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flowerwrites06 · 3 years

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break my mind’s eye VII — jjk

Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 7k+

Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff

Tags & Warnings (for entire series): drug dealing, marriage through trickery, explicit smut, drug use, dubious consent, prostitution, miscarriage, lots of manipulation, impregnation through manipulation

JEON JUNGKOOK TIES THE KNOT!

‘It’s a sad day indeed as the most eligible bachelor in the city is now officially married! The ceremony took place in a garden like-setting on the grounds of the old Jeon manor where we could see the cherry blossoms falling on Kim Belle’s veil.

The couple absolutely glowed in the afternoon light and Jungkook couldn’t keep his eyes off his new bride. While this relationship came as a surprise to everyone, many sources speculate that the two had been liaising for years in secret. Leave it the Jeon family to be as extravagant yet discreet as possible.

As per the family’s tradition, they will be staying in the manor for two nights before going back to their shared home.

Belle’s dress had been a little underwhelming to some of us until we got word that her waistline is encrusted with approximately 96 5 carat diamonds, the whole dress designed and created by Madame Saito, her mentor and one of the leading designers of our country. So appearances are quite deceiving as we’re looking at an easily $20, 000 wedding dress adorned by the new heiress.

The whole ceremony moved as smoothly as the falling flowers. Definitely a step up from the previous few articles written for Kim Belle in poor taste. The new Mrs. Jeon takes the award for being the most elegantly majestic bride of the year.’

“Sorry, sir?” Yoongi asked to make sure he heard Jungkook ask him to come over to his office for a private meeting. There were two ways this could go. Either a bullet in his head or a bullet he has to put in someone else’s head. Namjoon told him a lot of stories of how newer members of any mafia made you kill someone at least once to test true loyalty. Because really one could die to save themselves from any more misery but living their entire life responsible for a murder was a whole other story.

Jungkooks’ expression did not falter in the slightest, still in his proper wedding attire with a light tint on his lips from Belle’s lipstick. “It’s only going to be a few minutes.” He walked past him having every expectation of being followed.

Yoongi did not hesitate to continue walking along the large regal hallway before turning right into a dark rustic office. A much older man already situated himself on the couch while two guards stood on each side of a figure resting on his knees in front of the table.

The usual bright and luxurious light in the rest of the mansion unfortunately did not reach this room. Scent of tobacco mixed in with expensive cologne and sweat swirling in a dark room adorned with deep brown furniture. This was a place of purely business. Despite the pretty lavenders on Jungkooks’ breast pockets matching the flowers in Belle’s hair.

“Park Jeongsu…he was found in midst of exchanging letters to the mayor.” The older male spoke in a gruff tone possibly from the smoke infecting his throat.

“Thank you, uncle.” Jungkook stared down at the wooden box lined in purple velvet. “Do you see that? That’s what you called loyalty.” Fingers traced the outline of some diagram on the top that Yoongi could quite catch but it shone in gold. “Chul has been mingling with the likes of our own gang…” He scoffed with a smile. “Clever.”

Yoongis’ heart seemed quickly tumble down into a tight cage situated somewhere deep in an endless abyss. There was more sources for the mayor. Just how many rats did they have in this place? The man understandably was given minimal information so it was easy for him to stay unknowing and a little confused.

“I despise disloyal people, Jeongsu. I really do.” He attempted to give the trembling male an apologetic look but anyone could sense there was no sincerity. “Especially on one of most joyous occasions of my life, I expected all my soldiers to stay by my side. To protect me as I have tried to protect you and your families. I’ve always tried to be a gracious leader.” Jungkook shrugged. “If it were my father, your own balls would be stuffed down your throat until you choke to death.”

The mere description and Yoongi saw the male on his knees breathing heavily, the cloth around his mouth inflating at every breath.

“Of course today I can’t get my hands dirty.” He moved both hands away from the box. “I need to be gracious and generous today in honor of my new beloved wife.” Jungkook leaned on the edge of the table by his hands. “Thankfully my uncle was nice enough to question you while I was gone…” He gestured towards his blood soaked shirt and swollen eye. “So if you’ve come this far to me, that means you’re of no use.”

The words barely settled into the room but muffled protesting began from the vulnerable target. Even if the cloth wasn’t hindering his clarity, Jungkook and his uncle probably would not have had any remorse to step away. This wasn’t a family or business of mercy.

Flickering open the wooden box, Jungkook in his most casual aura picked up the shining silver object. Each bullet placed inside with heartwarming care before the older mans’ voice slithered through the intimate moment.

“Jungkook…” His uncle warned with a stern tone, smoke riddling the air around him. “It’s bad luck to execute someone on your wedding day.”

“I know.” He muttered without sparing him a sideways glance. Once everything had been prepared, Jungkook walked around the table and stood in front of the traitor. The gun handed out in Yoongis’ direction.

All eyes were on the male now and he never felt more uncomfortable in his entire life. He had been stuck in a trunk before so that was saying something. Eyes flickered from the older man to Jungkook to the male who clearly had been on his side. Of course refusing to do so would end with both their lives taken and then this whole operation would combust back into nothingness.

You’ve shot guns before. Not at innocent people.

No one was truly innocent. At least that was sentiment he plastered in his mind hiding away all the warnings and alarms from his conscience. Padding closer to where Jungkook stood, his heart raced faster at every step swallowing down any protest struggling to push through.

The thrashing faded away into a meek sob as Yoongi faced the man. Much to his discontent, the lack of lines on his face and the broken brightness in his eyes showed that he was but a boy. Possibly a tad younger than Jungkook himself or his age. Either way his mind now haunted itself with the prospect of killing a near child for the sake of his operation. Was it worth to take a life for this?

He was not the only one risking things however. This boy was one of many who were already victims of Jungkooks’ rule, at least Yoongi knew the one kneeling before him had fought for a cause.

Clicking back the safety, Yoongi tightened his jaw ignoring the tears streaming down their cheek and the giant eyes staring back at him.

For a few seconds the younger male calmed himself to an almost peaceful breathing state. It was brief and hard to truly notice but Yoongi saw the little nod he gave him. Reassuring the older male that this needed to be done. One life to protect the many.

In a rush of adrenaline Yoongi pulled the trigger. It wasn’t as loud as the guns he received in the precinct. Perfect for quick and quiet executions especially during these occasions. For a moment he could pretend that nothing even happened. Though blood leaking from the hole made on the others’ forehead spoke a truer story.

To the side he dropped, light thud echoing in the room before nothing but silence plunged comfortably.

“The den in Gongneung needs to be put under heavy security. I remember him one of the boys who was patrolling there.” Jungkook nodded towards the unmoving figure before fixated his gaze on the two guards who immediately bowed in response. “And I want a private meeting with the person who brought him in as a tribute.” He finally turned to Yoongi, expression softening a little at how frozen the man was. Carefully he patted him on the back. “You did well, Yoongi. I know being a medical apprentice, this isn’t exactly your line of work but I need to see whether it’s safe to have you around.” A small smile played on his lips. “I suppose I can always trust Belle’s judgement.”

Yoongi forced him to meet the younger male’s gaze, an awkward smile flickered but quickly faded away as he dumbly watched Jungkook take the gun away from him and put it on the table gently.

The boy lay limp on the dark wood slowly being painted with blood, deepening its hue into a deep wine glistening in the lowlight. Definitely not a sight supposed to be seen on an auspicious day.

Jungkook watched the blood ooze across the room and merely stood over it to move closer to the door. “Clean this up. No more tasks until I get to the mansion.” He ordered simply. “Yoongi…”

His attention flicked back to reality in a rush of cold air before following Jungkook along like a confused puppy.

As the bright light almost burned his eyes, Yoongi pretended that he just woke up from a really bad dream and nothing ever happened. He learned how to do that very quickly in his career especially after he shot his first person in the field. Not the healthiest way to cope but his pay did not actually cover for therapy.

Jungkook dug his hands into his pockets looking out the window. A bright, perfect day to be married after so long of hearing one proposal after the other. It was finally done. Eyes flickered towards the raven haired male who finally caught up to stand next to him. “Unfortunately I have to ask you another favor as well, Yoongi.”

“Does it involve me killing anyone? Can I have a five minute break first?”

The younger male chuckled before shaking his head. “No…it’s—it’s a little more delicate than that.”

Yoongis’ brows furrowed, all of his attention now dissipated into what he was going to say. Though he hated to admit he had a small idea of who it involved.

Jungkook stammered before glancing around the hallway and sighing. “It’s about the wedding night…”

The first thing she took off was her heavy earrings as they were led into one of the private rooms to change into more comfortable clothing. Apparently Boyoung wanted to have a small word with the two of them before they went off to bed. Her limbs felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets with how exhausted she was. Who knew just wearing a heavy dress and walking around would take so much out of you.

Belle understand on a whole new level just how models felt having to create such a strong demeanor that even pain could not pass across their features. Hours spent on chatting people up and others admiring the now famous waistline on her dress. The girl loved the dress more because of the fact Saito made it just for her made her happy enough.

Jungkooks’ hand permanently set on the small of her back. The man had disappeared for a while during the party but from the way his face tensed when he walked back here, she knew it had to do with work.

The guide opened a door for them and they were led into a room similar to the one Belle dressed up in for the ceremony.

Giving a kind smile to the guide, she walked and placed her earrings on the small table next to the bathroom. For the moment the couple had finally stood on their lonesome with no one to disturb them.

The young lord took the opportunity to pounce at his new bride and take her lips into his.

Her veil toppled off her head from the force and Belle couldn’t help but giggle a little into the kiss. “Not now.” She whispered.

“A few minutes.” Jungkook breathed out pulling her veil off gently before pressing a few more pecks on her soft lips. Whatever strain tightened up his nerves significantly loosened being around his only source for relaxation.

Belle hummed in protest, pressing against his chest to have him pause. “Your aunt is going to be here in a few minutes. We need to be decent.”

Jungkook merely smirked and gave her another peck just at the moment the door opened.

Boyoung gave her nephew a cheeky smile as he backed shyly before closing the door behind them.

“What did you want to talk about?” Belle asked with a sweet smile gracing her lips.

The older woman let out a sigh but still kept a decent smile gracing her features. She looked over at Jungkook who hung his head for a moment. “Dear…” Her tone rung grim and serious. A rare sound coming from a lady who always looked extremely happy every day. Once again the usual habit of holding Belle’s hands when she spoke of something. “The Jeon family has been around for many generations. Possibly longer than the city itself.” Boyoung chuckled lightly. “So with that age and prestige, there comes…a few traditions that lived on for our family’s continual survival.”

Belle nodded, trying to search her expression with the hope that was just some simple task she had to undertake. Maybe eating more fruits or balancing stuff on her head. Except the other womans’ voice sounded far too serious for something like that. Eyes flickered over to Jungkook who had his arms folded over his chest and his expression softened.

“Family members must be married at 21…” Boyoung repeated the tradition the couple already fulfilled. “They also need to carry on the line of the Jeon family.” Her grip tightened on her hands. “Do you have any conditions that may prevent you from having a baby?”

She stammered lightly. “No—I don’t think so.”

Boyoung nodded before giving her a smile except it wasn’t as bright more consoling.

“Why are we talking about babies now?” Belle smiled nervously.

She glanced over at Jungkook for a moment who tightened his jaw, seemingly unable to look Belle straight in the eye. “You understand the world we live in, dear. At some point, you both will need to dedicate yourself to your own lives just like Jungkooks’ parents did. Which is why we make a point to marry and have children in their brisk days.”

Belle’s lips parted for a moment, sensing where this now dreaded conversation was headed. “When—when do you want us to have children?”

Boyoung took a deep breath as the younger female had the urge to yank her hands away. “There is a ceremony on the wedding night for every Jeon wedding. I’ve done it, Jungkooks’ mother has done it and many of our ancestors. You are to—lay with one another that will give you a child.” She spoke carefully. “Because of a few incidents in the past, there is a strict rule that this ceremony must have two witnesses. Preferably people that the couple trusts not to fib or lie about the consummation.”

Her whole body felt like it burst into flames but no one noticed or cared. A little voice inside her screamed out so loud, Belle was worried she might actually mimic the volume right there and then. She really thought this conversation would not happen until a few years after the wedding, maybe when her heart wore down to the subject. How much more of her naivety was going to be shredded to waste before she realized these people did not care who they hurt. Especially when it came to their ideals.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, dear but—we must prepare tonight.” She caressed her cheek.

Belle could almost feel a slight sting on her skin at the seemingly affectionate movement. Blood curdling screams still echoed through her insides but on the outside, she nodded as any captive trying to live would do. Just nod and hope it ends quick.

Boyoung immediately smiled using the minor response as a reassurance boost before grinning at Jungkook. “I will see you both bright and early tomorrow.” She announced walking out of the door.

The couple now standing in a pit of thick silence.

“You knew about this.” Belle whispered, eyes growing glossier by the second as they stood face to face with one another. “Is that the part you conveniently forgot? The part where I’m supposed to make children for you tonight too.” She winced while Jungkook was trying conjure up words that would be most appropriate to reassure her.

Unfortunately the way their family worked and the way society worked were so far off from each other that even he felt helpless against it. “Belle, we’ve been doing it without protection this whole time. What’s going to be so different now?”

“They want me to be impregnated!” She shouted making the male hurriedly glance over at the door worried someone might be listening in. “With witnesses…” She whispered under her trembling breath.

“Baby, calm down.” He raised his hands to cup her cheeks, give her some form of comfort that he could while still making Boyoung and the rest of his family happy.

Belle roughly pushed him away, her bracelet tinkling and tugging at the fabric of his shirt when she moved back. “No that’s why you chose me, isn’t it?” Voice shook down to her very core as she yanked away from Jungkook attempting to hold her hand. “You wouldn’t feel bad if I was in display as opposed to someone you actually cared about.”

The lord paused in his tracks for a moment feeling his heart clench at the dark thought swirling in his wifes’ head. “I don’t want to do this just as much as you, B.” His words faded more into a mutter trying to keep the conversation private because he knew with all his soul that there was one person pressing their ear against the door. Thankfully most of these doors in the mansion were decently sound-proof. “You think I want people to see us like that?” He grabbed her by the cheeks now forcing to keep her close, noses just brushing against each other. “This is my family. You should know more than anyone that we can do everything for family.”

“Don’t do that.” She shook her head, breathing out a small sob and attempting to pull away from him again but his hands were firm to keep her still. “Don’t do that, this is not the same. It’s a baby—”

“I know.” He whispered, her pulse pounding against his palm making his stomach drop. “I do care about you. I care about you a lot…”

“No you don’t—” Belle hated that she was not just feeling anger pump through her veins but fear. Genuine fear. The permanency of what they were about to do could terrify anyone but at least normal people had the chance to say no or turn back.

“I do.”

She took a deep breath gently pushed his hands away. “If you did care about me…we wouldn’t be married. And I wouldn’t be preparing to be bred like an animal.” Swallowing down the painful lump in her throat despite the tears already trailing down her cheeks. People cried at weddings after all but rarely for this reason.

Before Jungkook could say another word Belle rushed away into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard it almost made even him jump.

No. No no no no no no no no no this was wrong. Of all the fucking things Yoongi witnessed in his entire life, this made him nauseous even thinking about it.

Witnessing impregnation. That’s what they called it, the men quietly smoking at the open area near the bedroom it was going to happen. The excited bastards looked to be about the age when it was acceptable in their time to behave in this manner, chin sagging down to their toes.

So along with mass selling drugs, the Jeon family loved impregnating their women in front of other people. How unsurprisingly disappointing.

The worst part was that Yoongi had a feeling Belle wasn’t a long-time girlfriend of Jungkook. He wasn’t even sure if the two were a real couple. But a child is fucking real. This wasn’t a fantasy game anymore for status, this was solidifying a future that the woman probably didn’t even want.

Silence plunged into the room when from the corner of his eye a lavender adorned figure stepped in next to Jungkooks’ aunt.

His plump lips curled up into a smile at the older female, bowing down before a grim expression flashed across his face and Yoongi immediately knew why he was here.

Jimin looked around at the people in the room and his heart dropped seeing the chortling men at the corner. He prayed to the high heavens none of them were going to be in the booth observing this horrendous ceremony. Instead his eyes flickered to the man he hoped was Yoongi. “Witness?” He asked briefly. Much to his somewhat relaxation, Yoongi nodded.

“This your first time?” One of the older man asked the two males.

They both agreed shortly and the older man laughed.

“Oh it’s better than it sounds. In all my experiences, they both loved it. Sometimes it’s a sweet affair.” He smiled.

“And other times?” Yoongi asked daringly.

Unfortunately the men shifted uncomfortably, the slightly younger ones cleared their throats while the older ones looked more grim than normal.

“Virgins are the worst to endure.” The oldest one there spoke up, shaking and sitting on the chair. “Crying…blood…those are the ones you need to worry for the most.”

“We haven’t had a virgin in a long time though.” A more springy man spoke up. “A few of us suggested that the mating ceremony should not be mixed in with losing one’s virginity. Not much fun for the to-be mother or father.”

Yoongi swallowed down thickly, their casual tone about this whole mess making him even more nauseous.

The conversation was immediately paused when Boyoung padded back into the room. “It’s time now, boys. Into the booth.” She muttered almost under her breath gesturing towards to the gap on the left of the entrance.

Taking calculated steps one after the other, Yoongi simply followed the lavender adorned male through the small opening into a tiny booth. Their shoulders brushing against each other as they observed the beautiful designed window, vectors formulating the letter ‘J’ mixed with butterflies and flowers.

However through the window was something far less pleasant.

Silence diseased the large room. Belle was left to hear her own hurdling thoughts just to stay sane. From the corner of her eye she noticed the shifting through the open window with a designed barrier to create some kind of class to this horrid tradition.

His hand pushed her chin so her gaze could be fixated on him. “It’s just you and me, okay?” Jungkook whispered. “Just us.”

Like a brainwashing scheme where Belle was stuck in a river between a bank of fantasy and a bank of reality. They were not alone. She could feel the familiar eyes burning right into core. But what was so new about pretending? She pretended this to a point where her entire life was now dedicated to the man before giving no chance of another life.

If Jungkook couldn’t get out this then how could she ever think the same? It wasn’t like she could run away either, there was no one around to help her. No one to stop this.

Hand gently cupped her cheek before leaning in for an initiating kiss, light warmth spreading through her. His lips became so familiar for comfort nowadays that Belle lost a little of her conscious sense for her own peace of mind.

However this was not meant to be an act of love or even attraction. She was reminded of this when Jungkook pushed the fabric of her dress up without warning. “I’m sorry.” He whispered in her ear. No this was a responsibility. A chore to get done on a to-do list curated for the young lord.

Made to lie on her back, Belle’s vision grew blurry feeling her legs being spread apart with the utmost care but hardly any of the warmth she usually remembered. Then there came the burn through her entrance as he pushed in. A trembling breath passed through her lips struggling to keep composure in such a vulnerable position.

Walls ached the deeper he moved in, his one hand gripping at the sheets until his hips stilled once she was completely full with his already throbbing cock.

Her gaze flickered up to the cherry blossom paintings on the ceiling, pretending a cool spring breeze touching her face and the sound of water flowing. This isn’t real. For a second Belle forced herself to drown into a pool of fantasy. This wasn’t real. The pain faded minutes ago and so did her sense of consciousness.

She wasn’t here, arms pinned down by strong hands and hot breath cascading down her neck. No it was back at the boutique. Belle spending hours sewing her favourite daffodil yellow dress with a tall cup of iced coffee and her hair in a comfortable bun.

Her head was pulled back into reality when Jungkook pressed a kiss on her lips and it all poured back into her. Legs aching from the spread, her heat a little numb from the friction while no sound passed her lips except for light heaving.

Yoongi struggled to control his heavy breathing as the scene took place before him. The man felt like a prisoner witnessing his inmate being beaten. He just had to watch cruel reality play out it’s painful dance. Having the stomach for it was not his biggest issue. Except he knew Belle was not here out of unconditional love for Jungkook. He promised himself to always help people in need but truly aiding someone to freedom required a hefty journey in the process.

Right at this moment however that sentiment seemed like empty words.

This was not Belle’s world. The idea itself was what caused a pit in his already upset stomach. She didn’t grow up in this life nor did she choose it. It was never supposed to a part of her but now she had to deal with evil test of fate.

Jungkook intertwined his fingers with her loose ones, pressing reassuring pecks on her jawline as his hips snapped against hers. Sneaking a free hand between her legs he rubbed onto her clit hoping to give her some kind of pleasure while his own orgasm rolled to the edge.

A light tickle shot through her but stopped midway when she could feel him reaching his release. The way his face contorted and his thrusts grew desperate but sloppy.

