#we can peer into the “real world to stay just grounded enough to create but don’t get stuck there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

taeescript · 3 years

Text

29+1 (Part One)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰: In which Seokjin is the Devil from The Devil Wears Prada, Taehyung is your work Jesus and Jimin is your handsome successful brother.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: seokjin x reader (taehyung x reader if you squint real hard)

𝔤𝔢𝔫��𝔢: slice of life; ceo!seokjin (diva!seokjin)

𝔴𝔠: 3.6k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: heavy use of alcohol as a coping mechanism, a plethora of sarcasm (please don’t be offended) and a sprinkle of softness (is that a warning?).

𝔞/𝔫: this sat in my unwritten folder since 2017 no lie. I wrote the premise and a singular paragraph at that time, then just gave up. I opened it a few days ago, got inspired again and this word vomit came out (heavily influenced by a midnight Zoom call with my friends). Ngl this was so much fun to write, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. This will probably be in three parts. 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: I did not know that DailyHive is an actual online news source when writing. This work is purely fictional and has absolutely nothing to do with the real DailyHive.

part two

Your friends have a saying: After 29, nobody shares their age until they’ve accomplished something.

In the past, you didn’t understand it. What’s so bad about saying you’re 30 or you’re 32? That’s still a young age! Sure, you’re not exactly in your prime anymore but you’re not old, right?

So, you continue in your own wondrous world of naïveté until that fateful day at your class reunion. You had simply been walking around, minding your own business when you had been stopped by an old colleague.

“Hey, Y/N, right?” she waves you down.

You smile kindly, not even bothering to try and remember her name (you sucked at names, what could you say).

“Hey…you!” you chuckle lightly, “How have you been doing?”

An everyday question leading to catastrophic effects.

“Oh you know,” she says and rolls her eyes as if you truly did know, “I’ve just been out and about. Did I tell you though? I got married last year!” She holds out her hand in which a giant diamond adorns her finger. “Wow!” you gasp, feigning interest. It’s not that you aren’t happy for her, but you are reminded of just how single you are currently. When was the last time you felt another human’s touch? Does kissing come back as easily as riding a bicycle? “Hey!” she says suddenly, “I’m actually meeting with a couple of friends from our class. You should come join! I’m sure they’d be happy to see you again!” You want to wave her off, but against your better judgment, you find yourself following in her footsteps and listening to her speak about wedding venues and honeymoon destinations.

“Oh my god!” another female voice filters in.

The “couple of friends” this old classmate had mentioned is in fact a fairly impressive size of twenty. This is also the third time the wedding announcement has been made.

“Last year?” the female continues, “Weren’t you young?”

Yes, you want to respond. Yes she was young. A full 365 days younger than she is now.

Your classmate, Sooyoung (or Kiko as she insists going by now) titters in front of you. “I mean, you can sort of say I’m a late bloomer. I got married when I was 31.”

Her words unintentionally cut into you. Here you are at 29 without a beau in sight. You take a fast swig of your beer and end up hitting the empty glass with a clink to your teeth. Nobody notices.

“Enough about me, however, how about you?”

“I started my own business actually. It’s been doing really well and it’s been a crazy mind. Imagine me, my own boss at only 33!”

You nervously join them when they suddenly laugh together.

“Hi, can I get another pint please? Actually add a tequila shot to that,” you whisper the last part to the waitress you had just stopped.

And that was how the rest of the night went. People asking one another what they had accomplished. Any moment in time after 30 would not be mentioned until somebody travelled to Uganda to build houses at 31 or another gave birth at the same age. Below 30, anything would be attributed to luck or in your case…

“What are you doing currently?” somebody asks you, “The little baby of our class.”

Swallowing your third tequila shot of the night, you wonder for the umpteenth time how you had become a part of this giant sharing circle. You wonder if it’s a blessing or a curse that you had graduated a little early and thus was younger than most of your peers.

“Well,” you start, “I’m currently working at DailyHive.”

“Ohh!” a man gushes. You recognize him as the once-upon-a-time science partner you used to cheat notes off of. “I use DailyHive nearly as much as Instagram these days. You guys cover everything from news to sports to fashion.”

You shrug. “Yeah. It’s, uh… it’s a pretty big company!”

“What are you doing there?”

Kiko-ex-Sooyoung hits the man teasingly on the shoulder. “Y/N is probably the Director of Marketing or something. Remember how she used to spend all class doodling in her notebook?”

“Or sleeping!” someone quips.

You don’t join in when they all laugh.

“I’m…an intern,” you say with as much pride as you can in a group of established professionals ranging from dermatologists to that one guy who had flown around the world as a TedTalk guest speaker.

A hushed silence befalls everyone.

“That’s…cool!” the same man encourages you, “Interns are totally rad! Everyone wants an intern spot these days.”

His girlfriend pats your arm, almost empathetically. “Yeah. I know a bunch of people who first start off as interns and then they shoot up the ladder quick enough. As long as you’re no longer an intern at 30, you’re golden!”

Once again, the entire group laughs as if she has said the most hilarious of jokes.

She composes herself and says to you, “Because after that, you should have accomplished something.”

Her words still ring in your ears as you sit at your desk this morning.

Yeah…something. All you need to do is accomplish something in the next three months before you are officially, 29 + 1.

Your fingers tap against your thighs silently while you observe the current debate that is occurring in the conference room. You barely have time to sweep the falling hair back behind your ear as your fingers ferociously fly across the keyboard to keep in track with the meeting.

Fei is arguing that the implement of a new search word system would boost users while Daniel says that it is a waste of resources. Instead, everything should be put into updating the entire system as a whole. You have long since lost track of their words as neither pertain to what you do as an intern.

“Enough,” the CEO of DailyHive holds up a hand. His one word causes the entire room to hush over – truly, the words of a god.

And that might as well be what he is. With his hair swept back and a lone tendril curling perfectly above his brow, Kim Seokjin is legitimately a walking god. Off his broad shoulders hang an expensive white linen suit bought with his pocket change and your yearly salary. A pair of sunglasses hangs in the V of the collared shirt dipping low enough to blur the lines between being fashionably professional and just downright sexy.

The snap of his fingers brings you back to the present.

He dramatically rolls his eyes and accepts that you are an incompetent minute-taker.

“I have to remember that the world just doesn’t move as fast as I do.”

- Quote: Rolling Stones 2019 Kim Seokjin.

Now if only he’d remember he had once said that.

He points at each of them with one finger, then swipes to the left. “Both of you, solve this outside. I don’t want to hear your voices any longer. You two from the marketing team, Ungroomed Stache and Acne Chin, create me a report if we are to implement Ms. Song’s idea. The two of you from…” he takes a pause here clearly having forgotten who his employees are, “The two of you do the same thing but for Mr. Hwang.”

The pair from accounting open their mouth to protest that they are in charge of only numbers, but they are ignored.

“All of you out now. Except you,” he points his finger directly at you, “Stay.”

Nobody utters a single word until they have all left and you are left alone with him. Standing before him with your hands folded nicely in front of you, you blink and wait.

He stares right back at you, picks up his coffee mug and drops it. The clatter of ceramic smashing against the ground causes a pause in the loud buzz outside the room. You know everybody’s focus has been shifted into the room.

“Do you want to kill me?” he drawls.

You take a long inhale. “No,” you say.

“No?” he repeats the word, “Well I think you do. Did you check this coffee before you brought it to me? I tasted cinnamon in it. You know how I’m allergic to cinnamon. Get me a new cup. And this mess, get somebody to clean it. I don’t want the smell of coffee in this room when I have my next meeting here in twenty. I’m taking a smoke a break.”

He stands up and brushes past you without saying anything else.

Nobody can be allergic to cinnamon. Besides if he had actually tasted cinnamon and was that sensitive, he would be dead. And good riddance to that.

Of course, you say none of this and wordlessly begin to pick up the broken ceramic pieces of the dead mug. The bustling outside the meeting room has returned back to its normal state of chaos. Seeing the ugly stain of coffee on the once pristine carpet causes you to swear beneath your breath.

“Who the fuck is allergic to cinnamon?” a new voice says, sliding up beside you.

The second god in DailyHive; the much nicer and evidently preferred Kim; Taehyung takes the mug pieces from you and drops it into the garbage bin.

Blessed with not only intelligence but devilishly model-like features, he is your desk buddy in the small space allotted for interns and your sole friend in the company.

“Tae,” you sigh with exasperation upon seeing your lifesaver, “What am I going to do about this stain? He’s going to return in fifteen and there’s no way I can get a coffee stain out of this expensive-ass carpet.”

Taehyung taps a long finger to his lips, leaves the room briefly, and returns with a roll of Bounty sheets and a can of Febreze. He promptly blots as much of the coffee off from the carpet then proceeds to pull the meeting table.

“C’mon, Y/N, don’t just stand there. Help me! Time is of the essence!”

You laugh and join him in moving the table so that one of the legs cover the stain 80% of the way. Once he is satisfied, he takes the Febreze and sprays until the whole room smells like “Hawaiian Aloha”.

“You’re welcome.” He gives an extravagant bow, the motion popping open the top button of his shirt to expose a surprisingly chiseled chest.

Fei returns back into the room holding a phone to her ear and a clipboard in her left hand. “What the hell? It smells like a Bath & Body Works in here. Intern, aren’t you supposed to be filing or something? Stop standing around and be useful.” She grips Taehyung’s arm and drags him out of the room. “Button up. This is a professional workplace.”

You give him a tiny wave as Taehyung is steered away by his girlfriend and back to the cubicles.

Taehyung may be your saviour at work, but outside, it cannot be denied that your brother is the true Fountain of Life.

A week has passed since the coffee incident (you suspect a cleaning personnel had found the stain and cleaned up after your improv as aforementioned stain can no longer be found), but Jimin still brings it up.

“I still can’t believe that he said he was allergic to cinnamon. I’ve never heard of such bullshit before,” your brother says over the phone. You can practically hear his eyeroll from across the world.

As a renowned ophthalmologist, you have not seen Jimin for close to a year as he has been initiating his new clinic, a flying eye hospital.

“You should hear his Starbucks order. I always feel like I’m ready to launch my next EP whenever I’m at the counter,” you say.

Jimin laughs. There is the muffled sounds of voices as his never-ending flow of patients have arrived for the day.

“I shouldn’t keep you,” you say upon hearing that, “You’re probably really busy.”

“No,” he says, “I’ve got a few minutes if you’ve got a few. I miss talking to my baby sister.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, Jiminie,” you say using the nickname he hated.

“Oh that’s right. Your birthday’s in a little under three months, right? My baby sister is turning the big three-oh.”

“God, don’t remind me.”

“Want me to come visit you?”

You contemplate the idea once, having not seen Jimin in quite a while.

“Only if you have time. But I feel like Mom and Dad would probably want to see you more. Speaking of which, um… How are Mom and Dad?”

“They’re good. I hear Dad is finally going to retire this year. He’s giving his practice to Kibum, you remember him? Mom will probably start pestering us about what to do for his retirement party.”

There is a pause.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to say hi to them once in a while.”

You sigh. “And say what? Hey, it’s me. The child that ran away from home at 18? Yeah, I’m not a doctor like everybody else in the family but a 29 year old intern at a popular app company. Whassuuup?”

“Y/N, that’s not what I – ”

“It’s okay, Jimin. I’ve come to accept that not everybody is cut out to be a doctor. I just wish Mom and Dad could realize that.”

Jimin sighs on your behalf. There is the sound of a crying child coming through the earphone. “Well, your contract expires a few weeks after your birthday, right? Who knows, you might be the next Mark Zuckerberg.”

He has never explicitly inquired about your life plan and you know this is as much as he is willing to push without asking, “What’s next after this intern hiccup?” At least he had the decency to compare you to a controversial Internet entrepreneur.

The child is crying much louder now.

“Again with my birthday. But I’ll let you know,” is the only reply you can come up with at the moment. “Okay, brother, go forth and heal the blind. I bless thee in the name of the Holy Spirit, Son and Ghost.”

There is true laughter that rings from Jimin as he ends the call. “It’s Father, Son and Holy Ghost you dweeb. I love you sis.”

“You too.” You hang up first before he can add anything else.

With that, you enter into the 7am Starbucks queue and prepare yourself in running the first single of your long overdue EP.

Seokjin leans back in his chair, watching you from inside his office. Today he has chosen a black turtleneck and a brazen maroon-nearly purple suit jacket to complete the outfit. For once, there is an empty mug of coffee beside him and his morning headache has been appeased.

He knew he had given you an impossible task.

“Compile all the troubleshooting errors we have received since the launch of DailyHive. Organize it in a manner that allows me to identify the most prominent problem. Run it through whomever you please before giving it to me. I don’t need to waste my time correcting your mistakes.”

There is an amused smile that bubbles beneath his otherwise stoic features. He cannot deny that there is, might he dare say, a cute quality about you as you manually scan through the received concerns on your laptop dating back to the initial beta tests – the ones that were lost in a data crash and only backed up with unintelligible scribblings of previous interns.

The moment you had been introduced as the new intern, you had caught his eye. You are exquisitely mundane, and perhaps the reason you had even caught him the first time was due to solely to the fact that you were older than most interns – himself even. Nevertheless, you continue to present him small surprises in your tenacity and capability to tackle challenges.

“Mr. Kim.”

His intercom comes alive with the voice of his secretary.

Seokjin’s eyes do not leave you as he answers.

“Mr. Hwang is on line two. Would you like me to defer him to a later time if you are currently busy?”

Seokjin cannot help but sigh. Hwang Junho, his co-founder, while a genius in international business is also a notorious chatterbox and gossip. There is seldom a reason for Junho to call him except to relay the cover titles of E!Magazine.

“Did he mention a reason for calling?” Seokjin inquires.

His secretary seems to be reading from a note. “He says it’s to do with the company. Something he read from Cosmopolitan this morning.”

So not E! but another sister celebrity gossip blog. He checks his watch and duly notes that he certainly has no meetings scheduled until later in the afternoon where your report would be needed to run a preliminary analysis.

“Sir?”

“Yes, put him through. But tell him I’ve got only five minutes, so he’s better give me the Cliffnotes version,” Seokjin sighs again.

Before he can be connected, Seokjin quickly says, “What’s the name of that intern again?”

“Who?” his secretary asks, “We’ve hired four since the beginning of the year.”

“The one who keeps wanting to poison me.”

“I’m sorry, Sir?” she sounds concerned.

“The one who keeps forgetting that I despise cinnamon.”

There is no response.

“The older one. Spilled coffee a while ago but still has enough coordination to pull together a decent report.”

“Ah,” she says.

He waits patiently as she searches through the database, eventually giving him your name. He gives a slight pause and then says, “Good. Now patch me with Junho.”

There is a momentary buzz as the call becomes connected in which Seokjin turns over the syllables of your name wordlessly.

“Mr. Kim. The man of the hour. How are you, my brother?” Junho’s baritone fills the office in a manner of seconds.

Despite the little annoying quirks, Seokjin cannot help but smile when hearing the voice of his best friend.

“You’ve got three minutes, Junho.”

Junho grumbles. “That’s not my fault. You were the one still on the line with your secretary. Is it still Yerin? ‘Cuz I won’t blame you if that’s the case. Did I catch you doing some naughty phone sex during office hours?”

“Two.”

“Holy hell. Fine. It’s always business with you. That’s why the tabloids are always writing you as an uptight asshole.”

This shifts Seokjin’s attention to the phone. His name is seldomly mentioned except for the features in business columns. He prefers to stay out of the limelight.

“What?”

“Put your name on Google.”

Seokjin does as he is told.

There are millions of results, but the first few pages share the same headline. He clicks on the first one with a grimace.

“Kim Seokjin. Mr. Worldwide Handsome as noted by his fans, has recently sparked Internet outrage.”

A quick skim of the otherwise trashy article brought to the surface a summary: his last dating scandal had ended badly and the repercussions of blowing off a famous celebrity’s daughter had finally caught up with him. The Internet was calling him arrogant, narrow-minded, and even greedy. “The young Chief Executive Officer of booming social media app DailyHive has been accused of using his relationship with actress XYZ to further his own business. Once he gained recognition from aforementioned relationship, he has cold-heartedly cast her away to pursue his next.” “You’re calling me for this bullshit?” Seokjin scoffs. Junho tuts his tongue loudly. “This is not bullshit. It’s affecting the image of your company. Do you think people want to download and support an app that is run by somebody who is being called cruel and dishonest? You’ve got to address this soon before it gets out of control. You’re lucky I have alerts set for these type of things. I caught it for you just in the nick of time.” Seokjin inhales deeply. “You’re also lucky that I’ve got the perfect solution in mind.” “That is?” “The Silver Gala,” Junho references the prestigious event. The Silver Gala is hosted annually and attended by the largest celebrities as well as other wealthy investors and guests. Those in the social circle shared between Seokjin and Junho often yearned for tickets to attend events such as this, as they serve as excellent networking opportunities. Besides the above, such events are circled by reporters and writers of gossip columns to get the exclusive scoop on any eyebrow-raising rumours. “The solution lies in such an event,” Junho continues, “You know how many people will be there. All you’ve got to do is show up with your average girl-next-door type and it’ll show how you’re actually really humble and down to earth. Kim Seokjin is perfectly capable of dating like any regular human being. He doesn’t use “love” or whatever to further his business. Love is the connection between two souls; two individuals who – ” “Beep. Your time has run out Junho. I’ve got another meeting scheduled right this moment,” Seokjin interrupts. “Dude, seriously. Think about it. You could bring Yerin. Everbody loves a good CEO and his secretary affair. And if that’s too juicy for you, I can introduce you to some girls. Or maybe we could go back to our university days and hit a bar, y’know?” Junho tries his best to persuade. “Fuck!” you swear beneath your breath right as you walk into Kim Seokjin’s office. His door had been open and, in your excitement to show your completed report, you had dropped all the loose papers on the ground. Four hours of organization gone, just like that. You hope that at least Seokjin hasn’t heard or noticed you as he had been engrossed in his phone call. Seokjin had in fact noticed you. He can’t help himself but follow the curvature of your bare shoulder as your bangs escape the hold of your scrunchie and sweep across your skin. “Don’t worry, Junho, I’ve just thought about it,” he says with a smile.

285 notes · View notes

aquaticstyles · 3 years

Text

to do list

hi everyone! i know it’s early, but i stayed up all night writing and simply couldn’t wait to post. 4.8k of some bf!harry ahead (including my first attempt at smut... pls feel free to tell me if it sucks). of course, reblogs + feedback make my heart soar 💓💕💖💘💗💞

You think the scene before you cannot be real. Without a doubt, you must be dreaming, sleepwalking, eyes still seeing through a rose-colored, innocent hue that can only belong to your imagination.

Dew drops cling onto freshly cut blades of emerald grass, spray-painting the ground in a silver cast, sparkling, glistening. Birds sing a perfectly pitched hymn, their orchestra being the gentle whistle of the wind that rustles the branches of the trees in your backyard, new with springtime buds the bees generously catered to. There are the roses, sitting pretty in their beds, still slightly drooping from their abandonment of the glowing mass in the atmosphere, pouting in velvet pink. A dragonfly brushes past the French doors in front of you, and you swear you notice it's hesitation, almost tempted by the glass, almost fooled by the facade, almost daring to dart into the comfort of your home, blocked off by the rest of the outside world. Then there's a lone butterfly, fluttering, strikingly contrasting against the green with its pompous red wings outlined intricately in black ink. The sun rises slowly over her horizon, sluggishly being pulled on a string by an invisible hand buried beneath bundles of clouds pocketed throughout the sky turning more blue as each second ticks by. Watercolor, drops of salmon and peach twirling about one another, accidentally on purpose creating an orange hue to the world below, that is now waking again, a fresh start, a new day.

You simply must be dreaming.

Picking apart the clementine you had selected as your sunrise viewing snack, you watch the scene before you unfold, a rubix cube solving itself before your very own eyes. Sweet and sour juices cascade down your throat, and you notice the uncanny resemblance the fruit in your palm mirrors to the morning. You know the picturesque serenity will soon fade away, turning sour as children awake from their slumbers and car engines are started back up again, but you enjoy the sweet while it remains.

Startling you from your daze, you feel a warm body suddenly press up against your backside, arms encircling your waist, cold palms resting against your exposed stomach, creating a valley of goosebumps in their wake. You relax immediately into his touch, snuggling into him and sighing as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"Your hands are freezing," you whisper to him, careful not to disturb nature.

Without a word, he smooths his palms up and down the skin of your tummy in a fast pace in hopes of warming them. After doing so for a couple seconds, now satisfied with the new temperature, he sinks his hands cheekily beneath the band of your underwear, fingertips resting on each hip, using your cotton panties as a blanket.

You almost snicker at his antics, but choose instead to offer him the last piece of your fruit, hovering it over where you imagine his mouth to be near your shoulder. He happily accepts your donation, chapped lips wrapping around your two fingers, a tongue darting out momentarily, teasingly. Out of the corner of your eye you see a smirk fall upon his face as he munches on the fruit, the deep crevice of a dimple forming for only a second. You focus your gaze back on the sun, who has already risen significantly higher in the few minutes Harry had stolen your attention.

As if to thank you for orange, Harry presses a kiss to your skin, then decides after five seconds that one was not enough, for you feel his lips drag across the expanse of your bare shoulder, making their way to the base of your neck. A sticky residue of juice is left behind as his tongue licks your skin, sucking, nipping, biting, causing your eyes to flutter shut and an appreciative hum to rise from the back of your throat. Your head tilts back, allowing the man showing you his love more access. His palms move from their previous shelter underneath your panties, a single finger ghosting up your skin, poking your bellybutton, until it moves beneath the thin tank top you're sporting, tracing the valley of your chest. Two palms encase your breasts, massaging slowly, and your nipples pebble beneath the all-too-familiar touch. Humming again, you get lost in the way Harry has encased you in your third dream of the day.

"You're bein' nice. Should give you a piece of my orange more often," you snicker as Harry flicks your nipple once before encircling his arms around your waist again, hugging you, sinking into your quicksand. He gently sways the two of you, molten together like two pieces of chocolate underneath a beachy sun, one silhouette.

"Mmm..." he hums, and you know he's about to say something else as he presses one final peck beneath your ear, resting his chin back on your shoulder.

A few minutes pass by in silence, and you patiently await the first mumblings of your boyfriend, expecting the special, raspy voice that belongs to early Harry. Unlike the rasp that occurs after a show, or the rasp after a bitter fight, this one is your favorite, because you're the only one who gets to hear it. You're the only one that gets his mornings.

"Wanna have sex?"

You blink at the sudden abrupt and blunt statement interrupting your sentimental thinking. Chuckling softly at your two contrasting mindsets, you tease him, "Bored already? It's not even 7 yet."

"Not bored," Harry lifts his head, pretending to be shocked at your accusation as he spins your body around in his arms so he can finally get a good look at you. He notices the smile already plastered on your face as you turn into view, and he thinks that he would do anything to capture you in this moment and keep it locked away in his chest forever. "Jus' wanna have sex with you. Love havin' sex with you."

You run your hands up Harry's bare chest and begin to fiddle with the chain hanging around his neck, thumbing over the plated cross that has ironically swung over you countless times, "Gotta check this off the to do list?"

You're only joking, but the sudden frown that washes over Harry's face makes you think he didn't pick up on that. Suddenly ever-so-serious, creases form between his brow, "Sex with you is never something to just mark off my to do list."

"No?" you raise your eyebrows and fold your hands behind his neck, tugging gently at the curls there, twirling them around your pointer finger.

With a quick and firm shake of his head to confirm his sentiment, he places a loving kiss on your cheek, then the other one, then on the center of your pout, lingering there for a moment before sneakily slipping his tongue into your mouth and massaging it languidly against yours, the tangy bitterness of the orange encircling the two of you, making your toes curl and your hands slide into the curled mess sitting atop your lover's head, knots from a deep slumber, a rats nest begging for a comb, but your fingers will simply have to suffice.

"Love you," he mumbles as he pulls away, speaking his mind yet directly from his heart all at once.

You can't help but grin at him, the sunlight from the view you were ogling over mere seconds ago casting a perfect golden hue onto his tanned skin. You're so close you can see every pore, every beauty mark, every scar. If you closed your eyes you would be able to trace his skin with ease, knowing every landmark on his road map, knowing every bit and piece of Harry that makes him Harry. He's so familiar to you, a body you know sometimes better than your own, a body you're always longing for, regardless of the countless of times you've made love by now. There's something so innocently intimate about this moment, something so casual and domestic.

You wish to capture him right now, in this very instant, with curls that have definitely looked worse but definitely looked better, glistening pink lips that are still slightly chapped from their lack of use through the night, a slight stubble around his jaw and below his nose, eyebrows crisscrossed in a chevron pattern that is entirely unnoticeable unless you're peering directly into his sleepy eyes (paired with faint purple circles underneath), in nothing but a pair of briefs, one leg hiked up significantly higher than the other (most likely due to the starfish position he chose to undertake in sleep last night), and lock it away in a special place in your mind forever.

This is Harry. Your Harry. The version of him reserved just for you.

And how could you say no?

"Okay," you smile as you watch his eyes light up like a school boy sneaking his first kiss against the tree on the playground, a million fireworks exploding in a forest.

In one sudden, swift movement, Harry swings your body over his shoulder with ease, as if you weigh nothing more than a sheet of paper. Now seeing the world upside down, you erupt into a burst of giggles, your hair swinging below you as your boyfriend begins to maneuver around your home. The sunrise slowly defocuses, shifting out of your view as the replacement sunshine carries you towards your bedroom.

"I'm perfectly capable of walking you know," you manage to speak out between laughs, and you imagine there's undoubtedly a bulging vein at the center of your forehead from your current position.

"Hush," is all he says in response, paired with a couple pats on your bum that is so conveniently placed on his shoulder. "Bed or shower?"

"Uhhhh," you begin, now having a perfect view of your living room as Harry now stands in the doorway of your bedroom. Drumming your hands on the backs of his thighs in contemplation, you weigh your options, "Last time we did it in the shower you almost slipped and broke your neck so-"

"Your fault for using so much bloody conditioner-"

"Thought you liked my conditioner, said it smelled like roses-"

And then he's throwing you on top of the mattress, your back colliding with the plush duvet, and head sinking into the array of pillows Harry simply has to have (the first night he spent at your place, you only had two. the next time he came over, a dozen new pillows sat crammed in his backseat, claiming it was good for "neck and back support"). You barely have a second to think before he's crawling over you, palms placed on each side of your head, his knees trapping you against your hips. Fanning out, your hair creates a halo around you, making you look even more of an angel the man hovering above you sees you as. Out of the corner of your eye you see one of his rings twinkle in the singular beam of sunlight peaking through your curtains, and you can't help the smile that warms your face.

"What are yeh smilin' at?" Harry grins, peering down at you below him. He looks ethereal, tattoos contrasting and standing out even in the darkness masking the room, thick biceps flexing as they hold his body up above yours, smiling in that way he does only when he's around his other half. He belongs in a gallery, framed in gold trim, available to be studied and fawned over. Yet here you are, selfishly adoring what the masses wish they could view, an unbothered bliss.

"Nothin," you respond, locking your arms behind his neck, scratching his scalp lightly, it feels like the first ten chews of bubble gum, squishing a marshmallow between your fingertips, a fruity piña colada on a hot summer's day, and he hasn't even touched you yet. "just love you."

And you do. So much it consumes you. So much it hurts. So much you'd dive head first into shark infested waters if it meant feeling his palm against your cheek.

And if you thought that smile of his couldn't possible grow any bigger, you're proven wrong yet again. He catches your lips between his, suckling on your bottom lip before slipping his tongue in your mouth, licking into you as if you're the last bucket of water on earth and he's parched, shriveling at the seams. It's like his one mission in life was to move his tongue against yours, and he's perfected his craft flawlessly. His body presses down against yours, needing contact, gently grinding his bulge that is growing with each rotation of his hips against your clothed core.

"Love you so much," he mumbles in between sloppy kisses, noses bumping every so often, causing a few giggles to interrupt the sweet silence.

After removing your shirt in one swift movement, desperate to reveal the miles upon miles of skin he never tires of studying, his lips soon travel south, leaving a piece of his heart in their tracks from the corner of your mouth, to beneath your ear, to your jaw, to your breasts, to your tummy, to your hip bone.

"Can I have a taste darlin'? Please? M'achin' for it," ringed hands run up and down the sides of your abdomen before they encircle your thighs, spreading them apart so a mess of caramel curls can settle between them, nails creating half-moons onto your skin.

A breathy exhale releases from you as he brushes his nose exactly against where he knows your clit is, ghosting the pad of his thumb against it once teasingly. Hooded green eyes peer into yours from their position between you, and you think you'd like to have this photograph etched into your brain for eternity. Your lover, in between your legs, begging to lick you until your thighs shake.

"Can smell yeh angel, makin' my mouth water. Gonna let me taste yeh fo' a bit?" His accent is huskier, low and raspy, shavings of dark chocolate sprinkled on a bitter raspberry tart.

And again, how on earth could you say no?

"Please H," you grasp onto the cusp of a chestnut curl, gripping onto it as your life depends on it as Harry quite literally dives into you.

Your underwear is thrown and forgotten across the room as his lips attack your folds, tongue licking into you and spreading you apart in a way that only Harry can do. You're a watermelon cracked open on the deck of a yacht, juice dribbling onto to sugar-high-chasing chins. Prickles of his facial hair rub against you in the most agonizingly amazing way, and you yelp when he delivers a harsh suck to your clit right off the bat, moaning and whining underneath his touch.

His tongue doesn't miss a single spot, devouring you and causing your heart to thump harshly against your chest. Suddenly and abruptly, Harry inserts a finger into your entrance, curling it inside you and pumping it in and out a couple times before adding another. His fingers and tongue simultaneously work you, and if your brain hadn't turned to jelly, you'd be delivering a speech consisting of his name and various other praises.

"Gimme a good one, lover," he demands, his lips vibrating against you. When his lips move to suck harshly on your clit yet again as his fingers repeatedly hit that one cushiony spot inside you, you're sent over the edge, curling your toes, moaning relentlessly, and jerking your hips abruptly, causing harry's large palms to trap them back down against the mattress.

He's a professional, an artist, painting you with each lick of his tongue against your nerves, each curl of his fingers inside of you, making a masterpiece out of you as you ride out your wave of pleasure, coasting it until it crashes against the shore. His starry night.

And when you finally chase down your high, and Harry's still licking your folds, you tug his roots away from you, wiggling from overstimulation. A whine leaves Harry's cherry lips as he's tugged back to you. A smirk warms his face, a dimple reappearing, and his thumb brushes the corner of his mouth, catching some of your arousal, before it sinks between his glistening lips. Sucking the remnants of you from his finger, he hums, "tastes like clementines."

His words send you into a frenzy, a vampire flung into a blood drive, and you grasp onto his shoulders and flip him roughly onto his back, straddling him and trapping his lips in a kiss before any objections can leave them. His hands encase your back, scratching here and rubbing there. You can still taste you on his tongue as it swirls against your own, and when you take his lower lip between your teeth, he lets out a throaty groan, lifting his hips to rut against your sensitive core to relieve himself for just a moment.

"Achin' aren't you baby?" You ask, tracing your fingers over the butterfly stamped on his chest, to the ferns above his v-line, to the sparse patch of coarse hair right above his underwear that sits low on his waist. Palming over the fabric, you feel how hard and thick he's gotten, and you can only imagine how frustrated he must be.

"Fuck, yeah. Fuck me angel, please. Always achin' for yeh," Harry whimpers, green eyes nearly bulging out of his skull as he watches you teasingly toy with the band of his underwear, tracing the skin right above where he needs you most.

You tap his hip bone twice, and he obliges by lifting his hips, allowing you to drag his underwear to his feet and fling them across the room, undoubtedly joining yours somewhere. He loves when you take charge, loves when you tell him what to do without even verbally saying anything. You could do anything to him, and he'd love it. He's so caught up in your orbit he'd completely miss the asteroid hurtling towards him at a thousand miles per hour.

And when his cock springs up against his stomach, tip red and glistening with precum, your mouth literally waters.

How the fuck can a dick be that pretty?

Crawling back over to him, you gently twist your fingers around his member, giving him a few pumps that causes his head to roll back against the pillow, veins bulging in his neck as a loud groan leaves his open lips. His eyes flutter shut as you stroke him, and you're nearly about to go down on him when he interrupts your thoughts.

"Put me in darlin', won't last if yeh keep doin' that. Wanna feel your pretty cunt wrapped around me, yeah?"

And you don't have to be told twice.

Lining him up with your entrance, you slowly sink down onto him inch by inch, hissing at the faint burn that always comes with him stretching you out like this, especially after his tongue already worked wonderful magic on you mere minutes ago. Harry moans, praising and chanting your name in whispers. His face is pulled in pleasure, eyebrows furrowing, lips open as heavy pants leave them.

As soon as you get to the base of him, you take a moment to adjust before slowly working up a rotation of your hips, circling around him and rubbing your clit on his pelvic bone in the process, sending an overwhelming wave of goosebumps down your spine. Harry's hands move up and down your back, to your ass, to your pebbled nipples, massaging and coasting over every single centimeter of skin he can reach.

Creating a rhythm, you begin to sink up and down on his cock, causing your tits to bounce as you pick up the pace. He's filling you up in the best way imaginable, hitting every spot, encompassing every inch. You can't tell where he stops and you begin, waterfalls inter-joining and cascading down together, intertwined in harmony and mind-numbing pleasure. The sound of your skin slapping together is music to your ears, a sweet symphony of your bodies exuding love.

"Harry god," you moan when his tip reaches that one spot inside you, eyes rolling back, tilting your head in a way that broadcasts the expanse of your neck dotted with purple bruises from Harry's lips, and your chest, breasts glistening with beads of sweat.

"Like that angel? Like when yeh ride me like this?" Harry groans at the sight of you, a masterpiece fucking him so well he nearly forgets his name. You're glowing, a shining mass far too bright for him, and he almost debates jetting off for his sunglasses. "Know yeh do. Fuckin' perfect. Ridin' me so well angel, tha's it."

It's paradise, toes sinking into beds of sand, observing the sun as it sinks into the ocean, leaving an array of creamsicle in its path, a massage from warm palms after a hard week hunched over a computer, finally finishing the book you've started three times, dog-earing the pages with passages that jump out to you, a cold shower when the air-con is out, sweaty bodies lost under the brief escape of the chilling water. It's perfect. It's you and Harry.

He can't take his eyes off you, not wanting to miss a single second of this, barely blinking so he can come back to each frame and rewatch this film over and over and over again. Moving his palms against your sides, he watches as your breasts move up and down, and he can't help the next words that tumble out of his mouth, ""Your tits are fuckin' dynamite have I ever told you that?"

Locking eyes with your lover, you smile widely, pearly whites broadcasted in an ear-to-ear grin at his ability to say something so completely Harry in this intimate moment. You let one giggle escape your lips, briefly shaking your head at the man, causing a lock of your hair to fall out of place and over your eyes.

His knuckles brush the stray away so it doesn't block your view of him beneath you, and then he cups your cheek and grins, an eternal sunshine radiating his heat onto you, "Wha'? It's true. Your tits are fuckin' incredible. Can't believe I get to see 'em."

Feeling nothing but pure adoration, you observe the same look in his eye, his smile sparkling beneath you, eyes twinkling into yours as if a projector is relaying the words "I love you" in a cursive script across his irises. Blinking once, taking a snapshot of his face right now, you lean into his touch and place a kiss to his palm, "Thanks lover."

Clenching your walls around him, Harry loses his train of thought and releases an ear-splitting moan, one that nearly makes you cum in that very instant. His hand moves from your cheek to your side again, both palms squeezing your hips. He bites his lip so hard it almost draws blood, his cock twitching as it buries inside you, skin on skin, absolutely no barriers. "My lover," he mumbles, eyes darting off to where your bodies are connecting, watching your pussy slide up and down his cock.

Your thighs begin to burn, and you feel that all too familiar feeling bubble in your abdomen, foam overflowing a cappuccino. Placing your palms on his chest, you hover over him, grinding your hips repeatedly, "Your lover. The only one."

He wraps his hands around your wrists, bringing them to his lips to kiss the back of your hands, then pecking each one of your fingers, mumbling in between each token of his affection, "Only one that can fuck me like this angel, only one."

Once he releases his hold on your hands, he moves one of his fingers down to your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves in a way that causes you to cry out, "Fuck, Harry, I'm gonna-,"

"There we are," he smirks, watching you lose it before his very eyes, and he knows when your brow begins to furrow that you're close to unraveling again, "go ahead darlin' come on your cock. It's yours."

Your movements become sloppy, no longer fluid and concentrated like before as you run after your orgasm. Still desperate to prolong this feeling as longer as possible, you pick up the pace even more, riding him faster despite your body's oncoming exhaustion. His finger continues to linger where you need it, playing with you and sending wave after wave of pleasure through you.

"Fuck, that's it," Harry's raspy praises causes a flush to rise to your chest and cheeks, "Not far behind yeh lover keep goin'."

He loves the way you look when you come, the way your face twists and your mouth drops in the shape of an O, strawberry lips glistening in ecstasy, begging for a taste. Sweat running down your chest and lingering on your temples, messy hair frizzy from the pillow and his fingertips, golden skin shining in the low-light. But he particularly loves the way you never ever shut your eyes, even though sometimes the waves are so euphorically catastrophic you're tempted to let your eyes rest to absorb the moment fully. Yet here you are right now, candle wax melting above him into a sea of warm rose water, peering directly into his eyes, revealing every word you wish you could say. A whimper, Right there. A moan, I love you.

And once he's viewed the sight beautiful enough to blind him, he's coming as well, his cock twitching as he releases warm spurts of him inside of you. As soon as you feel him soften, you lift up off of him and collapse on top of his sweaty chest, limbs exhausted and body spent from your two orgasms. You rest your head on a swallow, the steady heartbeat of your lover echoing softly into your eardrum, gooey caramel summersaulting over cotton candy skies, a chilling ice cube plummeting and disappearing into a hot tub, steaming, steady, Styles.

Harry presses a kiss to your forehead, lips lingering for a moment, I. two, Love, three, You. One hand rests on your piping back, scratching lightly up and down, while the other strokes your hair away from your face, a touch so soft and delicate as if he'd break you into a million pieces if he's not too fragile. Precious cargo.

"Love you," you mumble, nearly half asleep as his touch sends another wave of soothing calmness through your nerves, unaware that the exact same words were repeating over and over through his brain in this moment.

Harry smiles, a wide, bunny-tooth grin, and even though you can't see it, you know it's there, for his heartbeat quickens ever-so-slightly.

"Love you, angel. So much."

It's laying here, post-sex, in the comforting silence of your home, that you think you quite like these moments more than any others. The ones that are so simple and habitual one would deem them unimportant, a cup of tea gone cold, last Sunday's paper. These moments are what make you feel the closest to Harry, behind closed doors, just you and him, in your own bulletproof bubble, making love, starting and ending each day, together. And you think you quite like the idea of spending forever in that bubble, watching the sunrise, sharing your clementine, and spending the day tangled in sheets with the man that has irreversibly stolen your heart.

Theirs was a brief beauty, autumn leaves before they fall to the ground, trampled on, forgotten. Yours was forever, an easy love, one that didn't have to try, one that flourished, even when the odds were pent against you. An easy love, a flourishing love, a habit you never wish to break. As simple as a well-known recipe, caramel-colored pages wilting from being passed by generations. As complex as learning the avenues and allies, hiding spots and hidden treasures of a new city. He was everything, the light, the dark, the beginning, the end.

And when you wake up the next morning, peering over your shoulder in the doorway of your shared bedroom to see that all too familiar starfish spread out and suctioned to the sheets, you smile, knowing that in only a couple of minutes he'd notice the left side of the bed had gone cold, springing up out of bed in search of his personal radiator, his lover. You trot to the kitchen, and right as you reach to grab a clementine, you notice a note that had not been there the night prior, stuck to the thick peel of the fruit.

"To Do List:

- Go on a run. - Propose to girlfriend. - Have sex with girlfriend fiancé. - Call Mum. - Buy more clementines."

457 notes · View notes

darker-soft-starker · 4 years

Photo

High School AU Part 8 (1...7)

---

16.k

---

The silence that follows Tony’s exit only lasts for a single, deafening heartbeat.

In the seconds that follow the aftermath, silent and struck with confusion at the lightning-quick turn of events, Peter doesn’t remember getting to his feet and excusing himself. He just remembers that the moment he decides to act feels impossibly longer than it should, punctuated only by the harsh slam of the front door.

Ed, understandably, seems suspended in the moment, torn between his guests and, well, his other guest. Without thinking, Peter stands and doesn’t bother to excuse himself before leaving the table and following the trail of fire that Tony left behind.

“Pete,” someone calls behind him.

“Stay here, I got this,” he turns for a moment, hands held up placatingly, before jogging through the living room, out the front door. Outside it’s bitterly cold, the snappish, freezing winds whipping at his face, his bare arms.

Stark is stomping furiously towards his car when Peter spots him, a shadowy figure against the dying sunlight. He sets into a jog to catch up.

“Tony,” he yells through chattering teeth. “Wait!”

“Fuck off,” Tony snaps without looking back, hands balled into fists as he heads to his car.

“Where are you going,” he rushes to catch up with him. “What are you even doing here?”

“You don’t have to worry about me ruining your little Hallmark family moment, Parker,” Tony pulls out his keys. “I’m getting the fuck outta here.”

“Wait,” he stresses, legs moving faster, not understanding what exactly is happening. “Tony, wait.”

He makes the mistake of getting between Tony and the driver's side door in a thoughtless effort to keep him from leaving, one that seems to backfire rather spectacularly when Tony gets inches away from his face, seething. This close, his fury is palpable, and he suddenly seems taller, larger, coming at Peter like a tempest, swift and devastating.

“Move.”

Face set in a snarl, he looks angrier than Peter has ever seen him. “Tony, wait for just a second --”

He flinches when two palms slam down on the car on either side of him and Tony is suddenly towering over him, his eyes dark and unrecognisable.

“I said get out of the way.”

“Calm down, can we just talk --”

“You have three goddamn seconds before I --”

“Before what? What are you going to do,” he juts out his chin defiantly, even though his hands are trembling. “You going to hit me, huh?” With courage he doesn’t really feel, he stands up taller, until they're nose to nose and he can feel his warm breath on his face. “Go on, asshole. Do it.”

