? I’ve gotta ask you something.”

“You have my undivided attention,” Nicky assured.

Jan smiled, sitting down on the couch. “So, I’ve got this big event coming up next month, and I know we haven’t been able to arrange a visit yet, but I think this would be the perfect opportunity. I really want to see you.”

Nicky tilted her head in curiosity. “I want to see you too. What is the event?”

“A wedding,” Jan answered confidently. She had decided that it would make perfect sense for the time of year.

“I love weddings.” Nicky’s face lit up. “Whose is it?”

Fuck. Why hadn’t she planned one step further? “It’s…” At that moment, she somehow forgot the name of everyone she had ever known for a brief moment, and she wanted to yell at Crystal for giving her this stupid idea in the first place and—

“Crystal and Gigi’s,” she blurted out.

Nicky knew Crystal had a romantic interest in Gigi just from passing conversations, but she had never quite pieced together the nature of their relationship. She was a little surprised at how serious it apparently was, but decided there was no need to question it. “Oh, good for them. I’ll have to double-check, but I think I will be able to be your plus one.”

Jan didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she exhaled in relief. “Great! I’m so excited, I’m sure Crystal will be thrilled to hear it.”

“Send her my good wishes, I have to get to class, though,” Nicky replied, exchanging goodbyes before the call ended.

“What am I gonna be thrilled to hear?” Crystal asked as she tossed her bag into her bedroom. The door was always left open so TicTac could go in and out as he pleased. She had just returned from class, dried paint splotches still staining her fingers and palms.

Jan’s face froze. Yet another issue she had not accounted for. “Nicky is going to come visit.”

Crystal beamed triumphantly, getting ready to rub her brilliance in the other girl’s face. “See? I told you it—”

“She’s visiting for your and Gigi’s wedding.”

She blinked, looking at her incredulously. “Mine and Gigi’s what now?”

“Look, I panicked, it was the only thing I could think of. And this was your idea anyway, so if I’m going down, you’re coming to hell with me,” Jan got up as she spoke, pacing around the room as she desperately tried to figure out what to do next. “Just go with it, please.”

It had taken another moment for Crystal to fully process the information. How was she supposed to tell Gigi? What was she going to do if she couldn’t get her on board? But she didn’t want to compound Jan’s panic and make everything worse. “Well, Gigi does have a wedding dress in the works…” She looked over at her friend who was still on the verge of an anxiety attack and rushed to her side, wrapping her arms around her. “Listen, we’ll make this work. I don’t know how, but we will, I promise.”

Jan took a few deep breaths, allowing herself to be calmed down. She hugged Crystal tightly, hiding her face against her shoulder. “Where do we go from here?” Her voice couldn’t reach above a whisper.

Crystal chewed her lip as she rubbed Jan’s back. “I guess first thing's first—I have to tell Gigi we’re getting married.”

[itsybitsyspiderling]

the reality of a nightmare

find it here on ao3 ! 

Summary: Peter has a bad dream about Tony. And then it starts to come true. Kind of.

Word Count: 5.7k

“Hey. Kid. Yoo-hoo. Earth to Web-Head. Web-Slingin’ Slasher. You awake?”

Peter had fallen asleep in Tony’s workshop again. By this point, the kid had lost count exactly how many times he’d done so. He was up to his waist in midterms and projects, and May had taken extra shifts at work, so when he wasn’t out Spider-Man-ing, he was covering the list of chores she left for him in the meantime. He even fixed up a few dinners for her so she had something in the fridge when she got home at an ungodly hour. Peter’s brain was running eight miles a minute, and he wasn’t sleeping.

He stirred, humming and rubbing at his eyes as he straightened his posture. “Mhm. Yeah. Totally.” As Peter adjusted his vision, his eyes fell to the slick surface of the workbench below where a small puddle of drool sat. Yuck. Gross. He wiped at his chin.

Tony stood behind his desk with a few dozen holograms surrounding him. He raised an eyebrow at Peter. “This is gonna sound gratuitous coming from me, but have you considered sleep? It’s this newfangled thing everyone’s ravin’ about. They’re awake all day and then go to bed at night. You should try it. Works wonders.”

Peter sniffed and nodded. He didn’t even feel tired, but sleeping was so much easier than staying awake. “Not for me,” he said. “Don’t like it anyway. The dreams are never good. There’s better stuff I could be doing.”

“Now that’s a red flag,” Tony muttered, and the holograms disappeared before him. He slowly meandered over toward Peter. “You good, then? School going okay? Grades fine? You can tell me if there’s something bothering you, Pete. Pretty sure we’ve established that the walls-down-protocol has been in effect since last November.”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine,” Peter said, and truly, he meant it. He felt fine, his grades were fine… all he wanted was for life to slow down a little. “Just got no time to breathe, s’all. Ready for summer.”

Tony nodded. “Sure. Yeah, actually, that reminds me––start thinkin’ about places to go for your sixteenth birthday. Any place. And don’t say Disney World.”