This isn’t real. Fingers fisted at the sheets. This isn’t real. A light groan uttered under his breath. This isn’t real. More tears burning and gathering at her overflowing eyes.

This is real.

The man stilled as his release burst through his veins.

Her body lay compliant as she felt herself being filled up to the brim. Belle sucked onto her bottom lip, closing her eyes almost trying to turn back time somehow.

Jungkook hesitantly leaned in and tried to press a kiss on her cheek.

“Get off me.” She whispered. “Please.”

The male paused feeling a burning behind his eyes when she still tried to be kind despite what he did. Pulling out of her gently, Jungkook got off the bed with a shaky sigh curling his hands into fists when he couldn’t comfort her. How could he? He was the reason she needed comfort in the first place. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Jungkook turned away to the bathroom.

Yoongi didn’t realize he had been gripping onto the grill of the window the whole time, until he felt something wet on his palms. When he pulled away it felt like taking a splinter out tiny little bleeding holes interrupting the lines.

His ears pricked up at the trembling sigh the other let out.

When he looked over at him, his cheeks were already stained with tears while a few more flooded at the brim watching Belle slowly shift to the middle of the bed. “I have—” The male whispered before swallowing down painfully. “I have to go to work after this.”

The both of them helplessly watched the girl shake and force herself to sob quietly as she fixed her dress.

“Please…go see if she’s okay. If you can.” The pleading look in Jimin’s eyes mimicked the ache in his exhausted heart. They both knew Belle didn’t deserve this mess. They both witnessed her kindness and now saw her pain.

Yoongi nodded even though it was clear there was nothing any of them could do for her right now. Not at this moment. God if he could just tell him right there and then that he was trying his best to help her out of here.

But when he saw the way Belle curled into herself and tried to take to deep breaths while tears were still streaming down her face.

He knew he had to do a whole fucking more than his best.

Two nights later.

Sun felt warm on her skin, shoes crunched against the pavement as she relished in the murmurs and cheers of the market. How long had it been since the woman had just walked through this corner of wonders? All the high fashion shows, sleek garments and elegant wear were almost nothing compared to the raw simplicity of the red cotton or hand crafted jade jewelry. Belle remembered how she used to create necklaces out of flowers and little stones giving it to Taehyung as a gift because he was the only one who would accept it.

No matter how high she went in this pillar of success, this still brought a warmth in her heart without fail.

Wandering eyes paused on one clothing stall in particular. Padding closer, she saw the smallest pair of yellow shoes shining in the sunny day just at the edge of the display. A smile tugged at her lips when she noticed tiny daisy details embroidered onto it. Carefully the woman picked the pair up almost worried that it might fall apart because they looked so delicate and innocent.

“You have child?” The lady at the stall smiled at her kindly as she waved herself with a fan to waft away the heat.

Belle smiled, relishing the soft fabric under her fingers pads almost acting as a therapeutic substance. “Not yet.” She chuckled softly. “How much is this?”

The lady boxed the shoes up carefully before handing it to her with a bracelet for free. When Belle tried to refuse, she waved it off with that same sweet smile. “It’s for good fortune.”

With slight reluctance the girl thanked her again and moved onto the other stalls. As her eyes wandered, she stopped at the sight of a familiar figure walking out of the market area towards a pay phone. Forehead knitted and curiosity peeking, Belle moved to the more crowded areas so she could see what was happening without being caught. Sneaking around was not the most elegant behavior but at this point, the girl lost all care of what was proper and improper.

Pausing behind the payphone Belle hugged the bag to her chest finally catching Yoongis’ voice speak into the call.

“Jeon family is more traditional than you think, man. They had witnesses to watch the consummation.” Anger was clear in his tone especially in the way it rasped a little more when he tried to lower his volume. “Jungkook handpicked the damn witnesses, what kind of fucked up family is this?”

Belle felt a strange air of relief hearing someone else say those words other than her screaming it over and over again in her mind. Despite the urge to thank him for reassuring her sanity, she stood still to listen when he spoke up again.

“Jungkook is adding extra security to the Gongneung den, all his strongest supplies are there. He knows there’s rats in his empire so we need to get this done before he finds a way to hide all of it again.” His voice was much lower than before.

The woman still caught all the words that were needed however. Heart pounded against her ribcages padding closer to the payphone until the worry of Yoongi seeing her did not resonate anymore.

Yoongi gave a few more words of encouragement to Namjoon before doing his checks again and the sound around him numbed. He saw a familiar reddened and teary gaze fixated on him. For a moment he wanted to believe that she just arrived not hearing a word of their conversation but he knew better than to be so naïve.

Before he could think up a strategy, Belle rushed over to the male in a huff and stood merely a breath away from him with her back pressed slightly against the phone. There was a flash of anger on her face before it faded into something that made Yoongi wish the anger could come back again so he could endure it better.

“You’re a police officer?” Bottom lip trembled and her already exhausted eyes flooded with heavy tears. “And you just watched that happen?” Belle knew why Yoongi couldn’t just burst into the room and stop the event just like she couldn’t stop Jungkook or Boyoung from going on with tradition. But the sensible side of her lost its way that night and now the girl found it far too difficult to find it.

“If I could, I would’ve shot all of them right there and then.” He murmured feeling his stomach drop at the way her voice couldn’t keep any of its usual composure anymore. “I want you to get out of this. I really do. But we need to—we need to work together if this is ever going to stop.” His words dialed down to a whisper now that their faces were merely a breath apart. It took a few minutes for him to realize that his hand was caressing her cheek, sloppily wiping away the tear that flowed down to his thumb.

How long had it been since she wanted to hear someone say those words? Someone that could help her get out of this. A part of her would have agreed in seconds, for the first time falling into another’s arms and feeling like she did not have to do anything. But the tiny yellow shoes in the bag grew heavy on her. “Yoongi—” Belle breathed out staring down at her purchase, hands shaking.

Confused eyes flickered down to follow her gaze and immediately saw the miniscule box inside the bag. “What’s wrong?” He opted to search her expression now. “Belle?” Some side of his mind tried to shout that his hand should be back in his pocket. If anyone saw the two standing this way then they would both be in trouble and none of this would be worth it. But she felt so warm and broken that he was afraid they both would fall apart if he moved even the slightest away.

Belle stammered trying to form the words somehow before sniffling. “I’m pregnant.” She sobbed lightly.

The news lingered heavily in the air between them and Yoongi felt like the wall of his mind close into this one thing. All of the things—all of these goals now stripped down to these two words that he prayed would not be true. He knew it might be possibility. He saw the whole thing happen with his own two eyes but for some reason a more naïve part of him—whatever was left of it—wanted to believe they had time. Yoongi took a deep breath before shaking his head. “It’s okay…we’ll figure it out.” He made her meet his gaze. “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

She closed her eyes, nodding while her tears seemed to take their own freedom down her face. “Okay.” Words came out in a whisper.

The older male couldn’t help but mimic her nodding for a moment, slowly moving his hand away and hoping no one in the town recognized them. “Do you need a ride home?”

Quickly the girl shook her head feeling an ache in her belly calling the place ‘home’. It would be their child’s home. She would have to accept that someday. “Can we—” She glanced over at the bustling market. “Can we walk through the market for a little bit?” A sad smile tugged at her lips though her eyes glinted with desperation to capture any sense of false joy that came across the path.

Yoongi swallowed a small, unexpected lump in his throat before glancing at the market. “Yeah…of course.”

Maybe a few more minutes of blinded excitement could redeem that little piece of sanity.

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#jungkook #jungkook imagines #bts imagines #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jungkook mafia au #bts mafia au

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mnemosyne-musing · 3 years

Text

i have no fear, i have only love (11/river)

Here on ao3

This is a young River fic from Berlin through Luna to Lake Silencio.

Find River Song. And tell her something from me…

That’s all very well, but just who exactly is River Song and how the hell does she find her? It’s a question that’s been haunting her since Berlin. She certainly wasn’t Mels anymore. But was she River yet? And how would she know? And then the second part of that sentence? Well, that was even more mystifying and more than a little bit terrifying, if truth be told. Would anyone really love a psychopath like her? And would she really love him back? Maybe it wasn’t really true? She wouldn’t blame him if it wasn’t, after all, he was dying at the time and now she’s free. The rest of her lives in exchange for her freedom in this one. It’s a bargain she’d make again in a heartbeat.

She resolves to try and not dwell on it for now. After all, she’s got a whole universe to explore now.

Tell me. Why do you want to study archaeology, Ms Song?

She eventually ends up at Luna University. She’d never been particularly fussed about the idea of going to university before but now it seems to appeal. She settles on archaeology. It seems varied and interesting but not so intensive that she can’t indulge in a few extra-curricular activities. Plus, all those months freelancing for that high-end intergalactic antique smuggling gang seemed to have really paid dividends now. She finds she can identify a priceless vase or spot a fake much easier than her classmates.

To be perfectly honest Professor, I’m looking for a good man.

There’s also him. It’s been several years since Berlin now. Years since she woke up in an empty hospital room with just the fading memories of a kiss that kickstarted his hearts, of a tantalising glimpse of the mysterious River Song and the life she might lead. She’s swaggered, blagged and conned her way around several corners of the universe. She’s revelled in the freedom and grasped the opportunity with both hands. She hadn’t realised quite how stifling linear life on Earth had been to her until she was offered the chance to break free.

At first, she deliberately tries to avoid him. At any mention of him she disappears or finds an excuse to go elsewhere. She wants the chance to discover for herself just exactly who River Song might be. But now she’s here - studying ancient things, half-formed myths and living legends. It’s the perfect place to learn about a shadowy Time Lord.

She can’t deny that she’s still incredibly curious about him. The tantalising rumours, myths and legends that have formed most of what she knows about him seem to only be half the picture. Sometimes it seems the more she reads, the more she gathers from dusty books, the further away from her he gets. Then she remembers a dying man begging her to save his friends and then herself with his final breaths.

Still, he doesn’t appear in person. A couple of times however she thinks she sees him. She’ll catch a flash of tweed or a glimpse of a bowtie in a crowd but when she looks properly, he’s not there. The years pass. She completes her undergraduate degree a year early – it would have been quicker but she spends a large part of her second year competing in, and winning, an intergalactic poker tournament.

She discovers she actually loves archaeology. What had begun as a slightly whimsical choice accompanied by a glib comment to her professor has turned into genuine interest.

She tells herself she won’t waste her years here pining for him. She won’t drive herself mad with self-pity and longing. She’ll learn what she can. She’ll discover everything there is to know about this man she gave up her lives for. And if that’s the end of their story, if she never sees him again, then so be it.

And it works. Most of the time. She’s happy and satisfied in a way she never was, never could be, as Mels. She’s doing something entirely for herself, for once, and it is wonderful. She thrives.

He still doesn’t appear. On dark days she tells herself that time can be rewritten. That those words he whispered to her as he lay dying have somehow become undone. That they won’t happen.

Or, worse, it was simply Rule One.

As luck would have it, when he eventually shows up, she’s having a terrible day. The archaeology department have rejected one of her research proposals and a blip in the biosphere security systems has led to a constant stream of noxious fumes into most of the university buildings.

She’s decided to cheer herself up by going out for the evening with one of the professors from the art history department. He’s young and a bit dashing for a professor, intelligent and just the right side of arrogant to be charming. He’s also been asking her out for weeks now and tonight she just couldn’t think of a good enough excuse not to say yes. She’s not looking for anything serious right now but a good-looking distraction is never a bad thing.

She’s applying the final touch to her lipstick when there’s an ostentatious, almost-ceremonial knocking on her door. She rolls her eyes slightly, grabs her bag and does a final check in the mirror before she opens the door.

She’s just about to say something witty and mildly salacious about his grand entrance when she stops dead. Standing in her doorway is not the handsome art history professor but the Doctor. The mysterious, legendary, enigmatic last of the Time Lords who left her years ago in a hospital on the other side of the universe is standing on her doorstep beaming at her and wearing what looks like a… a poncho?

“River!” he exclaims as she stares at him in disbelief, “What?” He frowns as she continues to gape at him, “Have I got something on my face?” He swipes his hand hastily across his cheek, “I’ve just been for cream tea with Virginia Woolf. Always a messy meal.”

“No- I-“ she finds her voice eventually as he continues to frown at her, “I- what are you doing here?”

“I’m picking you up!”

“Why?” she demands, now glaring at him with her hands on her hips

“Why?!” he repeats, frowning in bemusement at she keeps staring at him, “I told you last time! We’re going to see that meteor display near Sirius IV! The one with all the… ohh have I got the timing off?” his face falls as he anxiously checks his watch.

“I-, I- no I can’t go to Sirius IV,” she stutters, watching as his face falls further in disappointment, “I have a date.”

“A date? Oh, am I crossing wires with myself again!?” his face lights up again at the thought.

River stares at him for a long moment before she steps forward slightly into his personal space and raises a finger to point at him. “Eight years Doctor,” she manages to grind out from between gritted teeth. She punctuates each of her words with a slight jab into his chest that makes him rock back on his heels. “It’s been. Eight. Long. Years.”

“Eight years?” he looks at her in confusion, “What do you mean? I thought I just saw you- oh- oh-” he trails off as comprehension dawns, “You haven’t seen me since- since Berlin?” he checks nervously as River shakes her head, “Ah. Well, that explains the- the- ” he trails off again, gesticulating nervously as River glares at him, “Never mind! Hang on- if you haven’t seen me since Berlin, then who are you going on a date with?!”

Before she is able to reply however, the subject of their conversation suddenly appears from the nearby stairwell.

“Him?! The Doctor exclaims in outrage as River manages a somewhat flustered smile at the arriving professor, “You can’t be going on a date with him!”

“And why not?” River visibly bristles as she glares back at him.

“Because he- oh- wait that’s probably- Ha- spoilers!” the Doctor’s scoffing suddenly turns to glee as he rocks back on his heels and bites his bottom lip in amusement.

“I’m sorry, have I missed something?” Handsome Art History Professor looks between River and the Doctor in confusion.

“No, nothing,” River pulls her door shut and steps determinedly past the Doctor, taking the professor’s arm and flashes him a brilliant smile as she takes his arm and pulls him towards the stairway, leaving the Doctor still standing on her doorstep. “We’re leaving.”

As he turns round to watch her retreating form, he shakes his head fondly before he shoves his hands in his pockets and heads back to the TARDIS.

She dates Handsome Professor for two months and then realises he’s been stealing some of her ideas and passing off them as his own in his lectures and papers. She gets him all hot and bothered in his office one day, leaves him naked and handcuffed to his desk and then reports him to the faculty for plagiarism. He leaves Luna soon after that.

Keep reading on ao3

#river song #river x eleven #dwfic #eleventh doctor #myfic

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the-fiction-witch · 3 years

Text

Control P9

TV SHOW THE QUEENS GAMBIT COUPLE: BENNY WATTS X READER RATING: DARK + SWEET AF

I couldn't rip my eyes away from her, trying desperately not to cry.

and I snapped.

I grabbed his leg and tripped him up forcing him to the floor, I sat over his stomach and punched him over and over he tried to stop me and fight back but nothing could stop me he could have broken my arm but I didn't care I just kept hitting him over and over bloodying his face, by the time I stopped for a breath he was knocked out. I moved away and went to the bed kneeling beside her "Ohh my sweet y/n, My sweet little lady, what has he done to you" I cried holding her hand, her Paulse was fading, she didn't even open her eyes. "Its' okay, It's okay y/n." I told her grabbing the phone and typing in the numbers as quickly and quietly as I could I rang for the police and an ambulance explaining the situation, and not even five minuets later I could hear the sirens on the road, they quickly knocked on the door so I kissed y/n's hand and headed to the door opening it for them, the paramedics rushed to y/n and seemed shocked the police came to me and I began to explain everything much better to them but as we did, Mikey stood.

I quickly stood in the bedroom door way so he couldn't get to y/n, I didn't want him to touch her, or possibly hurt her. he saw me there and looked angry the police tried to calm him down but Mikey picked me up by my neck holding me off the floor I choked and struggled as he held me tightly almost crushing my windpipe,

"Put him down Or I'll be forced to shoot!" The officer ordered

"No little bastards taking my wife anywhere" Mikey growled grabbing his knife and I felt the harsh pain though my stomach, and he dropped me on the floor, I heard a gunshot, and people rushing around, I blacked out from the pain unsure what was happening.

When I came too, I was in the hospital in a little bed in my own room, every part of me stung and ached, I was clean, and well bandaged I had an IV in my arm, I moved the blankets a little seeing my stomach wrapped up tightly and there was a nurse at the end of my bed making notes on some paperwork.

"Good afternoon Mr Watts" she smiled

"Where's y/n?" I asked her

she playfully giggled, and smiled "she's fine, been wrapped up and all"

"Where is she?"

"she was in the visitors lounge, would you like me to check if she's still there?"

"She's been let out the hospital?" I asked

"Yes sir" she nods before going out of the room,

I smiled a little thankful she was okay, she was out before me even, then again she is much stronger then I am, much more used to having these sorts of injuries.

When the little door opened again it was the nurse she pushed the door full open and Y/n stepped in. even though it hurt I smiled wider then I ever had, so happy to see her, so happy to see she was okay, In her little black heels, her black stockings, her black petticoats peaking out the bottom of her skirt, her white and black dress tight to her body, I could see she had bandages here and there, her black handbag tightly in her hands as usual, her black cardigan over her shoulders, her red lipstick perfect on her lips a little more make up then usual clearly using it to hide scars and bruises, her hair done so perfect like she had just brushed it from her curlers moments ago. she smiled at me in that adorable little way she always does

"Hello Benny" she smiled

"Hello y/n" I blushed

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better now I see you"

"Benny, don't make fun of me"

"I'd never make fun of you, never ever my sweet little lady" I smiled "Come here"

"Ummm I missed you" she smiled coming to my bed kissing my head and gently taking my hand

"I missed you more" I told her gently pulling her to give me a hug even if we could both barely hug each other I wanted to cry so happy to see her and so happy she was okay, the nurse left and y/n took a seat on the little chair beside the bed

"I brought you presents" she smiled

"Presents?"

"Umm" she nods digging in her handbag "Apple juice so you don't have to drink gross hospital tap water, your travel chess board so you can play while your in bed, a few books, and some cookies" she smiled laying the items out on the table over my bed I couldn't help but smile at her "What?"

"You are, the sweetest, most beautiful, smartest, loveliest woman In the world. I am extremely lucky to have you around" I smiled giving her hand a kiss

"you are too sweet to me benny" she giggled "How are you? properly"

"My stomach hurts,"

"It will you got a kitchen knife in it"

"which kitchen knife was it?"

"The bread knife, with the bumps, I took it home earlier" she smiled

"They gave you the knife?"

"It was lodged in your stomach."

".... Mikey stabbed me with it and your going to sanitise it and put it back in our draw?"

"It's a good knife"

"I know, I got stabbed with it."

"are you going to go out and buy a new bread knife?"

"Yes my darling, I will go out and buy as a new bread knife you don't have to keep it" I laughed

"If you say so" she giggled

"How are you? I'm very surprised they let you out before me."

"There wasn't that much wrong with me, well nothing too bad, no broken bones and such. I had just lots a lot of blood,"

"I know, when I saw you.... I thought you were dead."

"I was just weak benny, I lost a lot of blood but they fixed me up and I was out within a couple of days" she smiled "the apartments been cleaned and sorted, all ready for when your better" she smiled

".... and Mikey?"

"Arrested for attempted murder, among other things. In recovery from being shot in the standoff. He's been issued with the divorce paperwork, and a legal restraining order of sixty two meters" she smiled

"Of what now?" I glared at her

"two hundred and three feet" she giggled

"That's better, I understand that"

"Ummm, silly American" she giggled

"Complicated brit" I laughed at her "Are you okay? with that?"

"Perfectly okay" she smiled gently resting her head on my shoulder being careful not to hurt either of us,

"Y/n. Why didn't you tell me... about it."

"About what?"

"You know what."

"I was going to, then Mikey showed up" she says "That's why I send you shopping so I could make a nice dinner and I was going to put a note in a cake"

"... how?"

"I don't know I was working on it"

"How long had you known?"

"A month or so"

"You could have told me."

"I wanted to be sure"

"I'm sorry I didn't protect you better."

"You did your best. you didn't know."

"I should have, I should never have let him be that close to you"

"Benny, not even I thought he would do something like that?"

"what did he do, exactly."

"Benny..."

"Please y/n. you don't have to tell me, but I'd like to know"

"I won't explain, but I was pregnant. Now I'm not."

"How did he do it?"

"duct tape, tools, he's done it before."

"Before?"