The provocation gives Tony pause. His lips purse and his gaze flickers between fury and uncertainty. He doesn’t move his arms from where they have caged Peter in, but Peter can see the opening he’s created, as if Tony were a ticking bomb with seconds left before zero and he has once chance to cut the right wire.

Adrenaline racing through his veins, his circles Tony’s wrists with his fingers, pressing gently, intent on pushing him back or comforting him or something. But Tony doesn’t budge at all, he just stares Peter down until the offensive anger visibly bleeds into defensiveness. Tony dips his chin for just a second before meeting his eyes again, and it’s like watching a portcullis slam down behind them. In that moment, he feels any camaraderie they developed quickly vanished in a puff of smoke.

“I’ll stay out of your way if that’s what you want, but just don’t be a fucking idiot. Ed was really looking forward to seeing you.”

“It’s Jarvis, not Ed, you braindead asshole,” Tony says finally, voice hoarse. “And stop holding my hands, I’m not your fucking prom date.”

Immediately Peter takes his hands away and Tony steps back, hands still balled into fists, albeit lowered at his sides; so it’s come to this again. Peter nods shakily, putting his hands up in surrender.

“I don’t know how you know them,” or what happened to you, Peter says, softly, as if not to spook him, chest heaving. “But you shouldn’t drive off. It’s late and you’re angry.”

“Yeah, because you’re here.”

He swallows around that particular sting.

“I told you about Margaret and May. Look, just come inside, okay? I’ll stay out of your way.”

The other boy still looks uncertain, but his anger is draining out of him fast, the rigid line of his shoulders slumping, arms crossing over his chest in a last ditch to protect himself from whatever phantoms Tony is seeing in Peter.

A little heartbroken by the sight, Peter croaks out, “Please.”

Tony’s face falls before the impassive, drawn expression returns.

“I’m - I wasn’t going to hit you. I’m not like that.”

“I know.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold.”

“You’re - I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, just -” he sighs, dipping his gaze to meet Tony’s. “Let’s go in. Foods still warm.”

Tony keeps his stare affixed to the ground for a long moment that has Peter waiting with bated breath, still outwardly appearing unsure and on edge, like the slightest misstep would startle him into racing off like the other day.

“Did Peggy make her pecan pie?” he then asks, very quietly, as soft spoken as Peter has ever heard him, arms unravelling to tuck his hands into his jean pockets.

“Yeah,” he smiles encouragingly when Tony finally looks at him. “It’s good, right?”

“The best.”

“So, you coming?”

“Okay…” he says, exhaling through his nose. “I’ll stay for pie.”

“I can’t think of a better reason to be here.”

“The company does leave much to be desired,” Tony nods agreeably, but there is no heat or sting in his words.

Their sides brush on the way in and Peter thinks, backwards and forwards, push and pull.

“Peter?”

He pauses before the front door, startled by the use of his first name.

“Yeah?”

For a second it looks like Tony is going to apologise again. But in the end he shakes his head, face closing off.

“Forget it. Let’s go in.”

----

Inside, Ed and Tony exchange some hushed words in the living room, while the remaining occupants talk idly about the spread, as if perfectly cooked green beans were the most interesting thing of the night.

When Tony re-enters with Jarvis, his demeanour a still a touch skittish, eyes low, but no longer appearing like he’s bracing for a fight. No one mentions the theatrics, and, like it was a deleted scene in real life, welcome him in. There’s a flimsy attempt to cover the awkwardness that lingers, everyone still clearly a little rattled, but May is the first to rise to give Tony a hug.

Margaret makes a big show of bringing in a spare chair and providing Tony a plate with a veritable pyramid of steaming meat and sides, taking his face in her hands and kissing his cheek.

And Peter sits there, awkwardly sipping his water far too frequently to be considered normal, trying to appear as unassuming as possible, and staring at the print of Caillebotte’s Rainy Day on the opposing wall, as if it were the most fascinating thing this night.

With a similar air of queer ineptitude, Tony seats himself at the table, settling in tightly next to Jarvis. As soon as he is seated, Friday immediately startles him by leaping upon his lap, tail flicking his face.

“You brought the literal embodiment of bad luck to the lake house,” Tony says. “That explains everything.”

It’s enough to break the air of tension in the room as the adults laugh and Tony breaks out into the first genuine smile of the night, dropping his fork so he can scratch Friday under her chin.

“Well, this is such a surprise,” May comments lightly, though looks genuinely pleased to see the other boy. “How do you guys know each other?”

Tony and Ed speak at the same time.

“They used to work with my dad,” says Tony.

“Tony works afternoons at the garage,” says Ed.

A beat of silence follows.

“They used to work for my dad and we kept in touch. Jarvis lets me work for him after school,” Tony corrects.

Peter blinks, a little floored by this revelation, mind rapidly connecting the dots. Not only did they know each other, but Tony had a job?

Torn between being confused and oddly delighted, he recalls suddenly each and every time that Tony was antsy to leave after school, about his ‘priorities’, he was just trying to get to work. Like a real job with money and taxes and responsibility. Holy shit.

Without voicing it, he queries what on earth a trust fund baby like Tony is doing working a blue collar job, certainly not for a lack of money, and certainly not because it was a quaint after-school activity.

But then Peter takes stock of his face - recalling all the injuries he has ever seen him with and he suddenly understands.

At once he feels very ashamed, and very sick.

From the corner of his eye he assesses Tony, eating slowly with one hand. Indulging Friday with the other, and Peter comes to understand that he’s either assumed too much about Tony or, given all the evidence, assumed too little.

“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” Jarvis tops up his glass of wine, peering curiously between the boys.

May explains, when neither of them speak up. “They go to school together. They’re friends.”

She utters the last part with marked uncertainty, evidently the scene from earlier still on her mind. Peter understands. Tony’s anger and fear play over in his mind too, not just from this evening. With a sinking heart he recalls the night at the party, remembers drunkenly accusing Tony of getting into fights on purpose, that he would openly indulge in being violence. And Tony, nonchalant, not reacting at all like Peter would have. Took him home and took care of him.

He feels like the biggest piece of shit in the world.

Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite.

“I didn’t know you had a job,” Peter says delicately, swallowing down the bile in his throat. “That’s cool.”

Tony shrugs, sneaking Friday tiny cat-size morsels of food from his plate, getting flicked in the face with her tail as a reward. He doesn’t offer anything other than forced, casual nonchalance, despite seeming so tightly spun he could snap without a moment's notice.

“Peter said you were good with cars, that you restored yours,” May mentions, salting her potatoes, missing the surprised look Tony sends the both of them. “Makes sense.”

“He’s a natural,” Ed beams proudly at his employee. “An absolute genius.”

“Told you,” Tony looks up from under his lashes and smirks at Peter, addressing him directly. Genius, he mouths, pointing at himself with his knife like an idiot.

Which is apt when Peter mouths back the word idiot at him.

“That’s perfect,” May says, clapping her nephew on the shoulder, shaking him a little as if to rouse some enthusiasm. “Maybe you can diagnose the Volvo. You’re staying for the weekend, right, Tony?”

“Oh, no I’m not - I don’t want to intrude on -”

“Nonsense, you didn’t come all this way for one meal and I’m not having you drive back in the dark,” Margaret cuts in, her voice stern, her eyes knowing. “Stay the weekend, darling.”

“You’re having family time.”

“Stay,” May reaches over from where she sits opposite Tony, briefly gripping over his hands with hers. “It’s no bother to us, right, Pete?”

The entire table falls silent and the weight of several stares fall heavily on him, almost oppressively, but he’s only looking at Tony, trying to gauge his reaction. He’s met with an air of casual indifference, but the line of his lips is thin, and he’s stopped stroking a disgruntled Friday.

Risking a sonic boom, Peter kicks him under the table, testing his reaction. He smiles when Tony’s expression goes from cautious to irate, eyes finally flickering with something more familiar, and he deservedly gets kicked sharply on his shin in return.

It hurts, but also floods him with relief.

“Fine by me.”

As if he was ever going to say anything else.

----

After dinner May and Peter corral their hosts into relaxing by the fire while they attend to the clean up, hushing any protests to the contrary with tried-and-true Parker stubbornness. Once they were sure the hosts were situated in front of the old TV they’d set to disposing of the scraps and cleaning the plates by hand. This, at least, feels like something familiar, something he knows how to do without fear of stepping on a landmine.

They work efficiently like they do at home, May scrubbing and Peter drying and returning the cutlery and dishes to their rightful place. It’s the least they can do for the hospitality they’ve been provided.

“It’s such a weird coincidence,” May says lightly, passing him a freshly washed gravy boat. Peter accepts, swapping to the drier end of his kitchen towel and swiping away at the porcelain. “Tony, I mean.”

“I know.” He shakes his head, a huff emitting from his nose, echoing the same sentiment. “Small freakin’ world, right?”

“Do you think he’s okay? With the whole,” she gestures to her face worriedly with a soapy hand. “You know, at home? Should I call somebody?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “He doesn’t tell me those kinds of things.”

“I just mean, I thought - You were - you’re, y’know...”

He accepts a dripping plate, still hot from the running water. It scalds his fingertips upon contact and he nearly drops it before securing his grip, lowering it to the sink. “I’m what?”

“Y'know,” she hedges, voice deliberately light in a way that puts Peter on edge. “Dating.”

“What?” He hisses, staring at her. “No, we are not dating. Why would you even think that?”

“It would be okay if you were, you can tell me --”

“We’re not,” he pauses his drying to look her in the eye, mortification surely written all over his face, heard in the suddenness in which he stacks the plates. “We don’t even like each other like that. That’s not what this is.”

“I’m just saying if it was, it would be okay with me -” “- oh my god, you did this with Ned, stop -”

“- it’s just you two seem awfully close.”

“We’re not close. It’s not a thing.”

“Well, no need to sneak if it was.”

“It isn’t.”

“Okay,” she turns off the tap, shaking her hands over the sink to rid the excess water. “I just never know. You’re awful good at keeping secrets these days.”

“Wonder where I learned that from,” he mutters, hastily drying the last plate, placing it back in its cabinet a little roughly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he gives his best try at a smile, wiping his hands on his jeans and backing out of the kitchen. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay, just getting some fresh air.”

She stops him, gently grabbing him by the sweater.

“Just let him know he’s welcome, okay. I think he needs to hear it from you.”

----

It was a gentle stomp out the front door that brought him to the porch, a willingness to find calm in the stillness of the night, in the serenity of their surrounds, the chirp of crickets, the opportunity to see the stars, bright, crisp and speckled, like paint splatters against black paper, an inverse connect-the-dots.

A lot of people tell Peter the stars make them feel small, reminding them that they are just tiny specks in a gargantuan, ever-sprawling universe. But for him it’s the opposite, when he’s lucky enough to have a view of the night sky like this, he feels bigger, connected to the universe that he knows is alway there but often forgets. It’s a moment to marvel at the stars dying before him and revere them light years too late.

Perched on the top step and illuminated under the porch light, Tony has a burning cigarette between his fingers and, judging by the headphones over his ears, hasn’t noticed Peter’s presence. He’s not looking up at the stars like Peter has been, instead he stares out at the inky lake.

The yellow light does nothing to improve the discolouration on Tony’s skin, casting shadows over the contours of his face, he tries to not stare as he sits on the step beside him, careful and slow as to not spook the other boy.

They sit in relative silence together, Peter peering up at the round full moon as he digests the day, this arduously long day. It seems terribly wild that it was only twelve hours ago he was sharing pretzels with May and resigning himself to a delightfully boring, uneventful weekend with his aunt and people that he used to know, playing scrabble and skipping stones on the lake.

That was the plan, of course, before Tony blustered in like the thunderstorm that he is, and always has been since Peter met him.

Loud, dark, hard to ignore.

Tony slips his headphones down to cradle the back of his neck and takes a drag before speaking.

“You want?” He offers the cigarette, face impassive. “You look tense.”

Peter takes the offered cigarette, staring at the lit end, the pale wisps of smoke that curl from the end. Maybe it’s the guilt swirling in his gut that makes him do it, desperate for a distraction, or maybe it’s wanting to wipe away the morose contemplation etched on Tony’s face.

Instead of bringing it to his mouth, he stubs it out on the concrete, feeling satisfied when Tony makes an indignant noise.

“Those are expensive, you know.”

Peter shrugs, popping the stub into Tony’s makeshift ashtray. “Maybe you should stop smoking. You’re going to look like a leather bag by the time you’re thirty.”

He fishes another smoke from his pocket, lighting it and taking a deep drag.

“Wrong,” Tony tilts his head and exhales towards the sky. “I’m going to age like fine wine, princess.”

“You’re going to have emphysema before college,” Peter mutters, pulling the sleeves of his sweater over his hands to keep them warm, tucking his arms to his chest. It’s so cold out here and yet, at a glance and in only a shirt, Tony doesn’t even seem remotely perturbed by the biting winds.

It’s because he’s hellspawn, it’s the only reasonable explanation.

“This is fucking weird,” Tony says after a moment, “I don’t like it.”

Peter nods agreeably.

“Yep, even in New York. Six degrees of separation. Could have connected the dots if you’d mentioned your job earlier.”

“Would have, but it’s not exactly any of your business.”

Right. Because they’re not friends. They aren’t anything.

“I didn’t lie,” he says, “in there. I think it’s cool.”

“I’ll head out in the morning,” Tony offers, in lieu of responding to Peter’s faint adulations.

“Don’t be dumb,” he sighs, a little frustrated. “I don’t care that you’re here. Might be nice to have someone around my age, actually.”

“What, you think we’re gonna sing Kumbaya by the lake and tell each other ghost stories at night, or something? Thanks, but I’d rather jerk off with a potato peeler.”

“I’m not saying that. I told you I’d stay out of your way, if that’s what you really want.”

It’s disappointing to even have to say it. He thought they were getting along.

“You don’t gotta do that, it’s fine,” Tony flicks his ashes onto the steps. “Just leave me the rest of the pie and we’ll call it payment for putting up with your ass. But I draw the line at hymns by the fireside.”

Not the pie. Anything but the pie.

Peter opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it quickly, eyeing the other boy as he puts out the cigarette in the ashtray. It’s a small price to pay, isn’t it really, for all of the time Tony has fed him, to absolve some of the guilt he’s carrying like a stone. And for respite, as he himself has had a long, topsy-turvy kind of a day - but undoubtedly not as onerous and difficult as Tony’s must have been. And a small price to pay to keep him here, safe.

For Margaret and Ed’s peace of mind, of course.

Also, because the mental image he’s conjured of Tony sadly eating pie all by himself is deeply amusing.

And maybe to soothe the weird ache in his chest, too.

“You really got a sweet tooth, don’t you,” he states, silently agreeing to the deal.

Tony sighs.

“You should see me on Halloween.”

----

When they head back inside only Peggy and his aunt are still awake, though looking far closer to the verge of sleep, blearily watching a Charmed rerun, bottles of beers and mixers littering the coffee table. They perk up, however, when both boys enter the living room, and maybe it’s roaring fire, or the near darkness inside, but Peter suddenly feels as tired as they appear, warm and weary all at once, like a plug has been pulled unceremoniously from the base of his spine.

Knuckling his eyes like a small child, Tony looks much the same.

“Bed time,” May croaks, her back audibly cracking upon standing. “Come on, boys.”

Peter politely averts his gaze when May draws Tony into a hug, pretends not to hear how happy she is that Tony is staying. He extends that particular pretence when his counterpart stands stock still, hands reluctantly returning the embrace seconds too late to be natural.

While May washes up, Margaret leads them to the last room at the end of the hall. It occurs to him very quickly, that he hadn’t quite factored in the math when he implored Tony to stay the weekend. Their approach turns trepidatious when he realizes that there are only three bedrooms in this house and five people; a couple, an adult, and two teenagers.

The hinges squeak horridly when Margaret opens the guest room door, revealing a double bed, a dated quilt and a musky smell revealing the extent of the rooms disuse.

“If Peter doesn’t mind you sharing,” she says, gesturing to the bed that Peter had already dumped his stuff on earlier, “or one of you can sleep on the sofa, but you’ll have to share the bathroom. There are spare blankets in the closet.”

Peter’s heart pounds as they’re left alone in the room, staring at the bed, experiencing the sort of breath-stealing trepidation one he imagines might have when the roller-coaster you’re on gets stuck mid-way through a loop.

“I can...” he clears his throat roughly, gesturing to the living room. “I wouldn’t want to make you - unless you want to sh- ”

“I’ll take the sofa, we can alternate,” Tony says with finality, already backing away, duffel slung over his shoulder.

Peter, blissfully glad that Tony cut him off before he could embarrass himself by suggesting something foolish like sharing a bed, says, “Okay, yeah.”

As a rare act of partisanship he locates the blankets and helps set up the couch, giving him one of the spare pillows from the bed.

While Tony uses the adjacent ensuite to brush his teeth and empty his toiletries, Peter waits, sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching the material between his fingers, listening to the tap water run and waiting his turn. It’s not a large bathroom and brushing their teeth together would be weird, too intimate, even though he and Ned or he and Bucky did it all the time. He and Tony aren’t friends, in fact, Peter doesn’t know where their boundaries lie anymore, especially after tonight. He supposes, for a start, that he isn’t supposed to feel electricity around friends and frenemies.

Because maybe their elbows would brush as they crowded the sink and maybe they’d meet eyes in the mirror and maybe Peter might like that and, yeah, it would be super weird for them.

When Tony emerges he’s dressed only in his shirt and boxers, jeans slung over his arm, the glow of the bathroom light on the back of his head like a fiery halo. Somehow, seeing his bare legs for the first time, the curve of his calves, his naked feet, somehow was a lot more intimate than the idea of sharing a bathroom.

“So you do have something under all that denim,” he swallows, then cringes.

“You gonna cream yourself at the sight of skin or something, Parker?” he asks on a yawn. “Hmm?”

“No. You’re just...so pasty.”

“Whatever you say. Anyway, I’m out.”

Peter calls his name without thinking and Tony pauses in the doorway, the muscles in his back tensing for a moment, as if bracing for a fight, before relaxing again.

“I,” he says, unsure what he wanted to say. Settles for, “I’m glad you’re here.”

The look that Tony sends him over his shoulder is quick, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of gratefulness, and in Peter’s imagination, reciprocated fondness. That is until Tony taps on the door frame and opens his big mouth again.

“Night, Parker, I shall rid you of my pasty legs. Try not to get the sheets sticky thinking about my bare ankles.”

Asshole.

----

“You’re up late, kid,” May says the next morning, peering amusedly at his bleary-eyes and morning-induced disgruntlement over the rim of her coffee cup.

“Couldn’t sleep, his voice is hoarse with sleep, pouring himself his own cup of coffee and sitting beside her. “I kept hearing this clicking and beeping all night. You didn’t hear it?”

She shakes her head. “Was out like a light. Maybe someone was up watching TV.”

“Yeah, maybe. Where is everyone?”

“Peggy’s and Jarvis are in Syracuse.”

“Black Friday?” Peter wonders, recalling the hauls of gifts in his younger years whenever the couple would return from their hectic, discount driven ventures.

“Yep.”

“And Tony?”

“Out front, working on the car.”

“You really put him up to work?” He asks, leaning against the counter, bringing the cup to his mouth to hide his disapproving slope of his lips. “He’s on vacation.”

May holds her free hand up in defence.

“Don’t blame me. He offered and I turned him down. He’s stubborn, that one.”

“I’m very aware of that.”

“Once you’ve finished your coffee, be a darling and take out some water for him, won’t you? I would, but,” she winces, shifting on her seat. “my back’s killing me.”

“You okay?”

“Fine,” she waves her fingers at him dismissively. “Just slept funny.”

“Do you need anything?”

She pats his cheek, smiling from ear to ear. “Maybe another biscotti, bubby, if it’s not too much trouble. Love you.”

There’s something to be read in the way that she doesn't meet his eyes to follow her statement. In his heart he knows May, knows that she is still lying despite his attempts to have adult discussions with her, in the frank and embarrassing way he’s had to open up to her when he was younger and felt frighteningly not himself - except he’s nearing adulthood now. And maybe that’s the kind of transparency he seeks from her, because that’s what adults do, don’t they, they bring down the curtain when it comes to serious things.

And of course he brings her another biscotti, and while he’s up, he does as requested, filling a glass of water in the squeaky kitchen sink and takes a muesli bar from the pantry, pocketing another one for himself.

It’s chocolate covered. Not his favorite, more of a yogurt covered oats-bar fan, but it’s the least Peter could do for Tony’s free labour.

Outside it’s chilly, fog hangs low over the lake and frost clings to the grass in tiny ice crystals. There is a family kayaking out of The Narrows, a far away blur of bright boats and hi-vis life jackets, paddles parting through the still water like hot knives into butter.

Taking a moment to breathe in the clean air, Peter marvels at just how quiet it is, compared to the city. No traffic noises, no subway nearby and no neighbours creating all kinds of racket at ungodly hours. The only apt words that Peter can think of to describe it is: still. Nothing changes here. Or everything changes here and the houses and the lake and the trees have the good grace to stay the same while the rest of the world is in constant metamorphosis.

Peter likes it here, mostly as a novelty thing, and even more so for the company. But he’s a city kid through-and-through, loves the people, the awe of the tourists, the near helter-skelter way of life. It was a reflection of the orderly chaos in his own mind.

Here, there is nowhere to run from his thoughts.

Tony is bent over the open hood of the car, an old boom box by his feet playing Don McLean, a socket wrench in hand, twisting away at the insides of the car. He looks alive, happy. In his element with his hands smeared with rust and oil, dexterous fingers at ease with the tool in his hands.

Here, there is nowhere to run from his feelings.

Because there it is again, Peter pauses, struck by the rudeness in which it blooms; that feeling from the other day.

Not butterflies. More like pushing down on a bruise.

An exquisite ache.

It radiates through his whole body, his sternum the epicentre. Without thinking, he rubs at his chest, as if it might make the ache go away, but it doesn’t. It’s always been there, locked up in a little cage behind his ribs, set free these last few weeks.

Tony turns as he’s approaching, twisting the wrench in his hand like a cowboy with a pistol.

“If it isn’t Sleeping Cootie,” he greets. “He wakes.”

His mood seems to be greatly improved from the night before, seemingly back to his usual self. Whether that’s a good night's sleep, or their surroundings or getting his hands dirty, Peter’s not sure, but he’s not complaining.

“Here,” he says, just loud enough to be heard over the radio, holding out the water and the muesli bar.

He accepts with muttered thanks and drains the whole glass back, sticking the bar in his back pocket. Peter, for some silly reason, doesn’t stop looking at Tony’s bottom lip the entire time.

The ache ebbs and flows, the closer he gets, and when he boldly presses their sides together, it’s almost completely gone and unbearably worse at the same time. And so he lingers, for a moment that stretches far longer than a passing interest in the innards of a Volvo.

Tony seems to notice.

“You know anything about cars?” he asks, pinching Peter’s side, smiling cheekily when he squirms, ticklish. “No?” he asks, dodging Peter’s protesting arms and pinching him again.

“A bit,” he elbows Tony back, their hands settling close enough on the mouth of the hood that their fingers brush. “Not much.”

“Stick around then, cotton-tail. Let me teach you a thing about radiators.”

----

Peter knows a lot about robotics. He knows a lot about computers. Cars, albeit a different species, aren’t all that different. He knows the basics.

But watching Tony explain in-depth the specific parts needed for specific models, the tools that are necessary, it’s another thing. It’s more than just soldering and nuts, bolts and pliers. Each model and make is like knowing a person. A Ford from a Peugeot, from a rear wheel to an auto transmission. It was like being a veterinarian, for big machines.

And so Peter watched as Tony explained that morning, and well into the afternoon, as enraptured as he’d ever seen him in what is evidently a deep love, flanked by the autumn trees and yellowing grades of sunlight. A memory he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

He shows Peter the track of water through their radiator, the leak, the speed of water versus engine output. They will need a new replacement part, he says, he can probably do it for free with Jarvis’ approval, which is so guaranteed, he assures, it’s called a discount, hello, Tony had said, but they will have to order the part in because this car is ancient and no one should drive these deathtraps -

“But in the meantime, we can put in some Chem-i-Weld, that should get plug up the leak long enough to you to the garage and we can replace it -”

Peter just nods, allowing Tony to manipulate his hands to drip coolant into the narrow opening of the radiator, the bright-green fluid dripping into the grass below when some spills over the steel mouth in their haste.

At some point Margaret and Ed return with their purchases, bringing them lunch from the diner they’d stopped at. Ed hangs around for a bit, listening to Tony’s assessment of the vehicle’s ails, nodding and immediately agreeing to the free repairs without needing to hear a pitch.

It wasn’t all that bad, he guessed, even when Tony deliberately smeared engine oil on Peter’s cheek and Peter punched his arm in retaliation.

It was kinda fun.

And maybe Peter didn’t mind so much that their shoulders brushed, when he once would have shuddered.

And maybe he didn’t squirm when Tony put his hand on the small of his back when he was pointing something out, but leaned into it.

In all honesty, it’s one of the best days he’s had in a long while. He tries not to read in too much that some of his best days lately were the ones where Tony was in it.

But of course, nothing is impermanent, and even good days go bad.

----

Some time mid afternoon, Tony heads out to an auto store in town, keen on doing a full oil change on the car, which was completely unnecessary, Peter had argued, and was told to shut the fuck up in return.

Which, fine. He could afford Tony the distraction he was in clear need of.

He heads inside then, hungry and a bit sweaty and wanting to check in on May. He feels a bit bad for having left her to her own devices all day.

It doesn’t take long to find her, she’s in the living room, fast asleep and snoring on the sofa. Margaret sits beside her on the armchair reading a newspaper, glasses perched upon her nose, bags of her purchases by her feet.

He reaches over to gently retrieve the glasses from Mays face without waking, placing them on the table. Knowing his aunt she’d probably flail in her sleep and smack herself in the face and break them. She’s done it before.

So has he.

“Poor thing has been through the gamut, hasn’t she,” Margaret mutters, without looking up. “I keep telling her to get on stronger medication.”

“For what,” he slowly rises. “What does she need medication for?”

She stares at him. “Her pain, darling.”

“What pain?”

Margaret swallows. “She hasn’t spoken about it with you.”

“No,” Peter says, “but I know something is wrong. I’ve asked. She won’t tell me.”

She sighs, dropping the newspaper to rub tiredly at the bridge of her nose, her glasses nudging up with the motion. “Right. Of course she wouldn’t. Look, Peter, it’s not my business to say, but she’s okay. Don’t fret. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“If there was nothing to worry about, why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“For the same reason you keep things from her.”

“I don't --” he stops himself. “She doesn’t think I can handle it, does she.”

“Darling, you know that’s not why.”

No, he doesn’t know that. What he knows is that May always has his prescription filled every month, always two days before he’s due to run out of meds. He knows that when things start to go south for him she cries when she thinks he’s asleep.

But he voices none of this, says instead, “I’m just gonna get some fresh air. Do you need anything?”

She doesn’t, and he can’t get out there quick enough.

----

Once, when Peter was thirteen, some jerks in his class found out that he did gymnastics. They teased him all day, called him a fruit, a fairy. That it was no wonder Piggy Parker was queer. Which wasn’t untrue, he was indeed very queer, but it wasn’t because he did gymnastics and they didn’t need to shove him against a locker for it or call him a pussy.

That was the first time that Flash ever stood up for him.

And it was the day he first thought about quitting gymnastics.

Not because he didn’t like it. But because of the way Ben looked when he picked Peter up that day, how his face twisted when he saw Peter’s black eye through the rear view mirror. And then the way he spoke to May in low tones later that night when she had gotten home from work when they thought he was sleeping.

He was good at gymnastics, and he thought he loved it. But nothing was worse than the feeling he’d had that day, something monstrously dark and twisted in words like burden and shame.

He’d always been an anxious kid. He’ll never really know if it was the result of losing his parents young, the fear of abandonment, or if that’s just the way he naturally was. There were the panic attacks, the social anxiety, the waking up in the middle of the night so sure the world was ending.

And now this.

He didn’t want any more pity or coddling.

The next day, on the way to school, he told Ben that he didn’t want to do gymnastics anymore. He didn’t have to tell him why. Ben already seemed to put two and two together. They argued about it. Ben said he was giving in and giving up and it doesn’t seem like he ever told May about how Peter wanted to quit because of that day, she never brought it up and he never told her.

But none more so than the day Ben died. The vehicle that would later become known as the May-Mobile was at a mechanic somewhere, something else had gone wrong with it, once again. So, keen to get Peter to gymnastics, despite his vehement protestations, Ben had borrowed a car from his work colleague, just for the afternoon.

The front passenger seatbelt hadn’t been working, it kept getting stuck and couldn’t be buckled properly, so Peter had been sitting in the backseat. At the time he was tight lipped, giving one word answers, arms crossed petulantly over his chest. He wasn’t being taken seriously. Again. He was so mad that day, he hated everyone. Wished everyone would just leave him alone.

Then they were at a stop light.

Having gently tolerated Peter’s childish indignation the entire ride, Ben had turned around in his seat, one hand on the wheel, the other steadying himself on the passenger seat to implore with Peter.

To tell Peter to just give it a shot, just keep going with it, that he shouldn’t give up what he loved for anyone --

If he hadn’t been looking away from the road, maybe he would have seen the drunk driver that crossed traffic before it plowed head-on into their car. He might have been able to avoid it.

If he hadn’t been such an ungrateful, insolent child, Ben probably would have swerved and survived.

Peter never told May about the arguing. That Ben’s death was his fault.

She had enough on her shoulders. It was enough that he knew - and it was his to live with.

So in a weird way, he kinda gets it.

Doesn’t make the jackhammering of his heart ease any though. If anything, the air in the house starts to get thinner, the occupants more intrusive to a cohesive stream of thought, even if they aren’t in the same room.

Spying his sneakers by the door, he slips them on, too eager to get out to bother with socks. foregoing socks and taking a run by the lake.

He has blisters by the time the house has disappeared in the distance, but he doesn’t stop. Not when Tony drives past him, looking at him with surprise through the window, not when he feels blood slipping down his heels, not until he’s out of breath and his feet can’t carry him anymore. Even then, the thought of going back inside makes his stomach curdle.

It’s not even that he’s mad. He isn’t.

It’s just that everything in his head, the catastrophe of it all, is too big, and the house is too small to contain it. The thought of stepping foot inside has him feeling claustrophobic.

So he walks along the dock and sits, hoping the outdoors will swallow his thoughts.

----

There was something about this lake at this time of year. The leaves of the trees flanking the water, ruddy and ocherous, the way the water was so still as if it were straight out of that Monet painting, Morning on the... something or other, he can’t remember. But if Peter sat down long enough and stayed still it felt like he became a part of the canvas. If he didn’t move he could stay, etched forever in the sublime tranquility.

But something always moved, even if he didn’t. A bird. The light sprinkle of rain rippling across the lake. Tony settling down next to him on the dock, jostling him when their shoulders brush.

“You look like a sulking pomeranian,” Tony says, apropos of nothing.

“Well, I’ve been called worse, I guess,” he says quietly, digging deep to find amusement in the comparison despite the maelstrom of thoughts, the heaviness in his chest.

Tony nudges his side. “Spill. Tell me what’s earned your scorn today.”

“You remember the letter? The one from the hospital?”

He feels, more than he sees Tony stiffen beside him, the mockery gone from his voice when he answers. “Yeah. What ended up coming from that?”

“Nothing. May insists she’s fine. Peggy knows something but won’t tell me what, but says it’s fine.”

“Could it be possible,” Tony says dryly, “that everything is fine?”

“If it was, then why wouldn’t they tell me?”

“Don’t know, princess.”

“I just wish they’d tell me so I can stop,” he points to his head and makes an explosion noise, “you know.”

“Adults,” Tony shrugs. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. Well, at least according to state law.”

He looks over to the bruising on the boy's neck, chest going tight at the sight. It must have really hurt. It must have been scary.

“You seem to know a bit about that,” he hedges.

“I guess,” Tony looks down at his hands. “Doing my best to live without one particular adult.”

Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite.

He clears his throat, willing his nerves to settle before he says the next part, the memories of the previous night at the forefront of his mind. “I know we’re not,” he gestures between them, “y’know, and I’m not your favorite person, but If you need a place to stay, you can always stay with us.”

Stark is quiet for a long minute as he looks out to the lake.

“Thanks, but I don’t need any handouts. I can take care of myself.”

“Not saying you can’t. Is that why you work at the garage? And take money to help others cheat?”

“You know about that, huh,” Tony grins wryly, but it quickly fades, voice getting darker. “Yeah. Been saving up. And now I don’t have to ask anyone for anything.”

“You know that’s not a bad thing, right. You can ask for help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“But do you want it?”

“Just leave it,” Tony says as gentle as he’s ever heard him, as if Peter were the one who needed comforting. “I made it this far. I know what I’m doing.”

Peter twists his lips, wants to be defiant and try to give this guy hope from where it had clearly and literally been beaten out of him. But it’s not right to insert himself like he knows anything more about the situation than the glaringly obvious. Like it was with Bucky, all he can do is be there, if someone wants him there.

“I’m sorry.”

“If you’re heading into a pity party, Parker, I’m going to stop you there.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he shakes his head. “I’m sorry I just assumed that you were just some rich asshole, that you were an angry kid. That you were violent.”

“I am angry,” Tony interrupts. “I am violent.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. You don’t know me.”

Peter scoffs, shifting on the dock until his knee nudges Tony’s thigh, a small point of contact meant to keep them both grounded. He releases a breath when Tony doesn’t move.

“I know that you drove me home while I was drunk and paid for my meals when you didn’t even like me. I know you could have hurt me when you hated me, but you didn’t. You made sure I had a ride when it was raining.”

“No need to get all starry-eyed,” Tony shakes his head. “I’d clock Rogers’ stupid fucking face again if he wasn’t too chicken shit to come near me. I’m not a saint.”

“No,” Peter bumps their shoulders together. “But you are a sucker. And angry, violent people just aren’t suckers.”

“Says who.”

“Science.”

“That’s some pretty questionable science, Elle Woods.”

“How about you shut up and take my word for it?”

Tony exhales, shaking his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

They sit quiet and unmoving for a while, becoming still with the scenery again, becoming surreal with it, sitting long enough for the moment to process, and for Peter’s heart to stop beating so fast. But something always moves.

By the time Tony moves to light another cigarette the kayaking family are back, tiny patches of yellow in the far distance. The sun has started to get low, taking the precious few degrees of warmth with it.

This time when Tony offers his cigarette, Peter doesn’t turn him down.

“Aren’t you afraid of getting my cooties,” Peter asks dryly, accepting the cigarette, placing the filter between his fingers, inspecting it. He’s never smoked before, never thought about it, never wanted to. May would lose her damn mind if she ever got whiff of nicotine on him.

“Terrified,” Tony nods seriously. “But, in the common interest of getting you to unclench, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“I am unclenched,” Peter mutters, bringing the cigarette to his lips, right where Tony’s lips were before and inhaling.

Tony’s only response is to lean back on his hands to leer at his ass, no doubt to evaluate that claim, his eyebrows raised dubiously in Peter's direction when he straightens.

There’s only a split second for heat to curl pleasantly in his stomach before he inhales too quickly, smoke seizing the breath out his chest. The other boy laughs, whacking Peter on the back as he catches his breath, taking the cigarette back from his fingers.

Despite himself, a little embarrassed, Peter laughs as well, vowing not to take up that particular habit, not even when he wanted Tony to look at him like that.

“Alright, toots,” Tony says loudly, and without warning reaches over to tug the brim of Peter’s cap over his eyes. “Enough feelings for one day, I’m starting to break out in hives. Let me show you how to do an oil change.”

----

They head back to the Volvo then, Peter’s stomach growling which he ignores, his feet aching. He’s sure that these shoes must be ruined now, the blood from his heels tacky, sticking to the fabric of the insides of the sneakers. He just should have worn socks, for fucks sake.

“I hit him first,” Tony says suddenly, breaking him from his thought. “I’m not a victim. I hit him first.”

His throat is immeasurably dry when he goes to answer, even though he’s not sure of what to say. He swallows and tries to buy himself time to find the words, to be the person that a kid like Tony might need.

“He shouldn’t… he shouldn’t have hit you back.”

“Yes, he should,” Tony’s voice is like gravel. “You don’t get to hit people and not get what’s coming to you.”

He gets the acute sense that Tony isn’t talking about himself and, for once, he wisely doesn’t prod him on it, can see in the tautness of his body that he’s wound so tight the barest brush could have him snap.

“Why’d you hit him?”

“He was talking shit about my mom. He wouldn’t stop.”

“Where is your mom?”

“Cliffside.”

“Where’s that?”

From the corner of his vision he observes his profile. Tony’s lips twist derisively.

“Malibu.”

Tony is quick to change the subject from there, though the conversation is light, the gravel never really leaves his voice much as he explains the relatively simple, if not tedious ways to do a complete oil change on the car.

While Peter’s sure he’s never really going to need to know, he let’s Tony gravitate to other easy repairs, apparently while he was getting oil he’d bought a new air filter as well, and also new brake pads, but without a ramp or a hoist, the pads couldn’t be changed, but keep them in the back seat and he’ll change them when he fits in the new radiator.

Peter lets him talk and talk and talk until his voice grows hoarse and the buzzing swarm of thoughts in his head go quiet.

----

“What are you smiling about,” Jarvis asks later when Peter enters the kitchen, keen to help out with dinner. A lasagna, if the minced meat and flat pasta sheets are a sign of what's to come. He washes his hands free of all the dirt and oil before putting them to culinary use.

“Nothin’,” he treads over, taking the wooden spoon over by the sizzling pan, homemade marinara sauce underway. He dips a pinky in, tasting it. It’s far too acidic, verging on metallic, like as if it came straight from a can. “Needs sugar,” he says, scrunching his nose.

Ed leans over to taste, humming with agreement before pausing midway, sniffing his hair.

“You smell like cigarettes and grease. What on earth have you been doing all day.”

“Tony taught me how to do an oil change,” he says, spooning in a touch of sugar into the sauce.

“Did he? He’s a good lad, that one.”

Momentarily distracted by the sound of daughter, Peter pauses to sneak a glance into the adjacent living room where Tony is regaling May with some story, his expression open and comical, his gestures exaggerated and broad. She’s laughing though, snorting through her nose, which catches Tony by such surprise it sends him off too. Then, the ache is back, sharp and unexpected.

It’s like the pain he sometimes gets in his right humerus, the pain he always gets on a rainy day. He broke his arm when he was eight, falling from the still rings during gymnastics training. The ache isn’t so bad.

Peter declines to respond, lest it get back to his protege, but silently agrees.

----

Tony, it would appear, does not hold the same reservations as Peter when it comes to domestic tasks, like brushing their teeth together, if the way he barrels right on in, shoving Peter a bit when he reaches for his toothbrush, is any indication?

“Don’t you knock, asshole? What if I’d been naked?” Peter asks around the toothbrush in his mouth, a little disgruntled by the constant jostling as Tony vigorously brushes his teeth, nearly elbowing Peter in the head.

“Why would you brush your teeth naked?” Tony gives him an odd look. “Weirdo.”

“That’s not what I -” he starts, stopping himself with an annoyed, minty huff. “Nevermind. You’re such a dick.”

As he suspected, it is oddly intimate - for him anyway - the heat of Tony’s side pressed against his, their bare arms brushing. Peter pointedly looks away from the mirror and gets a rush of self consciousness, and a little vulnerability, as he rinses and spits. Wiping his mouth free of any lingering suds, he makes the mistake of looking into the mirror. There, Tony addresses his reflection.

“You done yet? I need some quality time with the crapper.”

Peter scrunches his face up, shoving Tony out of the way so he can exit, the boys snickering following behind him as he heads to the sofa for his turn that night. Friday vacates her spot on the sofa, as if sensing his need for rest, leaping on the armchair with a disgruntled purr.

It’s pretty lumpy and smells faintly like mothballs and a bit like May’s perfume. He turns on his side, body exhausted after the long day. Body exhausted, yes, but as standard, his brain doesn’t know how or when to click off. The house is too quiet.

He takes his phone out and texts Nat and MJ and asks them about their weekends, hoping desperately for an opening in which he can talk about his own.

They’re two of his most reasonable friends. While the laughter and mockery he receives isn’t entirely uncalled for, and eventually subsides over the course of the next hours, he values their opinion almost above all of their bloated circle of friends, classmates and teammates.

Call me if you need an out, MJ texts as a bookend to their conversation sometime near midnight. Seriously. My cousin Drew is here and he keeps talking about his anal fissure.

Say the word if you want a rescue, I know how to hotwire Yelena’s bike, is what Natasha sends.

He loves his friends.

He closes his eyes, thinks of Tony the next room over, and drifts, drifts away.

----

He wakes while it’s still dark, not remembering having fallen asleep.

There’s an ache in his neck, and a blanket over his shoulders that he didn’t put there himself. Odd. But then, maybe he did, he doesn’t remember falling asleep either.

Before sleep again tugs him under, he hears a faint click, clack.

----

On Saturday, Tony wakes up to the sound of Northern Cardinals tapping at his bedroom window and the occasional chirp, and quite immediately regrets not bringing ear plugs or having an extra pillow to suffocate himself with.

For some reason everyone says the red bird has a lovely song.

Tony thinks they sound like squeaky toys being stepped on.

Consciousness is a horrible thing, and as soon as his brain becomes aware that he is, in fact, conscious, there’s no going back. Because now he’s all too aware of how unfamiliar the mattress underneath him is, the scratchiness of the sheets that bind his legs and how badly he needs to pee.

It’s with his eyes half cocked that he stumbles over to the adjacent bathroom, waking incrementally. He shivers as his bare feet hit against the tiles and relieves himself, groaning deep in relief, heading into the shower after.

Lucky for him, the water is blissfully hot and lasts long enough for him to wash and to soothe his aching lower back, compounded by sleeping on the sofa the night before and being bent over the hood of a car for hours yesterday.

Once out he wraps a towel around his waist and brushes his teeth, wincing when the cut on his lip stretches a little bit with the motion. Once done, he slaps his face with cold water to wake up a little more and prays to any deity listening that someone has put on a pot of coffee for him to guzzle.