“Mister Stark, it’s just that I haven’t been there before, and––”

“A nightmare is what it is. It’s my worst nightmare,” Tony said. “Crowds and crying babies and water rides.” He shivered. “I couldn’t imagine any place else closer to Hell. Speaking of things that are hell, I dry-cleaned your suit. And repaired it. How many times have you gotten stabbed exactly?”

Peter chuckled dryly. He didn’t have the energy to work on whatever the hell he had been working on. If he squinted, it looked like some ugly prototype for a new web-shooter. “Just a few times. Maybe six. Dunno. Thanks though. It was getting smelly.”

“Yeah, welcome to the wonderful world of sweat and smelling bad,” said Tony as he returned back to his spot behind the desk. “You’re gonna love it. I’ll buy you a twelve-pack of deodorant next time I’m out.”

“I use deodorant, Mister Stark.”

“Extra strength. Clinical. Ten dollar entrance fee from now on if you don’t come in smelling like fresh daisies.”

Peter rolled his eyes and smiled. “Sure,” he mumbled, setting his head down onto his arms before shutting his eyes, “start paying me then.”

“Okay, now you've crossed a line.”

Peter laughed, and for a few moments, he felt calm and at ease. He let the machines and Tony’s occasional swears lull him into a light sleep. After that, Peter soon became conscious of his sub-conscience. He was dreaming.

And it was a good dream for a while.

It was sharp and clear. Tony was there doing what Tony did best. He worked on his suits and hummed along to the music blasting through the speakers, and Peter was there tinkering away at his own suit. It resembled a comfortable pattern that they had fallen into over the past few months. It was nice.

When dream-Peter looked at Tony, however, the older man wasn’t as at peace. His expression twisted as he read over a message on his computer screens. From a distance, Peter couldn’t read it, but he knew the message wasn’t good. There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere, and Tony was uncomfortable.

“What’s that?” dream-Peter asked.

Almost as if he had clicked a switch, Tony’s face broke out into a smile. “Nothing,” he answered. “Just junk. Happy’s gotten on the chain mail trend. Dancing cats and ‘you-will-die-in-ten-days’ kind of stuff.”

Peter nodded, accepting the straightforward answer. But somewhere, the truth floated in his mind, weaving in between prefrontal decisions and hippocampus memories. Something was wrong, but in his dreams, he wasn’t aware enough to take notice.

The workshop faded into the kitchen, and now, Tony was in the midst of preparing some pasta dish that Peter couldn’t identify. Meanwhile, he sat at the counter with a few sheets of illegible homework problems below. They didn’t share moments like this often––usually, Peter was too busy with school and evenings on patrol, and Tony spent more days out of town than in. It was special when he invited the kid over for a nice home-cooked dinner. It felt surreal. Not everyone had the opportunity to eat Tony Stark’s subpar cooking.

In the dream, none of that mattered.

“––well, when the guy tried to stab me,” Peter began on a tangent, “I was kinda expecting it, so I dodged and said something like ‘whoa buddy, that’s not nice. You gotta work on your aim.’ And then wham! He stabbed me. And then you showed up, punched the guy, and yelled at me for… ”

From his spot behind the stove, Tony had stopped stirring the pot of pasta to glance at his phone. He looked troubled. It was the same expression from the workshop.

Peter totally forgot what he had been talking about. “You okay, Mister Stark?”

He shook his head, still a bit mentally distanced from having read something odd. “Yeah. Fine. I keep getting these weird messages.”

“From Happy?”

Tony shook his head again. “No. I think someone’s just trying to scare me.”

“It doesn’t bother you that you’re getting them?” Peter asked, to which Tony simply shrugged. “Are they death threats? Are you receiving death threats?”

Tony chuckled. “No, no, God––I’ve received a shit ton of death threats in my life, but this––no. They’re just weird. I’m not bothered. Look who you’re talking to. I’m Iron Man. They don’t scare me.”

Again, Peter accepted the answer, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it just wasn’t right. He didn’t like that Tony found humor in something that would terrify Peter. He didn’t like that he was stuck in a dream where he could do nothing about it.

After that, when things became hazy and Peter wasn’t sure where he was next, the pieces of the puzzle slowly came into place. The news broke that Tony had gone missing. Televisions in windows and big, gaudy screens in Times Square dedicated their minutes to the billionaire’s disappearance. Peter couldn’t go home and he couldn’t go to school. He couldn’t walk down the street without seeing the reports plastering his mentor’s face everywhere. And worst of all, Peter saw this coming, but it was a dream. He had to let it all unfold. He was stuck.

He didn’t know how or why, but the next thing he knew, he was staring at a reel of security footage dated from hours before. Tony was there, locked in some dark room with blood dripping from his forehead while three other men surrounded him. All Peter could do was watch from the monitors in the workshop as they tortured and beat Tony senseless. And Peter couldn’t react. He couldn’t hear anything, but he knew that the men––the evil, diabolic men––were using Tony’s relationship with Peter to their advantage. He just knew.

Tony didn’t have a lot of weak spots, but his Achilles’ heel was his friends and family.