"Before the operation, before we where married"

"He did that to you?"

"Ummm" she nods

"How did he know? if I didn't how the hell did he know?"

"He forced me to tell him," she said quietly

"How?"

".... I don't wanna talk about it benny"

"Okay, we won't talk about it. I'm just happy your safe, and your okay" I told her hugging her as close as I could peppering her with kisses "Are you sure you wanna go back to the apartment?"

"why wouldn't I?"

"Given, everything that happened there?"

"I'm sure benny, the last few days might have been horrible but so long as I'm with you I'm happy there" she smiled

"Okay, as soon as they say I can go home" I told her "I love you y/n, so very much my little lady. I'm sorry about everything that happened, and I swear on my life nothing like this will ever happen to you again"

"I love you too" she smiled nuzzling with me "Benjamin"

".... How do you-"

"It is your name, so its on your hospital stuff" she giggled

"god damn it" I sighed

"Benjamin" she giggled

"yes its very funny, can we forget about it now?"

"Nope" she giggled "I'm a little mad you didn't tell me?"

"What that I didn't tell you my terrible name that makes me sound like a nerd?"

"Benny we both play professional chess? we are nerds."

"Still, Its not exactly as attractive"

"You think benny is?"

"Hey!" I complained "awww what little lady you don't like my name? don't you find my name attractive?"

"I do but that's because its yours" she giggled "Y/n makes me sound like a child"

"I like it" I smiled playing with her hair "well enough"

"Enough?"

"your names fine, but I think it would sound better as y/n watts." I told her

"would it now?"

"I think so, you don't think so?"

"I think so, soon once were settled" she smiled giving my lips a little kiss

"Okay, as soon as we get settled" I smiled giving her head a kiss .

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gaetoeinhaler · 4 years

Text

deadass wish diavolo was real tbh. snack looking mofo.

n e wayz, enjoy.

basically, this is just a oneshot of how i feel most of the time. its correlated to the reader's birthday, which is your birthday and i will NOT make one up for the reader since that would be unfair as hell. but this is what i would like to happen for when my birthday comes around pwq but it wont tbh

people forget my birthday a lot and its mainly because i was born on November 1st which is after Halloween. :,))) the only people who do remember my birthday is my mom TvT but its not like i forget other people's birthdays >:0

i've always remembered my family's birthdays, my friend's, and i had to remind them that it was my birthday until i gave up and said fuck it.

𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫

diavolo x female reader fluff

words : 1.3k+

_____________

it was like always. i shouldn't have gotten my hopes up so high. just like in the human world, it happened here. people forgot my birthday. and to make it worse, the brothers forgot it. they can remember everything else, but they can't remember something like this. they never once said happy birthday, not one of them. it hurt, knowing that those who i was close to here didn't even care to remember. though, its best not to tell them. then they'd be apologizing constantly and do things they wouldn't.

heading towards the exit to RAD, i could hear someone calling out my name. a voice i know way too well. turning around, i could see diavolo, waving his hand around to get my attention, coming towards me with barbatos, who looked dead inside as always, following after him. "(y/n)! i'm glad i found you!" the red-head said as he smiled. "happy birthday!" he cheered, barbatos smiling and saying a happy birthday to me as well.

staring at them with wide eyes, i watched as diavolo's expression changed. "what's wrong? is today not your birthday?" he asked. i shook my head and smiled, giggling softly. "no no, it's today. its just i didnt think anyone would remember."

he shook his head. "nonsense! i remembered! didn't lucifer and his brothers remember as well?" he asked, tilting his head to the side a bit. "no, they didn't. though its no big deal, honestly."

he mumbled something about lucifer and his brothers under his breathe before grabbing my hand. "nonsense! it is a big deal! i'll make sure you have the most wonderful birthday then!" his childish aura came back, barbatos looking more dead inside now. i feel bad for him sometimes, but then again, that's the job he agreed to having. well, i'm not exactly sure if he agreed.

____________

with diavolo and i sitting at a table, he was talking about his day. so far, it mainly consisted of his shenanigans with lucifer, not that i minded though. it was interesting to hear how much lucifer suffers with diavolo by him all the time. giggling at one of the stories, barbatos soon walked in carrying a small cake. he set it down gently and stuck in a few candles.

"happy birthday." he smiled as he lit them. diavolo thanked the overworked soul before turning to me. "happy birthday, (y/n)!" he moved the cake closer to me. staring at the sweet in front of me, i gently blew out the candles before barbatos started to cut it. he couldve cut it from the beginning, but i didn't mind. them remembering my birthday was good enough.

____________

frosting on my nose, a red blush upon my cheeks, i stared at the camera with wide eyes as diavolo snapped a photo of the scene in front of him. "i'll be sending that to lulu," he giggled like a highschool girl and most definitely posted it on his devilgram. seconds later, i got a notification on my d.d.d. saying "happy bday (y/n) 😝" with the photo of me in it.

moving my eyes from my d.d.d. and towards the demon king, i stared at him with disbelief. he had a mischievous look upon his face, he muttered out a few words.

"now everyone in devildom will know its your birthday."

____________

"HEKSDSNS liPSTIcK iN mY ValEnTinO wHitE bAg"

"hi welcome to chilis."

"mOthEr tRuckEr DooD! that HuRt like a bUttChEek on a stick!"

with vines playing in the background, and as messed up as it sounds, diavolo and i were cuddled up together in his room. with his arms wrapped around my torso, keeping him close to me, he hummed in delight as he watched the vine compilations. he was most likely confused as to what they were really doing, and why they were doing it, but he still watched and enjoyed.

"ahahahHaha wHy yOu mAd? CuZ mY puSsY pOpS moRe SevEreLy, anD yOurS doNT haH!"

"hey, (y/n)." diavolo whispered, turning his head away from the screen and towards me. i looked up at him, confused. "yeah? what is it?"

"i want to be honest with you." he sighed, removing his arms from around me. he sat up, and looked away. as if afraid to say what he wanted to. "i want to tell you that, i want to become more then friends. not best friends, but as in a dating scenario."

i sat up and hugged him tightly, nesting my face into his chest. "glad to know, i feel the same." i stared up at him with a small smile. it was true. maybe or maybe not i had fallen for the child like demon prince who could kill me whenever he wants. okay, yeah i did fall for him. he was too much of a snack, and damn he dummy thicc doe.

and before i knew it, our cuddling session turned into a full make out session. him looming over me, the vines still playing in the background. lips moved against mine, tongues brushing against each other. his hands pinning my wrists above me, pulling his head away as he panted and stared down at me. we both knew where this was going to go, and we were willing to take it to that level so soon.

"what's worse than a rapist?"

"boom!"

"a ChiLD!"

____________

sitting at the table, lucifer wondered where (y/n) was. she hadn't come home from RAD and hadn't seen her there either when he went to check. anger was fuming inside of him. the least she could do was answer his texts and calls.

it wasn't until a notification popped up on his d.d.d. that caught his attention. a new post from diavolo's devilgram account. opening up the app, he stared at the picture that was taken.

"happy bday (y/n) 😝"

he sighed and set his d.d.d. back in his pocket. he forgot that today was her birthday, and to make it worse, diavolo's use of words and the emoji after it didn't help him. he needed to confront diavolo about emojis and their uses before he makes himself more of a cringe then he already is.

asmodeus, on the other hand, grumbled to himself. his brothers, who had no clue at what was going on, looked towards the fourth eldest. "what's wrong, asmo?" beel asked, chewing on his food. "today was (y/n)'s birthday and i FORGOT! ugh! and now she's spending time with lord diavolo!" he squirmed around in his seat "does she even KNOW how many times ive tried to get laid by him? ugh! and now she has a free ticket!"

the rest weren't surprised about asmo wanting to get a taste of thiccavolo. but when he mentioned it being (y/n)'s birthday, guilt rushed over their past emotions.

"it's (y/n)'s birthday?"

#obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo x female reader #diavolo #diavolo x reader #diavolo x female reader #x reader #x female reader #reader insert #female reader insert #fluff

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years

Text

It’s the Colours You Have

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M) Notes: This is my ballet au fill for @starkerfestivals summer bingo. I had a lot of fun doing some research and watching some ballet to get a feel for this one - here’s hoping you enjoy! (Title is from Colours by Grouplove) Warnings: Peter suffers a pretty not good injury and there’s some NSWF stuff. Summary:

Peter Parker grew up in the dance studio and thought his entire life would revolve around it. All of a sudden, an injury takes that dream out from under him. He finds a way to stay in the world of dance through photography, his knowledge giving his work a different edge. What happens when he meets Tony Stark, a new dancer for NYCB? (Love stuff happens, that's what.)

Read on AO3 here.

Peter always thought professional dance would be his life.

At a young age, he convinced Uncle Ben to let him try one of the local studio’s classes. It took a bit of convincing – Peter was 6 years old at the time and didn’t quite understand the man’s hesitance. In the months leading up to Peter’s plea, he danced around the sofa in their living room and obsessively watched Step Up – where most boys his age were rolling around in the dirt, Peter studied the lines of dancers’ bodies and pictured himself making those same exact moves.

After what felt like a lifetime for Peter, Ben finally gave in and signed him up for all of the classes available. In his excitement, Peter took everything seriously and excelled through the beginner’s classes before the year was over. Madame Romanoff pulled Ben and May aside when sign-ups and company auditions for the next year were about to take place – in the simplest of terms, she let them know how talented of a dancer Peter was; he needed to be taking more advanced classes.

So, he did – Ben and May didn’t hesitate to put him where he needed to be; they already knew his potential, he was steadily moving through grades at school, too. Their nephew had an innate sense of talent for just about everything. Peter put his entire being into the things he liked – it made putting the squeeze in worth it. For a while, he didn’t see what that meant for the two of them – he simply enjoyed the fact that he could dance and get better at it with every single day that passed.

Landing a place on Romanoff’s dance company gave him access to top notch ballet instructors. He was very small but made up for it in the strength that he possessed. With the intention of making him one of the male pas de deux dancers, Peter cut out the rest of his classes and focused solely on ballet and pointe. It made him feel powerful and in a lot of ways beautiful, too. Even if it was weird for boys his age to love dance and feel their best while doing it. He’d gladly take the teasing – Peter loved to dance and no one was going to stop him.

The dance world took him under and guided all of his decision making. Peter worked hard all of middle school to get into Midtown Fine Arts and Dance, a high school that catered to those that were seeking entry into art’s colleges like Juilliard and TISCH. Getting in was a validation he’d been searching for and everything about his life moved to revolve around his time there.

Between Romanoff’s and Midtown, Peter was working so hard that he didn’t even realize he’d put himself in a position where his body couldn’t handle the stress. He wanted to get into Juilliard so bad and knew the only way he’d be able to go was through a scholarship. In every class since his freshman year, Peter heard about senior showcases and how every second in the walls of Midtown were preparation for that.

Every dancing piece in productions, Peter took part in. Whenever they needed a volunteer teacher to run through the parts with the younger kids, Peter volunteered. The desire to succeed overwhelmed him and by the time he got around to preparing for his senior showcase, he was at a loss and so physically exhausted, there were times when he didn’t know how he was actually still standing.

That should’ve been a clue – the fact that every part of his day felt like a chore, and that when he sat down to rest, he was comatose within seconds. Other things were trying to warn him of the ultimate shut down coming his way. His toes never recovered from the extensive pointe exercises and his muscles were always aching. If he knew that pushing himself would have been the thing that brought the world he created down – well, he still probably would have done it.

Two weeks before senior showcases, Peter was warming up when he felt a sharp shift in his lower back during a turn. The wince it pulled from him almost doubled him over. He stopped suddenly and took a couple of limping steps towards the long bar across the back wall. Hiking his leg onto the bar, Peter let out a loud ‘fuck’ when he felt the shift again. The want to keep going couldn’t override the numbness he felt in his toes.

As elegantly as he could, Peter hit ground and laid down as flat as he could, his entire lower back on fire.

It took 3 people to get him up off the ground; any sort of shift in weight made the source of his pain explode with unmanageable stimulus. Peter didn’t remember much of the movement from the floor to a gurney and into the back of an ambulance – his brain turned off to counteract the significant shift in his life happening.

The next few hours were spent getting scans and assessments done – Peter floated along from one place to another in the haze of the drugs they gave him to relieve the world ending pain. He didn’t need to hear the doctor’s words after he saw the look in his eyes – any chance of getting to Juilliard on his feet was out the window. 2 fractured lumbar vertebrae that would need to be fused and 3 ruptured disks were the thing to finally take him out. He wondered briefly, if Flash would feel undercut by his injury – he’d been gunning after Peter for years.

Thankfully, Midtown was sympathetic to his situation and let him stay around to finish the end of the year and graduate. It took a lot out of him to gimp around and be within viewing distance of the classes he’d been leading only days prior.

Being stuck with a walker for the first couple of weeks after his back surgery pushed him to work hard and get his feet back under him. Though he’d never get to dance again, at least he could walk – walking was one of the things Peter wanted to be able to do for the rest of his life. The necessity to put his all into walking and just getting around took the brunt of the blow off losing dance – it served as a good distraction, at least.

By the time the second part of his senior year came around, Peter was able to walk and get around. He was looking forward to finishing up his school year and finding out what the rest his life would be like without dance. Yet, he also longed to be close to the one thing he loved so dearly. And thankfully, Madame Romanoff offered him a good solution right before the big company recital at the end of the year.

When he walked into the studio, his heart thumped painfully against his chest. It felt like such a long time since he walked through the doors and caught his reflection in the mirror upon first glance up. A part of him wanted to walk over to the bar at the back of the room and start his stretching process, that piece of him craved the elegance of his long lines and powerful turns. Yet, the rational part of him understood that walking was more important and pushed him to move further into the studio towards Natasha’s office.

“Ah, Mr. Parker – glad you could join me. Please, have a seat,” Natasha said the second he walked in the door, the dark red lipstick coating her lips making her smile look big and bright. She kept her hair in the traditional ballerina bun and walked around in high heels – but she was kind and knew talent when she saw it. Grimacing at the little bit of a twinge he still felt, Peter took a seat in the chair in front of her desk, his fingers knitting together in front of him.

“I’ll cut right to the point. Life has dealt you a shitty card and it’s ridiculously unfair. You should be involved in dance, Peter. It’s a part of you. So, I thought – why not see if you can capture it, instead.” She turned in the big chair she was sitting in and grabbed something off the filing cabinet behind her. The fancy camera with the biggest lens he’d ever seen coming into view was not what he expected.

Her smile grew when she saw the look on his face. The whiteness of her teeth was slightly intimidating, even now, after knowing her for more than 10 years. Peter tossed a smile back her way and looked tentatively at the camera now sitting on her desk.

“What’s that, Madame Romanoff?” Peter asked, unable to keep the curiosity from getting the best of him. He was always on the other side of pictures and hadn’t picked up a camera ever in his life. The big screen and fancy dial on the back looked intimidating from where he sat, and he hadn’t even picked it up yet.

“Go ahead, Peter – it’s my solution. Figure out how to use it and then apply what you know about the art of dance to the art of photography. You know what’s beautiful. Long lines, sharp movement patterns – the beauty of a picture is how you capture it. The technical shit can be learned, the inherent knowledge you have about dance can’t.” She grinned wider when he didn’t hesitate to take the heavy camera from her.

“I want you to come to classes. You have a home in this studio, Peter. Don’t think because you’re not using your feet doesn’t mean you can’t be a part of what we do here.”

With that, she shot him another smile, then shooed him out of her office with a swift flick of her wrist.

----

Taking to the task like he tried to do with everything else, Peter dug his nose into the Canon Mark IV 5D user manual that he found online and figured out how to change the settings on the camera. It blew his mind, how many things the camera could do and how in depth the pictures could be. That was the first step.

After another couple of weeks of figuring the camera out and taking it with him on the daily walks he started embarking upon during his recovery – Peter finally felt comfortable enough to return to Romanoff’s in an attempt to do exactly what she said; capture dance.

It took a while – a lot of trial and error and frustration that Peter hadn’t ever experienced before. Things usually came easy for him. Yet, the more he did it, the better he started to feel about it. Thoughts of graduation and the future were out the window for a while – Peter dedicated himself to figuring out how to keep a foot in the world that seemed so unfairly gone from him.

He shot the end of the year recital and felt proud of the results that he ended up with. Of course, it wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as actually being on the stage, but – it brought him a sense of happiness, nonetheless. When he handed over the files to Natasha, she pulled him in for a hug. The clench of her arms kept him close, the words she whispered to him abundantly clear – “There you are.”

For some reason, those words hit him hard. His injury at the beginning of the year took a lot from him. With his rehab and the changes that came with the debilitating loss of the use of his body to create an art he devoted his life to, Peter bounced around, slightly lost. The realization that he could still connect with dance drove him forward – finally, Peter felt like he had a direction again.

Trying to get into TISCH’s photography program was a nerve-wracking experience and forced him to have to really evaluate why he wanted to make still frame his focus. The life of movement stayed alive in the photographs and he grasped onto that through the application and interview processes. His portfolio and approach must’ve been enough – Peter got acceptance and scholarship money to start the next semester.

Natasha, upon learning that he’d be in town and pursuing photography, brought him on as the in-house photographer. It didn’t pay much, but he got to have unlimited access to subjects and people that were always looking to show off the skills they worked so diligently to achieve. Peter appreciated the opportunity that Natasha provided and worked hard to provide her with his increasing talents.

Little by little, Peter honed in on his skill and absorbed as much knowledge as he could in his classes and on the job. College passed by in a blur of attending company ballet and TISCH dance productions to shoot as much as he could. He put his work in every showcase available to him and learned from the critique that people threw his way. In the dance world, critique was fodder and fed into the challenge that photography constantly imposed upon him.

Upon graduating, Peter took a job with Juilliard in the arts department as a media director and took care of the photography and visuals for all of the productions the entirety of the department put on. And because Juilliard had a direct link with New York City Ballet, Peter did the media for them as well.

When he took a step back and looked at it, his life was still wrapped around dance – and now, he didn’t have to sweat it out and perform on the stage to be directly within it. He lived in a great apartment in Manhattan and got to see his Aunt May every Sunday for whatever concoction she decided to come up with for them. All and all – his set up wasn’t terrible. Now that he had his professional life worked out, Peter felt desperate to see where the other parts of his life could take him.

As luck would have it – Peter got a nudge in right direction a couple of weeks later when he found himself in the Lincoln Center waiting for the dress rehearsal for the Nutcracker. It was one of his favorite ballets and he enjoyed being able to shoot the multitude of versions he’d get to see throughout the holiday season. And if rumor was to be believed, there was a new prince dancing with the prima ballerina.

The music started up a little while later and Peter got lost in the movements. He didn’t need to take any snaps tonight, but wanted to make sure he knew what the lighting looked like and where every group would be coming in from. Since he was working both video and film, he needed to be able to shoot from all angles. For a while, he let his camera dangle from his side and just let the dance run away with him.

By the time it got to the Prince and Sugarplum Fairy’s dance, Peter had his camera poised over his eye, the entirety of the pass one of the most important things he needed to get during the show. Their initial andante maestoso brought the two of them on the stage and in a swift dance across it – the prince in fact a totally different one than the year before. His tight calves and well sculpted thighs and hips were packed into white tights that highlighted every one of his movements.

Peter’s finger stuttered a few times through the tarantella, his focus on the dancer’s beauty and strength as he leapt and landed across the stage. When he pulled the camera down to make sure he got at least a couple of shots to play around with, Peter sucked in a sharp breath – the man was even more gorgeous than he expected, the details of his well-kept facial hair and dark brown eyes standing out the most.

Satisfied that he knew enough about the show, Peter packed up his equipment and headed out before the final act with all of the dancers came on – he knew from experience that it would be a free for all and didn’t need to plan for that. He wanted to play around with some of the images and got lost in the thoughts of the prince as he was walking out – not noticing that he was walking right into someone until well after they collided.

“Holy shit,” Peter gasped out, his long-lost dancing skill coming into play when he managed to turn and barely hit the person, instead of barreling through them and bringing them both to the ground. “I’m so sorry!” Peter put a hand on the wall and let his heart rate calm down before looking over at the person he almost took out.

His stomach dropped when he noticed the dancer he’d been eyeing up from his spot at the edge of the stage – his eyes were even darker up close and his mouth pulled into the most charming of smiles. Sucking in a breath, Peter just barely stopped himself from slapping his hands over his face. A dark red blush moved across his cheeks instead, the heat of it warming up his skin alarmingly.

“You’re pretty quick on your feet,” the man said instead of the 20 other things that could have easily come out of his mouth. Peter quirked a brow and let the slightest trace of a smile slip across his lips.

