#NO the universe decides BOOM here have a terrible cough

[qrtem]

im going through the horrors

[cinnaminsvga]

Hug-o-gram | Yoongi

→ summary: 

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font. 

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious. 

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

{or alternatively: Seokjin is a terrible wingman. He also runs a profitable business by sending hugs to people’s crushes for a fee. Mix them together and you have a recipe for Min Yoongi’s worst nightmare.}

→ genre: college!au, hugging booth!au, fluff, humor → warnings: yoongi is so smitten that he’s a walking disaster, so much shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to scream, seokjin just tryna get his homie some y/n love coochie bro ;o; → words: 13.3K → a/n: another commission by the lovely @jincherie​ because she’s epic like that!! she literally just told me to write whatever the hell i wanted and well... yoobie got me Good... anyway here’s more yoongi fluff bc apparently i’m a fluff writer now and sometimes i just want my boy to be happy... appa yip yip

Kim Seokjin makes a lot of good decisions. He also makes plenty of bad ones, but he likes to think the score is lying heavily towards the positives. Min Yoongi will be the first one to quickly disagree, but Seokjin doesn’t let it get to him. He doesn’t make it his business to listen to opinions that don’t immediately align with his, anyway; he likes to call it “selective hearing.” Yoongi calls it stupidity. Either way, the point still stands: Seokjin knows a good idea when he sees one. Case in point:

“This automatic popcorn machine is absolutely divine,” Seokjin moans, his mouth agape as he waits for the Mister Popcorn Robot to bestow him with another morsel of goodness.

“Yeah,” is Yoongi’s verbose reply. He also has his mouth agape, his prone body lying side by side with his roommate of four years in their small living room. Their roomba (another one of Seokjin’s good ideas) cleans all around them, its steady whirring serving as their only source of background music. “Lowkey though, I think our position isn’t quite… as optimized as it could be.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks, as he drapes his leg over Yoongi’s. His movement jostles the surrounding popcorn halo around them, as most of the food had missed their mouths by a couple of centimeters. At this point, the roomba has probably eaten more of the popcorn than the two of them combined.

“Nothing,” Yoongi shrugs, or whatever might be the lying down equivalent of a shrug. Some of the popcorn on his chest falls down, only to be quickly devoured by roomba-chi. Yoongi stares at the ceiling, tracing shapes out of the cracks that Seokjin had accidentally made when he tried using a pogo stick indoors. He points up, catching Seokjin’s attention. “Hey, hyung. Doesn’t that look a bit like Y/N?”

Seokjin squints. “You mean the mysterious brown stain near the lights? I think the toilet from the elderly couple upstairs might have leaked that.”

“No, you dipshit. The squiggly curve over there. It reminds me of her smile.” Yoongi says. There’s a stupid dopey grin on his face and Seokjin wants nothing more than to wipe it off.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Seokjin groans, turning over to envelop Yoongi in a sweaty half-armed hug. The buttery residue on his arms and stomach leaves something to be desired, but Yoongi doesn’t scoot away. He only continues to sigh dreamily, staring mindlessly at the image of you that only his lovelorn brain can imagine.

Seokjin slaps Yoongi in the face. “Dude, get a fucking grip,” he grouses, giving Yoongi a serious look. The younger doesn’t break out of his trance, further irritating him. “Will you stop pining in front of my popcorn? It’s seriously making roomba-chi lose her appetite!”

To his credit, roomba-chi did seem to be slowing down, though that could also be because it had overloaded with popcorn and was seconds away from exploding. Wouldn’t be the first time, but Seokjin always managed to find a way to save roomba-chi from imminent death. She was like a daughter to him.

“Hyung, you know I can’t. I just… God, I really like her, you know?”

“That’s the third time you said that within the last hour. Believe me, I know.” Seokjin groans, shoving Yoongi away. He sits up, reaching over to the popcorn machine and switching it off. He grabs a fistful of fallen popcorn from the ground and shoves it inside Yoongi’s mouth. “There. That should shut you up.”

“Aw weawwy wike hew, hwung.”

“And yet, you still haven’t done anything after four years,” Seokjin tuts, finally standing up. He stretches his limbs, his joints creaking youthfully. He grabs his phone from the coffee table, nearly dropping it from the butteriness of his fingers. The clock reads 4:32 PM, which means–

“Yoongi, it’s time for me to head to work. You want to come with me today?” Seokjin asks, though he knows what answer he’s going to get. You see, Seokjin’s new booming business is another one of his fantastic ideas, but it is a little... inventive. Sure, Yoongi had scoffed when he had originally suggested the idea, but Seokjin knew that it was going to be a money-maker. Sure, it had taken a few years for the business to really take off, but once it finally did…

Enter Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service! Students from his university are able to send anonymous payments directly to him, with little notes attached for their crushes. Each love letter delivery comes with a hug from Seokjin himself, delivered straight to the person without them ever knowing who the hug came from. It was ingenious! It was lucrative! But most of all…

It allowed Seokjin to cause drama and have an excuse for it! Nothing could have been more perfect for a man like him.

“No thanks,” Yoongi snorts, rolling over to face him. He watches from the floor as Seokjin changes into a butter-less shirt, which also happens to have his own face printed on the front and back. His trusty cardboard sign that reads “I’m Gonna Glomp Ya!” also joins his attire for the afternoon, a long piece of string tied to its edges so that he can wear it around his neck. Throwing on a pair of white sneakers with the tags still attached, Seokjin is ready to tackle today’s list of would-be hug-ees.

“How do I look?” Seokjin asks, combing his hair with his fingers. It leaves an oily sheen, which he somehow makes it work.

“Ugly,” Yoongi says, like a liar.

“It’s okay, I understand. I can speak tsundere, so you don’t need to explain,” Seokjin snickers, nearly getting hit with a TV remote by Yoongi. He opens his phone again, swiping to his e-mail to see his list of hug deliveries for the day.

Seokjin gets around 10 requests a day, with around half of them coming from regular clients. He’s especially fond of this boy who has been sending hugs to his TA named Namjoon for almost a month now. He has no idea why this kid has so much disposable income, though seeing the blush on Namjoon’s face everyday makes Seokjin think that he would spend every last penny for him too. Namjoon had begged Seokjin for his secret admirer’s identity, but snitchin’ isn’t a part of his service, unfortunately.

As much as Seokjin wants to know who is crushing on who, his little business wouldn’t work as well as it did if anonymity wasn’t included in his package deal. It allows people to thirst in public without facing the repercussions, like getting a knee to the groin or a slap to the face. Not that Seokjin has ever been at the receiving end of that; everyone loves him! Like, have you seen him? He must have saved a civilization in the past with how devastatingly beautiful his forehead is.

“Why am I suddenly filled with the relentless urge to deck you right now?” Yoongi says, getting up to change into clean clothes as well. His black t-shirt unfortunately does not have Seokjin’s face on it, but that can quickly be amended if the elder of the two decides to follow his every intrusive whim.

Seokjin laughs, completely unaware of the murderous capabilities of his friend. Due to his smaller body size, his percentage of evil is unusually concentrated. “Maybe it’s because you know that I’m into pain pla–” but Seokjin’s retort suddenly grinds to a halt. He chokes mid-sentence, coughing wildly as he pounds his chest with a balled-up fist. When Yoongi looks up at him, he finds his hyung staring slack-jawed at his phone, seemingly flabbergasted by what he finds on his screen.

“What’s the matter? Accidentally sent a dick pic to your prof again?” Yoongi snorts.

“That was one time! And no, it’s…” Seokjin trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. He shifts his gaze from his phone to Yoongi, a drop of sweat quickly forming on the back of his neck. Yoongi raises a brow, silently urging him to continue.

Instead of replying, Seokjin hands him his phone. Yoongi finds a copy of one of Seokjin’s newest hug requests, only having just received it five minutes ago. As he scrolls down, he finds that this secret admirer is a new client, but that isn’t what made Seokjin stop in his tracks. Instead, it’s the recipient of the hug that catches his attention–

“Y/N has a secret admirer?” Yoongi says, voice cracking at the end. He clears his throat, trying his best to school his face into something less… jealous. He swivels away from Seokjin, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He convinces himself that he is the very epitome of calmness.

“You okay there, Yoongi? You look like you’re about to vomit,” Seokjin says, immediately breaking his inner peace. Yoongi groans loudly, shucking the phone over his shoulder, uncaring of where it lands. Seokjin, with his superhuman and God-given reflexes… doesn’t catch it. But he did dive to the floor like a seasoned Olympian, and his ass cushioned his phone so he supposes that’s a win.

Back to the matter at hand––

“I am fine,” Yoongi says, as he continues to not be fine.

From the floor, Seokjin shoots him a disbelieving look. He lies down more comfortably, propping his head on his elbows. Screw his hug-o-gram appointments for now; nothing brings him more joy than seeing Yoongi absolutely losing it. “Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I marched up to Y/N right now and give her the warmest, coziest, most tender hug of her fucking life?”

“Y… Yes,” Yoongi squeaks, neck glowing a furious red. He has his fists clenched (adorably) by his sides, head bowed as he faces the wall of their apartment. Seokjin’s brain makes the unhelpful comparison of Yoongi with that cat meme who says “no talk me angy” in Impact font.

Seokjin grins, his wickedness from within coiling and yearning to burst from his seams. This is it! Maybe if he pushes a little more, then maybe Yoongi will stop pining like a pathetic loser! Also, it didn’t hurt that he got to push Yoongi’s buttons while he’s at it, but hey! Not all heroes go to heaven or whatever.

He grabs his phone from his ass, scrolling back to the e-mail. “So… You wouldn’t mind if I walk up to Y/N right now and tell her ‘Hey! I’ve had an embarrassingly long crush on you and when I heard about this hugging service… I couldn’t miss the chance to shoot my shot! If you’re single and ready to #mingle, then please meet me at the Corner Cafe at 2 PM tomorrow.’” Seokjin sing-songs, snickering loudly when he sees the absolute pain etched onto Yoongi’s face.

There is a pause, and Seokjin waits as Yoongi uses his tiny kitty brain to think of what to do. He can only imagine what’s going inside his head, but he has a guess. Yoongi could either: 1) finally admit his feelings for you and come clean before Seokjin has to deliver your hug, or 2) do something stupid and counterproductive.

It comes as no surprise when Yoongi goes with option number––

“Hyung, let me come with you to work today,” Yoongi decides, walking over Seokjin’s prone body to their shoe rack. He slides into a pair of sneakers, his harried movements unusual for his customary lethargicness. He grabs a coat from its hanger, stomping his feet to get Seokjin to move faster. “C’mon! We have hugs to deliver.”

“Woah woah woah! Slow down there, Simpimus Prime.” Seokjin gets back up to his feet, skipping over to him. An absolutely feral grin is stretched upon his face. “Am I hearing what you’re saying? Are you offering… to deliver hugs with yours truly? Are you finally going to take up my offer to be an employee at Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service?”

“Of course not,” Yoongi scoffs, but his shifting eyes betray him. He fidgets in place, refusing to return Seokjin’s eager gaze. “I just… wanted to go out for once. Yeah.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You haven’t left this apartment other than to go to class in over a month. You never go out. You’re an indoor cat!”

“I’m not a fucking cat,” Yoongi hisses, like a cat. “And of course I go out! There was that one time I went outside to pick up our food delivery last week.”

Judging from Seokjin’s unimpressed stare, Yoongi’s excuse doesn’t cut it. Yoongi flaps his arms around, defeated. “Okay, fine! I rarely go out! Screw me and the bounteous crapload of assignments I have due! It’s not my fault I don’t have the time to socialize and have fun. What do you want from me?”

What Seokjin wants is to push a confession out of Yoongi, not because he needs the confirmation, but mostly because he just wants to annoy Yoongi and say “I told you so!” He’s also pretty cute when he’s all blushy and tsundere whenever he talks about you. Should he film him and sell the footage on eboys.bb? He’s certain that goth boy over here would make a pretty penny.

“You like krabby patties, don’t you Squidward?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Yoongi sniffs, nose upturned. He opens the door, not looking behind him to see Seokjin’s triumphant expression. “C’mon. Y/N’s last class of the day ends in a few minutes and we might catch her before she leaves the Science Building.”

Seokjin snorts. He is quick to slip his own coat on and he follows soon after. He locks their door shut, hopping over to Yoongi and matching his shorter-legged pace. “Yeah. Because you totally just know her schedule at the top of your head. You know, like a normal person.”

Yoongi ignores him. He trudges on, each step filled with determination as they make their way to Seokjin’s beat-up truck. Seokjin skips alongside him, observing the younger boy and placing bets inside his mind. The drive to campus isn’t that long as it only takes around 10 minutes to get there, but Seokjin guesses that Yoongi’s defenses will begin to chip away only 3 minutes into the drive.

He’ll start to realize the gravity of the situation, the cogs in his smooth and slushy excuse of a brain slowly comprehend what he’s about to witness. He’ll first think about how 1) he’s going to see you and that never helps his poor dainty grandpa heart and 2) he’s going to see you hugging Seokjin as he reads to you the short love confession from your anonymous Romeo. Seokjin bets that after 8 minutes, Yoongi will start to break out into a sweat, leaving gross perspiration marks on his good car seat leather.

After exactly 7 minutes and 34 seconds (Seokjin was keeping track of the time on his dashboard), Yoongi’s face turns an unflattering shade of green. “Dude. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Yoongi had originally offered to drive the two of them to campus, but Seokjin had the good foresight to refuse. Had Yoongi been the one on the wheel, he would’ve brought them back home in an instant due to nerves. So instead, Seokjin speeds up, ignoring Yoongi’s soft whimpers of defeat.

“Too bad, but there is no turning back now. I have six deliveries today and I am not putting my livelihood on the line just because your balls have magically shrunk in size,” Seokjin snickers. He glances at Yoongi from the corner of his eye and feels the slightest touch of pity for the pathetic fool beside him. “But if it really makes you want to shit yourself from anxiety, we could save Y/N for last. Though, on second thought… That could also prolong your misery, which I will always be up for.”

“God, shut up,” Yoongi groans, slamming his head on the dashboard. Seokjin continues undeterred as he pulls into the campus parking lot, waiting for his friend to make up his damn mind for once in his life. He supposes that he is being a little harsh on Yoongi, but there are only so many sad love songs he can listen to without going completely insane.

Aren’t you tired of being nice? The demon on his shoulder cajoles, shoving the corpse of his angel counterpart somewhere down a ditch. Don’t you just want to go apeshit?

And who is Seokjin to deny his impulsive needs anyway?

“No, let’s… just get this over with,” Yoongi decides, head still smushed against his dashboard. He doesn’t make any move to get out of the car, not even when Seokjin shuts off the engine and makes a show of “leaving” Yoongi behind.

“Okay, lover boy. You have ten seconds to get your butt into high gear before I’m leaving you behind. And you should know that I’m not above playing dirty and giving Y/N the sweetest fucking hug of her life that will make her forget anyone else exists in this world, so you better start moving before I–”

Like lightning, Yoongi scrambles out of the car faster than if it had caught on fire (and Seokjin’s car has exploded before and Yoongi certainly did not seem as bothered to escape than he does right now.) He nearly trips over himself in his haste, getting caught by the car door and nearly receiving a concrete facial to boot. He straightens up with as much dignity as he can muster (which he doesn’t have very much of, if at all.) Seokjin is kind enough not to mention anything, but the shit-eating grin on his face is enough to make Yoongi bristle.

They exit the parking lot, looking to the world like the sun and moon had turned human for the day. Min Yoongi, with his all-black attire and gaunt appearance, is heavily juxtaposed with the man who appears to have been vomited on by a rainbow. They walk side-by-side together, accustomed to the stares that often come their way when they go out in public.

“I just can’t believe we’re doing this,” Yoongi moans for the umpteenth time, his movements stilted like a robot. His footsteps look heavily disjointed like his knees were beginning to rust. His arms swing like a pendulum, adding to the unnaturalness of his motions. Basically, he looks like a fucking idiot.

“Who are you calling an idiot?” Yoongi snaps. Seokjin startles a bit, realizing belatedly that he’d said that out loud. Not that he cares. Yoongi continues, “I’m not the one wearing a fucking cardboard sign that looks like a toddler made it with macaroni and glitter!”

“Hey, Taehyung told me it looked good,” Seokjin sniffs, fingering the macaroni pieces dejectedly. “I don’t need to hear an opinion from a Music major.”

“Shut up, Business major. No one likes you fucking snakes,” Yoongi retorts, crossing his arms. “Your definition of fun is going on LinkedIn and using Excel sheets.”

Distracted by their own quarrel, neither of them notice the sound of the large clock in the middle of campus that chimes every hour, signaling that it was already 5 PM. A few minutes later, hoards of students begin to leave university for the day, the walkways beginning to fill with people as they head home. Amidst the chattering and bustling of everyone trying to get out of the crowd, it is hard to notice that you are also one of the hundreds of people finishing your last class of the day.

But Yoongi notices, as he always does. Call it Y/N intuition, or whatever. “There,” Yoongi points you out over dozens of heads. Seokjin can hardly spot you, but he trusts Yoongi’s weird Y/N-dar to find you without fail. People have begun to notice the two of them, most of whom were whispering excitedly when they notice that Seokjin is in his work attire.

“Oh my god, someone’s getting a hug-o-gram! I wonder who…”

“Have you ever ordered one? I got one for my current girlfriend last month and that’s how we got together.”

“I’ve always wanted to send one, but the prices are insane! Fuck them business students and their capitalist ways.”

“Screw sending a hug to someone else! I wanna order a hug for me. Kim Seokjin is a hot piece of ass.”

(Yoongi swears the last comment had sounded eerily like Seokjin himself, but the older boy’s mouth hadn’t moved in the last minute.)

“Alright, Yoongi. Here’s the plan,” Seokjin leans closer to Yoongi, stage whispering into his ear. Everyone within a six-foot radius is eagerly eavesdropping, not even bothering to pretend that they aren’t. It’s common knowledge that Seokjin basks in their attention, anyway. Yoongi rolls his eyes, urging him to get it over with.

“Y/N is over there, right? Well, I have to send a hug to this guy named Mark Lee too, who just so happens to be over there,” Seokjin points behind them, in the opposite direction of where Y/N was heading, “so here’s my proposition. You go over to Y/N and deliver the hug for me, while I go catch up to Mark so that we can kill one bird with two stones!”

“Excuse me?” Yoongi wheezes, pushing Seokjin away from him. His eyes bug out. “Are you insane? I am not doing that. And the phrase is ‘killing two birds with one stone,’ you fucking idiot.”

“Same shit, Shakespeare! Who cares about numbers!” Seokjin exclaims, exasperated. “Listen, would you rather you hug Mark and I hug Y/N?”

“I would much rather prefer that I stick my whole fist up your anus,” Yoongi seethes.

“Interesting proposition, but maybe for a later time,” Seokjin says, not missing a beat. “Listen, dude. The longer we prolong this little bitchfest you have going on, the farther away Y/N is gonna get. You know I will stop at nothing to deliver her hug anyway, so would you rather you miss your chance right now when I am so magnanimously offering you a shot at getting closer to your crush?”

Even though Yoongi feels like his insides were slowly turning into mashed potatoes, he knows that he had already made a decision long before they left the house. Seokjin is right; this is a good opportunity for him, whether he is willing to admit it out loud. Perhaps it is just because it is Seokjin of all people who is egging him on that preprogrammed him into thinking that this was a bad idea. In all seriousness, it was just a hug, nothing fancy. It isn’t like Yoongi was going to have to kiss you––

(His heart contracts and Yoongi wonders if he’s having a stroke. The thought of your soft lips connecting with his is enough to cause the wind to knock out of his chest. God, Yoongi is so screwed.)

“Why must I always feel as though I am a snail and God is personally salting me,” Yoongi groans, stepping away from Seokjin and heading your way. Behind him, Seokjin hollers in what he assumes is friendly support, but it only further antagonizes Yoongi. The absolute buffoon waves enthusiastically from behind him, a beaming grin almost ready to split his face in two. Yoongi flips him off without looking back.

God fucking dammit. The closer that Yoongi is to approaching you, the stronger the urge to just evaporate like ice cream on hot concrete becomes. He can feel himself perspiring from every corner of his body and he just hopes that his black attire will do well to mask the slimy creature that he is underneath his clothing.

This is all Seokjin’s fault, Yoongi reminds himself. If he hadn’t started this stupid hugging service in the first place, then no one would have ordered a hug for you in the first place. Then Yoongi wouldn’t have to be in this stupid predicament either!

But you could’ve ordered a hug for her if you wanted to, says the annoying part of his brain – the same part that’s always been a little bit too hopeful for Yoongi’s liking. The whispers continue, And she wouldn’t even know it would be you! But more importantly…

“Seokjin wouldn’t know either,” Yoongi huffs irritably because he knows it’s true. The biggest thing stopping him from ever making a move on you, other than his debilitating fear of rejection and heartbreak, is the fact that he’d rather explode into spores than for Seokjin to find out that he’d used his “genius” business idea to get the girl of his dreams.

He’s afraid that one day, Seokjin would magically develop telepathic powers (a fear that Yoongi feels that the majority of the human population should also share) and find out that Yoongi doesn’t actually think his hug-o-gram service is dumb. It’s actually really cute, and Yoongi hates to admit that the success rate of his service is nearly perfect in terms of getting couples together.

But Yoongi is a strong (read: stubborn) man; he’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin the satisfaction of seeing his business work out for his seemingly hopeless case. Which brings him to the present–

You’re standing by the entrance of the Sciences building. You are dressed nicely as always; Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen you in anything remotely slobby, not even a pair of sweats like any regular uni student. You always look a little bit business proper: the epitome of someone who should be on the student council.

You’re speaking to someone, a younger male student by the looks of it. The hairs on Yoongi’s neck stand at attention and, God forbid, did he just fucking growl? Did he make that sound? By the looks of the students carefully navigating their way around him, Yoongi surmises that he did make that sound. Geez, is he some sort of animal? Is he going to turn into those feral stan accounts on Twitter that salivate over their K-pop boys like it’s their job? He hopes not.

But what if that’s the kid who sent the hug–

Yoongi shuts up his brain before he can let it finish. No, he can’t let himself go down that path. It’ll only cause him to self-combust right then and there, and he isn’t exactly keen on letting you see his entrails anytime soon. That would be the least cool thing to do, he decides. And so, with his brain turned off, he walks over to you, arms swinging robotically by his sides as he forces himself closer.

“Oh thank you so much, Y/N! You’ve been a real help to our club, you know?” The boy (Yoongi can’t believe they’re letting toddlers into university these days!) says, his eyes glittering with an ambition that still hasn’t been killed by the all-consuming dread that comes with university.

You laugh lightly, the sound causing butterflies to flutter excitedly in Yoongi’s chest. “No worries, Soobin. I’m glad I could be of help. If the editorial board needs any more help, don’t be shy to shoot me a message, alright?”

Soobin nods enthusiastically, his head bobbing up and down so quickly that Yoongi was afraid his neck would snap. “No worries, Y/N! Have a good rest of your week!” He waves a cheery goodbye, springing away with his numerous anime keychains on his backpack jingling softly in his wake.

“What a cute kid,” you sigh. You look incredibly fond, and Yoongi hates the bitter coil swimming in the pit of his stomach. That feeling soon fizzles out when you finally turn to face Yoongi. Your eyebrows shoot up, but your expression quickly morphs into one of pleasant surprise. Yoongi’s heart stops for just a moment, feet turning cold. “Yoongi! Oh my goodness, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you! How’s it going?”

Let’s play a game, shall we? How many of Yoongi’s nervous ticks can you spot within the next five minutes? Think of this as the easiest game of Where’s Waldo ever!

“Hnng,” Yoongi stammers, his hand immediately going to scratch the back of his neck. His cheeks pinken, pupils shaking in every different direction as they try to focus on anything but you. It always feels like he’s standing way too close to the sun when he’s around you, hardly able to keep his gaze focused on you. He chooses to stare resolutely at your chin, but even your fucking chin was impossibly cute.

Seriously? Yoongi is a walking shitshow! His inner voice comes back, but this time it sounds uncannily like his roommate. Come on, buddy. Just say hi… You know, like a normal person. “H… Hey, Y/N.”

Success count: 1 point for the Yogurt Machine!

Even though Yoongi felt like he was living his worst nightmare, you still looked every bit like his favorite daydream. You are all smiles, seemingly unperturbed by Yoongi’s slow, embarrassing demise. “It’s so good to see you! Midterms haven’t been too hard on you, I hope?”

“I’ve been better,” he says. Better now that you’re here, he leaves unsaid. God, can you imagine if he said that out loud?

Your mouth drops open, soft cherry blossoms blooming across your cheeks. “Um, what did you say?” you squeak, embarrassed. But certainly not as embarrassed as the boy in front of you.

Yoongi stops breathing. He did not say that aloud, had he? Judging by the awkward silence stretching between the two of you, the signs are pointing to: yes. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygo–– “Er, what I mean to say is,” Yoongi stutters through his sentence, his entire body flushing fire engine red like it’s nobody’s business. He must look like Satan’s spanked ass right now. “I… I’m here to deliver a hug!”

Confusion quickly replaces the shock on your face. You tilt your head, brows scrunching up cutely. “A hug?” you ask.

“R-right,” Yoongi says, waving his arms around because he has nothing else better to do. He gestures vaguely in the opposite direction, where Seokjin had left to find his other clients. “I’m, uhh… Helping my roommate. Have you heard of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram service?”

“Oh, yeah!” You hop excitedly in place, looking to all the world like the cutest thing in the universe. Yoongi thinks you should be classified as a public hazard, what with how you’re somehow able to give him diabetes just from standing next to him. “I totally heard about that! I’ve always wanted to send a hug, but I’ve always been a little shy.”

That piques Yoongi’s interest immediately. You wanted to send a hug? But to who? He unconsciously clenches his jaw, and he can feel a vein pop up near his neck. He forces himself to smile, but he knows it probably looks more like a grimace. “Oh really? That’s… I didn’t know you had a crush on somebody.”

Yoongi is too busy wallowing in his own self-pity puddle that he misses the way you gaze shyly up at him through your eyelashes, your hands clasped behind your back. “Y-yea… I don’t really go around telling it to just anybody,” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can. You clear your throat. “So, are you here to deliver a hug or something?”

Nothing gets past you, huh? Yoongi swallows thickly as he twiddles his thumbs. He still can’t bear to look at you head-on, afraid that his emotions would be too obvious if he did. (Who is he kidding… He knows he’s fucking obvious, and yet you never seem to get the picture!) “Yea, I am. I’m here to deliver one to you, actually.”

He doesn’t get to see your reaction, but he does notice the way your entire body stiffens. His mind immediately starts to run a minute, trying to guess why you’d suddenly gone stock still.

Did you know who your secret admirer was already? Or perhaps, were you just thoroughly shocked to receive one at all? That can’t be it… You’re the campus sweetheart! Surely it’s much weirder that it has taken eons for you to get your first hug… Or perhaps, are you so disgusted by the thought of him delivering the hug? Oh my god, what if you didn’t want him to hug you? Shit, this entire thing is a terrible idea! How did Seokjin ever convince him to do this stupid shit and get his heartbroken in the process? He swears he’s going to shove ten firecrackers up his ass the next time he sees him––

“Um, Yoongi?” You’re staring worriedly at him, your hand semi-raised as if you were about to wave in front of him. Did you say something? He must look like a fucking prick to you! He shakes his head, trying desperately to get his mind back into his body. Why must he be cursed with inner monologue disease? What is he, some sort of shoujo manga male protagonist?