When Peter finally made it to Tony, the dream felt more real than it had before. The hallway was empty and eerily silent, and Peter could paint every detail with his eyes closed. He wasn’t sure how he got there. The room that Tony was in was cold. It was lifeless. Dried blood was splattered across the floor, and as hard as Peter searched, he couldn’t hear a heartbeat. No breaths, not even a blink of an eye.

For those few moments, he believed that they had taken Tony elsewhere. But then Peter turned a corner, and the wreckage of an Iron Man suit stared back at him.

Peter felt to his knees, anger seeping down to his fists while his chest filled with a heavy sadness. He couldn’t tell if he was crying. The image of Tony, beaten skull and blood-soaked skin, was enough to make Peter heave. The men had been merciless. Tony was dead. Murdered. Gone.

And while Peter’s stomach sank further and further, heart lurching with each breath, he crawled over and tossed himself around Tony’s waist. It seemed as though the limp body held him back.

The dream became hazy again, solid shapes fading into nothing while Peter’s terror only grew. He swore, as the colors turned to gray, that a voice cut through the waning REM and said to Peter, “I’m sorry for giving up on you.”

____

Someone was nudging Peter’s shoulder.

His body jolted awake, and he gathered himself quickly, eyes adjusting to the low light in the workshop. The sun had set a long time ago, but he hadn’t been awake to see it. His heart hurt in his chest, and the more conscious he became, the more he felt the erratic beating against his rib cage. To his right, Tony stood, gaze confused and lingering while he pressed his hand on Peter’s shoulder blade.

“You okay?” he asked, slowly retracting his hand. “You’ve been mumbling in your sleep for about an hour, kiddo. You’re as white as a sheet. Maybe you weren’t kidding when you said you have bad dreams, yeah?”

Peter stared straight ahead. He felt numb and in shock, not to mention slightly dehydrated as he evened out his breathing. He remembered everything. The entire dream. God, it felt so real. And he felt warm. Like a fever had struck him without warning. He blinked over at his mentor. “Tony?”

“Tony?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Since when was that a thing? What happened to ‘Mister Stark’?”

Peter blinked again. “S-sorry,” he whispered, shifting in his chair while he pushed back the vertigo that crept up.

Tony walked over toward his desk, but he didn’t hesitate to occasionally look back over at Peter in concern. The confusion never quite left. “Jesus, Pete. Did you physically go somewhere else for three hours? You’re lookin’ at me all weird. Relax your eyes. You’re freaking me out.”

“Oh, sorry.” Peter did his best to loosen whatever muscles were tense. But that was the problem––his entire body was tense. It felt like that one time he volunteered to receive acupuncture when a lady came into his health class freshman year. It didn’t hurt, but he was an idiot to think his fear of needles would be cured over a few pricks in his forehead and thumbs.

He didn’t want to tell Tony about his bad dream. Peter hardly wanted to call it a nightmare. He just couldn’t shake the images out of his head. Tony laying there, a corpse, with broken parts and ghostly apologies. It didn’t make sense––Tony was Iron Man. Iron Man could fight. He never lost. He never died.

But why did Peter sit back and let him die?

He had known it the entire dream: something was wrong. And he didn’t do anything. He saw his mentor beaten and bruised and bleeding until there was nothing left to give. Peter could almost feel his body still curled up against Tony’s side, desperate to hear a heartbeat muffled by the thick metal suit. Nothing. There was nothing. And it was because Peter had been too late.

His hand shook as he raised it to wipe a tear. He tried to keep the action subtle, but he couldn’t hold back the sniff and the small whimper that refused to be contained. The weight of the dream finally set in. Peter had broken his own heart.

“Whoa, kiddo,” Tony mumbled. He dropped what he had in his hands and made his way over, quickly plopping himself down in a stool so he could wrap an arm around Peter’s shoulders.

Peter let himself break. He fell against Tony, sobs wracking through him all wet and strained while a burning ache grew in his chest. “I-I let you die,” he cried out. “I let you die. I’m––I’m sorry, M-Mister Stark.”

“Pete,” whispered Tony, voice low and comforting. He kissed the top of Peter’s head. “What’re you talking about? I’m right here. I’m alive. Okay? It’s okay.”

Peter shook his head against Tony’s chest. “N-no,” he said. His tears were hot on his cheeks. “Dream. In my dream.” He could hardly breathe between words. “Y-you were gone. They––these people––they took you and––”

“But they didn’t, Peter, I’m right here.”

“I just let them kill you!” Peter shouted, pulling away from Tony just to collapse against the desk. He wrapped his arms around his head and breathed in deep.

The workshop was quiet for a moment. Distant technology whirred and buzzed, but the unsettling atmosphere was louder. Peter had never yelled like that, not in front of Tony. After a few seconds, Tony placed a hand back on Peter’s shoulder.

“I can’t erase your bad dreams, kiddo,” the man said. “I would if I could. Hell, I could figure out a way if you wanted me to. But for now, the dream is in the past. It was scary––it made you upset. And I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that. Dreams tend to find the worst things to dwell on. Believe me, I know. Good thing is, Pete, I’m still here. I’m right here. Not dead. See?”