“I used to dance,” Peter replied quickly, the openness he was feeling in that moment as fleeting as some of the grumpier moods he sometimes found himself in. “Glad I still have it.” That made him smile wider, Peter a little surprised when the man across from him also smiled. It led to the slightest wrinkles in his cheeks and made Peter’s heart race.

Before the man could say anything else, a wide stagehand came walking down the hall, his eyes intent on them. “Tony, it’s the final number – you’re up.”

They shared another looked before the man, Tony, turned and started walking back in the direction he came from. Peter felt himself smiling and was surprised to see Tony holding the dressing room door open, his arm and head peeking out from behind it. “What’s your name?” He looked at Peter hopefully, his eyes wide.

Peter tightened his grip on the case he’d been pulling behind himself and let a couple of heartbeats pass before he answered – it was important that he thought before he spoke. “I’m Peter Parker,” he finally remarked, his eyebrows knitting slightly.

With a wave, Tony shot him a wink and started to disappear behind the door. “See you later, Peter Parker.”

----

The next 5 days were busy and filled with too much looking down the scope of the camera and 3 showings of The Nutcracker daily. Despite that, Peter found some time to look up the beautiful dancer – the name Tony was enough to get him a full career rundown and multiple links to pictures and videos of his past performances. Though a little older, Tony Stark seemed to be hitting the peak of his career now, instead of at a young age like most dancers. The write up he looked through said something about engineering, but he didn’t delve any further. It felt a little weird to have looked as deeply as he did to begin with.

Every night, Peter found himself watching Tony a little closer – he was all long limbs and taut muscle, his form technical but not exactly perfect. His lifts were where he excelled, though – the bundles of muscles waiting to spring into action were stretched to the limit, making the intensity of his strength standout even more.

Unable to find the courage to actually approach him, Peter spent too much time editing the images of him, ever click of his mouse meticulous and precise to create the perfect balance of camera work and Photoshop manipulation. After too many nights of it, Peter forced himself to acknowledge that talking to Tony seemed pretty necessary. Making sure to put some of his favorite on his phone, Peter felt resolved to at least show some of his work off in guise of starting up a conversation.

The final show came around with excited energy – Peter always enjoyed the last curtain call the best; there was always a certain sense of satisfaction that only that round of applause could bring. He switched up his shooting position and did some clicking from the flanks to catch a little backstage action – the decision proving to be a good one when he heard a throat clear during the first act.

“Fancy seeing you here, Peter Parker,” Tony said, his eyes shining in the bright light streaming in from the stage. He looked at Peter without blinking, a slight tilt to his head.

Peter forced himself to take a couple of breaths, his head suddenly spinning from the flush of epinephrine that his sympathetic nervous system decided shoot through his veins. The excitement of bumping into Tony probably more than obvious. “Right – fancy seeing the photographer taking photos,” Peter replied as he moved the camera to his eye and took a couple of quick shots of Tony who’d started to stretch in the open space around them.

Tony’s beaming smile made Peter’s breath catch, his eyes going to the back of the camera out of habit – the image he found there already one of his favorites of the bunch. Looking up, he gestured down at the camera in his hand. “Want to see?” Peter asked, his hands already turning it, making it more inviting for the man.

It took everything in him not to watch Tony walk towards him in the sheer shirt that, in the light, made his tanned skin stand out through the white fabric. At this closeness, the tights on his legs were translucent, Peter privy to the thick vein that ran from Tony’s calf all the way across the front of his highly muscled thigh. All those details in just the span of 5 steps – Peter wondered what he would find with an unlimited amount of time to explore him.

Shaking his head, Peter forced himself to focus when he felt the inevitable warmth of another human body getting close to him. He used his thumb to scroll back through the last 4 images he shot, a grin slipping across his face. “You have a nice smile,” Peter mumbled softly, the muscle in his forearm twitching with every click from one picture to the next. He got to the end of the roll before daring to turn his head.

“I think you’re just a good photographer,” Tony retorted, a chuckle rushing from his chest. They were close enough that Peter could feel his arm lift and clench with the sound. It made him stiffen, his skin breaking out into prickly gooseflesh. If he didn’t move, maybe he wouldn’t have to lose the rise and fall of Tony’s rhythmic breathing against him.

“Must be both then.” Peter shifted, his brain all of the sudden realizing that he was missing key pieces of the show in favor of flirting with the very attractive and incredibly distracting male dancer. “Come find me after the show – I’ll show you some from the week.” He gave Tony an encouraging smile, then turned back to look out through the curtain.

Peter heard him laugh again then the softest “okay” before the closeness of his presence could no longer be felt. Forcing himself to not turn and look, Peter did his best to pay attention to the rest of the first act – his racing mind all of the sudden not completely dedicated to the art before him on the stage.

As usual, the second act went a lot faster than the first – there was a bit more action and the dancing was not as convoluted with plot. From this perspective, Peter could see a lot more of the sideline action and felt glad he decided to trust his gut and move around a little more. When Tony stepped onto the stage, Peter gripped his camera harder – his eyes peeled for the smallest of details.

The cheeky bastard managed to look his way a couple of times throughout his solo, Peter more than certain that he got some snaps where Tony was staring directly down the pipe of the lens. It took more focus than ever for Peter to actually finish without dropping the camera and watching the ending number – since it was the last one, they changed it up and gave more solo time to each of the leads; then finished with a long bow with a few teary words from NYCB’s director. While she spoke, Peter got his equipment together and disappeared to start downloading some of the shots.

A little while later, Peter was pulled from the culling process by a tap on his shoulder – he squinted behind his glasses to make sure he was at a stopping point and turned, his fingers pulling the frames from his face when he noticed it was Tony.

“Don’t take those off on my account,” Tony said with a smirk, his hair freshly wet and brushed back from his face – the natural look of his skin even better than the brightness the spotlight and well-placed makeup gave him. His lips settled into a light smile and he leaned against the table Peter found to spread out on. He must’ve been nose deep in his work for longer than he thought.

“I just need them for the light,” Peter mumbled, jamming them into the pocket of his shirt. Glancing down, he shifted the computer so Tony could see. “Your tarantella was great tonight.”

Tony leaned in a little to look at the picture more closely, the move bringing the sharpness of his cologne into Peter’s space. As if he was trying to measure his own arms on the screen, Tony reached out to trace the line of his hand down to the middle of his chest. “You said you danced, right? You can tell – the fact that you framed up that specific move says a lot. That’s so crisp, Pete,” Tony admitted, the man pulling back, his hands shoving the long sleeves that were trying to settle on his wrists up his lean forearms.

Taken aback, Peter adjusted himself in his chair. It’d been a long time since he talked to anyone about that part of his journey through dance. Sometimes May would look at him wistfully and relive some of the memories with him, but even that made his heart ache. Licking his bottom lip, Peter nodded his head. “I did about ten years at Romanoff’s, she got me started with the photography thing after my injury.”

They locked eyes for a second, Tony’s eyebrows up, almost completely buried in the hair that was now creeping down, trying to cover his forehead. “Natasha Romanoff? She’s still on 5th, then?”

Grinning, Peter nodded again. “5th and then a newer studio on 64th. She’s flourishing,” Peter said, his hands coming up to make air quotes with his fingers. “Do you know her?”

“She was a couple years ahead of me at Juilliard. I didn’t get into the dancing world until a little later in life, so we were the same age, despite not being the same year. We partnered for pas de deux once,” Tony remarked, his eyes glowing with the memory. “You must’ve been good.”

Peter put his hand on the touch pad of his computer and went about saving the photo on the screen to distract himself – his heart started to beat a little harder at the thought of how much talented he cultivated in his youth. “I wasn’t terrible. I did not treat my body very well, however – back gave out before I could really see how good I could have been.” Clenching his lips shut, Peter wondered where all the words came from – he hadn’t been this chatty… ever.

Tony crossed his arms and leaned more heavily against the table, his forearms now on display, the lines of muscles firm and wrapped in tanned skin, the veins there pulsing from the work the man did that night. “Ah – that’s the worst. I’ve been fighting off a bum toe for a couple of years – the pointe gets harder and harder as the time goes by,” Tony muttered wistfully, his foot shifting subconsciously. “How long have you been taking photos?”

Without much thought, Peter started the process of packing his computer and hard drive into their cases, his eyes never leaving Tony. “About 7 years now. I went to TISCH for a 5-year program and have been working for Juilliard and NYCB ever since.” Finally done with the menial tasks that kept him preoccupied, Peter stood up. “What about you? You here to stay or just doing a stint with the company this season?”

Despite not saying anything, Tony followed Peter when he started walking – the natural way they just sort of accommodated each other weird for having only met once before. Tony waited until they were in the foyer of the Lincoln Center before speaking again. “I’m here to stay. NYCB gave me a company spot and choreographer position. After being on the road so much the past couple of years, coming home felt right.”

Though they were right by the door, neither man made any move to go exit through any of them, the two men obviously more than willing to mill around and talk. Peter pulled his camera case close to him, the metal of it cool against the thin material of his khaki pants.

“There’s something about the city, right?” Peter asked, his head turning to look at the still busy street right outside the door. “I’ve been here my whole life.”

Smiling wide, Tony nodded – the gesture answer enough. Peter watched him shift and smile a little bigger. “Any chance you’re free for headshot type stuff? I could use an update.”

The question caught him off guard for a second, his hopes of maybe getting to know the guy slowly starting to become more of a reality as the moments passed. That thrust him into gear – Peter fumbled into his pocket and scrolled through a couple of his photo files before he found his infographic.

“Everyone is on break for the holidays, so I’ve got lots of time. Turn your AirDrop on, I’ll share my info with you,” Peter replied without hesitation, his cheeks warm from the events of the night and the distracting way Tony was making him feel. “The Juilliard studio has great lighting.”

After grabbing his info, Tony reached across the space between them and gripped his shoulder, the touch firm and friendly. “I’ll get ahold of you. Thanks for making me look good.” Throwing him a final smile, Tony hitched his bag up his shoulder and walked quickly out the door and into the cold December night.

----

A couple of days passed before Peter heard from Tony – they decided on a time and agreed to meet at the Juilliard studio that Friday. For 4 days, Peter immersed himself in the editing process to make the time go a little faster. It didn’t, but that was always how it worked when he was looking forward to something.

In his need to fill up all the spaces of time, Peter did a bit of online shopping and ordered a couple of different backgrounds to play around with. When the day came, Peter used his key to head in a little early – his lighting set up would take a while to get put together and if his hands were busy, he didn’t have any time to fret about the nerves coursing through him or the hopes he hadn’t been able to put to bed since meeting Tony. Getting ahead of himself seemed like a recipe for failure – but he wasn’t one to not step out on the limb just because of a little fear.

Two solid hours of preparation went by much faster than he figured it would – Tony walked in through the door while he was still fiddling with the long backdrop, the sturdiness of it important if Tony was going to jump and move on and around it. He didn’t notice until he looked up to see how straight it was and caught Tony’s reflection in the mirror behind him.

“Hey, Tony,” Peter started, his face breaking out into a familiar smile. “I’m just about ready. I got the door to the bathroom unlocked, so you’re free to change as much as you’d like.” He tugged at the backdrop one more time before finally feeling satisfied – he knew what he was doing, the nerves needed to go the hell away.

Tony looked at him for a moment, his whiskey-brown eyes roving over his face without any shame. It felt good – being looked at like that. Whatever it meant; Peter wasn’t going to be mad about the attractive man in front of him not being able to tear his eyes away. The only thing that ever made his heart race like it was in that moment was dance – that had to mean something.

“I’m ready to go. I just need to put my bag down and change into my flats,” Tony finally said, his eyebrows quirking as a soft grin lifted his cheeks.

“You should probably stretch, too,” Peter remarked offhandedly, his eyes returning Tony’s stare, inch of skin by lovely inch. He was happy to see that there were a couple different cuts of shirt in his hand – they’d have a lot to work with. With that in mind, Peter went about making sure his camera was connected to his computer while Tony got ready.

As expected, once they got started, things went seamlessly. Tony was used to be instructed and took Peter’s suggestions in stride. They did a bunch of different poses in each outfit, Peter making sure that Tony switched to pointe at least once during the process. By the end, Peter was laughing at the faces Tony made at him when he switched positions.

Almost satisfied, Peter put the camera down and stepped onto the backdrop. He swung his arms from side to side to get his blood flowing, then swopped up into a one footed stance without much trouble (the twinge would come later.) “I want you to leap and land like this – I’d demonstrate, but this is as far as that goes,” Peter joked, his body saturated with endorphins from the rush doing any sort of movement with his body always brought.

Tony didn’t move to get in position, so Peter straightened up and started to think about how else he could describe it. A hand on his arm stopped him, Tony’s fingers squeezing lightly. “You still have such good technique,” Tony mumbled, his hand moving to pull at Peter’s until he was a little further onto the backdrop. “No turns, right?”

Nodding, Peter relaxed his body and let himself be led into a resting position, Tony’s hands now on his hips. “Let’s see how well you remember your backwards steps,” Tony whispered, his lips just a few inches away from Peter’s ear. His fingers tapped on the right side of Peter’s hip and they were off in that direction – his arms widening when they got to the edge of the pass.

It felt weird for a second, being in the hold position; but he quickly got over it, the relief of any stress on him quickly taken by Tony’s hands and their tight grasp on his hips, Peter’s feet barely touching the ground. They went through a couple of moves before Peter was stopping their movement with a subtle touch to Tony’s hand.

“That’s enough for me.” Peter was grateful for the brief experience and threw an even more sincere look over his shoulder at Tony. “Thank you, though – I haven’t moved like that in years.” He lifted his hands over his head and stretched himself as long as he could go before walking back over to his camera set up, his fingers wrapping around the base with ease.

When they were all done and Tony was walking out of the bathroom in street clothes, Peter looked up and motioned to him. He let his eyes linger on the way Tony’s jeans sat on his hip, the cut of his shirt enhancing the slimness there. Tony moved with ease, the man more than familiar with his body and the things he could do with it. Shaking his head, Peter moved away from that thought – it could very easily get him in trouble.

With Tony by his side, Peter smiled at him, then started to go through the frames he took throughout the two hours they’d been working. Tony spent a lot of time critiquing himself and grinned when Peter went out of his way to say the exact opposite of whatever came out of his mouth. The stills were beautiful and after a little work, would be more than enough to circulate around in resumes and show leaflets.

“Those are great, Pete – I like how well you capture the action; I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it,” Tony commented, his eyes still wide from the cruise through the photo gallery. At some point, he let his hand drift to Peter’s shoulder and kept it there, his fingers now gripping on and off. “I’d love to see more – want to grab a coffee, or something?”

As it happened, coffee ended up being a quick walk to Peter’s apartment where he got as far as pulling his computer out before Tony was flung across his hips, muscular thighs clenching with every move he made. Peter was surprised for about two seconds before he grabbed a handful of Tony’s ass, and dragged him closer, their mouths meeting in a heated kiss without either of them hesitating.

Peter didn’t usually do stuff like this – kiss people he didn’t know much about, but at the same time, he didn’t like to miss out on good things, either. He watched Tony reached down and take his own shirt off, the muscles of his stomach and arms rippling as the cells fired and clenched. When he relaxed, Peter was pleased to see that Tony was very cut up and would ripple gloriously as he thrust into him in the near future.

The fact that Tony managed to get his shirt off of him and the button of his pants undone without him noticing blew Peter’s mind, the man had a way with his mouth and let his tongue do terribly dirty things. In 25 years, Peter had never been kissed like that before – Tony’s carnality was exactly like his dancing, thorough and highly skilled.

It seemed like Tony came prepared because Peter was suddenly naked and on his back with Tony between his thighs, a packet of lube and a condom dangling from his fingers. They made eye contact for a moment, the desire in Tony softening as an affectionate look rolled over his face. “This okay? You’ll tell me if you’re not comfortable?” Tony’s questions rolled off his tongue without him stopping the scandalous press of his hips.

“It’s a lot more than okay. As long as you don’t roll me up into too much of a ball, I’ll be just fine. Just don’t stop whatever it is you’re going to do,” Peter babbled, his lips totally loose now that most of his thoughts were clouded with lust and completely focused on the delicious press and pull of Tony’s fingers on his skin and cock against his own.

He was pleasantly surprised when Tony shifted and pushed at his hip until Peter took the hint and rolled over. Leaning on his forearms, Peter spread his legs as much as he could on the couch and thrust back a little, his ass entirely on display. Groaning when Tony used his hands to spread his cheeks, Peter looked over his shoulder to see dark eyes staring at him longingly.

Tony emptied the packet of lube on the flat of Peter’s back and swiped his fingers through it. His free hand ran along Peter’s flank and lulled him into a sense of comfort – the breach of Tony’s fingers around and then against his rim secondary to the sensation of first a knuckle and then an entire finger slipping into him. While he moved his hand, Tony peppered all the skin he could reach with kisses and licks – he was obviously in the business of taking Peter apart one piece at a time.

Progressively, Peter got lost in the rush of his lust for Tony and the scorching touch that made his skin prickle and the well of heat in his stomach start to trickle over the edge. Tony’s weight held his hips down just enough that with every thrust back against talented fingers that were now aggressively stretching him open, Peter got the slightest amount of friction against his cock. It was both too much and not enough in one agonizingly delicious movement.

Draped completely over him, Tony pressed his lips to Peter’s ear when he pushed in. The stroke to slide inside was firm and didn’t stop until Tony’s hips were pressed against the muscle of his round ass cheeks. Peter shifted until he could accommodate his weight on one hand – he reached back and gripped Tony’s hair hard with the other, the moan slipping from his lips forcing a flush down the length of his chest. “Oh, Tony – “

From that point on, Peter lost track of time and space – he was so completely wrapped up in the tactile sensations and the sensitivity of nerve fibers that were constantly being stroked and prodded. With Tony’s arm wrapped around his middle, Peter gave himself over to the sensations, the long, slow glide of a firm cock in and out of him driving him absolutely mad. Little by little, he melted into the rhythmic bump of Tony’s cock against that spot deep inside of him and got closer to a finish that felt like a long time coming.

A shout left his hips when Tony used the grip around his chest to pull him up until his back was firmly pressed against the skin of well-muscled pecs and abs that were clenching with every thrust Tony delivered. Peter felt him slow down and move the grip of his hand from his chest to his hips, long fingers digging in. “The way you move against me, Pete – it’s driving me insane. It’s like you know me. Like you’ve studied my body and know exactly what it needs.”

His cock throbbed at the trueness of Tony’s words. Though he didn’t have a chance to physically explore it, Peter knew a lot about the way Tony moved from the images he’d been editing non-stop – it seemed like he learned a lot more about Tony than he originally imagined. Bringing his hands until they were resting over Tony’s on his hips, Peter laced their fingers together and let out a long moan; the carnal noises the only thing he could conjure up in that moment.

Another few thrusts of Tony’s cock dead against Peter’s prostate had him coming without a single touch to his throbbing erection. It was a novel thing for him, so he watched with wide eyes as he shivered and clenched and finished with the most release he’d ever seen come out of himself hitting the bedspread underneath him. Tony rolled his hips and thrusted through it until he was moaning against Peter’s neck and collapsing them both on the bed – the man courteous enough to turn them on their sides and away from his own puddle of cum.

Peter couldn’t stop the helpless moan that slipped from his mouth when Tony pulled out and rolled away to get rid of the condom. He turned and watched him move around until Tony finally joined him on the bed again. It shouldn’t have surprised him, the fact that Tony wrapped a hand around his arm and pull him back until they were resting as close together as possible. A nose ran through the sweaty hair at the back of Peter’s head – Tony pulling in a long breath before settling in.

“You can still dance. That was the most flawless piece I’ve ever been a part of,” Tony said softly, his hand flattening against Peter’s stomach to pull him even further back, despite the fact that there wasn’t any space left between them. “Rest up for a bit – I’ll take you out for another spin in a little while.”

Laughing, Peter let his hand rest against Tony’s, their fingers lacing with ease. He snuggled in, Tony’s warmth lulling him into a sleep haze.

----

The fact that Tony didn’t leave the next morning spoke volumes – Peter didn’t do a lot of dating, but he understood wanting to spend time with someone. They made pancakes that were barely edible and talked about Tony’s travels through Paris the previous two years. He’d been traveling with an international company that did a long stint in France. When it came time for Tony to leave and get some practice in for the day, Peter went with him.

It took on a different sort of intimacy, shooting Tony after that. Because he knew so much about the freckles on Tony’s skin and the way the dancer moved in the throes of passion, Peter could appreciate the thrust of his hips and the powerful strides for a completely different reason. It brought a whole new meaning to a long, slow seduction. They didn’t make it out of the locker room before Peter was on his knees, worshipping the cock and hips attached that moved with such poise and grace.