Yes, he thinks, inspecting the fading bruises around his neck, refusing to think about how they got there. What’s important is caffeine, mother-fucker. The life source. Piping hot, right down the gullet. That’s what the doctor ordered. The doctor, being Tony.

He’s so distracted by the idea that, as he turns to leave, he doesn’t notice the bathroom door being opened and walks straight into a tired looking Peter Parker.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry - “ Peter immediately apologizes, clutching a towel and a change of clothes, “I didn’t realize you were -”

It’s when Peter’s eyes not-so-subtly rove over his body that Tony quickly remembers, hair dripping droplets down his neck, that he’s half-naked and covered in a towel.

His hands fly to cover his stomach and his nipples and he gasps, pretending to be scandalised for being caught in such a state of dishabille.

“Buy me dinner first, hornbag,” he chides disapprovingly, deeply amused when Peter stumbles back, gaze averted to the ground, mumbling more apologies. Tony can’t tell if he’s shy or just exceedingly polite, but his cheeks are blooming pink and he looks as if he’s trying to melt through the floor. It’s funny.

Clearly a virgin.

“I’m just gonna...” he trails off, squeezing past Tony to get into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Tony places his hands on his hips and grins to himself.

Great start to the day.

----

Despite the rough, splenetic start to the weekend and the shit-show that he knows he has to go back to tomorrow, Tony is actually, surprisingly, in rather high spirits. He’s not a dweller, so, that helps.

And it’s the location. The great outdoors and all that garbage, as people say.

Maybe it’s the company as well. Parker excluded, of course.

And it’s definitely assisted the hot brew of coffee in his hands.

“You complete me,” Tony whispers over the rim of his mug, taking another sip. It’s hot, almost scalding the roof of his mouth, but it’s so freaking good, his desire positively carnal. “Hell fucking yeah, baby. Get in me, that’s it, just slide on inside.”

Jarvis, across the table, blinks at him. “Are you quite alright there, Anthony? Do you two need a moment alone?”

Tony shakes his head, taking a bigger sip.

“No, we don’t mind people watching.”

Friday enters the kitchen then, and upon spotting Tony, hurries over on her delicate paws to rub her head against his calves, her purr rumbling as she weaves through his legs like an infinity sign. He indulges her then, leaning down to scratch her tiny face with his free hand.

“Hi, stinky,” he greets, delighted when she butts her head against his palm.

Pets were the best. Not that he has any.

“Don’t feed her,” Jarvis warns, “I already gave her breakfast.”

“Sure,” Tony lies, already sneaking her a sliver of bacon from his plate.

What. He’s helpless against big, water eyes. It’s not his fault.

Speaking of, Prissy Parker is taking forever in the bathroom. By time he comes out, hair gelled perfectly into submission even though it’s mostly hidden under a Mets cap - of course this loser goes for the fucking Mets - Tony’s already on his third cup of coffee and is silently working on his ability to disassociate on command after having heard more anecdotes about May and Peggy’s college life than he ever cared to know.

“Long shower,” he whistles as Peter heads for the near depleted coffee pot. “Took my advice about not getting the sheets sticky, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, punching Tony in he arm as he passes.

Jarvis, who had been enjoying his tea, looks up in mild alarm.

“Gee, he’s so sensitive,” he leans in to whisper.

Peter’s eyes flash over to him as he waits for a new pot to boil, a flare of anger that Tony is all too familiar with. The fire in his eyes reminds him of when they first met, when Tony turned down his offer of friendship, a brilliant, flawless augury of many moments to come.

But Tony can see the heat for what it is, just a front.

Because he knows, it’s all a mirage, isn’t it. Both of them. It makes him think of how their sides brushed yesterday while working on the car, something that would have incensed the both of them in another life, would have had them flinching as if they’d been burned. Disgusted with themselves. Each other.

Sometimes still are.

But Tony knows; a flame manifests and scorches in resoundingly different ways.

What a fucking world, he thinks, that fire and singe. He sips his scalding hot coffee again, locking eyes with Peter.

The smirk around the rim of his cup is sidelong and gleeful. What a fucking world indeed.

----

Tony doesn’t know why he does it. Doesn’t know why he does anything, really, barring the gratification he gets from succumbing to his impulses.

Maybe that’s why he does it.

Or maybe it’s because of the terse conversation he overheard between May and Peter after lunch that day. Something about pain and medication, Tony doesn’t know, he wasn’t meaning to pay attention. They were on the porch and their voices drifted in through the open door. He really was too busy kicking Peggy’s ass playing Super Smash on the dusty old Gamecube to pay attention to it.

But what he does know is that May came inside and went to go lie down in her room after and Peter didn’t come back in.

It wasn’t until he went out for a cigarette some hours later that he spotted Peter, sitting by the docks, much like he had been yesterday. He stares for a moment, trying to reconcile the figure hunched over on the dock with the person he knows Peter to be.

For all of Tony’s memories are worth, Peter has always been this annoying larger-than-life figure. But, emphasis on the annoying. From the moment they met, Tony had pegged him to be some old-money, football playing degenerate like everyone else on his team.

The moment he tried to befriend Tony two years back was jarring, infuriating, because the kid was new and had clearly sniffed out the influence where he could smell it. He’d had Barnes and Rogers on either side and although Tony wasn’t at the top of the social pyramid, his familial connections had him in the upper echelon of the so-called food chain.

That’s what he thought it was, back then.

He didn’t need to think about disdainfully slapping away Peter’s literal and metaphorical hand of friendship, it was obvious to him what value he was after and it had nothing to do with Tony.

But, the assignment taught him in many ways that his impulses and his own assumptions were categorically erroneous in this instance.

Because he didn’t have enough data to base his hypothesis on, then, just a petty first impression. How was he to know that the torn jeans and ratty hoodie weren’t a fashion statement. How was he to know that Peter was genuine, when his smile looked as practiced as everyone else's.

He’s not proud to admit that it took a real peek into his life to know that Peter wasn’t who Tony thought he was.

Turns out he really was larger than life. Tall and strong. Handsome, even with his dorky glasses and signature scowl. Super smart and modest and what Tony had thought was pandering was really just Peter giving away love like it was for free. Everything Tony wasn’t.

But right now, at the edge of that pier, Peter looked small. Scattered. Like a short gust of wind could knock him over.

Tony didn’t like that much.

And maybe that’s why he does it.

Maybe that’s what convinces him, half-burned cigarette tucked between his pursed lips, to shed his jeans and sunglasses right there on the porch, despite the frigid air. It’s the impulse, and he hasn’t ever been real good in saying no to those.

It’s definitely the urgent impulse that convinces him to set off into a run, leaping over the stairs and sprinting for the dock. Perhaps that’s what convinces him to hurdle himself over Peter’s hunched figure and cannonballs directly into the lake, knees clutched to his chest.

It’s worth it, to hear Peter shriek in surprise as the water splashes over him until he can’t hear anything.

And the look of outright indignation when Tony resurfaces?

Bliss.

“Asshole,” is all Peter says, wiping his phone free of water. He tugs his cap further over his eyes, and directs his attention back to his phone as if Tony had not just executed a perfect dive into a dirty, rotten lake.

That is not acceptable, Tony thinks.

He swims for a bit, gliding on his back, and staring at the sky. The clouds are grey and swollen, lingering overhead and threatening a deluge of something unpleasant.

“You think it’ll snow?” Tony asks, moments later.

Sullenly, Peter shrugs, attention focused on his phone.

Larger than life Peter may be, he’s still inexorable when he wants to be.

Not that he’s ever been particularly chatty with Tony even on his best days, but it’s hard to miss how he’s been growing steadily more quiet this entire weekend, giving clipped, one-word answers. And Tony’s pretty sure that the fidgety fingers and the restless legs have a lot less to do with him and more to do with whatever existential crisis a sixteen year old might have, or perhaps with his ailing aunt.

Tony tries not to take notice for all of about four seconds before he gives in. In the peak of the noon sun, Peter has abandoned his sweater, donned in only a graphic tee and jeans, slouched so low that his spine almost looks like a sagging crescent, the sleeves of his shirt riding up on his remarkably toned arms.

Oh, I do declare, Tony thinks amusedly, fanning himself in his mind.

Anyway.

Priorities.

“What’s up with you, hmm?” Tony presses, wading closer. “What's gotten stuck up that bubble-butt of yours?”

“Nothing,” says Peter, tapping away at his phone, not even acknowledging Tony’s backhanded compliment. “What are you so happy about?”

“Your misery.”

“I really hate you,” Peter mutters without feeling, putting his phone away to stare moodily out at the lake.

Well, that will just not do.

“C’mon now, chin up, frog-face. You look like you’re about two seconds away from needing to breathe into a paper bag.”

Tony’s probably not far off the mark. He saw the half empty bottle of Klonopin with Parker's name on it stashed in the bathroom cupboard. You learn something new every day with this guy.

Not that pharmaceuticals were a personality trait.

But, well.

Moving on.

“Don’t call me that.”

“You really do have your panties in a twist, don’t you,” Tony says, mostly to himself. Peter doesn’t even bristle like a snooty cat like he usually does. Just stares forlornly to the distance like he was in some indie film. It’s weird. “You know, someone who pulled one off recently isn’t usually this tense.”

Finally, Peter’s attention is firmly on him.

“I’m not tense and I pulled one off just fine.”

“Oh, did you,” Tony teases, enjoying how pink Peter’s complexion suddenly turns. “How saucy. Did you think of me and my pasty skin, hmm?” he prompts. “It was the sight of my perky breasts, wasn’t it, you little perv.”

“No,” Peter adjusts his cap, cherry-cheeked. “You’re weirdly bent on when and where I jerk it and I’m the perv?”

“I’m not bent. I just think you’re uptight and need to relax. Ergo, penis-colada.”

“I am very relaxed. Ergo, you are an idiot.”

“Oh, precious,” Tony flicks water up at him. “Come on, be honest.”

“What,” he says defensively. “If I’m uptight it’s because you deliberately wind me up.”

“In a sexy way?”

“In a ‘I’m going to disembowel you and feed you to Friday’ way.”

“We’ve talked about your sweet nothings,” he tuts. “Terrible. Zero out of ten. My dick just shrivelled in on itself to seek shelter. Look.”

He holds up a single pinky finger and wriggles it.

It has one of the possible intended effects when Peter laughs through his nose, the tight line of his shoulders easing. And this, this is what Tony has found in recent days that earns him a great deal of satisfaction - winding Peter up just the right amount when warranted, and getting him to uncoil when it’s not Tony that’s done the winding.

“C’mon, stop being such a buzzkill,” Tony implores. “We’re not at school. Could you stop being chronically constipated for a minute and have some fun.”

Peter looks at him suspiciously.

“And what happens when we go back to school?”

Well, he hasn’t considered that yet, and doesn’t really want to.

Instead, he makes a show of scanning their surroundings and appearing contrite, peering up at him through his eyelashes. He watches as Peter’s defensiveness gives way to curiosity, the tautness in his arms melting as Tony swims closer, beckoning with one hand as if he had a secret to tell.

“Don’t tell anybody,” Tony whispers, hands sneaking up to grip at Peter’s wrists, “but here’s the plan. I think we should --”

“Tony, no,” Peter realizes a second too late, already pulling on his hold, voice raised with barely restrained laughter. “Do not, stop, stop - don’t you fucking dare - ”

Then he pulls, Peter shrieks loudly before he hits the water.

“Tony!“

----

Peter emerges from the water furious, a scowl that could rival the mythical scorned, cheated out of their fate, water dripping from his eyelashes, his perfect hair a sodden mess over his face, snorting lake water inelegantly from his nose.

For his troubles, Tony gets an angry splash of gross lake water in his mouth and hands pressing down on his shoulders, pulling him under.

And Tony gets the uproar, because this lake is really not made for swimming. It’s dirty and more suited to kayaking than it is accidentally inhaling the water in any orifices, but Tony is nearly seventeen and if he wants to play around in scum and dubious bodies of water, that’s his decision, poor or otherwise.

He’s close enough to the lake floor that he can plant his feet on the rocks and thrust upward, thwarting Parker's half-hearted attempts to drown him, laughing at Peter’s put-off expression even as he fights to catch his breath.

“You are the fucking worst, I could kill you right now,” Peter says, low, with what Tony guesses is supposed to be a menacing expression as he wipes his glasses free of water with his abandoned sweater. It’s quite adorable.

He spreads his arms wide and grins.

“Do your best, baby.”

----

There’s a lot of things that Tony would never have thought he would say.

Like, for example, that peanut butter and cottage cheese on toast were a good combination.

Or that The Black Parade was the modern incarnation of Bohemian Rhapsody.

Or that Peter Parker looked strikingly handsome, wet and sputtering after being unwillingly pulled into a dirty body of water, and that having a water fight with him would constitute as a good time.

And it’s not that Tony hasn’t ever thought that he wasn’t attractive. Of course he was, with a body and a face like his, sprung to life as if it came carved from marble, it was undeniable to anyone with functional vision. But while Tony lumped him and his dumbfuck teammates and friends in one category, it never struck him just so.

“You didn’t answer my question about school,” Peter says during a truce, wading in the water, seemingly content with his new habitat.

“What, my dear, was the question?” Tony blinks, eyelashes laden with droplets, genuinely having forgotten. “Be precise.”

“What happens when we go back? Do we just... ignore each other like before?”

Tony places a hand on his own chest. “I never ignored you.”

“You were an asshole to me.”

“And you were such an angel to me,” he rolls his eyes. “What’s your point. You wanna hold hands in public or something?”

“No,” Peter flushes. “I don't know, just act like we don’t actively despise each other?”

“Don’t we? Are we friends now?”

“No.”

“You crushin’ on me?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“You don’t hate me,” Peter breathes, swimming closer. “And I don’t hate you. You know what, yes, actually. Let’s hang out. Come to the game next week. It’s against Aldrige.”

“Football?” Tony huffs amusedly, locking his eyes with Peters. “You think the path to reconciliation is in me watching a game I don’t even like played by the future, festering dregs of our society? Think again, dollface.”

“I think you think too much,” Peter says before splashing him in the face with freezing lake water.

“And I think I have better things to do on a Thursday night.”

“Like what,” Peter swims closer until they’re nearly nose to nose.

“Becoming one with my bed, cutting my toenails, crying myself to sleep,” Tony ticks off his fingers. “Literally anything that isn’t sport. If I wanted to watch a bunch of repressed angry dudes jump all over each other and hump grass I could just watch porn.”

“So, I’ll see you there?” Peter grins in that cheeky-cherub way of his.

“Are you even going to play?” Tony tries, his will faltering.

Peter had taken the brace off his wrist over the weekend, but that didn’t mean he was done being benched.

“I’ll get cleared next week. Just don’t rub one out in the bleachers if the grass humping becomes too much for you. They frown upon that.”

“For the record,” Tony says flatly, “I dislike you very, very intensely. Especially right now.”

“Feeling’s mutual, bub.”

Neither of them move, and somehow they’ve managed to gravitate disconcertingly close to one another during their back-and-forth. The fire is back in Peter’s eyes, utterly magnetic and a gust of unexpected want barrels into his body.

Tony wants so excruciatingly in that moment to bridge the gap, wants with his whole body, whether it’s to dunk him under the water or to pin him to the dock, kiss the cocky out of him. Wrap his arms around him and keep his lips and body warm from the freezing water.

God, wouldn’t they be something. All push and pull.

The want just keeps building like a score reaching crescendo until he can feel it like a suffocating pressure, right to his very fingertips, in his nails, and it just makes him want to reach out and do things he has no permission to do, even when they’re so close that he can feel Peter’s breath on his face, even though Peter’s eyes have gone dark and heated, so all that’s left to do is -

Peter’s outraged squawk when Tony splashes him again is terribly satisfying.

Not as satisfying as kissing him might be, he imagines.

But it will do.

----

Tony has learned a lot about Peter since the time they started working on their assignment, but nothing near the information he’s managed to accrue over the course of this weekend. How his nose scrunches when he sneezes, that he’s allergic to nickel, that he’s the worst type of human being: read, a morning person.

Peter fucking Parker. Really?

This guy wears punny shirts and hums the Star Wars theme as he’s studying, Tony’s been on the unfortunate receiving end of it so he really, truly has to ask himself. This dweeb?

Yeah, his heart beats in response. This fucking dweeb. What are ya gonna do about it?

If he had a Magic-8 Ball to shake it would likely land on some ambiguous and unhelpful advice.

Who the fuck knows?

----

They’re saved the disgrace of having to walk back dripping wet and half frozen into the house - while they have been dilly-dallying the day away in a cold, dirty lake, the adults have set up a bonfire between the porch and the dock, largely without their notice.

By dusk Tony is starving and accepts his pyramid-like stack of food graciously as he settles in a rickety wicker chair by the fire, diving into his helping of steak, corn on the cob and potato salad. Jarvis heartily offers a boat of mint-flavored gravy which Tony declines because he hates mint in anything that isn’t gum and even then cinnamon is clearly the superior alternative.

Once dinner is finished the marshmallows and crackers are distributed - and Tony is shit, he means shit, okay, at getting the marshmallows right, too bored to keep an eye on it, but Parker does it right nearly every time. He passes his best around the fire and keeps the few horribly charred ones to himself and that used to be something that Tony would want to sneer at him for.

Goody-two-shoes.

Now, it just makes Tony want to watch him.

Beside him, Peter shivers as the warmth of the flame starts to burn some of the chill from his skin, their clothes slowly starting to dry. It makes him think back to how May had tutted fondly at their wet appearances after they had emerged from the lake, flocking to the fire like overgrown human moths, running back into the house and emerging soon after with towels for them both, tugging Tony’s around his shoulders playfully like a scarf.

She’d been so… patient. And warm. The reprimand never came, not from anyone, despite Tony's expectations.

Now, he stares at the bonfire, idly listening to the faint music and yelling from a party at the other side of the lake, finally allowing himself to relax.

You can never be surprised by someone's actions in the heat of the moment if you’ve already tested their limits beforehand. That’s what people were. Full of variables, yes, but predictable once you knew how they responded to particular stimuli. It wasn’t a perfect methodology by any means, but at the very least Tony could count on knowing what might earn him a fist to the face with most people. Or a flinch.

It’s the first proper Thanksgiving he’s had since he stayed with the Potts two years ago. Rhodey and his parents always go to Minnesota each year to see family and last year Tony’s mom came up from California, and, well, wasn’t that was a fucking disaster.

So this? This is one of the nicest nights he’s had in a very long time.

Nobody expects him to be proper, to sit upright, to only be seen or heard if he was being useful. He wasn’t being useful. He was getting the seat wet underneath him and he planned on convincing Peggy to let him have a beer and he’s sure his unexpected presence was akin to a meteor collision on this otherwise quaint family weekend.

But no one looked at him like he should be punished, or like he was an outsider. It was like he was supposed to be there all along.

His own mom, as much as he adores her, wouldn’t be caught dead in this scene.

But still, Tony might call her later and tell her about it.

They stay out there for a while, Jarvis’ boom-box playing Cold Chisel on some local radio station, but it's just slightly not tuned right and the noise is a bit pixelated.

It’s a long time before he draws his eyes from the fire. The adults are laughing about something and Peter is on his phone again, though his features are much lighter than earlier in the day.

“Your hair is curly,” Tony observes, they’re both dry now. “Huh. I didn’t know that.”

Peter’s hand flies to his hair, running his fingers through it, chip dipped in what Tony can construe as a self-conscious habit, his low laugh short and void of genuine amusement.

“Hah, yeah,” he tugs a lock in front of his brow, pulling it straight before releasing it. “You can see why I don’t walk around like this all the time.”

“No, I don’t,” Tony says, not understanding.

Peter looks at him oddly.

“I should head to bed,” he says eventually. “We have to leave early in the morning.”

Tony doesn’t want to be out here alone and he doesn’t want this weekend to end so he nods, stands and follows him inside.

It’s good timing then. It doesn’t snow, but the sky does finally split open and it rains.

----

At first observation it seems everyone has already gone to bed. Save for the TV playing Jeopardy the house is quiet, dark and still. However both stop dead in the living room, pausing when Jarvis, asleep on the sofa, snores loudly.

They stare, transfixed, as he mumbles answers to the game show in his sleep.

Friday is curled on his chest, looking very pleased with herself.

“Right. Well, I can just,” Tony gestures to the floor after a moment, as it’s his turn for the already appropriated sofa, “the carpet is fine.”

It won’t be a comfortable night, but it can’t be any worse than the time he camped out in the cramped backseat of his car after a fight with his father.

“We can share,” Peter rolls his eyes, already heading to the room. “The bed’s pretty big, so. As long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

Tony follows with an air of casual disinterest and aims for puerile with his next words, just for the small thrill of winding Peter up.

“I’m going to tell everyone at school you propositioned me to get into your bed.”

“Shut the fuck up or sleep on the floor,” is all Peter says before he locks himself in the bathroom. Tony grins to himself.

Success.

They settle very awkwardly on either side of the bed after they’ve both had the opportunity to piss and brush their teeth, looking around each other but not really meeting eyes, flinching any time their skin nearly touches. Yes, the bed is fairly big if you’re a teenage kid and the sole occupant, but, as it were, the bed looked impossibly small now, as if it had shrunken overnight

Well, no time like the present is there. Tony’s the first to move, pulling back the sheets and climbing in. Peter’s quick to follow suit, lowering himself gingerly, shuffling awkwardly until they’re both settled on their sides, facing away from each other.

“You better keep to your side. I swear to god,” Peter says in the darkness, “if your butt or any other part of you touches me...”

“And sully my reputation as a perfect gentleman? Please.” Tony fakes a yawn. “We both know you’re the sexual deviant here.”

“You’re a moron.”

Tony smiles in the darkness.

----

It’s been twenty minutes of rigid backs, carefully measured breathing and staring at walls, glaring evidence that neither of them are asleep or even close to it.

“Can you hear that noise?” Peter whispers. “That clicking noise?” He imitates whatever his freakishly good hearing is picking up, sounding like a vaguely predatory, foot-high dinosaur, but Tony knows what he must be referring to, even though his own hearing doesn’t pick it up - or is so used to it by now it doesn’t even register.

Tony’s eyes widen as he thinks of his bot, stashed in his duffle in the closet, the zip slightly open so he can ‘breathe’.

“Nope,” he says. “Don’t hear anything.”

----

An hour later, both still very much in the same place they were before with added sighs of annoyance and the occasional cough. Sleep isn’t coming any time soon. Sleep and Tony have had regular disagreements for as long as he’s known it.

“You wanna watch Gordon Ramsay yell at people?” Tony says, turning onto his back.

“Okay.”

After fishing out his laptop, Tony has to very carefully open an entirely new window to stream an episode of Kitchen Nightmares, lest Peter see the thousand and one tabs Tony has open on his main window. Some of them benign, like google results of what does fremdschämen mean, others a little more embarrassing like the numerous PornHub tabs and the YouTube playlists of questionable reality TV shows.

Best to avoid that situation completely.

----

“It’s fuckin’ raw,” Tony does his best impression of the accent an indeterminate time later, the laptop stowed away, the room pitch-black save for the strip of light under the door and warm, sleep finally tugging him down to its dark depths.

“I’m shutting it down,” Peter imitates with vigour, laughing softly to himself.

Tony closes his eyes and allows the sandman to do his work.

----

When he wakes he notices three things.

One, is the sound of the kettle boiling, a screech of noise as it hits crescendo. The second is that it’s very cold, the heat of the fireplace not quite sufficient to reach the guest room, the snappy, waspish wind against the window a sign of the conditions outside.

The third is the warm huff of Peter’s breath on Tony’s face.

And that leads to the observation that they’ve drifted closer to each other through the night, facing one another, faces inches apart. This close, like earlier in the lake, Tony can count Peter’s eyelashes, the stipple of pale freckles upon his nose. His face is lax with sleep and his lips are parted slightly.

He’s snoring, just slightly.

Also, he fell asleep wearing his glasses.

It definitely is not endearing.

The bedside alarm clock says it’s only just past five, which would explain the tired ache around his eyes, and why Peter is dead to the world, motion behind his closed eyelids as if he was in a dream.

For some reason, the only thought that accompanies the sudden swell of emotion in his chest is, Toto, I've a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.

There’s a warm looking flush dusted over Peter’s cheeks, and of course there is, Tony thinks, he’s gone and stolen all the blankets through the night, leaving Tony little more than a pitiful square to cover his torso. That’s why he’s shivering.

Shit-head, Tony thinks, sliding closer under the comforter, hoping to share some of Peter’s heat, desperate to go back to sleep.

Except sleep doesn’t come, it never does.

Not when Peter unconsciously shifts closer, sighing softly as his bare legs brush Tony’s, not when he gravitates like a planet in orbit, close enough that they’re sharing a pillow, lips smacking drunkenly on their combined body heat.

Not when Peter wakes some moments later, eyes opening confusedly before dimming with fondness, like maybe that was what more or less than what he had expected. The thing that annoys Tony is that he doesn’t know which - they’re so close their breath mingles, and their toes and knees brush under the blankets and it’s more intimate than friendly - so which is it, he wonders; more, or less?

“Hey,” Peter says, shifting closer until Tony can feel the soft brush of Peter’s hair against his forehead. “Morning.”

Tony’s betting on more. Peter is braver than Tony is - and this - this is.

His stomach drops, courage slipping from his grasp.

“Do you know what really annoys me about you?” Tony whispers in lieu of returning his greeting, his voice shaky and easily blamed on the lack of sleep. “What really annoys the shit out of me?”

“What,” Peter queries softly, eyes still closed.

“This,” Tony extends a finger to flatten the hairs of Peter’s ridiculous wayward eyebrow, stupidly captivated by the way that Peter leans into the touch ever so subtly, like a cat being pet.

He feels the huff of laughter over his lips before he hears it.

“My eyebrow?”

“Yes,” Tony mumbles, stroking over the hairs again to ensure they remain flat, like a normal eyebrow should be. “Why is it always like that.”

“Not sure,” his bed companion hums, careless and minute, slurred with sleep enough that Tony might not have caught if he weren’t already studying the lines of his face. “Maybe it just likes to annoy you.”

“It’s very successful in annoying me. As is every other part of you. You’re infuriating.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

To steel himself he takes a deep breath, drawing on his remaining reserves of courage as he breathes out, encouraged ever so slightly by the way Peter hasn’t yet flinched away.

Tony allows his finger to trail from Peter’s eyebrow down the slope of his nose, his skin sleep-warm and smooth. Then his finger moves to trace the curve of Peter’s cheekbone, and that’s when Peter’s eyes open.

His stare errs on soft, curious and Tony doesn’t know why he’s doing it, except that the need to touch is too great, feels drawn to him, like this is the perfect state of being, intertwined and silent. And that the way Peter shifts closer to him until their foreheads touch means maybe he feels that way too.

Curiously, always pushing boundaries, his finger trails from his cheek, to gently stroke his philtrum, and then down to the soft bow of his upper lip.

“This weird?”

“A bit.”

Ever so gently, he traces the curve of his lips, sighing when Peter’s hands come to clutch his shirt, not flinching, not looking away.

“Do you like it?”

Peter just nods, shifting even closer until the tips of their noses touch.

“Can I -” he asks, cutting himself off, letting go of Tony’s shirt to raise one of his hands until one of his fingers touch the apex of his shoulder, stroking down over his arms, the bump of his elbow and down the sharp slope of his forearm, resting at the underside of Tony’s wrist where his pulse beats fast and fierce.

They remain like that, the moment sweet and gentle in a way the two of them rarely were. Courage builds at the same time that his fear escalates, like standing at the precipice, sick with nerves but elated at the prospect of taking the leap.

He wants to lean in so badly and capture those lips with his own. Wants to climb over Peter’s body and press him down. To bite that full lower lip, to cradle his hips with his thighs and pin him down, make him gasp, beautiful and breathtaking.

“Tony,” Peter whispers, pressing his lips against his thumb. He thinks he will move it and lean in and replace it with his own lips.

But before he can there is a loud knock at the closed door.

They still, lips the barest width apart.

It’s May.

“Pete?” She raises her worried voice through the wood. “Time to wake up, kiddo. We gotta go soon.”

“Okay,” Peter calls back, still staring at Tony. After the footsteps retreat from he inhales deeply before letting the breath go and taking his hand away from Tony’s.

Neither of them move for a moment, Tony’s thumb still resting on Peter's plump lower lip, their gazes heated and locked, but then, Peter’s hand slowly slides up from his wrist, feather-light, to rest over Tony’s hand, clasping around it.

At this moment, their only point of contact were their touching foreheads, their hands and Tony’s finger on Peter's lips, but his whole body felt as if it were floating, buoyant, like being grounded and suspended in the air at the same time.

Underneath Tony’s thumb, the lips stretch into a resigned smile.

“I gotta go.”

For a moment he doesn’t let go and wishes that the universe would go his way, just for once, wishes that time would do him this one favour and stretch these seconds interminably, hit the breaks, play itself out like the movies where everything pauses.

If it did, he would shift, slide his nose against Peter’s and wait for him to give Tony a sign, or for Peter to bridge the distance. But time doesn’t work that way and the universe rarely indulges him such hedonistic impulses.

As it was, in real life, his finger drifts to stroke the sharp line of Peter’s jaw until it reaches his chin then, down his throat, just for a second he lets his touch linger, not knowing when or if he will get this chance again.

“Tony,” Peter whispers, soft.

Conceding the moment to the whims of time, Tony pulls away then, shoving down the floaty feelings. A mocking grimace crosses his face as he decides to go for push, instead of pull.

“If you lift up that blanket and hotbox me I’m going to break your nose.”

And just like that, the moment broke.

Peter snorts before sitting up, swinging his legs off the bed. “Your dirty talk needs work,” he mocks.

“You shouldn’t fart the bed, honey,” he leans up, resting on his elbow. “How’s that?”

As has become the impulse of the day Tony sneaks his free hand from under the comforter and pinches Peter’s side where he knows he’s sensitive. As predicted, Peter squirms and bats away at Tony’s offending hand and takes grip of his wrist, laughing breathily.

“I’m going to tell everyone at school to call you Farty Parker.”

Peter squeezes his wrist, thumb stroking the underside, his expression, Tony might dare say, indulgent.

“No, you’re not. You wouldn’t do that to me.”

No, he wouldn’t.

Well, maybe he’ll tell Rhodey. Then he’ll look at Peter with judgement and Peter will know what Tony told him and it will be hilarious.

Tony watches while he gets to his feet and reaches his arms over his head, back cracking with the effort. Neither of them say a thing when makes no effort to hide the way he stares appreciatively at the sliver of skin that gets exposed when his shirt rides up before he saunters to the bathroom.

He stays in the bed and listens to the sound of the shower running, the creak of the old plumbing, replaying the last few minutes in his mind. Tony was going to kiss Peter.

And Peter was going to let him.

Tony’s lips stretch to capacity.

“What are you smiling about, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, when he returns. Something soft hits Tony in the face.

“Nothing, Mr. Parker,” he says, clutching what appears to be a forest-green hoodie, one he knows he’s seen Peter wear before, and often. It’s the same one Tony pulled the strings on to annoy Peter those weeks ago. “What’s this?”

“Collateral,” Peter replies, towelling dressed in a white shirt and jeans he slings a duffel over his shoulder, looking like James Dean, eyes roving Tony up and down. “Until I give back your jacket.”

Tony manfully waits until Peter leaves the room to bring it to his nose and breathe in.

Fuck.

----

“You come over whenever you want, sweetie,” May hugs Tony at the open front door, kissing his cheek again. “You’re welcome at any time, remember, I mean it.”

“Thanks,” he hugs her back, warmth blooming in his chest, giving her a grateful smile when she releases him.

Peter walks back slowly towards the car, waving a hand and visibly softening when he gets a wave in return. “See you tomorrow,” Peter calls back, adjusting his cap and biting his bottom lip, managing to make it sound like a promise. Cute tells, Tony thinks, those are the variables he can work with.

“So,” Jarvis says once they’ve driven off, a knowing look on his face, “that the guy?”

“Don’t look so smug.”

“I’m not smug, Anthony, I’m English.”

Tony sighs. He can’t really argue with that, can he.

What a weekend, he thinks, throwing an arm around Peggy and Jarvis, steering them to the kitchen for coffee. What a world.

For once, he can’t wait until tomorrow.

---

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers@starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen, @chaos-with-a-pen, @notnormallaura, @portiamarie02, @bloodymisanthropist, @ser-no-tonin, @staticwhispersinthedark

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #iron spider #starker high school au

186 notes · View notes

black-dragon1998 · 4 years

Text

New trainer (Kelley O’Hara x reader)

Summary: After being away for two years, the reader finally comes home to Kelley.

Warnings: sorry for any miss use of military terms. sorry for any mistakes written.

Thanks for reading and comments are always welcome.

“you are the reason I wake up every morning, the reason I want to come home every night. See you soon love <3” Kelley read the message for what had to be the mullioned time. (Y/N) had been overseas for the last two years and Kelley missed her every day.

They face-timed every chance they got even so, (Y/N) being in the army in another country and Kelley being on national camp. Meant those chances were few and far between.

It had been so long since they had seen each other that the other players on the team didn’t even know Kelley was dating. The only one who knew was Alex even nevertheless she knew not to mention it or Kelley’s mood would go south swift with how much she missed her girlfriend.

“heard anything new?” Kelley was pulled out of her thoughts by Alex who was sitting next to her on the bus. Alex knew how much her best friend missed the love of her life and wanted to lighten the pain in any way possible.

“no. last I heard her squat had to stay behind because the region was unstable and she didn’t know when she would be sent home. Or even when we would be talking the next time.” Kelley had to swallow hard to keep her emotions in check, not wanting the other women to see her cry and worry about her.

Luckily the bus was rowdy enough that their conversation wasn’t overheard by the other players. Sonnett was busy blasting music and pestering the others for no real reason.

The national team had a day off before the world cup camp started and they decided to go paintballing as a team bonding. Teams had been made at the hotel, if Kelley was being honest she didn’t pay attention. She was to occupied by the message she had received from you. This meant she didn’t know who was on her team.

After the bus stopped everybody got off the bus and into tactical gear very easily and were getting a safety talk before they were let onto the field to play the game. Vlatko also wanted to talk to the team before they became their competitive self.

“I know teams have been made at the hotel already but I have been informed by the staff that a special game is being prepared for you.” Hearing this caught the attention of the team.

“what special game are we talking about?” Julie asked with a critical eye. Ever the level head of the group. Vlatko was happy everybody seemed eager to at something extra to the game.

“While you guys are playing against each other one person is out hunting all of you. Even if they don’t belong to any team they can take out everybody. The person taking out this mystery person gets a special price.” The mention of a special price got everybody excited.

“How will we know that we have been shot by this mystery person and not somebody from the other team?” Ali asked, trying to keep Ash calm before the game.

“Unlike the coloured paintballs, they shoot with black paintballs.” Vlatko told them. After everybody was given guns they split up

Both teams were so immersed in defeating or upscaling the other world that they completely forgot about the mystery person playing with them. The mystery person moved around undetected as they observed the teams looking who they could take out first.

After looking around a bit they decided to go after Emily and Lindsey first. Emily was her thunderous even id she tried not to be thus easily found. As the mystery person looked at the smaller blond they could see why they worked with Kelley so well.

Emily was shot in the chest and Lindsey in the right shoulder.

Next came Ashlyn and Ali. The couple was well coordinated as they moved around, but again no match for the mystery person. Ash was hit in the stomach and while Ali was doting over her down wife she was hit in the back.

Than came Christen and Tobin, Alyssa and Becky, Mal and Teirna, Rose and Sam, Juli and Crystal, Carli and Megan.

The last two left where Kelley and Alex. Juli and Crystal informed them about this when they passed them. Kelley and Alex who were already on their guard had their senses even more heightened.

Kelley even had the feeling of being watched and could swear she heard branches break around her. Alex told her she was being paranoid. Just as the statement left her mouth she was hit in the stomach by a black paintball.

Kelly immediately dived for cover when a paintball hit a nearby tree. Gun razed the defender peered around the tree to see if she saw anything.

Not noticing the shadow creeping up behind her, hitting her once on each ass cheek. Kelley quickly turns around to catch a glimpse of the shooter but saw nobody.

After a loud horn goes off signalling the end of the game and all the girls sulk back into the changing rooms. Complaining about being taken out in the ways they were.

Everybody was groaning and being grumpy about the game when Vlatko walked in. being the only person knowing it would end like this. Knowing the identity of the mystery person. He knew they would be unhappy, he wasn’t expecting them to be pouting.

“well girls how did the game go?” it was a rhetorical question, on their faces, he could read how good it went.

“great if you look past that we all got our asses handed to us by a single person. Want that seems to be invisible.” Sonnet remarked. Vlatko could barely contain his chuckle.

“I can assure you I am anything but invisible.” A voice responded from behind Vlatko

Kelley froze at hearing the voice. It couldn’t be her. Kelley thought she was imagining things. You couldn’t be here. Vlatko talking on was what pulled her out of her trance.

“Ladies I like you to meet your new endurance trainer, sergeant (Y/N) (L/N).” Kelley flings herself at the woman when she heard her name. tears spring in Kelley’s eyes when she looks at you.

You are taller than her, with broad muscles shoulders. You are clad in camouflage gear, probably helping you stay hidden in the bushes.

“you’re here. You are here.” Kelley breaths into your shoulder as she keeps hugging you. You hug her back and kiss the side of her head. For the first time in ages, you feel home and safe.

“I’m here love and I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” You tell her. It takes a moment before your words sink in but when they do. Kelley looks up at you with a massive grin on her face.

“so you don’t have to go back?”

“I’m not going back. I was honourably discharged two days ago.” The massive grin on Kelley’s face almost split her face. She kisses you passionately, a kiss you reciprocate immediately.

The happy bubble the two of you had created around you two was broken when the team swarmed the two of you. Seeing you with Kelley made them forget about the slaughter that was the paintball game.

Emily Sonnet was the first to speak being too hyped about the new person in the family.

“you know this behemoth of a woman?” the blond asked looking up at you, earning a slap on the head from Lindsey. This made you chuckle, she reminded you a lot of Kelley. Whispering so much to Kelley earning a slap on the chest from her.

“care to introduce us, Kelley?” Christen asks, trying with the rest of the veterans to rail in the youngsters of the group. Turning around with Kelley still in your arms you were met with twenty curious faces looking at you. You felled a little uneasy with all eyes on you.

Kelley felled your tattooed arms flex around her and gave them a little squeeze to reassure you.

“Guy’s I like you to meet (Y/N) my girlfriend.” The moment girlfriend left Kelley’s mouth the room seemed to explode.

“GIRLFRIEND!” the same word was yelled by over a dozen women at once. Together with.

“Why didn’t you tell us you had a girlfriend?” you were a little taken back at this, you didn’t know Kelley hadn’t told her team about your relationship. Was she ashamed of you maybe?

“Quiet!” Alex yelled, you gave her a thankful smile. Nobody seemed to want to go against that woman.

Kelley looked down at the ground when she spoke. The reason why was a deep-rooted fear of losing you.

“I didn’t tell anybody because she was overseas for two years and in those two years I didn’t even know if she was coming home or not.” Emotions suddenly overtook you. I didn’t know she had it this hard with me overseas. In all ore conversations, she never let I shiny out that it was this hard on her.

“oh, Kelley. I am so sorry I put you through that.” You turn Kelley around so she is facing you and take her chin between your fingers to gently make her look up at you. Big brown eyes look up at you, littered with unshed tears.

“you have to believe me when I tell you that every day in those two years you are the only reason I got through every shitty thing happening. You were the reason I wanted to come home.” This time you couldn’t help the little crack in your voice. The woman in your arms had a knack of turning you into a big softy.

Instead of answering Kelley pulled you into a passionate kiss that the two of you got lost in completely.

After the heavy moment passed the lighter mood returned and the girls started asking questions. Julie even threatened you, that if you ever hurt Kelley in any way she would find you and hurt you.

It must have been funny to see a soccer player not even reaching your shoulders make you take a step back.

After seeing you weren’t a complete hardass Emily saw it fit to teas.

“so (Y/N), because you are Kelley’s girlfriend those that mean you are going to go easy on us?” you couldn’t help but laugh at the bubbly blond. Not even into first training and she was already asking to slack off. Kelley was smirking knowing you crazy work out habits.

“Well…”

PART 2

Want to support me Buy me a Ko-fi

290 notes · View notes

vodkassassin · 4 years

Note

You've been bullying SQH too much, he needs a break! Maybe some cuddles? A vacation? An emotional support animal? All of the above?

Two of the above, as a treat. Other options to be considered at a later date, perhaps... ;3 @dancibayo

Warnings for injury and near drowning >.>

—

There is a reason that, way in the beginning of all this peak lord business — before then, in fact, when they were all still just head disciples, brand new to the job and still figuring things out— there is a reason that Shang Qinghua signed the paperwork making Mu Qingfang his mission partner. And only Mu Qingfang.

It wasn’t because Mu Qingfang was the only one out of all of his martial family that Shang Qinghua liked, or could actually deal with… though it was kind of for that reason, but not entirely! The main reason, here, is that Shang Qinghua was not at the time entirely sure how to work with his martial siblings, and when he had tried, it… didn’t really work out.

There are a lot of examples in which missions with a martial sibling other than Mu Qingfang have not worked out, but the paragon amongst them all was that first mission with his fellow head disciple, Liu Qingge. Whenever Shang Qinghua thinks about why Mu Qingfang is his preferred mission partner, that one clusterfuck with Liu-shidi always comes to the forefront of his mind no matter how he wishes he could just forget about it.

A lot of the reason that mission had been such a total failure, in hindsight, really doesn’t have anything to do with Shang Qinghua at all, and a lot to do with the fact that Liu Qingge had, at the time, held such a low opinion of Shang Qinghua that it made working with the man an absolute trial.

In Liu Qingge’s defense, he’s much better nowadays. Like, a lot better. He barely glares at him anymore, even! Well, Liu-shidi glares at everyone, that’s sort of his default expression, but the glare is much less scary when pointed in Shang Qinghua’s direction than it had been even just a year ago! Progress!

Shang Qinghua ducks under the heavy swipe of one colossal, furry paw, complete with wickedly sharp claws that peak out just above the oversized toe-beans, and resists the urge to wail. He yanks out his sword and hops onto it like it’s a snowboard, and directs it into the air with a monumental push of his qi. The claws miss the edge of his robes by mere inches, and Shang Qinghua starts to daydream, a little bit, about what kind of headstone he wants for his memorial.