Peter peered over at Tony from over his arm.

“You’re gonna forget about it in a few hours anyway,” said Tony. “Dreams are like my entire life pre-2005. They’re there but then poof––gone from memory like that. Tell you what, though, we’ll get some ice cream and Twizzlers and eat until Happy comes to find us drowning in food comas. How’s that sound?”

Peter cracked a smile. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay, good.” Tony grinned, standing up. “No dreams about death from here on out. All right? You got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

____

Tony was wrong.

Peter couldn’t say that to his face, of course, but it didn’t make it any less true. Tony was wrong. Peter remembered every vivid detail of the dream, all the way down from the clothes the man was wearing and up to the words he said. Even Peter’s worst nightmares never stuck like that. He couldn’t unsee any of it. Tony lying there. Tony, dead.

Tony not even giving a shit that people wanted to kill him.

The thing that upset Peter the most was just that. The dream wasn’t some fantasy where he rode dragons and summoned an army of spiders. The dream was something that, if he were honest, had the possibility of happening. He knew that Tony would ignore messages like that. Peter knew that Tony would scoff and shove them off because he was Iron Man. And Iron Man never lost.

Every time Peter tried to talk about his dream, the older man was always half-preoccupied with another obscure project. He cut in between with hums and “yeah”’s, absent-minded responses while Peter was haunted by the dream.

After a week, Peter realized that Tony’s lack of attention most likely meant a lack of interest. The kid kept his mouth shut from then on out.

But for some reason, that wasn’t what Tony wanted either.

“Incoming call from Tony Stark,” Karen said one evening.

Peter was out in the suit, but there wasn’t much activity for the night. For over an hour, he had been up on a roof and using his webbing as a jump rope up when Karen cut in.

“What?” Peter asked breathlessly. “Why’s he––?”

Tony’s face popped up in the heads-up display, a small smile decorating his features while a knot formed in Peter’s stomach. He still saw the Tony from his dream, even nearly a week later. Dreams never stayed around that long. They never stuck like that.

“Word to the wise, kiddo, don’t leave your homework sittin’ around if you don’t want me to correct it,” the man said, holding up a handful of papers. “What’s with all the stuff you left behind, huh? Since when did you journal?”

“I just––I dunno,” Peter said and shrugged. “I’ve got feelings and… yeah. It’s just easier to write it all down instead of––wait, Mister Stark, did you––you didn’t read my journal, did you?”

Tony appeared briefly offended. “What? No. That’s a serious invasion of privacy. I’d never do that. Besides, if you wrote anything about that dream you’ve been chatterin’ on about for the past week––”

“You were listening?” Peter sat down on the ledge of the roof and looked over at the street below.

“Pete, you didn’t give me the chance to not listen,” Tony said. “Granted, I usually don’t listen, so, you’ve got a point.”

“It just didn’t seem like you wanted t’hear about it,” Peter mumbled, shrugging once again, “that’s all. I just—I can’t stop thinking about it. The dream. It scared me.”

Tony frowned. His eyebrows furrowed and wrinkles deepened on his forehead, meanwhile, Peter was dreading the fact that, now, Tony was listening.

Peter sighed. “I just can’t stop seeing you a-and––”

“Pete,” Tony said. “I know. I’m sorry. I can’t get it out of your head. I wish I could.” He was quiet for a moment, and Peter could see the thoughts running through his head. “Why don’t you go home and tell May you’ll be spending the night up here? ‘Kay? I’ll get in a car. Me instead of Happy this time. I hear he’s been babbling on about his old boxing days again; you wouldn’t last a minute. Swing on home and get some stuff together.”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter mumbled, sniffing as he blinked away a few tears. “Sure. Thanks, Mister Stark.”

“Of course, kiddo,” Tony replied. “And, don’t worry about me, all right? I’m alive. I’m breathing––to many, many people’s dismay.”

Peter chuckled. “Okay.”

Tony smiled, too. “See you in an hour. Stark out.”

Once the phone call was over, Peter shook his head and tried to wipe the grin off his face. Tony was right. He was there. He was alive. All the dream had been was just a dream.

____

A month later.

____

“That’s––huh. Well, you don’t see that every day.”

Peter sat up and took out an earbud. “See what?” he asked. Music continued to play lowly into one ear.

Tony stood at his desk, rubbing his chin while he stared at his array of computer screens and holograms. Peter could only see a reversed image of a few things, but he had never been good at reading things backward. It wasn’t a trait he picked up in elementary school when the rest of his classmates did.

“Uh, nothing,” Tony muttered, waving his hands to make whatever it was disappear. “No big deal. Just observing. Doesn’t matter. What’re you working on?”

“Just some homew—”

“Can I help?” he asked fervently as he made his way over.

Peter took out the other earbud. “Sure. It’s on oscillations and gravitation. Physics stuff.”

Tony sat down and slid the paper in front of him. He looked over the homework, eyes rapidly reading over every word, equation, graph, etc., before he reached over for the pencil in Peter’s grip. “Easy. Just use the values as Jacobi elliptic integrals.”