Spending the rest of the day together felt like the right thing to do after that – Tony came down his throat and watched with wide eyes as Peter stayed on his knees and stroked himself with a tight fist in long, quick strokes. The soft pet of his hair lulled him into a daze for a while, his cheek laying against the bottom of Tony’s stomach until he felt the tingle leave his toes and lower limbs.

Tony pulled him into a deep kiss when he stood up, strong arms wrapped around him and his swift tongue chased the taste of his own spend in Peter’s mouth. Peter didn’t know who was moaning but it was almost enough to bring him back to full hardness, though, he knew he couldn’t handle any more time on the hard floor or any of the surfaces available to them there. Suggesting a late lunch made Tony smile and when he grabbed Peter’s hand on the way out of the building, Peter let the hope of things actually going somewhere wash over him.

So, maybe Peter couldn’t dance on his own 2 feet anymore – with Tony by his side, he quickly learned that dancing was just as much a feeling as it was a collection of movements and lifts. Lying in bed with Tony between his legs later that night, Peter figured out that the roll of his hips and the caress of his hands felt just as good as the carefully crafted choreography that he’d be so accustomed to. The same way his body used to take the crowd apart, Peter slowly tugged at Tony’s seams until the dancer was thrusting into him with abandon. His name on Tony’s lips at the end of their coupling the ultimate standing ovation.

And as the days past and Peter got to spend more time not only wrapped up in the fun of watching someone else succeed, but also in the beauty and grace that was Tony Stark. The spring brought Bourne’s version of Swan Lake, which consisted of an all-male cast. Peter, having decided that NYCB was where the most opportunities were available, applied and got the job as the full-time photographer. Which meant he got to spend all of his day shooting ballet and only ballet. An absolute dream come true.

Watching Tony dance the part of the prince was absolutely magical – between trying to catch all of the best shots and catching every single one of his pristine moves, Peter spent all 7 days of multiple shows trying to capture him in the best possible way. They hadn’t been dating all that long, but Peter was moved to make sure Tony understood how he truly saw him.

It took a few weeks to find the perfect picture and get it blown up and printed to perfection. After getting it in the mail, Peter measured and built a custom frame for the photo – the dark brown wood a beautiful contrast to the white costume Tony was wearing in the print. Finally finishing it a couple of weeks into May, Peter stepped back and looked at the physical manifestation of his heart with a critical eye. It was Tony – Peter had a hard time finding any sort of flaw.

His ears prickled when he heard Tony putting his key in the lock – a couple of months prior, Peter pulled out one of his old TISCH key chains and made a copy of his apartment key. He left it in Tony’s pointe shoes and got a screaming call when he didn’t notice – the tip of the key stabbed him; but, the sincerity of the gesture made the large cut he had to nurse for a couple of weeks totally worth it.

He waited until he heard the keys clatter against the bowl that Peter kept right by the door to pick up the frame and carry it out into the living room where Tony was standing, his feet and arms bare, his dance tights still framing his legs in the sinful way they always did. Peter stopped dead in his tracks when Tony noticed him, the man’s dark brown eyes caught between looking at Peter’s face and the big frame he had in his hands.

“What’s that?” Tony asked, his cheeks coloring at the bluntness of the question. The man might’ve been a few years older than Peter, but he never failed to project youth and reckless wonder. The words made Peter laugh, his face spreading wide with the smile overtaking him. Instead of answering right away, Peter closed the gap and jammed the frame into Tony’s arms.

Peter gave him a few minutes to get his bearings and process what was in front of him. In the many days’ worth of searching, Peter finally decided on a picture of Tony in the middle of a leap. His eyes and chin were up, his hips completely square – but the thing that really caught Peter’s eye was the look of pure happiness of Tony’s face. There were many dancers that could get their legs completely straight through a leaping straddle, but there weren’t many that looked to be in absolute rapture when they did it. Every time he passed by it, the look made his heart pound, so he figured that was sign enough.

Tony looked up at him, his eyes wide. “This is what I look like, huh?” Tony asked, his fingers doing the customary reaching out to touch thing they always did. Peter watched him trace the length of his body across the glass – the idea of fingerprints not even registering. The appreciation of his work never meant so much.

“Beautiful, right? I thought, for a really long time, that I’d never really have the same connection with dance that I did when I actually got to do it myself. Then, I met you and got to see talent and passion in a totally different light. I don’t need to be moving to feel what it’s like to be on the stage when I watch you. Maybe it’s because I love you so much and I’m biased, but I’m a fan – your biggest one, probably.” Peter let all of the words flow from him before stopping for a breath. He felt his lips slip into a beaming smile – it felt so damn good to let that off his chest.

Even the very first ‘I love you’ between them felt good coming from him – he didn’t need Tony to say it out loud to know that he loved him. It was apparent in the way he touched, his fingers were constantly seeking – whether it was knowledge or pleasure, Tony was always interested in finding out. It was glaringly obvious in the way bourbon hued eyes followed him around the room when they weren’t standing together and looked so deeply within his own when they were. His gentle words and the innate ability to know just what Peter needed said things that a singular phrase never could.

Yet, when it came from Tony’s lips, Peter couldn’t have imagined a better moment. “You’re a big softy, Petey,” Tony mumbled, his lips pressing together for a second before continuing. “I love you, too. By the way. I know you know, but I also know how good the words sound. I love you. I’ll say it however many times you want to hear it.” As elegant as always, Tony moved to lean the frame against the edge of the couch to free his hands up, then tugged Peter into them, their lips finding each other in a soft kiss.

“I don’t think there’s a limit, Tony,” Peter muttered, his voice scratchy from the rush of arousal and happiness and a billion other things.

Tony gripped his cheeks and pulled him in for another kiss, his next words said against his lips like a prayer – “sounds okay to me.”

----

Later that year, Peter and Tony stumbled through their apartment after opening night of The Nutcracker. As a veteran this year, Tony wowed the audience in a way that only someone seasoned and comfortable could. The performance was flawless, Peter a little disappointed that he couldn’t show his enjoyment as much as he would have wanted to. The second they got behind the door of his car, however, his hands were all over Tony. They almost didn’t make it into the house before Peter was straddling him and really letting his appreciation show.

They fumbled through the door and passed through the living room that was littered in Peter’s work – when they first hung the few framed photos of Tony, he complained about it being a little weird. Yet, the more Peter added to it, the more Tony seemed to be behind the idea. It just took a little prodding for him to play into the narcissism that all dancers were inherently in possession of. He really started to relax when Peter added a few of the two of them, the idea of looking up to see physical representation of their connection a nice one, one that they both wanted to get behind.

Peter let his eyes glance over them briefly before crowding against Tony’s back and herding him towards the bedroom. All of the walls on the walk there were covered in Peter’s work – his own narcissism showing in the diligent way he went about making sure all of the frames throughout the house matched and looked absolutely perfect.

When they moved in together, Tony wanted to go all in, so they got all new stuff and created something that was joint and completely Tony Stark and Peter Parker mixing all the aspects of their lives. From the bedding to the bowls they ate out of, everything was picked out together.

When he was finally able to settle between Tony’s legs with just his boxer briefs on, Peter sucked in a deep breath and gave himself a second to enjoy the man stretched out beneath him. The strain from the night’s performance had Tony’s muscles taut and his veins bulging from lack of water and electrolytes – he’d be ravenous for the next few days.

His eyes were wide and completely glazed over, the pupils taking over the bourbon Peter so eagerly drank in every time he looked in Tony’s eyes. The hands that were normally so sure of themselves were reaching to touch Peter searchingly, their next step still undetermined.

Allowing himself to share a heated look with Tony, Peter shook his head and forced himself to focus – there was plenty of time to get distracted in the beautiful view of his boyfriend later. He sat up a little and reached into his bedside table, the lube and condom hitting the comforter below them, the movement enough of a decoy for Peter to get the square box he’d been hiding there open and on the muscled expanse of Tony’s chest.

They weren’t traditional, so he bypassed the one knee thing – instead, he pressed his body weight into Tony, one of his hands holding the box so he could see it while the other ran through shower wet brown hair. It wasn’t the most romantic thing, but it felt right. Everything about Tony felt right. A forever of that was the only thing he’d ever want.

“If you’ll have me, I’d like to be your number one fan forever. Please, marry me,” Peter whispered, his nose caressing Tony’s as his lips pressed the words into any piece of stubbly skin he could reach. “Please,” he prompted again, the plea unneeded, but falling from his lips, anyway.

“How could I possibly say no to that?” Tony asked, his response coming with a quick lift of his head and warm lips pressed against Peter’s. His hands moved into the long hair at the base of Peter’s neck, fingers tugging lightly.

“Put that ring on me so I can find out how it looks against your skin while I’m holding you down.” Shooting him a wink, Tony dragged him in for a deep kiss, the box on his chest momentarily forgotten.

#starker #ironspider #it's the colours you have #starkerfestivalsevents #bobbie writes

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akaiaowl · 4 years

Text

Happy Stranger Things Day!!

It’s been 4 years since Stranger Things was first premiered on Netflix! (already?) This series is very close to my heart, since it managed to inspire me after 3 long years of writer’s block. To commemorate that, I’ll be posting the epilogue to my first fanfic on AO3: Reality in Motion (also known as RiM by some in the ST fandom). Here goes the summary and first chapter:

Reality in Motion

Modern College AU.

It hurt her to listen to the ruthless voice in her head, but, as much as she hated to admit it, El knew it was probably right. It had happened countless times before. Well, actually two. Two times in which El found herself feeling funny and giddy and hopeful about someone, only to be disappointed. It always ended that way. She was destined to be alone and it was probably for the best.

AKA: Socially awkward Jane Ives' first semester in college. Also AKA: Not your typical nice-boy-meets-drunk-girl-at-a-party Mileven fic (because of all the angst and slowwwww burn, be warned).

Chapter 1: Changes

Wednesday 29th, November 2017

If there was something El Ives put her mind to, she was sure to accomplish it. Always.

Well, most of the times.

As a matter of fact, today was one of the few rare exceptions to that rule. This, since Will Byers, El’s best friend, had managed to convince the otherwise socially awkward El to finally come with him that weekend to some party at a friend’s house.

They were both currently seating on the beige colored carpet of her dorm room, supposedly trying to be productive by getting their History 102 assignment done before the due date.

“Pleeease El! I’m about to beg you, it’s almost Christmas break and, for once, I’d like for you to come meet my friends and not stay locked up here again like a loser”, Will had been pouting at his friend for over two hours.

“Hey, I happen to like being a loser”, said El feigning indignation and scowling at her skinny best friend.

Will managed to hold back his smile at his oldest friend’s antics and maintained a serious expression for the sake of getting his point across. They’d been friends since the age of twelve and both knew just how determined the other could be. Holding each other’s stares defiantly in a silent challenge, neither of them wanted to give in.

As she stubbornly stared into Will’s lively brown eyes, El suddenly felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her. She had been having a few of those for a while now, especially whenever she thought back on their high school days on Hawkins High School. Actually, the biggest irony was thinking about how much she had looked forward to graduating and moving as far away as humanly possible from that hell hole she called hometown. Whereas, now, she couldn’t help feeling strangely homesick. As a matter of fact, lately, El was often ambushed by random flashbacks from her teenage years and usually found herself wishing she could somehow go back and do it all better.

She regretted everything, actually, except for her friendship with Will.

Their friendship was yet another reason El kept thinking back in nostalgia to her high school days: even though Will and her had managed to get accepted into their dream college together and even lived in neighboring dorm buildings, she felt him more distant than ever before. Worse than that, El was painfully aware that she was the reason of the increasing (figurative) distance in their friendship and she loathed herself for it. Now, more than ever, she hated herself for her apathetic and awkward personality. Why couldn’t she be a normal eighteen year old? Why couldn’t she just stop feeling so nervous around other people? Because of this she was finally managing to drive her best friend away, her partner in crime, after being the closest of friends for over half a decade.

For most of their first semester at college she had declined Will’s enthusiastic invitations to parties and any social events, preferring to skip them in favor of spending her afternoons in the solitude of her room either reading ahead or watching some movie or TV show. It was just easier that way, it seemed. El had never really been a social butterfly and she knew how much Will loved meeting and bonding with new people. So, she just figured that she could give him some space by making herself scarce.

However (and she’d never admit it out loud), as Will started spending less and less time with her and his invitations became rare occurrences, El began feeling terribly lonely (which was weird). She usually cherished her alone time, often glad she wasn’t out there fake smiling and making small talk, getting emotionally drained after overthinking and worrying over every tiny detail of her social interactions. Nonetheless, now, it just felt like a very different kind of loneliness.

El felt lonely in a bad way, a way she hadn’t felt for quite a long time: the kind of lonely she used to feel before meeting Joyce Byers and befriending her son, Will.

Finally, after glaring at Will some more, El lowered her gaze in defeat. Mostly because she missed spending more time with him, and also because she was a bit curious about going to a college party.

“Ok. Fine, I’ll go. BUT I’ll only stay until a reasonable hour and you better not be dragging me up there so I can be your designated driver”, answered El with an annoyed huff, hurling one of her fluffy pillows on Will’s general direction and feeling quite annoyed (mostly at her pathetic, abnormal self).

Her friend easily managed to catch the pillow midair and offered El a sympathetic smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. She knew he was worried about her spending so much time by herself – the fact that she had no roommate made it easier for her to just hide away for hours on end without any excuse.

“I’m only doing this for your own good El, you know I look out for you and it’s about time you start having a normal college experience and, you know, getting to know people. After all, the semester is almost over”.

--….--…--…---

Friday 1st, December 2017

El bit her lip as she stared at her reflection on the mirror critically. Was her top too revealing? Was her midsection looking gross and bloated? Should she put any make up on? Was her hair ok? Were jeans and sneakers too casual for the party?

Man, I badly needed a School of Life 101 crash course, El thought with a groan.

It was always on times like this that El really wished she had a roommate or a best friend who could actually give advice on these kinds of things. It was also on times like these that El regretted not learning about this stuff back on high school. Finally, after examining her reflection some more, she decided to change her sneakers in favor of her black leather boots and apply some lipstick to her dry lips.

Feeling quite nervous, she turned her phone screen on and was surprised to see several messages from Will.

8:02 pm U excited yet for your first college party?

8:03 pm Totally getting drunk as skunks 2nite.

8:46 pm Waiting for the guys, we’re coming to pick u up

9:29 pm On our way, expect a call in 15

9:44 pm Almost there

9:59 pm Ok, let’s go

*3 missed calls from MY FAVORITE PERSON IN THE WORLD*

10:03 pm Pick up the phone

10:11 pm We’re waiting downstairs

10:27 pm What the hell u doing? We’ve been here for ages

El was surprised to find out how long she had taken to get ready, her nervousness was really not helping. As quickly as possible, she grabbed her tiny purse and keys and made her way out. At that very moment, her phone screen lit up and the contact name Will had programmed for himself popped up.

*incoming call from MY FAVORITE PERSON IN THE WORLD*

Smiling, El answered.

“I’m sorry, I completely lost track of time, that’s all. I’m almost there”, she said breathlessly while making her way down the flight of stairs.

“No problem El, just making sure you were still up for it”, answered Will sympathetically.

“Wait. So did I actually have an option?” replied El only half joking.

She really was terribly nervous, like she always was whenever she had to face a new social situation.

Will laughed at her lame attempt at making a joke and was silent for a bit, maybe trying to empathize with his best friend’s nervousness.

El could hear Will’s friends talking loudly on the background:

“We need to hurry if we want to get wasted before the night ends, that’s kind of the point of tonight”, a loud male voice whined pathetically.

“Hey, I’m actually enjoying watching this show”, another male voice answered in fake annoyance.

“Booooooring”, someone else interjected.

“You’re too lame Wheeler”, the first voice teased.

The conversation on the background grew faint as El realized Will must have walked away from his friends to talk to her privately.

“Everything will be fine and you’ll have fun, you’ll see. If you feel uncomfortable or something you have us”, finally whispered Will before hanging up.

El had really tried to avoid meeting Will’s friends for a while now, feeling resentment and jealousy towards them because her best friend spent most of his time with them now and talked all the time about how fun and loyal they were.

It actually made sense that they spent time together since they were all taking science related careers and had most of their classes together – Will was an engineer major, like Lucas, while Dustin and Mike were physics majors.

It was silly, she knew.

Calm down El, it’s going to be ok, Will’s friends are probably as nice as him.

Finally, El got to her building’s common area. She saw four guys sprawled comfortably all over the beige couches, two of them were fighting over the remote and the other two were trying to watch whatever show was on TV.

They didn’t notice her presence until she started timidly approaching Will, who was gazing at the screen with mild interest. He was the first one of the group to notice her and his face was instantly filled with a broad smile.

“You’re finally here!” he exclaimed, startling everyone.

“Guys, this is El”, Will said loudly. Then, pointing at each of the guys next to him, he introduced them, “These are Lucas, Dustin and Mike”.

“Thanks for waiting”, El managed to smile at them without making eye contact. She hoped they didn’t notice her nervousness.

“No problem”, said the smallest one of them, Dustin, “honestly, we were all dying to finally meet you”.

“Yeah, we had a bet going on about Will’s friend being imaginary”, laughed Lucas.

Upon hearing that last comment, El snorted while trying to contain a laugh and turned to look at Will with amusement. Her friend merely shrugged.

“See how you make me look bad El?”

“Oh, it was only for the sake of making the bet more interesting”, answered El with a laugh, “it would have been no fun without the mystery, now would it?”

The guys smiled, amused, and the air significantly relaxed. She felt a tiny bit more comfortable, and the voice in her head repeating her own doubts and fears in a loop grew quiet for the first time that night.

“So, who won the bet?” asked Will, looking at his friends.

“Me”, said the tallest boy, Mike, smiling.

He was the only one who hadn’t spoken up yet, but she recognized his voice from her phone call with Will – he was the one who claimed to be enjoying the TV show while they waited for her to arrive.

Overcome by curiosity, El risked a glance up at him and was surprised to find him already looking at her, matching her interest. They made eye contact.

“So thank you for being real, I guess”, he said smiling kindly at her.

She quickly averted her gaze, not knowing what to do or how to respond, and tried to keep her upcoming blush from actually showing on her face. It wasn’t even a compliment, why was she reacting like this?

Social awkwardness truly sucked.

There was a short moment of silence, which was (thankfully) quickly broken by Lucas.

“Ok, let’s get going”, said Lucas enthusiastically as he strode to the nearest exit.

--….--…--…---

Saturday 2nd, December 2017

She’d drank too much, too soon.

Of course, the fact that Will kept refilling her red solo cup with mysterious mixes of liquor didn’t help at all. But she wasn’t complaining at all. All things considered, El found the whole experience quite interesting. Actually, she was pleased to realize that the alcohol numbed that voice that constantly reminded her of all her insecurities and flaws. She found this quite liberating.

She felt like she could do anything. Be anyone she wanted.

Will’s friends had left them to join a game of beer pong not so long ago, which had also helped El feel a whole lot more relaxed. Up until then, she had been too scared of acting like a weirdo around the guys and so she had barely talked.

For the first time in a long time, no worries or guilt lurked El’s mind.

As time went by, the music surrounding her stopped being too loud and the vibration of the bass on the floor actually made her lively in a way she had scarcely felt before. Before she knew it, her foot was tapping the floor to the beat of the unknown song. She tried to pay attention to whatever Will was saying (maybe a funny story about someone in one of his classes? What was that about a teacher?), but words kept jumbling around making it hard for her to understand anything at all.

My thought process is screwed up, El thought.

Suddenly, it occurred to her that that was the funniest, wittiest thing she had ever come up with, so she giggled uncontrollably.

Will smiled affectionately at the giggling girl beside him. He had really tried to be a good friend that night, staying with her the whole time – probably suspecting that if she got to feel too awkward, she’d escape the party.

“I loooooove you so much Willy Will”, said El hugging her friend, “do you know that?”

El’s ears suddenly caught onto a tune, alerting her of something.

Something quite urgent.

Do you recall, not long ago We would walk on the sidewalk? Innocent, remember? All we did was care for each other

“BYERS!!!! COME ON!” she exclaimed giddily, standing up clumsily and dragging her skinny best friend to the middle of the room, “IT’S OUR JAM!”

But the night was warm We were bold and young All around, the wind blows We would only hold on to let go

Will could only smile at her random behavior. He had never been a good dancer and he had not drank nearly as much as El had, so he just sort of awkwardly tried shuffling his feet and swaying his body to the catchy song.