There’s another big reason, which he’s being reminded of right now, why Shang Qinghua would actually rather be partnered on a mission with anyone other than Liu Qingge.

The man loves monster fighting.

Now, listen. Listen! Shang Qinghua, he is a big fan of the monsters of this world. Mainly because he created most of them himself. They are just as much his beautiful (and sometimes incredibly less-so) babies as the characters he’d spent hours crafting with his words. Seeing them in full-form, brought to very real life in this world that is fashioned after his story is so fucking cool, but also! Actually mainly! Very, very fucking terrifying. Because those things, most of them, can, will, and have certainly tried, many a time in the past, to kill him.

And Liu Qingge’s absolute, favorite pastime is hunting these creatures down and facing off against them, for fun.

So like, sue Shang Qinghua if he can’t really see the appeal.

He’d rather be stuck in his office surrounded by stacks of unfinished paperwork with a deadline, than be dragged out by his martial brother to face another monster. At least then, he would be safe, and not have to deal with nearly being shredded by giant titan tiger claws, thanks!

Unfortunately for Shang Qinghua, ever since Liu Qingge had decided, for some reason that he still couldn’t figure out, that they are friends, he’s been coming to An Ding to regularly kidnap Shang Qinghua and force him out on what the man probably thinks is fun, bonding time between martial brothers or something.

It’s not. It’s not fun. It’s certainly bonding time, perhaps, if only because of the many times Liu Qingge has been forced to come over and save Shang Qinghua’s skin. Then again, Shang Qinghua has also been forced to save Liu Qingge’s skin, through vastly different means than Liu Qingge has saved his, so maybe it is some type of bonding? Experiencing life-threatening situations together is a sure-fire way to form close ties with someone. Like, that’s a legitimate trope. Shang Qinghua has used that one in his own stories many a time before.

So, Liu Qingge might be onto something here. But Shang Qinghua wishes he’d choose some other way to level up their apparent friendship than monster hunting. Can’t they just stay home and have tea? Play some go? Not potentially die?!

“Qinghua!” Liu Qingge calls. He sounds a little exasperated. He’s exasperated, huh? Shang Qinghua is exasperated with this entire trip! “Pay attention!”

Shang Qinghua ducks again, aiming his sword down sharply as his shidi’s sword shrieks by overhead in the spot he’d just been, to parry the monster’s attack with a serious OP swing of the same blade.

It’s really unfair, sometimes, watching how easily powerful his martial family can be. And then there’s Shang Qinghua, who… isn't, really? Just, nowhere near as powerful as the likes of Liu Qingge, or Yue Qingyuan.

Then again, maybe that’s trying to compare 5G internet to dial up? They’re simply in entirely different leagues.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes water as he rockets toward the ground, to where there huddles a cluster of disciples that stare with wide-eyes and awed faces as Liu-shidi does his thing. Their expressions are practically meme-worthy. God, he misses the internet so, so much. He might cry.

Wait, no, he can’t cry right now, the Bai Zhan disciples are right there, and they will make fun of him for it. Absolutely no respect with these kids. Liu-shidi, please teach your peak disciples some manners!

“Shang-shibo,” one of them complains, sword unsheathed entirely and obviously rearing for some action. “Does Shizun — does he want —?”

Shang Qinghua holds up a hand. The disciple falls silent, and the entire group of them watch him like over-eager hawks waiting for their prey to make a mistake. He takes a moment to catch his breath.

“No,” he eventually says, sending a brief glance over his shoulder to where the Bai Zhan peak lord is going head to head with a flying tiger the size of a dragon. “Shizhi, does your Shizun look like he wants help? Does your Shizun ever want help?”

One of the other disciples, a girl this time, bearing biceps that might be bigger than melons, grumbles. “He doesn’t. But why can’t we fight, too? It’s not fair, Shibo!”

“What wouldn’t be fair, is having both your arms ripped off before you can even graduate Jiedan.” Shang Qinghua refutes, and begins to herd the lot of them back toward the tree line so that they are at least out of sight. “This beast is a third-rank Flying Thunder Deity, it is so far out of your league in terms of strength that I’m currently questioning whether we should have brought you all with us on this mission in the first place.”

The disciples look disgruntled.

“But, Shibo—!”

“Nope!” Shang Qinghua holds up a finger and gives them all a stern look. Liu Qingge may not give a fuck whether his disciples remain unscathed or not — honestly, the man likely assumed them to all have fled like smart disciples of their level would, but he obviously greatly underestimated their enthusiasm for a good fight. Which is just incredibly fucking ironic of him. Anyway, no disciple of Cang Qiong sect is going to be in harm's way, if Shang Qinghua has any say about it. “I don’t want to hear it. All of you stay here, if I see a single limb out of these trees, I’ll assign the lot of you as aids to my paper-pushers for three months.”

At their adequately horrified looks, Shang Qinghua decides that his job here is as done as it can be, and so he turns around to peer back out at the currently thunderous (as the name of the beast might suggest) battle currently being waged. If any of the disciples decide to actually take their chances — both at potentially becoming paste on the ground and being stuck helping his disciples with copying out fresh requisition forms, then that’s not exactly his problem, is it? Shang Qinghua tried his best!

He rises up on his sword to where his shidi is fighting the Flying Thunder Deity several hundred feet up in the sky.

Aerial combat has never been Shang Qinghua’s strong suit, and quite honestly it’s neither the strong suit of any other cultivator, strong in battle as Liu-shidi or not. There’s just something about attempting to juggle needing to balance on your soul sword to stay in the air and also needing that same weapon to fight with, that is just altogether difficult.

It’s fifteen minutes of ducking and weaving and praying that he can move just fast as to be an irritating enough pest to the Deity that it turns it’s attention onto Shang Qinghua and consequently gives Liu Qingge the opening he needs, when Shang Qinghua’s hopes come true a little too well.

The thunderous (ha-ha) expression that graces Liu Qingge’s face when the Flying Thunder Deity snaps it’s huge, hulk of heard forward and encloses him in its massive jaws would have been gratifying in literally any other circumstance. Shidi! You do care! Or are you pissed at Shang Qinghua, for being so slow and requiring rescuing yet again? He’s sorry, Liu-shidi, he really is! Next time he would move faster! Or better yet, not come at all! Just as he’d originally begged you, shidi!

Shang Qinghua wishes that people would listen to him more. It would make his life so much less stressful than it is.

“Qinghua!” Liu Qingge shouts, with a tone to it that makes Shang Qinghua’s heart stutter oddly. Or maybe that’s because he’s, you know, currently trapped in the mouth of a vicious monster that probably won’t hesitate to swallow him whole? But, could it be, that Liu-shidi really does care?

Such ponderous thoughts will have to be shelved for now, to be ruminated upon later when he’s safe. For now, Shang Qinghua curls up into a ball, shaking like a leaf, his elbow bouncing off a curving incisor that’s nearly the length of his entire body, and he can’t help but let out a terrified cry.

This is it, isn’t it? Nearly a century of surviving against all odds, making it through perilous situation with no hope after perilous situation, avoiding death flag after death flag, to be eaten by this hungry, flying tiger the size of a small mountain.

Truly, he’s so blessed to be going out with such a bang.

System! Shang Qinghua wails miserably inside his head, a series of loud whimpers bursting from his mouth without his permission. Be useful for once and lend me a scenario pusher!

The cheerful ding that rings throughout his mind is incredibly ignorant of the current circumstances. [Request acknowledged! Please contact customer support to undergo an eligibility survey.]

There is no such thing as customer support, Shang Qinghua knows. He’s neither a customer, nor is he sure that the System actually has any higher power that it answers to. It clearly loves fucking with him, though, and he clenches his jaw and screams through his teeth in frustration as the sharp point of one of those too-close teeth digs viciously into his side.

I don’t have time for that! Fuck! System, please! I don’t want to die! Be nice to me for once in your miserable existence! I deserve it, dammit!

There’s a brief pause, and during it Shang Qinghua thinks he can hear his shidi yelling amongst the sounds of battle.

[... Host’s complaint has been posted and reviewed.] Oh, wow. That’s a first! [Due to Hosts exemplary services rendered, compensation has been rewarded. Would host like to exchange for a scenario pusher?]

Just save me already! Shang Qinghua demands, curling into an even tighter ball. The tooth digs into his flesh painfully, and he bites back a sob.

[Compensation loading…]

The tiger is growling, now. Shang Qinghua can feel the coalescing vibrations of the sound as it emanates from behind him, from deep within the beats chest, rippling sound waves that travel up it’s throat and make him tremble from the force of them alone. His skull is split by a resounding headache, and his vision doubles. It’s like being trapped inside a subwoofer box, and it hurts.

Shang Qinghua is struck rather suddenly by a massive fit of vertigo, as the tiger seems to shake its head in response to whatever attack Liu Qingge is throwing at it. Being inside its mouth, the motion sends the An Ding peak lord sprawling, and he nearly impales himself on one of it’s incisors. Thankfully, being covered in its saliva, though disgusting, seems to be a silver lining of some sort, because he’s by now slippery enough with it that the tooth only deals him a glancing blow. Despite not being as fatal as it could have been otherwise, it still hurts enough, sharply enough, that Shang Qinghua can’t hold back the cry of pain and surprise that escapes him.

The deep vibrations of the growl come to an abrupt halt. Shang Qinghua only has time to hear Liu Qingge make a distant sound of confusion and anger, before he’s unceremoniously spat out into the open air.

It’s a relief! Truly, it is, to be freed of the tight, damp space that was a beast’s hungry maw at long last. However, there’s still a problem! A big one!

Shang Qinghua doesn’t have his sword, and they’re all still hanging out several hundred feet up in the air! By the laws of physics, he has only a brief millisecond to feel any sort of relief before he goes plummeting to his death. He brings up his arms to shield his face from the turbulent air, robes flapping in its vicious currents.

“Qinghua!”

He peeks open eyes that he doesn’t recall closing to find his amazing, beautiful, talented shidi diving down beside him, sword under his feet and hand held outstretched toward him. Shang Qinghua doesn’t have enough air in his life to breath out a sigh of relief as he reaches out for him, ready to cry, because within the very next second he’s ripped away from the help by a big, furry blur that knocks him out of the sky entirely.

He continues to fall for a few long, terrifying seconds, and then he’s fighting to breathe not because the air is moving past him too fast to catch, but because he’s been submerged in water.

He panics, kicking his legs uselessly against the heavy weight of the tide that wraps around him and shoves him roughly to and fro. He’s not entirely certain which way is up and which way is down. His lungs are tight and painful with their pleas for air, and Shang Qinghua can see spots begin to dance before his vision.

Something grabs onto the very back of his robes, then, and he’s dragged out of the water and lands heavily on a patch of what he’s able to eventually identify as grass, once his mind has enough ragged gasps of sweet, sweet oxygen to get itself into working order again.

He rolls himself over and onto his knees, fisting his hands in the grass as he spits out mouthful after mouthful of water. His eyes sting with tears, but thankfully he’s so soaked he doesn’t think they will be all that apparent to anyone who thinks to look at him now. He brings up a hand, to press the back of his fist into his mouth and smother the sob that wants to burst free. He doesn’t really succeed.

There’s an odd sound from nearby, almost like an engine of some sort, which is incredibly confusing because Shang Qinghua hasn’t heard anything of the like since his last life, where the world was much more industrially advanced. There’s a brief moment of confusion, where his mind races in trying to correlate the sound with something that makes more sense, before something big and warm presses against his side and nuzzles heavily into his neck.

Shang Qinghua blinks, dumbly, vision still swimming in such a way that it makes his aching, pounding head revolt in nausea, but after a moment he’s able to turn his head to the side and get a mouthful of fur instead of a visual.

He splutters, reeling back, which of course gives the Flying Thunder Deity, which is no longer flying nor deity-sized, to press forward even more. It knocks the befuddled Shang Qinghua into the grass and clambers over him, purring loudly and aggressively all the while as it nuzzles him and butts it’s head into his again and again.

“Um,” someone says, and Shang Qinghua blearily looks up from the now normal-sized tiger to find a group of disciples staring down at him, looking just as confused as he feels. “Shang-shibo?”

He blinks, head canting toward the side as the Flying Thunder Deity shoves at it with it’s leathery nose. It’s purring so loudly he can feel it in his jaw. “Yes?”

“Would you, uh…” The disciple speaking gestures at him and the tiger. “Would you like help?”

“Hm,” Shang Qinghua considers the offer, laid flat out on the ground as he is while being aggressively cuddled by a suddenly, oddly, terrifyingly over-affectionate tiger that had literally, just a few moments ago, tried to eat him. “.... Hmm.”

“Mwrrrr,” the tiger echoes, long whiskers tickling Shang Qinghua’s face.

“...Shang-shibo?”

“Qinghua!” Ah, look who finally decides to join them!

Liu Qingge barrels to a landing in the grass right beside him and barely has time to yank his sword up from under himself when the newly enamoured tiger jumps to its feet, bristling and hissing like a house cat facing an annoying, yapping dog that’s intruded into their home.

Liu Qingge is very visibly confused at the newest course of events, but there’s still a level of rage that thrums underneath it, and he readies his sword against the Thunder Deity, muscles twitching in anticipation that far exceeds his usual excitement for a fight. For some reason, that Shang Qinghua is currently too dazed to even guess at, it has become personal.

The tiger’s tail flicks, it’s sharp teeth bared as a growl erupts from its throat, and Shang Qinghua apparently had lost all common sense during his fall into the lake, because he props himself up on one elbow and reaches out his hand to curls it into the damp, wet fur around the tiger’s neck.

Immediately, the beast stops growling. It even turns its back to Liu Qingge! In order to plop down into Shang Qinghua’s lap and nuzzle it’s face into his neck, purring once again at full blast. The Bai Zhan disciples that are gathered a few hundred feet away make a series of quietly alarmed sounds. What the fuck! Liu Qingge looks just as confused.

“Qinghua?”

“I don’t know, shidi,” Shang Qinghua says, shrugging. It sends a ripple of pain that spikes in his lower abdomen and winds up his side, and he winces. “Ow.”

“You’re injured,” now Liu Qingge is frowning at him, but he doesn’t move to come any closer. His hand is whit knuckling the hilt of his sword, and he glances between Shang Qinghua and the tiger in open puzzlement.

“Yeah, kinda got impaled on its teeth,” Shang Qinghua replies, and makes a face. “When they were, uh, you know, bigger. Before...”

“It shrunk.” Liu Qingge states, scowling.

As if on cue, there’s a bright flash of light that momentarily blinds him, and the weight in Shang Qinghua’s lap shifts. Once his vision clears, he glances down to find a small, fuzzy little tiger cub gazing up at him with big, round, glistening eyes.

Shang Qinghua stares at it. The cub purrs, much softer than it had in its adolescent form, and gently butts it’s head against his chest, mewling quietly.

Shang Qinghua tears up. He can’t help it. He struggles to sit up, gathering the cub into his arms as he goes, and holds it against his chest. It’s fuzzy little ears perk up, tickling against his collar bone, and Shang Qinghua swallows.

Liu Qingge stares, as well, about as absolutely befuddled as the rest of them. After a moment, though, his face clears of its confusion, as if he’s decided to simply discard it, and he gives a shrug, hefting his sword arm up a bit and taking a step forward.

Shang Qinghua startles, scooting back a bit even though it pulls at his injury. “Shidi?!”

“It will be easier to kill, like this.” Liu Qingge says, nonchalant.

Shang Qinghua clutched the tiny, purring little tiger to his chest, aghast. “Shidi, no! It’s a baby!”

“It’s not,” Liu Qingge frowns at him. He points at the cub, who continues in its mission to aggressively cuddle the An Ding lord. “It’s a fully grown adult Flying Thunder Deity. It can just change its size.”

Shang Qinghua pauses. He pulls the still-purring cub away from his chest and holds it up to his eye-level.

“You tried to eat me,” he accuses.

The tiger cub blinks once, slowly, and lets out a tiny mewl in response.

“....” Shang Qinghua wraps his arms around the tiny thing and cuddles it to his chest. “I forgive you!”

“Shang Qinghua,” Liu Qingge exclaims, exasperated. Which! Not fair! Shang Qinghua wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him! So really, this is all Liu-shidi’s fault to begin with!

He tells him as such, and Liu Qingge scowls grumpily one response.

Shang Qinghua stands to his feet. And immediately tilts to the side. Liu Qingge steps forward, sword sheathed, to catch him around the waist, and the tiger gives a startled meow as it’s suddenly squished between the two of them.

Both men stare down at it. It blinks up at them for a moment, before turning to nuzzle it’s face into the dampened collar of Shang Qinghua’s robes, closing its eyes as if it's decided to take a nap then and there.

“You can’t tell me you’re going to kill it,” Shang Qinghua says. His words are beginning to slur together. “It’s too cute, Qingge!”

Liu Qingge tenses slightly at his given name, as he always seems to do when Shang Qinghua uses it. If he didn’t want him saying it, he shouldn’t have given him permission in the first place! After a moment, the man relaxes, and something about his face is… not as fierce, somehow.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t know what that means.

“You’re soaked,” Liu Qingge says. “... And injured.”

“Impaled,” Shang Qinghua reminds him, blinking his eyes slowly. They feel a little heavy. Maybe the tiger had the right idea of a nap. “Almost drowned.”

Liu Qingge frowns at the reminder. He stoops down after a moment and scoops up Shang Qinghua’s legs. Normally, he would protest being bridal carried like some maiden, but right now he’s way too tired. He rests his head against Liu Qingge’s shoulder, the tiger purring sleepily on his stomach, and closes his eyes.

There’s a quiet cough. “Shizun.” One of the disciples speaks. They sound embarrassed, for some reason?

“We’re heading back to the sect.” Liu Qingge announces.

“The, ah… the tiger?”

There’s a long moment of thoughtful silence. Then, “It’s your Shibo’s.”

“Ah…. okay….”

Shang Qinghua turns his face into his shidi’s collar and falls into a doze.

#svsss prompts #shang qinghua #liu qingge #liushang #scumbag villain self saving system #vodka answers #vodkassassin fanfiction #dancibayo #monster hunting

159 notes · View notes

sope-and-shine · 3 years

Text

When World’s Collide: Pt. 1

-> Pairing: Moon God!Taehyung x Fate!Reader -> SFW // fluff, angst, humor // enemies to lovers!au, soulmate!au -> Word Count: 17.7k -> Summary: Taehyung has spent most of his life ignored by his peers and alone on his barren planet. So when a lonely King reaches out to him in hopes to bring his love to him, how could he ignore his plea? However, it’s not good to mess with fate, and it’s even worse to make the same mistake twice. -> Warnings: mild language, the reader is a bad bitch, minor character death, minor innuendos, Jimin is a hoe

a/n: THIS STORY IS DIRECTLY CONNECTED TO THE RIGHT OF A KING! YOU DON'T HAVE TO READ IT FIRST, BUT IT WOULD MAKE A LOT MORE SENSE IF YOU DO

Part 1 // Part 2 // Masterlist

At the beginning of the universe there was a big bang that created the planets and stars as we know it, and with the spread of these divine creations came the deities that would oversee them. Each being crafted from the magic that created the rest of their home in the cosmos, they take care of their planets and the other magical wonders that make up their home.

Taeyang - the Sun God - a jovial and bright spirit. He keeps the planets aligned and in motion when the Universe tips off balance. He holds each of the 9 planets accountable and they trust him to lead the way, as do the higher deities. Universe, Cosmos, Galaxy, Life, Death, and Fate - the 6 high deities that make up the universe. Without one, then the home that they share would not function as easily as it does. They trust the other deities to do their jobs no matter how big or small, and it’s that trust that makes their home run so smoothly.

Taehyung has always understood this. From the day he first opened his eyes, he’s always known where his place has been within the hierarchy of the solar system. He’s a lonely planet in the shadow of the Earth, left to hear the calls of the humans for their home planet but never for him. To those that stare up at him, he is but a night light in the vast expanse of space.

When you’re a low tier deity - much like those of the dwarf planets - you’re not as needed as others. Earth is always busy with his humans, and to find him when the deities meet is a truly rare occurrence - to find any high deity other than the Sun, Universe, Galaxy, and Fate was a true miracle. They all have important jobs that keep life on Earth flourishing and the planets orbiting around the Sun and stars lit in the sky, and he’s just there as an afterthought.

No one asks for Taehyung the Moon God. No one knows about him. No one needs him. He rests on a single rock in the sky with no one to talk to and no one to help.

He just exists.

There are some days where he’ll sit on the dark side of his planet and sit in the silence. He’ll create his own world and pretend that he is a great and powerful being with many friends and a bounty of people to look up to him. He’ll stay in that dream for days and weeks on end, and his only wish is to remain there.

On days where he’ll roam the other half of his home, he’ll sit and listen close to the tiny voices calling from Earth. He’ll listen in on their conversations and talk back as if they were talking to him for once.

“Yes, you may have a dog very soon.”

“Your brother is sick? Give him two days and he’ll be all better!”

“You wish to meet? I wish we could, but I am just a deity and you are a human.”

Hours he’d spend talking to himself and pretending that he was helping others. For that short period of time that he amused himself, he always felt lighter and like he was more than just the Moon.

It was one day talking to himself that he finally heard it. The plea was loud and bold - almost as if the person was sitting right next to him - and it had him scrambling to his feet faster than he could leave for another planet.

“Moon Goddess, please hear my prayer. I need your help,” An unfamiliar male voice pleads. Taehyung looks around, but there’s no sign of life anywhere around him. The voice continues, “Please...I no longer wish to be alone.”

It feels like a punch to the gut to have someone begging him - for him of all people - to help them feel less lonely. How could he help if he couldn’t even make real friends of his own. What was he supposed to do for him that he couldn’t do himself?

“Please...I do so much for my people and I love them with everything I am, but I can’t do this alone anymore!” The pain in the human’s voice hits Taehyung deep, deeper than anything he’s heard before. Perhaps it’s because for once, he’s the one being called upon instead, “I know this is too much to ask, but I beg of you. Just a lover or even a friend would do. But I can’t be lonely like this anymore.”

Had he said anything else then maybe Taehyung would have ignored him.

Had it not been so long that he himself had been alone, he wouldn’t have answered.

But Taehyung finds himself on Earth without a second thought, hiding behind a tree in what he can only describe as a human village. Men and women walk along a dirt path lined with miniature buildings, each one containing what looks to be food or crafts. Children run wildly between the legs of adults, and each person - young or old - that he sees wears beautiful clothing much different from his.

“Strange...” The god muses to himself.His peers were no stranger to beautiful clothing, but theirs were far from what these humans wear. Colorful silks layered over each other, simple yet beautiful. Taehyung finds himself completely entranced.

Instead of jumping out into the open, the god sticks to the shadows. He tiptoes behind stalls, peeking around the corner to watch the crowd as they pass by. He observes the way they walk and the way they interact with each other, wanting nothing more than to place himself in their conversations. But no one but Namjoon could talk to him.

If he were to bring too much attention to himself, then the other deities would figure him out before he could help Namjoon. To complete his mission, he would have no choice but to remain a secret to only the king and those within his home. No one could know about him.

It takes him a while to get through town, but Taehyung finally stumbles upon the royal castle. “Is this really a human home?” He asks himself.

The long, fenced path that leads him to the gated palace is beautiful. It’s decorated with flower bushes and lanterns every few feet. The palace itself stands tall above the gate it’s encased in. It’s much more extravagant than what he’d imagined of a human, “It’s much larger than the ones on the way here.”

A woman comes around the side of the gate wearing beautiful garments of white and pink, a basket in her hands filled with fruits. Her clothes are gorgeous, and compared to Taehyung’s own clothing, she fits in better among the people he’s seen.

“Her clothes are so beautiful.” He says aloud, admiring the swish of the fabric as she enters the grounds past the guards. Looking down at his own clothes, Taehyung pouts, “I guess I don’t fit in…” Taehyung thinks back to the beautiful pieces he’s seen in such a short time already. He’d need something just as beautiful and as comfortable as theirs.

Without much of a second thought, Taehyung uses what magical prowess he has to make himself his own white and baby blue attire to help himself blend in. His hair he decides to let down, layered on his shoulders. His new attire makes him feel somehow more powerful, and he can’t stop the proud smile that spreads on his face, “Much better.”

Taehyung makes his approach to the gate where he saw his inspiration enter, smiling brightly at the stone-faced guards that eye him wearily. The guard to the left of the doors puts a hand out in front of him, “Stop! What business do you have here?”

“What business?” Taehyung stops to think. He hadn’t thought much about human society or their culture. His plan was to show up and talk to the King, he didn’t expect to be put at a standstill so close to his destination. Without thinking much of it, he turns his nose up, “I’m here on the King’s business.”

The guard on the right takes a step forward, “The King didn’t send for anyone.”

“He called for me.” Taehyung assures them, not letting the inconvenience stop him. No matter what, he had to find a way in to see the King. Even if he had to lie his way through. “He sent me a letter himself.”

The left guard holds out his hand, “I want the letter.”

The God’s stomach drops, “I don’t have it anymore, he-...” He pauses for just a moment, “-he told me to get rid of it!”

The guard holding out his hand pulls it back and shrugs, “If it’s gone then we can’t let you in.”

The guard to his right moves forward to lead him away, but Taehyung is quick to protest, “Wait! Can’t you just take a message to him from me so he knows that I’m here? I’ll wait.”

“This is ridiculous.” The guard trying to corral him scoffs. He tries to grab him again, but Taehyung moves away once more.

“The King said it was urgent that I get here!” Taehyung insists. He tries to think of any excuse that could help him, any lie that would get him past these guards.

And then it hits him.

Pulling himself together, Taehyung stands with a certain air of false confidence, “It would be a shame if you not letting me in upsets him.”

Both guards tense at the mention of their King upset, the both of them having witnessed his temper before. Neither wanted to see their King angry again, and it showed on their faces. Taehyung considers it a win when the guard in front of him backs away with a narrowed gaze, “What’s your message?”

Taehyung is careful with his wording. He can’t outright say he is the Moon God, too many people would find out and then he’d have to deal with the higher deities coming after him. “Tell him that I read his prayer and I’m here to help. I’ll solve all of his problems just as he asked when the moon was full.”

This excuse is just enough.

The guard in front of him scoffs, “This sounds like nothing of importance.”

“Then your King won’t take long to turn me away.” He glares at Taehyung, but he enters the gates to deliver his message anyways. His companion steps in front of the two doors as they close, staring down at the God.

It only takes what feels like a few moments - for Taehyung - before the Guard returns. He looks angry, but he sighs when he meets Taehyung’s gaze, “He’ll see you.”

The god walks with a bounce in his step as he follows after the disgruntled guard. He pays no mind to the man's emotions, his only focus on the palace around him. Many women and children walk the grounds in groups, somewhere the number of children overpower the adults. More guards walk at ease around them and more at ease than the one that guides him. None of them seem to even realize just how beautiful their home really is, but Taehyung is completely in awe of its beauty.

They come to a stop in front of a closed set of doors, the guard turning around to face Taehyung before he pushes one side open for the god to enter before him. The room is large, a high ceiling being held by long red pillars that line both sides of the room. The floor is covered in tile instead of wood like the hallway, the center tiles a different color and creates a path to the large throne that sits at the other end of the room.

On top of this throne sits a man wearing deep red silks embroidered with gold. His dark hair sits in a bun on the top of his head with a gold piece holding it in place. On his lap is a closed book, resting between hands that tremble as they hold to his robes. With such beautiful silks and the elegance that radiates off his aura, this man is in no doubt the King that called to him.

When he notices Taehyung’s arrival, he stands from his throne, “Welcome-!” His book falls to his feet and the King scrambles to pick it up and place it on his throne. He clears his throat and fixes his posture, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

The guard next to Taehyung bows and he follows suit, careful not to step on his new clothes. When he stands tall again, Taehyung smiles, “I apologize for taking so long.”

“That’s quite alright.” The King assures him. He turns his attention to the guard at Taehyung’s side, “You may leave us.” The man bows his head and leaves, closing the door behind him and leaving the god and the King alone.

When Taehyung is sure no one else will hear them, he smiles, “I have to say, I’m very impressed with the way you humans have made your homes.” He looks around the walls of the room and the lanterns that bring light to it, “I have to admit, there’s much more light than I’m used to.”

Namjoon sighs in relief and places a hand over his heart, “So you really are the Moon Goddess-“ The title throws the god off guard. “-I was hoping I hadn’t misread the situation.”

“Uh...yes. I am the deity of the Moon.” Taehyung chuckles awkwardly, “I think there’s actually been a-”

“When I prayed the other night begging for your help, I thought I had finally gone crazy!” Namjoon makes slow steps off of his throne and to the brunette. He stops in front of him, standing just a few inches taller with a look of pure wonder and merriment, “But you’re here. You’re right here.” He reaches out to touch his shoulders but he stops himself, not wanting to offend the deity in front of him in any way, “Do Gods and Goddesses wear hanboks as well?”

“Not quite. We wear robes of silk in whatever form is most comfortable. I made this myself.” Taehyung turns from side to side, adding in a slow turn for the king to see the extent of his handiwork.

“Remarkable~”

“Yes, I suppose it is. Now, about me being the Goddess-”

“Yes! Moon Goddess. I’m still letting it all sink in.” The king places a hand to his temple - almost as if scolding himself for possibly forgetting. He shakes his head with a pleased smile and returns his attention to the god, “You really shouldn’t have bothered with the guards.”

“Right, well, I didn’t have your exact location to find you. My magic really onl-”

“Magic?!” Namjoon repeats. The mention of magic seems to startle him more than the man being a god - or goddess in his own words, “Of course you would use magic. How else would you be able to come here to me? How does it work?”

“Oh...well, I- uh…” In the eons that Taehyung has existed, he’s never once thought about his powers as anything but just that. He’s never questioned having magic, he just knows that he can use it, he knows how he can use it, and that it can be finicky even for him. Not once has he ever considered there was more to it than that. “I’m not sure how to describe it.”

Namjoon nods, “That’s fair. I suppose it would be hard to explain something you’re born with.”

“Speaking of things that we’re born with-”

“So, what’s your plan?” Namjoon asks, unintentionally interrupting the god before he does something to expose himself.

“My plan?” Taehyung repeats.

Namjoon nods, “You said you’d take care of all of my problems. I assume you have a plan.”

“Yes...A plan!” Taehyung tries to let the reminder of his words sink in, but off the top of his head, he can’t remember creating a real plan. “I do have a plan.”

On his trip down, he never considered that he’d need a real plan. He only planned to help him out and leave. It didn’t cross his mind that he should probably make a plan before meeting with a human king.

Something for him to remember in the future.

Taehyung thinks for a moment. He ignores the impatient stare that Namjoon gives him, and racks his brain for anything that could possibly help him obtain what he wants.

And then it hits him.

“A necklace!” He announces, “I’ll make one to attract your soulmate.”

“My soulmate?” Namjoon repeats with furrowed brows, “I don’t understand.”

“When the universe was born and all of the planets came along with it, the humans of Earth were created as well.” Taehyung gestures for the king to follow him to the back of his throne room where the large window resides, “The Earth God once told me that his humans were more focused on survival and protecting the other half born to them than worshiping him. He got so angry with them that he took it upon himself to split them apart.”

Outside Namjoon’s window, he can see into the garden of his palace. There are a few stragglers that still bring in baskets of goods, and some who walk slow to enjoy the fresh air, “He forced them to live their lives searching for their other half and worshiping him and the gifts he gave them.”

“That’s so sad.”

“Yeah, he made Fate angry that day.” Taehyung can still hear Fate’s cries of rage and anguish she threw at his friend that day. If she weren’t a peaceful entity, then she probably would have knocked him around too, “She nearly stripped him of his power against the higher council, but they gave him another chance.”

Namjoon nods, taking in the information the god has given him with practiced poise. He takes a look into his own garden and thinks about all of his friends and his people that spend their days working and looking for love, “Why would he do that?”

“I think - because he’s so lively and outgoing, and he has such a huge responsibility - that he doesn’t understand his humans as much as he likes to think he does.” Taehyung can’t help but think of where his friend could be at this very moment. ‘They’re just humans, Taehyung, if one dies then Life brings me another.’ His friend once told him with a shrug, as if his humans weren’t the most interesting and complicated creatures he was tasked to take care of, “To him, he has so many of you to choose from. So, he just does whatever he wants.”

“But you’ll bring mine to me?”

“I will.”

“When do we get started?”

Namjoon’s question takes a minute for Taehyung to answer. Given the circumstances he won’t know any different what he says, but even so, this process is one the god has never tried before, “I can start as soon as tomorrow.”

“Is there anything I can do for you? Food, water, ingredients?”

“No, food and water are trivial for me.” Taehyung waves the offer away. Food and water were human resources, things he could have but didn’t truly need. His biggest problem would be to stay in hiding, “However, you shouldn’t tell anyone else about who I really am.”

“No?”

“Gods and Goddesses only visit humans so often when called. Others will get jealous and take it out on you. I don’t want that to happen.” Not a lie, but not the truth. It’s better that way anyways.

“I can say you’re a new advisor. An excuse to stay within my palace and be near me.” Namjoon offers, earning an appreciative nod from the god, “Do you have a name? What should I call you?”

“Call me...Jihye.” Taehyung smiles. His new female persona will work nice while he stays with the humans, “Jihye will do just fine.”

---

For two weeks, Taehyung has spent everyday using as much magic as he can to create the necklace he promised Namjoon. At first, he wasn’t sure exactly how he would complete it. To attract a soulmate you have to have a piece of them. With no clue where Namjoon’s soulmate was, or even a way to find them, he had to think of anything that would help him.

And then he had a thought.

Two halves of the same soul. Namjoon still has a connection with his soulmate even if they were separated from him. The smallest drop of his blood on a rock from his home would help the God to attract the other half ten-fold. Namjoon was more than willing to provide anything that would help him. Now, with glittering pink gems created from Namjoon’s blood as his soulmate’s heart, Taehyung just has to wait for the effects to take place.

“Lady Jihye?” A servant calls from the hall. Taehyung calls out for her to come in and she enters, “You have a visitor.”

He smiles, “You can let them in, thank you.” She nods her head and backs out of his room.

Against his better judgement, Taehyung allowed himself to take on this Jihye persona. It wouldn’t look right if he only spoke to the King and snuck around to speak to him. As long as no one knows he’s the Moon God - or Goddess as Namjoon knows him as - then he’d be alright.

Another knock is placed on the door before it opens up to reveal the same servant, “This way, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Taehyung freezes.

It’s been so long since he’d last been to a council meeting, but he’d never forget the sound of your voice. You were always present and always checking in. He should have never doubted your ability to find people.

When you step past the servant in your own hanbok similar to his - this one purple and pink with white accents - you’re sure to meet his eye with a stare that could make Death weep. In the centuries it had been since he'd seen you, you had let your hair grow longer. It pulled your outfit together in a nice updo he had seen the other woman wearing around the palace. It would seem you had done your research before you came to see him.

When his door closes and it’s just the two of you, he sends you a nervous smile, “(Y/n)!” He spreads his arms for a hug, but your expression remains unimpressed.

“Taehyung.”

He puts his arms down when he realizes you aren’t going to greet him, “What are you doing here?”

“The real question is what are you doing here, Taehyung?” You ask.

“Uh…” He takes a moment, “Sight-seeing?”

You don't acknowledge his obvious lie, “Really? Then tell me why two strings have converged.”

“Uh...fate?” You give him a look, almost as if daring to even try and explain that one. His shoulders drop, “You’re not buying it.”

“No, I’m not.” You say, “What do you think you’re doing, Taehyung?”

“I’m trying out this wonderful women’s hanbok. They’re actually very comfortable, I don’t see why the men don’t wear them instead-” He attempts to turn and spin for you to show off the fabric that lays against his skin, but you interrupt him.

“Taehyung! I don’t care about the clothing!” You yell. You take a moment to calm yourself, moving forward and keeping your voice down for any listening ears, “I want to know what you think you’re doing messing around with Fate’s work! My work!”

“What I can!” He says, “Namjoon is just lonely and he wants the comfort of his soulmate.”

“Soulmates are not for you to mess with! Did you learn nothing when I raked Jimin across the coals?” You ask, reminding him of the selfish deity with only himself in mind, “I took responsibility over his humans for a reason!”

“I didn’t assign him a new one!” Taehyung explains, trying his best to defend himself and his decisions.

“But you’re messing with their timeline! It is not time for them to meet yet, and you-” You reach over to his dresser where the shining jewels rest hidden underneath it’s cloth. He hid them there from anyone that may enter his room, but none of their eyes see as much as yours. You pluck one from the pile and shove it in his face, “creating these demon jewels will only cause trouble!”

“You don’t know that!”

“I see it all!” You remind him. You put the jewel back where it belongs and resort to pressing your finger into his chest, “These humans are mine to deal with, Taehyung. I won’t stand for you interfering with my responsibility.”

Taehyung hangs his head. He doesn’t understand why you won’t just let him do this one thing. It’s only two humans, there’s no need for everyone to make such a fuss over it. When he brings Namjoon and his soulmate together, then they’ll all see just how important this necklace really is.

When you remove your finger from his chest, he looks up, “Why can’t they just be happy sooner?”

You know better than anyone what it’s like when others mess with fate. You remember how bad Jimin messed up like it was yesterday, and it’s made your job as a deity that much harder to deal with. The other’s just don’t understand what your job entails, and it seems there’s only one way they’ll all learn.

You meet Taehyung’s eyes, “You really want to know why?” You ask

“Yes.”

“Fine.” You put your hands up in surrender and take a step back, “I’ll let you play your little matchmaking game, but don’t come crying to me when you realize what you’ve done.” You walk all the way back to the door you had come through. Before you leave, you look to Taehyung one last time, “Do you understand?”

With all the power in him, Taehyung nods, “Trust me, I won’t.”

As you leave, Taehyung is unsure if he’s really making the right decision, but he has no time to second guess himself. The only thing he can do now is wait for the gems to finish and complete the necklace before Namjoon’s soulmate would become fully attracted to it.

---

“So, this is it?” Namjoon asks.

In his hands he holds the delicate pink jewels and silver stones strung together with gold. Taehyung had finished it that morning and waited all day for Namjoon to finish with his official business before he showed it to the King. The both of them have been so excited for this day, and now it was here.

“This is it.” Taehyung unwraps the cloth from around his creation and presents it to the king, “This necklace will attract your soulmate and bring them to you.”

“Wonderful.”Namjoon takes the necklace in his hands, holding the object as gingerly as he can. His eyes take in every last detail, and he seems very pleased with the god’s work.

“Can I ask you a question, Jihye?”

“Ask away.”

“Why are you helping me?” Namjoon meets his eye, but it doesn’t ease the god’s confusion, “You said Gods and Goddess’ very rarely help humans when they ask for it. So why help me?”

“I guess I felt a lot like you.” Taehyung admits. He’d felt so lonely and like his purpose was wasteful sitting up on his planet, wasting his days daydreaming in silence. “When you’re the deity of something as insignificant as the moon, you grow lonely. Being here to help you through this makes me feel important.”

Namjoon places a reassuring hand on Taehyung’s shoulder, “Moon Goddess or no Moon Goddess, you’re pretty important to me.” The king’s smile is bright and comforting. It’s one of his more refining qualities as a king, and it’s something he’s noticed throughout his time in the palace. “It may seem silly, but I’d like to believe we’ve become friends.”

“Friends?” Taehyung repeats. Namjoon nods and Taehyung smiles, “I like that. Friends are unbreakable.”

“Oh! Speaking of breakables, what if someone breaks the necklace before my soulmate finds me?” The King asks.

“Impossible. The only way this necklace will break is if you and your loved one agree to break the bond.” Taehyung assures him. He had made sure to include that back door in his planning process. He couldn’t let anyone tear his project apart, and that included one singular half of the pair, “You’re stuck with them for eternity.”

“Just like friends.” Namjoon says, casually throwing in the similarity with a fond smile, “It sounds amazing.”

“It will be.”

It should have been.

A few days after Taehyung had finished the necklace, Namjoon fell ill. At first, it seemed like a simple cold, but the King only seemed to grow weaker as days continued to pass. There were times where in the morning he’d be able to walk around the palace garden, and by the afternoon he was bed ridden until lunch the next day. Some days, nobody would see his majesty at all.

The King’s practitioner’s tried their best to keep him fed and hydrated, but no medicine they had was able to do the trick. They could only give him remedies to take away the pain until whatever it was passed or the King went with it peacefully.

Knowing that Namjoon - someone he had become so close to - was on the brink of meeting a friend of his, Taehyung couldn’t sit himself still. When no one was watching, he ran off to the far edge of the palace hunting grounds. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him until he reached the stream Namjoon had shown him.

“(Y/n)!” He yells, crying into the wind, “(Y/n), I know you can hear me!”

“What?” You told him not to come crying to you, yet here he was interrupting your duties. He acts as though you aren’t busy with problems of your own. Yet against your own judgement, you appear behind him with a fixed appearance.

“What’s happening to him? Why is Namjoon sick?” He asks, turning to you filled with fury and sadness. He takes notice of the clothing you changed into, “Why are you wearing men’s clothing?”

You look down to the blue and white hanbok you had seen some of the palace guards wearing and shrug, “Oh, so you can walk around in women’s clothing but I can’t appreciate the design of men’s?”

The god shakes his head, “Nevermind. Tell me what’s wrong with him.”

“He’s sick.”

“I know he’s sick. Why is he sick? Why is he so weak and losing his hair?!” He demands.

You cross your arms over your chest, “I told you what would happen if you mess with fate.”

“No. You only said not to come crying to you.”

“Yet here you are.” Taehyung’s face contorts from anger to hurt and you look away from him to the trees that surround you. You sigh, “Look, I see the future and hold it in my hands-” To prove your point you hold out your hands to show the miniature galaxy that forms between your palms, an infinite number of strings tied to your fingers, “-and when you go around playing with something you shouldn’t then it plays back.”

“Then fix it!”

“I don’t think you get it, Taehyung. I. Can’t. Fix. This!” You let your mini-galaxy dissolve away and advance towards the quivering man before you. Even with his lesson being thrown right in his face, he still doesn’t understand. You use both hands to cup his cheeks, holding him there so he’s forced to look at you, “You’ve doomed their fate, and now they pay the price.”