Peter watched, eyebrows raised, as Tony scribbled messily on the sheet. “I’m not sure that’s––”

“Shh, working,” the man said and held up a finger. As he did so, however, the gesture trembled. He kept his jaw clenched while he wrote a variety of illegible functions.

So, Peter kept watching. He didn’t care about homework though. He watched Tony’s actions, thoroughly observing every nervous tick or coping habit. Every nail bite, deep breath, forehead rub, and so on.

“You okay, Mister Stark?” Peter asked after a moment.

Tony blinked, barely glancing over as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Hm. Yeah––what?”

Peter almost laughed, but something felt off. Tony was off. “Are you okay? You seem… I don’t know. Weird.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. He set down the pencil. “Oh, yeah. Totally. I’m great. You okay?”

“Yeah…” Peter cracked a small smile. “I’m good. What you were talking about earlier––you sure it was just nothin’? You look all pale. And sweaty.”

“Sweaty?” Tony laughed, but even that sounded nervous. “I’m fine, Pete. Don’t worry about me. Worry about how physics is a joke and how no high school student should ever have to endure his crap. Jesus Christ.” He looked back over the sheet, flipped it over, and rolled his eyes. “Your little brain must hurt having to look at that. How the hell do you do this and be Spider-Man? I couldn’t even run a company and––”

“Mister Stark.”

“Yeah?”

Peter didn’t want to forget about what was bothering his mentor, but there wasn’t a conversation at hand. Tony wasn’t going to crack; he was going to keep avoiding it until he grew frustrated at Peter. And then, there would be uncomfortable silence for an hour or two before Tony decided to apologize and finally assure Peter that he was, in fact, okay. But Peter knew better. He knew there was something, but he needed to face the facts. He wouldn’t get the truth.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Thanks for––uh, doing my homework.”

Tony smiled and slapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Anytime. Don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Yeah, well, next time I’ll be sure to,” Peter said with a laugh. He picked up his pencil and looked over the homework as Tony walked away. Nothing was legible. Nothing was right. But, with Tony, something was clearly wrong.

Peter kept noticing the shift in behavior over the course of the next week. Little changes like occasional tics and habits––all summoned by a quick glance at a phone or a watch. Peter wondered if it had something to do with Pepper or Rhodey, or maybe the company’s stock had taken a tumble and Tony was nervous he’d go bankrupt. He was high strung at all hours, and it seemed to be triggered by something he read or received.

The nervous mannerisms made Peter nervous. His senses nagged at him, prickling at the back of his neck whenever Tony acted weird. It was getting worse and worse, and Peter couldn’t handle it anymore.

He had Happy drive him up to the compound after school without telling Tony. The weather was getting warmer and spring had started to show itself, but Peter couldn’t enjoy it if there was something wrong with someone he cared about. Tony was Tony. Tony was Iron Man. He hid his emotions fairly well, yet he wasn’t doing a great job around Peter.

The sun was setting outside as Peter walked through the compound. It was empty and cold, but most of the life was tucked away in Tony’s workshop. Yet, as Peter strolled, an unsettling feeling crept up, one that felt vaguely familiar.

“FRIDAY?” Peter asked into the air.

“Hello, Peter.”

“Hey––uh, is Tony––Mister Stark––is he here?”

“He isn’t,” replied the AI. “Would you like me to alert the Boss that you’ve arrived?”

“Sure,” Peter said, rubbing at his sleeve as he stepped down the corridor to the workshop. “Where is he?”

“I haven’t received any activity regarding his location.”

“Oh, okay.”

“The last check-in was four hours ago in Queens,” she said.

Peter furrowed his brows and he opened the door to the workshop. The room lit up around him. “He’s in Queens? Where?”

“JFK International Airport.”

“Fri, you could’ve just told me he was on a plane,” said Peter, stepping around a few strewn tools before sitting at his usual workbench. It felt weird to be there alone––it felt like he wasn’t supposed to be there at all.

“Boss doesn’t have any upcoming scheduled flights.”

“Huh, okay. Weird.” Peter slumped down against the table, arms surrounding his head while he rested his chin on them. He faced Tony’s desk, blinking up at Post-It Note doodles taped up to the backs of monitors. Most of them were done by Peter when he was bored, but DUM-E and U had contributed to a few.

“Hey, Fri?” Peter mumbled, bring his hand up to his cheek. “Does Mister Stark ever design things for me and not tell me about them?”

“It’s possible,” the AI said. “He has a few files that have not been opened in a while. Would you like to view them?”

Peter instantly sat up. His hands slammed against the table, and the sound echoed throughout the workshop. “I can do that? They’re not––he doesn’t have them locked up or encrypted, or anything?”

“Of all people to keep secrets from, Peter, Boss wouldn’t keep them from you.”

Peter smiled. He rapped his knuckles against the table before letting the stool slide out from under him. Excitement filled his chest as he rushed over to Tony’s desk, fingers quick to access the server and tap into whatever files the man had on Peter.