“BLOW A KISS FIRE A GUN, WHEN YOU NEED SOMEONE TO LEAN ON”, El was screaming while swaying her hips wildly, her eyes were closed, “BLOW A KISS FIRE A GUN, ALL WE NEED IS SMEBODY TO LEAN ON”.

Will tried his hardest to keep up with El’s moves, but she was like a woman possessed, jumping around and twirling in every direction. It seemed that all those months of pent up energy – probably gathered after all those afternoons of voluntary isolation – were finally finding an outlet. After a couple of songs and happy to see his friend finally having fun, Will decided his job there was done.

“El. El! EL!!” he screamed to get her attention.

She faced him, smiling wildly. Her face shiny with sweat from the exertion and the warmth in the room. Will couldn’t help mirroring her grin.

“I just can’t keep up with you!” he said teasing her, “I’m gonna go find the guys”.

El stuck out her tongue at him and waved goodbye.

“YOU’RE SUCH A KID ELEVEN!” Will exclaimed as he headed to the other room, where he last saw his friends heading to.

--….--…--…---

Her feet were killing her.

El made her way to the nearest sitting space she could find, a couch on the left side of the room. She sat down for a minute in the crowded couch, slowly trying to move her toes so she didn’t feel them cramping anymore. She was currently sandwiched uncomfortably between a sleeping guy and a couple making out. She tried to ignore the snores and the sounds the couple were making.

She hadn’t seen Will or any of his friends for at least a couple of hours and she was not about to go wandering off looking for them. Will was probably drunk by now, maybe talking to the cute guy from their History 102 class that he always rambled on about. El smiled fondly, remembering how much of a hopeless romantic her best friend was.

She tried laying back on the couch and closing her tired eyes, but everything was too hot and her feet hurt too much. It was way too uncomfortable.

El glanced hopefully at the glass doors that led into the balcony. With any luck, there wouldn’t be anyone out there smoking.

She hated the smell of tobacco. It reminded her of him.

El shut her eyes tightly, desperately trying to chase away the memories that begged to be replayed on her mind, and massaged her throbbing temples. She tried to take a deep, calming breath and relax somehow, but the air felt too moist and everything smelled like alcohol and sweat. Suddenly, she was too aware of the extremely loud music and the annoying presence of the people around her. And there were too many people. Too many unfamiliar faces. Frustrated, El opened her eyes slowly, glancing around at the room full of strangers.

Dejection filled her thoroughly, tonight had been great so far and she just happened to ruin it by opening a door she had closed more than five years ago. She’d promised it would never haunt her, never hurt her again. But it was always there, lurking. It was always him, never allowing her to escape his choking grip.

Without even thinking about it, she had started walking on the opposite direction of the balcony, towards the main door of the house. As she stepped outside of the house, she couldn’t help noticing the wide brown door was ajar. El moved forward taking slow, deliberate steps, knowing her balance was far from being the most stable.

She glanced around quickly.

Sighing in relief at the fact that she had apparently managed to escape the smokers, El leaned on the nearest wall and stared off into the darkened streets and houses. Her body still felt light, but most the energy she had at the beginning of the night had ebbed away by now, leaving her exhausted. Soon enough, she noticed that the volume of the music and the noise from the house was once again bearable for her. However, without the loud (loud! loud!) music infecting her thoughts, she was left at the mercy of the familiar cold voice in her head: it was her own voice, but ruthless and emotionless, and it never tired of always repeating everything she didn’t want to hear.

She wondered what time it was, she was too lazy to get her phone out and check the time. Her fuzzy brain was making everything a lot harder.

“You ok?” a familiar voiced questioned.

El found herself staring up into the freckle-covered face of one of Will’s friends.

“Just tired and hot”, she replied, “it’s like a freaking oven in there”.

He just chuckled.

“Why are you out here?” she suddenly asked.

“Oh, just getting some air to clear my head”, the tall guy answered shrugging, “I am the lucky soul who gets to be the designated driver for tonight”.

El smiled in amusement.

His name is Mike, El suddenly remembered, her scattered, hazy thoughts becoming a tiny bit clearer.

“You know, I was convinced the only reason Will invited me here was so I’d have the honor of being the DD”.

They remained in a comfortable silence for a while, both staring off and busy with their own thoughts.

“Will is worried about you”, Mike stated after a while.

“I know”, El answered sadly, “it’s just hard for me, you know?”

Mike furrowed his brow in confusion.

“No matter how hard I try, it’s hard for me to feel comfortable or relaxed or even normal around new people or in new places”, she explained almost in a whisper.

“It’s ok to feel that way”, he said like it was the most natural thing in the world, his gaze showing empathy.

El snorted, fully aware that no, it was not okay to be such an introverted freak. She was not stupid. She knew it was a limitation, something that held her back from experiences and people and things she really wanted. She was all too aware that it was what isolated her from everyone and ultimately stood like a solid barrier, shielding her even from the ones she deeply cared about.

“I felt very lonely coming here at first”, Mike confessed smiling crookedly in her direction, “I consider myself a lucky guy, having Dustin as a roommate and meeting Lucas and Will on my first week here”.

“Will is an amazing friend”, El answered smiling, “and all of you seem like pretty cool guys”, she added honestly.

Mike blushed a bit and lowered his gaze, focusing on his wristwatch.

Who even owns a wristwatch these days?, wondered El with amusement as she glanced at him with the corner of her eye.

“Hey, it’s barely 1 am, how do you feel about going for a drive and coming back to pick up our friends’ drunken asses?” suddenly asked Mike.

Full story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12840366/chapters/29318523

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #mileven #mileven fanfiction #mileven fanfic #stranger things angst #stranger things day #mike wheeler #mike and eleven #eleven #jane hopper #el hopper #el and mike #eleven and mike #mileven fluff #st #fanfiction

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somethingmorecreative1 · 4 years

Text

Renegade Dawn, Chapter 2 [klance fic]

the klance pacific rim au

Here’s Chapter 1, if you haven’t read it yet! And here’s the AO3 link if you’d rather read it there.

Stay safe, stay healthy, and take care of yourselves xoxo

;;

Chapter 2

September 2029—Year 22 of the Kaiju War

The Kaiju roars in agony as the plasmacaster blows through its chest and destroys the heart cavity. Its empty screams echo off of the buildings and the partially destroyed Wall of Life in Los Angeles as it collapses.

“Great job, beautiful!” Lance exclaims, moving into a complete standing position on the gyro-stabilizers, the elliptical pedals that hold him in place in the cockpit.

“Are you okay?” Allura asks, looking over at him through her helmet. She looks tired, but her eyes are bright, just like they are after every Kaiju kill. Clawtooth, codename for the Kaiju that attacked Southern California early this morning, had gone down after a long fight. Some of the coast was destroyed in the battle, with a large piece of the completed and supposedly indestructible wall torn to shreds.

Lance nods, surveying the Kaiju’s body where it’s scattered in pieces around them. He says, “Yep. I’m glad we were here. This son of a bitch would have ruined L.A.”

“Riptide, get back to the coast and prepare for pickup,” the voice interrupts from the comm system, speaking over the heavy noise in the cockpit of their Jaeger. Lance and Allura don’t recognize the voice, but that’s probably because there are only a few officers left at the Shatterdome. Even Lance, Allura, and their Jaeger, Sunshine Riptide, had been only half an hour from being relocated to Hong Kong when the Kaiju was tracked heading toward L.A.

Through the drift, Lance can feel how angry Allura is about them being relocated. He hums along with her, equally as pissed, and they start walking back toward the coast, crushing the skull of Clawtooth for good measure. Fuck Kaiju.

“It’s bullshit that we’re doing this,” Allura grumbles aloud, even though she knows Lance can feel and hear everything in her head. She must be really angry to vocalize it too. “The only reason L.A. isn’t in ruins is because of us.”

“I know,” Lance agrees, tapping at the control panel hanging from the roof of the cockpit. “I thought the Wall of Life was supposed to be indestructible and keep everyone safe, but this bastard tore through the wall in less than twenty minutes. Cutting the Jaeger Program is a bad idea.”

Allura hums in agreement, and they trudge toward the coast.

The first time that Lance met Allura was one of the most embarrassing and best things to ever happen to him. After the Garrison, Lance received his placement at the Shatterdome in Los Angeles. It was a miracle really; L.A. had been his top choice because it was close to his family and it was still one of the more active bases on the Pacific Rim.

Lance had been brought into the Jaeger Program, the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps, with a dozen other new candidates from across the world, including Allura. Lance had spotted her first, standing in line with the other cadets, all beauty and grace. She hadn’t even glanced his way, which obviously meant that she was just his type. After the briefing from their superior officer (that Lance had barely listened to; he had been fantasizing about his future with Allura, whose name he hadn’t even known at the time), Lance had walked up to her, smirked, and said, “Are you religious? Because you’re the answer to all my prayers.”

Allura had stared at him for half a second before slamming her knee into his crotch. She’d left him curled up on the ground, moaning and biting back tears as the other cadets laughed.

Later that day, when they were being paired up for physical training, one of the officers paired him with Allura, and she had frowned at him before throwing the first punch.

Lance dodged, sweating nervously. His voice shook more than he wanted to admit when he said, “Listen, about earlier—”

She threw him on the ground and smirked, “Do you believe in doctors? Because you’re going to need some serious medical attention when I’m done with you.”

Honestly, the heart eyes that Lance had for Allura just got worse after that.

His training from the Garrison finally kicked in, and after a few minutes of her thoroughly kicking his ass, he was able to get back into the fight. Once he was paying attention, he discovered that they were somewhat evenly matched. She was good, but Lance could keep up and hold his own too.

They drew a decent sized crowd. Eventually, Lance thought that their superior officer came over to watch as well, but he was so focused on the fight and the energy between him and Allura that he wasn’t paying attention to anything else.

Allura had him pined to the ground, and Lance was fighting his way out of it when a sharp whistle broke his concentration. Then, a voice barked, “Enough!”

Both him and Allura turned to look. A few officers were standing there, along with the Marshall. Lance immediately rolled to his feet, face burning, wondering what they had done wrong.

“Interesting,” the Marshall had said, raising an eyebrow. “It seems as though the two of you are drift compatible.”

And the rest had been history.

Lance and Allura started their training together then, since they were ahead of the other pilots in their program who hadn’t found a co-pilot yet. The Marshall and their commanding officers all kept a close eye on their training, and after two years, they started building Lance and Allura’s Jaeger, a Mark IV angel, if Lance was honest. He and Allura had fought with the engineers over her name and design for weeks.

They became best friends somewhere along the way. The first time that they had done a drift test, it had been so different from the last time, the time he had tried with Keith. With Allura, he had all the training that he and Keith hadn’t had. He understood exactly what the drift was and how it worked; he knew what he needed to give to make this work with Allura.

He wasn’t even worried about drifting with Allura. It had been as easy as breathing.

Now, as he thinks about it, he can feel Allura going through his memories with him, smiling at several of the times they’ve had together so far.

Lance wonders what they’ll do if the Jaeger Program is completely decommissioned.

The tone in the drift shifts enough for Allura to speak again. She says, “That won’t happen. The Wall isn’t a good enough defensive tactic. Jaegers are the only thing strong enough to fight the Kaiju.”

“What if we’re moved over to Hong Kong and they ground us?” Lance asks.

Allura is worried about it, he can tell through the drift, but she says, “I don’t think that will happen. Sunshine Riptide is the most successful Jaeger that’s still operational. The only Jaeger that had stronger pilots and more drop-kills than us at the time was Black Paladin.”

“Yeah, and that worked out well for them,” Lance mutters, voice bitter and sad at the same time.

Allura prods at the feeling gently, but Lance guides her away from it. Even though it’s been three years, he’s still not ready to share that aloud with her. She’s seen everything, of course, but drifting with someone is different. There are things that Lance has seen in Allura’s memories that he would never dare ask her about. This just happens to be one of his.

“That was a freak accident,” Allura challenges him, secure in it now, after years of thinking about it, worrying over it, regretting it. “It was before the new system for categorizing the Kaiju was developed. If they had known that Kaiju was a Category 3, they never would have sent Black Paladin in without backup.”

“I know,” he sighs. He doesn’t argue with her, mostly because she’s right, but also because he’s tired. They’d been deployed at 2:45 this morning, and it was well past 08:00 now. Lance needed a nap.

They walk the rest of the way in silence. As they leave the city, it starts to wake up behind them. There are several helicopters zipping through the skies, getting close enough to film them as they walk. Absently, Lance hopes that someone has gotten their kill on camera so it will play repeatedly for the next couple of days. It would be a good thing for the world to see. Despite the destruction of the city and the potential lives that had been lost, the United Nations needs to know that defunding the Jaeger Program is a terrible idea. If Sunshine Riptide hadn’t been here, all of L.A. could have been destroyed.

The helicopters and the loading ship are waiting for them at the coast, and as they make their way over to it, Lance grins at Allura and says, “You wanna wave to the crowds?”

She laughs, bright and easy, and they both turn and lift their arm to wave in the direction of the city.

“Please proceed onto the loading dock, Riptide,” the voice from base replies, probably completely aware (and unhappy, if Lance has to guess) at their publicity stunt.

He smirks over at Allura, and they follow orders.

;;

“Prepare for drop,” the AI hums through the cockpit, and Lance and Allura jerk as the helicopters release them. They drop to the ocean, hitting the water and seafloor with a sharp thud. They’ve been dropped far enough out that they can barely see the coastline because the impact from the drop can often cause a small earthquake if they are too close to any fault lines. In a fight with the Kaiju, it doesn’t seem as important, and the Wall does help avoid damage to the city, but the Jaegers have to be careful when being transported.

Which means that Lance and Allura have to walk all the way over to the Shatterdome now.

Once they’re standing upright, Allura picks up her right foot, and Lance echoes her immediately. They walk through the water, and the coastline gets closer and bigger with every step.

Through the drift, Lance can see that Allura is thinking about the last time they were here in Hong Kong, when they fought against the Kaiju with two other Jaegers: Metal Lipstick and Black Paladin.

It had been a legendary battle. It was the first time that there had ever been a double event—two Kaiju coming through the breach at once. They had lurked down the Pacific and descended upon Hong Kong hour after their arrival. Sunshine Riptide had been deployed from L.A., journeying across the ocean to join the fight with Metal Lipstick and Black Paladin.

Both were mythical Jaegers. In fact, with Sunshine Riptide there, they were the three most powerful Jaeger teams in existence, all fighting together at once. Metal Lipstick, piloted by a set of twins from Australia, had some of the best defensive tactics in the world, and Black Paladin—well, Black Paladin was the most successful Jaeger to have ever been built. Its life was young, having been built specifically for its pilots, but its power couldn’t be defined by age.

Lance can still hear the echoes of the other pilot’s voices in his memories, but he blinks hard. The last thing they need is to get caught chasing the rabbit in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

They don’t talk as they make their way over to the coast. It doesn’t take long to get there; the Hong Kong Shatterdome is built on an island off the coast of the city, where the Jaegers have easy access to the water so they can stop the Kaiju before it reaches the coast. The massive building sticks out against the rest of the coastline. Shatterdomes are easily the biggest structures on the planet, and to house Jaegers, they have to be.

Up ahead, the base has a loading tank prepared for them. It’s designed to roll the Jaegers into the Shatterdome to avoid hurting the pilots in such close quarters. Even though the Shatterdome is big, it’s not big enough for a Jaeger to just walk inside with its pilots.

“Sunshine Riptide,” a distinct voice, heavy with an Australian accent, filters through their communication system. “Welcome to the Hong Kong Shatterdome!”

Allura grins immediately and reaches up to hit her speaker. “Hello, Marshall. It’s nice to be here.”

“Under unfortunate circumstances, I’m afraid, but we’ll have to take what we can get in these times I suppose, eh?” he asks, voice still bright. “Please be careful on the loading tank and removing yourself from the Jaeger. A team will be out to assist you and bring you into the facility.”

“Copy that, boss,” Lance says, smiling at Allura. Even though they might be getting the plug pulled on them, he guesses that it’s worth it to see Allura this happy. She doesn’t get to see her uncle, Coran, very often anymore, not since he took the Marshall’s position. At least she will get to spend some time with him while they’re here.

They trudge forward, continuing up onto the loading tank easily and carefully climbing up out of Riptide. When they open the top hatch, Lance is blinded by the sun. It glints off Riptide’s sharp metal, flickering different colors in the light.

Coran’s team helps them climb down to the ground, and Lance shakes himself, blinking to get the haze of the drift to fade. Staying in the drift for a long time takes a toll on the mind, and it still makes Lance a little dizzy and overwhelmed after they’ve been in for a long time.

Allura grips his arm and jostles him softly, “Wake up.”

“I’m awake,” he says, batting her hand away.

Groups of officers and military personal are standing around them and their Jaeger, looking up at Sunshine Riptide in all her glory. She stands tall, so tall that she’s blocking the sun. She’s a Mark IV, rebuilt for Lance and Allura when they finished their training. She was decommissioned after being torn to shreds in one of the very first Kaiju battles, but they rebuilt her, loaded her up with a new neural interface, and slapped on a bright orange coat of paint. She has two plasmacasters, one in each fist, built to destroy the Kaiju in close combat, which she’s designed for. To Lance, Sunshine Riptide is one of the most beautiful Jaegers in existence.

Some of the people around them are also looking over at Lance and Allura, and their expressions are too close to awe and amazement. Any other day, he would be preening under the attention, smirking and flirting his way through the crowds, but today, he’s too worried about their future.

Allura glances over at him when one of the officers gives them the go ahead. The Shatterdome’s bay doors are opening a few hundred yards ahead of them, and there are people everywhere. Every Shatterdome has been pulled and moved to Hong Kong, so everyone in the Pan Pacific Defense Corps is grounded here now, well, what’s left of them.

Lance removes his helmet, tucks it under his arm, and steps up to Allura’s side. She nods, and they step out in front of the tank where their Jaeger has been loaded. It’s a brisk walk, but it’s something that Lance always takes pride in. People in front of them clear a path, parting for them, and they enter the Shatterdome bay to a round of applause because of their most recent victory.

The base is full. There are soldiers, mechanics, and scientists crowding the floor, and there are even more people on the higher levels as well. In this bay, there are a handful of Jaegers—probably the last ones in the world. Only three have made it this long and this far; Crystal Venom, Omega Shield, and Razor Edge sit in the Shatterdome already, and now that Sunshine Riptide joins them, that means they have four Jaegers left in this fight.

Within the last few months, Kaiju activity has increased exponentially, more than it has over the entire length of the war. More and more Jaegers have been defeated because of the growing number of attacks and strength from the Kaiju. Now, there are only a few remaining.

It’s why the United Nations pulled the funding for the Jaeger Program. Jaegers were dying so fast, and the Wall seemed like the only other option. Jaegers are expensive to make and run and investing money in something that seemingly doesn’t work does seem like a waste.

But Lance knows that it’s not. Jaegers are the only things that stand in the way of the Kaiju destroying their world. If there’s anything he can do about it, he’s not going to let that happen ever.

“Ah! And here’s a friend you may remember. Sunshine Riptide, welcome to Hong Kong!”

Lance hears Coran’s voice before he sees him, but when a crowd of soldiers clears out of the way, there he is, standing in the middle of the base, gesturing up to their Jaeger. He’s standing with two other people. The person on Coran’s right is short and looks young. She’s dressed in a navy-blue military uniform with a pair of round, large glasses on her nose. On Coran’s left, there’s a tall man, dressed in a leather jacket with a duffel slung over his shoulder. His black hair hangs down to almost his shoulders—

“Pilots!” Coran calls excitedly, “Join us!”

Lance feels Allura hesitate at the same time as him. Normally, she’s very excited, not at all hesitant, to catch up with Coran. But this time—this time is different.

Because Keith Kogane is standing on Coran’s left, and he’s looking over at Lance like he’s just come back from the dead.

;;

After the Garrison, Lance hadn’t heard anything from Keith in almost two years. He never really forgot about him, never forgot the feeling of drifting with someone and almost being destroyed by it. He thought about it a lot actually, especially as he trained with Allura. He thought about what could have been different, what they could have done to make it better, to maybe have not tried to kill each other and destroy any semblance of a chance at being co-pilots.

In the end, Lance always reminded himself that it never mattered because they weren’t drift compatible and they never would be.

The first thing that he ever heard about Keith after the Garrison was in an online interview. He had been checking his tablet, scanning through the news, when he saw it.

Jaeger Black Paladin takes down largest ever Cat 2 Kaiju in Hong Kong last night. Pilots Takashi Shirogane and Keith Kogane famed for victory.

Allura had found him later, obsessively looking through the internet for more information about Keith.