“Sorry about that. I’ve been a little spacey these days,” he laughs, but even he can hear the panic laced in his voice. He sounds just on the edge of being hysterical. “Ahaha… What were you saying?”

“I was just… shocked?” You giggle softly, making Yoongi cry internally. You smirk, mischief glittering in your eyes. “I just never imagined you’d be the type to… I don’t know…”

“Willingly hug people for the sake of capitalism? I feel you,” Yoongi snorts, forgetting for a moment who he’s talking to. “Believe me, I’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin to use me for his stupid business venture.”

“Then why are you delivering a hug to me now?” you ask, still smiling.

“Hnng,” Yoongi’s tongue feels like it’s grown two sizes all of a sudden. He wheezes, choking on his own spit as he’s caught off guard by your question. “W-well, I––”

“Just being a good friend, I’m guessing?” You’re full-on giggling now, barely trying to hide your mirth behind your hands. Yoongi understands now; you’re teasing him. He hates how amused you are by his awkwardness, but he loves the way your entire expression lights up, like you’re enjoying yourself by being with him.

“Let’s go with that,” Yoongi mumbles, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. He has his head bowed, hoping that his unruly fringe can finally come in handy and hide the disastrous blush encompassing his face. “Right… I’ll just, umm…”

“Am I getting my hug today, or am I gonna have to take a rain check?” You laugh, slapping his shoulder in an attempt to help him shake off the awkward tension. It has the opposite intended effect, as Yoongi’s breath hitches imperceptibly at your proximity. You had taken a step closer, and Yoongi could smell the sweet perfume you always seemed to be wearing. Please don’t pop a boner right now. That would be super fucking creepy.

“You’re…” Yoongi hesitates, arms uselessly immobile by his sides. He doesn’t know if he can even get them to move at this point, as he has lost all motor skills the moment you had focused all your attention on him. It’s a miracle that his heart remembers to beat every so often. “I’m just… I’m just gonna go for it, okay?”

You nod, hands tucked neatly behind your back. “No need to be scared, Yoongi. I don’t bite,” you joke.

God, if you only knew about the dreams I’ve had of you. Yoongi hopes to all the deities from up above that he had not said that aloud, but you don’t seem to be disgusted, so he can only assume that his traitorous brain had disconnected with his mouth for the time being.

He shuffles closer to you, the warmth of your body closing in as he makes the grueling effort to lift his arms up to gently wrap themselves around you, but before he can even fully hug you––

You’re quick to reciprocate. With a small laugh, you wrap your own arms around his torso, nuzzling into his chest with more force than Yoongi was expecting. He lets out a soft wheeze, mouth dropping open when he is assaulted by the smell of your fruity shampoo. His hands hover awkwardly above you, still unsure of where it’s okay to touch you without weirding you out.

You tilt your face up, eyes crinkling cutely by the sheer force of your grin. Both of your faces are only centimeters away from each other, and Yoongi could probably count your eyelashes if he so desired. His breathing stills as he becomes positively mesmerized by the beautiful sight in front of him. He doesn’t even hear the sound of phone camera shutters around him, as he is much too deeply focused on nothing but you, you, you.

“Hey, don’t half-ass your hug! Gimme a good ol’ bear hug!” you whine, nudging his elbows gently to get them to move. Snapped out of his reverie, Yoongi mechanically does as you say, his head completely empty of thoughts. He wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders, his wrist knocking slightly against the back of your head until you’re back to snuggling deep into his chest.

“Your laundry detergent smells nice,” you say, slightly muffled by his shirt. Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, mostly out of disbelief more than anything. He can’t even begin to process anything right now; he feels like he’s reverted back into a single-celled organism.

“Thanks?” Yoongi squeaks, but you don’t seem to mind his awkward attempts at being a Normal Person™️. You crane your neck upwards so that you’re looking him directly in the eye. There’s a twinkle of mischief there, like you’re enjoying Yoongi’s flushed face a little too much. He honestly feels like he’s seconds away from exploding into tiny bite-sized pieces, and he fears that if you snuggle deeper into his chest, he might just do exactly that.

“So… Are we just supposed to hug for another ten minutes, or am I allowed to let go?”

Yoongi doesn’t even realize how long it’s been. You could’ve been hugging him for ten hours and he wouldn’t have known. Yoongi jerks away from you, nearly vaulting himself across campus by how quickly he lets you go. Thankfully, you don’t appear offended––you were more amused than anything. Yoongi has no idea how red he is right now; he feels like he could be blowing steam out of his ears, astounding anatomists everywhere by his peculiar talent.

“I just have to–” Yoongi pats his back pockets for his phone, clumsily pulling it out and looking for his text messages, “–read this message from your, um, secret admirer and then we’ll be good to go.”

“Great.” You nod at him enthusiastically. “Whenever you’re ready, Yoonie.”

Yoongi’s breath hitches right then, caught off guard by the nickname. Only you ever called him that, and it never fails to make Yoongi’s insides feel like molten lava every time you say it. “I… Yeah, here goes,” Yoongi mutters, trying his best to remember how to speak.

He recites the message with as much enthusiasm as he can manage, which is to say, not very much. He could probably read the phonebook with more zeal, but it’s hard to give it his all when the words feel like acid in his throat. He’s unconsciously clenching his jaw as he speaks, looking like a constipated gorilla. “...so, if you’re single and ready to #mingle, then––” Yoongi stops mid-sentence, staring resolutely at his phone screen with a grimace.

You blink confusedly. “Then?”

“Then nothing,” Yoongi finishes, pocketing his phone without an inch of remorse. “I don’t know what was up with that message, but somehow the letter got cut short. Sorry about that.”

“Huh, strange.” You shrug your shoulders, not bothering to question him.

Yoongi fist bumps himself mentally, though other people might disagree and say that he doesn’t deserve any type of congratulations, to which Yoongi says a big “fuck you!” to those imaginary haters. In the wise words of Kim Seokjin himself, “not everyone is worthy to receive your fucks, so it’s time to stop giving them.” (Kim, 2020)

“Well, that was fun! Thanks for delivering the hug to me, Yoonie,” you pinch Yoongi’s cheek, giggling when they turn even redder. “I’ll see you around, I guess? Don’t let those midterms kill ya!” You wave cheerily at him, walking past him and heading towards the bus stops. Yoongi stands frozen in place, the events of the last few minutes finally catching up to him and frying his brain beyond repair.

Oh my god, he fucking hugged you! Like, a good and genuine hug! You felt so warm and so soft and you smelled really good and it was more than he could ever imagine and just––

Yoongi’s brain is trying (and failing) to desperately parse the delayed barrage of information as it comes, but it’s hard for the little hamster running circles in his head when it has never had to run a day in its life. Yoongi’s body feels like it’s overheating even though the weather is nearing the start of winter, but that’s all thanks to you and the devastating effect you have on him.

In short, Yoongi machine has broken, and any sort of maintenance is going to be hard to come by at the moment.

Yoongi could have been standing in front of the Science building for an entire year and he wouldn’t have budged until a tornado in the form of Kim Seokjin arrived to knock him out of his brain dead state. Whistling lowly, the elder stops in front of the rigid mass of meat, an eyebrow quirked in exasperation. “Dude, nice rigor mortis cosplay. Like, yes girl, give us nothing!” he exclaims, slapping Yoongi back to consciousness.

Yoongi blinks rapidly, dazed like he’s woken up from a dream. “What? What’s happening?” he replies dumbly.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Yoongi. Did you finish delivering Y/N’s hug or what? I finished all my deliveries in the same time you had with Y/N, so I better hope to God you aren’t planning on applying to be an employee of mine, because you certainly have a long way to go before––”

“I hugged her,” Yoongi interrupts, eyes going glassy once more. His mouth is agape, and Seokjin can see a pool of saliva forming, ready to runneth over. He could see the rusted gears turning inside his dongsaeng’s head. “Oh my god, hyung. I fucking hugged her.”

“Yeah, and I hugged Taehyung Kim and felt his gigantic dick press into my stomach. You aren’t special,” Seokjin snorts, clasping Yoongi by the bicep. He drags him away, leading them to their parked car. “C’mon, Dampé. I’m tired and I wanna eat popcorn again.”

As they walk back to the parking lot, the campus roads are a lot less populated now that most students have gone home. Yoongi only then realizes how late it truly is and he vaguely wonders how long he had been stuck standing there before Seokjin had come to drag him back home. The sun has begun its daily descent, filling the courtyard with a warm glow and causing their shadows to grow longer as they trudge quietly to their car.

The campus is quiet enough that both of them hear the quiet buzz of Seokjin’s phone, despite him putting it on silent mode before he had gone on his hugging deliveries. He stops mid-step, causing Yoongi to bump his nose into his wide back. He yelps, shoving Seokjin forward in irritation.

“Why’d you fucking stop, you asshole?” Yoongi whines, his normal annoying personality resurfacing now that he’s begun to recover from your hug. He peers over Seokjin’s behemoth shoulders, squinting at his phone screen. “What? Another hug delivery?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it tomorrow since I think she’s gone home for the day,” Seokjin says, his tone sounding slightly too delighted for comfort. “In fact, I know she’s gone home already.”

Yoongi stills, changing his focus onto the elder’s expression. He looks… too eager to receive a simple hug-o-gram request. A shiver shoots through Yoongi’s spine when he realizes how nefariously bastardous Seokjin’s smile has grown, the tips of his smirk curling upwards like a villain from a classic Disney animation.

“What?” Yoongi glares acidly at Seokjin, but the elder is unaffected. In fact, he seems to grow more pleased the more aggravated Yoongi becomes. “Spit it out! What’s got your prostate tickled?”

“Oh, nothing,” Seokjin singsongs, shoving his phone down the front of his pants, exactly where he knows Yoongi would never touch. “Just got an interesting new regular customer, is all.”

“A new regular?” Yoongi’s pitch heightens, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling in alarm (like a cat.) “Is it… Another request for… You know who?”

“I wasn’t aware Voldemort went to our university,” Seokjin teases, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s distress. “Though, if you’re talking about Y/N, then the answer is not not not no.”

“Two double negatives.” Anyone could hear the audible soft rattling of his two brain cells exerting themselves as Yoongi deciphers his answer. “That means…”

Yoongi stares pointedly at Seokjin’s crotch, where the outline of his phone is glaringly obvious. “Show me,” Yoongi growls, not making a move to actually touch Seokjin’s nether regions.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. “No one’s stopping you from taking my phone though?”

“Hyung!”

“Buy me bubble tea first, then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” Yoongi acquiesces, folding his arms in annoyance. “Just tell me. Is it really the same guy who requested the hug for Y/N today as well?”

Seokjin fiddles around for his phone, digging deeper when it nearly drops down the leg of his pants. When he pulls it out and swipes to his e-mails, he confirms Yoongi’s fear. “Yep. And it seems like he saw you deliver the hug today. Says that he’d prefer that I deliver the hug next time,” Seokjin smirks, enjoying the deep-set frown on Yoongi’s face.

When Seokjin takes a closer look at the order, however, he notices something a little off. “Hold on a sec,” he scrolls to the receipt, scowling when he sees the incorrect amount. “Well, you might be in luck, Yoongi-chi. Looks like loverboy sent the wrong payment. He’s a few dollars short.”

“What?” Yoongi says, for what feels like the tenth time in this entire fic. He grabs Seokjin’s phone, no longer repulsed by where it had been only a few minutes prior. Like Seokjin said, the customer had given the wrong amount, much to both their confusion.

“That’s weird, considering he just ordered a hug today,” Seokjin murmurs, shaking his head. “Oh well. Happens to the best of us. Guess I’ll just have to refund the poor sap.”

“Wait,” Yoongi presses the phone to his chest, preventing Seokjin from taking it. His hyung raises a brow.

“What is it?”

“What if I just… pay you the remaining amount? Then I can also deliver the hug to her and, uhh...” Yoongi mumbles the remaining part, but Seokjin has trained his ears to catch every whisper and mutter for moments just like this. He wouldn’t be where he is today if he didn’t perfect his eavesdropping skills to a spy’s degree. That’s right––Seokjin is a sloppy and nosey bitch and he’s not afraid to admit it!

“Oh? Do my ears deceive me?” Seokjin guffaws, pinching Yoongi’s cheeks for good measure. He hisses in response, but Seokjin isn’t afraid of some little kitten. Seokjin is a bigger bitch with a meaner bite. “Is my little Yoongi Woongi seriously offering to deliver another hug to Miss Y/N? How magnanimous of you.”

Yoongi stares at him, stunned for a moment. A few seconds pass before he shakes his head, faux disdain coloring his expression. “That’s right,” Yoongi huffs, detaching himself from Seokjin’s meaty claws. He keeps his gaze averted, like the big stupid tsundere that he is. “I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart! I care about your profits, and I want to make your workload a little lighter! Isn’t that what you want?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Seokjin snickers, poking Yoongi in the tit. He swivels away, skipping merrily away to their parked car. “I’m expecting that cash in my Paypal by the time I get to the car, or else the deal is off. Make it snappy, loverboy!”

Yoongi had never transferred cash to someone so quickly in his life.

(Yes, not even when the food court on campus was doing a BOGO promo for churros. That’s the extent of how whipped his ass is, period.)

x x x x x

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font.

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

“Listen, I’m seriously not forcing you to do this,” Seokjin starts, even though he’s giving his utmost effort to further embarrass Yoongi by handing out flyers about Hug-o-gram’s newest employee. “Please, take one!” he cajoles, offering a flyer to a gaggle of giggling freshmen. “Make sure to reserve a hug within the week! Yoongi-chi over here is on his way to becoming employee of the month if he gets ten requests by Friday!” They all point and whisper at Yoongi, and he swears he hears one of them wolf whistle in admiration.

“That’s what makes this entire thing terrible. I’m doing this on my own volition, and I absolutely abhor myself for it,” Yoongi moans, grabbing Seokjin’s stack of flyers and smacking himself in the head with them. It probably would’ve hurt more when Seokjin still had a full-stack, but people had swarmed them the moment they entered the heart of the campus, everyone curious to see Yoongi in his interesting attire.

Seokjin might have been famous for creating the Hug-o-gram Service, but Yoongi was famous for hating the business idea, so it’s easy to understand why everyone was interested. (For good reason, he thinks darkly to himself.)

“Damn, Yoongi-chi. Looks like you’re trending on the campus Reddit page,” Seokjin laughs, wheezing even harder when Yoongi points him with a murderous glare. “What? Like you said, this was all your idea.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask to wear… whatever this is!” Yoongi whines, tugging on the string around his neck. The cardboard sign had been ready and prepared the moment they arrived home the other day, arousing Yoongi’s suspicions on Seokjin’s actual involvement in his current predicament. Those suspicions are put in the backburner for now, however, as Yoongi actually feels like he might die of embarrassment instead of the packets of MSG coursing through his veins from the ten ramen packs he ate this morning. Maybe both will kill him, if he’s lucky.

“Well, I would love to lend you my uniform, but I haven’t gotten a t-shirt printed with your face on it yet, so you’ll have to deal with the kitten ears and cardboard sign for now,” Seokjin says, patting him on the back. “Or, would you rather I have you wear a shirt with my face on it? I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’d rather swallow a Tide pod, thanks,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth. “C’mon, let’s move. We’ve been standing in the middle of campus like street clowns for long enough. We need to find Y/N because her class is about to end.”

“Street clowns, huh? I guess you are only missing the make-up to complete the look, especially since you seem adamant to keep honking your way through that sickening crush of yours.” Seokjin nearly catches a punch to the head, but his superior reaction time saves him from Yoongi’s sorely lacking physicality. He snatches Yoongi by the hand, dragging them towards your lecture hall. “C’mon, clown! Let’s honk this bread!”

As the two of them get closer to where you are, Yoongi’s heartbeat begins to accelerate. He wonders idly if he should see a doctor after all this, hoping that he hadn’t actually contracted heart disease due to all this stress. Lord forbid that he meet his end before he even gets to ask you out or something!

Even though he’s already hugged you once (and it was, by far, the most euphoric experience of his sad, miserable life), he still finds himself getting clammy hands at the thought of seeing you again. Nevermind the fact that he looked like a walking circus with his get-up… No, Yoongi refuses to think about it anymore, lest his last remaining brain wrinkle irreversibly smoothens.

The campus clock rings loudly, signaling the end of another block of classes. Students rush out of the buildings, with you being one of the first ones out for a change. When Yoongi spots your head of hair among the crowd, he doesn’t immediately notice what you’re wearing at first. In fact, it’s Seokjin who stops in his tracks for a moment, surprised by how you look.

“Woah, Y/N! Looking good,” Seokjin greets, rushing past Yoongi to envelop you in a hug. (A platonic hug, Yoongi reminds himself. Because unlike Yoongi, Seokjin is a normal human being who can give hugs to anyone he wants because he’s… fucking Seokjin! Lucky bastard that he is.)

“Woah!” You laugh, surprised by the sudden hug. You pat him on the back giddily, allowing him to swing you around a little. “What’s this all about? Am I getting a hug-o-gram again?”

“Yes, you are. But not from me,” Seokjin detaches himself from you, scooting away to point at Yoongi. When Seokjin moves away, Yoongi finally understands why his hyung had said you looked good. No, that was an understatement––you looked [redacted].

(For the sake of the author’s fragile ash-coated heart, she has chosen to redact Yoongi’s exact words to protect herself from slamming her head against a keyboard from how cheesy this fic is becoming. Let’s just say the word starts with a B and ends with an L. Make of that as you will.)

You must have come out of an interview or presentation of sorts because you were dressed more nicely than you usually do, which is a pretty big deal considering how put together you always looked. Your hair is styled nicely, obviously given much more care and effort than your regular appearance. You’re wearing a cute little black dress, long enough to be professional but short enough to give Yoongi breathing problems.

If Yoongi’s brain had a playlist, it would be nothing but the sound of him going HNNNNNNNNNG on repeat.

“Oh geez.” Yoongi curses lowly, smiling through the pain. This is fine, he thinks, even though it is clearly not fine. Yoongi has always been a terrible liar.

“Yoongi?” You sound incredulous, though that’s honestly a win in Yoongi’s book considering everything. You didn’t look disgusted, so that’s great. “You look…” You stop yourself, covering your mouth to hide your grin but your amusement is palpable. At least he made you laugh, he supposes.

“Like a fucking idiot? You said it,” Yoongi snorts, arms crossed defiantly. He’s trying to look intimidating, but with his cheeks puffed up and these abominable kitten ears on his head, he looks more like a grumpy cat throwing a tantrum. He juts a thumb at Seokjin, “Thank this himbo for the outfit. I definitely would have chosen something more… inconspicuous.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” You quip, still trying to mask your giggles. On the other hand, Seokjin was wheezing like a hyena, his phone pulled out and presumably filming Yoongi to add to his cringe compilation.

“Exactly what I said!” Seokjin says through his laughter, tears of mirth streaming down his face. He walks back to Yoongi, pushing him forward until he’s face to face with you. “Go on, then! We haven’t got all day!”

“I’m assuming you’re officially part of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram business now?” you ask, opening your arms wide to accept his hug. Like the beta male that he is, Yoongi has to be the one to follow in your footsteps, meekly coming closer to wrap you in an embrace.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Yoongi mutters, tucking his chin onto your shoulder. He feels you vibrate with laughter, bringing a small smile on his own face. He likes making you laugh, always has.

With the cardboard sign serving as a barrier between the two of you, he isn’t as fearful of you feeling the erratic beat of his heart, though it wouldn’t be hard to guess if you looked at him. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy your hug rather than just panic through the entire ordeal like yesterday.

Soon enough, you’re detaching yourself from him, still standing close. Your arm is just a hair’s breadth away, and if not for Seokjin enthusiastically videotaping this entire experience, Yoongi might have closed in for another hug if he could manage.

“It’s always nice to get a hug from someone you like, huh?” You say, cheeks tinted a rosy color. The true meaning of your words flies over Yoongi’s head, as his feeble mind chooses to focus on your comment a little differently.

“I––Of course I like you! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Yoongi laughs nervously, unaware that he’s slowly digging himself into a ditch. To the side, Seokjin audibly slaps a hand to his face, body shivering with secondhand embarrassment from being blasted by the full force of how idiotic his friend actually is.

Yoongi sees you deflate a little, further confusing him. “Yeah, you’re right I guess…” You sigh, taking a step backward dejectedly. Yoongi flounders a little, unsure how he managed to fuck up in just a few seconds when you had just hugged him like your life depended on it.

Choosing now to interfere before the going gets rough, Seokjin steps in between and slings an arm around both of you. Yoongi groans under the weight of his arm, glaring when he notices that Seokjin had done it on purpose, but only to him. You don’t look too bothered by his rude gesture, albeit you were more befuddled than before.

“Hey, Y/N! I don’t know if you’ve ever ordered a hug-o-gram before, but I’m doing a special this week! Now that Yoongi-chi has so kindly joined the team,” Seokjin gives him a pointed look, to which the black-haired music major sticks his tongue out petulantly, “we’re doing a little promotion for first-time customers! Would you be interested in ordering one?”

Your eyes widen, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “M-me? Ordering a hug-o-gram? Well, I…” you hesitate, sending a small glance at Yoongi before looking away in embarrassment. “I would like to, but I don’t know if it’ll be well received, you see…”

Seokjin grumbles, silently cursing the stupid shithead who caused his own demise in the first place. The worst part is that he had no idea that he totally just friendzoned you! YOU! Someone who was literally leagues ahead of him. He sincerely has no idea what you see in this bumbling idiot, but everyone with a brain knows that you have been crushing on him for as long as he’s been crushing on you, so perhaps you’re a little bit of an idiot yourself for liking him back.

Being friends with the two of you makes him feel like he’s constantly wearing a sloppy wet diaper, and he hates it. He wants to wipe his ass as soon as possible!

Seokjin shoves Yoongi away roughly, ignoring his indignant squawks as he pulls you aside. He takes you by the hand, taking you a few steps away from Yoongi, far enough that he can whisper into your ear without the other boy hearing.

Yoongi fumes from the sidelines, trying to keep his emotions in check even though he’s bursting at the seams with jealousy. Not for the first time, Yoongi irritably realizes that he does act like a cat, especially in moments like this. He might make fun of Seokjin for being an attention whore, but Yoongi is the same, if only at a smaller scale. He just wants you to look at him, as selfish as that sounds.

Can someone give him a break? He’s been holding in his crush for four years now… Imagine having to take a massive shit after drinking two gallons of milk while being lactose intolerant, except every time you line up for the washroom, the line gets increasingly long no matter how long you wait. That is the extent of his suffering, he tells himself. So please, excuse his dramatics for this one instance.

(Seokjin’s Note: This fucking jackass is SO stupid. If he only knew how easy it is to ask you out, he would know that his emotional constipation could be solved if he just fucking ASKED where the next washroom is. He could have relieved himself ages ago, but NO! And he calls me the idiot! Me! The utter betrayal! I’m never agreeing to become the second lead to a rom-com ever again!)

When Seokjin finishes whispering in your ears, you appear amused by what he had said. Yoongi sweats when you turn to face him, grinning slyly at him. “Is that so…” you wonder aloud. Yoongi feels like the world has shifted on its axis somewhat, though he still doesn’t know exactly how. He has a hunch that he’s going to find out soon enough.

“Would I ever lie to you?” Seokjin laughs that annoying laugh of his, slapping his thigh in the process. He straightens up almost immediately, his expression turning deadpan in an instant. “Send me the details by tonight, and I’ll make sure to deliver it, okay?”

“Promise?” You ask, holding a pinky up towards him. Yoongi might have let out a high pitched sob when he sees the gesture, wanting nothing more than to cup your hands in his. God, if he already nearly died from hugging you, who is to say Yoongi won’t immediately disintegrate if you were ever to hold his hand?

“Promise,” Seokjin replies, linking his pinky with yours. He doesn’t forget to point a shit-eating grin at Yoongi, for good measure.

You pull away, looking happier than you did moments prior. You were absolutely glowing, filling Yoongi with a warmth that only you ever knew how to provide. He wants to make you smile like that all the time, wants nothing more than for you to live beside him, filling his walls with the sound of your tinkling laughter. You wave cheerily at the both of them, stepping away to head home. “I guess I’ll see you, then? I’ll make sure to e-mail you my request, Seokjin!” you say, winking teasingly. “Bye to you too, Yoongi! Thanks for the hug!”

Yoongi watches as you walk further and further away as the usual melancholy that follows whenever you leave soon takes its place in his soul. It might be his imagination, but Yoongi thinks the cat ears on his head might have started to droop to match his mood.

The only way he knows how to replace the sadness, however, is by redirecting those emotions on an unsuspecting victim. Lucky for him, a willing volunteer is already within punching distance.

“Ow! Stop punching me, you gremlin!” Seokjin whines, blocking Yoongi’s series of punches like a pro. He might as well put ‘professional punching bag’ on his resume at this point. “I’m trying to help you, you useless beta male!”

“How is this helping! You made me wear cat ears and whispered blasphemies into Y/N’s ears! Now she’s going to order a hug-o-gram for her crush and it’ll be the end of my chances with her! How could you!”

“I was not whispering blasphemies, you twittering tit! I was giving her advice,” Seokjin sniffs, annoyed. “Don’t say I never help you, by the way. I’ve been trying to help you for years now.”

Yoongi hits him with a steely glare. “Really? So replacing all my clothes in my closet with clown attire is your version of help? I had to wear those stupid clown shoes for a week before you told me where you hid my clothes, jackass!”

“I was only trying to help you physically express yourself! You’re already a clown on paper, might as well help you achieve your final form!” Seokjin huffs, infuriatingly haughty. “Listen, believe me. I only told Y/N something that everyone already knows anyway, so just shut your trap and let Daddy handle the rest. You’re not going to lose her, I promise.”

“Please never refer to yourself as Daddy ever again,” Yoongi seethes, stalking off towards their car. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

“No talk, Yoobie angy…” Seokjin snickers to himself, following Yoongi with a spring in his step. This bastard is going to grovel at his feet by tomorrow evening, he’s sure of it. If he doesn’t, then Seokjin will bite his own dick in half––that’s how sure he is of his plan! (Not that biting his dick in half will do anything to his length; he’d still be left with eight inches, let’s be real.) All in good time.

x x x x x

Seokjin gets an e-mail the next morning, much earlier than any sane person would choose to be awake at. He groans lowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tries to read the contents of the letter. When he’s satisfied by what he has read, he forwards the e-mail to Yoongi before allowing sleep to take him once more.

Sleep evades him, however, when the sound of Yoongi’s big feet pounds noisily outside his bedroom. He hits his knee loudly against the coffee table, causing their beloved popcorn machine to tumble to the floor, but that is of little consequence to Yoongi right now. No, he needs to get into Seokjin’s room right now and scream––

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Yoongi hollers, slamming Seokjin’s door open. The hinges creak, desperately hanging on despite the impact. Yoongi proceeds to slam a fist upon Seokjin’s ass, who barely flinches due to the fatness of his ass cushioning most of the damage. He blinks blearily at Yoongi, but the smirk on his face is clear as day.