And for hours, he sat there scrolling through design after design, idea after idea until FRIDAY announced that Peter had eaten out all of the popcorn left in the compound. He couldn’t believe that Tony had done all of this for him––he couldn’t believe that he was even sitting there at Tony’s desk and eating up all of his food. It all felt surreal.

“Hey––uh, Fri?” Peter asked, sipping at some soda he found in the kitchen. “What’s this?”

Peter’s finger was pointed at an odd amalgamation of numbers and letters slotting through the screen.

“The system is rebooting,” she said.

“Oh.” He nodded and sat back against the chair. “Why?”

“I’m not sure,” the AI replied. “It’s possible its last reboot triggered an automatic update.”

He leaned forward, watching the numbers slowly fade away until the monitor turned back. And then it came back to life. On the middle screen, a small message sat lonely in the center. Peter squinted so he could read it.

Subject Acquired. Mission Accomplished. Good luck.

“F-FRIDAY?” stuttered Peter. The message disappeared. The monitor returned back to the way it had been before. “What was that?” Peter’s voice cracked as he spoke.

“I don’t know, Peter,” she said, and even she sounded scared. “I can’t track its origin.”

“Where’s Tony?” he asked. “Fri, where is he?”

“His last location is still JFK International Airport.”

Peter stood, hands shaking as flashes of his old dream filled his head. His skin pricked, and optimistically, he believed he knew exactly where to go. But he was just hopeful. Hopeful that Tony hadn’t moved since he was last tracked. Hopeful to find him in one piece. Hopeful to find him alive.

Peter clicked his web-shooters into place and sighed. “Well, then, got any suits for me ‘round here, Fri?”

____

Tony was going to kill him. If he wasn’t already dead, he was going to kill Peter.

Peter wasn’t sure how to get to JFK any other way than using one of the Iron Man suits. He needed something quick, something that would get him there in a matter of minutes. As air traffic control cut into the suit’s communications, Peter searched for anything that would prove out of the ordinary. He landed on a bit of unused tarmac and winced as planes roared by in the distance.

“Search the hangars, Fri, search anywhere,” Peter gasped out, tired from pushing down the panic threatening to rise in his chest. Plus, he had on his suit underneath Tony’s; it was getting hot in there. “How am I––how am I supposed to find him with an airport full of people?”

“There is a supposedly unoccupied hangar across from terminal seven,” the AI said. “You are within a distance for me to pick up on an odd heat signature emitting from the building. I would say that is your best bet.”

Peter nodded, breathing hard while the repulsors ignited beneath his hands and feet. He soared into the air as FRIDAY directed him to the hangar, and finally, he could see what she was talking about. Through the suit’s thermal imaging, he could see that the building was empty except for an odd––almost blob-like––anomaly in a corner. Peter dove down and landed onto the adjacent road as quietly as possible.

“Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead,” he whispered to himself. “Dammit, Tony, I have school tomorrow. Please don’t be dead.”

Peter tried to hide it from FRIDAY, but truly, he was terrified. His stupid dream was coming true. And he hadn’t recognized the signs. Tony’s behavior, the messages, and now, he was missing. This wasn’t fair. He couldn’t be dead.

“Is he in a suit, Fri?” Peter asked lowly.

“If he is, all functions have been powered down or removed,” she said. “I’m not receiving anything.”

Peter nearly broke, expression crumbling for a moment as he snuck in through a door. “Please don’t be fucking dead,” he muttered and stepped into the hangar.

It was large, empty, and cold. It reminded him of the compound.

Peter stepped out of the Iron Man suit. As comforting as it was to have FRIDAY with him, the suit’s technology was hindering his ability to hear for a heartbeat. He stood, unmoving and quiet as he listened for a sound. Any sound. A single breath would suffice.

And somewhere, faint as could be, was a slow heartbeat.

“Mister Stark?” Peter found himself shouting into the dark, and he didn’t care if he was yelling it to no one or someone unfamiliar. He didn’t care if the entire airport knew he was there.

He heard a small gasp along with winces of pain. Peter was quick on his feet, dodging boxes and other obstacles. The hangar had been abandoned and used for storage––a great place to hide a famous superhero that no one would know how to find.

“I’m––I’m coming! Shit.” Peter stubbed his toe.

The heartbeat was drowned out by his pants and the rush of wind as he ran. God, why were hangars so big?

Oh, right. Airplanes. Duh.

Peter wanted to believe he was dreaming, but instead, he kept running and following his instincts.

“Mister Stark?” he called out again as he slowed. He glanced around, looking beyond the boxes and the mounds of crap the airport had stored in there. There was even a giant dumpster full of odd things like busted microwaves and broken chairs.

“Yeah, Pete, I’m here,” the man breathed out from behind.

Peter turned and rushed over to where Tony was propped against a stack of wooden pallets. His helmet had been removed, and portions of the suit had been damaged. There were large gashes on any inch of exposed skin, including a rigid cut along the man’s cheek. But he was alive. He was bleeding and bruised, but he was alive.

“Nanotech’s gonna need a bit more work,” he said, grunting while he lifted himself higher into a sitting position. “Jesus. Fuck.”