The hurt that swims in his golden irises bubbles over in hot tears, “This isn’t what I wanted.”

He had tried so hard to make everything perfect. All he wanted to do was help humans and be important like other deities. Just like Namjoon, he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. But what is he supposed to do now that Namjoon is sick beyond repair?

“I tried to warn you.”

In your opinion, a God like Taehyung needs to be monitored more carefully. He - and other planets such as dwarves - would never be able to understand the responsibility that comes with the universe. They’re much too close to humans, far too close to temptation. They’ll learn to feel what the humans feel, and then they’re doomed to be just as destructive. That’s what happened to Jimin, and it’s already influencing him.

“Now you must learn your lesson.” You pull away from the brunette, ready to leave him there and return to your duties.

“Isn’t there anything I can do?” Taehyung asks, stopping you before you can even think of moving. With all of your knowledge, Taehyung knows there has to be other options, other paths he can choose before Namjoon’s downfall is the only one left. You just had to tell him. “What are there- maybe 12 outcomes?!”

Of course, you do know what’s to come. Two outcomes were likely about to happen in the coming weeks, and you have to prepare for them both before the time arrives. Either way, both will destroy Taehyung to a point that you don’t know if he’ll return. You can only guide him to the better of the two.

“Destroy the necklace or don’t let them meet until after he’s dead. Those are your options.” You turn your back to Taehyung, unable to meet his eye any longer. However, Taehyung isn’t finished with you.

“What do you mean ‘those are my options’?! Where are you going?!” He cries, still heartbroken and confused over the ultimatum you had given him.

The last thing you want to do is hurt Taehyung, but sometimes the harsh truth is what someone needs the most, “To do my job. Maybe you should learn to do yours.”

Taehyung didn’t take your words lightly. He did his job, but not the one he was born to do.

No.

He worked even harder to help Namjoon find his soulmate. He refused to destroy his hard work, and he definitely wasn’t going to let Namjoon die before he got the chance to see his true love.

Namjoon, however, wasn’t as sure as Taehyung that he would get to that point.

“I know you’re-” Namjoon lets out a wet cough, “-you’re working hard, Jihye. But I don’t think I’ll get there.”

Taehyung shakes his head, cutting through another piece of hair at the top on the king’s head, “You will. I know you will.”

“How can you be so sure?” He asks sleepily.

“I just have this feeling.”

“And if your feeling is wrong?”

Taehyung has been pushing the possibility of failure as far away as he possibly can. He didn’t want to ever consider his plan a lost cause. If he did that, then that would mean Namjoon is a lost cause, and Namjoon is anything but that.

“Then I’ll wait everyday for your soulmate to come to you.” Taehyung assures him.

“That won’t do me any good if I’m dead.” Namjoon reminds him. Taehyung pushes the remark aside and instead focuses on combing through the king’s hair, “They’d be talking to a skeleton.”

Taehyung shakes his head, “I’m sure I could figure something out.”

“You know...I read that the Egyptians would-” He coughs, “-mummify their dead.”

The suggestion makes the god stop. He had never considered that other humans may have ways to preserve their dead, “Do you really think that will work?”

“I don’t think we have anything to lose.”

At Namjoon’s request, Taehyung ordered palace guards to search for someone who could perform the procedure. He ordered them to move fast and to not waste anytime. The sooner they could find a doctor knowledgeable in the art, the sooner he’d be able to decide if turning his friend into a mummy was the way to go.

The last thing Taehyung expected was for Namjoon’s soulmate to show up as the doctor performing his procedure.

He didn’t notice the connection right away. She was quiet and straight to the point, she didn’t leave any room for Taehyung to notice anything right away. But when he brought her to the infirmary to familiarize herself with the room, is when he noticed the string that seemed to hang off of her hand. She herself hadn’t even noticed the string pulling at her smallest finger. It was as if the string was a ghost and only Taehyung had an interest in it.

By the time it came for her to meet the King himself, Taehyung had already come up with a plan to get her to touch the necklace. He didn’t care if you had told him not to do it until after. In his mind, the sooner Namjoon and his soulmate could be together the better.

If only he could’ve had her touch the necklace a moment sooner. In between the guards rushing her out of the room and Namjoon’s shallow breathing, Taehyung could see you outside of the room watching it all unfold from the corridor. You look content, far too content for someone that just witnessed true love slip away from one another. Your contempt made him angry, but he had to ignore you for Namjoon’s sake.

Unfortunately, Taehyung had needed a miracle.

Later that same night, Namjoon said his last parting words: “Watch over them for me.”

Unbeknownst to the King, he had already met his soulmate. She was just down the hall and under heavy guard. Even after his body and possessions were placed before her to begin the process, the King’s necklace was kept under close watch by his guard. Taehyung had tried so hard to remind the guard that Namjoon had wanted his necklace by his side at all times, but none of them would listen to him.

Because of that, Namjoon’s soulmate - Choi Eunha - left to return home. Namjoon himself was sealed inside of a tomb beneath his palace, and Taehyung was left to mourn the loss of friend.

It was raining the day you were sent to retrieve him. The King’s tomb had just been sealed and many palace servants had already dispersed to return to their own lives. The only person left was Taehyung, resting in a deep bow he had brought all the way to the ground. His forehead rests against the stone of the tomb, and it takes everything you have not to rip the god away from it.

You come to stand beside him, stopping just in front of the tomb's sealed entrance in the palace garden, “I tried to warn you.”

Taehyung shakes his head, “They were so close…”

“It wasn’t going to end how you had hoped.”

Taehyung’s head snaps from his mournful position to you, “You don’t know that!” He cries.

His eyes are red and puffy, and the streaks from the tears he shed paint his cheeks. His lip quivers in both anger and sadness, and you can only look at him in pity, “Taehyung, we’ve been over this.”

Taehyung turns himself around so his back rests against the king’s door. He hangs his head, “Just go away and leave me be. Haven’t you done enough?”

You feel a twinge of guilt, but you push it aside. You weren’t here to be his friend, you’re here to do a job, “I can’t. I’m supposed to bring you to the council.”

“Can’t this wait?”

You sigh, “Humans have made you soft, Taehyung.” You place a hand on his shoulder, but he grabs your wrist and pulls it away from him.

“The humans haven’t made me anything!” He protests, “It’s normal to feel sad over the loss of a friend.” Mourning is all he’d done since he last spoke to the king. Since he last saw him smile, close his eyes, take a single breath, all Taehyung has done is mourn the loss of one of the best friends he’s known.

But of course you wouldn’t understand. To you, humans are expendable beings incapable of doing anything beneficial for the universe. You were just as heartless as you’ve always been, and that’s something even Taehyung couldn’t fix, “Maybe more people would like you if you showed a little compassion.”

It shouldn’t hit you as hard as it does, but his words hurt more than you ever thought they would. Not only that, but they’re completely unnecessary. Here you are treating him with more kindness than you should be giving him, and he’s insulting you in return.

You pull your hand away, “I don’t have to be nice to you, Taehyung. I’m already giving you the option to move of your own free will.”

“Oh, wow, the bare minimum.” Taehyung says sarcastically. He flashes you a fake smile and from a flower that lays next to him, he creates a small pile of coins, “Do you want an award.”

“You want to be an ass? Fine. I can be one too.” You grab Taehyung by the front of his clothes and pull up. Together, you travel from Earth to Star 13, the meeting place of the deities.

A large opaque building held strong by blue, iridescent columns. Inside where you stand, is a singular room with large marble chairs placed in a circle. Each chair but 2 are filled, a very rare occurrence for a normal meeting. At the designated ‘front’ of the circle are the 6 chairs of the high ranking deities. Universe at the center, Life and Death on each shoulder, an empty chair and Cosmos beside them, and Galaxy and Sun on the remaining sides. These 6 make up the Higher Authority within the council.

You let go of Taehyung and allow him to fall to the floor on his own, the god only catching himself on his elbows. You cross your arms and nod to the council in front of you, “Council members (Y/n) and Moon God Taehyung.”

The members of the council nod their heads in acknowledgment, but only 1 speaks, “Welcome, we’ve been waiting for the two of you.” Universe - Hui - greets. His smile radiates calm, but his aura radiates anything but. He gestures to the empty chair next to Life, “(Y/n) please take your seat. Moon, please take the center of the circle.”

Taehyung nods and stands from his position on the floor, watching with distaste as you walk away from him to your own chair. He dusts himself off and tries to present himself better than his initial entrance, “Moon God Taehyung, reporting for council.”

“Council Member Juhyun.”

Juhyun - Deity of the galaxy stands from his chair, “We the council have been forced to acknowledge the destructive actions brought upon mere humans by Moon God Taehyung. It has come to our attention that you have not only abandoned your position for weeks, but you have tampered with soulmate strings of Fate. Is this information true?”

“Yes.”

Juhyun nods, “Would the council member please explain his reasoning for tampering with Fate’s strings?”

“Do I need any more reason besides love?” Taehyung asks, his brows furrowed in confusion. If there was one thing life on Earth had taught him, it was that love was the most powerful force. Love could make a tough man weak and weak man strong.

Bora - Goddess of the cosmos - scoffs, “Deities do not partake in love.”

“The council will need a better reason.” Juhyun says.

Taehyung looks to the council with a blank stare. In his mind, he tries to fathom how those with so much power can’t possibly see the benefits of love. He doesn’t understand how they can hear about 2 people in love who are connected by Fate and see an issue of pulling them together. Even Fate herself can’t see it!

Hoseok - Death himself tilts his head in confusion, “Nothing?”

“Maybe his own selfish desires…” Yoongi mumbles to himself, the bitterness of Life seeping through.

“If the council member Moon has no explanation then we will move forward.” Hui announces, silencing the background conversations. He turns to you, “(Y/n), any suggestions for punishment?”

You turn your attention to Hui and back to Taehyung. Discipline has been at the forefront of your mind since you first saw Taehyung’s own string of Fate cross and pull against those of humans. The anger you feel from him now is the anger you’ve felt for the past weeks that he’s been messing around. In your opinion, he has no right to be so upset with you for doing your job, but his opinion of you having no compassion is entirely inaccurate.

“I think council member Moon has had enough punishment.” You say, taking everyone by surprise. The last time someone messed with Fate’s strings, you were all but popping a blood vessel. Hoseok and Yoongi were both so worried, they thought they might have to assign a new deity.

Juhyun sits in his chair and leans over to speak with you, “Are you sure?” He asks

“Yeah, are you okay?” Yoongi adds in.

You nod, “I would like to suggest restricted access to humans and the destruction of the imposing necklace.” You turn to Hui, ignoring the hard glare being sent your way from the offending god, “I don’t want this to happen again, but from what I’ve seen, I believe he understands what he’s done was wrong.”

“Is there anyone within the council that disagrees?” Hui addresses the council, but no one argues. Whether it’s from shock that you weren’t harder on the Moon God or the fact that no one wanted to be there for very long, who knows. “Juhyun.”

Juhyun stands, “Based on the testimony of council member (Y/n) - Fate herself - he should not receive major punishment. He will, however, be sent back to Earth to destroy the necklace before it does any more damage. He will also no longer be allowed to roam Earth as he pleases, and Council Member Earth will inform the council if this punishment is not fulfilled. Is there any reason this punishment should not take place?”

No one argues and Hui continues, “Would Council Member Moon like to add anything before we make the final judgement?”

“Council Member Moon!” Taeyang shouts.

“No.”

“The Galactic Council has spoken. Meeting adjourned.”

The other members of council are quick to disappear, but Taehyung lingers. He’s never felt so numb, and he doesn’t understand why he feels this way. He suspects this is what loss feels like. Instead of a lonely sadness, it feels like a piece of himself has been ripped away and there’s nothing he can do to get it back except wait.

When he’s escorted to Earth to grab the necklace and destroy it, he can’t stop himself from hesitating. In front of him is the last piece of Namjoon he has left. If he destroys it, then the likelihood of him ever seeing Namjoon would fall away completely.

And then there’s Namjoon’s last words: “Watch over them for me.”

What kind of friend would he be to go back on his word? If friendships were for eternity, then how could he ever bring himself to stab his friend in the back even in the afterlife? The answer? He wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

He makes his decision as soon as Jimin calls out to check on him, “Taehyung, did you find it?”

“Yeah!” Instead of destroying the necklace he created, he pockets it. He takes another piece of jewelry from the altar and crushes it beneath his feet, breaking it just as they’d want him to break the necklace. That is what he hands to his friend on his way out, ignoring the sad smile he offers.

He didn’t need it.

He has the necklace.

As long as he keeps the necklace with him, then he’ll find Eunha again. He’ll find her and he’ll bring her and Namjoon together no matter what. Even if it takes centuries, he’ll wait as long as it takes to keep his promise to Namjoon.

Taehyung spent hundreds of years sitting alone on his space rock, holding close to him the only piece he had left of a friend and a responsibility he couldn’t fulfill. Every moment he spent alone he went over every detail that went wrong in his head. He tore himself apart over things that could have gone better and what he could’ve done differently. But in every single scenario, he refused to give up on Namjoon.

You had tried to come and see him every decade or so, just to make sure that he himself was doing okay, but Taehyung would always sneak away to the dark side of his planet. It seemed like your presence was more damaging to him than the silence. You knew he’d be upset, but you never expected it to be so severe. A part of you didn’t want him to be alone, even if it had been awhile since the incident. But there was nothing you could do if he didn’t want to see you.

It wasn’t like Taehyung wasn’t used to solitude. Even before his restrictions he was always lonely more often than not. For him, he’s just gone back to his normal life. He even went back to listening to the humans again.

It took him quite a few decades to even get used to hearing humans again, and then a few more to listen to what they were saying. Not many asked for him, though there were a handful more than he had ever received before. It made him feel better, and those few calls to him over Jimin really kept him a float during his wait.

And then he heard it.

It was quiet at first, but Taehyung was able to make out the sloppy conversation of a child.

“...4, 5, 6, 7…” There’s a slight pause to the voice, “What comes after 7?”

Taehyung stifles a laugh. He’s never had a child talk to him before. The last children he’d been able to talk to were the children at Namjoon’s palace, and they went to him in hopes that he would play.

“You have a lot of stars by you. Momma says the stars are angels. Momma also says you have a Goddess and a man living there. Is that true?” The little girl asks.

It would seem Namjoon’s influence wore off on everyone else. He’d forever be known as the Moon Goddess Taehyung and not the Moon God. And now there was a man on his planet as well? Probably a human tale or something along those lines.

“You’re quiet...” The girl says, coming to the conclusion herself, “Do you ever talk?”

He shouldn’t do it.

He shouldn’t give into the temptation again, but he doesn’t want to leave someone so cute waiting for him to answer.

With the confidence that he can stay hidden long enough, Taehyung appears for her. With a more practiced accuracy than with Namjoon’s, he lands in the little girls room on her bed, “Did you want me to talk?”

The small child turns fast away from her window, her pigtails swinging behind her, “Are you the man on the moon? Your clothes are old.”

“Do you like them?” He asks, looking down at the clothes he had modeled after the ones he had worn on Earth during his previous visit, “What’s your name?”

“Choi Eunha! I’m 5!” The little girl states proudly.

The sound of her name stops Taehyung in his tracks. On instinct, he grabs the necklace in his pocket and pulls it out to see the glowing gems. Unknowingly, he had found her again. He didn’t even have to try. As if by the will of Fate, she found him.

Taehyung puts his necklace away, “Really? 5?! You’re a big girl, aren’t you?” She nods happily and Taehyung smiles, “I think you and I are going to be best friends, Eunha.”

From the ages of 5 to 8, Taehyung spent his time as Eunha’s imaginary friend. He’d follow her to and from elementary school, he’d help her get snacks and teach her about the stars. When she grew away from imaginary friends, he settled for watching her from afar. In a way, he became her guardian, and he made sure she had everything she needed to remain happy and healthy.

When it came time for her to start high school, Taehyung realized that watching from the wings wouldn’t get anywhere. If he wanted to make sure Eunha and Namjoon would come to meet, he’d have to interfere. But this time, he won’t do it alone.

“So, what are we doing again?” Jeongguk asks.

The young dwarf planet’s god and Taehyung were both dressed up in more modern, human fashion, walking down a busy street packed with humans wearing little-to-no clothing. Taehyung had already explained to him before they left what they were doing, but Jeongguk just wasn’t picking up on it.

Something he should’ve considered before recruiting him, but it was far too late to send him back.

“We’re meeting Jimin, remember?” Taehyung asks.

That seems to jog his memory, “Oh yeah. Do you really think we’ll find him with all of these people?”

Taehyung nods, “I’m sure of it.”

Both men glide past the bouncer, using a bit of magic to slide through. In a setting like this, no one will notice the two of them appearing out of thin air. The only thing they had to worry about was pushing their way to Jimin.

“Jimin?” Jeongguk grabs someone passing by, turning them to see that they’re not Jimin at all. He pulls his hand back, “Sorry...Jimin?!” He yells again, finding another look-a-like.

Taehyung stops him before he goes chasing after every human he sees, “Jeongguk! Not everyone is going to be Jimin.”

“Well, how else do you expect to find him?”

Loud shrieks from various women burst from the crowd somewhere in front of them and Taehyung shakes his head, “Just follow the screaming.”

The younger god follows after Taehyung in confusion, allowing the eldest to lead him through the crowd. The two come to a stop on the sidelines of what looks like a small dance circle, a pink haired man clad in leather pressed up against a woman. His cheek is pressed against hers and his hands rest lightly on her waist.

“I don’t see Jimin.” The blue haired man scans the crowd around them, but he doesn’t see anything but women circling them. Taehyung sighs and grabs Jeongguk’s chin, guiding him back to the man in the middle. “Oh…”

The bubblegum pink dancer throws his head back with a smile and turns to look over the crowd. His eyes don’t take long to land on the two gods at the edge of the circle, and Jimin’s smile turns into a smirk.

When Jimin leaves his partner and walks towards them, Taehyung thinks he’s come to greet him so they can talk privately. What he doesn’t expect is for his friend to grab him by the waistline of his pants and pull him into the center of the crowd. The screams of the women around them nearly burst his eardrums - something he never thought possible. He looks back to check on Jeongguk, but the poor man is already surrounded and frozen in fear.

“You know-” Jimin pulls Taehyung’s hips against his, bringing the two of them closer. He leans in with a salacious smile, “-I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

Taehyung remains unfazed by Jimin’s actions, “That’s kinda my job. I’m supposed to stay by you.”

Jimin pats Taehyung’s cheek, “We both know exactly what I’m talking about.” He turns his back to the purple haired man and presses himself into him, throwing his head back, “So, what did you do with it?”

“The necklace?”

“No, your girl parts.” Jimin pats his thigh, “Of course I’m talking about the necklace.”

Tae leans down to Jimin’s ear, “Not until we finish talking, I’ll just let you know that I have it with me.”

“What? You think I’m going to run to the council?” The pink haired man intertwined his fingers with Taehyung’s, raising them in the air and sways his hips against him, “If I was going to do that, I would’ve told them the minute you decided not to destroy the necklace.”

Taehyung spins Jimin around to face him, their arms crossing over each other, “You knew this whole time?”

“Honey, I wrote the book.” Jimin pulls his hands from Taehyung’s grasp and gently places one on his hip, trailing the other up the man’s chest until it rests at the base of his throat, “I knew you got too close when we got to the tomb, but I wasn’t about to confront you.”

“Will you help me then?” Taehyung asks, completely unfazed.

Jimin lets his hand linger for a few moments longer before he pulls away with a sigh, “I love being raked across the coals by a strong woman just like any other man, but to cross (Y/n) is to dance with the devil.”

“Devil?”

“A human thing.”

Jimin turns himself back around to continue his dancing, circling his hips as he lowers himself to the floor in front of Taehyung. He watches him move down and up, but his focus isn’t on his body, “I just need you to keep an eye on Eunha.”

He stops in front of him and turns with a mischievous smile, “What does this entail~?”

“Becoming her friend and nothing but her friend.”

“You know every friend has done it once.” Jimin says with a wink.

“We haven’t.”

“We can change that.”

Taehyung places a hand on his friend’s arm, “Are you going to help or not?”

“Yeah, sure. What more could the council do to me?” The pink haired man shrugs. He seems to let his decision settle before his content smile turns into a wide grin, “Just one thing though.”

“What?”

Before he can do anything, Jimin grabs Taehyung by his collar and pulls him down for a sloppy kiss. He takes both Taehyung and the crowd by surprise. What he says when he pulls away only makes it worse, “I take card too.”

“We’ll talk later.”

With a blank expression, Taehyung turns around to leave. He spots Jeongguk right where he had left him, swarmed by women dancing up against him. His hands rest flat on his chest and his eyes are somehow even wider than they had been when he’d been pulled away.

Taehyung pushes his way through the women and grabs one of the younger god’s hands to pull him away, “C’mon Jeongguk.” The blue haired man silently follows after him, his movements stiff. The once hyper young man is now dragging his feet behind him.

Taehyung stops them by the bar, “Jeongguk? You okay?” He asks.

His wide doe-like eyes meet Taehyung’s, “I have seen the ways of God...”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me!”

It’s late into the next afternoon before the two of them join Jimin in his apartment. Per the man’s request, they both waited long enough for any “guests” to leave before showing up. However, the woman that waves at them on their way out indicates that they didn’t wait long enough.

Jimin greets them at the door wearing a white robe and a chute of wine in his hand, “You’re early.”

Taehyung shakes his head and slides past him, “It’s 5 o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Really?” Jimin lets Jeongguk pass him before closing his door. The two visiting stop to take off their shoes as Jimin slips past them and takes a swig, “I think I’m losing my game...”

“Game?” Jeongguk asks, one hand against the wall to hold him up as he takes off his shoes,

Jimin raises his glass to the air, “My game!”

“What kind of game are you play-ING!” Jeongguk slips, falling forward to his knees on the wood flooring of Jimin’s apartment.

“Can we just talk about the plan?” Taehyung begs.

Jimin sighs, “Look, I don’t know about the two of you, but I already have a secret identity. I’m not really looking to change that.” He walks to his kitchen and pulls out a bottle of wine to refill his empty glass.

Before he can pour himself a new glass, Taehyung grabs the bottle out of his hand, “You can’t live this lifestyle forever. You have to change it again at some point.”

“But now? Taehyung, do you know how great my life is right now?” Jimin gestures to the apartment around them, pointing out the view, the gorgeous furniture, and the great layout. It was a homeowners dream to have what Jimin has now, and Taehyung can see why he’d be reluctant to change it up and relocate.

Taehyung sighs, “I’m sure all the women you sleep with-”

“-And men!” Jeongguk adds firmly, standing next to the Moon God.

Taehyung looks at him and then Jimin, but the Earth God just shrugs and smirks, “...and men you sleep with are great and all, but you said it yourself. You’re losing your game.”

The neighboring planets stare at each other for a while until Jimin reluctantly agrees, “Fine.” He puts his hand out and motions towards his wine bottle, “Give me my wine.”

Taehyung hands it over and leans against the counter, “The question is, how do we create new identities?”

Jimin pours a steady stream into his glass, “You both literally can create whatever you want.”

“To an extent.”

“I’ll make and get you what you need.” He passes his filled chute to Jeongguk and takes a swig straight from the bottle, “The real question is how do we get close to Eunbi?”

“Eunha.”

“Whatever. How do we keep an eye on her?”

“In three years she’ll be going to college for Astronomy in Seoul. Now, she really enjoyed the museum downtown when she was little-” Jeongguk passes his empty chute to Jimin and he refills the glass for him, “Her parents brought her there every summer and with the observatory they have there, I think she’ll try and get a job there.”

“Are you sure?” Jimin asks, unimpressed with the current plan.

Jeongguk slides his empty glass to the middle of the counter again, “Yeah. How do you know she’ll even move to the city?”

“I know her.” Taehyung assures them with a proud smile, “Her dream school is up here, and she’ll need a job she can enjoy to go with it.”

Jimin takes another large swig of his wine before he chuckles, “We’re going to get in a lot of trouble if we get caught.”

“Like you said, what else could the council possibly do?”

“Make fun of us?” Jeongguks adds, his words slightly slurred from the 3 - more like 4 - glasses of wine.

The two look at each other and take a mirrored breath. This was going to be a long 3 years.

---

Jimin goes to great lengths to assimilate both unknowing gods to modern life on his planet. With the limited amount of time they have before Eunha graduates and goes to college, they spend most of their days reading up on the past 1000 years. Jimin makes suggestions on what they should read and things that are more important than others. However, his favorite topic to learn and teach about can’t be found in any book.

Social interactions are what Jimin enjoys the most. More than anything, Jimin wants to be out on the town and meeting new people. He wants to take in every human he meets and learn as much as he can about them in such a short amount of time. Their needs, wants, and thoughts are all so different and trivial, yet he can’t help himself by wanting to learn more. Jimin is more than happy to show his ways to his friends.

Taehyung is not as excited.

“Why are we here?” Taehyung asks, adjusting the unusually tight striped pants Jimin had forced him into. He’s thankful his friend was kind enough to give him a loose shirt and jacket, but he could really do without the fabric clinging to his skin.

“You’re going to learn how to interact with humans. Starting with not fixing yourself in public!” The pink haired casanova smacks Taehyung’s hand, not caring what he hits alongside it. Taehyung retracts back and Jimin sighs, “How did you ever manage to convince people you were a woman?”

“Because I already know how to interact with humans.”

“Not these humans.” The Earth deity slips his fingers under his suspenders, smoothing them out over his white button-down. He sticks his hands in the pockets of his red pants, “Humans have changed a lot since the last time you’ve been here, Taehyung. You may think you know about them, but you have no clue.”

“So why is Jeongguk here?” Taehyung points in the direction of the young deity behind them, still staring at the X’s on the back of his hand under the long sleeves of his red and black cardigan. A group of women pass in front of him, and both men watch as the young man’s eyes widen and he steps back.

Jimin slaps a hand against Taehyung’s back, “If you want Jeongguk to actually be able to help, then he needs to learn not to freeze every time a woman gets within 5 feet from him.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that one,” Taehyung admits in defeat, “I just don’t see why you can’t tell us how.”

“Saying and doing are two very different things my friend.”

“Oh, I couldn’t agree more.” The two men turn around, knowing the sound of your voice all too well. Their eyes widen when they notice the outfit you chose. Tight fitted jeans with a dark green tank top tucked in and a black leather jacket, high heeled boots with a chunky heel, and short red hair in soft curls. Your outfit is much different from what you’re usually wearing, and your hair isn’t what they’d imagine you’d ever choose.

It didn’t take you long to find them, especially after Taehyung and Jeongguk’s first outing to meet up with Jimin. You had the smallest inkling of hope that Jimin would convince Taehyung his plan was pointless and not worth his time, but Jimin has never been anything but a brat when it comes to human lives and their emotions.

“Taehyung-“

“Nothing for me?” Jimin asks, sliding an arm over Taehyung’s shoulder, mirroring your current position with their third member.

You ignore the way he smiles at you, “Hi Jimin.”

“Hi, (Y/n)~” Jeongguk parrots.

You squeeze the bluenette’s shoulder and smile through your irritation, “Hello, Jeongguk…”

Taehyung smiles awkwardly, “What are you doing here?”

“Are you really going to try this again? Did you learn nothing in the centuries you’ve had to think?” You ask.

“No?”

“Oh my word…” Your eyes shut tight in disdain. The amount of ridiculousness that you’ve already let the god get away with is almost too much for you to count on one hand, and he doesn’t make it any easier by not trying, “I’m serious about this Taehyung! Do you not remember last time?” Both Jimin and Jeongguk take this as their cue to back out, leaving only you and Taehyung.

“I do! But this time will be different.”

“How so?”

“It just will be! I know it!” His determination is unlike any other, and it’s almost admirable. But his determination isn’t enough to deal with the game he’s playing.

“Taehyung, I’ve seen every outcome. Please, don’t do this again! Not to them and especially not to yourself.” His smile drops and it brings you back to the last time you had seen him, lazing around the dark side of his planet. You knew he was hurting then and he wouldn’t accept your condolence, now you just want to help him before he makes the wrong choices. “Just give me the necklace and we can get this over with.”

He shakes his head, “You can’t destroy it.”

“What do you mean I can’t destroy it?”

“It can only be broken by them.” He explains, “Look, I’ve thought long and hard about this, okay? But now I have Jimin and Jeongguk to help me out!” He points to the two men on the dance floor where Jimin tries to teach Jeongguk how to roll his body, but the younger resembles a fish flopping in the water.

“They’re your backup plan?”

Taehyung chooses to ignore your distaste, “Look, I’m going to do this whether you tell me to leave them alone or not! Now, are you going to yell at me or are you going to help me?”

“I’m not going to help you, Taehyung.” Your intention was never to help Taehyung bring his experiment together - he’s crazy for even asking, “You can play your game with these humans, but now you’re messing with Life and Death.”

Taehyung’s shoulders tense at the mention of the all powerful beings, “What do you mean Life and Death?”

“Look, I came down here to warn you.” You know the game he’s playing, and the millions of outcomes he has to choose from don’t do anything to ease your worry. All you can do is let him make his decision and hope that your warnings are enough to persuade him, “Yoongi heard about what’s going on.”

“What?”

“The whole council knows you’re down here and they - just like I am - are very pissed.”

Without thinking, Taehyung pulls you close and uses your body as a shield from the surrounding crowd. His nose rests just above your collarbone as he scans the crowd, “Yoongi’s not coming here, is he?”

“If you don’t destroy the necklace and return to your duties then he’s going to come down here and he’s going to bring Hoseok with him.” You explain, still trapped in his awkward embrace.

“Hoseok?!”

“Yes, Hoseok!” You push the god off of you and straighten out your jacket, “You guys need to give up on this let it be.”

He shakes his head, “I can’t do that.”

“Taehyung-”

“No!” He yells, catching the attention of a few people around you, “Why can’t they be happy together?! What is so wrong with that? Huh?! Why are you so adamant on keeping them apart?!”

You glance at the humans that watch you and Taehyung with caution, “There are aspects of my job that are much more complicated than you are ever going to understand, Taehyung. I’m sorry that things can’t work the way you want them to, but it is my job to see that everything within our home runs as it should.”

“Well, I can’t deal with that.” He’s come too far to just give up on everything. With Jimin and Jeongguk in his corner he could get this to work, but he won’t give in so easily, “I’m not giving up on them.”

“Then you’ll watch them fall.”

---

After their run-in with Fate a few years back, Taehyung, Jimin, and Jeongguk did their best to lay low. It wasn’t necessarily because they’re afraid of you - though there is some truth to that - but to be on Life and Death’s radar is to lay yourself out for a tiger.

Of the Deities, there are 4 over-ruling monarchs of the universe - including the God of the universe himself. Just below him are the Pillars of Balance: Life, Death, and Fate. Like face cards in a deck, the 3 work together to keep the Universe in balance.

Life: The White Knight of light. Seen among humans as a beacon of hope and balance. His creations are a work of necessity more than want.

Death: The Black Knight of destruction. What Life gives, he takes. When there is too much, he creates little. The other half.

Fate: The All-Knowing. She sees all and is the ultimate peacekeeper between the deities. Nothing gets past her. With far more secrets than should be held on one person, she is the Knight of Secrets and Serenity.

With the threat of not just one, but all three coming after them, the need to continue on a low profile is more than necessary. They’re only saving grace is your inability to see their fate.

Your All-Knowing power only coincides with living beings and the health of the universe itself, it does not extend to the deities that stem from the Universe. The only way you could know what they’re up to is if they interact with living beings. Of course, this meant no plants, no friends, and no pets, but they only have to push through until Eunha is old enough.

It was a long shot even hoping she’d get into her dream college and move to the city, but she did it just like Taehyung thought she would. She’s always been smart and determined, so it wasn’t much of a surprise to him at all - not the way it was to Jimin. Their next portion of the plan was securing a position at the museum.

“Do you have your resume?” Jimin asks.

“The paper thing?”

“Yes, the paper thing!” Jimin elbows Taehyung, “It’s the only way we’re getting through this thing without a hitch!”

Taehyung pushes him back and rubs his side, “It’s right here, calm down.” He pulls out the folder with his resume, “I’m sure if I didn’t have it I’d be able to talk my way through it anyway.”

Both men make it to the bottom of the museum steps and start their ascent to the main doors. Both bicker and remind each other of their new identities and plans. Jimin is an aspiring dance major looking for an easy job at a museum gift shop, and Taehyung has a bachelor’s in history and is looking to take the position of a museum curator. All they had to do was use a little bit of their charm to get the jobs and they would be fine.

They go through the museum doors and stop to take a look around. To their right is a window to buy tickets with a few kiosks for self service. Ahead of them is a circular desk with a few employees and a busy staircase behind it. The big room slims down to two hallways on each side and what looks to be a third and fourth behind the staircase.

Jimin nods as he takes it all in, “This place is pretty big.”

“It’s gorgeous.” Taehyung sighs, enjoying the familiarity the building offers.

“Okay, so they said our interviews would be in the office past the cafeteria, so-” Jimin takes a moment to look at the signs before he points down the left hall, “-that way?”

Taehyung shrugs, “Looks right to me.”

Both men start towards the cafeteria when they notice an employee walking backwards towards them. Taehyung rushes both him and Jimin forward, narrowly missing the man before he turns around with his coffee in hand, “I am so sorry, sir! I didn’t see you behind me.”

“Not a problem at all.” Taehyung assures him before they continue on their way.

They find their way to the interview spot and check in with the employee running it. Both men feel absolutely confident that they’ll impress whoever is hiring. Even as other candidates enter and leave the room looking very confident, they’re 100% that no matter how many people interview they’ll still get the job.

The man running the interviews steps out of the office again, “Park Jimin, the director will see you now.”

“Wish me luck!” Jimin hops up from his chair and adjusts his clothes before he walks into the interview room. He’s only in there for a total of 15 minutes before he walks back out. His expression reads calm, but Taehyung can feel the nervous energy radiating off of him. When he sits down next to Taehyung again, he taps his fingers against the arm of his chair. Without any explanation, he says, “Try not to cry.”

“Why would I cry?”

“Kim Taehyung. The Museum Director will see you now.” Jimin shrugs and sits back in his seat, not answering Taehyung’s question.

Despite the nerves that now want to hold him back, the blue haired god walks into his interview. He may have been expecting you to be behind the desk, but he definitely wasn’t expecting Mr. Life himself.

“Yoongi...” The honey blonde of his hair is much different from the natural dark locks he’s used to seeing from him, and the suit he wears isn’t anything close to the soft silk robes the grumpy deity usually wears.

“Sit down, Taehyung.” Taehyung wearily takes the seat across from him, eyeing the higher deity as the blonde stares at him, “Do you have your resume?”

“Right here.” Taehyung placed his folder on the desk and awkwardly slid it across the desk.

Yoongi picks up the folder and opens it in front of his face. Taehyung can’t see him, but he can hear the sigh, “I see a lack of coffee stains, I’m disappointed.”

“Coffee stains?” Taehyung asks.

He stands a little to try and peek above the folder, but he pops back down in his seat as soon as Yoongi sets the folder back down, “If you would have spilled the human’s coffee over yourself then I was supposed to turn you away, but I cannot.” Yoongi closes the folder and stamps it with an ‘approved’ stamp before doing the same to another folder that matches his. He pushes them both off to the side before he turns back to the man still terrified before him, “I can - however - ask you what the hell you think you’re doing?”

“Um...participating in the society humans have created for themselves?” The god tries to give his most award winning smile, but Yoongi’s blank stare is showing no sign of remorse, “Yeah, I didn’t think you’d buy that either.”

Yoongi tongues the side of his cheek, obviously holding back his anger. He leans forward and places his arms on the desk with his fingers intertwined, “I don’t think I have to tell you that I don’t approve of what you’re planning to do, right?”

“No.”

“Good, because I don’t want to talk to a dead horse.”

“A dead horse…?”

“Don’t worry about it. My point is I don’t want to go over this with you again.” The blonde deity stands from his chair and walks over to the side of his room where a window sits, “I already hear enough complaining from Fate, I don’t want to deal with your antics myself.”

Taehyung tilts his head in confusion, “Then why hire me?”

“It’s not up to me. It’s up to Fate.” Taehyung practically rolls his eyes when Yoongi says this, but the deity doesn’t pay him any mind. “You start Monday. You’ll meet with the Owner of the Museum and they will talk to you about the exhibits you’ll be in charge of.” Taehyung stands up but Yoongi flashes in front of him, “Do not bother me. Do not mess up my museum. Do I make myself clear?”

“Didn’t you just say-”

“Do I make myself clear?” Yoongi repeats.

Taehyung nods, “Yes sir.”

“Go on.” Yoongi waves him away and returns to his desk, not paying any mind to the god as he leaves.

As soon as Taehyung steps out of the interview, Jimin is in front of him looking for answers, “Did he hire you?”

“Yup.”

“Well, I guess we both got the job.” The orange haired man throws his arm over his friend’s shoulder and leads him away from the office, but Taehyung can only stare ahead blankly as they walk.

“This was not a part of the plan.”

“No, but we did accomplish part of the plan. Now we just have to complete the rest of it.” Jimin takes notice of Taehyung’s unusually grim face and stops walking, “What’s that face for?”

Taehyung furrows his brow in confusion, “What face?”

“That face!” Jimin argues. He cups Taehyung's face, “Don’t tell me you’re backing out.”

“I’m not.”

“You look like you are!” Jimin pats the sides of his face rapidly, “We’ve come too far for you to back out now.”

The blue haired man pushes Jimin away, “I won’t back out! I’m just worried.” His whole plan was centered around sneaking around and not getting caught. But with one of the Pillars of Balance on Earth keeping track of him, it’s only a matter of time before the other two join him. “Yoongi is here. On Earth. If he’s here then he brought Hoseok with him.”

“So they’re meddling too? Big deal. We can handle them.” Taehyung gives Jimin a look and he shrugs, “Okay, so we can work around them. The point is we have this.”

They did not have this.

Unlike the elder deities, Jeongguk wouldn’t be a part of the plan until much later. For now, he’d exist as a high schooler until Eunha secures a job at the museum. This left most of the plan up to Jimin and Taehyung to prepare for her arrival.

The plan was honestly very simple:

Get a job at the museum

Have Namjoon’s tomb opened

Bring Namjoon to the museum

Have Eunha touch the necklace

Namjoon comes back to life

They fall in love

The end

It’s a win-win situation for everyone.

However, Taehyung didn’t expect the worst bump in the road.

His first day meeting with the Museum owner, Taehyung had his whole speech planned. He would convince him that King Kim Namjoon was worth the money. He was going to express how significant his story is and how beneficial it will be to his museum. A story of love and compassion would warm the hearts of everyone from around the world, and they could have that in this very museum.

But beyond the door at the large desk mulling over papers was no old man wearing a cheesy tie. It was you, wearing a nice button down and a skirt. A blazer rests on the back of your chair and the papers on your desk make it look like a tornado had gone through. Of all the things that could have gone wrong, this was the biggest hole in his plan.

“Oh, you’re here. Good. I’ve been waiting for you. Please, have a seat.” You flash him a smile and point to the chair in front of you. Taehyung is very hesitant, but he takes the seat across from you anyway as you dig through a stack of folders to your right. You pull out three folders and set them on the desk between the two of you, “Alright, now, we have a few exhibit’s open for you to take over from the last curator that worked here. You can change it however you like, but I will need prior notice before I can take a look at our budget.”

You turn back to your computer to take a look at the current funds available, but Taehyung isn’t ready to move forward yet, “What is happening here?”

“What do you mean?” You ask. Of course you know what he’s talking about, but you’ve given up on entertaining Taehyung this time around.

“Why aren’t you yelling at me?” He asks.

You gesture to the computer in front of you, “Because I have a job to do?”

“Okay, but what about your real job?”

“Taehyung, I am perfectly capable of doing my day job and this job.” You hold out your palms for him to see the cosmos laid out on your palms with the strings that hang off of your fingers.

Taehyung nods and you put them away to return to your ‘day job’, “And...you’re okay with this?”

You sigh, “At this point, I can only wait for the strings to fall into place. My biggest concern is keeping you from doing something you shouldn’t be.” You click the print icon at the top of your screen and turn around to your printer to collect the forms, “I also need to make sure Jimin is behaving. He still hasn’t been forgiven by the council.”

Taehyung nods in understanding, “So, you’re just going to leave me be as long as I don’t do anything dangerous?”

“That is the plan.”

“So, if I were to want Namjoon to be brought here as an exhibit?”

“I would put in your request.” You turn back around to the god in front of you and slide the New Exhibit forms he’d be needing, “My job is Fate, Taehyung, but I have no control over how the strings align. My job is to watch them converge and keep them from being tampered with. My main concern is containing the balance of the universe.”

“So you will?”

“If that’s what you would like to do then I’ll need a formal request.” You pick up the folders on your desk and hand them over, “Look over your other exhibits as well.”

You turn back to your computer and Taehyung watches you. He sits there for a minute before he speaks up, “Is this it…?”

“That’s it.” You nod. Taehyung stands up to leave and you chime in again, “I have a meeting with the head of security, you can just leave the door open.”

“Sure thing.” Taehyung opens the door and walks out, leaving the door open just as you had asked. The whole situation felt weird for him, and part of him thinks you’re definitely lying to him.

Taehyung doesn’t even notice he’s stopped in the middle of the walkway until someone is trying to move around him, “Excuse me.”

Taehyung immediately looks up at the familiar voice, “Hoseok?” The brunette is wearing more modern, human clothes just like the other two. His hair is swept back and he has a large binder tucked under one arm with a coffee in his hand, “Hi.”

The higher deity waves as much as he can with full hands, “Hey, sorry, I’d love to chat but I have a meeting.”

Taehyung nods, but does a double take as soon as it hits him, “Wait, are you the head of security?”

“Yeah, is that a problem?” The brunettes smile is teasing, but there’s just a small lilt in the tone that has the hairs on the back of Taehyung’s neck standing up.

“No! Not at all.” He bows to the higher deity and waves, “Good to see you…”

It’s later at Jimin’s apartment with a can of beer in his hand that taehyung let’s his walls break, “We are so fucked.”

“We’re not fucked.” Jimin assures him, drinking from his own can.

“We are!”