“Came to claim your hug so early in the morning? Well, I usually don’t entertain clients until after I’ve taken a shower, but for you… I’ll make an exception,” he yawns, peeling back his blanket and patting the empty spot on his bed. “Come on in, Yoobie Boobie… Let’s hug like it’s the last day on earth.”

Seokjin fails to realize that once he removed his blanket, he had inadvertently left himself vulnerable. Yoongi slams the heel of his foot against Seokjin’s groin, causing him to shriek bloody murder at 7 AM. He wonders, amidst his pain, whether this might be the last straw and that their landlord will finally kick them out after years of their stupid shenanigans.

“WHAT DID THAT E-MAIL MEAN? IF IT’S WHAT I THINK IT IS…” Yoongi threatens, but it’s as empty as Seokjin’s butthole. They both know the implications of that e-mail, even a toddler can put two and two together and make sense out of it. Anonymous e-mail or not, Seokjin wouldn’t just forward any hug-o-gram request to Yoongi, unless…

What did the e-mail say? It goes something like:

Dear Mr. Kim,

Thank you for offering your special promotion for new time customers of your Hug-o-gram Service! I’ve always been a quiet fan of your business idea, but I’ve always been a little shy to submit a request of my own. Thank you so much for giving me the little push that I needed to send my first (and hopefully last) hug.

I’d like to send a hug to Mr. Min Yoongi from the Music Department. I understand that he has recently been appointed an employee at your business, but seeing as how it’d be difficult for him to hug himself (while not entirely impossible), I’d like to request that you be the one to send the hug to him.

I don’t really have a message for him, per se… I’m still a little shy, even though you already told me that there is no reason to be. I want to believe what you said was true, so I’m pushing my fear aside and putting my fate into your hands. So, to Mr. Min Yoongi… “When I told you it was nice to hug someone you like, I don’t think you understood what I meant. A hug, after all, is a two-way street. They’re often served the best when it is reciprocated, if you catch my drift. :)”

Peace! :3

Regards,

[Redacted] [Redacted]

“Have your brain synapses finished connecting? Because if even this flies over your head, I’m sorry to say buddy but… You might have smooth brain syndrome,” Seokjin pipes up. He observes Yoongi’s brow crumpling, the first signal of his impending mental breakdown. If Seokjin remembers correctly, the next signal should be when––

Yoongi drops down to his knees, his phone clattering to the floor as he stares absently at the ceiling. Seokjin cringes, worried for the state of his friend’s frail kneecaps. The poor sap has bad heart health already; surely, it isn’t too early to get him a life alert button?

Seokjin scooches over his bed, dangling half his body over the edge to appraise his friend. “So. What do you plan to do now?”

For a moment, Yoongi remains silent. Eventually, he shuffles closer to him, perching his hands around Seokjin. The business student raises a brow, confused, until Yoongi pushes Seokjin back onto the middle of the bed so that he can cram himself beside Seokjin on his small double bed. He huffs amusedly, allowing the smaller boy to snuggle into his chest, though he still refuses to wrap his arms around him. Close enough, Seokjin snorts.

“I need your help, hyung.” Yoongi’s voice is small, shy. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Seokjin immediately softens. They might act like toddlers together the majority of the time, but Seokjin truly does care about Yoongi more than anything. During early mornings like this, when the sun’s soft rays are filtering through his sheer curtains and filling the room with a gentle warmth, it’s nice to cuddle up with one another and enjoy the silence. In fact, Seokjin would never admit it to Yoongi, but he got the idea for his Hug-o-gram service from Yoongi himself, back when the younger boy would be more prone to sneaking into his bed during his bouts of loneliness and homesickness.

Above all else, Yoongi is just a boy with a lot of love to give, so who is Seokjin to say no to his pleas for help?

“You know I always got your back, Yoongi-chi. Whenever you’re ready, we can do whatever you want. Ask and you’ll receive,” he replies, caressing his soft black tresses. Yoongi hums, smiling softly into his chest.

“Thanks, dude. For being… you know.”

Seokjin’s heart pangs a little, but he ignores it. Instead, he continues combing through his hair, humming gently. “I know.”

x x x x x

It’s been a few days since you sent the e-mail to Seokjin and you haven’t heard back from him. You aren’t sure if he sends confirmation e-mails to his clients as you’d never asked for a hug-o-gram before, nor did you know anyone who has. You are forced to continue on with your days like normal, trying to ignore the unsettling anxiety from creeping up your throat and spewing all over the sidewalk.

If Seokjin hadn’t been lying to you, then there shouldn’t be anything to worry about. You’ve been harboring this crush on Yoongi for years now, and you never thought in your life that it would ever be reciprocated. He always seemed a little bit detached, a little too cool for you. Never mind the fact that he always seemed so jittery around you, like it was hard to talk to you or something!

Your answer comes on the last day of the week, after an especially rough day at class. Your back is bent, having finished a grueling four hour lab period where you did nothing but stand and stare at your reaction vessel spinning without any signal of change. You are just a little bit hangry from all the stress piling up on your plate, especially since you hadn’t eaten a decent meal since breakfast at 8 AM.

In short, life isn’t going as smoothly as you’d hoped for your senior year, but you can’t let the blues get to you too soon. After all, there are leftover chicken wings in your fridge with your name on it, and nothing beats your meat more than greasy poultry to end a terrible week.

You’re only inches away from sliding your keycard to open your shared dorm room when the door opens without prompting. You flinch backward, yelping loudly when your roommate Park Jimin grins slyly from the doorway––never a good sign, if you knew anything.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jimin says, leaning casually against the door like he hadn’t just scared the living shit out of you. He takes one glance at your disheveled hair and lightly sweaty clothes before grimacing in disgust. “Girl, I can’t let you meet the love your life while you’re looking like that. Come on, we have a few minutes before he arrives. Let’s get you freshened up.”

“I’m sorry?” You squeak, allowing your roommate to manhandle you into your own home. He pushes you into your room, depositing you roughly onto your unmade bed. You try to make eye contact with him, but he’s too busy raiding your closet to pay you much attention. “Excuse me? What did you say just now?”

“No time, princess! Your Prince Charming is on the way, and I’ve been ordered by Seokjin to prepare you for this life-changing moment, so get your ass into gear and change into this!” He shoves a clean pair of jeans and a nicer-looking blouse at you before proceeding to grab your hairbrush and comb your tresses with the gentleness of a mother tigress. You shriek when the brush gets tangled in an especially stubborn knot, but Jimin is relentless. He nearly tears your hair by the roots, ignoring your pained whines.

“Will you fucking stop! I have literally no idea why you’re acting like a psycho all of a sudden–” You shout when Jimin begins to undress you, having to kick him in the chest to get him away from completely eradicating your remaining traces of dignity. “Okay, fine! I’ll dress myself! Just get out of my room and fucking stay away!”

Jimin looks at you dubiously for a split second, before eventually acquiescing. “You have two minutes to get changed. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, do you?” he says, smirking knowingly. He better dread the day that you finally wipe that annoying twinkle in his eye; it’s been a long time coming.

Left alone to your own devices, you do as Jimin says even though you’re still wildly confused by everything. To think you had been so excited to feast on your chicken wings, and instead, you went through a decade’s worth of torture within the last few minutes. Patting your hands on the butt of your jeans, you meekly take a step out of your bedroom, where Jimin is already tapping his foot impatiently by the door.

He motions for you to hurry up. “Let’s go! Seokjin says they’re rounding up the corner. Hold on,” he steps closer to you, raising your arm up to take a shameless sniff of your pits. “Sorry, had to make a pit stop. You can never be too sure,” he shrugs, disregarding your squawks of indignation.

“I smell fine! Now what are we–” Your sentence is cut short as Jimin all but carries you to the elevator, your shrieks of terror causing one or two of your neighbors to peek their heads out of their doors. When they see it’s just the two of you, they simply shrug their shoulders, returning to their lives like it was normal to see Jimin carry you in a fireman’s hold.

He doesn’t put you down until you reach the lobby of your dorm complex, barely out of breath despite having held you the entire way down. Stupid buff baby, you groan internally to yourself, straightening down your clothes in a desperate attempt to look decent. “Okay, we’re here. Who am I supposed to be meeting?”

In lieu of an answer, Jimin points wordlessly outside your building. A black car is parked on the other side of the road, and you can barely see a familiar head of hair poking out from the driver’s seat. “Seokjin? What the…” you trail off, before your eyes finally land on their target.

Yoongi stands outside the glass doorway, not dressed in his usual all-black attire. He’s wearing an outrageously cute pink shirt today, matching the color of his natural flush. He always looks effortlessly good, with his hair a little windswept in that boyishly cute way. Your mouth goes a little dry when you realize he’s wearing his famous leather jacket, the one that always got the girls and boys swooning when he walked past in them. You hated how whipped for him you were, not wanting to be like the weird kids in his secret fan club, but who can blame you? He’s just so…

You rip open the door, nearly tripping and falling over the short steps leading to the entrance. You grind to a halt in front of him and you’re acutely aware of how rabid you must look. Your chest is pounding, like your heart is begging you to step closer, just like when you had hugged him all those days ago. God, you were going to kill Park Jimin for this.

“Yoongi? What are you…” You take one look at him before your gaze drops to his hands folded carefully behind his back. It doesn’t hide the fact that there is an obvious bouquet of flowers behind him, though. Your face lights on fire when you notice they were your favorite flowers too.

“I’m here to deliver a hug?” Yoongi says it like he’s unsure of himself, but there’s a little coyness laced in his tone. His cheeks are painted a soft pink, and not for the first time, they remind you of freshly baked bread pulled out from the oven. Soft enough to kiss, you wonder idly to yourself.

“I mean… I did order a hug a few days ago, but I do recall not ordering one for myself?” you laugh a little hysterically, your breath cutting short when Yoongi grins softly in response. “I… Who is this hug from?”

Yoongi takes a glance back towards Seokjin. “Hey, boss. Am I allowed to reveal who the secret admirers are, or will that get me fired?”

Seokjin, despite being a few meters away, laughs loud enough for the whole street to hear. “Well, Yoongi-chi. Something tells me your resignation letter was coming in the mail eventually. Who cares about the rules at this point?”

“He’s right,” you quip, pulling Yoongi’s attention back. You’re smiling wide now, your hopes and dreams skyrocketing in your chest and blooming a garden in your heart. “Who cares, right?”

“Right,” Yoongi agrees, taking the last two steps he needs to get closer to you. He drops the bouquet somewhere behind you before finally, finally, embracing you once more. He kisses you gently on the forehead, the contact short and sweet.

You feel like you’re dying, but it’s all good because Yoongi looks just as embarrassed as you. But none of it matters, not when both your happiness is palpable in the air.

“Y/N…”

“Yes?”

“This hug-o-gram is from me to you. Will you go out with me?”

You’ve always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. So when you lean in to plant your first kiss of many many more, he knows your answer well enough.

[seekingseven]

Another drabble request: how does Four find out about Twilight's wolf form?

Linked Universe Prompt Requests #8!

Oh, that's a great question! Here's one possible way it could have gone down...