Peter crouched beside Tony, eyes examining over every wound and bloodstain on his mentor’s skin. He set a hand on his back and another on his arm, and Tony looked up at him with a smile.

“It was an ambush,” Tony mumbled through a busted lip. “Fucking embarrassing.”

Peter shook his head.

“Some guys who’d gotten their hands on old Chitauri stuff from 2012.” Tony shifted his shoulder and groaned. “Shit. That stings. They––they reminded me of the dude you fought. The one with the wings. That Vulture guy.”

Peter bit his lip to keep from tearing up. Tony was alive. The dream hadn’t come true after all.

“They got away,” Tony whispered, turning his head so Peter couldn’t see the emotion in his features. “I-I let them get away.”

“We’ll get them,” Peter said, “one day. We’ll get them. Together. Okay? You’re just covered in blood. So, we should probably get you help or somethin’.”

Tony nodded, chuckling. “Yeah. Help. I’d like that. Know how to cauterize?”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Uh, Karen?” he said to his AI, voice cracking. “Let’s get some medics down here. Now.”

Tony continued to laugh. “Relax. I did some myself.” After a moment, his laughter settled, and he set a hand over Peter’s. “You did good, kid. Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“Why’re you sorry, Mister Stark? You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Nah, I’ve got lots to be sorry for,” said Tony. “You’re just being modest. Sorry for letting this happen. Sorry for not letting you in on what was happening. They warned me, and I didn’t listen.”

“You’re good at that,” Peter muttered and smiled. “The not-listening thing.”

“I told you, I totally listen to everything you say.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Start having good dreams from now on,” said Tony. “Dreams where I retire and you go to college, and we all live happily ever after. That’s your job. Stop dreaming about me dying. Now I know this shit can come true.”

Peter laughed. “I’ll try.”

“Good kid.” Tony patted Peter’s cheek. “How’d you know to come here? How’d you even get here?”

“FRIDAY had a location, so I just followed instincts and stuff after that,” Peter answered. “Plus, I totally didn’t take one of your suits. Not at all.”

“You totally didn’t what?”

“Uh. Nothing. I told you. You totally won’t find that I took one of your suits.”

“You’re dead, Parker.”

[oliverwxod]

Fade (Thor Odinson)

Pairing: Thor x Reader

Warnings: depressed Thor, swearing, smut

Summary: Set after Infinity war where Thor goes into a deep depression and Y/n tries to be there for him in the way he wants.

The thunder crashed outside, booming over the whole of New York, adding to the already dark and mystified atmosphere that the snap had brought. Lightening struck twice within the same second, a white and purple hue reflecting off the clouds, bouncing across the sky.

“fuck... Thor” the sound of Thor’s name left her lips in a gasp as the God of thunder thrust his hips up against her, a grunt leaving his mouth as he picked up the speed.

This... this thing he had going on with Y/n was the only thing that made him feel anything anymore. He had lost everything. His Mother, his Father, Loki, his best friend, Jane... anyone he had ever cared about he had lost. The people he had left, well, Thanos made them disappear into a gust of ash and dust, leaving behind a miserable world that would never be the same.

“Fuck” he groaned, pulling her down further against him, her chest pressed flush to his as he looked up at her, his hands grabbing onto the skin of her thighs.

Anger consumed him sometimes. If he wasn’t feeling anything, it would creep up on him in bursts, frustration and irritability at himself more than others. Just yesterday they had found some hope that lead them straight to Thanos himself.

But it was too late, they had been too late. Thanos had destroyed the stones and Thor went for the head in a fit of rage and upset. He had killed him and now they had no way of getting their friends back.

Once again he felt as if he had fucked up.

“Thor - I’m gonna-”

“I know” he spoke through gritted teeth. He flipped positions, easily manhandling her as he pushed her off of him, her back hitting the bed as he followed, pounding into her from above, the headboard hitting into the wall repeatedly as she gripped the sheets tightly between her hands.

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

It had been 5 years since the snap. Just under 5 years since Thor killed Thanos and just under 5 years since Thor had left the Avengers compound for good, fleeing to the New Asgardians homeland on earth.

Y/n was the only one who made the trip to see him as much as she could which was barely once a month. it had taken her a while to forgive him for walking out on them all. Especially walking out on her that night as she accidentally fell asleep beside him.

New Asgard was nice. It was a quaint fishing town, quiet and peaceful, a new life that had been built for many of Thor’s people.

She remembered the first time she went to visit, surprising Thor who looked overjoyed to see her, but she knew It was only because he was drunk. She had stayed the night, Thor fucking her harder than he ever had, taking out his frustrations and anger out on her and trying to convey how much he had missed her.

He wouldn’t ever say the words though. He let his body speak through rough touches and broken moans of her name.

He got used to seeing her once every couple months, enjoying the release he got and the momentary distraction from his depressive thoughts that often consumed him. Thor hated to admit it, but the visits from Y/n really cheered him up and he dreaded when she left. But he really didn’t want to rely on her, he didn’t want to rely on anyone on this new world.