As it turned out, Keith had found drift compatibility with someone else too—Takashi Shirogane, an older and more experienced pilot from Hong Kong. Staring at his face on the tablet, Lance had a vague feeling that he knew this man, and he finally he realized that it was because of the memories he got from Keith when they drifted together.

Keith and Shiro were placed in a Mark IV Jaeger, Black Paladin, in Hong Kong. Keith had even finished his training almost six months early so they could put them in a Jaeger. The fight with the Cat 2 Kaiju in Hong Kong had been their first battle together, and they quickly ran through the ranks of all other Jaeger pilots in the world. Their drop-kill numbers were so high, accuracy so amazing, that they were deployed for every Kaiju attack they were physically close enough to.

Lance and Allura were finally deployed for the first time eight months after Keith and Shiro’s first victory, and Sunshine Riptide ripped through the Kaiju just as quickly as Black Paladin did. It made Lance smug, and he often wondered if Keith kept up with him as much as Lance watched the headlines for Keith’s name.

Almost a year later, the first ever double event happened in Hong Kong. Lance and Allura were deployed from L.A., and Metal Lipstick was sent over from Australia to join Shiro and Keith in the fight. It wasn’t the first time that Jaegers had teamed up to fight the Kaiju, but it was the first time that all three of the most powerful Jaegers were fighting together.

Lance remembered it like it was yesterday. He and Allura had physically jerked when he had heard Keith’s voice for the first time since they were eighteen.

“Prepare for drop,” the AI hummed just as the helicopters dropped them in the ocean, right on the other side of the Kaiju.

“Nice to meet you, Sunshine Riptide!” the voice from Lance’s memories—Shiro’s voice—said, echoing in the cockpit of their Jaeger.

Lance smirked and hit the button on his comm system, “Same, we’ve been waiting on a chance to save Keith’s ass.”

Shiro laughed a little, but Keith was back, growling, “Fuck you, Lance.”

Allura and Lance joined the fight then, putting aside everything else. It was harder than any other fight so far, even with all three Jaegers. Allura and Lance led the first one, codename Diablo, while Black Paladin and the Australian Jaeger, Metal Lipstick, finished off the other.

Diablo had Lance and Allura around the waist, crushing them slowly as the plasmacaster powered up. Then, they shoved their left fist into its chest and fired.

“Empty the clip!” Lance shouted through clenched teeth, his ribs aching, as they kept firing into the Kaiju. “Empty the clip!”

Finally, Diablo fell into the ocean, just as Black Paladin and Metal Lipstick were turning to aid them.

Allura grinned, reached up to the comm, and said, “Thanks for the help, but we’ve got it.”

Lance was laughing, grinning at her too because holy fuck, she was the best thing to ever happen to him.

After the battle, they were all stationed at the Hong Kong Shatterdome for a few days to get repairs done on their Jaegers. Sunshine Riptide was so damaged that she wouldn’t make it home without the important repairs completed first.

Lance met Shiro officially for the first time, but when they shook hands with each other, he felt how weird it was. He already felt like he knew Shiro from seeing him in Keith’s memories, even just the little that he had, and Shiro was looking at him the same way, like he knew him too.

Keith had stood off to the side with his arms crossed, glaring in their direction.

“This is Allura,” Lance said to Shiro, reaching out for her arm to pull her forward. “She’s my co-pilot.”

Shiro smiled at her softly, and Lance grinned while they shook hands. She was being uncharacteristically nervous now, meeting Shiro. Lance would tease her about it later.

“You guys were impressive,” Shiro said, looking between both of them. “We’ve been keeping up with your deployments, so we were excited that you were coming for this one.”

Allura started to thank him, but Lance interrupted. His grin widened, and he shot a look over at Keith, “Oh yeah? Keith’s just been waiting for a rematch.”

Keith rolled his eyes, not at all friendly, “Whatever. I’d still kick your ass.”

He laughed and winked at him, relishing in Keith’s glare and how he couldn’t take his eyes off Lance’s frame. Sure, they hated each other and were rivals in every essence of the word now, but who said Lance couldn’t have a little fun with it?

It wasn’t the only time that they had seen each other since the Garrison. They spent a couple of more days at the Hong Kong Shatterdome, and when Allura took to hanging out with Shiro, Lance and Keith had no other option than to be around each other too.

It worked out, mainly because of how much Allura berated and begged Lance into being nice to him so she could talk to Shiro. He listened to her, only because she was his best friend and loving co-pilot, so when they all went out to a dive bar where no one would recognize them to celebrate, Lance called for a truce.

“I’m just saying,” Lance’s voice was a little too loud because of the last couple beers he’d had. “This is stupid. You’re stupid.”

“Wow,” Keith had crossed his arms over his broad chest. “What a great way to talk to someone you want to be friends with. Really, has anyone ever told you how good you are with people?”

Lance scowled at him, “I’m not giving up.”

The other man had shrugged, “Whatever, Lance.”

After that night, things between them became a little better in terms of the limited amount of times they had to deal with each other. There were only a handful of times and places where they were deployed to fight together, and even fewer times where they got to see each other outside of the Jaegers and the Shatterdomes.

Which is right about the time that Lance developed a huge fucking crush on Keith. In all actuality, it hadn’t developed—Lance had finally become aware of it.

He had been working on a plan to get Keith to start talking to him again. In fact, Allura was even talking to Shiro, which was good for him too. If Allura could get Shiro on their side, then they would all four have to spend time together and—

Then the accident happened.

Black Paladin was deployed to defend Hong Kong from a supposed Cat 2 Kaiju, codename Knifehead. They were already sent out to meet Knifehead in battle when the Marshall and techs realized that the Kaiju wasn’t a Cat 2—it had been the first ever Cat 3.

And Black Paladin was unprepared for it.

Lance can still remember watching the video feed of it the next day. Seeing Knifehead tear off their Jaeger’s arm, then, completely rip out the right side of the Jaeger—Lance thought he was going to be sick while watching it.

Sunshine Riptide hadn’t been close enough to help. Even if they had been deployed at the same time, there wasn’t anything that they could have done.

That morning, Lance and Allura had received the report at the L.A. Shatterdome. Shiro was dead, and Keith—Keith was in a coma. He had killed the Kaiju on his own, controlling the Jaeger by himself, and effectively killing his brain with the amount of strain on the neural bridge. He had even gotten the Jaeger back to the coast on his own, lasting almost a full hour in battle by himself.

It made sense that they thought he wouldn’t make it.

So Lance and Allura—they didn’t know what to do. It was like their world had been ripped away from them. Black Paladin—Shiro and Keith—they had been the strongest and most successful Jaeger pilots ever.

And the Kaiju had taken them away. Just like that.

In the time that Keith was in a coma, there was another Kaiju attack, another Cat 3 along the coast of California. Allura and Lance had begged the Marshall to deploy them, and when they went, they were both so angry that they ripped the Kaiju to shreds, hoping every last helicopter got it on camera so it would play it, as if it would justify all the wrongs the Kaiju had already done to them.

It hadn’t.

Lance and Allura did their best to deal with it. Allura was so sad, and Lance was practically distraught. When they drank too much one night and stumbled into bed together, Lance didn’t regret it because at least he had felt something for a little while.

A few weeks later, Keith surprisingly woke up from his coma, but before Lance and Allura could get over to Hong Kong to visit, he left the hospital, left the Shatterdome, and disappeared without a trace.

And it’s been three years since.

#rachel writes stuff #rachel writes klance #klance #klance pacific rim au #renegade dawn

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feargender · 5 years

Text

that’s the kind of love that i’ve been dreaming of

read here on ao3

Juno doesn’t usually like going undercover for a job. Too many ways for it to go wrong, too much to remember about his alias, and acting has never been his forte. He’s really more of a “kick the door down, gun blazing and bleeding heavily from a stab wound” kind of lady. That said, he would pretend to be a different person every day of the week if it meant Peter would keep looking at him like this.

The Roses are making another appearance, because, as Buddy had put it, “It’s ridiculous to let a solid married persona complete with documentation go to waste.”

They’re sitting in a restaurant on one of Jupiter’s moons, which is the only building on this particular moon at all. The restaurant has ten tables made entirely of precious jewels and no menu. Instead there are what must be over a dozen bite sized courses paired with a swallow of different wines.

The course sitting in front of them now is an emerald green beetle. When Juno taps his spoon against the hard shell, it cracks neatly, allowing a creamy broth and assortment of tiny leaves to flow out. The flavor is a little tangy for his pallet and the wine is almost tasteless.

Peter hasn’t even looked at his plate, busy as he is studying Juno. He’s wearing a blood red dress with a slit up the side, showing where a garter is holding his stocking up high on his thigh. The neckline dips down to his sternum and his neck is slung with a number of different jeweled necklaces. His lip stain is gold and matches his shining false eye.

“You’re staring,” Juno says, sipping his tiny serving of thin wine.

“You’re beautiful,” Peter counters and Juno suppresses his blush with a firm glare.

“Don’t you have other things to be watching right now, Nureyev?” Juno arches an eyebrow and Peter grins lazily, glancing over Juno’s shoulder at their mark, seated with his own date a few tables down.

“He doesn’t like his dish, he’s been pushing it around his plate for three minutes,” Peter reports.

Juno fingers the small signaling device in his clutch, shaped like a tube of lipstick. The only way to hack into the mark’s server is through a complicated program Rita created that requires her signal to be within a range of fifty feet to work. Juno didn’t understand most of what she told him, he just knows that his job is to hold the not-tube of lipstick and hope Rita doesn’t trigger any firewalls.

“We should do this more often,” Peter says, reaching across the table to hold Juno’s hand.

“What, eat food so expensive I think my tastebuds are going into debt?” Juno says, but it’s with a smile and a squeeze of Peter’s fingers.

Peter laughs and shakes his head. “Spend time together, just the two of us.”

Juno leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Only if it’s as Peter and Juno, and no one else,” he murmurs.

Peter’s smile softens from amusement to adoration, a look Juno is unused to on anyone’s face, especially aimed at him. It makes his stomach flip pleasantly. “Deal.”

Just then, Juno’s earpiece (disguised as a rather elaborate cuff) crackles to life. “Hey boss? I think we have a problem.”

Peter’s eyes narrow as he gazes past Juno again at their mark, but otherwise his facial expression tells Juno nothing. He can hardly turn around in his seat, so he hisses, “What is it?”

“I’m pretty sure I tripped this guy’s security. Aaaaand I think he mighta noticed,” Rita says worriedly.

“He is looking rather red in the face, and I don’t think it’s the food. Can you still get what we need?” Peter asks.

“Well yeah, ‘course I can! But it might take longer than you have before he finds out where the signal is coming from,” Rita explains. Juno looks down at the clutch in his lap, containing the secret lipstick shaped device.

“He’ll know it’s us either way. This isn’t really the kind of joint where you can just get up and walk out without anyone noticing,” Juno grumbles, eyeing the hawkish maitre’d across the dining room.

“And we were having such a nice evening,” Peter says, feigning moroseness, but his mouth is twitching around the edges. He loves a good escape and Juno knows it. “Ready to go, dear?”

Juno sucks down the rest of his watery wine and nods. “Ready.”

II.

Peter hears it, faintly, as if from a great distance. Juno calling his name, somewhere deeper in whatever building they’ve found themselves in. A dark, winding place with narrow hallways and no windows. There will be a door and the only thing beyond it is another gray hall, seemingly identical to the last.

Juno calls his name again and he sounds wretched, like the shriek is ripped from him by a harsh fist. Peter has never heard Juno make a sound like that before. It’s louder this time and Peter calls back. It comes out a hoarse whisper, the air trapped in his lungs.

He reaches a dead end and a door, but leading in the opposite direction of Juno’s voice. Juno screams again wordlessly. Peter can feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as he tries to call back, but again Juno’s name remains lodged firmly in his throat. He tries to run down the hall but he just continues his slow, torturous shuffle, hands dragging along the metal walls as his muscles burn and strain with no results.

The tears spill down his cheeks now as Juno screams continuously, wails broken by coughs and two cracked syllables that must be Peter’s name, but they’re unrecognizable. Finally, Peter reaches another door, Juno’s voice bouncing around behind it. It’s locked tight, no knob or activation panel in sight. Peter slides to his knees against it, listening to Juno’s shouts and his own strained efforts of responding. If Juno can hear him, he gives no indication, and Peter cannot muster strength enough to do any more than knock his head against the metal door and weep.

Peter wakes to the sensation of choking, his eyelashes glued together with tears. He coughs and sniffles, gulping down a breath of air as his entire body shakes with the strain of trying to move while paralyzed by sleep and his crying. He coughs again, throat crackling with tears and snot and spit.

Juno shifts beside him, sitting up on his elbows and turning his head. “You alright?”

Peter intends to say that he’s fine, Juno, go back to sleep but the words don’t come. He sniffs. Juno rolls onto his side with a groan, groping around until the lamp by his side of the bed bursts to life and Peter winces at the sudden brightness.

Juno squints his eye at Peter blearily and frowns. “You look horrible,” he says.

Peter huffs out a wet laugh. “Just what every man loves to hear,” he says. Juno only clicks his tongue and scoots closer, pressing his front against the line of Peter’s body.

“Nightmare?” Juno asks. Peter hums and they both move until Peter is curled inward, folded to rest his head on Juno’s chest and drape his arm across the soft expanse of Juno’s stomach, listening to his heart and feeling his every breath.

The tears abate after a few moments and the embarrassment creeps in. Peter lets out a self deprecating little laugh, patting the wet spot on Juno’s sleep shirt that has developed under his cheek. “I think I got snot on you,” he mumbles, beginning to move away.

Juno tightens his grip just a bit. Not enough that Peter couldn’t continue to move, but enough to indicate that Juno doesn’t want him to. He shrugs. “I can wash it.”

“I’m not usually so,” Peter doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, so he just waves his hand around vaguely.

“Don’t worry about it,” Juno replies dismissively.

“Really, this is-” Peter begins and Juno nudges him.

“Just let me hold you, Nureyev,” Juno says, exasperation tinging his voice.

Peter blinks, but relaxes into Juno’s embrace again. Juno leans his cheek against the top of Peter’s head and they rest like that. If Peter asks that they leave the lamp on, no one has to know but them.

III.

It had started innocently enough. As it turns out, with how much travel is involved in intergalactic thievery, Peter is a bit of a stream buff. Nowhere near as intent on them as Rita, but he has a few favorites that he wants to introduce Juno to. They waited until everyone else cleared out, and then commandeered the media room, armed to the teeth with snacks and a small pile of blankets.

By the end of the first episode, Juno was straddling Peter’s lap. The intro theme to the second episode begins to play, but Juno’s attention is split between Peter’s teeth against his lip and his hands worming beneath Juno’s worn long sleeved shirt, one threatening to edge beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. He’s just considering whether or not he should suggest moving this somewhere more private when Peter dumps him to the side and unfurls a fluffy blanket over them both.

The confusion has just enough time to abate for a tinge of hurt feelings to set in when Rita shuffles into the room, hair hidden beneath a silk scarf and fuzzy robe wrapped over her pajamas.

Juno feels his face heat up, but Rita can’t possibly see it in the dark under the glow of the stream. “I thought I heard the theme song! I love this one,” she says happily. She goes to plop down next to them, but then stops, a sly smile playing on her mouth. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Juno is about to say yes, please fuck off, when Peter shakes his head and goes, “No, of course not. Please join us, Rita.”

Rita claps and wedges herself between the two of them, monopolizing the blanket. “The costumes could really be better, that fashion was way out of date by the 22nd Century,” she remarks, leaning past Juno to grab the bowl of popcorn.

IV.

Juno comes into the kitchen to the smell of something burning, and badly. He covers his nose, wincing, and edges around the corner. Peter stands, still in his pajamas, waving his hands frantically at a pan on the stove which is brightly ablaze. He reaches for a half full glass of water on the counter and splashes it on the contents of the pan, leaping back with a yelp when the fire bursts with even more life.

Juno shoves Peter out of the way and grabs a pot lid with a pair of tongs, sliding it onto the burning pan and smothering the blaze, waving his hand in front of his face to try to disperse some of the smoke, grateful that the fire alarm on the ship is broken after some mistaken tampering on Jet’s part.

“Peter, what the fuck?” Juno coughs out, reaching for a towel and waving it at the black smoke still pouring from the burnt contents of the stove.

“I… thought I’d try my hand at breakfast. Clearly it didn’t go as planned,” Peter says evenly.

“You started a fire,” Juno says blankly.

“I tried to put it out!”

“You can’t dump water on a grease fire! You have to smother it,” Juno squeezes the broken bridge of his nose.

“And now I know that. You truly do learn something new every day. Incredible,” Peter leans against the counter casually, as if the edge of his silky nightie isn’t blackened with soot. He turns his gaze down after a moment. “I wanted to do something nice.”

Juno edges closer, taking one of Peter’s hands. “I appreciate the effort. Just leave the cooking to me, from now on?” Peter nods. “Pancakes?”

“That would be nice.”

Juno, in his years as a cop and then a private detective, has almost worked stakeouts down to an exact science. His first rule is that they are strictly a solo activity. After a few hours in a car, staring at the same street, even the closest of friendships can get strained.

Still, Peter had insisted on accompanying him. “This is hardly my first time, detective,” he had said, breezing past Juno toward the junky car they had picked up for the occasion. “It’ll be fine.”

That was six hours ago. Now, Juno’s ass is asleep, the coffee is long cold, the snacks are nearly depleted, and Peter will not stop fidgeting. He gets it, really, he does. They guy has a hard time keeping still. He has to have something to do with his hands. First, he was flipping his butterfly knife around, but the constant flashes of light against the blade had been distracting, so he stopped. Then, he drummed his fingers, but that gets old fast. Now, he’s scribbling with a pen on a piece of paper (a menu?), and the scratching noise is about to drive Juno insane.

Luckily, Peter notices the tick in Juno’s jaw before he has to be an asshole and say anything. The doodling stops. Juno thinks that might be it, and relaxes.

A few moments later, Peter breaks the silence and makes Juno jump. “So,” he drawls, “this is cozy.” He drapes an arm across the back of Juno’s seat.

Juno blinks at him once. Twice. “Do not,” he finally grunts.

“What?” Peter says, but he’s grinning like a cat and his eyebrow is quirked, pulling on the small scar that splits it down the middle.

“Do not try to put your moves on me right now. We’ve been breathing each other’s stale air all day, I am three minutes away from an apocalyptic cramp in my leg, and I’m just not in the mood,” Juno snips.

Peter blows out a long, irritated sigh. “Fine, I just thought a little activity might be nice,” he relents. He sits back in his seat and stares resolutely out of the window. The tapping starts again. Juno wants to scream.

As they walk around the park, Juno feels more and more awkward. He’s wearing a sunny yellow dress and a floppy black hat and carrying a picnic basket in the crook of one elbow. His other hand is latched around Peter’s, their rings clinking together. Peter is wearing a new shade of soft purple lipstick and Juno can’t help but melt a little every time they meet eyes.

But still, in the back of his mind, he thinks, Is this really me? Is he really a lady who is allowed to have a picnic with someone he loves?

Loves. He tries not to dwell on that particular thought, because now they’ve found a shady spot under a tree and Peter is spreading out the blanket on the grass and throwing himself down. He manages to make it look graceful and Juno suppresses a grunt when his back twinges on his own way down.

Peter offers Juno a half of a cheese sandwich and twists the cork out of the sweet wine they picked up a few planets ago, pouring it into two mugs, because they were the only cups clean when they were packing the basket.

Juno takes the sandwich and sits quietly, listening to the birds, tilting his face up to meet the foreign sun. When he looks back to Peter, he finds that Peter’s already watching him with a wobbly sort of smile on his face.

“What? I got something on me?” Juno asks, brushing his fingers over his face to free any remaining breadcrumbs.

“I like this,” Peter says, nudging Juno’s leg with his toe. He’s taken his shoes off, wearing only his mismatched socks.

A shard of doubt softens in Juno’s chest. “Me, too. It’s nice,” Juno says, “being here. Just the two of us.”

“Careful, Juno. Say many more things like that and you might ruin your rough detective image,” Peter warns, beaming.

Juno lifts one shoulder, sipping his wine. It’s a little sugary for him, but Peter likes it. “I’m not a detective anymore.”

Peter doesn’t reply, but his smile stays, and he tips over onto his side on the blanket, hair brushing against Juno’s thigh. When Juno slips his fingers through the strands Peter worms closer, reaching into the basket and popping a few grapes into his mouth.

The sharp discomfort creeping up Juno’s back settles as Peter leans closer to him, the casual touch as soothing as the warm sunlight above. It is nice, being here with Peter, relaxing as if they’re the only two people in the universe that matter. Like they have all the time they’ll ever need and there’s nothing more urgent to do than doze at the park. Like Juno deserves this, like he doesn’t have to earn every gentle brush of his fingers through Peter’s hair and every soft word they exchange.