⚠️CW: Alcohol Mention! ⚠️

(You can also read the fic here on Ao3!)

~~~~~~

Four was not the kind of person who spent his evenings in a places like this, and he knew Twilight and Time weren't either.

Maybe that was why he was so uncomfortable.

Music pulsed through the floor, amplified by the tavern's high ceilings and the patrons' warbling voices. Drinks clinked, beer frothed, and lantern light clotted over polished countertops. Across the room, a red-lipped waitress tossed a red-faced patron a pinched smile, the kind that crinkled at the edges with professional, faux patience, and the man let out a wheedling chuckle. A group of boys howled at each other as glossy cards splashed across their table. Behind the bartop, a tenderfaced bartender dropped a stack of glass mugs, and a nearby group of tipsy women had begun to crackle out the Hylian national anthem.

Four pressed his hands over his eyes and tried to cough out the smell of vomit and rotting sweat. No use. Spirals pulsed at the edges of his vision--he was pressing too hard--and he let his hands slide into his lap. The muscles in his neck tensed as he slipped deeper into Twilight's pocket.

This was not what he had in mind when he had decided to follow Time and Twilight on their "quick, fifteen minute errand." He had been right in deducing it was more than that, of course; reports of local children going missing near a known monster hideout hadn't inspired confidence in Four that grocery shopping was all on the two's minds.

But, a tavern?

To each their own, he supposed, but he couldn't entirely stifle the little flame of disappointment in his chest.

Adrenaline gushed through his throat as the world swung around him; Twilight was moving again. Vibrations thudded through the cloth around him. The overhead lanterns flickered crazily, blocked by Twilight's shoulders one minute and blazing down his backside the next. Four shielded his eyes under his hands and stared at his knees. This whole shrinking thing had been a bad--terrible--idea. He could only hope that Time and Twilight had a lower alcohol tolerance than they appeared to.

The movements stop, and Four sighed as the acid in his throat slipped back down. A booming echoed from overhead, and Four couldn't help but wonder if this is what the Minish had to deal with whenever he came to visit.

"Is Mr.Garto here?"

Four's ears perked up; that was Twilight's voice, and that was the name of the man who had first begun reporting the disappearances. Interest piqued, he righted himself until he as peering just over the small slip of space between the pocket and Twilight's tunic. If he turned just enough, he could catch a glimpse of Time's legs and the mahogany bartop behind them.

"He's not here right now," a voice whispered. The muscles crisscrossing Four's chest cinched. That wasn't the sound of a bored bartender, or a dolled up waitress, that was...

"A child?" Time asked, voice thick with its typical lack of tack. "Where are your parents? A tavern is no place for a boy your age."

Silence--at least, between the three parties. The debauched din around them showed no interest in smothering itself for the sake of dramatic tension.

"My parents work here," the voice replied. It was soft, but there was a bristle underneath it; a boy, Four would bet, and a frightened one at that. "My dad's Mr.Garto. Amerigo Garto. He's out right now. If you have questions, then you can, uh, demect them to me."

"Cute," Twilight murmured, voice lowered so that he was its only listener. Four would have rolled his eyes if he didn't happen to also find the childish mispronunciation endearing.

"Very well then," Time cut in. Whatever spell the boy's subtle stutter had cast on Twilight was lost on him, judging from the clipped words and serious tone. "Please tell your father that we would like to speak to him about the abductions. If he has any information, he's welcome to contact us. Here's the postal address of the inn my teammates and I are staying in."

A shuffle of cloth, and the faint sound of a hand bumping a counter. Four pulled his arms over the pocket and strained his neck to the side. The cloth around him dipped under his weight, threatening to give, and Four flinched so hard that he slipped back inside.

"You're looking for them?" the voice came again. "The lost kids?"

Time chuckled. The paternal sound felt oddly out of place in the drunken supernova around them. "Of course we are. We have an idea of where they might be, so we wanted to get in contact with your father to see if he had any more information."

Twilight leaned forward, letting both his pocket and his pocket-sized stowaway swing along with him. "We'll find them for sure. Don't worry."

"You will? Do you think you can find them? My sister and my puppy, I mean."

"Your sister?" Time asked.

"Your puppy?" Twilight added.

The boy's voice seemed smaller, now, lighter, and it took little imagination to envision the pale faced, blue-eyed seven ear old that was undoubtedly cowering under the others' combined stares. "Yes. They were the first to go missing, sir. Sirs. I hope you can find them. Let...let me know if I can help."

Across the bar, someone threw a bottle of wine against the wall. Glass powdered around the purple stain in the wood. Twilight flinched. A gaggle of teenage laughed in their testosterone-saturated way, unabashedly amused at the adults making spectacles of themselves, and Four stifled the urge to slap all of them.

"We will," Time said. His voice was a breath's distance from inaudible. "Take care, little one. We'll speak to you soon."

A mumble of agreement, muffled, and Four clutched the fabric of Twilight's pocket as the world spun on his heel. Left, right, left; he was swaying with each pull and pinch of movement, and he caught only a heartbeat's glimpse at the boy before Twilight and Time exited the tavern.

He looked exactly as Four had imagined him to.

"That's so sad," Twilight murmured, letting the tavern door close softly behind him. "I hope we find them."

"We will. Hopefully Garto gets in contact with us soon. For now, we'll just need to brief the others and see if there are any other locals who might have more information."

"Yeah, yeah. That sound about right."

This time, the silence was real. Only the sounds of feet squelching against mud and dirt interrupted their thoughts.

Twilight stopped. Four gripped the back of his head and hissed as it bonked against the raised metal of Twilight's scabbard.

"Hold on," the rancher began, "I forgot something back there."

"Forgot? What?"

"...something. I'll be back. Don't wait for me."

"Sure. Try to not stay out to long, though."

Twilight assured he wouldn't, then turned heel. Feet against the floor, night air, cold, and then a flush of heat. The air is stuffy again, and the quiet is gone, and Four is peering precariously between gaps in the pocket stitching. He thumps against the back of Twilight's leg as the rancher makes another sharp turn. It's a wonder that the rancher hasn't grown suspicious of the wiggling in his pocket yet.

But perhaps he was too occupied to grow suspicious, because Twilight slowed to a stop and leaned forward on what Four assumes to be the bartop.

"Is the kid still here?"

A grainy voice responded with a huff and grunt. "No, he went outside. Just through the hallway. Something about wanting to play hopstoch."

"Ah, okay. Thank you."

Another snort. "If you find him, tell him to come back inside. It's too dark to be out alone."

Twilight made a sound that could have been construed to be somewhat affirmative, then hurried out the door. The evening breeze, greased with the steam and sweat spilling from the tavern's backdoor, greeted them again. A clink of metal and the cloth ruffling; Four furrowed his eyebrows. What was Twilight up to?

It was the last cohesive thought he would have for a good minute.

The cotton confines around him popped out of existence. Air rushed against his head and through his air as he fell, weightless, and he had barely processed the fact that Twilight had vanished before he thumped against a tree stump. Dazed but unharmed, he sat up, eyes widening.

In the place where Twilight had stood mere moments ago was a massive grey wolf.

A wolf...

Wolfie?

"Who's there?" someone whispered. A figure on the other side of the backyard inched forward, and Four's throat tightened when he recognized it as the boy from earlier. His eyes were red. Little hopstotch stones dangled between his fingers, shining and unused.

The wolf--Wolfie--barked. The boy flinched, squeezing his elbows to his sides. Wolfie barked again, insistent, and wagged his tail furiously. Blue eyes watched silently as Wolfie rolled on his side, then chased his tail, then made an impressive show of chasing a terrified chipmunk through the yard. Gradually, the boy's eyebrows slipped downwards. Wolfie let out another bark. A whisper of a smile pinched at the boy's mouth.

"Where did you come from, big guy?"

Wolfie barked again, advancing further and, when the boy didn't recoil, butted his head against scabbed knees. The boy laughed again. Wolfie's tail wagged harder.

"You're so big! Who's your owner? They must take really good care of you. And you look really strong, too. Look at these muscles!"

The boy carefully closed a hand around Wolfie's paw, then lifted it upwards. Strength roiled beneath an oily coat, and the boy let out a small gasp of awe.

"Wow! You look even tougher than my sister! Hey, wanna play hopscotch with me? I think you would be good at it."

If Wolfie licking the boy's face wasn't confirmation enough, him hopping towards the dilapidated hopscotch court was. The boy laughed with delight and rubbed Wolfie's snout, giggling harder as the wolf licked a wet strip across his cheek.

"Huh," Four murmured, picking stray wood chips out of his hair and grinning to himself. "Looks like we both have a little secret."

~~ Fine ~~ I hope you enjoyed! Thank you so much for reading! [Previous Request] - [Next Request!]

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Four

Chapter Four: But You See, it's Not Me

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

"Get down! Get down! Get down!" Jane screamed as she charged across the field.

The blast rippled through the air, a torrent of flame following imperceptibly behind it, and with that sudden friction came the force of the explosion. Rubble, stones, dust, and ash flung across the square seconds after the detonation. Terse silence, then relief.

"Recruit!" the Lieutenant called, emerging from behind the barrier, "holy hell, Recruit?"

He scanned the intersection, frowning as the haze of ash obscured his vision. But it wasn't long before coughing guided him forward to his curled-up Recruit. One now covered in ash and with a few extra gashes but seemingly no worse for the wear. Those bright blue eyes looking more out of place against the black and grey backdrop of soot and crimson.

"I think we played that one a little close," he wavered on the humorous tone. Fighting their own wasn't comfortable for most soldiers, even if they had made it abundantly clear they were the enemy.

Jane grinned up at him, "I usually am not the charge setter. I just like the boom."

Fair enough. Perhaps he should have never questioned her mettle, the woman chomped on the bit to destroy this outpost the second she saw the gem-like logo tagged on the side of the building. Roy knew she had killed other humans since the Reapers were defeated, but seeing her ease at doing so in person was another matter. Most of his men, and himself, balked at the idea after weeks of working together against the Reaper threat. Now it was over -it felt sacrilegious to kill another member of his race... it was the first time he had killed another man. But here Jane was, taking it in stride, almost seeming to take it with gayety he couldn't fathom.

"That must be the human with the quad," for a hulking creature, the Krogan leader could be quite mellow at times, for what was expected out of him.

Strangely enough, Jane didn't share that same sentiment. She cowed in her own way, backing from the open hand that Wrex offered to her. Wrex instead lifted her by the arm, pulling the female in for closer inspection. The red eyes roved over her face and features, looking for something that he ultimately decided was not there. The Krogan set her down with a gentle jostle.

"Heh, I must still have my charm."

His recruit fought a wistful smile.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The cold night air prickled her skin, raising the fine hairs across her forearm. Her gaze followed it down and to the ground in the space between her crossed legs. It felt less immense looking at this space rather than up at the terrible presence that loomed over her—waiting to devour her.

"How does it feel to be invisible?" the mechanical voice now a caress gently easing into her thoughts, "those you called friends can't recognize you anymore."

She wasn't invisible, just tired. Scared. Lonely. Lost. Everything the Commander didn't feel.

"What is the legendary Commander without biotics? Fodder."

Each attempt she had made had wound up in her losing time. Each subsequent try meant more time and a migraine that intensified. If the migraine ever truly left the lingering stage, but it was something she knew better than to complain about. Nobody needed a reason to worry about her or find another reason to treat her like an outsider. That she couldn't complain about, she hadn't tried hard to be friendly. Instead preferring to remain on the periphery.

"Or is the legend of Shepard over? The husk that you are can't compare."

Or was it easier to relax? To let the burden fade from her shoulders? The crushing weight of everyone's hopes had been too much. Sleepless nights, nightmares, and anxiety permeated every aspect of the Commander's life. Questioning if she had done enough for the war effort, the sewage of her worries toxifying each moment of peace. Guilt over her time in Cereberus still proving to be a hurdle in any reconciliation of her being a basically good person.

It was a little easier being Jane. Not much was expected of her.

"Or are you the vessel of her guilt? The long-overdue penance for her crimes."

Most saw Shepard as the hero. But only because they didn't see the evils she had caused. Colonies. Planets. Friends. Synthetics. Her unit on Akuze. All gone because of her choices. Nobody had time during the war to examine the consequences of her actions. Would they not see them if Shepard simply died on the Citadel? The blame left to some figure that had at least the good sense to atone by dying for the galaxy?

It didn't make her choices better.

But it was less blame to assign to her.

"Whatever you are now isn't worthy of being deemed 'Savior.' You rejected your friend because you feared the face he would see, the nothing you are now."

"I see we're revisiting Harold," the warm voice a sudden break from the cold metallic," I don't understand it, this thing gives me the heebie-jeebies."

Roy's hand on her shoulder a strange grounding back into reality, back into the frigid night air. Her head turned to glance at him, as usual, he softly smiled, amber eyes viewing her with a hint of concern. A familiarity that thawed some of her walls.

"It's also freezing out here, but leave it up to you to be sitting out here. Alone," the chuckle arriving before his teasing, "brooding."

Jane huffed.

Roy's finger stroked the underside of her newest scar that ran along her chin; it was a curious thing with a slight glow, "you need to get this thing checked."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Finally, some respect."

"Don't let it fool you."

The LT sighed heavily in return, turning his head to the Reaper with a reflexive frown," Now, tell the Recruit to stay put for a moment."

Jane hadn't intended to move, but welcomed the checkered blanket that was placed tenderly around her shoulders all the same. Roy placed himself facing her, blocking out the view of the Old Machine. A green bottle finding its way into her hands.

"I can't take this."

"You're not taking it. You're helping me drink beer," he returned smoothly. Extending out his own drink in a toast.

"Well, what do you suggest?" her favorite person murmured. His eyes darting over her lips, but they only ever rested on her eyes. Inviting; her call to calm.

"I can't think of anything better than this moment right now," Mary lost her fight to keep his gaze, her cheeks dusting in red. The possibility of this vulnerable moment turning reared in her head.

"Shepard," Kaidan purred against her lips, pulling her form flush into him, "Shepard."

He didn't move to push the feathery kisses into serious territory, instead enjoying the closeness the two of them rarely got to enjoy. This openness was the prime offering, the exposed throat to be protected. Even rewarded in a way Mary wouldn't see as patronizing.

"Kaidan," Mary muttered, his name dropping as her vocal cords seized.

Kaidan would wait as many beats as she needed.

"This feels almost normal."

His rumbling laugh came fluidly, "what do I need to do to make this normal, normal? Besides ridding the universe of the Reapers, and singlehandedly wiping out Cerebrus."

The Commander considered it for a long moment, "you know that really uncomfortable position where I lay on your arm? I think that would feel more normal."

"Alright, Shepard," Kaidan returned with a grin, scooching both of them awkwardly until he laid on his side and Mary's head rested on his forearm, "anything else?"

The woman grinned bashfully, "no."

"Because you forgot the crappy vid, but it doesn't matter; we wouldn't have watched it anyway," his finger traced across the ridge of her nose.

"Why? Would we too busy, getting busy?"

He laughed again, "maybe. But you don't like to be still that long. You know, you'd have to learn to sit down and watch a vid with me one day."

"If you could refrain from making comments the entire time," Mary retorted smugly.

"Heh." There was a hesitation.

"If you've got something to say to me, Alenko."

His finger gently drew lines between the paths of her freckles, formulating the right words and deciding on a path between his hopes, "sounds like you are planning on keeping me around."

"I-," the sole thing keeping her head from turning away was the hand that cupped her cheek, "I'd like to learn to be normal with you. To have a regular life... with you. Christmases, birthdays... fucking Easter."

Kaidan knew he grinned like an idiot, his cheeks hurting from the width of his smile.

"Hey, kid, you look a little lost there," Roy called, snapping his fingers.

"Oh," she put the bottle to her lips, the somewhat warm liquid coating her mouth, "sorry."

He shrugged nonchalantly, taking his own generous sip. Overlooking the woman curiously.

"LT, I appreciate this, but," Jane struggled with the words, with the absolute coldness she was displaying, "why are you doing this?"

"It's Christmas," Roy stated simply.

So it was, "I'm sure you have better company. Even others that had invited-"

"I did, but don't make this isn't all about you," Roy had his own troubles. Most of them the people that clamored for his attention. Jane wasn't like that, he found her near hostility refreshing. A good break from the worries of being a caretaker for everyone in the building before him. Jane didn't ask for anything. "I am still not convinced I was the one most suitable to speak with that Krogan, Wrex. You seemed to get on with them."

"You got it done."

"We had an unlikely connection, and he's a reasonable person."

Jane shook her head, twisting and opening up her palms in a dismissive motion. Apparently, that was that and a done deal. Returning them to silence.

"I am curious, how does one know so much about aliens, guns, and farming?" He pressed after a moment. The finding of her knowledge of crops was the most surprising thing to learn about her to date. Not that she had deemed to share this openly; instead, he caught it by chance as the Salarian and the Recruit brainstormed the best irrigation and propagation methods with their limited supplies.

Jane's cheeks flushed, even in the dim light, "ahh, I had mentioned my parents were colonists, just not that they were farmers. I'm not an expert or anything. Being a teenager when they died, I had little real interest in it."

"And the aliens?" He wisely pushed away from the subject, already seeing the hints of her recoil. The bobbing of her throat becoming a recognizable tic.

"My postings saw me in diplomatic positions. I spent a considerable amount of time on the Citadel and visited most of the homeworlds of the major council species," Jane glanced to her right, a soft smile spreading on her face.

All considered this was a fucked time to be smiling. Upon further consideration, visiting wasn't the proper term either, she had been there to try and break a siege or to deal with some Reaper-related threat. The smile arose because of the memories of her crewmates, former and well... they were all former now.

"How did you end up so lucky?"

"Some hard work, but mostly luck," her expression darkened before returning to a neutral state.

He had so many more questions. But she had her reasons for not divulging further, for reasons nefarious or more likely classified, Jane kept mum. Pushing her further could only end in retreat.

"Any other fun talents you want to tell me about?"

"Nothing that entertaining," Jane chuckled, "though I'd like to know how you managed to stash beer."

Roy returned the chuckle with a wink, "my secret, Recruit."

"Fine," she smirked, "but what about you? I know you served, but what did you do before this?"

"I own an orchard. I used to be more involved with it. But as men my age do, we like to retire to a quiet life."

"So much for that," Jane murmured, earning another toast with the LT, "any family?"

"Yeah, an old lady, somewhere back home," Roy grew wistful, "I have a kid, too. Somewhere."

Jane knew that tone, the somberness a feeling she was only too familiar with. Much as he never asked about her troubles, she returned the favor. Most had lost something, if not everything in this short but brutal war.

The man picked himself up as he finished his beer, stashing both bottles into a pile of rubble to retrieve later.

"You should come back inside for dinner, word and smell is that someone made actual bread. Rolls."

Roy offered out his hand.

[knightofameris]

different worlds - peter parker (stark!reader)

Setting: AU (earth-3490 based on MCU) Gender: Female Contains: Angst + fluff = flangst, established character deaths, curse words, anxiety attacks, very vague description of gore, mentions of alcohol, slight spoilers for FFH, in regards to it being 3490 it has Stony in it but also pepperony !!! so Word Count: 9k (oops)

Summary: Peter Parker has to learn how to cope with his mentor and his daughter being gone from the world. He holds a lot of regrets now because of how he never took his chance with (Y/n). But what does he do when he’s given the chance to tell her exactly how he feels? Except the only thing is she’s from another universe and she’s accompanied by someone he didn’t even recognize.

a/n: fuck canon because in this story steve doesn’t go back in time at the end of Endgame. Based on earth-3490 with elements of the MCU. Earth-3490 is a universe in which Tony was born identifying as a female (imo, can be interpreted in many different ways) and is named Natasha Stark. She ends up marrying Steve Rogers so it prevents the entirety of Civil war. In this MCU-3490, they’re just dating then marry after the snap in IW Natasha ‘Toni’ now goes by Tasha as she becomes more comfortable with her name instead of Toni from the headcanon that her name is Natasha Antonia Stark.

Let me know if there are any mistakes, regarding the gender of reader, grammar, spelling, or with the story. c: [repost from my old account]

Enjoy! 

☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆

❝ in any universe, i’ll always love you ❞

☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆

When walking into a field of flowers, which flowers do you pick? The prettiest ones, right? The ones that look the healthiest, the brightest colored, and most beautiful one. You pick the ones that smell sweet and make you feel at peace. And then you put them in a bouquet to give to a loved one. Or you make them into a flower crown to wear on your head.

Flower corpses. That’s what flower crowns were made of, in a more dark way of describing it.

And it makes sense, doesn’t it? You only really want to keep the best ones, even if they die sooner.

But God, is it unfair.

It’s so unfair that the universe decided to pick both Tony and (Y/n) Stark, the prettiest ones of the bunch. Even though they were still blooming, even though they still had yet to show all their petals, the universe decided to pick them. Tony Stark, the one who started it all, and (Y/n) Stark, the one who was too young.

They both had so much to offer to the world, so much to give. Whether it be new inventions or just flat out love. Both Starks had so much love to give to the world. And for one of them, she never got the chance to give that love to the one she loved most.

Peter Parker sat down at the edge of the lake, watching the two bouquets of flowers holding Tony’s first arc reactor and (Y/n)’s first stuffed animal. His eyes were red and swollen. Even with his regenerative powers, Peter cried so much that it couldn’t heal. But for once, in the past few days since the battle, both battles for him, he finally stopped.

His mouth was dry and his nose was clogged with snot but he couldn’t help but continue to watch two people he grew to love and cherish over the past few years drift farther away from him.

Peter didn’t even notice Steve walk up to him from behind. Steve cleared his throat, jolting Peter out of his thoughts. He looked up at the older man. In a different circumstance, Peter would have geeked out there and then. But instead, he turned his head back towards the two bouquets.

“Peter, right?” Steve asked, following his gaze. Peter didn’t reply. “I… I never got to see your relationship with Tony. But I know he was proud of you. He always was and always will be. And (Y/n), I’ve watched her grow up. I’ve seen her with her all her partners but I’ve never seen her happier than when she talked about you. What I’m trying to say here is that their love for you didn’t leave with them. It’ll always be a part of you and I know that both of them would rather have you up and about than crying over them.”

Peter pursed his lips then scoffed, shaking his head. He didn’t even know how to respond to the Star-Spangled Man. He just wanted to be left alone.

He was angry and sad and feeling too many things at once. But he was mostly mad at himself. Mad that he never told (Y/n) his feelings for her and mad that he couldn’t save her.

So yeah, he wanted to be left alone.

Steve shuffled his feet, glancing down then letting out a breath, “If you need anything, I’ll be inside. You should also have my number on your phone, I’ll still be around.”

Peter waited till he heard Steve walk into the house and closed the door behind him to start crying again. He pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging it and started sobbing. His crying causing his entire body to shake as he cried into his suit once more.

Steve watched Peter cry alone from the lake house. It was quiet, save for the small murmurings amongst friends, the quiet sobbing from Pepper and a few others. He wished he could have done more, maybe it could have been him and at least one of the Starks could have been alive.

“You ready?”

Steve turned to face Bruce who was holding a case most likely holding the Infinity Stones.

He nodded and turned his head back towards Peter. If there was one thing he could do for Tony after everything, it could be looking after Peter and his family. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

***

(Y/n) cheered, raising her glass with everyone beside her as her mom said a toast.

“To the future of the universe, and the future of the Avengers,” Tasha smirked while staring straight at her daughter. “Oh come on, I know I can’t give as great of a speech as winghead over here but let’s celebrate! To the future!” She raised her glass with her robotic arm, the drink inside splashing out.

“To the future!” Thor’s voice boomed and everyone else followed suit, clinking glasses and causing splashes to go all around. Nebula had even accidentally slammed her cup into Scott’s too hard breaking both of their cups.  

(Y/n) grinned as she drank the Shirley Temple and everyone else began the road down drunkenness. She kept one hand on her little sister’s shoulder, Maria, pulling her in as she drank her own juice and the two watched their mom jump off the table she stood on. Peter’s arm wrapped around (Y/n)’s, giving her a kiss on her temple.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better,” Steve’s eyes glanced between (Y/n), Maria, and Peter, “I would have thought you guys were just a very young family.”

Peter’s grip on (Y/n)’s shoulder tightened then he let go, stammering with his face red. (Y/n) rolled her eyes and let go of Maria who promptly ran up to Steve. Steve set his cup down, then bent down to pick up Maria with a grunt.

“Oh please, dad,” (Y/n) said, intertwining her fingers with Peter’s. Steve raised his eyebrows, his mouth slightly parted and (Y/n) just took another sip from her drink. “What? I mean, you are my dad now.” She eyed the red and gold banded ring on his left ring finger.

“No, I just thought—”

“I’m still upset we weren’t invited to the wedding, right Peter?”

Peter glanced back and forth between his girlfriend and Steve. (Y/n) held a slight smirk on her face while Steve was clearly exasperated. Maria just sat in her father’s arms, playing with her hair.

“Uhhhh,” Peter rubbed the back of his head, his eyes traveling elsewhere in the room

Steve shook his head, “Come on, your mom wants to see you.” (Y/n) tilted her head, cocking an eyebrow. Her hand parted from Peter’s as she told him she’d be right back.

Steve weaved through the crowd of people. (Y/n) could barely keep up with him, despite her smaller stature compared to Steve’s. But as long as her eyes laid on the back of his head, that’s all that mattered.

Finally, Steve stopped, handing Maria off to Tasha and (Y/n) finally caught up.

“Geez, for an old man you’re fast,” (Y/n) bent over, exaggerating how out of breath she was. She yelped as her leg gave out and she fell forward. Steve caught her quickly and Tasha gasped, reaching down for her as well.

Eyes landed on the four of them, watching as Steve brought her back up.

“I’m okay,” (Y/n) waved an arm, standing back up. “I’ll be fine.” She grinned up at Steve and her mom and then lightly banged on her prosthetic leg.

“Kid, what the fuck?” Tasha scrunched up her face.

“Toni.” Steve glared at her then looked quickly at Maria who sat in her arms. Maria giggled and Tasha twisted her mouth, shutting her eyes and hoping for the best. Meaning, hoping Maria wouldn’t repeat what she just said. She opened up one eye looking at Maria who was playing with Tasha’s hair, about to let out a sigh of relief.

“Fuck!” She repeated.

“A-bup-bup-bup!” Tasha used her free hand and pointed at her. “Remember, Daddy trademarked that word, we can’t use it. Don’t say it again or Dad’s gonna sue as both, and then we’d both be in big trouble.” Maria pursed her lips with a smile still evident on her round face. She pretended to zip it. (Y/n) watched quizzically at her younger sister but then shook her head right after.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes at her mom. “You’re terrible.”

“Says you.” Tasha pointed down at her leg. “Let’s go get that fixed up.”

“But,” (Y/n) pointed back to the party, “the party.”

“The party can wait, let’s go.” Tasha handed Maria back to Steve and then wrapped an arm around (Y/n). “Also, winghead, why’re we using Toni again? Tasha’s fine. I guess Toni’s fine too, but please—”

“Okay, okay,” Steve shook his head, lightly pushing the two of you towards the elevators. “Go get (Y/n)’s leg checked up on, shellhead.” (Y/n) gagged, sticking out her tongue and called the two of them gross. Tasha ruffled her hair, messing it up.

“What kind of pet names are those?” asked (Y/n) once they got in the elevator. Tasha arched her brow and looked down at her daughter who was pretending to gag.

“Webhead and shockhead,” she coughed into her hand loudly. “Oh man, sorry, must have a horrible flu coming down.” (Y/n) felt a rush of blood rise to her cheeks as she began protesting those nicknames. Tasha laughed, ruffling her hair again once the elevator dinged, signaling that they were finally at the labs of the facility.

“Don’t worry, you’re more of a Stark now with those kinds of nicknames,” Tasha smirked, walking out of the elevator doors and into the lab.

“Do I have to change my last name to Stark-Rogers or something? Rogers-Stark? How’s that even working? What’s Maria’s last name?” (Y/n) walked carefully to one of the chairs, her mom already opening up holographic display to figure out the problem on her leg.

Tasha hummed, widening the diagnosis, “We both changed to Stark-Rogers. Mine first ‘cause it flows more smoothly. So’s Maria’s. You can do whatever, sooner or later-” Tasha wiggled her eyebrows at (Y/n) “-it’s gonna be Stark-Parker. Maybe Stark-Rogers-Parker, no that’s excessive.”

Once again, (Y/n)’s face grew warm and she looked away, crossing her arms. “Whatever mom, just fix my leg.”

“No ‘please’? Ouch, my heart.” Tasha feigned pain on her chest and (Y/n) brought her hand up to her face in disappointment.

Her mom began to mutter to herself, grabbing a few tools and bending down in front of (Y/n) and slowly pulling the prosthetic off to properly fix it. (Y/n) watched her mother curiously as sparks began to fly from the tools and as she walked around grabbing new materials to put in. FRIDAY occasionally giving her pointers that she might have missed.

(Y/n) glanced down at the stub of her leg, her stomach beginning to become uneasy. She bit her lip, flashes of the previous battle coming back. She shut her eyes, trying to control her breathing and a shiver rushed over her. More flashes of fighting Thanos, watching her mom hold Peter as he disappeared in her hands, waking up five years later on the deserted planet Titan after turning to dust, losing her leg in a one-on-one fight with the mad Titan, almost losing her mom to her snapping.

(Y/n) vaguely heard her mom scramble to her, trying to get her to breath and to calm down. She worked herself into a cold sweat and her eyes slammed open, meeting Tasha’s brown eyes.

Tasha looked up at her, her eyes glancing back and forth between both of (Y/n)’s and her hands resting on both sides of her.

“It’s okay,” she reassured, running her hand through (Y/n)’s hair. “We’re safe, I’m okay. You’re okay. Pete’s okay.” (Y/n) nodded her head, trying to bring herself back to reality. “Count five red things in the room, for me, can you do that for me sweetheart?”