“You should come back” y/n had asked the last time she was there.

Thor was laying beside her, his chest bare and gleaming with sweat, highlighted by the moonlight streaming through the open window. He stared at the wall, letting out a chuckle at her words and shaking his head as if she had told a funny joke.

“Why?” He questioned, giving her his attention now, a look of humour behind his expression.

“Because...” she spoke hesitating, knowing the reason why but not wanting him to know it.

“Because it doesn’t feel right when you’re not there” she said quietly. Y/n sat up in the bed, pulling the sheets up to cover her from his intense gaze.

“That place has never been my home. I will never feel at home again. Here... this place... is the closest I feel to it. Nothing, or no one can make me go back there” he spoke seriously. His eyes narrowing at her as she stood up, gathering her clothes and pulling them on quickly as she kept glancing over to watch him.

She had to get out before she accidentally showed him how much his words really hurt her.

“I just thought if we all stuck together than-“

“I’m not going back there Y/n.” He said, anger lacing his words as his brows furrowed in irritation.

“we’re your friends Thor. We’re all worried about you, Nat, Steve, Bruce. We want to be there for you but we can’t when you’re here and we’re there.”

“Friends” He scoffed “we’re friends are we?”

“Yes. We’re friends- that's what you said we were when I asked you all those years ago” she spoke, glaring at him as she pulled her t-shirt over her head.

“Yeah, well we’ve come a long way since then sweetheart” he mumbled, sitting up against the headboard.

“You know - fuck you, fuck you and your stupid little games you’re playing. I get it you know! You’re not the only one whose lost someone, it doesn’t give you the excuse to fuck around with peoples feelings” she spoke harshly.

She spared him one last look before grabbing her jacket and leaving even though it was 1am and pitch black outside. As soon as she left New Asgard the rain started, the thunder following minutes later, roaring above her as she walked away. It was the start of a month long storm.

Y/n hadn’t been back since, for several months.

——————————————————------ ---------------------------

“We need Thor” Natasha spoke, Y/n’s head shooting up from where she had been staring into nothingness.. “Y/n? You think you can get him to come back?”

“I’ve tried Nat. He won’t come back for me” she stated plainly, picking at the plastic on the water bottle in front of her.

“We can try” Rocket piped up from across the room, gesturing to himself and Bruce who was still stuck in hulk form.

“Good luck with that” y/n spoke rolling her eyes. She didn’t want to see him. Knowing that as soon as she did she would become weak again, the past few months spent getting over him would amount to nothing.

Thor came back with them and Y/n couldn’t admit to anyone how much it hurt.

————————————————————-----------------------------

Thor was a mess to put it frankly. He sat in the corner watching everyone as they spoke, trying to locate the infinity stones and figure out who had encountered them.

“so wait- that means there were three stones in New York in the same year!” Natasha spoke, a grin stretching onto her face.

“So now we need to figure out whose going where. Thor? care to explain how you encountered the reality stone?” Steve spoke, everyone suddenly turning to look at him.

“What?” he asked, eye widening.

“uh- the reality stone” Rocket spoke.

“Oh, yes. Of course!” he spoke, standing up from his seat, the chair screeching across the floor and making everyone wince.

Y/n watched as he started speaking, going off on a tangent and getting lost in old stories.

“Oh and-” he turned to the screen, stood frozen as his eyes landed on a picture of Jane. Everyone knew the history between the two of them.

“Jane” he whispered softly. “Isn’t she beautiful? So very beautiful” Thor said.

“Okay big guy” Rocket stepped in, leading a tearful Thor back to his seat.

Y/n looked away, Steve catching her gaze with a pitiful smile. She hated it.

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

Thor found her later on that night. Y/n was curled up in her room on the sofa, staring out at the compound grounds. He knocked gently before entering, Y/n completely ignoring him until he took a seat next to her.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, fidgeting slightly.

Y/n had never seen him so restless, taking the time to properly look at him and realising it was nervousness.  

“Haven’t been able to for months” she admitted. “You?”

“The same.” he spoke before trailing off into silence. “I wanted to apologise to you-”

“Don’t bother” she said, her words careless as if she had given up, emotionally numb by this point of her life.

“No. I want to apologise to you. I fucked up- again- it’s all I do at the moment and I'm really sorry, I never intended to hurt you.” Thor said, taking her hand in one of his. Y/n gave in, leaning her body against his, warm and familiar.

“It’s alright. We all have different ways of coping.” she spoke.

“and to what I said before, about being friends or not being friends... I just want you to know that you are more than a friend to me, whatever that may be”

“You didn’t have to justify yourself to me Thor” she said softly.

“I wanted to. I wanted you to know just how much you really do mean to me”

“Why now?” Y/n spoke “Why are you telling me this the day before either one of us could die?”

“Because you need to know in case I do” he said. Y/n didn’t like when he said it, the actual possibility of loosing him or any of the Avengers - her family- made her feel sick to her stomach. She didn’t know how to respond, instead leaning further into Thors embrace, her Boyd shaking from the cold temperature of the room or fear, she couldn’t tell.

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