“Question!” The two turn to Jeongguk who sits on the floor holding a pillow to his chest, “What does fuck mean?” Neither of the two make any move to answer him, and Jeongguk pulls the pillow closer to him, “Nevermind...”

Taehyung leans forward in his seat and rests his head in his hands, “Our plan keeps changing.”

“For the better!” Jimin throws an arm over Taehyung’s shoulder and pats his arm,“You have to trust the process, Taehyung.”

“The process didn’t include Yoongi, Hoseok, and (Y/n)!”

“It has always included them.” Jimin cups Taehyung’s cheek and turns his face so that he’s looking at him, “I know you’re not keen on the other deities, Taehyung, I get it. But don’t be naive. We can use this to our advantage.”

He was right, of course. After eons of council meetings and watching the 3 Pillars deal with Earth on their own, both Taehyung and Jimin have picked up on certain habits that each one is more comfortable with. Fate is easier to avoid - not in a way where she won’t come after them, but as long as they stay out of trouble then you’ll leave them be. Yoongi doesn’t involve any coaxing at all. He’ll definitely keep an eye on them, but he’s more of a silent watcher. Their biggest threat is Hoseok.

Though he is nice and surprisingly very down to Earth, Hoseok is not someone anyone can hide from. Within two days of first seeing him after the interview, Hoseok was already passing them on the streets at night and in the aisle at the grocery store. The brunette deity made sure they knew he wasn’t going away as easily as (Y/n) and Yoongi would. If he saw they were doing something he didn’t like, then he’d make it known. It wasn’t easy to stay off of his radar, but they did somehow manage to do it.

And that set them up for the beginning of their whole plan.

It’s early in the afternoon and Taehyung is talking to the archeologist who “discovered” Namjoon’s tomb. Truly, Taehyung had already opened the tomb himself, but no one needed to know that. What was important was that he impress the man enough for him to send Namjoon and all of his artifacts - including the necklace he snuck back into the crypt - to his exhibit.

“I truly believe that we can give King Namjoon a final resting place here with his tomb deteriorating at such a fast pace. I wouldn’t want to see anything damaged, especially the King’s notes on his experience with the Moon Goddess.”

“Ah, yes, the Moon Goddess~” The old man muses, “The old king was quite detailed in his recounts of her. The king dedicates almost a third of his journal to her.”

Taehyung smiles. Leave it to Namjoon to write a novel and dedicate it to him, “That’s very kind of him.”

“Indeed it was.” The older man stops and turns to the young curator, “You know, it has been very wonderful speaking with you today, Mr. Kim. I’ll talk with my colleagues, but I do hope to see you again.”

“Thank you. I hope to see you again as well.” Taehyung shakes the older gentleman’s hand, “Please have a safe trip home.”

The old man gives him a nod back and turns to leave. It’s just as he’s passing the information desk that Taehyung sees the young woman standing at the entrance - just as he had done with Jimin - looking around the large room in awe. He didn’t have to guess who she was, he just knew.

Eunha finally made it.

Taehyung takes long strides across the building's main floor to greet her, “Hi! Can I help you?”

The young soulmate offers him a relieved smile, “Yes. I’m here to apply for a security position.”

“Yes! Let me take you there.” Taehyung gestures for her to follow him. He turns in the direction of the cafeteria and then stops in his tracks before Seokjin runs into him. IN a flash he holds out his arm to stop Eunha before the blonde haired man can bump into her with his coffee, “Sorry about that, Seokjin’s coffee time is the most dangerous time of the day.”

Taehyung gives him a playful glare and the blonde just shrugs, “Okay, so maybe now I’ll start leaving it on my desk.”

Eunha chuckles to herself, and Taehyung feels his heart flutter. He hadn’t heard her laugh in so long, he forgot that he missed hearing it. He gestures for her to continue following him, and he leads her to Hoseok’s office where the brunette is collecting the mail from the box next to his door.

“Hoseok!-” The head of security jumps, turning around to see the other two. Taehyung tries not to laugh, “I have your interviewee for the security position.”

A light seems to go off in Hoseok’s head as the name rings a bell with him, “Ah! Choi Eunha, right?” Eunha nods and Hoseok offers her a hand, “Jung Hoseok. Please step into my office.”

“Good luck!” Eunha nods and thanks Taehyung for his help, the god waving back to her. He watches her enter the office and meets the eyes of Hoseok as he closes the door. He can tell the higher deity wants nothing more than for him to leave, but Taehyung isn’t as willing.

He waits across the hall in the employee lounge for about 20 minutes or so, anxiously eating a bag of chips he stole out of Jimin’s locker. He waits for the shadows to pass by the door before he attempts to peek his head out. Down the hall, he can see Eunha’s figure walking away towards the main room, a light bounce in her step. She looks excited, and Taehyung takes that as a good sign.

“Waiting for someone?”

“Hoseok!” Taehyung jumps, hitting his side against the doorknob. The god stumbles out of the doorway and turns himself around so he faces the higher deity. He leans one arm on the wall while the other wraps over his abdomen to cradle his side, his feet crossed over the other to appear ‘casual’. “Hey! Hi. How are you? Good interview?”

Hoseok chuckles, eyeing the god on another one of his shenanigans, “She got the job, Taehyung.”

“Yes!” Taehyung’s fist pumps the air, running in place in excitement.

Hoseok shakes his head, “I don’t know how you knew about Seokjin, but I guess I have to let you off the hook.”

Taehyung grabs Hoseok by the shoulders and pulls him into a tight hug, “Thank you, Hoseok.”

Hoseok awkwardly pats Taehyung’s back, “This wasn’t me. This was all up to Fate. (Y/n) just told me what sign to look for.”

The Moon God rolls his eyes and pulls back, “If you’re telling me to thank her, I won’t.”

“I’m not telling you to do anything. I’m just telling you not to praise me for work I didn’t do.” Hoseok reiterates, “I just hope you can take whatever Fate throws at you.”

“Trust me. I can.”

Both Jimin and Taehyung made it their jobs to become Eunha’s friends as soon as she began working. They spent the first few years of her on the day shift security getting to know her and bringing her into their lives before they actually began to incorporate their plan.

If Taehyung were to ask anyone at the museum how to describe him, it would be a total fanboy. There isn’t a day that goes by that he doesn’t mention Namjoon. Every conversation he has with anyone he tries to slip in one detail about his journey to obtain his dead king. Every small miniscule detail he gives is a segway to tell everything to Eunha.

He knows no one wants to hear him when he hops on his soapbox, but it’s what he has to do. Every move he makes is for the sake of Namjoon and Eunha to find the happiness he promised them. If he has to annoy every human he meets with his excitement, then so be it.

The day you told him his project was approved, was a day he won’t forget.

---

Taehyung knocks on the door to your office, “You wanted to see me?”

You look up from your paperwork, “Yes, please, have a seat.” You start to clear your desk and Taehyung takes the seat in front of you. “Do you know why you’re here?”

Taehyung thinks back to everything he’s done in the past week. He’s made a lot of decisions that could be considered questionable - a few that Jimin won’t even acknowledge, “Is this about the children’s exhibit? Because if it is, that was all Jeongguk’s fault, not mine.”

“No. I already know about that and I’ve chosen to ignore it as has Yoongi.” From somewhere in your overwhelming stack of papers, you pull out a blue folder and place it in front of the blonde, “This is about Namjoon.”

He takes a long look at your blank expression and the folder in front of him and bows his head, “They didn’t accept our offer...” He had thought he’d done everything he possibly could to convince the old man that his museum was the best museum. No other museum could compare! Only his would take the upmost care of Namjoon, but it he didn’t bite.

Taehyung sits up, “Can we at least talk about a temporary exhibit? Surely if we explain the situation to them, then they’ll let us have him for at least a month!”

“Taehyung….Do you really think that would be enough time? The results wouldn’t possibly change in that time.” You’re right, of course. Even if he tries to deny it, you’re always right, “What would you even tell them?”

Taehyung doesn’t even think, “That having this exhibit at our museum would be the most important decision of their lives.”

You shake your head, “No one would think that’s reason enough Taehyung.”

Taehyung can’t help but wonder why that’s always the answer anyone can ever give him. How could no one else understand the importance of love? No one seems to understand Eunha and Namjoon like he does, and this is just another wrench in his plan. How would he ever bring them together now?

“So-” You open the blue folder that sits between the two of you to reveal the form he had submitted months ago with an “approved” stamped at the bottom, “I guess it’s only for the best that they accepted our offer.”

“Are you serious?” Taehyung asks. You nod, but Taehyung still grabs the folder off the desk to see for himself. After years of begging and endless praise and admiratio towards the dead human king, Taehyung had finally gotten eactly what he wanted. His plan was actually falling into place in front of his very own eyes. “And him and Eunha?”

“Their fate is out of my hands, Taehyung.” You had hope he wouldn’t ask. The closer the two humans come together, the more complicated their fate becomes. Every step is another twist around the other string, another pin for you to deal with. You sigh, “Two converged strings brought together before their time won’t act the same way two strings slowly inching together will. Ties have been cut and burned and there's no telling how Fate will twist them even further.”

The blonde’s brow furrows in confusion, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“For all I know, their strings could knot together and the connection could never go any further.” It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve seen it happen. When Jimin had separated the humans from their soulmates, you’d come across many burned and knotted strings. Some were so stuck, there was no way for you to unravel them without creating a rift like the one Taehyung has made. “They would be stuck.”

“Would you be able to fix it?” He asks.

You shake your head, “Probably not in the way you want me to.”

Taehyung groans and slams his palm down against the top of your desk, startling you, “Why is Fate against them?!”

“If I knew the answer Taehyung, I would tell you.” It makes you sad to see him like this. With his own string caught in the middle of the two lovers, he’s only making himself miserable at every turn and every inconvenience. And with the outcomes that have made themselves known to you, there are countless terrible endings for the lovers. It’s like the two are world’s apart, with Taehyung hopping back and forth through hoop after hoop just to make them happy.

Without a second thought, you lean over your desk to place a hand over his, “We have the king. Accept that for now and worry about whatever plan you’ve concocted for when he gets here.”

---

Taehyung is pulled out of his memory when he sees two of the movers struggling to carry the sarcophagus he’d buried Namjoon in all those years ago, “Careful with him! I don’t want him damaged.”

“He’s fine, Taehyung.” Yoongi assures him, patting the lower god on the back, “That’s kinda why he has a box.”

Taehyung shakes his head in disapproval. He’s not surprised someone as bitter as Life doesn’t get it, “Okay, but the box is an important part of his history! It all has to be perfect.”

“Is his jewelry here yet?” The grumpy deity asks.

“You mean his lover’s necklace?” Yoongi nods, “No, they haven’t sent it yet.”

Hoseok pipes up from the loading doors, “That’s scheduled for next week, Eunha will be here for that one.”

“Eunha?” Taehyung asks. Hoseok nods and Taehyung smiles, the perfect plan forming in his mind, “Perfect.”

Hoseok warily eyes the smug expression on Taehyung’s face and chooses to ignore it, “Yeah...anyways, the necklace and a few more items will be here next week as well. That shipment won’t be as large.”

“What day is that again?”

“Tuesday.”

Yoongi groans, “A full moon…”

“What’s so bad about a full moon.” Johnny asks, unaware of the dilemma happening between the 3 deities.

“Things happen when the moon is full and I don't like it.” Yoongi says it so nonchalantly, but his glare directed at Taehyung shows how he truly feels. The Moon God is most powerful on the full Moon, and that can only spell trouble for everyone else. He sighs, “I guess I don’t have a choice, so I’ll be there.”

“Good, cause you’re my ride.” Hoseok reminds him.

“Of course I am.” Life sighs, “Just get to work in grabbing the things we have now so we can get the exhibit together for this Friday.”

The movers get to work on taking the lighter items, but Taehyung protests their movement, “But the main attraction isn’t here.”

Yoongi grabs the curator by the shoulders and turns him around, “The main attraction is the dead guy. Now get moving.”

Everyone but Taehyung continues to get back to work. The blonde takes his one chance to approach his long lost friend and gently place his hand on the top, “Don’t worry, my friend. I won’t let you down this time.”

---

The night that Taehyung intends to invoke his plan, he’s sitting in Namjoon’s exhibit on the bench in front of his sarcophagus. Every night since his arrival he’s done this, enjoying the comfort of being close to his friend. Even if the king can’t talk back, it feels familiar to be with him. Besides, Eunha will have to come and kick him out before she locks up the exhibit for the night. The perfect ruse to tell her more about her beloved soulmate.

But if Taehyung were to be honest with himself, he couldn’t be more nervous than he is right now. So many things could go wrong, and there was no telling if what he was planning to do would actually help Namjoon and Eunha. If he messed this up - if he makes everything worse - then there’s no telling what will happen to the two.

Behind him, Taehyung hears the clicking of heels against the floor of the exhibit. It’s definitely not Eunha - her shoes don’t make that sound - he only knows one person who wears heels and likes to sneak up on him, “Please tell me you’re not here to scold me again.”

“It won’t do me any good to scold you if you’re not going to listen.” You sit down next to him and rest your laptop case on the bench next to you, taking in the view of the exhibit in front of you. The king’s sarcophagus is lit by two spotlights hanging from the ceiling on either side, the jewels on the top glittering under the light.

Next to you, the blonde man sighs. He’s been acting weird all day and it’s been putting everyone on edge, “You’re worried. Is it about the necklace?”

“Do you know enough to answer my questions?” He asks.

“I do.”

“Will he wake up?”

“Yes.”

“And will she love him?” You hesitate, giving Taehyung the answer he was already worried about, “She’s not going to love him...”

You sigh, “She doesn’t remember him Taehyung.”

“He didn’t even meet her and he loved her!” He argues, standing from the bench.

“And that’s not my problem!” Taehyung never fails to forget that you can’t actually control Fate, you can only look over it and see the outcomes, “I can’t control how they love.”

“They’re soulmates, are they not?” He asks, “Tied together by Fate? Your strings?!”

You hold up a hand, “I only hold the cards, Taehyung. I play them when they’re needed.”

“That’s what you always say...” Taehyung mutters to himself, sitting back down on the bench and leaving a space in between.

You sigh, “It’s not like I don’t want them to be happy, Taehyung, but I have a job to do.”

“Your job should prioritize their happiness.”

“There are 7 trillion humans just like them, Taehyung. They can’t all be happy.” Taehyung doesn’t say anything in response and you take another deep breath to calm yourself. From down the hall, you can hear muted footsteps coming closer. With it being so close to closing time, there’s only so many people it can be. You stand and adjust your laptop case on your shoulder, “She’s coming. I’ll leave you here.”

Taehyung doesn’t bid you farewell, and you take that as your chance to slip away. As you walk past the cases parallel to the door, you see Eunha walking in to close up for the night. You see the face she makes when she sees Taehyung and you have to stifle a giggle.

“Have a good night, ma’am.” She says with a genuine smile.

You nod, “You too.”

Hopefully, of all the scenarios that could happen tonight before the morning, they all choose the best one.

~ Read Part 4 ~

39 notes · View notes

elleharperbcu · 3 years

Text

Task 1: Concept Mind Maps

In pairs we produced a mind map of each others concept, for our final project, planning and considering how we can explore the following factors:

Research

Experimentation

Sampling

Development

Production

Personal Reflection/ Evaluation

Project/ Time Management

We was asked to write down our narrative on a piece of paper and swap with our partner so we had each others narrative. We then wrote down our ideas that came to mind related to their narrative, in order to help them with new ideas they may not have thought of or knew about. I really enjoyed this task as it helped me learn new facts about the petite world and I was able to complete lots of research. I always loved hearing about my peers narratives and their stories as to why they are focusing on a certain topic.

My completed research from this task:

Petite models -

After researching about types of work available for petite models I found out that other than Moss, most petite models do commercial and catalogue work. Models who work in fashion generally work with high street brands specialising in petite clothing. It is very rare for a petite model to find high-fashion work on the catwalk or for designer labels. This is something that I find unfair as your height should not matter. However, petite models are not restricted when finding work. This is due to an increase in brands catering for men and women with smaller frames and shorter legs, petite models are now employed to keep up with this fashion industry demand.

Successful petite models -

Models who have refused to obey the stereotypical image associated with top designers, catwalks and campaigns are creating a path for petite models. These inspiring successful models have completely ignored the height restriction demonstrating that a smaller stature is required in the fashion industry. “Successful petite models are making an impact in a tall girls stomping ground, ignoring the confinements set upon them.”

Twiggy -

A british icon in the sixties and only 5″4. She revolutionised the stereotypical look of the era, starting a new breed of supermodels. Her height is rarely mentioned due to her confident persona that demands attention. She is still the shortest model with such a supermodel status.

Beautiful dreams - Twiggy records her first single

Anja Konstantinova -

Russian-Australian model, her impressive range of work includes, Vogue, Marie Claire, Urban Outfitters and French Connection. At 5″4 her height is not an issue with each shot demanding attention with her striking features, blonde hairs and natural posing instincts. The successful model discovered in a melbourne hair salon has received lots of rejection in her career, but she continues to break boundaries in a predominantly tall industry.

She explains: “People in Australia don’t accept shorter girls because they are a bit harder to work with, you have to photograph them in a certain way.”

How to make the most of your petite frame -

Don’t draw attention to your shorter height when interacting with clients and via body language. You will have to work extra hard to get noticed, which means standing tall and learning to highlight your height in photos. Never be caught slouching and be sure to work on poses that lengthen your lines. Good posture and strong stature goes a long way when presenting yourself to an agency meeting and photoshoot.

Petite models who changed the fashion industry -

Lily-Rose Depp

Lily-Rose made her runway debut with chanel in 2016. She is just 5″3, but that did not stop her from becoming the muse of fashion icon Karl Lagerfeld.

Amina Blu

This German/ Pakistani beauty is 5″1 and no stranger to New York Fashion Week. Amina has walked for Kanye West more than 5 times. With her unforgettable looks and signature looks, Amina will keep making headlines.

The ‘Size 0′ movement

Sizes range from 0-2 which is extra small to 14-16 which is larger. Smaller sizes are usually petites, and larger sizes usually found in womens or plus size departments.

The size-zero ban is proof fashion industry on finally listening to customers. The use of size zero models has been a fashion industry scandal for many years. France’s top fashion house have committed to stop underage and size zero models from featuring in catwalk shows and advertising campaigns. Owners of brands such as Saint Laurent and Louis Vuitton say they want to persuade others in the industry to follow suit. The industry has long been accused of promoting unhealthy body images of women and ignoring well-documented health problems experienced by models. In 2017, the French government voted through a law requiring models must have a medical certificate confirming they were not dangerously underweight.

“No model under 16 years will be recruited to take part in fashion shows or photographic sessions representing adults.” Models between 16-18 years will no longer be allowed to work between 11pm and 6am and must be accompanied by a parent or chaperone if required to stay away from home.

“The wellbeing of our models is a fundamental subject” the statement from LVMH read.

Mallory Schlossberg - “I’m part of a huge demographic that retailers largely ignore - here’s why it’s so frustrating”

When reading this article I very much related myself to it, she mentions being reminded of her height near enough everyday, she is 4″11 like me. “There are only a few times when I'm reminded how short I am: when I'm riding the subway and someone pushes right into me because I'm not in his peripheral vision, when I can't reach my kitchen cabinets and hop onto the counter, and when I'm shopping.”

When she was in high school and college she frequently shopped in the kids section. She mentioned it being impressive to see the selection that’s available for wealthy, stylish kids these days. She is able to wear a lot of designer apparel that are much cheaper than adult prices as kids clothes takes less fabric to make. However, it comes to a point in an adult woman's life where you do not want to shop in kids section anymore, she wanted to wear apparel for women because she is a woman. Adult size small dresses zip up just fine, but they hug in all the wrong places and drag on the ground or are longer fit on her than they’re supposed to be.

“It's frustrating. How do you shop for clothes and not look like a child in children's clothing — or a child playing dress up in her mother's closet?”

There are retailers that do cater to petite women although the ranges are very limited.

“Walk into Ann Taylor, Loft (where I buy my jeans), J. Crew, Banana Republic, or a department store, and you'll see selections of petite clothing, often relegated to a small corner with an odd amalgam of apparel, as though the merchandise team is wondering, "who is this petite woman? Is she a mother? Is she frumpy? Is she a decaying 90-year-old? Is she youthful and feisty? Is she too young to show off her curves? Is she a virgin?" The answer — from a petite woman — is that she is none of the above, and she is all of the above. The petite woman is just like the regular-sized customer...only shorter.”

Retailers seem very confused with how to deal with short women. Topshop and Anthropologie are starting to recognise that short women like to look fashionable too, but the lack of options and concern for petite shoppers is noticeable. The reason as to why there are fewer petite options and not all stores offer apparel for smaller-framed women is because it requires a different design pattern.

As blogger TanyaTheAnonymousModel wrote on Jezebel:

"For a dress to look the same on a petite woman, a standard size woman and a plus woman — for the hem to hit at the same place on each woman's leg, for the waist to sit at the appropriate height, for the neckline to flatter but not overexpose, for the pockets to be useful, easily reached, and neither too small nor too big — requires, in effect, three totally different paper patterns, each with a separate, and expensive, development process."

The Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City offers a continuing education course in image consulting, combining petite and plus size bodies together as "special size" customers — noting that they make up about a tremendous amount of the population. The course description reads as follows:

"Over 70 million U.S. women fall into the special size category, that 50 % of the population is actually under 5'4", and 65 million women are considered plus size. Designers, patternmakers, retailers, stylists, and image consultants, and wardrobe technicians can all benefit from this in-depth workshop that demystifies the special size business potential. Learn the facts behind the figures with practical information for fulfilling the expectations of the special size customer with proper fit, fashion, and service. Highly recommended for anyone looking to increase sales and services. Interact with our two industry experts as they each tackle the dilemmas facing both the petite and plus-size customer and give concrete directions for satisfying their shopping needs and fashion passions."

An undergraduate course "sketching for fashion designers" mentions that "Large, half-size, petite, and junior-size figures are featured to study proportions used in the industry". Showing petites aren't entirely ignored in design school, they just aren't given equal attention. They're generally not on runways; runways are about aspiration, and who aspires to be 5'2''?

“Petite women have not been celebrated loudly as equals. They have not been given body-positive model icons to speak on their behalf, although we do have Kelly Ripa, Snooki, and Kim Kardashian in our corner. There has not been a call to action. There hasn't been any real vocal repugnance, but instead, there's been a silence and a void, which is too telling. Petite women have been pushed aside, not permitted to speak — much like the children for which many try not to be mistaken.”

17 notes · View notes

hueswrites · 4 years

Text

hq kinktober [day1] tendou

main hq kinktober list

hq kinktober [day1] tendou satori/cosplay

includes: a bit of story, some angsty broody stuff on reader's part, cosplay (obviously), fingering and female receiving oral sex

wordcount: 4,827

ok this turned out to be more fluff and actual sort of plot than smut. i just started writing at 12:30am and kept going until 6 in the morning. this is the result. if you were looking forward to straight up smut on this first prompt, i'm sorry but THIS IS NOT IT LMAO.

i absolutely adore tendou and the perspective i gave him on life in this. stay quirky, my friends. (as kenma would say... stay interesting, shouyo)

Being Satori was hard. It was unfortunate, exhausting, and just plain miserable - that's what his junior high school classmates wanted him to believe, at least.

In his early years of school, Satori Tendou was teased for his awkward, gangly appearance and unusual mannerisms. His attempts to interact with his peers were often shunned due to the offbeat semblance he exuded, which left most of the other kids feeling unsettled.

His mother, equally peculiar in her own way, urged Satori to make the most of his eccentricities. "Think about the characters you like from the manga you read. Would you want to keep reading the story if all the characters were the same?"

Satori shook his head, already concluding the point his mother was trying to make. "I get what you're saying, Mom," he grinned from ear to ear, a smile the width of his perfectly straight cherry red bangs, and pushed himself away from the kitchen table. He plopped down onto the wooden floorboard with exuberance. "Life is boring when everyone's the same. Who wants to live a boring life?" He padded over to his room and jumped onto his bed, going back to the first page of this week's issue of Jump. The warm, tingly feeling of adventure took over as he reread the newest chapters of his favorite series for the thirteenth time that week.

A decade later, Satori found himself living in France, where he stood out more than ever before. Not only did he need to learn how to adapt to the country's unfamiliar customs, he also had to learn how to speak its language: the language of love. He found his self-appointed tutor in the bookstore he frequented once he felt comfortable navigating the streets of Paris, which happened to be the same bookstore you browsed when you had a little bit of money to spend.

There you stood alongside him in the graphic novel section, your form hidden under an oversized hoodie, brows scrunched together in what appeared to be deep concentration. You were extremely aware of his presence looming over you, and it created a feeling of unease that sunk into your bones. You braved a glance up at his face, and he quickly turned his head back to stare at the row of the slice-of-life series that lined the very top shelf before him.

Tall, you thought to yourself. That's a very tall man.

You shuffled away from him just a bit, browsing the very bare section of "how-to-draw manga" guides that you knew were second rate to how real manga artists crafted their work.

Moments later, a silvery voice spilled into your consciousness and caught your attention. "Hmm, if only Matsuo-chan realized Hibari's feelings for her in the very beginning..." You can't help but look back up at the lanky man next to you, listening as he changed his speech from French to Japanese. "Then perhaps sweet misery would've never crushed their poor, little hearts." He turned his head to look down at you, heavy lids lowered over brilliantly crimson irises. A cheeky upward curve lifted his thinly shaped lips, and your heart skipped a beat.

Your mind went blank, rendering you speechless.

"I saw the Todai button on your bag," he said, voice now light and cheerful.

You blinked once, twice, then looked down at your messenger bag decorated with various pins from the clubs you took part of in college back in your home country of Japan. Your body relaxed, and a breathy laugh escaped your lips. "Yeah, Tokyo University. Are you from Japan?"

"Yes! Came here from Sendai. How's my French?" He beamed a child-like smile.

You produced your most sarcastic chuckle, turning to lean a shoulder onto the bookshelf so you could face him. "It's kind of terrible."

He mocked a look of despair and dropped his head in feigned embarrassment. You noticed how the pale skin of his cheeks turned a faint shade of red, and you wondered how someone could go from intimidating to adorable in a matter of seconds. Then his eyes snapped back to you, and a toothy grin spread across his face. "Wanna be my tutor?"

Your cheeks flushed pink, and your breath came to a halt again.

"I'm not sure I'm qualified to do something like that," you said, pushing yourself away from the shelf to stand square.

He hummed and straightened his posture, shifting his eyes away from yours, down to your shoes, then back up to your face. "Why not?" The look on his face expressed genuine curiosity.

You decided to pretend you didn't notice his blatant evaluation of your physical form just now.

"I've only been here for a year. I can speak enough French to get by, but I'm not sure I can teach someone else how to speak it."

"So little faith in yourself, little miss."

You furrow your brows at the nickname.

He whipped out a volume of a manga you recently started reading and held it up to you. "You have a pin of this on your bag, too," he said with a wiggle of his sparse eyebrows. "How about you try and get me to start reading this subpar manga by making me read it out loud in French?"

You gave him a look of piqued interest. The possibility of roping someone into reading your favorite series was tempting.

Then he continued, "And we can get yakitori and beer while you teach me?"

The hue of red on your face extends to your forehead.

"You've got pins of beer and yakitori on your bag, too."

A few weeks later, you and Satori were on your sixth date seated across from each other at a cat café in downtown Paris. It took the first three dates (he'd somehow coerced you into) for you to realize that the strange man was just that - strange, but harmless. The one friend you'd managed to make in your year in France introduced you to some very attractive and very gregarious men that you just couldn't see yourself with. Your friend's idea of fun was clubbing and bar hopping through the streets of Paris, and that was unsurprisingly the same kind of fun those men preferred as well.

To you, fun was something much more personal and intimate. Your past experience with relationships lead you to believe that you are meant to be on your own - that there is nobody in this world that will appreciate your oddities and make you as happy as you can make yourself.

Your interests lied in worlds of fiction and fantasy - games, books, movies, and manga, which you learned Satori was just as passionate about as you. Not surprising. He seemed to fit the socially awkward, emotionally inept stereotype you knew most men fit into that also liked anime. He asked too many questions, didn't understand when his questions push personal boundaries, and just wouldn't. Shut. Up.

He did smell nice. You gave him that.

"So little turtle-in-her-shell, do you ever go to conventions?"

You paused your chewing of the last bit of coffee cake you ordered. "Turtle in her shell?"

That carmine, wide eyed gaze of his remained fixed on your face. "You wear that big hoodie all the time like a turtle in a shell."

"It's comfortable," you state. “And yes, I go to conventions.”

Nearly a minute of silence passed between the two of you, and if it weren't for the chatter of others seated around you and the clinking of cups and plates, you'd have really retracted into your "shell" of a sweater.

So you changed the subject, deciding to ask a question that stepped a hair outside of your comfort zone to a man you weren't quite sure about yet.

"Were you just trying to get my attention with that whole "be my tutor" spiel?" You asked following a sip of your iced cappuccino. A little calico feline had chosen you as its scratching post, kneading its nails into the fabric of your jeans. You ignored the little stings of pain for the sake of the cat's enjoyment.

Satori multitasked between feeding himself scoops of his chocolate parfait and playing with the lashing paws of the black cat that sat on the table between you. "Hey now," he said, lightly squeezing the cat's tail before quickly retreating his hand away to avoid the tiny beast's teeth. "I wouldn't know all the different ways to say "I need to take a dump" in French if it weren't for your tutoring thus far, little miss.”

"That's a weird nickname you have for me." The cat on your lap suddenly hopped to the ground, skirting across the ground to the human it suddenly deemed more worthy of its attention than you. You frowned, the action wounding your cold, bitter heart.

"You wouldn't remember me if I called you by just your name, would you?" He used a straw to slurp up the remaining concoction of sugar at the bottom of his cup.

"Do you even remember my real name, Satori?"

He pushed the now empty cup aside and ruffled the black cat's ears with his fingers. It hissed and gave a quick swat of its paw to his hands, then jumped off the table and scurried away.

"I never forget the names of all the cute girls I get to add to my harem," he said with a smirk, his cheeks rising to meet the crinkled corners of his eyes.

You gave him a lopsided glare. "You're kidding, right?"

Satori laughed - a lilted giggle that sent a shiver straight down to your gut, and then his expression darkened and his eyes captured yours in a binding stare. "Would you like to come over and see for yourself?" The way his voice rumbled an octave lower than you've ever heard had you squeezing your hands into nervous balls of tension above your knees.

You frowned. You genuinely couldn't tell if he was being serious. If you hadn't known how much wit and jest the man exuded in nearly every one of his actions, you wouldn't put it past him to be a basement dwelling, serial stalking NEET that kidnapped girls and made them dress up to suit his twisted fantasies. The thought had you questioning every single thing he's said to you so far. He had your number, he knew where you liked to eat, where you liked to drink, and he even knew where you worked. Was this guy like the others?

Suddenly his laughter burst through the air, the sound so boisterous it made you flinch.

"You look so petrified! Are you that gullible to believe everything I say?"

You grit your teeth and grabbed the paper wrapper from his straw to chuck it at his face. "That was so not cool!" You huffed, getting your wallet out to leave a tip on the table.

His laughter continued to tumble through the café, disrupting conversations from nearby customers only for them to direct their attention towards you. You rose to your feet and hurried towards the exit. You absolutely hate being the center of attention!

Satori followed you and matched your stride easily, one of his steps covering three of yours. He stood unbearably close, and if he didn't smell as sweet as the parfait he just ate, you would've shoved him away,

"___-chan," he sang, and you realized it was the first time he said your name. You allowed yourself to relax just a little and slowed your steps. A brief moment of silence settled between the two of you, and he used that moment to gauge your current state of emotional wellbeing.

"___-chan," he said again, this time demanding your attention.

You remained silent. Satori had picked up on so many of your habits in the past few weeks of talking to you and observing your actions that he understood your silence as your cue for, "Go on, I'm listening."

"I'm sorry for upsetting you," he said, bending at his waist so he could meet your line of sight, continuing to stroll alongside you. He must've noticed the creases under your eyes disappear as your tension eased away because that smug little smirk returned to his face. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, turning your head to look at him just slightly. A shade of pink colored your cheeks when you met his gaze - his wide, inquisitive eyes studying you with childlike innocence.

You looked forward.

He chuckled and stood up straight, sliding his hands into his jean pockets. "Adorable," he said aloud, further deepening your blush.

You steeled yourself and regained your composure. "Which way do we go?"

Satori hummed. "What do you mean?" he said, bending down again to look at your face. Why must he always have to stare like that when he speaks?

"Aren't we going to your place?"

He grinned. "Really?"

You threw a glare his way. "I'll change my mind if we don't start heading there right now."

Satori grimaced. "___-chan does not cool down so easily after bursting into flames," he mumbled, and you ignored the comment. He sighed. "This way, little miss," he took your hand and pulled you along, bounding across the street as the pedestrian crosswalk countdown hit zero. Your hand wrapped around his, holding on tight to keep up.

You couldn't help but laugh at the stupid sound effects he made as he continued to leap from the street onto the sidewalk, giving you no choice but to run and jump over the curb with him.

Your self-conceived belief that you are all you'll ever have and all you'll ever need to be happy now faced a challenger. This strange person - this bizarre character - punched a hole through the wall you've put so much effort to build on your own.

Satori's twenty-seventh birthday came just after your one year anniversary of the strange... relationship... you managed to maintain despite your ongoing struggle against the warped, pessimistic reality you believed about relationships through years of self-doubt. Slowly but steadily the glass case you built around yourself chipped away due to Satori's freakish ability to see beyond your façade and understand your feelings.

You learned about the bullying he faced in his childhood, and how his mother and high school volleyball team helped him accept the fact that life will always have real jerks with nothing nice to say to test your tenacity. He created a routine of reminding you that you can choose whether or not you let those nasty words bring you down or give you motivation to build your self worth.

Life is more fun when things are a little out of the ordinary. Who wants to be the same as everyone else? These are words you considered when you felt down.

For Satori's birthday, you wanted to do something different, something unique that he would remember about you if you ever went your separate ways.

Since the beginning, you noticed Satori had a thing for cute girls in cosplay. When you told him about your own cosplay projects and showed him pictures, his whole demeanor changed. He became shy - something hardly anyone had ever seen in his usually indiscreet personality.

One thing that helped you feel a little more confident in yourself and your relationship was your experience in physical intimacy. From what you gathered in the little bit of discussion you've had with Satori on the topic, he seemed to have far less experience than you. It was cute how his face went bright red when you managed to pry the details of his past encounters out from the tiny little box of insecurities he still held within. Perhaps it was your turn to bring something out of the wicked Guess Monster (you thought it was a cheesy name but he really took pride in the title whenever he reminisced on his youth at Shiratorizawa Academy) that he kept so carefully hidden away.

"Why are you so shy about this?" You asked the first time you had sex.

Suddenly, the creepy, unwavering eye contact he managed to hold with anyone he came face to face with vanished from the list of unsettling and seemingly unashamed habits and mannerisms that made Satori Tendou so uniquely... Satori.

"The one thing I still have trouble with is..." he looked down at where your naked bodies connected on the plush mattress he swore really was worth the $2,000 he spent. (I don't mean to diss your profession, but do you really make enough money as a chocolatier to afford a bed that expensive?) you asked, immediately regretting having asked the question when a gloomy grey cloud appeared over his head).

"Fucking?" You said, giving him a cocky little smirk.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck with a groan.

"I know you get turned on by cute cosplays of your favorite anime girls."

"...and cute actresses," he muttered, now stuffing his face between your breasts.

That's when you decided to shake things up.

Satori's weekends were usually occupied by work at the sweets factory. He was in the process of getting promoted to a position that freed up his weekends, but it wasn't happening anytime soon.

It was just your luck that his birthday fell on a Saturday this year, your only day off on the weekends. You left your cosplays and wigs back in Japan, boxed up in the bedroom you grew up in. While Satori was slaving away at work, you went shopping. You managed to find a decent sewing machine and plenty of fabric at a (pricey) thrift store on the other side of town. The wigs you looked at were ridiculously expensive - definitely for the high end fashion scene of Paris, not for nerdy cosplayers.

Once you returned to his apartment, you spread all of your findings across his bed and bedroom floor.

A maid's skirt that you will definitely chop up to be anything but modest.

A coreset you honestly weren't sure would fit your little love handles and tummy that lost its tone after all the dessert dates Satori insisted were good for "self care."

Cute devil horns with a pointed tail to match.

Knee high stockings and garters he mentioned as being one of the sexiest things a woman could wear.

And a simple leather collar to put around your neck... with the option to hook a leash.

You looked at the spread before you and wondered how such a quiet, reserved person such as yourself could be so... kinky.

You checked the time on your phone. You had three hours to put something together.

9:43pm Satori:

i'm leaving! boss said he'd let me leave 27 minutes early to celebrate the 27 years of my blessed existence on this planet

@( o･ꎴ･)@

9:44pm

that's all he did for your birthday? and wtf is that emoji

9:44pm Satori:

it's supposed to be a monkey but now that i look it really doesn't look like one. be home soooooon!! ＼(^o^)／ he gave me a $1000 bonus too #stacked

9:45pm

omg you are so lame! come straight to your room for your present :)

9:45pm Satori: (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖) ohooOoOOo??

9:46pm stop sending faces and just get your skinny butt over here

9:46pm Satori:

┏( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)┛┏( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)┛┏( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)┛

You heard the front door open, followed by the thump of Satori's shoes hitting the wall. The sound of the lock sliding into place once he closed the door sent a little shiver up your spine.

You sat on his bed, back against the headboard, legs crossed in front of you. You fixed your little devil horns, made sure the tail was pulled out from underneath your butt, and pushed the coreset up to give your cleavage a boost.

Inhale. Exhale.

You'd never dressed up for something like this before, and you had no idea how Satori would react. You imagined he would immediately pass out with a nosebleed.

His footsteps neared his room, and you heard him in his chipper, sing-song voice. "What is my little ___-chan up to, hmm?"

Once he reached the doorway, his eyes landed on you, and his entire body froze. His jaw went slack, looking like a fool with his mouth wide open in dumbstruck awe at the sight before him.

You gave him your most innocent smile, spreading your legs open just a hair. "Come eat up your dessert, Satori~" you said with a tone so sultry it turned his bones into mush.

Satori's shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his matted hair in exasperation. His rusty red locks had grown longer than when you first met him - curling behind his ears and covering his forehead. "Baby..." he said, walking into the room, towards the bed. "Baby, baby, baby," he repeated in English, his favorite language to express excitement. He crawled onto the bed, stopping just before you to sit and cross his legs while he looked you over.

Your skirt was cut so short he could almost see the sweet spot between your legs. The garter straps hugged the meat of your thighs and hooked onto the thigh high stockings that fit the muscle of your calves.

Those pointy little horns sat just a little bit lopsided on your head. That slim, pointed tail traced back to your rear, and the collar around that gorgeous neck of yours drew his eyes down to your barely contained cleavage.

"Baby," he said again, almost a whisper. He leaned forward onto his knees to hover over your body and cradled your face between his hands. Hungry crimson eyes gazed right through you, a shade darker than you've ever seen before. "I'm the luckiest man in the world," he said, then pressed the softest, most gentle kiss to your lips.

Your heart fluttered, hands coming up to thread your fingers into his hair. "Happy birthday," you murmured, bringing him back down for another kiss.

The kiss quickly went from gentle to fervent, his hands slipping up your calves over the stockings, over the garters and up to your thighs, rounding out over your ass. He gave your fleshy cheeks a squeeze and broke the kiss, going straight to your neck, kissing every bit of your exposed skin.

You spread your legs more, asking him to come closer, and he did. Your hands slipped underneath his shirt, lifting it above his ribcage, up to his shoulders. He barely moved back to remove the shirt completely before pressing his lips back to the skin over your collarbones, giving you gentle nips with his teeth.

This was the Satori you wanted in bed.

He sighed into your chest, going down to kiss the swell of your breasts. "My little devil," he said, sucking on the skin right above the coreset. "You're so sexy," he bit down a little bit harder, eliciting a hiss through your teeth. "So beautiful," a kiss over the bite, moving to your other breast. "So irresistible," both of his hands came up underneath your ass to lift you up off of the bed and into his lap. You yelped, forgetting his lithe frame could muster so much strength. He placed you in his lap, leaning forward to run his tongue across your lips and into your mouth once you opened up for him.

"Take your pants off," you mumbled, pulling at the waistband.

"I don't wanna stop kissing you," he whined, hands running up along your waist and over your back to press you up against his chest. At that moment you wished you could feel the warmth of his skin, if it weren't for the coreset.

"How are you gonna fuck me if you don't take them off?"

"Mmmfgh," he groaned, a funny sound that only Satori could make without killing the mood.

He pulled away, then quickly leaned forward to steal another kiss, and pulled away again. You crawled off his lap and sat back, watching him rise to his knees to shimmy pants down his hips. He sat back on his butt and kicked them off then crawled back to you, caging you between his arms and legs.

You pushed him away and gave him a devious smirk. "If I knew dressing up like this would flip your switch, I would've done it a long time ago."

He returned your grin with a wicked gleam of his own, eyelids drooping down to look at you with his most perverted leer. "Achievement unlocked?"

You slapped your hand over his face, pushing him away with a laugh. Spreading your legs again, you drew his attention down to your skirt and flipped it up over your stomach to show him your bare cunt.

He groaned, a mix of a whine and a curse, before diving down to attach his mouth straight to your dampened folds. He licked and sucked, pressing the flat of his tongue against your clit before sucking on the little bud, repeating the motion over and over until you started to writhe.

"I-" you began, letting out a huff of a breath, "would tell you to slow down," your hand flew up to grip onto his hair tightly once he pushed a finger inside you. "But it's your night," you huffed again, a strangled moan leaving your throat. "Go wild, Satori."

He removed his mouth and went straight from one finger to three, rubbing the pads of his fingers up against the walls of your core stretching you out and looking up at you with glossy, hazy eyes. "Best dessert I've ever had," he groaned, watching you tilt your head back, chest heaving as your body started to tremble. He went back down to lap at your folds, replacing his fingers with the muscle of his tongue, pushing it deep into your little hole.