(Y/n) nodded her head again, her eyes moving to her mom’s arm, then her mom’s lipstick, the Iron suits, the red labels on beakers, then a red flashing light. (Y/n) frowned even with a sense of tranquility coming back. She raised her slightly shaking hand and pointed at it.

“What’s—What’s—Why’s that flashing red?”

Tasha turned her head around then promptly stood up. “That’s strange.” She glanced back at (Y/n) then walked towards the red flashing light, opening up holographic screens, the red light flashed quickly only to stopped. “Huh, I’ll have to talk to Banner and Shuri about this.”

“What is it?” (Y/n) asked.

“Well,” Tasha shut the holographic screens off then walked back to where (Y/n)’s prosthetic laid, grabbing it, “after discovering time travel, I’ve been looking into interdimensional travel.”

(Y/n) raised her eyebrows, “Like, alternate universes?”

“Yeah.” Tasha bent down in front of (Y/n), clicking her prosthetic back into place. (Y/n) slowly stood up, testing it. A few whirs came from the robotic leg before it finally quieted down.

“Does dad know about it?”

“About that,” Tasha scrunched her nose then paused. “Wait, hold on, dad? You’re already calling him dad?”

(Y/n) walked around in circles, squatting here and there too. “I mean, you guys are married now, right? By the way, you should have another wedding, I didn’t get to make it to your first one.”

“Yeah yeah, only if you’re the ring bearer, I don’t trust Peter with the rings.”

“Wait!” (Y/n) ran up to Tasha, her eyes widened. “Really?! You really mean it?”

“Maybe not about the ring bearer, but the wedding, sure. Huh, I could ask more people to be my bridesmaid. Probably would ask Pepper, Natasha and Nebula again. But,” she began pushing (Y/n) along to the elevator. “Let’s deal with that later, you have a party to go back to.”

(Y/n) frowned, getting into the elevator and turning around. “What about you mom?”

She raised her robotic arm in the air, “Gonna try fixing this up, feeling a bit of phantom pain. I’ll see you back up there. And no drinking.”

The elevator doors shut and (Y/n) waved her off. Not like she would drink with all the Avengers watching her. And that includes the original and the ‘honorary’ ones. They’ve all watched her grow up, afterall. Nat was the one to push her to confess to Peter, Clint embarrassing the two of them when they finally got together, and the really weird double dates with Vision and Wanda. Uncle Bucky would terrify Peter in the beginning with his piercing glare until he finally warmed up to him.

(Y/n) laughed, remembering the pranks Bucky and Sam pulled on Peter immediately after Steve and her mom talked things out; about the Accords, about Bucky murdering her parents and Steve not telling her (that one left their relationship broken for a while), and then their relationship and where it was going to go. It worked out in the end, the Avengers stayed together.

It’s what gave them the upper hand against Thanos the first time around, but he still snapped his fingers. The five years after the snap (or blip as the rest of the world calls it) still happened, but damn was everyone filled with rage against the mad titan.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and (Y/n) narrowed her eyes with a tilt of her head. The floor was unlit and very very empty. No music played and there were no drinks scattered about, it was just clean.

Her hands stayed by her side, electricity dancing between her fingers as she slowly stepped out into the empty floor. Her eyes scanned the room back and forth and she glanced over her shoulder to make sure there was nobody there.

(Y/n)’s steps were deathly silent (thanks Nat) and her breathing in full control as she walked forwards.

Clink!

Her head shot towards the direction of the dining table. The corner of the wall covered the person sitting there, eating what looked like a bowl of cereal. She took another step and saw the back of Peter’s head, his suit was more apparent underneath his clothes. Namely on his feet.

(Y/n) sighed with relief, all her muscles in her body relaxing.

“Peter! What’s going on? Where’s the party?” She walked up to the boy. Peter turned around quickly, the whites of his eyes showing and he shot his hand out.

(Y/n) maneuvered to the side, dodging the web and watching it get stuck onto the floor. She looked back at Peter with a frown.

“Babe, what the fuck?”

“FRIDAY, lock the facility down, and contact whoever’s available,” Peter stated, quickly grabbing the glasses set on the table behind him and putting them on.

“Pete, what are you doing?” (Y/n) approached him slowly. The room began flashing red, a silent alarm was probably going off.

“You’re not real,” he stated. “Mysterio’s gone. He’s—He’s dead. So whoever-” he began to raise his voice despite it cracking “-whoever this is, just stop. (Y/n) is dead and you can’t trick me anymore.”

(Y/n) tilted her head and Peter choked on a sob, recognizing that head tilt she would always do but he backed up again when she got closer.

“Who’s Mysterio?” (Y/n) asked softly. “Peter, I’m me. (Y/n) Stark. We’ve been together for a year and a half, not counting the five years we were gone, obviously. Remember? You told me you first realized you liked me when I jumped into the Hudson river after my hair got all frizzy from my powers on our first night of patrol together.”

“We—We never got together,” Peter stammered. “But I never told anyone about when I first—when I first realized I liked you. How do—How do you know that?”

The elevator doors dinged, and the two teenagers looked over at whoever was on it. A furious Tasha Stark came stumbling out in her suit of armor.

“(Y/n)! Are you okay? Wha—Where’s the party?”

A red, white, and blue blur appeared in front of (Y/n)’s face, causing her to go wide-eyed when it slammed into Tasha’s helmet, knocking her back. (Y/n)’s head shot towards the perpetrator and saw Steve standing there.

“Sorry I didn’t come sooner, everyone else is out,” Steve said to Peter. The shield came flying back to him. Peter ran up to him, raising his arms up to him.

“Wait, wait, Mr. Rogers,” Peter glanced over at (Y/n) who ran over to her mom, picking her back up. “They’re legit.”

Steve shifted his weight, looking uneasily at the young boy to the other two. Tasha stood up, her helmet coming off and her jaw was clenched, hard.

“Of course we’re fucking legit, what the hell was that winghead?” Tasha nearly growled. Steve and Peter just exchanged glances with one another as the two women waited patiently for their response.

“I am so confused.”

***

Steve’s eyes lingered on the blue and gold wedding band on Tasha’s left ring finger longer than he’d like to admit. To be honest, he felt his chest flutter at the fact that Natasha ‘Toni’ Stark (Stark-Rogers now) married him in another universe. He never really thought about Tony in that way, mostly because of the man’s relationship with Pepper. He never even thought he had a chance after their falling out, so he never gave it another thought. Besides, even if modern times was more accepting of it, he came from a time where same-sex relationships were frowned upon. It took him a while back then to accept himself and it’d only take longer for him to feel comfortable if he entered one of those relationships.

He sighed, glancing over at Peter. The young teenager was uneasy as his eyes stayed on (Y/n). Understandably so, his long time crush is standing in front of him and apparently, they were in a relationship.

Peter’s heart was racing. It almost felt like he was about to have a panic attack but for some reason, standing in the same room as (Y/n) was calming, even with Tasha explaining everything about her universe, the similarities and differences.

(Y/n) turned her head at him, catching him red-handed that he was staring. He never thought he’d be able to see her (e/c) eyes again and all he wanted to do was stare at her. Then she smiled, a sad smile as Tasha compared the Battle of Earth against Thanos, going over his versions of (Y/n) and Tasha Stark’s death, or, well, (Y/n) and Tony.

Peter smiled back but then quickly looked away, remembering how it felt to hold her in his arms as she began drifting away wearing the same exact smile she had right there and then.

He fiddled with his fingers, zoning out from the conversation. It wasn’t until a hand entered his field of vision, grabbing his, that he finally looked up.

“Come on webhead,” (Y/n) murmured, looking between both of his eyes, using the same nickname that his (Y/n) used for him. “Let’s get some fresh air, I think mom and your Steve need to talk about some adult stuff that we aren’t a part of.”

“Uhm,” his gaze glanced over at Tasha who gave him a very familiar nod of approval, “sure.”

“Cool, rooftop then?” she asked, already pulling him away. “I mean, I’m assuming you still hung out with me on the rooftop?”

Peter stared down at their intertwined fingers, not realizing she asked him a question.

“Peter?”

“Oh, yeah, we always hung out on the rooftop.”

She smiled, squeezing his hand and feeling a jolt of electricity flow through him. Peter couldn’t help but think, is this what her Peter always had? A part of him felt like he was betraying his own (Y/n) but she was alive again.

She was here with him.

***

The stars twinkled in the night sky, and as cliche as this phrase is, a little bit brighter that evening since the universe picked the two most beautiful flowers from the garden.

At least, that’s what Peter noticed.

The moonlight shone on (Y/n)’s hair, causing a bit of a glint, and her eyes glimmered with the same intensity as the stars above them. He took this time to memorize every curve of her face, every little twitch she made, any and all of the perfect imperfections. Peter wish he took this time when she was alive, and this was his second chance.

“The stars are the same,” she told him, finally looking back down at him.

“What?”

“The stars, they’re the same where I’m from.”

Peter’s heart ached, remembering that this still wasn’t his (Y/n).

“Oh, right. That’s cool.” He looked up at the night sky, feeling (Y/n)’s eyes burn into the side of his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shift to sit facing towards him.

“I… I’m sorry,” she murmured, looking down at her lap.

“Wh-Why?” Peter turned to face her. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Well, I just—” (Y/n) tucked a piece of hair behind her ear “—It probably  hurts to see me again, right? And it’s probably weird seeing your mentor figure still alive, but identifies as a woman and, I don’t know. You don’t deserve any of this.”

Peter didn’t know how to respond. He’s sure that her Peter would have been more comfortable and would have grabbed her hand and hugged her there and then. But instead he played with his hands, stammering, and trying to find the words to tell her that they weren’t together.

(Y/n) placed her hand on his. Something that was probably a thing she did a lot to comfort him in her world. Something Peter wished could still happen for him in his world.

“We weren’t together, were we?” (Y/n)’s eyes searched his brown eyes for an answer.

He shook his head, looking down and away from her gaze. “No, we-uh, no.”

(Y/n) pursed her lips, deep in thought. “Well, I know in any universe, I’ll always love you. Whether it be in a universe where it’s platonic love or romantic love. And I know ‘love’ is a big word but it’s true.”

Peter felt his chest clench up and his sobs trying to make it’s way through his throat. His mouth twisted with the corner of his lips turning downwards and his eyes began to water.

(Y/n) wrapped her arm around his shoulder and her other around his head, bringing him into her chest as she rested her chin on top of his head. She continually ran her hand through his hair, attempting to calm him down. He slowly placed his arms around her. His fingers grabbed onto her clothes, his knuckles turning white. He was terrified. Terrified that she’d leave from his arms again. So he held her tighter.

“I’m so—I’m so sorry, (Y/n),” Peter’s voice cracked. (Y/n) opened her mouth to say something only to stop. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you or—or your dad. I’m sorry I—I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt. I’m sorry.”

(Y/n) held him a little bit tighter, knowing that he’s telling her everything he wished he could tell his version of herself. So she did exactly what she would do, being the same person as the other her (most likely).

She kissed the top of his head and said softly, “You have nothing to be sorry for Peter. You did everything you could, I’m sure of it. Sometimes we lose people and the best you can do is to move on. I’m sure I would-” (Y/n) stuttered, pausing for a moment “-other me would want you to be happy.”

Peter gripped her a little bit tighter, a little bit closer. He didn’t respond with words. Besides, he just wanted to be in her comfort for a little bit longer.

A few minutes had passed and Peter’s crying had settled down. It was his first breakdown in a while, but it was a much needed cry. He was thankful for that.

“Parker! (Y/n)!” Tasha called out. “Need you back down in the lab!”

The two teenagers pulled apart. Peter wiped away any stray tears and then apologized to (Y/n) about the tear stains on her.

“Eh,” she waved him off, standing up, “it’s fine, don’t be sorry.” (Y/n) held out her hand for Peter and he tenderly took it, bringing himself back up a bit. A jolt of electricity shot through his hand and he almost flinched until his hand was lightly squeezed.

(Y/n) smiled at him and then began walking back down, letting go of his hand. He watched her with a small smile making its way onto his face.

***

(Y/n) lightly jogged into the lab, Peter trailing behind her. She saw her mom standing in the middle surrounded by a series of holograms and Steve standing off to the side.

“What’s going on?” (Y/n) asked. Both adults turned their heads to face the two teenagers.

“We’re planning on figuring out a way to get back home,” Tasha walked through the holograms towards (Y/n). The holograms promptly turned off after she left. “It’s going to take a while and in the meantime, you’re going to need to lay low for a while, stay off the radar.”

“Me? What about you, you’re Natasha Stark.”

“She exists as Tony Stark, remember?” Steve brought up. (Y/n) nodded her head and pursed her lips.

“So I just stay here? Don’t people outside the Avengers still work here too though? They’ll see me.”

“Right,” Tasha pointed at (Y/n), wiggling her finger, “we talked about that. Remember the cabin Steve and I—our Steve—built? By the lake?”

“Yeah, the one you raised Maria in.”

“You’ll be staying there. With Pepper.”

“We already talked to her and she’s fine with you staying.” Steve said.

“Pepper? Why’s Pep there?”

Tasha raised her brows and pulled her mouth into a tight line. “Tony, other me, he married Pep. Had a kid, her name’s Morgan.”

“Oh shit, is Morgan going to—will she…” (Y/n) trailed off, looking back and forth from her mom, Steve, and Peter.

“She knows of you, but she never met you,” Peter told her. “She’s still really young.”

“Another little sister, okay, sure.”

***

The cabin was exactly how it was from her universe. The lake in the distance, glistening from the early morning sun. The little port extending into the water. The bit of light peeking through the branches. It was home.

But not hers.

Steve drove (Y/n) to the cabin, leaving Tasha to continue working on a new device alongside Bruce Banner and Shuri. Both of them were taken aback when seeing Tony alive again, but as a presenting woman. Bruce definitely had his fair share of emotions to see his friend alive again, even if they weren’t exactly how he remembered them. It didn’t matter how his friend presented themself as, as long as Tony, or Tasha really, was alive.

Peter was situated in the back of the car, he was going to help (Y/n) out on situating herself in a somewhat different world. And to help Pepper and even Morgan, who had shed a few tears after learning she’d never get to meet her older sister, see (Y/n) again.

“So, Steve,” (Y/n) asked, turning her head towards her. “Since you’re obviously not with my mom, or dad I guess, who are you with?”

Steve eyed her from the corner of his eye and chuckled. “You know, you and Natasha were always trying to set me up with someone. After my relationship with Sharon went south and all.”

“Sharon?!” (Y/n) nearly slammed her hand down on the armrest when turning her entire body to face Steve. “As in the former Agent 13?” Steve raised a brow at her, almost worried. She maneuvered her body back front as he came to stop in front of the house. “That’s crazy.”

“Yeah, and believe it or not, I was about to go back in time and stay with Peggy.” Steve turned off the car and the three occupants got out of the car. Peter went to grab his belongings and (Y/n) stood there staring at the cabin.

“That’s weird Steve.” she frowned, after putting some thought into it. “What made you stay?”

Steve took in a breath, his brows furrowed ever so slightly. His eyes went towards Peter, who was still grabbing things from the trunk, and then back towards the cabin where he could see Pepper cooking and Morgan with Happy on the couch through the windows.

“I don’t know,” Steve finally replied, letting out his breath. But (Y/n) knew better. From his gaze at Tasha, to even the memorials they’ve passed of Tony Stark, to how Steve’s been taking care of her, Peter, and clearly even Tony’s family here and there.

(Y/n) walked to the back of the car, wondering why Peter was taking so long. He shut the trunk with a slam before she could get there and she jumped.

“Oh, sorry,” he murmured, rearranging the bags he carried.

She rushed over to him, grabbing one of his bags. “It’s fine, let’s go in then?” (Y/n) looked over at Steve who stood there. “You coming in?”

Steve shook his head. “No, I’ll probably head back to the facility, see how your mom’s doing.”

“Sure, do you mind passing on a message for me then?” Steve shook his head in response. “Tell her if she told Steve—our Steve—about this, this wouldn’t have happened. Or at least, he’d know where we’d maybe be.”

Steve arched a brow but before he could say anything (Y/n)’s attention went back to Peter who still seemed weary around her. He watched them go up the porch and knock on the door.

(Y/n) could tell Peter was still nervous. Or rather, he was unsettled by her presence. He didn’t know she knew, but he should have expected much. If this (Y/n) was in a relationship with him in another universe, surely she knew him like the back of her hand.

And she did.

“You don’t have to be so nervous, ya webhead.” (Y/n) lightly nudged the side of his head with her free hand. Peter noticeably relaxed, his muscles loosening and the grip he had on his bags didn’t make his knuckles as white. He stared at her. His gaze jumping back and forth between both of her eyes as if he was searching for something.

“Yeah, sorry, I just—I’m still getting used to this situation we’re in,” Peter said.

(Y/n) chuckled, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, what are the odds this happens to me and to my mom and to your universe.”

The two teenagers exchanged glances, a small smirk on (Y/n)’s face. “One in fourteen million?” They both said at the same time, laughing lightly.

“God, remember waking up and I was like, ‘Strange if this isn’t the—’”

“‘—future we win, I’m killing you.’” Peter finished for (Y/n). The two laughed, reminiscing on a shared memory across their universes.

“Man, what’s taking Pep so long?” (Y/n) wondered, knocking once more. The door flushed open to an exhausted Pepper Potts-Stark with a young girl behind her legs, Happy standing behind the two of them. Pepper stared at (Y/n) who smiled and did a small wave at her.

To (Y/n), Pepper was Aunt Pepper.

But to this Pepper, (Y/n) was her daughter.

So she clasped a hand on her mouth, walking slowly towards (Y/n) with one hand reaching for her. Her face was pained as she choked out on saying (Y/n)’s name.

Pepper set a hand on (Y/n)’s cheek. The younger girl placed her hand on top.

“Hi, uhm,” (Y/n) stuttered out, about to call her Aunt Pepper but remembering what Steve mentioned earlier. Pepper was her mother figure in this universe. “I called you mom a lot, didn’t I?”

Pepper pulled her hand back quickly, realizing this wasn’t her (Y/n). “I’m sorry you’re—I’m not, uh, come in, come in.” She stepped off to the side, letting the two teenagers in. Morgan watched and Happy stood there not saying anything.

(Y/n) dropped Peter’s bag to the side. As Pepper shut the door (Y/n) walked over towards her and enveloped her into a hug.

“I’m sorry I’m not exactly your (Y/n), but I’m still (Y/n),” she murmured in the hug. “I can still call you mom if you want.”

Pepper pulled back, keeping her within arm’s reach with her hands on her shoulders. “No, it’s fine.” She wiped away a few of her tears. “It’s just, wow. I thought my life wouldn’t be as crazy now that Tony’s gone. But it’s as if it’s just getting crazier. Who am I to you? In your universe?”

“Aunt Pepper,” (Y/n) said. “And we’d go out all the time because my mom, uhm Natasha Stark, she’d get too crazy or overwhelming for the two of us. You and Happy-” she gestured towards the man who was grabbing Peter’s things (that was a surprise to her) to put into a guest room “-took care of me when she was kidnapped. And when my mom built you your suit ‘Just in case’ and you wore it to the battle, we fought side-by-side with my mom and we were like a dynamic trio of women in tin cans. Uncle Rhodey, of course, got offended he wasn’t invited to the party.”

Pepper laughed, remembering Rhodey making a few remarks that eventful battle. Morgan pulled on Pepper’s leg, asking to be carried and (Y/n) watched her pick the small girl up. She reminded her a lot of Maria but (Y/n) knew this was a different sister of hers. Maria Stark-Rogers didn’t exist in this universe.

“Hi, Morgan right?” (Y/n) asked, recalling what Steve informed her on. “I have a little sister I think you would have gotten along with very well.” (Y/n) waited for her to respond only to purse her lips when Morgan held onto Pepper a bit tighter.

“She’s been more quiet since Tony died,” Pepper informed her.

(Y/n) nodded, “That makes sense. I was pretty quiet and upset when my mom was kidnapped.”

Pepper chuckled, “I remember that.”

The two of them continued their small talk as Peter went off to find Happy. He walked up the stairs to where he saw the older man go up to but found him leaning against the doorframe to what was (Y/n)’s room.

The floor beneath Peter’s foot creaked and Happy turned around, wiping away the tears in his eyes.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Happy said.

“You okay Happy?” Peter asked. Happy opened his mouth, then closed it, thinking about what he wanted to say to the young boy.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I mean, seeing her again, after everything that’s happened…” Happy trailed off, remembering the nights Peter would sometimes call him after the trip to Europe about the hallucinations Quentin had put him through.

“Yeah, I mean…” Peter bit his lip, playing with his hands again. “No, I don’t know. It’s weird to see her again, alive. And Hap, in her universe we’re, we’re dating.”

If it was possible, Happy’s face softened even more. The two of them were in this together. But Happy knew that he needed to be the one to be there for Peter.

“Well, then maybe this is the universe giving you a chance to tell her everything and to give you a few more moments with her.”

“But,” he frowned, “isn’t that weird? Would that mean she’s cheating on me… with me?”

Happy sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. “That’s not what I meant.”

***

It took a lot of time for adjustment for everyone to see people who used to be dead to be alive and for one of them to look different but act the same. It took Pepper a lot of time to come to terms that in another universe, she isn’t Tony’s wife. Rather, she was actually more of an ex-girlfriend and it made her wonder if her Tony would have done something different if he could.

That is, until Tasha reassured her that the reason for these alternate universes were small little changes, and that she, or he, married Pep for a reason.

(Y/n) spent a lot of time with Peter and Morgan. Of course, she’d go out with Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, and anyone she was close to in this universe that was willing to spend time with her before she had to go back. But they all made sure Peter got the most of it, along with Morgan.

For the first time in a long time, Peter looked happy and Morgan finally got to meet her older sister.

Peter laughed, holding Morgan on his shoulders with his hands clasped on her ankles, running behind a tree. (Y/n) pretended to look in the distance with her eyes squinting. She raised her hand to her forehead mock-searching for the two.

Morgan giggled and Peter peeked over the side of the tree for Morgan to see (Y/n).

“Now where did they go?” she mused. “Maybe I should take a break by that tree over there.” She slowly trekked over towards the tree Peter and Morgan hid, pretending to look under rocks.

Peter burst into a sprint past (Y/n). Morgan’s laughter filled the air and (Y/n) stood there for a second watching them run away. She started into a jog after them, calling their names, when she felt a jolt run up her prosthetic leg and she collapsed onto the ground.

Peter turned around, mid-laughter, when he saw her on the ground, clutching her leg.

“(Y/n)!” He quickly put Morgan down on the ground and ran towards her. He fell to his knees beside her, hands hovering over her leg trying to see what was going on.

“It’s my leg,” (Y/n) hissed. “Malfunctioning, I think. Ah, fuck!”

“Okay, okay, uh, let’s get you to the lab first.” Peter slowly picked her up bridal style, careful not to hurt her. (Y/n) wrapped her arms around his neck, her teeth clenching as she felt the phantom pain and the malfunctioning of the synthetic nerves in her prosthetic.

Peter dashed to the house, Morgan already keeping the door open for them.

“Thanks Mo,” (Y/n) said, trying not to show her pain. She gave her a smile and a wink before Pepper came into view.

“Oh my God, (Y/n)! Are you okay?” Pepper’s words came out in a flurry and Peter rushed down the stairs into the basement of the cabin where the lab was.

“Yeah, I’m fine! I just—ow, fucking shit!” (Y/n) threw her head back and began to bite on her lower lip. She began to taste iron in her mouth as Peter set her down on one of the tables. “FRIDAY, contact Tasha Stark to come by. Peter, you’re gonna need to take off my leg.”

“Yeah, easy, this is fine.” Peter ran around the lab, grabbing the necessary tools and FRIDAY put up the holographic diagnosis of malfunctions for Peter to read.

(Y/n) lay there in pain, gripping the flesh part of her leg. Lucky her, she was wearing shorts that day.

Peter was quickly by her side, tapping on the holograms in front of him then looking back down and immediately getting the leg off of her. In an instant, the pain subsided and (Y/n) let out a breath of relief. She closed her eyes.

Her muscles relaxed as she set her head back down on the table and letting her hands rest on her stomach. Pepper stood at the head of the table and pushed (Y/n)’s hair out of her face. Sweat gathered at the sides of her forehead from all the pain.

“You feeling better (Y/n)?” Peter asked. (Y/n) nodded, not having enough energy to say anything. “Good, I’ll see what I can do with your leg and leave the rest to Ms. Stark.”

Pepper’s hands stroked her hair slowly, (Y/n)’s eyebrows relaxed and the lines on her forehead disappeared. Unbeknownst to Pepper, in (Y/n)’s world, Pepper had done this for her a lot especially when Tasha had been kidnapped.

Morgan’s head peeped from the edge of the table and her hand reached out to touch (Y/n)’s shoulder.

“She’s resting, Morgan,” Pepper said softly to her. Her mouth went into the shape of an ‘o’ as she murmured an apology and then set her hands on the edge of the table.

(Y/n) turned her head, opening her eyes and looked over at Morgan.

“Hey, Morguna, sorry we had to stop playing,” (Y/n) grunted as she sat up and maneuvered towards the girl. She ignored Pepper’s protests and went to grab Morgan and set her on her other leg.

“It’s okay,” Morgan replied, staring at the stub. “It’s not your fault.” (Y/n) looked down at what she was staring at.

“Do you want to know what happened?” Morgan nodded her head. “Well-” she shifted the girl on her leg “-you know what happened with the big bad Titan, Thanos, right? It was after half the universe came back and mom—I mean—our dad, was fighting Thanos. And I saved him. He got really mad but lucky for me, we won the fight and was able to get me help. I lost my leg but I’m here now!”

Peter had stopped working by the end of the story, remembering that day but knowing it didn’t go exactly like how (Y/n) said it did. Not in this universe. He never had the heart to tell her how she died in this universe.

“But, you’re not from here, are you?” Morgan asked. (Y/n) exchanged a worried glance with Pepper until Peter saved the day.

“Okay!” Peter held (Y/n)’s prosthetic leg and all heads turned to him. “Your leg should be fixed up but we’ll need to test it out a bit.”

Pepper reached over to pick up Morgan, “Alright, we should get out of your guys’ hairs.”

(Y/n) watched them leave and then looked over at Peter. “That was a close one.” She laughed lightly and Peter chuckled.

“Yeah, she’s smart for her age.” Peter walked over towards her with her leg. (Y/n) sat on the edge of the table and Peter knelt down, slowly placing her leg back on. With a click and a hiss, Peter smiled. He stood back up and looked at (Y/n) who was way closer to her than he thought. Her eyes soft, staring at him.

“Thank you, Peter.”

His eyes flickered down to her lips and she was about to lean in when she pulled back fast. Her lips were pursed and she looked down. Tasha came rushing in and down the stairs, frantic.

“(Y/n), holy shit, you’re okay.”

Peter took a few steps back and away from (Y/n), crossing his arms and glancing at the stairs. He saw Steve enter the room as Tasha was examining her daughter’s leg.

Steve gave him a smile and a nod. Peter waved at him. His eyes moved from (Y/n) then back to Steve, finally deciding to talk to the older man.

(Y/n)’s eyes stayed on Peter as he walked over to Steve. The two exchanged a few words and then went up the stairs looking like they wanted to talk in private.

“Was something going on between the two of you?” Tasha asked, staring at the empty space where the other two stood. Her eyes then met (Y/n)’s who sucked in a breath through her teeth.

“I mean, technically,” she raised her brows. Tasha narrowed her eyes at her. “Okay, I know, I know. Yes, there was, kinda, but I mean he’s also still Peter. But I know, I won’t do anything. It’s just, I don’t know. It’s weird.”

Tasha scoffed, “Yeah, it is weird. Trust me. But also, it’s a good thing nothing’s going on between you two. Not ‘cause of the weird, philosophical thing of is there any difference in our Peter, but because Bruce, Shuri, and I figured it out. We’re going home.”

(Y/n) stared at her wide-eyed. “What?!”

“Yeah, Steve and I were on our way here when FRIDAY called me.”

“Damn.” There was a beat. “And we found how to get to our exact universe?”

“Yup,” Tasha said, popping the ‘p’. “We should say bye to everyone.”

“Already?”

Tasha nodded. “Our universe only aligns with this universe to allow travel every month or so, and we’ve been here for a month already.”

(Y/n) sighed, hopping off the table. “Okay, let me just say bye to Morgan and Pep then.”

Tasha wrapped an arm around her and the two walked up. Steve was talking to Peter and Pepper and their heads turned to the two Starks.

Pepper wore a sad smile on her face, “So you’re leaving?”

“Yeah.” (Y/n)’s face reflected hers. She rushed forward, hugging the older woman and Pepper held her tight. She felt tears fall on her face and (Y/n) pulled back, Pepper wiping her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m a mess,” Pepper laughed.

“It’s okay, I’ll miss you a lot, tell Happy I said bye and that everything’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

“Of course, and don’t give other-me too much trouble,” she warned.

“No promises.” Tasha walked from behind (Y/n), going to say her goodbyes to Pepper as well. So (Y/n) went off to find Morgan who was sitting in her room on the small table, playing with a tea set and stuffed animals.

(Y/n) sat beside her. “I’ll be going now, I just want to say goodbye.”

“Will you be coming back?”

(Y/n)’s heart broke and she reached over to Morgan, stroking her cheek with the back of her fingers. “No, I don’t think I will be. But I can try, maybe?”

“If you try, then I guess I’ll let you go.”

(Y/n) raised a brow then laughed. “So I wouldn’t be able to leave without your permission?”

“Nope, daddy didn’t leave with mine and now mommy says he’s with you but that’s not true either.”

“Well, it’s kinda true.”

(Y/n) sighed and Morgan got out of her chair to hug her. Despite her small figure, her hug was tight. (Y/n) hugged back, nuzzling her face into Morgan’s hair.

“I love you lots, okay?”

“I love you three thousand,” Morgan mumbled into (Y/n)’s shoulder.

A knock on the door frame grabbed (Y/n)’s attention and there stood Peter. He motioned that it was time to go and then Morgan pulled away.

“Be good, okay?” (Y/n) kissed her cheek and stood up to leave. “You coming with?” She gestured towards the bags in the hall.

“Oh, yeah, May wants me back plus I can just say bye to you back at HQ.”

“Solid.”

(Y/n) grabbed one of his bags, much to his protests, and began walking back towards the others.

***

(Y/n) stood in front of the device, Bruce and Shuri standing by the controls flipping switches and typing in coordinates. Tasha was talking to Steve, saying a few goodbyes (among other things) and (Y/n) figured this would be a good time, the only time, to say one last thing to Peter.

She turned to Peter who was also staring at the device.

“Um,” she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “About earlier, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Oh, no, no, it’s fine that was… also my fault.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck.

“So—” They both said at the same time, then laughing.

“You first.” Peter motioned towards her.

“Thank you… For spending time with me even though you didn’t have to. I know it probably triggered some memories for you but you still did it anyways. I don’t think I would’ve survived this past month without you.” (Y/n) grabbed one of his hands, stroking the back of it with her thumbs. Something of comfort that she had done with him long before they dated, in her world.

“It was nothing. I-um. If anything, it helped me a lot,” he gripped his hand on hers. “Closure and all. I—I know you’re not my (Y/n)? But, I feel like I need to get this off my chest, like I should have before—before…” His gaze turned downward and (Y/n) squeezed his hand, reassuring him. His head snapped back up to her and she smiled.

“It’s okay.”

“I—uh—I really like you. A lot. You make me smile a lot, and you’re like a ball of sunshine. Ray of sunshine, I mean. Ball? What.”

“Pete,” (Y/n) giggled.

“Right,” he laughed nervously. “You’re an amazing hero and person who works hard. Your laughter is like music and I just—I really like you. And I wish I told you all of this sooner and there’s so much more I have to say but I can’t remember and I just. I really like you.”

Out of the corner of their eyes, they saw the interdimensional device begin to work and Tasha motioning towards them that they had to get going. (Y/n) nodded to her mom before turning back to Peter.

“I like you a lot too, webhead. I know the me in this universe did too. And I know the me in this universe will want you to move on and to be happy. So let yourself be happy. It’s okay to be selfish sometimes.” (Y/n) stood on her toes and kissed him on his cheek. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Peter nodded, swallowing as he held back his tears. “You too. Try to visit, if you can.”

(Y/n) nodded and hugged him. Peter relished her embrace and held on tight before Tasha came up to them. (Y/n) pulled away and smiled at Peter then took a few steps back.

Tasha set a hand on his shoulder. “Look, kid, I know I’m not your Tony but I’m still, Toni. You’re doing a good job, and I know he’s proud of you. If you can, keep being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, capiche?”

“Yeah, got it.”

Tasha smiled, pulling him in for a hug then pulling back.

“Since when were we there?” Peter joked.

Tasha smirked, shaking her head. “Always were, kid.”

With that being said, Tasha walked over towards the device besides (Y/n). Bruce gave them the ‘okay’ and before they headed through they both gave everyone one last glance, then taking a step in.

***

Tasha and (Y/n) was met with a messy lab, an exhausted Steve Stark-Rogers with his hand on his face, a sleeping Peter Parker with Maria in his arms, a Bruce slumped over a desk, and Shuri who walked in with her cup of coffee.

“Oh, shit!” Shuri dropped the coffee on the ground, splashing it everywhere. Steve jumped in his seat, knocking everything around him. Bruce fell out of his seat and Peter groaned, waking up while Maria rubbed her eyes.

“Tasha.”

“(Y/n)!”

The two boys got up abruptly, Peter holding Maria in his arms still, and ran towards them, hugging them. (Y/n) and Tasha laughed as they hugged them back. Maria stayed in Peter’s arm, looking between (Y/n) and Tasha.

“Group hug!” she yelled. The four of them looked at each other then at the small girl.

“Group hug?” (Y/n) asked. Steve laughed, wrapping an arm around Peter then pulling him, which in turn pulled her into a hug. Maria stayed in the middle of it as they all stayed there hugging, like a small happy family.

Shuri and Bruce watched, exchanging glances with each other.

Bruce cleared his throat, taking off his glasses. “Where were you guys?”

Tasha poked her head out, looking over at Bruce. “Alternate dimension.”

“What?” Peter asked, excitement flowing through him. “Another universe?! Does this mean in one universe Star Wars could be real? Or instead, (Y/n) had spider powers instead of me?” He continued to ramble and (Y/n) and Tasha could only laugh.

Steve stared down at all of them, a smile very apparent on his face. In due time they’d tell everything but for right now, he just wanted to keep them all safe in his arms.

a/n: So Tasha and Steve named their kid Maria after Tasha’s mom. Just an fyi. If enough people like this, I might make this a mini series. The mini-series would just explore the 3490 universe on (Y/n)’s relationship with Peter, Tasha, Steve, and the other members of the Iron Family. I’m thinking about writing the civil war version along with a Homecoming/IW/Endgame version. And maybe I’ll write the other universe where both (Y/n) and Tony die.

[eunsoyi]

dear moon

kpop songfic series #1: bokuto koutarou

warning: this is a bit long lol & angsty

dear moon, my moon

i can’t get any closer

like the moon i can’t reach

even with fast-paced walking

"i’m sorry." he muttered and lowered his head. i smiled sadly and brushed his hand with my fingers. my chest was burning in pain, as if it was going to explode any time soon. but i didn’t cry. i didn’t have the strength to do so. i kissed his knuckle and replied, "it’s okay, koutarou."

the next day, i did not show up at the stadium, much to my parents’ surprise. "aren’t you going to support your best friend?" they asked. i shook my head and covered my body with my blanket, pretending to be asleep. every bit of person in my school is probably there right now, cheering for fukurodani. no, they’re cheering for bokuto kotarou, the volleyball club’s ace, a volleyball superstar, my best friend.

my best friend who just rejected me.

i gathered the strength to stand up and open the television and at least watch the game from the comfort of my own living room. i stared at it for a few minutes until i heard the words "fukurodani’s ace does it again! an amazing straight shot!" as the camera pans to his jumping backside.

"he’s going to be a big hit soon, don’t you think, y/n?" my mother asked. i just nodded in response as i felt tears form in my eyes.

oh moon, like moon

why won’t you go away?

i try to turn away and run

but you’re like the moon that follows me

i sighed as i texted ‘i’m doing fine’ to my parents for the nth time this week. my college roommate kept laughing at me for having overprotective parents, and i just responded with a deadpan chuckle. two years into university and i already want to quit if not for the hefty amount of money that my family is paying for my tertiary education.

"bokuto beam!"

i stopped myself from looking at my roommate’s laptop. i’ve been hearing his name ever since we graduated high school, and it’s like a noise that frustratingly kept ringing in my ear to the point where i want to cut it off. my roommate was a big msby fan, and from what i’ve heard, kotarou had been scouted and became a professional player for that team.

not that i care.

every after a stressful and tiring day, she’d pop in one of msby’s games and squeal like a hungry pig. "you can use earphones, you know?" i said with a hint of annoyance in my voice that i failed to suppress.

"jeez, okay." she glared at me and finally, the room was at peace. but i couldn’t shake off hearing his name from the muffled speakers of her earphones, so i decided to take a breather.

the august night was cold, as expected, since fall is approaching rather rapidly for my liking. i sat down on one of the benches at the park in front of my dorm building and gazed at the stars.

i hated the stars.

despite being so numerous, they look so terribly lonely. the distance humans see between them was a ruse, as they were literally light years apart, a distance none of us can really fathom.

"y/n?"

you,

is it coincidence?

i jumped up immediately and locked eyes with a familiar white-haired boy, wearing a big jacket and a sports bag clung on his body.

"koutarou.." i managed to squeak out.

the moment we met eyes,

"it really is you." he smiled and gave me a hug. the hug was very brief for me to react, but i can still feel his arms linger on my back. i felt even more pathetic than i did when i confessed to him that night.

"yeah. i heard you’re doing well." i smiled, sat back down, and ushered him to sit beside me to which he happily obliged.

i heard a low voice

talking to me

"i am." he whispered. his eyes reflected the night sky, and they were the most beautiful things i’ve ever seen. as i looked deeper, i realized they were hollow, dark, very different from what his fans have been seeing. it was almost empty. lonely, even.

my hatred for the stars grew.

oh moon, my moon

i’m not trying to hold you

i know you’re too big for me to hold

i rarely saw koutarou after that. we finally had each other’s contact details after two years of not seeing each other, and he has been constantly texting me, but i haven’t given him a decent reply.

"what’s keeping you from doing so?" akaashi keiji, one of my high school friends and kotarou’s right-hand man, asked as we were eating out for ramen one night.

"i don’t know." i mumbled and twirled my noodles, msby versus another team i don’t know booming on the restaurant television.

"you’re still hung up about that night? i thought you’ve moved on." keiji raised his eyebrow.

"i have."

"then just properly talk to him."

"i can’t."

"why not?"

i sighed and crossed my arms, looking at the television which showed koutarou’s joyful cheer as he scored a point against his opponent.

"i’m not good enough."

the next week, i found koutarou sitting on the same bench i sat the day we met again. when he spotted me, he gave me the biggest, brightest, almost blinding smile i’ve ever seen.

"why are you here? aren’t you busy?" i asked while sitting down beside him. he chuckled. "i’m a volleyball player. the only thing i do is train and play."

i giggled. "fair point."

we talked for a good hour with canned coffee in one hand and a hot pack on the other. i did not pay attention to the cold, october air. the only thing i could see was the man beside me, radiating the brightest energy i ever felt, and the view of the empty park.

if only time would stop, and we’d stayed like that forever.

oh moon, my moon

i’m not trying to have you.

everything went by so smoothly, i did not have time to think things through. it became unspoken tradition between the two of us to meet in that park every weekend and he’d treat me to canned coffee, much to my dismay.

“don’t you get paid for being a professional athlete? why is it always canned coffee?” i jokingly said. he frowned. “isn’t spending time with me enough?”

yes. it was more than enough. i wanted to yell that out to him, but i couldn’t. i rolled my eyes in response and pretended to be annoyed at the canned coffee.

“y/n..” he said in such a serious voice. i hummed in reply, gulping down the drink in my hand. “do you still like me?”

i stopped myself from spitting out the stupidly sweet liquid in my mouth. i coughed, choking on my drink. “what?”

“i like you, y/n. a lot. i realized this when i saw you again.”

i did not respond and stared at the ground. my mind was blank. what should i say? what was i supposed to say? i haven’t thought about this, at all.

“can we date?” he broke the silence.

in hindsight, i shouldn’t have said yes.

the fact that you’re so dazzling

is because i’m too dark of a night

agreeing to date bokuto koutarou was a mistake.

we decided that i’d move in to his apartment, to which i happily did. the first few months were okay. we did the things couples usually did: kiss, hold hands, go on dates, whatever there is to name. however, despite being his girlfriend, i did not attend any of his games even if he forced me to. i told him that i’m not a fan of crowds, and i assured him that i am supporting him from our apartment, and he just let me be.

on our first year of dating, i decided to go to one of his games as a surprise.

i was sitting on the bleachers, blending in with the tremendous amount of fangirls and volleyball fanatics in the crowd. after the game, i whipped out a box of homemade chocolates and the bouquet of flowers that i bought and tried to approach him, but before he even noticed my presence, he was surrounded with different types of people: journalists, agents, managers, teammates, fangirls, fanboys, children and elderly alike are asking for his autograph and his picture.

i left without saying a word.

after that day, i got intensely busier. i prepared for my thesis, i was stressing myself with different laboratory subjects, and i got hired as an intern in a research lab. koutarou, on the other hand, kept getting commercial deals and busied himself with tournaments and games. we barely had time to see each other, and when we did, we’d sit in silence, a silence so deafening it almost made me go crazy. whenever i’d see him, his eyes would be hollow, the same eyes that were presented to me when i first saw him again.

i attempted to work things out, if there were actually things that needed working out. but we both couldn’t find the right time to do so. it was either he or i who’d go home immensely exhausted and go straight to sleep.

the relationship was going nowhere.

is it coincidence?

on your white face,

“koutarou, can we talk?” i finally said once he got home.

“i’m very tired, y/n. can we do this tomorrow?”

this conversation again. i was honestly so sick of those words. i kept my calm and tugged the sleeve of his shirt.

“please?”

he sighed, dropped his sports bag, and looked at me in the eye. “what?”

“this relationship.. it’s..” i stammered, trying to find the right words to say.

“it’s getting pretty exhausting, huh?” he smirked and leaned on the doorframe.

there’s a shadow stain

that doesn’t suit you

“wait.. what?”

“i’m tired, y/n. goodnight.” koutarou whispered, kissing my forehead and headed towards the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

i’m waving

it’s how i call you

there’s a loner here

who resembles you a lot

a week later, kotarou and i broke up.

i asked why. i knew the answer, i just had to hear it from him.

“i was lonely.”

i smiled sadly. “i was, too.”

he gave me a week to clear out my things in his apartment, and to be frank, that was the most stagnant yet most painful week of my life.

i was wrong about him in so many ways.

in the years i’ve known him, i’ve looked at him like a star, more specifically, like the sun. he was so warm and bright that it made me frustrated. i thought i was nothing like him. i thought we lived in two very different worlds: him living in a place of happiness and stardom while i lived somewhere damp and boring.

but the times he showed me the real him, the bokuto koutarou behind closed doors, those empty eyes..

we were two peas in a pod.

instead of making each other happy, we were each other’s catalyst to our own descent.

i gave him one last kiss on the cheek and bid him farewell. i moved back to my dorm, much to my roommate’s surprise. “hey, y/n, did ya miss me?” she cheekily remarked.

“you wish.”

i wished that were the reason.

i met up with keiji very soon in our usual ramen shop, and i didn’t even need to tell him what happened. he found out through kotarou. apparently, he was actually planning to break up with me months before but couldn’t find the courage to do so.

“you know, it’s a waste.” keiji said, slurping his noodles.

“what is?” i asked, tilting my head in confusion.

“i honestly thought the two of you were perfect for each other.”

i sighed. “that was actually the opposite of what i was thinking.”

keiji looked at me with those pitying eyes that i hated so much. “are you okay?”

i’m not doing so well

“i’ll be fine.”

my only moon

as much as i can’t reach you

till the night grows deep

keep that silence with the white light

i stared at my thesis once more, which was binded and published. i felt tears welling up my eyes. my roommate hugged me, yelling and crying that she’s proud of me and whatnot. my parents who were on video call were sobbing as well. my phone notifications were blowing up with different message of congratulations.

i finally graduated. my thesis finally got published. i am finally an employee in the research lab i worked as an intern in. my family called me lucky for being so successful early on. i disagreed and just laughed it off.

that night, my roommate celebrated by buying beer for me as a treat. we stayed up all night, laughing and drinking. she got too drunk and finally fell asleep. i immediately went to get some blankets and pillows to tuck her in the couch.

“congratulations msby black jackals for winning the spring tournament!”

i stopped in my tracks. i didn’t realize she was playing another volleyball game in the time we were talking. i found myself staring at kotarou’s cheering figure. i closed my eyes, trying to suppress my tears.

i took the remote and turned the television off.

so i won’t sleep again tonight.

this was the first time i ever cried while writing. dear moon is my favorite song that was written by iu (i suggest listening to her version of the song bc it’s so good as well). hope you all liked this despite the angst!

[imaginedisish]

Happy Together (Five Hargreeves x Reader) (The Umbrella Academy)

A/N: OOOOHHH MY GOOODNESS HELLO EVERYONE!!! So before y’all read...lemme say that Five is not 13/14/15 in this imagine!!!! He is a normal 20 something year old human...and so is the reader!!! This is kinda like an alternative universe sorta thing...idk...it was a request. (also my 17 year old self has a huge crush on Aidan Gallagher now uwu...he’s turning 16 this year...and we’re like a year apart so ITS OKAY YALL CHILLLLLLLL) I love The Umbrella Academy...and more imagines will be coming. ALSO THANK YOU FOR 900 FOLLOWERS AHHHHH!!!! Okay...now enjoy :)

Summary: After altering the timeline to save your life, Number Five gets in some trouble with The Commission...which prompts a not-so-welcomed visit from The Handler.

Warnings: LANGUAGE, angst, blood, fighting, implied violence/murder, FLUFFFFFFFFF 

Word Count: 2,413 holy shit i went IN LADIES AND GENTS

Rays of sun reach their fingertips through the ancient curtains above you. The dust particles that had accumulated upon the books surrounding you glow as each individual spec basks in the light. To your right, sitting properly next to you on the plush couch, was a well-read copy of The Great Gatsby, your favorite novel. 

You look down at the coffee that rested between your hands, the steam radiating off of it slowly dissipating, cueing you to finally take a sip of the bitter liquid. Grace hums a tune as she passes through the dark library, duster in hand. 

“Grace,” You call out, and Grace immediately stops to face you, “Do you know where Five is?” Just as Grace opens her mouth to answer your question, a loud clanging sound erupts from above you. 

“Goddamn it!” A familiar voice shouts, followed by the violent thumping of footsteps down the stairs. 

The footsteps continue, the sound of the dress shoes against the cold tile echoes throughout the academy, until finally Five appears in front of you. He looks disheveled, exhausted, and incredibly angry. You hadn’t seen him like this since you saved the world together. He looked so distraught, something was clearly wrong. 

Five begins to pace back and forth, his hands traveling to rub his eyes every now and then. You want to say something, but you know he’s far too lost in thought to answer. Finally, Five stops, and walks towards the bar at the end of the library. 

You hear Five rummaging through the bottles of liquor. You turn around to see an expensive bottle of whiskey in his right hand. With his left, he grabs a short, crystal glass, and he begins to pour away.  

“F-five, is everything okay?” You ask quietly. Five stops his pouring, and slams the bottle of whiskey on the counter. 

He looks up at you, a vulnerable haze of fear presents itself across Five’s face before once again masking itself in an angry and distant gaze. “Everything is just golden,” Five remarks sarcastically, taking a generous swig of alcohol from his glass. 

You decide to ignore his tone as to not start a fight with him, and instead stand up from the couch and walk over to him. You pull out a stool, and sit down. Five remains where he is, on the other side. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to make it come out of you?” You ask, jokingly. That was your power, you had the ability to make people tell the truth. You could also read minds and freeze time, which made you a perfect foil to Five, who could move through it. 

“It’s The Commission…” Five trails off, taking another sip of his whiskey. “They know what we did.” Your jaw drops. How the hell did they find out so quickly? You think to yourself. 

A month ago, you and Five had altered the timeline. To be more specific, Five had altered the timeline in order to save your life. While searching for Five, who had saved the world from the apocalypse once and for all, the Commission came across you. They knew that you were important to Five, and decided to kidnap and torture you. 

When Five had found you, it was far too late. But, that was a thing of a past. It was a memory that you were never able to experience, since Five took it upon himself to change the timeline and save your life. 

You two had grown close since Five had met you, since he had helped you learn to use your powers. But, you didn’t realize how much you meant to him. He risked so much by altering the timeline, and that was becoming increasingly evident. 

“Look, things can’t be that bad,” You say reassuringly. “There has to be some sort of way to fix th-,” 

Five cuts you off. “No, things aren’t bad, they’re terrible. They’re going to kill me,” Five’s voice is firm and filled with anger. “Or worse…” His voice is soft as he trails off, his eyes drifting down to the glass of whiskey on the counter. 

“Or worse, what?” You ask as you search Five’s dark brown eyes for some sort of an answer. 

But he gives you none, shaking his head in contempt, refusing to say a thing. He picks his drink up, and begins to walk towards the other side of the room. Just as you think he’s about to stop, the pacing begins again. You roll your eyes. 

“Five, stop, let’s talk about-,”

Five cuts you off a second time. “There’s nothing to talk about, (Y/N)!” Five shouts, his eyes widening. “Things are going to absolute shit!” He knocks back a final, generous swig of whiskey before violently slamming the empty glass on the end table to his left. Five darts back towards you. “We lost! Don’t you get it? They’ve won! They’re going to find me, or you, a-and, a-and…”

You shake your head. “You’re being ridiculous, Five,” You pause for a second, collecting your thoughts before continuing. “You just need to calm down, we haven’t lost just yet, we haven’t even started fighting.” 

“And there’s no point in fighting back to begin with. They know you’re here, they know everything, (Y/N),” Five says, swallowing harshly as he closes his eyes tightly. “And don’t tell me to calm down.” 

You scoff. “I’m just trying to help. We can fix this-,”

“Stop! No we can’t! I’m going to lose you. Don’t you understand that?” Five yells, his voice booming throughout the library. Silence looms over the room. You don’t know what to say. “I can’t lose you…not again. I just can’t,” Five finally croaks. 

Your heart flutters in your chest at his words. “Five you aren’t going to lose me,” You say, your voice is soft and sweet as a smile stretches across your face. 

“On the contrary, darling, I think he just might!” A sarcastic, shrill voice rings from the opposite end of the room. You look to where the voice came from. A tall, gray haired woman stands near the fireplace, holding a gun in her hand. “Hello, Number Five. Long time no see.” Her smile is wide, almost reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat. 

“I swear to god if you touch her,” Five points a finger in the woman’s direction, “I won’t hesitate to take you down, for real. In fact I thought Hazel already did that for me,” Five taunts.  

The woman cackles loudly. “Oh Five!” She slaps her knee. “God you crack me up! You know silly stuff like bullets, or grenades,” She raises an eyebrow, “can’t kill me. But it can kill you, or her.” The woman nods her head towards you, aiming her gun at your chest. 

A shot rings out, and a flash of light appears in front of you as Five pops in front of the woman, pulling his arm back to punch her in the face. But, before anything happens, you close your eyes tightly, clutching both hands into fists. Suddenly, time freezes. You walk forward towards Five. The bullet is inches away from his chest, suspended in thin air. You push it to the right, making sure that when time starts up again, it won’t even have the chance to hit him. 

The woman scoffs, surprised at your abilities. “Who the hell are you?” She asks, staring you down. 

“(Y/N), Number 8, also known as Eon, and you’re about to be so fucked,” You stare deeply into her eyes as you begin to search the woman’s mind. Her alias is The Handler, she’s killed thousands of people, and she isn’t one bit scared of you in this moment. 

Well, that’s about to change completely, You think to yourself. You tighten your hold on her mind, and you watch as the Handler winces in pain. 

Part of your mind reading ability was to allow the person you were reading to relive the memories you came across as you searched his or her mind. In this case, you went for the traumatic experiences; for instance, murders, attacks, and other crimes The Handler committed, watched, or experienced. You had found through previous ventures that making someone relive the past was overwhelming and draining, to the point of death.  

God I hope this works, You think to yourself, taking a deep breath as you swallow harshly. You had one shot, one chance to make this work. You begin to search through her mind, picking out memories that seemed horrendous, even to you.

“Wh-what the hell are you d-doing?” She stutters, her fingertips reaching up to either side of her head. You force her to see each and every person she’s ever killed, which slowly but surely begins to have an impact on her. “S-stop,” The Handler pleads. “I-It h-hurts.” 

But regardless of her pleas, you don’t let go. The gun in The Handler’s hand falls to the ground as she begins to tremble. You don’t know how much longer you can stay where you are. Your grasp on time begins to weaken, and things slowly start to move again. You’re losing energy. 

“F-fuck,” You whimper, trying your best to stay strong. You search deeper into The Handler’s mind, seeing even more murders, more traumatic experiences, forcing her to relive each and every one. 

The Handler screams out in pain. “Shit!” She screeches, collapsing down to the ground. She wheezes, and coughs roughly. Her breathing weakens, just as you thought it would. 

“How does it feel?” You manage to shout, regardless of the fact that it feels as though every ounce of energy has been drained from your body. You continue on nonetheless. 

“I-I c-can’t b-breathe,” The Handler chokes, grabbing her throat. “S-stop…” Her eyes flutter shut. “I-I’ll l-let y-you l-live…” She struggles to speak as her eyes open up again.

“Bullshit,” You say firmly, walking closer to her. “Any last words?” You question, going deeper into The Handler’s mind one final time. Her body seems to tense up, and she writhes in pain one last time. 

“I-I’ll b-be b-back, k-kid…t-trust m-me….I always e-end up c-coming b-back…” She trails off, her eyes shutting tightly. Then, the writhing stops. The tension in The Handler’s body seemingly disappears. Her body goes completely limp. You did it. It was all over. She was gone. 

You let go of your hold on The Handler, since there was no longer anything to see or do in her mind. It was blank, a black hole if you will. You let go of time, and things begin to move yet again. You collapse to your knees, absolutely exhausted. 

“(Y/N)?” Five calls out, and you hear the bullet you had directed away from Five hit into the wall. “What the hell happened?” Five chuckles a bit. You feel his hand rub up and down against your back. 

“I-I took care of things…” You say, breathing heavily. “You don’t have to worry about her anymore, or at least I don’t think you will.” You look up at Five, a confused expression spread across his face.

“How did you…” Five doesn’t know what to say as his eyes frantically search yours for some sort of an answer. 

“I made her relive every shitty thing she ever did, or experienced. It wasn’t a silly thing, that did the bitch in,” You explain nonchalantly. “It was natural causes, in a sense. She did it herself.” 

Five smiles widely, his brown eyes catching rays of light. Just as quickly as his smile appeared, it slips away. “They could still come after us…” Five trails off nervously, standing up and walking towards the bar. 

You shake your head, gathering your strength and following behind him. “Don’t worry about that, okay? With The Handler gone, things will be easier. We can take down whoever stands in our way.” Your voice is calm and reassuring. 

Five stops in his tracks, his eyes studying your face thoroughly. “All I can do is worry. Just because she’s gone doesn’t mean I won’t lose you,” Five says, his voice firm, yet still laced with fear. “I care about you too much to lose you again. Last time, my heart…it…” Five can’t seem to finish his sentence as his voice becomes shaky. His eyes become glossy, and he turns around so you can’t see his face. 

“You can talk to me Five. Please, just tell me what happened,” You beg, walking closer to him, extending a hand out towards his, your fingers colliding with Five’s. 

He turns around to face you. “Fuck I hate feelings…” Five complains before continuing on. He takes a deep breath. “My heart felt like it stopped beating. I-I sobbed over y-you…” Five tightly closes his eyes shut, a single tear falling down is cheek. He wipes it away with his free hand. “I can’t go through that again. I won’t, I refuse to. I care far too much about you…I-I…” Five looks down at the ground and back up towards you. He steps closer to you, the gap between you and he closing. His eyes drift back and forth between your eyes and your lips. 

Suddenly, a pair of soft, warm lips come crashing down on yours. The kiss is slow and languid. You can’t help but smile against Five’s lips. This was something you had wanted for such a long time. 

You’re left wanting more as Five’s lips part from yours. He smiles widely as he steps back from you. You’re almost a bit shocked, as Five rarely ever shows affection to anyone. 

“I didn’t know how to say how I’ve been feeling,” Five explains. “You know I’m terrible at emotional shit, but (Y/N), you make things seems so natural. I’m happy when I’m with you.” 

A smile stretches across your face. “So let’s be happy together, then. You don’t have to hide things. We can be a team.” 

Five nods, grinning as he closes the gap between you two once more. “Happy…together…two words that I’d never thought I’d use to describe my life.” 

“Well I suppose you’ll just have to expand your vocabulary, then Five,” You say sarcastically, giggling lightly. 

“I suppose so, (Y/N).”

[decaffeinatedcatastrope]

Another snippet of Storm the Sorrow :D 

warnings: slight cursing, bath house shenanigans, magic lock picking skills, minor panic attacks, Calibri has a bad day.

Gaster quietly sipped on his drink, standing ever so slightly away from the rest of the meeting.  The King and Queen had decided to throw a feast and invite some of their human neighbors, and he was...not in the mood to be social.  

It was bad enough that most monsters didn’t understand his font, never mind humans.  Humans always thought he was going to cast some sort of spell on them or something, with his ‘strange words’ and ‘hand gestures’.  He scoffed.

He could count on one hand the number of people that understood the language of hands.  And currently, the only one that could actually understand his font was engaged in conversation with several monsters and humans.  His soul ached to join the conversation, but...the stigma kept him away.  

Sighing, he decided that he needed another drink.  Turning to chase down one of the staff, he bumped right into a warm figure.  Face first into Queen Toriel’s impressive ch--

He scrambled back and nearly tripped over a rug in his panic.  “Q-QUEEN TORIEL, I’M -”  Hands, use your hands, idiot!!  He frantically set his drink down and began signing.  < I am sorry, my Queen!  I did not see-- >

Toriel giggled and gently placed a paw over his hands to ‘quiet’ him.  “It is quite alright, child.  I did not want to announce my presence, as you seemed to be rather...distracted.”

Gaster frowned when she addressed him as ‘child’, but it couldn’t be helped.  She was the Queen, and compared to her, he was rather young.  Actually, compared to the rest of the court, he was indeed a child.  Even Calibri was at least a century older than himself.  At least he thought...?

< It is okay but I was not distracted > He signed, moving his gestures to some summoned ‘hands’.  They were really bullets shaped like hands, but they were harmless and he had the control necessary to make gestures with them.  He sipped his drink.  < I was simply thinking >

Toriel gave him a knowing smile.  “Thinking of going to speak to her?”

The skeleton coughed into his drink and gave her a sour look.  “I’ve already spoken to her.”  He spoke, before realizing she couldn’t understand him.  He could’ve smacked himself.  < We have spoken already >

Toriel hummed quietly, before signing back.  < Then you know she would enjoy the company >  Toriel’s paws were a bit fumbly with the words, but the message was clear enough.

Gaster stared at her hands for a long while.  < She has company >  He replied.  He really needed another drink.  He watched Toriel for a reply.

< She does but she looks like she could use a friend >  Toriel replied silently, and Gaster watched as she pointed towards Calibri.

Calibri seemed stiff as she spoke with her companions, and Gaster could clearly see she was wearing her ‘mask’ again.  He frowned.  

“Go and rescue her.”  Toriel whispered, and he jumped at the sudden return of voice.  

< She does not need rescuing > He signed quickly.  < If anything she is rescuing us from them.  Keeping them at bay so they do not bore us as well >

Toriel snorted and giggled, her bleating laugh a bell in the noise of the feast.  “Selfless as always, Cali.  However, she would still appreciate the company.”

Gaster ran over the options the situation had presented him with, and quickly formulated a number of possible routes his actions could take.  He glanced at Toriel, who was eagerly awaiting his response.

< If it will appease you, my Queen.  I will go and “rescue” her >  He signed back, actually taking the time to gesture quotes around rescue.  

His long legs made quick work of the distance between his hiding spot and Calibri, and she saw him approaching before the others did.  It was astounding, how aware she was about their surroundings.  Always watching for danger.  

It was kind of sad too, he thought.  Giving her a smile, he nodded in greeting.  “Hello, Lady Calibri.”

A warm smile bloomed on her face, and she nodded back.  “Hello, WingDings.”

One of the humans broke into laughter at his name, and he sneered at them.  

Calibri’s eye lights darted to the human in question.  “Forgive me, Sir Nolan, but this is Royal Archivist W.D. Gaster.  Please refrain from laughing at one of the Court in my presence.”  She spoke calmly, but her voice was laced with venom.  Her smile a threat.   If you wish to keep your eyes.