"Fuck, Satori, I'm already close," you sighed, rocking your hips up against his mouth. He pulled away again. "I want you for breakfast," he pushed his fingers back inside your cunt, now sloppy with the slick of his saliva and your arousal. He gave a bruising kiss to the inside of your thigh, "And I want you for lunch," a kiss to your other thigh, "And dinner," he groaned, feeling you clench around his digits, pumping harder, faster - long, nimble fingers reaching the very depth of your core.

Those little horns started to slide off your head as you tossed your head forward and back, watching him work between your legs and thrashing back against the headboard whenever he hit your sweet spot.

You lifted your hips off the bed, urging your body to the peak of pleasure. Your voice kept going, encouraging him to go faster, harder, sighing, panting, moaning.

And just like that, every muscle in your body tightened, and a gush of liquid splashed out over his fingers and onto his tongue, his nose, and his chin. Your moans turned into brief, choked sobs as your orgasm rocked your body. You gripped your fist into his hair, so tight you ended up bringing his body forward.

"God," you groaned out load, dropping yourself back down to the bed, your body now spent. He kissed the spot under your navel, over your belly button, back up to your chest, your neck, and your chin. You felt the tips of his fingers slip underneath one of the stockings and pull up and away, letting it snap back down against your skin. You giggled, bringing him up for a slick, sloppy kiss.

You both remained as you were, his forehead now resting against yours, eyes closed, soft pants easing back to controlled breaths. Your left arm slung over the back of his neck, and your right remained tangled into his messy locks, the pads of your fingers giving a gentle massage to his scalp.

"How do you feel?" you asked, too tired to open your eyes.

"Hmmm," he hummed, not quite coherent enough to give a substantial response.

Suddenly, both of his arms wrapped around your waist, and he flipped himself over so that you were on top, straddling his waist. His back rested flat against the bed, that mischievous look once again casting a wicked shadow over his face. He glanced over to where the little devil horns fell onto the bed and placed them back where they belong atop your head.

"I feel like I'm just a peasant, sentenced to be one of hell's slaves for all eternity."

You grin, catching onto his narrative. "Such an unfortunate fate. You were once a hero, but were corrupted by the temptation of lust."

Satori grinned, a toothy, mischievous grin, and his eyes narrowed maliciously. "Now I'm cursed with the inability to ever be satisfied..." He breathed a laugh. "We're so fucking weird," he murmured, "Sounding like Team Rocket..."

You leaned down to give him a kiss. "Weird, normal. Whatever. As long as we're having fun, right?"

#hq kinktober 2020 #hq x reader #hq smut #hq kinktober #reader x hq #tendou x reader #haikyuu #should i even put these in the haikyuu tag or will people try to fight me #whatever

53 notes · View notes

rohad93 · 4 years

Text

Worth the Fight

Medival Au, cause i am nothing if not predictable in what i like to write about. dont expect these updates as quickly as MM. im still working out the plot.

Trees, fields, and more, big surprise, more fields. Sometimes she spotted the occasional wild animal scampering through the grass, though that was the most interesting thing she’d seen so far.

”Are we there yet?” Luz asked for the third time in an hour as she and Eda trudged along the dirt road they had been following for two days as it wound through the fields and forests of the countryside.

“Do you see the city?” Eda asked as she glanced at her apprentice out of the corner of her eye.

“No…”

“Then we’re not there yet!” Eda threw up her arms. “Kid, relax, we’ll get there when we get there, I know you’re tired, I’m tired, hell, King is tired.” She gestured to the demonic dire wolf trotting along beside them, tongue lolling out of his mouth. His black fur shined in the sun but was near blinding against the white fur on the top of his head that created a distinct skull-like pattern across the top of his face.

“Poor baby…,” Luz cooed as she reached out and scratched the space between his horns, making his tail wag.

“He’ll live….” Eda rolled her eyes. “but you might not if you ask me if ‘we’re there yet’ one more time,” she grumbled, adjusting the light plate armor on her shoulders. It was the height of summer and as used to traveling in the stuff as she was, she was still baking under the sweltering midday sun.

Luz just pouted as they walked along. The leather of her boots was rubbing raw spots on the soles of her feet with each mile they walked.

Two days ago Eda had shaken her awake from where she and King had been lying curled up in a pile of hay. The seventeen-year-old had been half asleep and had missed most of what the older woman had been saying to her, just trying to keep her eyes open as Eda rambled on and shoved their meager belongings into an old rucksack.

What she managed to glean from the rapid-paced, one-sided conversation was something about a job, money, and leaving town, which did catch her attention.

They had been to a lot of towns over the years she had been training under Eda, and some were definitely better than others in terms of how the locals treated humans, but the one they had been staying in for the last year was probably the worst of them all. It got to the point that when Eda went to meet potential clients for jobs, Luz had to stay behind because they would take one look at Luz trailing behind her and decide that no matter the older woman’s reputation with a blade, they didn’t want the human girl around.

They’d see her rounded ears and sneer, glaring down their noses at her. Surely any self-respecting witch or sell-sword worth her salt wouldn’t be letting a human follow her around. Eda would say something snarky that almost always resulted in a near brawl and Luz would stick her tongue out at them as Eda stomped away, grumbling colorful words under her breath.

Eda was on her side, but it eventually boiled down to being able to eat and Luz decided it was best to just stay behind, even though it meant she wouldn’t get much in the way of training in swordsmanship or the combat magic that went along with it, not that she could actually do the same kind of combat magic that was natural to Witch’s anyway, being human.

As Eda had once explained it to her, witches had an extra organ, a bile sac, she wasn't entirely sure that's what it was actually called, she learned a long time ago that Eda had a tendency to make things up if she didn't know the answer. Supposedly it was an extra organ that allowed witches to absorb the natural magical energy of their world and use it to add powerful effects to items, especially weapons. Those that did were witch knights, the strongest and some of the most respected members of society, and Luz wanted so badly to be one, to prove that she was worth something, human or not, but without a bile sac, she was lacking the magical aspect, which left her at a distinct disadvantage. Heck, she didn’t even have a real sword, so she couldn’t even do the most basic jobs to help Eda feed the three of them, King alone ate like a horse, with Luz trailing behind him. She was a growing girl after all! Eda always said she’d get one when she thought she was ready, not before.

She’d usually just use the dull-practice blade Eda had given her to work on her stances and strikes, beating the living tar out of whatever trees she happened to come across in the woods while she waited for her to come back with King trailing along behind her.

To say she was glad to be out of that town though was an understatement, even if Eda still hadn’t told her where they were going, and as glad as she was to have left the dreary little town of Beldville, she was so tired of walking!

She pulled at the collar of her violet-colored tunic, sweat was making it stick to her clammy skin, but she knew better than to say anything, they were both hot and tired.

They continued the silent trudge beneath the sun, which thankfully was slowly, but surely sinking closer and closer toward the horizon, though it didn’t lessen the heat any. Eventually, the sun had moved to dip just below the horizon, nearly blinding her with its bright orange rays, as it sank and dark blues were starting to rise up over the horizon line in response to the waning light.

Luz shielded her eyes with a hand and glanced into the distance. The dark smudge in the distance was slowly growing into the silhouettes of buildings and she grinned.

“Is that it?” she pointed excitedly toward the end of the road.

"Nope," Eda said, popping the 'p'.

"Whadda ya mean 'nope'?" Luz whined. "That's a town!"

"It's a town, and we're going to spend the night there, but that's not where we're going," she informed her and Luz groaned, shoulder slumping.

"Where ARE we going?" she huffed.

"Patience, apprentice." Eda wagged a finger and grinned at her, making Luz grumble.

Eda always said that when she didn’t feel like explaining herself, which was often.

It was a small town, and although it was nearly dark there were still a number of people milling about the streets.

A few people glanced at her and Luz frowned, pulling up her hood to cover her distinctly rounded ears from view. There was no need to draw any unneeded trouble when they were only going to stay one night.

Eda noticed the motion but said nothing as she dug through a pouch on her belt.

"Here, Kid." She held her hand out to Luz, who held up her upturned palm as Eda dropped a handful of coins into it. "Go get yourself something to eat and I'll meet you back here at this inn." she hooked the thumb over her shoulder to the worn building behind her.

Luz broke out into a wide smile at the silver coins in her hand.

“Thanks, Eda!” She turned and dashed off down the road with King hot on her heels. Eda just smiled as she watched her disappear around the corner.

Luz trotted down the street, she didn’t know this place, but she knew most towns had pretty similar layouts and the market was always at the center of town, and sure enough, she soon found herself walking through the market with King at her side, most people gave the cloaked girl and the demonic creature a wide breadth, understandably. Usually, creatures like King were wild, bloodthirsty monsters that would just as soon rip off your arm, and she’d seen him do it the last time she’d been attacked by a villager with a human problem.

Luz had never feared him, he’s always just been Eda’s silent companion and her big baby ever since she’d started traveling with the gray-maned sell-sword.

She reached over and scratched that certain spot behind his right ear that made him let out a low growl that almost sounded like a happy hum to her.

“Hungry buddy?” she asked, smiling as they walked and he snorted.

There were days Luz was almost sure he understood every word she said. There was just a certain, almost intelligent look in his rusty, red-colored eyes when he looked at her.

“Let’s get some food then!”

She glanced around at the different shops and a few stalls before her eyes fell on a storefront and lit up.

‘Tomes and manuscripts’

“Book shop!” Luz whispered excitedly to herself and made a beeline for it. “Wait here, King.” She turned to the beast, who snorted and plopped himself onto the ground outside the shop. She pushed the door open and grinned as the smell of ink and old parchment filled her nose.

Luz loved books, though she rarely had access to them. Having to carry everything you owned with you at all times meant that you just couldn’t have some things, and books were heavy and took up space that could be put to better use, for food or supplies, that’s what Eda said anyway. Luz would reluctantly admit she was right, but she didn’t have to like it!

“Welcome!” a voice called from her left. She looked over at the old witch peering at her over his spectacles at her. “Can I help you find anything?”

“Uh, thank you, just looking.” she waved a hand.

He nodded and she walked down the many shelves packed with worn leather-bound tomes, grinning to herself as she ran her fingers over their spines, feeling the smooth, cool bindings beneath her fingertips. So many stories, knowledge, and wild adventures aplenty crammed between two hard leather covers. Luz adored books, a lifelong love affair lit aflame by her mother, who had taught her to read and write at a young age. Something uncommon among the lower classes of witches and unheard of for humans in the Empire of the Boiling Isles, who were the lowest class citizens of them all, but her mother hadn’t been from the Isles. She’d always told Luz about a beautiful place across the sea, with fine grain, white sand beaches, and tall trees very unlike the ones here, that dipped and swayed with the wind, their leaves long and few, but still perfect for blocking out the strong rays of sunlight on a clear day.

Luz sometimes wondered what it might actually be like to see it with her own eyes, she doubted she ever would, her mother had always told her it was far away and she’d left to escape a war, bringing only her native tongue and a sack of food.

Luz hummed to herself as she continued browsing up and down the dimly lit rows of books with rapt interest. She turned a corner and glimpsed a small table covered in old, worn books, and felt drawn to them.

They were all hefty tomes and she flipped through the first few on the stack, nothing of any real interest, some play scripts, and something about treaties on the great war. She set them aside and picked up the last one in the stack. It had a dark brown cover with gold inlay around the corners and spine. It’s worn leather bindings were pockmarked with scratches and divots, some worse than others. She flipped it open and found some of the pages were yellowed and crinkled in places as though they had gotten wet and been left out in the sun to dry at some point.

The pages were full of runic writing that she couldn’t even begin to guess at, but as she flipped through the pages she stopped on one with a drawing, a perfect circle with several lines that made up some kind of symbol.

There was very little text in the book that she understood but one set of runes did stand out, the symbols meaning ‘light’. She’d learned them years ago when her mother had told her that her name meant light.

She ran a finger over the crisp, inked lines of the glyph.

They glowed.

“Augh!” she nearly tossed the book across the room, it clattered across the floor with a heavy thump and she grimaced as it landed on the wooden floor. She held her arms up in defense, but the book only continued to lie there.

After a moment quickly scooped it up and gazed at its gold bindings before she flipped it back open to the page with the illustration. She hesitated a moment, hand hovering over the illustration before pressing her fingers over it, skin running across the rough parchment beneath.

The lines began to give off a pale light as she traced them, till eventually, the entire thing was awash in soft glimmering light.

Luz stared at the glowing drawing with open awe and wonder.

“Magic…,” she breathed.

She’d done magic, she wasn’t sure what kind or even what it was supposed to do, but for the first time in her life, magic!"

She needed to look through this, all of it.

"I'll be closing shop in a few minutes!" The shop keeps voice carried out through the store making Luz jerk.

A few minutes wasn't nearly enough time! Her mind raced with thoughts before finally deciding as she slapped the book closed and hurried to the front counter where the shopkeep was still standing.

“How many snails for this book?” she set it on the counter and he eyed it for a moment.

"This? Bah, ten snails, it has little value to any witch, merely theories on old magic.

"I'll take it!" She slapped half the money Eda had given her on the counter.

Only King would be eating tonight it seemed, but the chance at magic? Worth a hungry night.

He nodded and accepted the coins as he pushed the book back toward her, but as he did, got a glimpse under her hood and spotted her rounded ears.

Luz knew what happened the second it happened. His brows crinkled between his eyes and his once, disarming smile, curled into a sneer.

"A human, in my shop!?"

Luz snatched the book off the counter and bolted for the door.

"No take backs!" she squealed as she burst out the door, making King jump up as she did.

She dashed back the way they had come, the black beast loping along behind her with an excited, rumbling bark.

It didn't take long for them to get out of sight, turning the corner and ducking into an alley.

She pressed her back to the wall, clutching the book to her chest, and waited until it finally seemed like she wasn't being chased; she peeked her head out and found the street clear.

She turned back to look at the worn leather-bound book in her hands and grinned.

She couldn't wait to look at it better later.

King whined at her side, scratching at her with his paw.

"Ah, right, right. Let's get you some food, buddy." She smiled at him and snuck toward the other end of the market, spending the rest of the money Eda had given her to buy meat for the beast, who wolfed it down in record time, practically swallowing it whole before they made their way back to the Inn.

"Get some grub?" Eda asked from her place sitting in one of the beds when they walked into their rented room. King immediately trotting over to the empty bed and jumping up on it and curling up into a massive black ball of fur.

"Fed King, yea." She nodded, pulling off her cloak and kicking off her boots before she climbed into bed, shoving King over.

He growled at her but she just shoved harder till there was space for her to lay. He snorted in response but never lifted his head as she laid next to him, book in hand.

“What about you?” Eda narrowed her amber eyes at her, noticing how she only mentioned king. “And where’d you get the book?”

“Uh…” Luz stalled and Eda sighed.

You bought the book instead of eating, didn’t you?” It wasn’t really a question.

“Yeah…,” Luz mumbled and Eda sighed.

"Well, what was so much more important than eating? If it's another flowery love story, kid, I swear…," she trailed off, rolling her eyes.

"It's not!" she insisted. "It's a book about magic!" She flipped it open and opened to the diagram and ran her hands over it, creating the same glow as it had in the bookshop, which made Eda sit up.

"Well, look at that…" she tilted her head. "What's it do?" She looked back up at Luz.

"I'm… not sure yet…" She shrugged. “I need more time to read it." Eda hummed, looking at the glowing glyph on the paper before shrugging and plopping back down on her bed.

“Whatever kid, just don’t stay up all night looking at it,” she grumbled, rolling over and pulling the blanket up over her head.

“You go it, teach!” Luz promised as she snuggled back against King and flipped through the pages.

She really wished she could read any of the writing around it other than the runes for light. She flipped some more pages and found another diagram, a sketch of a sconce, or something similar with a circle drawn above it and little lines indicating rays of light. She hummed to herself.

She had only the basic knowledge of how Eda did magic. She could just kind of think about what kind of effect she wanted to apply to an object and would press her hand to the blade of her sword and it would glow for a second before taking effect, she’d made her show her enough times to know.

Luz pursed her lips and leaned over to her satchel sitting on the floor by her bed and dug out a piece of charcoal she liked to use to draw when they were on the road or she was waiting around on Eda, ignoring the angry rumbling of her empty stomach. She pulled her training sword out of its sheath and looked at the blunt, reflective weapon for a long minute before carefully drawing out the glyph across the flat of the blade.

she glanced back and forth between the book and her blade, humming to herself when the last line was completed. She hesitated a second before pressing a fingertip to it and the glyph glowed before the bright light spread across the entire length of the blade, lighting the room up.

Luz stared at it in awe, before a bright grin stretched across her face, empty stomach forgotten.

She’d done it.

She’d done magic!

#the owl house #worth the fight #eventual Lumity #Luz Noceda #King #Eda Clawthorne #toh #medival AU

31 notes · View notes

jaybug-jabbers · 3 years

Text

Review: Pokemon Gold and Silver 97: Reforged

The Review

What a fantastic game. I went looking for a hack that fully realized the sort of pokemon game we glimpsed in the Spaceworld ‘97 demo, and I was not disappointed.

This alternative version of Gold and Silver takes that Spaceworld demo and builds on it with loving care and attention to detail. All the beta pokemon sprites were freshly made from scratch or edited to update them for the final, polished Gameboy Color look. The pokemon movesets and stats were crafted so that they were balanced and didn’t contain placeholders, and the pokemon were populated throughout the world in a logical fashion. Dex entries were written and the pokes were integrated smoothly into the world. There are even different sprites and different encounter rates for Gold and Silver-- although you can ‘catch them all’ in either version, an excellent choice.

Meanwhile, the world map was colored, tweaked and polished, allowing us to explore that beta world that was stunningly different from the final Gold and Silver. It’s a place that in many ways seems even more vibrant and varied than final Gold and Silver, and is truly exciting to explore.

Along with this fully realized map, this hack’s creators also gave us a fresh new plot for Gold and Silver. This one was inspired by the differences glimpsed in the demo, including Oak’s increased involvement in the story, Silver’s different personality and role, and the inclusion of an Imposter Oak. The plot stays true to the style of pokemon games and doesn’t seem out of place.

All of the exciting little beta details were included too-- including the original Type alignments, the original Gym Leader designs, beta pokemon moves, new hold items, access to the Skateboard, being able to name your Mom, and even the minigame on the game start screen. The attention to detail and the polish on this hack is truly impressive.

Essentially, I feel like this hack can be considered the definitive edition of the beta Gold/Silver that we never knew. It gives us a chance to experience this alternative world, and breathes life into these wonderful pokemon that never were. Giving us a chance to know and love these beta creations is truly a gift for pokemon fans.

Perhaps the only downside is the sadness that this is not the official version of Gold and Silver. I experienced Pokemon a little bit differently then my peers. As a child, I adored Red and Blue, but once I’d finished with those games, I moved on from pokemon. I have no nostalgic memories of Gold and Silver to hold onto. I only returned to pokemon years later as a teenager. At that point I played several generations, one after another, at the same time, as a sort of “pokemon binge.” While most would call it blasphemy, I was never too terribly fond of Gold and Silver. I think it was largely because I didn’t happen to like a lot of the pokemon designs in those games. In many ways, this ROM hack presents a Gold and Silver that I adore and can love even more than the originals.

That’s not to say the official Gold/Silver games are all terrible, of course. There are still definitely some beta pokemon that I feel were axed or altered for good reason. Not all of them are better then the final cuts. And there are other elements that are an improvement, too; for example, I actually really like Silver’s storyline in the official games and the fact we dealt with a character who actually stole pokemon and treated them poorly.

That said, there is an awful lot to love in this ROM hack, and I’m grateful that we have it. Pangshi, Bellrun, Warwolf, Madame, Volbear and others may not be officially recognized by the Pokemon franchise . . . but they will always be very real in my heart.

The Team

Cinnamon (Flame Wheel/Crunch/Scary Face/Earthquake - Charcoal)

Selecting the starter was difficult, because both Honooguma’s line and Kurusu’s line appealed to me. Ultimately I think I went with my old Fire bias. Cinnamon was everything you’d expect a Fire starter to be-- powerful, intimidating, and very reliable. My only real complaint would be that I happened to strongly dislike the sprite the team had created for Dynabear. This isn’t really anyone’s fault, because the team did an excellent job with spriting-- for example, their sprite for the mid-evolution, Volbear, was incredibly good and I adored it to bits. I think it was just a matter of personal taste; I just didn’t like the final evolution’s face. (I’ve actually replaced the sprite in this picture with the original sprite, because I don’t want it to dampen my love for this species) Other than that, seriously, they did this evolution family justice. It was a joy to have on my team.

Doomsday (Curse/Confuse Ray/Body Slam/Shadow Ball - Power Wings)

The second member of my team was found in Brass Tower, to my great excitement: Kurstraw. This was possibly my favorite evolution line to come out of the beta discoveries. This pokemon’s stats were not exactly breaking any records; he went down pretty easily if I wasn’t careful. However, that never really mattered. Doomsday still did his job anyway-- pulling his weight just fine, relying on Confuse Ray and Curse a fair bit to take care of foes. He often was an excellent team player, messing with especially troubling pokemon before passing them over to an ally to finish off. His Normal Immunity also was a strong advantage at times, which I made sure to make use of. Basically, he was a fantastic companion, who helped me all the way through to the Elites and Champion fights.

Rumtum (Slash/Thunder Wave/Thunderbolt/Crunch - Leftovers)

Along with a Rinrin, this round good boy was added to the team next. I was slightly wary of Kotora because it seemed to be one of the most popular beta pokemon among fans. But, the pokemon does seem to be worthy of praise, as it turns out. It is an excellent, cute, cheery little creature and seems to do Pikachu’s job just as nicely as Pikachu, both in fighting and in charisma. Where Pikachu is focused more on speed, though, Kotora and its evolution focus a little more on bulk. The tanky tiger was able to take hits long enough to outlast the competition, even when working with relatively low basepower moves. When he *finally* learned Thunderbolt, though, man, look out -- he was quite a force to reckon with.

It’s funny, actually. When I first saw this tubby tiger, I assumed it was a fire type. Electric was somewhat surprising, but I quickly grew to like it as that typing. Most electric type pokemon are rodent-focused, as Pikachu clones, or Magnemite’s kin. Having a big, bulky tiger is unexpected for the archtype of electric pokemon, but it’s a very refreshing change.

Poprocks (Fire Blast/Surf/Body Slam/Flame Wheel - Mystic Water)

Next on the team was this awesome fellow. Well . . . sort of. Technically, next on the team was TRICKY the Bomsheal, which I traded a Rinrin for with an NPC. Later on, I felt like being able to name the pokemon myself, so I bred Tricky with Cinnamon and trained Poprocks up from scratch. This seal was the cause of some angst for me. I loved Manboo’s evolutionary line a lot, but I also loved the fire seal. They both vyed for the position of the water type on my team. For a while, I used Manboo (and Anchorage) . . . intent on keeping it. But I missed the seal so much, eventually I went back for it to retrieve it from the PC. Yes, it only added to my team’s Rock/Ground weakness, but I didn’t care. I loved this guy too much.

I’m not sure what it is. The freaking amazing typing of Fire/Water? That was definitely a big part of it. But there’s also just something so appealing in its design, simple as it may be. He’s just a cool seal with a fireball. And boy . . . I sure learned how INTENSE its stats were. This seal was RIPPING through the competition. Using it was basically pushing the win button. Honestly it might need to be nerfed a little, it was nuts. But yeah, Bomsheal is a badass and doesn’t need any evolutions to be cool. Best surfer ever!

Darkwing (Slash/Fly/Swords Dance/Faint Attack - Stick)

Right around when I was handed the TM for Fly, I ran into an area that had two types of birds available, depending on the time of day: Hoothoot at night, Farfetch’d at day. As cool as beta Noctowl looks, I eventually decided I needed to have a Madame. I just had to. Like many others, I always, always felt Farfetch’d deserved an evolution and was kind of screwed over. Learning it used to have one was a revelation.

Madame on this team was kind of funny, though. Next to all of these exotic beta pokemon, Madame seemed so . . . normal. She had moves and performed pretty much the way you’d expect a Normal/Flying type to act. It was much like using a Pidgeotto or Fearow. She couldn’t take many hits but usually could take out one pokemon. Her typing had her as an ideal Generalist pokemon-- something that could be used in various situations, not to any amazing effect but usually to a passable one.

That may sound a little underwhelming to you, but honestly, it’s what you’d expect of this cool-looking swan; it’s a Normal/Flying type. It fills that archtype as a familiar, dependable generalist. And I am someone who can really appreciate a generalist pokemon. I think the pokemon world’s richer for having Madame in it, even if only in our dreams.

Alpha (Strength/Blizzard/Screech/Ice Punch - Nevermeltice)

The final member of our illustrious team. You have to wait until fairly late into the game, when you reach the snowy towns, to get a hold of one of these fellows.But the wait is well worth it. What a beautiful pokemon design these two are-- mysterious little creatures hiding inside their wolf pelts, a perfect mix of cute and creepy. Wolfman/Warwolf actually struggled for quite some time on my team, unfortunately, just because of its movepool. I was left with the very weak Icy Wind for a long time. To compensate, I taught Strength, which worked somewhat, but I could still tell Warwolf wasn’t reaching its full potential. I taught it Blizzard, but the poor pokemon had a rough time ever landing its hits. What I SHOULD have done from the start is buy and teach it Ice Punch for a reliable STAB move with decent base power. I FINALLY decided to do that around the time I reached the Elite 4. I kind of had to-- its learnset wasn’t providing it with reliable, decent Ice moves, for some reason. Once Warwolf was properly equipped, he did great work. Admittedly, a pure Ice type pokemon isn’t the best, defensively. They have four weaknesses to some very common move types-- Rock, Fighting, Fire. (Steel moves weren’t really implemented in this game). That said, when used wisely, a pure Ice type can still be a valuable team member.

There was one hitch, though. Warwolf was mainly a physical fighter. This makes sense if you look at him. Of course he’d be a physical fighter. Thing is, in gen 2, Ice moves were all special. So I suppose technically Warwolf still isn’t hitting at his full potential-- not until the special/physical split in gen 4 so he can take true advantage of physical-type Ice moves. Still, despite that fact, he did a great job anyway. He landed the final blow that defeated Lance and won the game, after all.

I think my only real regret is how relatively little time I spent with him when compared to the others. This is, of course, just the nature of the game; you find some pokemon later on when you’re nearing the end of the game. If there’s any sort of post-game, perhaps I can spend more time with him.

And the Ones Who Didn’t Make the Cut . . .(This Time)

There were so many beta pokemon that it was impossible to have them all on the team, of course. I was especially sad about leaving my Bellrun, Tibbs, behind. I adore Rinrin and Bellrun’s line, as yet another set of pokemon that should have been included in the final cut of the official games. Alas, ultimately I removed Tibbs from my team, though. The reason was simple enough. With the beta Type alignments, Dark type was heavily disadvantaged. It was weak to Normal-type and Dark-type moves (as well as Bug), which was extremely significant. Pokemon’s movepools were positively saturated with Normal and Dark type moves, and it was impossible to avoid. With her already weak stats, and her lack of any decent basepower moves for so long, there was just too much stacked against her. It’s my hope that Rinrin/Bellrun get a bit of a buff in future updates, because they really seem to struggle.

In any case, there were also plenty of others not on my team: Aquarius, Noctowl, Belmitt, Jumpluff, Turban, Plux, Grotess, Girafarig, Leafeon . . . and so many more. Honestly, that’s fantastic. It gives such replayability to the game. I have no doubt I will return to do more runs and get the chance to try out other pokes.

And, who knows? Maybe in the future they’ll even update this hack to include even more beta pokemon that were uncovered last year. If they don’t, I’m sure someone else will.

(This hack is largely the work of lvl_3, who created ‘Pokemon Super Gold 97.’ Then, the hack was further changed and refined by a team into ‘Pokemon Gold and Silver 97: Reforged.’ Both can be found at the PokeCommunity as patches.)

#pokemon reviews #pokemon ROM hacks #pokemon fan games #mycontent #beta pokemon #spoilers

13 notes · View notes

brideofcthulhu10 · 4 years

Text

Hey guys I'm gonna be out and about today but before I go out to town I thought I leave you with some little Laddie Headcanons! A special thank you to my co-writer @imlostinsantacarla !

Laddie Headcanons

Unfortunately, Laddie was a part of a home in which a divorce was in the process of being filed. There was an immense amount of tension in the family dynamic whilst his father and mother sought to gain custody of him individually as they were in the midst of a messy breakup. The young child’s grandparents were aiding his father in filing for custody over him as his mother was hell bent on having sole custody without any visitation rights.

It’s well known that Laddie’s face was on a milk carton in the movie, with the word ‘MISSING’ written above it. This is just primarily speculation, of course. However, why else would two parents who didn't care about their child put up missing person’s posters everywhere? It’s certainly obvious that his parents were deeply troubled and affected by their son going missing, in conjunction with being apprehensive over his safety as they had no idea where he was.

Whilst his father was attempting to gain custody of him with his grandparents' help, Laddie’s mother lost him one night whilst on the BoardWalk too busy getting drunk at a bar, which is how and where the boys found him. He was all on his lonesome, wandering the BoardWalk terrified. The sight sincerely pulled on their heart strings. Seeing a little kid lost in the dead of night searching for his mother desperately just did not sit well with them.

Armed with the knowledge that their fellow sister Star was having second thoughts over their lifestyle, David immediately took the initiative to coax Laddie into drinking his blood and turning into one of them. This was not only to provide the child with a home, but also a strategy put in place to keep Star close and have her fully commit to their way of life as vampires. After all, girls love kids, don’t they? Surely her maternal or big sisterly instincts would kick in and provide her with the drive to become a caring figure for the young boy whilst solidifying her place in their group. She’d already agreed to the terms, there was no backing out now!

The other boys come to a conclusion of agreement that this is the best option as they cared about Star immensely, least enough to put up a fight when she was considering leaving, and they could not just let a poor boy stay out on the streets with nothing. There was a high likelihood of him getting kidnapped, murdered or something far, far worse whilst he was out there on his own. So they made the collective decision to take him under their wings and into their home, promising him that he would always remain safe with them.

Graciously, as if it were a match truly made in Heaven, Laddie and Star got on swell. The wee boy clung onto her desperately as she truly did remind him of his own mother and how she once was when she was with his dad. Star also bears a resemblance to his mother physically, ensuring that Laddie would bond with her much easier. The boys could not have been more happier and celebrated their success.

And thus it was settled! The boys took Laddie to the hotel and turned him, buttering him up a little in order over the next several to gain his trust and comfort.

"So, Laddie, you like it here?” David smirked at the young boy sat on the edge of the fountain in the hotel.

“Yeah it’s super cool!” He beamed enthusiastically, dangling his little legs off the edge and swinging them back and forth, they barely even hit the ground.

"Would you stay forever?" David pressed further, blonde brow quirked up in intrigue.

"Can I?!" Laddie exclaimed with an enormous grin plastered on his childish countenance.

"Hell yeah little dude! We even have a pretty, cool big sister for you!" Paul interjected just as happily, patting the tiny guy on the shoulder.

"Really?!"

"Mhm," Dwayne added, "and you can play every night."

"And you can eat as much as you want without getting sick, dude!" Marko declared.

"So, Laddie, what do you say?" David asked, head cocked to the side as he watched the little runts eyes float from face to face.

He sits still for a moment... "Hell yeah!"

The guys cheered excitedly, Marko handing David some fancy looking bottle, who in turn passed it to Laddie. "All you gotta do now, is drink this."

"It smells funny. What is it?"

"Old grape juice."

All the while, when Laddie is missing, his mother is struck with excruciating bouts of grief and shame, and attempts to get herself into a better space. Overcoming the worry and guilt that she feels over losing her son through alcohol, drugs, whatever it was that had caused her to lose her son on the BoardWalk that night, is an incredible challenge. She felt she had let her son down as well as her previous marriage. It only spurs on Laddie’s father to find him and gain total custody of the boy.

Living with four rambunctious teenage boys is a handful in itself, so it’s not a wonder that Laddie swears like a sailor, a terrible habit he picked up from the boys. Yet his one sister attempted profusely to set a better example for him. David and Paul find it hilarious that Laddie has a filthy potty mouth, whereas Dwayne and Star aren’t a fan of his newfound language.

“Hey, watch your language, bud.” Dwayne states sternly, chocolate orbs glowering into Laddie’s smaller ones.

“Pussy!” Paul bursts out in between a false coughing fit.

Laddie truly adores reading comic books frequently. In fact, the Frog brothers knew Laddie far before they knew the Emerson’s, they just didn’t acknowledge the kid all that much since he was far younger than them. This was especially since they were far too engrossed in blabbering about vampires, their investment in their own stuff made it impossible for them to give an ounce of attention to him. In their eyes he was always just the little twerp that stood on his tiptoes at the counter in their parents store, sprinkling dollar bills on top of a fat stack of mad magazine, Batman, and secretly some horror comics stuffed underneath the other ones he’d picked out.

“ 'Scuse me, can I get these," Laddie inquired politely, his eyes peering up at the two brothers behind the counter arguing over what the best way to waste a vampire was.

“Uh, yeah sure kid, whatever.” Alan stated fervently, his eyes still plastered on his brother's brooding gaze.

Edgar stuffed them into a plastic bag without sparing the kid a glance. “$15.75.”

“Okay.” Laddie stated in defeat before scooting over a wadded up ball of a $20 bill onto the counter before collecting his change and leaving with his head hung low.

Laddie is still a sucker for comics and wants new ones on a constant basis, it’s certainly something that aids him in passing the time at the hotel. Yet Paul’s adamant that he isn’t going to pay those dorks at the comic book store a single cent from his pocket. And David is a master at mental illusions, so there is one hell of a team to concoct a way to steal comic books. Neither Paul nor David feel any shame in it. David will create the illusion that Paul is walking by the store, only to actually be stealing a stack of comics to keep the poor kid happy.

Star and her inability to part with her human nature and high morals, is never too thrilled about the entire ordeal of stealing comics for Laddie. Laddie sees nothing wrong with it and only responds with utter enthusiasm at how awesome Paul is because Paul can do whatever he wants! This leads to Laddie following in the footsteps of the other boys, believing that he can both take and have whatever he wants, whenever he wants it no matter if there’s real life consequences involved because he can use his gifts (with training from David) to acquire all of his desires.

It’s also a common occurrence for Laddie to experience homesickness; after all, he misses his parents dearly because even though they weren’t the most astounding or perfection parents, they were still his parents. When this occurs, he’ll often seek out Dwayne or Star for comfort, sitting beside them, perched into their sides. They will attentively listen to him, reminding him of how much they themselves and the other boys love him and how they aren’t going anywhere. They all will be together forever. They’d even let him know that his parents and grandparents still love him too, even if he has a new family now.

Laddie unfortunately had to learn the hard way not to go to David about this specific predicament, because whenever he did, David would unintentionally guilt trip the kid about missing his parents. It wasn’t something he meant to do, it was just that David had never really had a home or a family that cared about him, his world before being a vampire was a dog eat dog world. You had to fend for yourself and choose your family. Even then he’d seen people get chewed out for trusting the wrong folks. So there’s a huge disconnection between the pair when it comes to familial things.

Whereas Marko and Paul will do things that will take Laddie’s mind right off of the down parts of being a missing child. They’ll happily play with him, get him his favorite food, read comics with him, steal said comics from the comic book store, maybe even let him help them tinker on their bikes, blast some gnarly music, you name it! They’re prepared to go all out in helping him feel happier where he is in the present and understand that he has a place with them.

Now, as for Laddie’s tantrums… well, every child has them. Usually they tend to be pretty humorous to Paul, Marko and David- that is until something happens to their precious stuff. To be fair he is an eight year old boy, of course he wants to mess with Paul’s Walkman or Marko’s bike keys! Paul nearly had an aneurysm when he saw Laddie accidentally ripped his mint condition 1965 Playboy Magazine.

"Dude who the fuck- my fuckin- WHAT THE FUCK MAN?!"

Laddie, who had been a bit spoilt from months of pampering from a group of enabling teenagers, showed minimal signs of remorse. "They were ugly anyway, she hand on granny panties or something."

Dwayne had to step in and hold Paul back from wringing the kids neck out like a wet dish towel! "Dude, Paul he's a kid"

"I will eat you, you little turd!"

Once again, David cracks up frequently until Laddie begins to delve into his stuff also. It all began when he wanted to go for a ride and David being the more lazy member of the group had turned him down, especially in a much firmer tone the second time around. So what did the little shit do? Hide all of their keys to their bikes.

"Dude, where are my fuckin' keys," Paul hissed, digging through the cave like a tornado went through the damn thing.

"Yours too?" Marko exclaimed his question, settling down the couch he had lifted onto the ground. “Mine vanished.”

David chuckled to himself, that was until he patted his pocket where his precious motorcycle keys had suddenly proved to be void of its contents. "Alright which one of you assholes stole my keys?!"

However that confrontation ignited an inferno of a tantrum from the small boy, who was so used to suddenly getting his way and now he was faced with the harsh reality of being told no. The boys should have really thought twice of enabling an eight year old boy! A fit from a kid can get ugly real quick, yet it’s a whole different story when that kid is an emotional half vampire that flips tables and screams at such a volume and octave that glass cracks. Star tends to primarily be a softer disciplinarian, she isn’t fond of the idea of yelling or smacking him, she’s much too gentle for that. Dwayne on the other hand, while preferring to approach things along the placid route, feels that sometimes it’s a necessary evil- while David just straight up thinks that a good smack on the mouth ought to settle him down.

Laddie is a thorn in their asses when he’s bored out of his mind, and the boys learned rather harshly and swiftly that having a little brother was not as fun as the Brady Bunch had it appear. This kid got into all their stuff, no matter how fool proof they made it, the kid always found a way! He would follow them excessively around the cave like a lost puppy, tell them the same story for HOURS on end, ask far too many questions that Marko would just blank the kid out with his music, only for Laddie to talk even louder! It was more than evident that the child had little concern over the fact that they were killers, he’d still happily pester them until they vamped out. In fact, he went out of his way to do that! The crazy little shit…

Laddie would climb on top of one of the many dust caked couches in the hotel right next to where David was reading and peek over his shoulder to get a noseful of whatever he was focused on. "Whatcha reading?" Laddie asked innocently, chin resting on the blonde vampires shoulder.

"....War and peace." David grumbled irately.

"What's that? It's big! It looks boring! Why are the words so tiny? What's it about? Who's the hero? Who's your favorite hero? Mine's batman! Well, I like Iron Man too but Batman has all the gadgets and stuff, and I like his cape but I guess you don't need a cape to be cool, but I like the cape anyway- I like Superman's cuz it's red, red's my favorite color. What's your favorite color? Well I mean red's super cool- oh but black! Black is really cool, i guess you probably like black too huh? I mean you wear it all the time, but really maybe it's cuz-" he had blabbered all of that out in one go without so much as a breath in between his sentences! And David selfishly wondered what the repercussions were on if he flew the kid onto a random cliff and left him there for several hours. He knew it probably couldn’t be good, but it was worth a try if he was ever going to catch a break and get this book finished! Not to mention the countless times that Paul’s thrown into the mix of things, David can’t stomach it and leaves the room because he can’t handle two obnoxious chatter boxes all at once. Star yelled at him once for hypnotizing Laddie to fall asleep because he wouldn't stop talking about Batman and Robin.

It’s obvious that Laddie tends to ride with Dwayne, and it’s because Dwayne is capable of ensuring that Laddie stays in one piece. If the kid had his way and rode with Paul… let’s just say that Laddie would be smeared road kill! And frankly, none of the other vampires trust Paul with the kid. Last time he rode with Paul, he was nearly flung forward when he went off of a steep ramp. Star almost slapped the smirk straight off of Paul’s face! Even Marko thought it was a bad move of Paul’s. So, it was a collective decision - minus Paul’s whining and bitching, in conjunction with Laddie’s pouting - that Laddie rode with Dwayne from now on.

When the boys were killed off one by one, Laddie was the only one who was saddened by this, because he had formed genuine bonds with his older brothers and even though they weren’t perfect, they’d kept their word to him and kept him safe. He was going to miss Paul and Marko playing with him and teaching him cool stuff about bikes and rock n’ roll. He’d even miss David and the way the man got irritated whenever he flitted about him. But the one he was surely going to miss the most was obviously Dwayne. Dwayne was like the older brother that Laddie had dreamed of ever since he was a kid. Dwayne had taken him under his wing and ensured that no one messed with him. He listened to him whenever he was homesick and was always super patient with him and just all around compassionate. Out of all of the boys, Laddie related to him the most. And now he was gone. Though each boy held a special place in his heart. As he left the Emmerson residence, he didn’t have the stomach to look at their dead bodies as he sniffled on his way out, tears streaming down his face. Although they hadn’t been the best to Star and sometimes weren’t the kindest to him, he knew that they had loved the pair of them and deep down, Laddie would always love them.

After the entire ordeal, Laddie decided he’d set foot on finding his parents again and sadly left Star behind. She reminded him a lot of the boys and she would always have a special place in his heart. Before he left he hugged the life out of her, staining her gypsy purple skirt with his tears as he thanked her for loving him and taking such good care of him. He promised her that he’d never forget her and he hoped she never would forget him. Star was heartbroken but also knew that it was best for Laddie to return to his parents and live his life out normally. She hoped he’d grow up to be everything wonderful in life and she assured him that he would remain important and ever present in her gentle heart. A long way down the line they met each other again and embraced like close siblings that hadn’t seen each other in centuries. They were much older now and wiser.

But back to the present, Laddie stumbled upon his mother on the BoardWalk that night, as though it were a miracle. The woman looked strikingly similar to Star, she was the woman that he had remembered from earlier on in his childhood, and he was truly overcome with joy. He got to see his father again which made him happy also. Although his parents couldn’t work things out, they managed to come to a steady agreement that they would have equal joint custody of Laddie, which was something that made things easier on him to adjust back to ordinary life. However, whilst he was missing, his beloved grandparents passed away, never having lost hope in Laddie being alive and returning home someday. Laddie missed them dearly but he adjusted as best as he could to his brand new life. He was never really the same after being with the boys and Star and losing them all, his parents were aware of the change but Laddie never discussed what had happened to him, only responding in vague statements or exclamations.