The human, Sir Nolan apparently, stared at her in absolute terror for all of three seconds before he turned his attention elsewhere.  “Ah - f-forgive my breech of conduct, Lady Calibri.”

“You are forgiven, since I was informal with him first.  Archivist Gaster, do you forgive me for being informal with you?”

Gaster stared at her incredulously.  “...Of course I forgive you, you did nothing wrong.  Stop that.”  

“Thank you.”  She nodded, and for a split second he saw her eye lights dart away before coming back to his own.  He could practically hear the metaphorical gears in her mind turning.  “Was there something you wanted?”

< Only to accompany you >  He signed, not wanting to spook the others too much with his voice.  It wasn’t like they were going to understand him either way.

Calibri watched him for a moment, before smiling warmly.  “I would enjoy that.”

< They will not mind? >

< they can all burn in hell for what i care > She signed back nonchalantly, and Gaster snorted into his drink before laughing.  But she wasn’t done.  < i have been waiting for a chance to call the bastard on his shit all night >

Gaster hadn’t laughed like this in ages, and the others were looking at him like he was frankly crazy.  < Cali that is bad > was all he managed to sign.  

“Ah, you look confused.  I am speaking with Archivist Gaster.”

That caught his attention again.  Calibri signed to him silently.  < stupid meat >

He snorted again.  “Calibri, you are terrible.”  

“And...that was?”

“That was his font.  We are both skeletons, you see.  I speak in a font that you are capable of understanding.  He speaks in a font that I am capable of understanding, but you are not.”

“...Right.”

“It’s quite interesting, yes?”

Calibri felt a tug on her sleeve.  Gaster grinned at her and signed.  < Stop teasing the meat >

She fought, but managed to hold her composure.  Gaster was highly impressed. 

“What does he keep saying?”  

“He is telling me jokes.”  

Oh no.  Gaster waved his hands in the universal sign for NOPE, in hopes they wouldn’t push further.  “No I’m not, Calibri don’t you dare.”

“What kind of jokes?”

“I am so glad you asked.”  Calibri gave them one of her razor grins, and Gaster groaned.

“Stars dammit, Cali.”

“so it was you!”  Calibri called out accusingly, her booming voice cutting through the steam in the bathing room.  Thankfully, Boss monsters were immune to it’s paralyzing effects.

Toriel simply giggled madly.  “I said perhaps!”

Calibri spluttered.  “perhaps Asgore’s ass isn’t furry!”  she stated, batting at her with a cloth.  “you knew what you were doing!”

“I was unaware he had already spoken to you, I swear it!”  Toriel’s bleating laugh echoed off the walls.

“i told you, i do not need your help with being bedded!”

“Well you told me that, yes, but has it happened yet?”

“oh stars just be quiet will you?!  before I feed you the bar of soap, you wretched hairball you!”

Toriel nearly fell over laughing at this point.  “So bold, to speak to your Queen like this!  What would the rest of the guard think??”

“tell them!  i’d like to see their reactions when I am pulling my boot from their ass for laughing in my presence!”  Calibri huffed and sunk down in the water to her eye sockets.  The water around her practically boiled as her soul raged.  

With a sad smile, Toriel scooted closer and gently patted Calibri’s skull.  “Shhh, you know I am only doing this to help you, correct?”

Calibri’s browbones furrowed, and she sat back up enough to talk.  “...yes, i know.  thank you, Toriel.  i am truly glad you understand my...predicament.”

“I would rather you snap at something pointless like some silly teasing, than at a critical moment when you need your head clear.  But to be fair, it was pretty funny.”

“yes...it was.  it was a good distraction.  and i was a little annoyed with you, at first, because ‘we’re both skeletons’ and whatnot, but...i really do like him.  it’s sad, that his font is so difficult to understand.  i wish you could hear his voice the way i do.  he’s actually quite an idiot.” She couldn’t hide the warm smile on her face.

Toriel snorted.  “I am sorry, did you just call our Archivist, whom you chose, an idiot??”

“i did not choose him, the Font did!  blame them if he turns out to be an idiot.  a brilliant idiot yes, but he has the people skills of a 4 day old carcass in the summertime!”

Toriel frowned at the alliteration.  “And you are much better?”

“i’m just better at lying about it.”  Calibri grinned.

“Ah yes, the Royal Judge, the best liar in the entire kingdom.”

“as i must be.  imagine if i were as honest as he is??  stars, i’d be damning people here and there willy-nilly like!”  Her voice took on an authority as she mockingly pointed into the corner.  “You there!  You borrowed your brother’s coat and have yet to return it!  B e  s m i t e d, f o o l!”

Toriel roared with laughter and pushed Calibri’s raised arm back into the water.  They both laughed. “Stop that, stars hahaha.”  It took her a moment, but she did eventually get her composure back.  “Cali, that is why you are the Judge, and he is the Archivist.  The archives must be truthful, and Judgment must be...”

“Truth without Tragedy.”

“Yes, that.”

Calibri sighed.  “well...i think i feel better.  i think.  enough to get to my chambers, at least.  thank you, Tori.”

“Anytime, Cali.  Please, talk to me if you feel you are on the brink again.”  

“Of course.”  Naked or not, Calibri pulled Toriel into a warm hug, before standing up and exiting the spring.  Toweling herself off, she quickly slipped back into her armor and gown and slipped from the wing without a sound.

Her trek through the palace was quick and quiet.  She knew the paths of every guard patrol and how to avoid them, as they were always quick to suck up to her to further their own goals.  She hated it.  She hated all of them.  Useless, power hungry pieces of shit, all of them.  

She barely caught herself dragging tracks in the wall with her claws before reaching the end of the hall.  Oops.  She frowned.  “...today is just not a good day.”  She spoke to herself.

Rounding the corner, she thought about how every little sound was like a roaring storm.  Every footstep in the palace echoing in her skull.  Everything was a threat.  Everything was a danger.  She needed to get to her safe haven, where she would be safe.  

Where everyone would be safe from her.  

Rounding the final corner, she froze.  Sitting there against her door, reading a book, was Gaster.  He didn’t notice her, but there was no way past him without him doing so.  She really didn’t want him to see how close she was to snapping, even with Toriel’s help.  And the last thing she wanted was to snap on him.  To hurt him, the precious, honest boy.

She knew if she hurt him, he’d never forgive her, not really.  She’d never forgive herself, either.

She was so lost in her thoughts, she barely registered that she was looming over him until he looked up and waved at her.  It didn’t take him long to notice something was wrong, though.  Smart boy.  

“Calibri?  What’s--”  

“Stop.  Don’t speak.”  She hissed, baring her teeth at him.  It was too loud.  Too much.  

Not questioning her order for a second, he naturally began signing.  < Are you okay? >

< no >  She signed back.

He winced.  < can i help?  what happened? >

< no and violence > She replied silently, before gesturing to her door.  < inside now >

Gaster stepped aside, and she threw the door open before darting inside and slamming it shut.  He heard a number of locks click shut, and he stood there in absolute confusion for a few moments.  < are you-- >  Stop signing idiot she can’t see you.

“...Calibri?  What happened?”

He didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one.  

“...Calibri?  Please, talk to me.”

Silence.  His soul twisted in fear.  To see the mighty Calibri, so utterly broken was...honestly more terrifying than seeing her angry.

“Cali, I’m going to unlock the door, okay?”  He called out, before cautiously pushing his magic into the door, enveloping it.  He mapped it out, the matter in it’s entirety, before focusing on the locking mechanisms.  A faint push here, a pull there, and they both clicked open easily.  

Pushing the door open, he slipped inside and shut it again.  The room was...oddly cold.  Even with the perpetual fire going, the unholy chill invaded his soul and bones, and he followed it to the source.  Her bedchamber.  

He knocked.  “Cali--”

“what are you -- G E T  O U T.”  Her voice boomed, not within the room, but in his soul.  But his soul pushed back, bravely.  Foolishly?  He’d find this fascinating later.

“No, not until I find out what happened.  Why are you hurt?” He peeked into the room, only to duck away when a piece of pottery smashed against the door frame.

“I am not hurt, go away.”  She hissed.  The discordant echo from hearing both her voice in his head and his soul was upsetting, but still less upsetting than seeing her like this.  

“Sure, fine, you sound perfectly fine I’ll just leave -” He teased, throwing the door open.  Hopefully she didn’t have anymore pottery, he was terrible at dodging.  “You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe a word you’re saying right now.  You’re crying.  What happened?”

Calibri grimaced and tugged the curtains around the bed around herself, tighter and tighter.  “...T-Today, the people, too much.  The violence, I can’t--”  

“This is because of today?  Is it because of me?”

She snorted.  “no, y-you brilliant idiot - if anything you kept me sane before vanishing off to do stars know what.”

So this was his fault.  He’d left her alone when she’d needed him.  “I didn’t know you needed me.  Didn’t know I was helping.  I’m sorry.”

“sssstop.  no more apologies for being yourself.”  She chided him, shivering slightly.  She managed a smile, even as she was fighting so hard not to lose herself.  Once again, just his presence helped her chase the violence away.  

“I...do you need the healer?  Can I get you anything?  I don’t - I don’t know what to do.”  Gaster looked around, before ducking out of the room.  Or, trying to.  

In a panic, Calibri snatched his soul with blue magic.  He couldn’t leave.  Not now.  She pulled a little too hard, however, and he flung back into the room, tumbling across the floor to a stop at her tree.  Her hand flung to her mouth, was he hurt?  Did she hurt him?

“...Ow.  You could have just asked.”  He replied after a moment, only slightly annoyed.  He sat up and gave her a deadpan stare.  

She couldn’t help it, she laughed.  “i’m sorry.  i’m so sorry.  don’t leave.”  She begged, before hopping off the bed and making her way over to him.  Sitting next to him, she wrapped her arms around him.  

He froze.  This was...dangerous.  She could crush him to dust.  She was in the perfect state to do so, whether she wanted to or not.  He could die.  He could die, and then it would be just another thing that she’d feel guilty over.  

“i-i-i won’t hurt you.  shh.”  She whispered, pressing her face into his shoulder.  “i’ll try.”

“That’s the first thing I’ve heard you say tonight that’s true.”  Gaster replied, hesitantly slipping his arms around her and hugging her back.  This was...nice.  The contact.  She was warm.  

Calibri hummed quietly, her shakes calming.  Gaster felt her claws digging into the fabric of his robes.  They’d probably have to be repaired, but he didn’t care.  He leaned back into the tree, Calibri leaned on him, and he felt like he was caught between two immovable forces.  

Yet, he smiled.  This was...nice.  He felt himself drifting off.  He wouldn’t later remember what he’d dreamed of, but that they were good dreams.  He felt safe.

Calibri awoke to a rather uncomfortable crick in her neck, and oddly warm. Usually, the morning sun missed her bed, but now it was hitting her right in the face, and it was utterly horrible for her pounding skull.  Groaning, she moved to get up, but froze when she felt slim arms tighten around her hips.  Panic took her and out of instinct, she twisted in her captor’s grip and slammed him against her tree by his throat.  

Gaster woke with a strangled yelp as he was manhandled violently into the tree he’d been snoozing against.  Leaves drifted down over the both of them, and he had only a split second to realize that Calibri’s eye lights were absolutely roaring with magic, and her hand - her claws she was going to stab him in the face with them oh god!

In a panic, his hands shot up to wrap around her wrist, in an attempt to pull her hand off his vertebra.  But of course there was no way for him to even hope to match her strength, and for some reason he couldn’t find his voice for the moment.  He was going to die.  He had so much more he wanted to do, he didn’t want to die.  

He clenched his sockets shut and waited...and waited...and...

“o-o-oh stars.  oh Dings, i’m--”  Calibri made a noise that he thought sounded like a wounded animal, and the hand around his throat was yanked back.  But he kept his grip on her wrist, even as his sockets snapped back open and he saw just how terrified she was.  Tears were even gathering in the rims of her sockets.  

Mind going a mile a minute, he released her wrist and shoved his hands into her shaking ones, signing a quick < I am okay > while he tried to get a hold of himself and find his voice again.  

She stared at his hands, which were so steady and calm, even after she had almost...

“...Cali?”  His voice was so quiet, and once again he couldn’t hide the honesty in it.  He sounded terrified.  

She let go of his hands and moved to get up.  To get away.  She was dangerous.  

Of course, her first reaction when she felt him literally throw his arms around her to stop her was to throw him across the room.  She didn’t, of course, but still, it was a scary thought.  She let out a shaky breath and let herself be pulled back into his hold.

“Don’t leave.”  He replied.  “Not until you are okay.”

“’m fine.”  She mumbled, feeling herself relax in his arms.  The desire to harm was slowly fading, leaving her cold.  Numb.  She couldn’t help it, she sobbed.  “i’m sorry.”

“Cali, don’t--”

“i’m sorry you had to see that.  to see me like that, i...”

“What happened?”

“it’s just...”

“Don’t you dare tell me nothing happened.” Gaster warned.  

She wasn’t quite sure why, but a smile found it’s way to her face.  She’d nearly just killed him, but he was scolding her.  She was glad he was not in the guard, that kind of brave stupidity would get him killed.  At least books wouldn’t kill him.

Unless they fell on him.  She snorted.  

“What’s funny??”

“noth--”  She caught herself.  “it is not related to what happened.  and even if you do not want to hear it, nothing caused...this.”

“...Calibri, I swear--”

“my Violence was acting up.  it just does that.  particularly around humans that have done horrible things that they don’t think i can see.”

She saw his face scrunch up, like it did when he was trying to figure out a problem.  “...Which human?”

“most of them, not any in particular.  it was just...the feast wasn’t...”

“Why didn’t you tell me?  I would have done more than just standing there rolling my eye lights at your stupid teasing and awful jokes.”

“you did enough.”  She admitted, leaning on him.  He flinched in surprise, but wrapped his arms around her tighter to keep her from misinterpreting it.

“How can I help?  Do you need a healer?”

“no, just...stay.”  She let out a soft noise.  “i’m so sorry, for almost...hurting you.”

“Stop that.  You didn’t hurt me.”

“i wanted to.”  She admitted.  It was better that he understood now.  She didn’t want to lie about...this.  Her problem.

“That wasn’t you, that was the violence.”  He stated simply, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.  

She’d...never thought of it like that.  She’d always accepted that the Violence tainting her soul was simply a part of her now, but maybe not?  She wondered what he saw in her that made him see something different.  He saw things so differently than others.  It was wonderful.  He was wonderful.  

She felt a calm she hadn’t felt in a long time.  “...thank you.”  She mumbled quietly, a soft smile on her face.

“Anytime.  You know I am always honest with you.”

“lies, but i’ll accept it.”

He scoffed.  “When have I ever lied to you?”

“WingDings, do you really want me to answer that?”

He paused to think for a second or two, before frowning.  “No, I’d rather you didn’t.”

She hummed and closed her eyes.  Felt safe enough to close her eyes.  “thought so.”

They stayed there on the floor for a while, just...tangled up in each other.  He considered mentioning how inappropriate this sort of behavior was for two monsters that weren’t courting, but decided to stay quiet.

He wasn’t quite sure exactly what they were, right now.  But whatever it was, it was nice.

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Catching a Cold

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 4589

Summary: Simon gets a terrible, destructive cold.

Read on AO3

AN: Wow another long one. Not as long as flowers, but still pretty long. Hope you enjoy it :)

Simon

I wake up feeling like my head is filled with cotton and my nose is on fire. Clear snot drips out of onto the pillow below. It even hurts to breathe.

“Shit,” I mutter. My voice is high pitch and clogged. I cough and green mucus comes out. Crowley, of all the things that could get me, and it’s fucking a cold.

And like my day couldn’t get any worse, Baz walks out of the bathroom, looking impeccable as always. He looks at me with a disgusted frown.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He says.

“I have a cold,” I say.

“Obviously. You sound horrible.”

“Fuck off.” I wish I could sound more intimidating but my voice makes that impossible.

Baz chuckles. “That barely works when you’re healthy, Snow. Nice try.”

“Hey you-” A tickling in my nose makes me stop. I feel the sneeze building bit by bit. But something else builds too. Like a charge in the pit of stomach. It’s too late when I realise what it is.

“ACHOO!” The air explodes around me. Streaks of lightning shoot out in every direction. Baz ducks for cover, hands braced on his head. Once my vision clears, I look around. The walls are singed and there’s electricity still swirling around my head.

“Aleister fucking Crowley, Snow!” Baz shouts as he stands back. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Um, I think my magic is, uh...reacting to the cold.”

Baz groans and shakes his head. “As if you weren’t destructive enough already.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault! I-” Oh no, the tickling starts again. Baz’s eyes go wide with fear.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Snow, press your tongue behind your top two teeth.”

“Wha-”

“Just do it!”

I press the tip of my tongue there as hard I can. I feel like an idiot. But then, the tickle start to fades and eventually goes away completely. Once fully gone, I let out a sigh, as does Baz. I wipe the snot away and turn to him.

“Now what was that?” I ask.

“My little sister has very severe allergies in the spring. My step-mother uses that trick to stop her sneezing fits. Luckily it works on large children as well as small ones.”

I glare as best I can with bloodshot eyes. Baz is certainly not intimidated though. I stand up out of bed, but the entire world suddenly decides to tilt sideways. Everything is topsy turvy. I stumble forward, about to fall on my face, until two strong hands grip my shoulders to steady me.

“Whoa whoa, don’t stand up.” Baz’s voice is surprisingly soft. There’s barely an edge to it. “Get back on the bed.”

I sit on the mattress, my head hanging down. Everything is still spinning. I try to focus on the floor for some semblance of stability.

“I’m going to try a spell,” he says, still soft. “Get well soon!”

His magic hits me like a heatwave and wraps around my body like a warm blanket. But the warmth slides off me, pooling at my feet.

“Hmph. Why isn’t it working?”

“My body knows I hate you,” I chuckle. “Doesn’t want your help.”

Baz growls. “Or maybe your magic agitating cold is spell proof. You’re going to have to get over it the old fashioned way, I guess .”

I groan. “I have a project to hand in though.”

“I’ll do that,” Baz replies. “Just get back in bed, you idiot.”

“But-”

“No buts. Lie down, now.”

With one last annoyed humph, I do as he says. The usually annoyingly lumpy pillow feels like a goddamn cloud now. I sigh and snuggle into it. Baz carefully pulls the blanket up to my shoulders. I open my eyes, but my vision is too blurry to see his face clearly. I wonder what he looks like, how he’s looking at me. I frown.

“Why are you doing this? You could kill me right now, easily”

“Because you’re utterly helpless right now. And despite your deluded opinion of me, I’m not a complete monster. I won’t kick a man when he’s down. Plus the sooner you get better, the sooner I won’t have to worry about being hit by a stray lightning bolt.”

I huff, closing my eyes. “Right. Don’t want to be a pile of ash.”

He scoffs. “Go to sleep, Snow.” With that, I hear him walk away. Once the door is closed, I let myself relax. I bury my face into the pillow and drift away into sleep.

“Snow? Snow? Simon, wake up.”

I blink open my gummy eyes. There’s little sunlight coming in through the window. Crowley, I must’ve slept the whole day away. Baz is leaning over me. And I swear he almost looks concerned. Probably just afraid I’ll fry him with my literally explosive sneeze.

“You just called me Simon,” I mumble.

“No, I didn’t. You’re sick and obviously hallucinating.”

Baz is holding stuff in his hands. A stack of papers in one, and a large ceramic bowl in the other. I squint at the bowl.

“What’s that?”

He holds up the paper. “Your homework. Of course it will only be of use if you decide to do it.”

I shake my head. “Not that, arsehole. The bowl.”

Baz places the papers on his side table and lowers the bowl towards my face. The smell of salty broth wafts its way into my stuffed nose.

“Soup,” Baz says. “Compliments of Cook Pritchard. I told her how utterly pathetic you were, plus how imperative it is you get better before burning the whole school to the ground. So she made you soup. Now sit up and drink it.”

With immense effort, I sit up on my bed. The room isn’t spinning as much as before, so that’s a good sign. Baz carefully places the soup in my lap and puts a spoon in my hand. I swear his fingers linger on mine, but it’s so brief I must be hallucinating more. I take a cautious sip. It tastes great. I hum in approval.

“Good?” Baz asks.

“Very,” I reply, taking another sip. The warmth it clears my aching head slightly, enough to let a sudden thought to smash in. I inhale sharply, which causes another coughing fit, and a curious look from Baz.

“You alright, Snow?”

“Oh Crowley,” I rasp out. “Did you tell Penny I’m here? She’s probably going to freak out.”

Baz rolls his eyes. “Of course. Bunce ambushed me after class, demanding I tell her where you are or she’d smite me where I stood. I told her, she didn’t believe me, then I told her again and swore on my mother’s grave, and then she was convinced.”

I sigh. “Oh thank Merlin. Is she coming up here? I’m guessing she wants to come up here.”

“She wanted to. But I told her we should keep you in quarantine for now in case anyone else could get the more violent symptoms.”

“You’re not worried about getting sick yourself?”

“I don’t get sick.”

I nod slowly. “Right. Because you’re a vampire.”

Baz glares, seemingly trying to murder me with just his gaze. “ Because, I have a good immune system. Now drink the rest of that soup. It will keep you hydrated and give you nutrients.”

With an annoyed huff, I keep drinking it. I’ll admit, it does make me feel better. Soon I look back up at Baz, still sitting on his bed facing me. “How are you so good at this?”

“I have four younger siblings, Snow. If one of them gets sick, they all get sick. And since I never do, I help my parents.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to help me.”

He makes a “pfft” noise, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. “Magically destructive illness means automatic truce in my book. And I told you, I’m not a complete monster.”

He doesn’t say anything else. Just keeps sitting there, silent, frowning slightly (but his face always looks like that). He doesn’t elaborate, leaving that statement hanging in the air. And honestly, I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself with it.

“Alright,” I finally say. “Truce. Until I’m not at risk of blowing you up.”

He nods once curtly. “Good. Glad that’s settled, Snow.”

I slurp down the last of the soup. (It’s really good.) Baz makes a disgusted noise at my manners. But he still takes the empty soup bowl from me and puts it on my desk. I lie back down.

“Now,” I say. “What did I miss in class?”

Baz raises an eyebrow. “You really care?”

I shrug. “I need something to sleep off my cold. Schoolwork is boring enough to send me right back to dreamland.”

“You really plan to sleep through your entire illness?”

“It’s only a cold. Should be gone in a day or two.”

“Achoo!”

Boom! A lightning bolt assaults the opposite wall and the black mark gets bigger. Five days. I’ve been sick for five fucking days and the only good thing is that I've figured out how to make my electric sneezes focused in one area. Now it just shoots out in front of me. Still makes Baz flinch though, understandably. He does so just as another sneeze bolt lets loose.

“Aleister Crowley, Snow,” he says from his bed. “Are you getting any better?”

“Obviously not,” I grumble, blowing my nose again.

“This is so weird. If this is a normal cold, then why won’t it go away?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

I flop down on the bed and groan. This is a nightmare. Penelope is pretty sure I have some unknown magical plague. She’s researching every minute outside of class. Agatha convinced Baz to bring me scones along with the daily soup. The Mage would care if he was bloody well around.

Baz has been surprisingly understanding. He brings the aforementioned soup and scones everyday, tells me what I missed in class, and even wrote out an assignment for me I dictated to him. Merlin, he even edited it for me. I really wonder, is this Baz pretending to be a nice person? Or is this how he actually acts but just treats me like crap? Am I the exception or the rule?

Either way, I think I like...this. This weird illness inducing truce. I definitely like it better than fighting.

“I feel like death,” I whine.

“You’re not dying, Snow,” Baz replies.

“How do you know, Mr. Smartypants?”

“Because I’m supposed to kill you. And the universe is not kind enough to let you die of a cold before I can do so.”

I roll onto my side so I can see him better. He’s reading his book with a completely blank expression. No indication he’s bothered by what he just said. It bothers me though. Usually I wouldn’t say anything, just accept it and move on. Maybe it’s my cold messing with my head, but I can’t let it go.

“You really think that?” I mumble. “That we’re going to kill each other?”

Baz flicks his eyes over to me. “Don’t you?”

I shrug. “I know I’m supposed to. It’s what everyone says. But I don’t know.” I look down at my bedsheet, tracing circles in the fabric. “I...I don’t think I'd want to now. You’ve been so nice to me through all of this. Why would I kill someone who’s being so nice to me?”

He scoffs. “Because I’m a Pitch and you’re the Mage’s heir. We’re doomed to die by each other’s hand. If the Humdrum doesn’t get you first.”

“Stop talking like your father and talk like yourself,” I snap.

He doesn't say anything for too long. I slowly lift up my head. Baz is looking at me, and it’s not with disgust, or contempt, or even blank resignation. In fact, he looks almost...pained. His eyes are round and open, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He’s got a death grip on his book so hard his knuckles are ghost white. It’s like he wants to say something but he can’t get it out. The anxious ache in my stomach grows with every passing second.

“Simon-”

Then I sneeze.

It comes out of nowhere. The bolt sails towards Baz’s head. He yelps and ducks down just in time. When he looks back up, it’s with the familiar expression of contempt.

“Fucking Merlin and Morgana, Snow!” He roars. “You nearly killed me!”

“I’m sorry!” I shout back.

“I don’t fucking care how sorry you are! If I’m going to die it will not be by your idiotic cold!”

“It was an accident.”

“Like hell it was,” he snarls. “Thought you could lull me into a false sense of security then get me, huh? Nice try, Chosen One.”

I gape at him. Does he really think I’d do that? That I’m capable of something so manipulative? “N-No of course not. I-I- How could you- I would-”

“Shut the fuck up you stupid stuttering numpty!”

He pushes himself off the bed and stomps to the door.

“W-Where are you going?”

“Out,” he mutters. “Away from you.”

With that, he walks out and slams the door closed with enough force to shake the room. I’m left there, frozen, in too much shock to move. What the hell just happened? It was an accident, I know it was. But my stupid words wouldn’t work like usual. And now he’s gone. There’s nothing I can do.

Slowly, I lay back down on my bed and stare out the window. I don’t cry. I just let myself wallow in self pity. Mentally hitting myself for doing that. Fuck, we were getting somewhere, and I messed it up. Messed it up like I always mess up everything.

I really am the worst chosen one that’s ever been chosen.

Baz hasn’t spoken to me in two days. Fuck, he hasn’t even so much as looked at me. No more homework help or soup. (Penny’s been bringing food instead.) It’s all just unbelievably tense silence. He stays out of the room too, goes out at night for longer that he ever has before. Like right now.

I’m on my back, staring at the ceiling. I’m surrounded by snotty tissues. I can’t sleep. That stupid day is still mulling around in my head all this time. It was an accident. I know it was...right? I didn’t mean to. The sneeze just came out of nowhere, no warning. I didn’t want to hurt Baz. It’s just this stupid cold.

What if it was subconscious? What if deep down I did? Oh god, am I really that much of a monster inside? I can’t be, I can’t be, I can’t-

I can’t breathe.

I bolt up and put a hand to my chest. It’s like there’s an elephant on my lungs. The whole world is spinning. The horrible thoughts keep bashing into me over and over again. You’re evil, you’re a monster, you tried to kill him after all he did to help you. It’s like the world’s worst time loop. Every inhale is a struggle. My magic reacts with me, pushing to the surface, making my skin simmer and glow. Fuck, I think I’m about to go off.

“Snow? Simon!”

Baz’s voice is distant to me. I faintly hear him run to my bed. He crashes onto the mattress, eyes wild with fear.

“Baz,” I choke out. “Can’t- Can’t breathe.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” he mutters. “Is it your cold?”

“N-No. Head. T-Thinking- Won’t stop.”

Baz’s fear fades slightly. He looks more determined than anything. Suddenly, he takes my head between his hands, looking me right in the eye. (I think he does, it’s all too spinny.)

“Simon,” he says firmly. “You’re having a panic attack, okay? I need you to try to calm down and control your breathing.”

I try to wrangle in my mind but it won’t listen. The thoughts slip out of my grasp every time. My body keeps heating up. I shake my head violently.

“C-Can’t.’

“Shit,” he hisses. After a second, he grabs my wrists presses both my hands to his cool chest. “Simon, I want you to feel me breathe and try to sync up with it, okay?”

I nod vigorously.

“Alright. Listen to my voice, feel my lungs. In,” he inhales, “1,2,3. Out,” he exhales, “1,2,3.”

I focus on the feeling under my palms. It’s the only constant, grounding thing I can detect at the moment. In, 1,2,3, out, 1,2,3. Baz does it over and over again, keeping his grip on my wrists tight. Before I know it, I’m breathing just like him, my magic isn’t about explode, and the world isn’t spinning anymore.

I can finally see Baz’s face clearly. I’ve never seen him so scared, eyes wide and brows near his hairline. He hasn’t let go of me. But...I really don’t want him to, actually. His touch keeps me steady. It reminds me of the real world. That I didn't really kill him.

“You okay?” He says softly. I nod, and he sighs, the fear sliding off his face. “Thank Merlin.”

The exhaustion washes over me. This whole experience has completely drained me. I can’t help but yawn.

“Go to bed, Snow.” Baz starts to let go of my wrists. I inhale sharply. No, he can’t leave now. The second lets go I feel untethered, weightless, like I could drown in my own mind again.

“No,” I say, grabbing Baz’s hands tightly. He looks at me curiously. “Don’t go.”

“Snow, wha-”

“You’re, you’re keeping me grounded. Just stay. Please.”

Baz looks at me for what feels like eternity. His lips hang open. I watch his eyes for a sign of choice. He’s probably going to shove me away. Call me an idiot or something. The last thing I expect is for him to sigh and nod slowly.

“Alright,” he whispers. “Just face the other way in case of a sneeze.”

I nod back. “Okay.”

I lay down on my side, facing the window. I brush the snotty tissues onto the floor, giving me a better view of the twinkling stars. After hearing the sound of Baz kicking off his shoes, I feel the mattress shift as he lays down next to me. We’re still holding each other's hand. I refuse to let go. But it’s more awkward now, my arm bent behind me. It’s definitely preventing me from falling asleep.

Fuck it. I grunt and pull our hands in front of myself, putting Baz’s arm across my waist. He lurches forward as a result, inhaling sharply. His chest is maybe a millimeter from touching my back. Our bodies are practically lined up.

“Snow, what are you-”

“Can’t sleep if my arm twisted,” I mutter. “Neither can you.”

He humphs annoyedly, but doesn’t move. Our fingers are weaved together, resting in front of my stomach. I can feel his breath hit the back of my neck, sending a warm shiver down my spine. Usually, Baz’s constant presence makes me tense, like I’m walking on eggshells or a minefield. But now, it’s the exact opposite. I don’t feel panicked or drowning as long as I can hear him breathing and feel his skin on mine. Clinging to his hand, it’s like clinging to a life raft.

“Goodnight, Baz.”

“Night...Simon.”

I squeeze his palm once, just lightly. And I swear he squeezes back.

I wake up just before dawn. Orange light is dancing on the horizon outside the window. There’s a weight across my side. And something warm on my back. Something warm and breathing.

Oh. Right.

Baz has moved closer in his sleep, (though he didn’t have to move that much in the first place.) His nose is nudged into my neck, his chest pressed against my spine. Our legs are tangled together. We’re still holding hands too, together arms across my side, fingers interlocked.

Basilton Grimm-Pitch is sleeping next to me. Curled up next to me. And it feels...really nice. I like him like this. Under my thumb, under my hand. Not off plotting or hurting others or hurting himself. Part of me wants to never let him move from here ever again.

I let go of his hand and slowly turn to face him. He’s breathing evenly, lips slightly open (and he calls me a mouth breather.) He looks so relaxed, and kind of, pretty. His hair is all mussed, raven strands hanging in his face. The dawn light makes his pale skin practically glow. Maybe I never will let him get up. Maybe I’ll just keep looking at him for eternity.

His eyes blink open. And slowly, they focus on me. He looks very shocked for a second, but then he relaxes as the memory of last night returns. Though his eyes still look a bit scared.

“You’re still here,” I whisper. “You stayed all night.”

“You begged me to stay,” he replies, voice equally low.

“But you didn’t have to.”

He shrugs, something he rarely does. “I’m allowed to be nice sometimes.”

“You keep saying that. Maybe...you’re just a nice person.”

“Am not.” His nose curls up in disgust. “Stop trying to ruin my reputation, Snow.”

“Actually, I really think you are.” I trace a finger down his jaw and his breath hitches. “You’re a nice person, Baz. A good person.”

I run my finger up and down, and his eyes flutter shut. He lets out a shuddering sigh. I feel his hand clench behind me. His face pulls in, like he’s in pain. No, I don’t want him to be hurting. So I move my hand upward and rub his forehead with my thumb. Trying to erase his tense lines with my touch. Slowly, his grip loosens, the lines fade, and his eyes open, just halfway.

“Simon...” he sighs.

Then I kiss him.

I don’t exactly know why. The impulse enters my mind and suddenly my lips are pressed against his. A still, chaste kiss. Baz inhales sharply, head pulling back slightly. For a second I think he’s going to push me off. That I’ve made an enormously stupid mistake and now Baz is going to fry me alive for it.

But then he pushes back. He grabs my shirt at the small of my back and hauls me even closer to him. It’s like there’s a fire burning between us. Growing bigger with every way mouths move, slotting together like that’s all they’re meant to do. Baz’s hand presses hard into my lower back, like he’s making sure I’m really here.

I wonder how long he’s wanted this. I wonder how long I’ve wanted this. I’d say I didn’t, but then why is there this list in my head of all the things I’ve always wanted to do to Baz? Like this.

I push my hand into Baz’s hair. It’s smooth and slips through my fingers, just like I always thought it would. I clench my fist and shove his face into mine. Suddenly, he breaks off.

“Sorry,” I say (I’m out of breath, it’s embarrassing.)

“No, it’s... How’s your cold? Do you still feel sick?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Worried about catching? I thought you didn’t get sick.”

“I don’t. But a lightning sneeze could turn me into a pile of ash.

Oh right. I’ve completely forgot about my cold until now. I take a breath through my nose, and though it's not exactly clear, it's better than before. My throat isn’t as scratchy either. I smile, earning a confused look from Baz.

“Actually,” I say, “I’m feeling a lot better. I think you might be curing me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Snow.”

“You called me Simon before.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Baz .” I cup his cheek. The annoyance drains from his face with a single sigh. Crowley, who knew one touch could make him relax like this? He puts his hand over mine, long fingers around me.

“Simon,” he says softly. “What are you doing?”

“Holding your face, obviously.”

“No. I mean, what is this?” He gestures between us. “Is this just an impulsive illness induced decision? Or...something else?”

I chew on my bottom lip, and sigh. “Well, I’m usually unsure of most things. But, I’m sure that I like this. I like you. I like you being nice to me, I like being nice to you. I like knowing you’re okay. These past few days, when I thought I almost killed you, I thought I was going to lose my mind. Fuck, I had a bloody panic attack over it. And I’m so sorry for that, I really am. I just, I know I like this better than fighting.” I bend my head down, too scared to look him in the eye. “Do...do you?”

Baz lets go of my hand, and for a second I think he’s going to push me away. Tell me that he hates me, that he hopes I rot in hell after putting me there. But then he grabs my chin and tilts my head back up to face him. His mouth is stern, determined, but his grey eyes are soft. Softer than I’ve ever seen them before. He traces his index slowly up my jawline. When his fingers tangle in my hair, it sends a shudder down my spine.

“Yes,” he breathes. “I do. Of course I do. Crowley, I've always wanted this.”

I’m taken aback by that, eyes widening. “Really?”

“Yes. Almost since we met.”

My breath hitches. His utter candor hits me right in the heart. For once, there’s nothing guarded about his face. He’s not hiding behind a bored expression anymore. He’s letting himself be vulnerable to me. And I like it. I don’t want him to hide from me anymore.

I grab the back of Baz’s neck and tap my forehead against his. He takes a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut. Dragging his hand down my spine, he settles his palm against the small of my back.

“Then let's have this, Baz,” I whisper.

"Simon," he sighs. "I do want this, I really do. But there’s still a lot of stuff in our way. You have to know that.”

“Of course I know. But...we can do it, right? We can figure it all out. If we can get through this shitty destructive cold, we can get through anything.”

Baz chuckles, shaking his head against mine. “I think an impending civil war and a super villain are a bit more difficult.”

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess. But we’ll have each others backs. We can beat it together. And for now, let’s just...” I sigh, letting my eyes fall shut. “Let’s worry about all that later, alright? I don’t want to think about tomorrow. I want it to be just us for now.”

He smiles softly, eyes opening just a bit. He pushes us closer together. I bury my face in his neck, and he pushes his nose into my hair.

“Yes. Let’s, just be us right now.”

“Good.”

So we just lay there, holding each other, letting the world happen around us while we stay still. Because while we’re here, we’re not the Chosen One and the Pitch heir. We’re just two boys who care about each other with all the time in the world.

I've hated being in this bed the past week. But now I never want leave it again.

AN: Yeah it got super sappy at the end, I know. I'm a sap king/queen. Next up: side characters!

[ccaprico]

I Dream of only You (Ch 1)

Synopsis: Allura was trying to live a normal life. Or, as normal as she could get when she brewed potions and cast spells for a living. It was going well until her new neighbour showed up - a man with a prosthetic arm and his own fair share of secrets.

So maybe she wasn't that normal, but neither was the man living next door.

Relationships: Shiro/Allura (Shallura), Wiccan! Allura, Werewolf! Shiro.

Word Count: 4,988

Chapter: 1/6

AO3

Allura was sure she did the potion right.

Three ounces of powdered ginger to four tablespoons of dittany – check. Water, honey and mint added to the mixture – check. Then, the spell that would bring the magic sealed within to the surface. Add liquid love until potion turns violet – not check. It went blue instead of purple.

Her eyes scanned through the instructions, checking she read every ingredient correctly (someone should come up with a typed version of the spell book, her ancestors had terrible handwriting). Every bowl was empty, so she hadn’t missed anything, and her spells were always correct. That wasn’t what she was worried about.

So where did she go wrong?

Tipping the failed potion down the drain, Allura started once again, pouring ginger into a bowl and grinding dittany to a pulp. For a calming potion, it wasn’t doing a good job at keeping her calm. An aspirin would work better by this point, but dammit, Allura wasn’t a quitter, and some prissy potion wasn’t about to beat her. From the sofa, Blue meowed.

Someone knocked on the door. In a flash, Allura threw the book into one of the cupboards. She didn’t get a chance to open the door properly before a voice cut through the silence. “Have you seen the new guy yet?”

Allura sighed. “Hello to you, too.”

Lance brushed her comment off with a wave of his hand, barging his way into her apartment. Without warning, he flung himself onto the sofa, groaning as he shoved his face into one of her fur cushions.

“Well?”

“No, I haven’t.” Allura glanced at Lance’s state of attire, cocking an unimpressed eyebrow at the baggy, ill-fitting clothes. She expected better from Lance. “Why do you ask?”

Another groan as Lance pushed himself off the sofa, resting his head against the armrest. “I wanted to get your thoughts on him. Like - God, Allura. He’s fucking gorgeous.”

Two months ago and she would have believed it. “You mean like Zarkon?”

That was a memory not worth digging up. With the way Lance’s mouth hung open, Allura would have thought she insulted his family. “You said you wouldn’t bring him up again!” He hissed, eyes wide. “You know how I was back then!”

“He looked like a turtle.”

“This guy is different.” Lance pursed his lips. “He’s like – Allura, he’s like the textbook definition of hot. You’ll know what I mean when you see him.”

Allura planted a hand on her hip and tutted. “I thought you had the hots for Keith. What are you doing looking at another man?”

“I’m allowed to look!” Lance said. “And Keith agreed with me. We were talking about it, like, ten seconds ago!” Lance had a funny attractiveness scale, but if Keith thought someone was attractive... “Not that he meant anything by it. Apparently they used to go to the same university. He moved to be closer to his workplace. I think Keith said he was a firefighter, which is weird, ‘cause Keith did piloting at university, and the guy’s obviously smart, but - I don’t know. I only spoke to him for... five minutes?”

“Maybe he decided he’d rather be a firefighter than a pilot. It’s not that strange,” Allura said, settling into the armchair. A firefighter definitely seemed like the easier of the two – mentally, at least.

“...No.” Lance glanced at the doorway, as if expecting someone to barge through at any moment. He lowered his voice. “He’s got a prosthetic that Keith said was new, but he completely clammed up when I asked about it... It’s like, buff as well. I guess the doctor thought he’d look strange otherwise.”

Huh.

“So, how high are we talking?” Allura said, leaning back in her seat. She was right to have spent money on the right furniture.

Lance blinked, before smiling. “Oh, an eleven. Easy.”

“An eleven?” That was debatable - and she hadn’t even met the guy.

Lance nodded, practically on the edge of his seat. “Trust me - you get it when you see him.”

He sounded so certain, but it wouldn’t be the first time Lance had terrible taste in a man. Still, colour her intrigued. She needed a bit of eye candy in her life; she doesn’t get a lot of attractive single men where she worked. Keeping her hopes a little lower than Lance made out would be a wise idea, especially if the man turned out to be another Zarkon. She still couldn’t get over the fact that a person could actually look like a turtle.

Something must have shown on her face, because Lance was smirking when she looked over. “You’re so interested.”

“Of course I’m interested,” she huffed. It’s not like she would deny it.

“Well, don’t let me keep you. Go see him!” He shoo’ed her toward the door with a grin before she could even say no. Would she say no? He looked more excited about the idea than she did. “I can’t wait to get your opinion on him!”

“I’m guessing you’ll be staying here, then?” Lance nodded. It shouldn’t surprise her anymore. Any moment he could get with Blue, be it a five-minute walk to the grocery store or a weekend away, he took without question. It would make him the best cat-sitter if she didn’t have four more to worry about.

With a huff, she slid off the seat and grabbed her shoes. “You better not screw anything up, McClain.”

Lance held a hand over his heart. “Me and Blue will be picture perfect. I promise.”

She shot him a glare. “I’m still not over the fact that my cat likes you more than me. You should take her off my hands for a few days so my wallet can recover.”

Allura left the apartment to Lance’s booming laughter, smiling to herself. The hallway was a mess of boxes and furniture, packed together in stacks against the wall with the door opposite wide open. She could see the apartment from here, filled with even more boxes - some open, some not – on top of every surface.

Allura walked over to the door and rapped on the wood. She peered inside. There was a sofa shoved into the corner, a bench press, dumbbells and barbells lying across the floor. Her new neighbour liked to work out, then. Nothing too strange, aside from maybe the number of weights, but Sendak had been worse. Her ex-neighbour wouldn’t be missed.

She only found out about the new neighbour a few days ago, when a bang outside alerted Allura to the fact that Sendak was moving out. Both of them were happy to be rid of one another. There were no words of goodbye when he hefted his bag over his shoulder – probably filled with either weed or steroids – and sauntered down the stairs, his dog in tow.

There was a bang somewhere down the corridor, followed by a loud “Coming!” as a large man came into view.

Lance... hadn’t been exaggerating, for once. He was handsome - in a rugged, scruffy kind of way, obviously using the weights he brought daily. His undercut was unkempt, with a lock of white hair that didn’t belong, and hadn’t shaved in a few days. A scar ran across his face.

The man stuck his hand out in greeting. “You’re from the apartment across the hall, right? I’m Shiro.” He smiled, and she got a whiff of his cologne, musky and earthen with something else. God, it was overpowering.

Fighting back the urge to cough, her attention turned to his very metal hand. Right, a prosthetic.

“Allura.” A jolt shot up her arm when they shook hands, the metal chilling – no, that wasn’t it. It felt like an electric shock. She flinched back instinctively, pulling her hand out of his firm grip. If he realised her reaction to the touch, he didn’t let it show.

With a wide, sweeping arm Shiro gestured for her to come in.  Allura slipped onto the sofa, nestled between a box labelled ‘kitchen’ and one filled with books, while Shiro moved for the kitchen. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Water, please.” They were pleasantries - nothing more, nothing less. Allura kind of hated herself for expecting something different from a stranger.

Shiro set the drinks on the table before lifting a stack of boxes off the sofa. He managed to make it look easy, and her gaze most definitely didn’t wander to his arms, bulging beneath his skin-tight shirt as he disposed of them in the corner.

Nope, no way.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He fell onto the sofa a moment later, legs spread and back straight, and she couldn’t tell whether he was relaxed or ready to bolt – a bit of both, from the look of it. It was kind of how Allura felt.

“You did just move in. It’s not like I was expecting it to be tidy.” She glanced around the room, trying to find something to talk about. All she saw were weights. “Uh... you have a lot of weights.”

Good enough.

Shiro looked thrown by the comment, but caught himself a moment later. “Yeah. I work-out quite a lot, since my job kind of demands it.” He smiled. “I’m a firefighter.”

“I know.” Shiro raised a brow. Right, they only met five minutes ago. She shouldn’t know that. “Uh, Lance told me.”

Shiro nodded in understanding. “He’s who lives next door to Keith? He helped me unpack. Nice guy. I don’t get why Keith’s always complaining about him.”  He paused for a moment. “He carried on staring at my shirt, though. I think something was on it.”

Typical Lance, not even bothering to hide his attraction. At least Allura could be discrete with her checking out, risking a glance down. The shirt clung to his body, leaving nothing to the imagination. She could actually see the shadows cast by his pectorals.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Allura said, clearing her throat.  “If you asked me, I think there’s a bit of sexual tension between them. No-one can argue for that long and not be attracted to one another.”

Shiro grinned, glancing her way. “That does sound like something Keith would do.”

“Is that why you moved here?”

“What?”

“For Keith. Lance said you two knew each other.”

With the way Shiro reacted, she would have thought she overstepped her boundaries. It’s not like she was asking about his prosthetic! The muscles in his arm twitched, and the light in his eyes faded.  “One of the reasons,” he said after a moment. “There’s a few more, but it’s nothing important.”

Which meant it was important, but he didn’t want to tell her. She could respect that.

Truth be told, the only reason Allura moved here was to escape from her family. She loved them to pieces, but between a large business and a line of magical heritage, ‘normal’ didn’t fit into her life. When she moved to the blandest, most overpriced building she could find, it had to be ones of the best choices she ever made.

Especially now.

Shiro asked what she did for a living, and she described the flower shop she owned: the hours upon hours spent coming up with new combinations for each individual, the time it took to grow certain flowers. For someone who had no idea what flower arranging was about, he listened with rapt attention. That was new. Even Lance completely changed the subject when it came up. But no, Shiro listened to her ramblings on chrysanthemums with a silent enthusiasm.

It was nice not to have someone completely ignore her interests.

“Uh, is that your cat?”

What? Allura turned, staring at the doorway – and yes, Black sat dead in the middle, staring at the two of them. Or rather, staring at Shiro.

Allura choked. “Yes?”

Shiro’s lip quirked upward. “You don’t sound sure.”

“That’s because he supposed to be with Lance.” Black remained perfectly still at the door, almost like she was waiting for permission to come in. Her tail flicked from side-to-side.

There was a moment of silence, where both of them stared at the cat and she stared back, before Shiro coughed.  “Is she coming in, or is she just going to stare at us?” It was a fair question, but he was asking the wrong person. Or cat. Black did whatever she wanted –all of them did whatever they wanted. “Does she... know how a doorway works?”

“Yes. I’m fairly sure she knows how a doorway works.”

“Just checking.”

“She can probably smell dog,” Allura said. Sendak owned a huge bulldog when he came to the apartment. It was a horrible, mauled animal by the name of Throk, who looked like it had been in a fair share of fights. Black hated that dog, and with good reason.

Next to her, Shiro went deathly still. “What?”

“The last owner had one,” Allura explained. “He was a horrible dog. Carried on harassing Blue until the guy moved away, and he barked at everything.” Usually at six in the morning, when Allura was still very much sleeping.

Allura almost missed the way his shoulders sagged. Maybe he was afraid of dogs? It certainly seemed like an odd reaction to have. He raised his hand toward Black, clicking to get her attention. “Here, uh...”

“Black.”

“Here, Black,” he said, biting down a smile. So she wasn’t creative - sue her.

A part of her kind of hoped that Black would walk away, if only to see how Shiro would react, but of course not. She glided over to the man the moment he called her name, coiling around his spread legs like a serpent before settling on the floor. Allura swore she heard a purr when Shiro ran his large hand through her coat, brushing his thumb behind her ears.

She never got that. Not unless it was a particularly good day.

“Your cat is nice.” Shiro never broke his gaze with the back of Black’s head. How someone so rough could look so kind was beyond her, but he managed it. Somehow. Black hated new people, and here she was, playing with a complete stranger in his apartment.

... She might be a little envious. “Blue loves Lance, Red loves Keith... I’m feeling a little bit left out here.”

Allura wasn’t sure whether she was directing the comment at Black or Shiro, but it got a laugh out of him anyway. “I don’t think you’d like me running my hands through your hair, would you?”

“I’d get a restraining order before you could.”

Shiro laughed again, and Allura... she didn’t laugh, but she was definitely smiling. Maybe even grinning. It must have been the kind of guy he was: extroverted, easy to talk to. Maybe she should make a bit more of an effort with Shiro than Sendak and Zarkon. Black certainly seemed to think so.

“You’re using your normal hand,” she observed, glancing at the prosthetic resting on his inner thigh. She wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t for the fact that he reached across his entire body. It seemed easier just to use his prosthetic.

“I don’t think your cat would appreciate a metal hand on her face.”

“Fair enough. She probably wouldn’t like you anymore.” It was a good excuse, but that couldn’t be the only reason. “I’m surprised to see something so high-tech, though. It must’ve cost a lot of money to get one that good.”

His muscles tensed at the question. Allura had gone too far. Of course, she’d go and screw it up, of course. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low. Fingers twitched as they withdrew from Black’s fur. “It’s the newest model. One of my friends got it for me.”

She overstepped her boundary. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Shiro shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said, forcing a smile. “It just happened recently.  I’m still not really over it.”

“I won’t pry,” Allura promised. The naturally curious part of her – the one that read through hordes of books and enchantments for fun, the one that liked to wander forests in the middle of the night – disagreed. But she meant it.

Shiro snorted. “As if I’d tell you.” He flashed a large grin. “I’d rather hear about the mysterious neighbour next door. I heard she has five cats - five! She sounds like a crazy cat person to me.”

Ouch. Crazy cat person?

“I’m not a crazy cat person!”

“Sounds like something a crazy cat person would say. Maybe next time she’ll bring her army of cats!”

Allura huffed. “Next time? That’s awfully ambitious.”

He picked up Black, raising her paws in front of her face. Black would never let her do something like that. “I’m hoping her cat will convince her. We’re as thick as thieves, aren’t we, buddy? You’ll convince the crazy cat lady to come back, won’t you?”

“Maybe if you stopped insulting her, she might consider it.”

Allura smiled when Shiro offered Black back over to her, taking her back in her arms. “Seems like a reasonable deal.” Their hands brushing against one another. Where his metal hand had been cool to the touch, his left was hot. She was almost expecting there to be a burn where they touched, something that said ‘Shiro had been here.’

There was nothing.

Both of them stood at the same time, waiting for the other one to lead. Allura clearing her throat. “It was nice meeting you.” God, that didn’t sound cliché at all. “I’m sure you have a lot of unpacking to do.”

Shiro smiled brightly, his face lighting up. “Likewise. Hopefully, the place won’t be such a mess next time.”

Allura waved good-bye, and awkwardly shuffled out of the door. She could feel Shiro’s gaze on her, his grey eyes burning holes in the back of her head. Manoeuvring through the corridor in record time, she got through the door just in time for a smile to break across her face. Okay, she could see why Lance found him hot.

Lance remained in the exact same position as when he stumbled back into her apartment, the only difference being the addition of a bright blue cat lying on his stomach. He grinned when she came in, startling Blue when he sat up.

“So, what did you think?” She really, really wanted to lie and say she wasn’t interested, but that would mean missing out on all the gossip Lance had.

“...Shut up.”

Lance cackled.

“What was your new neighbour like?”

Allura sighed as she stared at Coran through the mirror. Why he insisted on scrying was beyond her. Something to do with keeping the tradition between them? It would hold more merit if he wasn’t so open to getting a phone call or two, especially when it came from a certain somebody.

“Lance told you, didn’t he?”

“He mentioned something about Shiro – that’s his name, isn’t it? – being quite an attractive fellow, and you were – and I quote - ‘head over heels’ for him. I’m guessing that’s an exaggeration?”

“Just a bit.” Not as much as she would like, though.

Coran smiled, the shadows of his face telling of a younger man.  “I guess it’s a good thing I asked you. Your mother and father would be thrilled to know you’ve found quite the man.”

That wasn’t an exaggeration. Allura wanted all the juicy gossip she could get from Lance, and he delivered. He spent every morning jogging, stretching just outside their apartment complex (if she wanted a peek) before disappearing for an hour to the gym. He went to college on a scholarship, graduating with a near perfect score in some degree Allura had never heard of before today, and when Keith came by later that day, he explained how no-one ever managed to beat Shiro on any of the simulations, be it with one year of experience or ten.

A prodigy, they called him.

“He’s nice. Very polite.” Coran raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. “I thought he’d be a bit more arrogant, to be honest. He kind of looks the type. If he had the attitude.” She shifted in her seat. “Black loves him.”

“Black?” Coran blinked. “You mean, ‘I’ll bite anything that touches me’ Black?”

Allura nodded.

“Wow.” Coran whistled, leaning back in his chair. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Neither did I.” But Allura was used to it after Blue and Red. The cats were her familiars, and yet they spent more time with Lance and Keith than with her. “He has a prosthetic - I think he might’ve been in an accident.”

She could still feel his touch, how electricity shot through her spine like a bullet. Her skin crawled, magic curling beneath the fingertips. She thought it had been a static shock, but the sensation lingered for too long. That only happened when another witch was around, but as far as she knew, no-one like that lived in the apartment complex. And Shiro definitely wasn’t a witch.

His arm, on the other hand... maybe it wasn’t a shock she felt. Clashes magic could cause something akin to an electric shock, and it wouldn’t be too unusual for a mortal to possess something of the supernatural. It was the first time she ever heard of a prosthetic being enchanted, though.

Coran sighed through the mirror, rubbing his brow. “What a poor lad. Do you know what happened?”

“I was just about to ask you about that.”

Coran stared at her through the mirror. “How should I know? I’ve never met the lad.”

“His prosthetic – something was wrong with it. I felt – at least, I thought I felt - something magical about it.” Only a few witches were powerful enough to enchant something as advanced as a prosthetic. For it to work so well... it was unheard of.

“Magic?” Coran ran his fingers through his ginger moustache. “I’ve never heard of such a thing being accomplished, but I can definitely look through the records. We are dealing with magic, after all. Anything’s possible. Are you sure that’s what you felt?”

“Better safe than sorry,” said Allura. “It seemed quite high-tech, if that helps. I didn’t get a good look at it.”

Coran jolted something into a notebook, glancing back at Allura. “Was there anything else? Some hidden secrets you found?” A sly smile slipped onto his face. “Or maybe some pectorals you want to look into...?”

“Coran!”

Her face burned red as Coran’s laugh bellowed through the mirror. “Just checking, my dear! I mean, he sounds like quite the dreamboat!”

Allura didn’t need this from him of all people.

“On a different note...” Coran straightened in his chair, fixing her with the best parenting look he could muster. “I assume you’ve been keeping up with your studies? Your parents would roll over in their graves if I let you flunk off training.”

“Yes, Coran.” Allura smiled. “Otherwise this conversation wouldn’t be happening.”

He raised his brow. “Even the runes?”

“Even the runes.”

Allura saw the tension fade from his shoulders. “At least one of us is having a good time.” He sighed.

“Is work that bad?” A government job sounded boring, but it couldn’t be that bad.

His face said otherwise. “There are so many things going wrong. More and more creatures are attacking mortals, and more and more unregistered witches and wizards keep popping up. The government’s got its hands full without some orange Cheeto making a mess of normal life. And that’s not even the worst of it.”

Allura swallowed the knot in her throat. “The state of magic isn’t getting better?”

Coran shook his head, pinching his brow. “More and more people need wands, and it seems to be spreading. Nothing confirmed, of course, but the drainage seems to be moving west.”

“And the government still doesn’t know what’s causing it?”

It came out of nowhere, after all. Two years ago every witch and wizard on the planet could do magic without a wand, and now all of Europe needed one. Magic was weakening. Soon only people like her – from long ancestries of magic – would be able to use it, and then... nothing. It would be gone if they couldn’t find the cause behind it.

“There are a few theories,” said Coran, “but nothing concrete. Some people think it might be because the planet’s dying. Some just think it’s fading. People are starting to panic.”

“I can see why,” said Allura. She couldn’t imagine using a wand every time she had to fix a sofa, or enchant a potion. It would be exhausting.

“You’ll tell me if you feel you magic draining, won’t you?” Coran fixed her with a worried look. “I couldn’t stand to see you lose your magic.”

Allura cleared her throat. “Of course. You know I would.”

Coran smiled. “It’s good to see you so happy,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m sorry to do this, especially after ending it on such a grim note, but-“

“It’s fine.” Allura smiled. “I need to get to bed anyway. Work tomorrow.”

“I’m glad you’re finally acting like an adult.” Coran paused, and the biggest grin Allura had ever seen made its way onto Coran’s face. “Talk to this Shiro fellow, will you? He seems like a good bloke.”

“Goodbye, Coran.”

The smile on Coran’s face never faltered, even when the clouds of magic curled in the mirror and his face dissolved into her own reflection. They weren’t related by blood, but Coran was definitely the closest thing to family she had left in the world. By her side, Black meowed, sitting patiently with her bright eyes fixed on Allura’s. She hadn’t even noticed her sitting until now.

Her lips twitched. “I guess you want to see him again too? You really took a liking to him.”

Another meow. Allura cooed, reaching down to pull the cat onto her lap. “He was very handsome,” she admitted, running her fingers across the area Shiro rubbed mere hours ago. “And nice - better than Sendak, anyway.” She smiled, unable to stop herself. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

With a sigh, Allura placed the cat on the ground and slipped into bed. “You’ll see him tomorrow, okay? I promise.”

And it was a promise she aimed to keep.

She knew before opening her eyes that she was dreaming.

The first sign was how weightless her body felt, like she could float into space if she pushed off the ground. Opening her eyes only solidified her idea. It was some kind of plane of existence, completely barren of life, but with a floor perfectly reflecting the night sky above. Everything was dyed in a purple hue – the colour of magic. And with the full moon hanging above her, it was obvious magic was at play.

This was weird for her. Really, really weird.

Dreamscaping and prophecies weren't exactly uncommon among witches, but they came with skill and practice - neither of which Allura had for the art. It took years of experience to unravel the future of dreams. The art of prophecy was too unpredictable for her taste - too subject to the situation and the surrounding to be any use for her. And that’s why she never learned.

So why was she here of all places?

Somewhere from behind, a woman chanted in a language she couldn’t recognise, let alone understand. It was harsh-sounding, filled with sharp sounds and harsh vowels... and magic. Lots and lots of magic.

Allura turned, scanning the area. There was nothing but purple lights and dark mountains in the distance, but behind... there. From this distance, she couldn’t be sure, but there was definitely a figure, their palms up and crackling with magic. Her body wreathed in ceremonial robes, skin ashen and face hooded. She wasn’t facing Allura.

She almost missed it in the darkness, but something was there, standing in front of the woman. It blocked out the stars, standing on its hind paws as it lumbered forward. Even from this distance, she could hear the thud of its paws against the ground, sending vibrations up her spine.

A werewolf.

She’d never seen one up close before. Its frame was monstrous: huge, towering over both the witch and Allura, and thick with muscles that could tear Allura in two. One swing of its claw would probably tear her in two – let alone the woman. And yet she looked unafraid, still chanting in the unknown language as the beast drew ever closer.

Black lightning shot from the witch’s fingers.

The beast roaring in pain, keeling over as the attack struck its arm. She’d never heard something so loud, so painful. The limb came off with a crack, landing on the ground as a charred heap of flesh. It was like someone dropped a bucket of ice down Allura’s spine. Whatever magic the witch used, it wasn’t natural.

Allura was sick.

The beast withered on the ground as the witch stalked forward, laughing to herself. “I told you not to leave, champion,” she whispered, but it was like thunder to Allura “You could have been our greatest weapon.” The motherly tone made her want to scream - shout - do anything to stop her - but the witch carried on, raising her hand to deliver a second blow.

She turned to Allura. 

“It would seem we have a visitor,” she said,  glancing at the beast. “A friend of yours? Perhaps I’ll show her what happens when you make friends with a monster.”

The blast of magic came quicker than Allura realised, hurling toward her. She saw what it did to the werewolf’s arm – something much stronger and much more muscular than her very human body. If it connected, she would be torn in two...!

And then she woke up.