Somehow though, he found a way to keep in touch with Star, Michael, Lucy, Sam and the Frog brothers. They were all connected through these twisted and sad chain of events, and his bonds with them only deepened as he got older. Even Though they had remained adrift in life, Star, Sam, Lucy and Michael showed up for Laddie's graduation when he finally got through high school. Even still he remained in Santa Carla up until his graduation dinner out with the Emmersons, Star and even the Frog Brothers had shown up. Wandering for a moment on his own, his pace slowed until he came to a haunting stop.

Just beyond the tilt-a whirl, outside the arcade, he swore, parked on the boardwalk he could see a group of biker boys. As the 80s peeled away into the wild teenage rebellion of the 90s, their styles had altered. A blonde still sported a wild lion's mane, another had messy curls grown out. The platinum blonde one was the first to alert the other three of Laddie's gaze. The four grunge rockers sported bizarrely skeletal motorcycles, laughing with each other, now carrying mischievous smiles. Before he could even confirm the haunting visage of said familiar faces they vanished in a flurry of roaring engines. The last to leave looked at him with dark, haunting brown eyes. He could see under the guy's leather jacket and torn up Nirvana t-shirt jagged scar tissue around each of his limbs faded into bronze skin. They just looked at each other for what felt like a lifetime, and a wave of chills trickled down his back. The raven haired biker smirked at him, no malice in his grin. Only a soft farewell, proud even. And then he was gone. Laddie managed to take a deep breath in, silently turning on his heel to return to Star and Michael at the diner. When he got home he was applying to a few out of city colleges, somewhere away from his past.

#the lost boys #lost boys 1987 #lost boys imagine #lost boys #lost boys fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfiction writing #fanfic #80s movies #lost boys david #lost boys paul #lost boys dwayne #lost boys star #lost boys laddie #laddie thompson #vampire #lost boys vampires #headcanon #lost boys head canon

107 notes · View notes

evendeadlmthehero · 5 years

Text

The Five Year Promise: Double Edged Sword (9/10)

Summary: Y/N Stark, a 20 year old superhero, makes a promise to a 16 year old Peter Parker that if 5 years pass and she still hasn’t found love, that they’d finally go on a date. And then the snap happens; Y/N’s gone and Peter isn’t.

Warnings: angst, violence and swearing

The Five Year Promise Masterlist

Based on the events of Avengers: Endgame (2023)

Your eyes flutter open. All you saw was smoke. Dust. A ringing sound was playing in your ear, amplifying the pounding headache you currently had.

You couldn’t see properly, everything blurry as your eyes took time to register. Your whole body felt weird, as if you had woken up from a deep, long sleep. You cough, your throat feeling dry and itchy from the lack of water.

It takes time, before your eyes finally concentrate. You look around, before your mind finally realised where you were. It was Titan. You were fighting Thanos minutes ago. You got hit in the head after Thanos threw you but after that, you don’t remember a thing. How long were you out? 15 mins? An hour?

At least, that’s what you thought.

You heard someone groan a few meters away. You finally get up from your position, your whole back and neck aching. You see Quill, Drax and Mantis. But your father and Peter? They were nowhere to be found. “W-where is everyone?”

You look down at your body, seeing that your suit was off. It was weird, you never remember turning off your suit. A wave of fear consumed your body. Drax was helping Mantis to her feet whereas Quill was looking for someone, perhaps Nebula. You dusted your suit, getting up from your position.

You couldn’t place your finger on it. But you knew it. You knew something was wrong. The atmosphere was cloudy and orange. It was also more colder then before you passed out from Thanos knocking you into a rock. And the ship was gone. The rocks around you also looked like they had moved an inch or two. Everything seemed out of place. “F.R.I.D.A.Y back online.”

Your suit turned back on, the blue stripes of light on the side of your suit now glowing. You felt Quantum energy surge your body, filling up your veins and cells. “Hello Miss Stark, it’s nice to finally hear you again.”

“Wh-what do you mean ‘finally’,” you spoke to your suit, your heart thumping rapidly. Something was wrong, you kept thinking to yourself. Your father and Peter were gone. Nebula was gone. And Strange was sitting down breathing, looking like he was waiting for something. And the way that F.R.I.D.A.Y. was speaking to you was one of surprise. “I’ve been gone for 15 minutes.”

“You’ve been dead for 5 years, Miss Stark.”

Your face faltered, your eyes making your way to the remaining Guardians who were also in shock. Your eyes then fall on Dr. Strange who got up abruptly from his position, looking like the news didn’t phase him a bit. The surgeon had wasted no time getting straight to the point . “We need to head down to Earth. The Avengers will be taking on Thanos and they need our help.”

“I-Is it true?” You whispered, your eyes tearing up. Your whole body was shaking in shock. 5 years? How has your father dealt with it? Is he even alive? You couldn’t bear to go back and hear the people who had grown up or passed away in your time of absence. “Is it true Stephen!”

“Yes,” He replied back, his eyes full of sorrow and sadness towards the young girl. He had felt guilty, not telling her what was about to happen. He sighed, shaking his head. “It- it was the only way.”

You nodded, your face now full of determination. The Titan had taken away 5 years of your life. He had made everyone grow up without you. He had taken away special experiences from you.

“He made me miss my fucking date.”

Peter groaned, pushing Clint off his body. His whole body ached as he clenched his eyes in anguish. He could hear water trinkling nearby and it was hot from the various flames that ignited throughout the room.

“You-“ Peter begun, panting as he got up from his position, holding his stomach. Hawkeye did the same thing, just not in as much pain due to Peter taking his fall. “You okay man?”

“A-are you?” Clint breathed out heavily, his adrenalin kicking in as he realised someone had bombed the Avenger’s compound. “You, you broke my fall man. I’m grateful, but you didn’t need to I mean, I could’ve handled- hey Spider-guy are you even listening?”

Peter lifted a finger up, telling Clint to be quiet as he listened. The hairs in his arm stood up and goosebumps hit his body like waves as he felt something coming. Then, the faint pattern of multiple feet was heard. “Something’s coming.”

Clint picked up the infinity Gauntlet from the floor, nodding at Peter. Peter nodded back before nanoparticles formed a mask around his face. The sounds of feet got louder and louder before Clint and Peter started running.

Thousands and thousands of outriders ran in their direction as both men were running, Clint keeping the Gauntlet close his chest. The outriders were about to overwhelm them before Peter turned back, slinging a web bomb towards their direction.

Peter and Clint were thrown back as the corridor erupted in flames, blocking the outriders during the process. Peter let out the secound groan of today as he fell on his back. At least they didn’t have to deal with the hoard of outriders that almost got them.

Clint and Peter looked up as a familiar blue female walked into the room. Peter remembered her from Titan and when he came back to the Avengers compound, not knowing it was Nebula from 2014.

“Oh, hey! I know you,” Clint spoke, as he handed her the Gauntlet, too much in pain to hold on to it. Peter’s face tilted to the side as he watched Nebula. He could feel it in his gut. Something wasn’t right about this.

“Father,” Nebula spoke, making both Clint and Peter’s eyes widen. They knew. They knew that Nebula’s father was. The mad Titan. It was Thanos himself that bombed the Avengers compound. “I have the stones.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“So five years huh?” You spoke to Dr Strange as he was readying up the Portals. You guys had been waiting 32 minutes to join the battle. You didn’t understand why you had to wait, but you guessed it had to do with ‘the only way’ concept.

“Yeah,” Dr Strange replied back as you, Drax, Quill and Mantis stood behind him, ready to fight. Drax had his knives, Mantis had her mean face on and Peter had guns and various bombs attached to his belt.

“Are they all um-“ your voice wavered, finding difficulty asking the question. Your eyes teared before you bit your lip, stopping yourself from getting emotional. “Are they all alive? My friends? M-my family?”

Dr Strange grabbed your hand, giving it a tight squeeze as he smiled at you for the first time ever. You noticed the look of grief in his face. You knew he was lying the moment he smiled at you, seeing the small twitch in his smile. The way he avoided eye contact. “Everything will be fine.”

You gave him a small smile before he turned back around. He let out a sign before nodding to himself. “It’s time.”

Your heart started to beat rapidly as Dr Strange created a portal. He moved his hands in a circular and systematic manner. Your feet tapped away impatiently, eager to get back to your family. You peered over his shoulder after a couple of secounds, goosebumps arising from your skin as you saw a dark sky and ash lying everywhere. You also heard loud Wakandian chanting as the portal got bigger and bigger.

When the portal was big enough, you stepped out, your heart beating rapidly. You were in awe as you watched thousands and thousands of warriors and heroes from all over the world. But you couldn’t see your father, Nat or Peter.

You moved through the crowd, trying to find them, muttering ‘excuse me’ every now and then. You then heard a familiar voice yell meters away from you. “Avengers!”

You didn’t hear what Steve had said after that, but everyone begun running. You stayed in your position, trying to find someone. Trying to find your dad, Peter or anyone. You had to see them first. Because you knew Dr Strange was lying. Someone was gone. You can feel it.

Whilst you were looking for them, a group aliens were running towards you. You rolled your eyes at them before marching towards them. You jumped up and flew a meter high, pulling your elbow back before slamming your fist on the ground, creating an energy surge that knocked them down. You then dusted your hands before continuing your quest to find your friends and family.

Unbeknownst to you, Peter was also running around the battlefield, looking for you. You guys were meters away from each other, but you both didn’t know it yet. You kept running around the place, looking for everyone. You had seen Thor and Steve, but not Nat, your father or Pete.

Peter was also trying to find you. He saw Wanda fighting Thanos and also saw T’Challa. But he just needed to see you. He wanted to make sure this was real. That you were also back and safe. He missed you. By God, he missed you a lot. And he made it his sole mission to find you right now.

Your breath faltered as you saw the back of a very familiar person wearing a blue, red and golden suit with a mask on his head. A smile formed on your lips as a tear rolled down your cheek. You found someone.

You found Peter.

“P-Peter?” You whispered, your voice cracking as tears continued streaming down your face. Peter’s heart stopped, now turning around to look at you.

Your hands were trembling, and you didn’t know why. This was different, because he hasn’t seen you in five years. What if he didn’t care about you anymore? What if he had moved on and didn’t love you like before?

You waited for him to make the first move. He had still not taken his mask off. Peter stood there in shock, looking at you. You then saw him move towards you, at first very slow. You had no idea what he was doing.

Peter was breathing heavily, his whole body shaking as he saw you. Five years. Five fucking years without you, Peter had thought. And here you are, not a day older. Like nothing had happened. Like he didn’t just go through the hardest five years because everyone he had loved was gone.

His legs begun moving at a fast pace before he collapsed on his knees, clutching onto your legs like a little child. Peter let out a gut wrenching cry as he tightened his grip onto your legs. It was out of frustration and desperation. You had left him. He was alone. He had no body. And now you’re here. You’re back. It was like another shot of redemption. Peter never felt religious after the snap, but having you back had him thanking God.

You were shocked. You didn’t expect that reaction. You were thankful that a Boulder was covering you guys from Thanos’ army so that you guys could get the chance to reunite. You felt his body shaking, as he held your legs tightly, afraid to let go.

“I’m sorry,” Peter sobbed out, as he continued holding on to you. “I’m so fucking sorry. I-I let you down. I- I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to, please- just please don’t leave me- I’m sorry-“

“Hey, hey Peter,” you moved down, wrapping your arms around his neck as you rubbed his back. “I’m here. I’m here. How about you take off your mask so I can see you, yeah? C-can I see you? P-please?”

Peter moved away, his head now down. He let out a deep breath before mask had disappeared. You placed a hand on his jaw, forcing him to look up.

He looked older. Much older. You saw the tattoos creeping up from his suit around the neck area. He had it rough. You could tell. The longish hair, the unkept beard and the tattoos that consumed his neck and probably his whole body. The old Peter would’ve squirmed under a tattoo gun. Now he was covered in tattoos.

“You look beautiful,” you whispered to him, tracing the tattoos with your fingertips as Peter glanced up at you. That wasn’t the reaction he was looking for, which is why he was so shocked at your choice of words. “You look like a warrior. Like you’ve been through hell and still fought everyday.”

“No,” Peter shook his head, his heart beating rapidly as he felt your fingertips on him. “I’m not a warrior. I killed people. I left your dad when I promised I wouldn’t. I-I slept with- with a lot of women. I understand really, if- if you don’t want to be around me. I fucked up. I let you down. I don’t deserve-“

Peter was cut off when he felt the softness of your lips. He was taken back, not expecting that. His mind didn’t register what was going on. After a few seconds, you felt Peter kissing you back. His hand grazed your jaw before settling softly against your cheek.

Peter’s mouth was experienced. It was no lie to you that he knew what he was doing. He knew he had to start of slow, before his wet tongue slowly traced your bottom lip. You parted your lip ever so hungrily, before his tongue reached yours.

This kiss was breathtaking. It made up for the all the years that you were gone. It made the pain that Peter went through worth it. Your hand reached his hair, giving it a gentle tug. This had made Peter want you more.

Realising where you were, you pulled back, your forehead against his. You were smirking at him as you panted. Peter too was breathing heavily, but his face was one of shock and pure bliss. He always dreamed about this and it had been better than he expected.

“I love you,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his. You closed your eyes momentarily, trying to take in the moment before looking back at him.

“You don’t know how fucking bad I needed to hear that,” Peter’s chuckled bitterly as you gently stroked his beard. He looked at you like you gave him purpose again. Like you were the one who had placed the stars in the sky and the planets in space. He looked at you like you were a wonder.

“No hug for your old man?” You heard a voice say. You quickly got up, your eyes tearing up. Your father was standing a couple of meters away from you. He had grown up too. White hairs on his head and beard. He had more wrinkles than before in your time of absense.

He looked at you in happiness. His eyes were welling up, taking in your appearance. He let out a small gasp before a sob as you ran over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He held you tightly, like he was afraid you turn to dust again. “I- I’m sorry dad- I didn’t mean to leave you.”

“It’s- it’s fine”, your father replied back, caressing your hair as he breathed in your smell, trying to take as much of you in. “The good thing is you’re back. Alive and healthy.”

You moved back from the hug, smiling as you looked at him. You ruffled his hair, as you both laughed at each other. “White hair suits you.”

Tony scoffed at that but a smile broke on his face. He didn’t care how he looked, he was just happy you were back. You then let out a sigh, before looking around to survey the area. People were still fighting as you three hid behind the boulder.

“I saw Cap and Thor too but um,” you started, looking around the battlefield for a particular someone but not finding them. You then looked at your father and now Peter who stood beside your father. “Where’s- where’s Nat?”

After those words left your lips, it had went quiet. Your father looked away, a look of grief in his face. Peter had looked down and started playing with his hands. No one had the guts to tell you.

Your hands fell on your mouth before you shook your head, not believing what you think you know. She can’t be? Nat can’t be. She has to be around here somewhere, fighting some aliens. You haven’t seen her since 2016, and now she’s gone. Just like that? No that can’t be it.

“No, no, no!” You yelled, anger consuming your body. You don’t know who you were mad at. Your father and Peter, Thanos or at yourself for not seeing her or being with her since 2016. “She- she can’t be dead! Have- have you seen her fight! No one can kill her, she can’t be killed! She-“

All the sudden you were thrown back. You could hear multiple bullets come from the sky continuously. But you didn’t care. You were thinking about Natasha. Your sister. Your Aunt. Your best friend. Gone. And you didn’t see her for 7 years. 7 years you haven’t seen Natasha and she was just swept under your feet.

You started breathing in heavily out of anger. That’s it, you had thought. This was your breaking point. Your were going to kill Thanos. You were going to kill his army. You were going to end him. “Y/N? Y/N? Are you okay? You’re eyes, they’re-“

Peter didn’t finish his sentence as he watched you in fascination. You stood up, bullets piercing your body like it was nothing. Your hair was flying around as it glowed and your eyes? It was also glowing. Quantum energy was surging heavily around your body. It had seemed like all the anger had activated the strongest version of your suit. Of you.

You looked at the ship that was shooting bullets at you before jumping up, emitting a rocket-like sound as you flew up. Everyone watched, from the heroes to Thanos’ army to Thanos himself as they saw a comet like structure easily go through the ship.

“What the-“ your father spoke as he watched you just fly into the ship. He then saw you circle it before flying through it again, causing the ship to now go on fire, some parts of it exploding.

Peter gets up when he sees T’Challa running towards him with the Gauntlet before he passed it over to Peter. T’Challa then turned around and finished the remaining the aliens that were chasing him. He drew back his fist before he punched the floor, kinetic energy throwing them back.

Peter’s eyes widened as he saw a hoard of aliens running towards him. He then heard someone landing next to him, looking around to see it was you, your eyes and hair still glowing. “Pete, give me the Gauntlet.”

Peter passed you the gauntlet, looking at you unsurely. He then looked back at the hoard coming towards you. “I don't know how you're gonna get it through all that.”

“I might have to reschedule on our date,” you told him, wanting to see his reaction. Peter’s ears perked up, a smile adorning his face. He remembered. He remembered the five year promise, and that made you happy. “Next Friday?”

Peter smiled at you, giving you a nod. By God he was so in love with you. Wanda then arrived, standing next to you. You look at her with a smile. You see another women flying on her Pegasus as she arrives, looking at the hoard with determination. “Don't worry.”

“She's got help,” Okoye finished off for Wanda. You gave Peter a smirk before looking back at your enemy. Pepper lands next to Okoye, followed by Mantis and Shuri, the Wasp, 2014 Gamora and Nebula.

Thanos' army charges while the women help you fly through the Outriders and Chitauri. You rip them apart one by one, the infinity gauntlet close to your chest. 2014 Gamora takes out a gorilla, while Okoye takes out Corvus Glaive. Wanda and Valkyrie destroy two leviathans as you fly through one of those giant worm aliens that you fought in New York 2012.

You then start flying towards the van with the Gauntlet, flying past enemies and going through enemy blockades that are in your way with ease. Thanos, seeing this, starts running towards you but is stopped by Pepper, Shuri and The Wasp, who blast him backwards.

Thanos, after seeing you fly past him, throws his double sword at the van, destroying it and the quantum realm tunnel, throwing you backwards and losing your grip on the Gauntlet, which falls to the ground.

Your father sees the Gauntlet and runs to get it, but sees Thanos, who he instead tackles. Thanos smacks your father away, knocking him out.

Thor arrives with Stormbreaker and 2013 Mjolnir in an attempt to pin Thanos' arm down, with assistance from Captain America. However, Thanos overpowers them and knocks them both out.

After gaining back concious, you flew back to the fight and punched Thanos right in the jaw, throwing him back. You keep punching him, but Thanos grabs you by the arm and flings you away. Thanos puts on the gauntlet, gamma radiation from the stones eating at him as he tries to snap. You fly back again stopping his fingers from snapping, opening up his hand just like you remember Dr Strange was doing when fighting Thanos in Titan.

Thanos headbutts you, but it does nothing. Quantum energy was surging in you so strongly that your pain tolerance had increased. Just as you were gaining the upper hand by rising up and forcing Thanos onto his knees, Thanos pulls the Power Stone out of the Gauntlet and uses it in his free hand to hit knock you away.

The rest happen in slow motion. You try get back up but you couldn’t. It was weird. You then looked up to what was holding you back, your face in confusion as you realised it was Stephen. He had used his powers to create a cosmic band that held down your legs, body and hands.

You and your father then look up in question at Strange, who raises his hand shakingly, a single finger up. You shook your head at him as you realised. You knew it was going to happen. Before you could yell at your father, Strange had put a band on your mouth.

You kicked and you screamed as you tried to escape the bands that Strange had casted on to you. But you couldn’t. You started crying profusely as you thrashed and kicked around as you watch your father makes one last attack on Thanos, pulling on the Gauntlet before Thanos punches him away.

“I am inevitable,” Thanos spoke to your father, before snapping his finger. Nothing happened. Everything went silence. But you didn’t care. Your eyes were on your father as his body looked like it was on fire. You shook your head rapidly, trying to pull out of the grasps of the band.

“And I am,” Your father spoke before his eyes landed on yours, a smile on his face. You looked at him with tears welling up in your eyes as you gave him the best smile you could muster, not knowing that Strange had removed the band around your mouth. “A Father.”

Your father snaps, a blinding white light covering up the skies. You feel the the tightness of the bands come off before you quickly run over to your father who made his way over to a rock with Rhoudey beside him.

Your whole body was shaking as you saw half of your father burnt. He was dying. Your father was dying. The man that raised you, changed your diapers was dying. He will never get to walk you down the aisle. See your child. Become a grandfather.

“Daddy?” You spoke like a child as you watched the life leave from your fathers eyes. Your hand trembled as it landed on your fathers jaw. “F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

“All body systems are malfunctioning,” she spoke back. You grabbed you moved your father’s head towards you, smiling as he looked at you in the eyes. He weakly smiled back at you.

“Y/N,” you heard him faintly whisper to you as you held him.

“Dad I love you. I love you so much. I can’t thank you enough, but I can try. I can try to,” you told him, caressing his cheek. “Thank you for being the best father ever, the one you never had. Thank you for telling me to get back up every time I fell from my bike. Thank you for teaching me how to cook, for making time for me. I know I was a hard and bratty daughter sometimes.”

You laughed, your father giving you a smile as he remained quiet, tears welling up in his eyes as he watched you, his daughter, speak. The one he was leaving behind because of his action. You felt Pepper and Peter beside you, Pepper rubbing your back. “But you stayed. You always stayed. Even when the world was against you and everyone had told you to leave me behind, that you were putting me in danger, you stayed. You always did.”

“You’ve raised me to be the best person I can. You’ve raised me to love myself before anyone else. You’ve taken a lot of hits for me. I could never ever have a better father than you. I know you were scared to turn out like your father, but you had nothing to be afraid of. You are perfect. The best father any daughter could have. And I was fortunate that it was me.” You spoke, your hands still on his jaw as you put his forehead on yours. You then placed your hand on his arc reactor, feeling his heartbeat get faint.

“But- but it’s your time now dad, you have to go,” you told him, as Pepper smiled at him, grabbing his hand. You were trying your best not to cry as you saw life being drained from your father. You found it hard to utter the next words but you had to, you had to tell him that it was okay. It was okay to die and he didn’t need to feel bad about it. “We’ll be okay, but you have to rest now.”

With that being said, your father’s arc reactor flickered off for good. Pepper can no longer contain her grief and starts crying on his shoulder. You whole body starts to shake rapidly, staring at your fathers lifeless body before you too cling on to your father, sobs shattering your body uncontrollably.

Peter holds on to you as he watched you mourn your father’s death. He too had tears falling down his face. All the other Avengers had tears in their eyes, especially the ones that had been there from the start. Steve then went down on his knee out of respect, before all remaining warriors started doing the same. All warriors from earth till space got on one knee. Because today?

Tony Stark, Iron Man, Earth's Best Defender, is dead.

TAGLIST (CLOSED)

@kissingtrutharchives

@isabella-bby

@jonsnowdoesknow

@fangirlingonrhys

@trenchcoatedwhiskers

@platonictrashh

@misswritingintherain

@itsbebeyyy

@xs-hoodie

@callmedaddys-blog

@fangirling12566

@bubblegumholland

@hollandinq

@lordofthunderthr

@colored-confetti

@legendarydazekitten

@maya-t-13

@house-arya

@cutie1365

@buckysblondie

@clipopex-writing

@wifunozomi

@babebenhardy

@sadgirlhours247

@sweetdarlingholland

@taliarosej00

@autobotgirl15-blog

@clockblobber

@im-a-stranger-thing

1K notes · View notes

bruh-haikyuu · 4 years

Note

can i request a scenario with jealous akaashi where his fem!s/o intentionally ignores him and entertain other guys just to piss him off? thankyu x.

A/N: Akaashi fggghg *brain explodes* Fem!MC in here does kyudo (or Japanese archery)!! So I hope you like the limited extent of my knowledge from just watching Tsurune and reading pdfs on kyudo hdjfhdf

P.S: I also made myself a carrd if you want to check it out! (it’s complete with bg music and shit damn); I’m also changing the format of my dividers so you can see them better!

monophobia. | akaashi keiji

word count: 3742

warnings: angst

(n.) the fear of being alone

It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.

You could count on yourself and your godforsaken boyfriend that you’d rather stick your arrows up your ass before you’d admit it was your fault—which it clearly wasn’t.

Your chest guard felt sickly cramped as you tightened the string of your bow. You didn’t even give a second glance to the green lawn that faced the dojo—the arrows you’d fired today wasn’t sticking anywhere close to the target, and frankly, you had hoped that your coping method would fare much better than you’d thought.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed the wooden placard hanging from the entrance of the enclosure. Last year, a group of your upperclassmen had bought the gaudy thing from the nearby gift shop as a “parting gift to their cute kouhai”. You remembered the forced grin you and the other members shared when they decided to put it up at the first place anyone would see when they entered the dojo.

Heijoshin. Ordinary mind. An undisturbed heart at all times.

“An arrow won’t hit unless your spirit is in balance: resolute, yet serene,” the voice of the Kyudo Club’s coach echoed in your head.

Was it bothering you that much, your fight with Akaashi? If this lingered in your head, it’d affect your archery performances as well as the impressions you and the rest of the club had worked so hard on forming upon the new members… Maybe you should apologize soon—

Scowling, you clicked your tongue and picked up another arrow. “My mind is as ordinary as it can be. It’s not a problem… it’s not my fault.”

You nocked the shaft to your bow, your glove grazing gently on the fibers of the string. A petty fight wasn’t going to be enough to waver your resolve. If someone had to apologize, it was him. He’d started the whole thing anyway…

Taking a deep breath, the muscles of your shoulders slackened and you raised the bow over your head, drawing the string in an arc so perfect that’d have your upperclassmen and Akaashi gasping in awe. Into the stage of kai*, the wooden placard seemed to glow brightly in your head. This was it. This was going to be the perfect shot… Heijoshin…

You freed your mind off the entire universe and released. Miss.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Just into your second year, your former upperclassmen had bestowed upon you the “honor” of being the Captain of the Kyudo Club—and to think that the tasteless placard in the dojo was weighty enough. Your boyfriend Akaashi, on the other hand, was a hair luckier with his entire Vice-Captain gig going on.

“’Lucky’… In my case, that word would fit better in a phrase like ‘lucky charm’ or ‘lucky fortune’. But about the things that I have to handle, it’s nearly unthinkable even if I’m only second-in-command,” he said, face paling in deep thought.

You laughed and fiddled with the yumibukuro* encasing your bow. “I suppose Bokuto-senpai is proving to be much more extraordinary than we’d thought. The Boys’ Volleyball Club is in for an exciting treat with him as Captain; you’re going to need a lot of lucky charms this time.”

“If we get enough new first-years to subdue him, then maybe it’d be a treat for me. Until then, I’m counting on my lucky charm to make sure I stay grounded.”

You blushed at his words, finding interest at the hem of your blazer—he always had his way to render you flustered even with a poker face on. Noticing the slight bump of your knuckles, Akaashi glanced at your dainty hands against his (though both calloused from hours of intense sports) and threaded your fingers together. Amused, he watched the red on your cheeks deepen.

“I-I’ll do my best so you can do your best, Keiji-san.”

Smiling, he brought your linked hands to eye level. “I look forward to it.”

“Akaashi!”

From around the corner where the both of you were huddled together, third-year Bokuto Koutarou, Captain of the Boys’ Volleyball Club, emerged. At a distance, he really did look like a horned owl just as the rumors said.

“Akaashi, I thought we were going to hand out the flyers together, you sleazy dog… Is that your girlfriend? Hi there, Kyudo-chan! Sorry, but I’m gonna have to take back what belongs to the Volleyball Club for a while, ‘kay?”

You only bowed politely, though roping all the forces in your body to not belt out in laughter. A quiet sigh escaping his lips, Akaashi reluctantly unraveled his fingers from yours and went to pick up the pile of hand-drawn promotions that had been sitting right below the bench. As his back faced you to go and fulfill his club duties, you felt your heart sink.

“Um… Keiji-san?”

He turned around hopefully, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. “Yes, Y/N-san?”

“You’ll be there to see my kyudo demonstration, right?”

A single eyebrow raised, Akaashi chuckled. “Of course, Buchou-san*.”

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

You laid spread-eagle on the middle of the dojo’s floor thinking about lunch then Akaashi, then lunch, then Akaashi again.

Every muscle in your system was asleep at this point, leaving you rooted to the wooden slats. Your stomach on the other hand was a different case altogether. Maybe you shouldn’t have skipped out on lunch.

Maybe you shouldn’t have fought with Akaashi.

Groaning, you shook your head to dismiss the notion. No way. He started it. What were you feeling so sorry for? Rolling over to your side, you wondered if you could just fall asleep and start a new life inside your head.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

“Midori, can you check the strings on the bows for me? I’ll just go and get the extra gloves from Ikuya-sensei for a bit.”

Your fellow second-year member meekly picked up one of the ragged bamboo bows and gave you a thumbs-up. Slipping into your indoors shoes as you leave the dojo, you rubbed at your eyes, the fatigue of trying to negotiate with your coach to make your upperclassmen’s placard “more impressionable for the guests” seeping into your head.

Though exhausted, you were satisfied. Last year’s tournament had created a deep image for Fukurodani Academy’s Kyudo Club. While you barely mentioned it, you were proud of the fact that you contributed to many of the perfect shots for your team as their omae*. The result was an unexpected crowd of first-years as well as second and third-years at the Kyudo Club’s booth at today’s opening ceremony.

“Put on a show for them, L/N-san,” your club’s advisor grinned while handing you a box of new gloves under her desk.

Your face brightened at the thought of finally being able to pull off the shot you’ve been practicing for weeks. And with your boyfriend watching you every step of the way, you were confident you were going to blow their socks off. So far, so good—

“I’ve always liked you, Akaashi-san! Please go out with me.”

You froze like a deer caught in headlights. Quick enough to give you whiplash, you snapped your head in the direction of the wall beside you. Peering over the bricks that separated you from the view, you tiptoed to a level that allowed you to watch the entire affair without being seen.

There he was, like the feminine voice had indicated, your boyfriend Akaashi Keiji in all his glory, a dumbstruck expression painting his face. Standing across him was a second-year girl, someone you’d habitually seen to be from Class 2-2. What was her name again…? Gotou…?

However, the first thing you noticed about the entire rendezvous was that Gotou-san was pretty. Awfully pretty. It took you a moment to process that Akaashi was actually a rather attractive individual too, and for him to get confessed to shouldn’t be much of a surprise to you, or even anyone.

…But why did your chest hurt so much?

“I-I’m sorry, Gotou-san,” your ears perked up at his voice. Akaashi was bowing graciously before the girl in front of him. “I can’t accept your confession.”

You felt rude for even thinking that your faith in Akaashi was hopeless. Just as relief washed over you like a cold torrent, Gotou Hanako suddenly threw herself at your boyfriend with tears streaming down her face. You nearly choked over your own breath.

“I know I can’t have you, but please let me hold you like this for now…!” she sobbed into his uniform.

In your head, Akaashi had already pushed the girl away, reprimanding her of the severity of her extreme advances. In your head, you walked away from the site calmly, knowing that your boyfriend wouldn’t doubt a speck of your relationship. In your head, everything was fine.

But in real life, Akaashi didn’t push her away. In real life, Akaashi stroked her back and let her cling onto him like an anchor. In real life, there was the green monster called envy.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

You smacked your forehead on the side of a shelf storing kyudo uniforms when a rapt knock on the entrance door brought you to wake. You winced at the sharp sting settling on your temple; though you couldn’t see it, you felt a faint patch of red and purple already forming there.

“Sorry for the intrusion, Y/N—um… L/N-san.”

Dizzied from your sudden nap and the slight concussion that the shelf had given you, you’d barely noticed that Akaashi had entered the compound. He looked exactly the same as he always did—tousled dark hair, with a slight jaded look to his eyes. Neatly pressed uniform, direct orders from his mother, paired with the porcelain tone of his skin. But the tense air to him made worlds of difference, and you nearly mistook him for a stranger because of it.

In his clutches was a dainty lunch box, wrapped neatly with a ginko-patterned cloth that made the blood rise to your face. It so happened to be the exact same ginko-patterned cloth that you used to bundle up your own lunch. Alas, for a ‘lucky charm’, you wouldn’t consider it lucky to have the one thing that could save you from starvation to be held by the last person you wanted to see in that moment.

“Your younger sister asked me to bring it to you,” he said. The cold tone he used did nothing to blend well with the atmosphere. “Technically, she just gave it to me then left.”

You cursed your sister in your mind, making sure she received as much astral flicks to the forehead as possible. Indignantly puffing out your chest, you snatched the box away from Akaashi while doing your absolute best to not get vacuumed into the soft gaze that he held.

“Thank you very much. A-Akaashi-san,” you wanted to vomit with the way you churned out his last name. Had you grown so accustomed to calling him by his first name that you’d completely forgotten how to call him by his last?

Please say something. Despite the wall you had built in your head to separate the both of you, you didn’t want it. You could honestly just apologize and get the whole thing over with, but what was so difficult about doing that?

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

You’d expect the audience to work up a healthy sweat in your palms, but even with their interested gazes, you felt absolutely nothing. Meanwhile, Akaashi was seated elegantly at the front of the crowd, giving you what could be the warmest smile in the world.

Against your usual responses to him, you quickly turned away, effectively barricading him from you. You’d decided after the spectacle you had seen, that nothing was going to distract you from performing the perfect shot. Not even the kind glances Akaashi was giving you.

“The Captain of the Kyudo Club will now demonstrate the standard hassetsu*,” Midori announced to the crowd as you approached the front lines.

All eyes fell on you as you carefully positioned yourself then your bow according to your target. When you arrived at the point to nock your arrow in its cranny, your breaths fell jagged and the world seemed to fall apart.

Why did that have to happen? Why did you have to see that right before a pivotal moment like this? Akaashi knew how risky it was to pull off that move in public, so why did he do it? You, who had been so confident about showing the audience a breathtaking exhibition, now hesitated of the outcome of your shot.

You didn’t even realize you had already fully pinned your string back in all its force… How long had you been holding that? Was it eight seconds already? Gritting your teeth in prayers, you hoped that it was enough and released, the whinnied whip of the arrow nearly throwing you backwards.

Your chest dropped at the sight of the target. Your arrow hit right on, but it was dangerously close to the frames. Too long, you scowled, chastising yourself. That draw was timed too long.

Behind you, Akaashi made a startled face that quickly contradicted all the smiles he had given you so far. Seeing his guiltless expression only made you even more irritated. “Would a volunteer like to have a try?” A couple of eager hands shot up like fireworks. You were almost impressed that they still wanted to try out even after seeing a shot like that.

However, in the crowd of excited figures, you spotted a first year who’d been eyeing you virtuously since he had entered the dojo. Come to think of it, you’d seen him in last year’s tournament too… he’d been staring at you wide-eyed back then as well—taking in your posture and movements like a living camera despite only being a volunteer staff at the venue.

“You there. At the front, what’s your name?” you called out him. Were you even thinking? If so, what were you thinking of? You didn’t even care. You were just… angry. “Do you have any experience in kyudo?”

His back straightened like a ruler when he stood, the wisps of his black hair flying all over his face as he smoothed out his uniform before you. “T-Takehashi Keigo from Class 1-2! U-um, my experience… In my first year of middle school I joined a neighborhood kyudo association… I’m afraid I’m not as good as you though. I-I saw your performance at the tournament last year… it was amazing.”

Looking between Akaashi and the boy in front of you, you simpered. Jackpot.

Handing him your bow and glove, you made sure your skin lingered against his for a tad bit too long; just enough for a certain someone’s pair of rain-colored eyes to notice. “Show me how you handle the bow, Takehashi-kun. I will guide you from there.”

Like the cherry blossoms bordering the fence outside the dojo, the boy’s face bloomed into a vibrant shade of pink and red. As Takehashi took his stance, it came to your attention, that for someone who only had limited exposure to kyudo grounding, he wasn’t bad. If this wasn’t a case to simply make your boyfriend feel bitter, you would probably probe into his skills a little bit further.

“Ah, wait. Your hikiwake* is a bit shaky. Here, let me…”

If your head hadn’t been clouded with acid, you probably wouldn’t be doing this. You probably wouldn’t be sidled so cozily against the shoulder of an unknowing first-year with an obvious devotion for you. You probably wouldn’t be acting like such a petty girlfriend—what was Akaashi’s head clouded with when he embraced Gotou like that? Was he thinking of you when he did it?

Akaashi’s glare was drilling through your back already. Even inside the cool dojo, you could feel the heat seeping inside your kyudogi*. You didn’t want to stop. A lone voice within you screamed of selfishness, but at what cost? You almost smiled at the thought of giving him a taste of his own medicine.

By the time demonstrations were over, there was a half-full applications log for the Kyudo Club, a near empty dojo, and an evidently disgruntled Akaashi Keiji. The latter had quickly dragged you away to the quiet crook harboring the lawn maintenance shed with no words to spare.

“…What were you doing?” he gritted, shoes tapping impatiently and throwing bits and pieces of sand at your feet.

You frowned, “What’re you accusing me of?”

“There’s nothing to accuse you of if you were doing it on purpose,” Akaashi shot back. “You were practically holding that first year much too close to be modest. I don’t know what kind of message you’re trying to convey to me, but you have to stop.”

“What if I said that it was purely accidental?” you, too, felt increasingly impatient. Apologize already, you thought, as if he would miraculously hear you.

“Don’t peg me for Bokuto-san; I’m not gullible. I knew you were deliberately doing it, Y/N-san.”

Your lips flattened into a thin line. You were running out of composure by now; the fuse was lit and ready to go. “Does that make hugging Gotou-san much less of a intentional action then?”

The missile has blown and the fog thickened. You watched the color drain from your boyfriend’s features—his pale skin was somehow even more paler than before. Meanwhile, his eyes were the perfect image of horror: its reflective surface bounced off your image like a broken mirror, distorting you and the world around it.

You took his silence as a cue to continue. “I saw you. I saw her confess to you. I saw you hug her even though you rejected her… I don’t get it, Keiji-san. Why did you do it? Did it ever occur to you that you had a girlfriend?”

“I was just as confused as you. I was only consoling her and that was that,” the way his voice grew louder only made your chest tighten. “If someone had rejected you, wouldn’t you want to be comforted? Or is the great L/N Y/N too inhospitable for that?”

You and Akaashi never argued. Never. Everyone had said you were like the pieces of a perfect jigsaw puzzle. Compatible in all angles. But now, seeing him yell and hearing yourself yell was the antithesis of that entire allegory. It was like you had bent yourselves apart by force.

“I wouldn’t know because I never confessed to anyone! You were the one who confessed to me first, moron,” you seethed, blood boiling in your veins.

“Then, I wish I never did!”

And the entire world fell apart.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

“Wait!”

You had blurted the word out so easily. If only it was just as easy to say it when you fought… things would be a little lighter.

Akaashi, who had earlier looked arguably reluctant, turned on his heel rather swiftly at your call. Now that you’d done the trick, what was next? Apologizing immediately seemed very anticlimactic and you weren’t one to admit loss so effortlessly—

“L/N-san, if it’s not important, I’m sure you don’t need me here,” your last name sounded like an alien language on his tongue. It was hostile and definitely foreign.

‘Hostile’ to hell! you huffed as you watched his back drift away ever so slowly before you. “D-don’t go!”

Fantastic, now he was looking at you like you were the alien in the room. Meeting his steely gaze, your feet shifted nervously against the wooden slats. A stubborn knot tightened in your throat, nearly forcing out what you’d presumed to be vomit settling behind your mouth.

“Please don’t leave me, Keiji-san…” your eyes flickered fleetingly before finally descending on your feet, “I’m scared of going back to being alone. I-I understand if you want to break up with me but—”

“Y/N-san, I’m not breaking up with you.”

The sound you made was an incoherent mixture of a relieved sigh and cry of shock. Whatever the noise was, your expression on the other hand was enough to make Akaashi’s cheeks puff up in subdued laughter. You didn’t say it, but you really did miss his smile; the way it’d stir up all the warmth in your stomach, it formed bubbles of fluttery comfort that rose all the way up to your head.

“I-I thought you were going to break up with me,” he said as-a-matter-of-factly. “What I did was unacceptable. I was overwhelmed by Gotou-san’s actions and I became so angered by your, uh… ‘vengeance’ that I didn’t think to consider your feelings more. I was selfish, Y/N-san. And I’m sorry for hurting your feelings. Please forgive me for the awful things I’ve done to you.”

Were you even breathing anymore? When was the last time you inhaled air? When you murmured his name, like the mantra that it seemed like, all the weight you had been shouldering the past few days was finally knocked off your back. You could finally breathe.

“How unfair, Keiji-san.”

“Huh?!”

“That apology was too sentimental for me to outdo,” you continued rather gruffly, though in your heart, the gates for Akaashi was already wide open. “But, still… I’m really sorry for what I did. I see that the stunt I pulled off was pushing it too much… I promise, Takehashi-kun and I don’t have any further relations aside from captain to club member. In that way, I want to fix what happened… If that’s alright with you?”

When Akaashi thought about something serious, he became as still as a statue. In your dojo, he stood unmoving, you were afraid if you were to say something he’d shatter and turn into dust. Yet, the grim look would have fooled you if it weren’t for the words he’d uttered next.

“Y/N-san, would it be appropriate if I kissed you right now?”

“Wh-what?!” your lips tingled along with the searing heat that clouded your cheeks. God, he was really high-maintenance whenever he wanted to be. “Sorry, but I think that’s impossible r-right now! If you did that, I’ll definitely—”

As you rambled on, you didn’t realize that Akaashi had moved closer to you and ruffled your hair endearingly. He laughed, “I know, I know. I just missed seeing your flustered face. If a kiss won’t do… then, can you show me your archery?”

Picking up your bow leaning on the side of a shelf, you beamed brightly. Your heart was clearer than the sky that day. Heijoshin. No misses.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Glossary:

kai - the sixth stage of the hassetsu: the full draw

yumibukuro - cloth casing for the bow

buchou-san - ‘chief’ (of a club)

omae - the first archer to shoot in a tachi (a group of archers shooting, usually five)

hassetsu - the eight stages of a shooting ritual

hikiwake - the fifth stage of the hassetsu: the draw

kyudogi - the kimono-like top of standard kyudo gear

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenario #akaashi keiji #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji imagine #akaashi keiji scenarios #fukurodani x reader #sfw #akaashi x reader #keiji x reader #bruh haikyuu writing

156 notes · View notes