“We should do this more often,” Juno says quietly and Peter hums in agreement.

#kieran reaches out into the void #jupeter #juno steel #peter nureyev #tpp #junoverse #fanfic #mine #good to reblog

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

in the sky with the fire below (branjie) - holtzmanns

AN: This was going to be a small 5+1 drabble, but somehow turned out to be much longer. I think it’s one of my favourite things I’ve written to date. As always, thank you to writ and bean for being the certified Best™ and making writing so much fun. Title taken from ‘Reforget’ by Lauv.

(read on ao3) | (find me at plastiquetiaras)

Five times that Brooke doesn’t know what to say, and one time that the words can’t be held back.

“We’re done.”

The two words knock him out one after another, caving in his chest like they’re anvils. They may as well be, from the way that he can’t breathe anymore, how the world feels slightly tilted off of its axis.

Vanessa looks at him with a challenge in his eyes, daring him to say something. To fight him, yell, plead, anything but what he’s doing now.

But he doesn’t.

Brooke is tired. Tired of the bickering, tired of being on completely different pages, tired of not being able to give Vanessa what he wants. Tired of not being enough, the way that he should.

Is it worth it? Is he worth it?

He’s seen relationships fall apart around him. His friends’, his parents’, ones that start so promising and are recalled breathlessly with so much happiness. But only last for so long.

The characteristics that people love about each other turn out to be the same ones that push them apart. Two sides of the same coin that can never quite land the way it’s supposed to.

He thought waiting for the right time, the right guy, would keep him from it. From experiencing the way that a person can turn from being the most beautiful one in the room to one that needs to be avoided at all costs. He had thought that he’d found it, found a person that wouldn’t make him want to pull away.

He was wrong.

Vanessa had always said that he wanted someone to fight for him. To give him that romantic moment, the movie ending that makes the audience wish that they had packed a box of tissues when heading to the movie theatre.

“So that’s it? You’re not gonna say nothing?”

He doesn’t.

“Coward.”

ii.

Oh, lord.

“Well, wasn’t that just spicy!” His fellow queen that is co-hosting the viewing party looks positively delighted.

The audience is cheering along with her, some of them yelling ‘Miss Vaaaanjie’ because he’s never gonna be able to escape from Vanessa now, is he?

He should have remembered that this episode was going to be the first one where they kissed. Not even a kiss, just a light peck. Them fooling around in the workroom, smack dab in front of the cameras because they were having fun, damnit.

It didn’t even mean much, back then. They were just messing around. It was before things had shifted and Brooke fell into it with his whole heart, only to be left in a bottomless pit that he’s still trying to escape from, to get back out of.

He realizes that his co-host is looking at him with an expectant expression. “Well?”

Fuck. She must have asked something. “Uh, what?”

“There you have it, folks. That little kiss was apparently so good that it’s still leaving her speechless. My, my, my, Brooke Lynn. Didn’t think you were the type to go after those cookies on national television.”

The audience is cheering louder and louder, and it makes him wish that he could disappear into his chair, fucking vanish from the face of the planet. How many weeks of this does he have ahead of him? Of more than just a light peck on camera, of feelings and arms wrapped around each other and kisses that meant so much more than that first one and their lip sync against one another, when one half of his heart got sent home without him?

The ending of the commercial break feels like a lifeline, when the eyes that are focused on him shift towards the projector screen as the episode starts up once more. He breathes a sigh of relief when it appears that no one is looking at him, takes a swig of his drink.

He’s gonna have to think of some better answers. Some prepared ones that don’t leave him bumbling like an idiot, stuttering as he tries to answer questions about moments on television which barely scratch the surface of their relationship.

Past relationship.

He needs a cigarette.

iii.

‘Crazy in Love’ is playing.

It shouldn’t be a big deal - it’s usually not enough to make him even blink; the song is present in the music libraries of pretty much every bar that he goes to.

But tonight he’s just finished a show in a bar in Tampa, and already thrown the last makeup wipe into the trashcan of the dressing room, packed up his drag. He’s ready to go home, really.

Well. His hotel room. Not home.

But ‘Crazy in Love’ echoes over the speakers as he tugs his small suitcase out of the dressing room, past drunken partygoers and queens still in a half-state of drag. The beats, the setting, everything is so familiar; gives him a sense of déjà vu.

September 2018. When Vanessa had a gig here at his home bar in Tampa and Brooke spent a whole day driving down from Nashville to surprise him.

The noise of delight, the way that Vanessa had thrown himself into his arms and hadn’t wanted to let go had been worth it.

Brooke had come to Vanessa’s gig, watched him get in drag and perform for loving fans. Had rained money on him because Vanessa deserved it, deserved to be appreciated, to be adored.

They had made out in the very same dressing room, Brooke wiping the smudges of lipstick off of his own lips, slightly drunk but not enough to explain the giddy smiles on both of their faces.

‘Crazy in Love’ had blared as Brooke helped Vanessa pack up his drag, looped an arm through his. They had gone through the same hallway, singing along obnoxiously off key and loud enough for a fellow queen to exclaim ‘Goddamn, shut the fuck up!’

They had gone back to one of their hotel rooms, and for a few hours nothing had mattered - no flights to catch, no unsaid feelings, no timezone changes completely fucking up their systems.

It’s different tonight.

No Vanessa - just him, the way he’s wanted, right? The way it had seemed to just be easier, right?

Right.

Brooke can’t really stop himself as he taps out Vanessa’s number with the pulsing beat of the music overhead. He needs to tell him about the song, where he is right now. He waits for it as it rings once, twice, three times.

Listens as he doesn’t pick up.

He steadies himself during the voicemail spiel (“I’m not here, ho, leave a fuckin’ message, BYE”), though it’s not enough to keep him from flinching during the resultingbeep.

The line crackles. He’s silent, watches the seconds pass by on the clock on the wall before the answering machine beeps again, signalling that he’s run out of time to record a message.

He doesn’t call again.

iv.

Brooke can handle it.

The idea of touring with Vanessa and the rest of the season eleven cast had initially filled him with trepidation. Doing shows with Vanessa - not just one, where they’d kiki for only a few hours, but instead night after night. Travelling between cities by bus and plane and being around him all the time, in a way that they haven’t been since they were…well.

But it’s fine. They’re friendly, they are. Brooke believes it. He can talk to Vanessa without the telltale knife that’s been buried in his chest for the last few months twisting itself even more. Seeing Vanessa doesn’t make him want to run away, or smoke until his lungs crackle and burn they way that it did before.

Oh, yeah. He’s cutting down on that, too. Not only because it’s bad for his health (he knows that, he does), but because it gives him something to focus on, to do. Something to control, to distract him. Somehow, as backwards as it is, he’s been holding on.

He feels like he’s in a delicate homeostasis with Vanessa - a combination of elements that are unstable on their own, heading towards destruction, but when combined together create a strange balance, a calm, no matter how imperfectly they fit.

Brooke’s able to joke around with him, have a normal conversation - so what if it’s a bit more of a surface level dialogue than he wants it to be, what does it matter?

They have a stability. It’s not perfect, but it protects not only their sanity, but that of their tourmates too.

Brooke starts to believe that they’re gonna get through this tour in one piece.

That is, until Calgary.

Brooke’s black catsuit sits around his waist and his pointe shoes dangle from his fingers. He has approximately 17 minutes until he has to be ready to go in the wings for his number, to step on after Ra’jah’s performance.

But he wants to grab a snack, and Nina always knows the best snacks from the catering table to mix together. As a result he never goes on a snack run without her, but she’s not in any of the dressing rooms, nor is she chatting with any crew members in the halls backstage.

Which leaves the stage and the wings.

Brooke approaches the wings carefully, years of dance training instilling in him not to make any noise. Nina’s yellow wig is easy to spot between the curtains, and she shushes him with a hand before he can even mutter the word ‘snacks’ into her ear. She gestures to the stage, and suddenly Brooke can see why.

Vanessa.

The first and last time that Brooke had seen Vanessa perform to ‘No Drama’ was during filming, the lip-sync with Shuga where he had fucking sang his heart out to stay. Ru had described it as magical. Brooke agreed. It was an experience so ethereal that he saw the pieces Vanessa had left of himself on the stage, the frustration and the emotions and feelings that he couldn’t keep in any longer. The release in Vanessa’s shoulders when he was told that he was staying. Brooke couldn’t tear his eyes away, couldn’t let go of Vanessa once they were off stage, holding his shaking body as he cried into his shoulder.

Watching Vanessa right now, whipping the same leopard print caftan around the stage with so many emotions flitting across his face - anger, pain, passion - is enough to make Brooke never want to tear his eyes away. He can’t, not even while Nina is tapping his shoulder because nothing else matters, not when his force of nature (no, not his anymore, he should remember that) is on stage and creating magic again.

Does Vanessa do this every night, every tour stop? Release what’s in his heart to the audience because it’s all too heavy to carry on his own? How has Brooke never seen it before?

He only realizes that the number is done when the roar of the audience is too loud to ignore, when Vanessa grins that ever-so dazzling smile of his and takes a bow, wiping the stray tear tracks on his face.

Nina lets out a whoop beside him when Vanessa gets closer, ducks into the wings. He looks up at him with those brown eyes which always say so much without even trying, while at the same time leaving Brooke himself at a loss for words.

That was amazing. You’re amazing.

I love you.

He doesn’t say any of it, breath hitching in his throat. Nina’s talking to him, to them, Vanessa’s saying things back but he doesn’t hear it. Not after the words are still washing over him, bringing down his resolve brick by brick.

I still love you.

Brooke is not really sure how to deal in the aftermath. The realization that keeping Vanessa at an arm’s length, staying friendly and professional is not sustainable.

He can’t do it.

But who is he to ask for more? When Vanessa seems okay and thriving and happy and living his best life on tour? He goofs off with Silky and A’keria out of drag, voice carrying throughout the tour bus and Brooke wishes that he could be a part of it. He preens in front of thousands of fans that call his name, lighting up the stage with his smile (how can Brooke not watch every night now?) because he’s incredible and he knows it and deserves all of the praise that he gets.

It’s not like Brooke hasn’t known that he still loves Vanessa. He had said so at the reunion, he said it to Vanessa backstage away from the cameras, and every time it had been received with a pang of bitterness because of the words that Brooke hadn’t said.

That he couldn’t handle the relationship, that he wanted space and room to enjoy the post season eleven hype. That a relationship hadn’t been his highest priority.

Funny how things change. Now Brooke is the one pining like an idiot, his love for Vanessa colouring his vision, his own performances, how much he drinks to try and forget. Vanessa is the one enjoying life, doing just fine without him.

Nina squeezes his shoulder when he tells her about the fact that he’s completely, utterly fucked. Replies that she knew, she can tell, the entire fucking cast can tell because his big puppy eyes aren’t exactly subtle to everyone who isn’t Vanessa.

“Tell him. He should know.” Nina’s eyes are encouraging, almost pleading. He knows that’s on him, because Vanessa makes him broody and twitchy and Nina has certainly been on the receiving end of things. He needs to fix that.

“He’s happy now. I can’t pull him back down again.” He doesn’t want to ruin Vanessa a second time, be the cause of their destruction no matter how much his heart is telling him to do just that.

“How do you know it won’t pull both of you back up instead?”

She has a point.

So he plans to do so in Seattle, to at least try because doesn’t he owe himself that? Some form of closure?

It feels too strange of a term to apply to his relationship with Vanessa. Even if over, it feels like they’re constantly drawn to each other, two planets trapped within one another’s gravitational pull, to weak to separate. He’s not sure if they can ever get closure.

But he wants to be honest. Wants Vanessa to know that he’s all in. He’s an option, if Vanessa wants it.

The two shots of tequila that he took at the bar light up his veins, mixing with the high of another successful performance, another show ticked off the list. He weaves through the crowd, avoiding the drunken partygoers and his fellow queens out of drag enjoying yet another afterparty.

Brooke cranes his neck, listening for Vanessa’s telltale booming voice that more often than not acts like a beacon when trying to figure out where he is. It doesn’t project over the pulsing music the way that it normally does, and for a second Brooke starts to wonder whether Vanessa is still even at the bar. But then he sees him.

Leaning against a pillar, smiling up at some guy whose back is facing Brooke, but who is definitely tall and blonde. Real great. He’s fine, it doesn’t matter.

Vanessa tugs on the guy’s collar, leans in on his tiptoes to whisper something into his ear and it’s fine, really, Vanessa is allowed to do that. Brooke has no right to say anything at this point, he really doesn’t. He shouldn’t, anyway.

Vanessa is happy. He’s moved on. He deserves to be happy.

Why does it feel like his heart is being torn apart, then?

He’s not sure how long he stands there, frozen, his feet lead bricks that drag down, down, down, into the core of the earth, unable to move. Though when Vanessa leans in and the guy wraps an arm around his waist and cups Vanessa’s face and kisses him, the ground lets go of Brooke. His feet are moving and he has to go, get out, past the other sweaty bodies and into the cool air because he needs to breathe in something other than the matching ugly tastes of jealousy and yearning that poison his insides.

He’s not going to say anything.

+ i.

Brooke bangs his fist on the glass of the vending machine, trying to make the can of pop fall from the precarious position that it is currently wedged in. It doesn’t budge.

The side of his hand hits it one more time with a thud, rests there as he leans his forehead against the glass, lets out a growl. He needs the caffeine, the sugar. Of course he’d pick the one that gets stuck. Typical.

“What you looking so pressed for, Mami?”

Fuck. Not now. He doesn’t want to deal with Vanessa, with the way that he rips his heart clean open, not now.

He’s just managed to push everything back down to where it is supposed to be. The last few tour stops he’s kept himself away from Vanessa, focusing on his performances and his mug and taking all of the extra shots that are offered to him because he can.

So what if Nina looks at him with that look in her eyes laced with pity, the one often accompanied by a pat on his shoulder and an apology? There’s nothing to be sorry for. He’s fine.

He is.

He can put himself into tiny neat boxes, keep himself compartmentalized during this tour the way that he knows how.

But Vanessa standing directly behind him, saying his name with a soft voice is enough to spill all of the contents of the boxes out onto the ground for everyone to see.

“The can is stuck.” Hell, if Brooke’s going to feel like he’s dying while he talks to Vanessa, he may as well get him to help retrieve his drink.

“Lemme try.” Vanessa brushes past, hand pushing Brooke back slightly so that he can take his spot in front of the machine, and the touch feels like it’s burning into his chest. Not that Vanessa notices.

Vanessa’s small fist hits the glass, trying to shake the can. “C’mon!”

It’s enough to make Brooke nearly crack a smile. He loves listening to Vanessa. Sue him.

“Fuck this shit.” Vanessa reaches into his pocket, then, pulling out some change and stuffing it into the vending machine. “Come on, come on, come on.”

The can falls as the metal in the machine turns, makes another can fall right after it. Vanessa lets out a whoop. “There you go, bitch.”

But he doesn’t care about the pop cans anymore, not when Vanessa’s fingers graze the inside of his wrist and send a lick of flames up his arm, lighting it on fire. Vanessa’s hand lingers, dragging down against Brooke’s palm, his fingers, brushing against each other like they’re not going to explode at any second.

Brooke looks at him. Vanessa’s looking right back up with a defiant set in his jaw, his eyebrows raised as if he’s waiting for Brooke to say something.

“Don’t.” One word is what Brooke can get out right now.

“Don’t what?” Infuriating. Absolutely infuriating.

His breath hitches when Vanessa’s fingers trace up his arm.

“You don’t get to do that anymore.”

“This?” Vanessa’s nails, lightly pressing into his skin.

Fuck it. Fuck any other guys, fuck keeping himself safe in pretty boxes. It doesn’t work, anyway. Not with Vanessa.

“If you’re going to touch me, then touch me like you mean it.”

It’s all Vanessa needs; Brooke’s back hits the vending machine and the glass is cold but he doesn’t care. Vanessa’s on his tiptoes, wrapping his arms around his neck and biting at his lower lip and it’s like no time has passed at all, nothing has changed.

Except it has and Brooke’s brain is still travelling at a million miles per hour because it’s happening, this is happening, it’s fucked but he doesn’t care.

He uses his core strength to push himself off of the vending machine and flips them around, cradling the back of Vanessa’s head before it hits the glass. Brooke presses biting kisses to his skin, the column of his neck and behind his ear and his whine makes him push a knee between Vanessa’s legs, makes his dick twitch when Vanessa immediately grinds against it.

He pulls back, suddenly, because there’s so much to say that he hasn’t in so long and he needs to, and how can he do this without being clear?

“Do you know how hard it is to try and get over you? To forget you?” He punctuates his sentences with a hand raking up Vanessa’s sides, feels him shudder. “I can’t. I fucking can’t. I can’t do it.”

Vanessa chases his mouth, whines when Brooke pulls back. “Then don’t. Why do you insist on making this shit difficult?”

“Because you deserve more. More than this.” It’s bitter, it’s empty, accompanying the nip that Brooke dots on his jaw.

“You ain’t getting it, are you?” Vanessa tugs on his belt loops, somehow pulls him in closer than they already are. “I don’t want nothing else. Tried to. But I only want your sad ass.”

Brooke tugs on his hair. “I’m not sad.” He’s not.

“Yeah, you are. Sad little puppy eyes is what you have. Now get over your bullshit. If you think I deserve more and you’re gonna keep pouting like that, then show me. Be it.”

Vanessa knows exactly what he’s doing. Brooke can tell. Sees it in the challenge on his face, the raise of his eyebrows. The way Vanessa lifts his head up slightly, dares him to come closer again.

So he does.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #angst #angst with a happy ending #5 + 1 #holtzmanns #submission

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jungxk · 6 years

Text

just one (iv)

notes: the only guy on campus who’s track record trumped that of your best friend’s - park jimin - was jeon jungkook. not that that was a problem…until he set his sights on you.

warnings: eventual smut, swearing, bad habits (mentions of drinking, smoking etc). trigger warnings: non-consensual touching/ sexual harrassment, verbal harrassment

genre: humour, drama, romance, college!au

wordcount: 10.3k

part i // part ii // part iii // part iv // part v // part vi // part vii // part viii // part ix // part x

jisoo blows a raspberry into your pillow. "do we have to invite taehyung?"

"yes," you say definitively while she pouts. "he's our friend, babe!"

"he's your friend! for me he's just the guy i'm playing chicken with and seulgi doesn't even like him!"

"that's not true," the older girl weighs in. "he's nice to look at. i can appreciate that," she pokes jisoo in the side. "besides, we need him. jimin plus one of his friends have to be part time bouncers, and if he doesn't bring taehyung he might bring jaebum again," her face twists in annoyance just from saying his name. "and i won't allow that. not at my birthday party."

"jaebum," jisoo's face scrunches up thoughtfully. "who's he again? the name rings a bell..."

you're already rubbing the ache in your head at the memory. "my birthday from two years ago. he put his hand up my dress and seulgi kicked his balls up into his throat," you pat jisoo's back reassuringly because she still looks confused. "you don't remember because you were throwing up in the kitchen sink."

"and if i see his face in my house again i won't hold back," seulgi finishes, flipping some hair. "the nerve of that prick. i only stopped there because you asked me to, you know!"

"well yeah because with the size of those heels you were wearing you might have killed the guy! do you know how hard it would be to get blood out the carpet?" you explain. everything had happened so quickly you felt like you could barely recall the memory; jaebum had been sweet talking you all night and you'd only ever thrown him a polite smile. then the next thing you know your skirt went flying up but then suddenly he was on the floor crying, right under seulgi's pointy heel. "now that i think about it, i don't know why i didn't see him coming..."

"because you never do," seulgi says, laying her legs over your lap while she decorates the guest list with glitter penmanship. "you don't know how many times i've sent a guy hightailing before he could get to you, ____. there's just something about you, i don't know what it is! like ants all over sugar, i've never seen anything like it!”

jisoo coos, smushing your cheeks. "our pretty flower all the bees want a piece of!"

"you're both ridiculous," you giggle, letting her pinch your face anyway.

"we should send her to every party with some garlic and a vial of holy water," seulgi laughs, joining in to tickle you.

"well maybe we won't have to," jisoo says slyly. "now that you've got hoseok."

"hoseok," you repeat, blinking thoughtfully. "right, hoseok...! should i invite him?"

"are you crazy? of course!" jisoo exclaims. "why wouldn't you?"

"because it's a big step," seulgi says. "showing up to a party together is like, a statement. an implicit one, but still. have you guys talked about becoming official yet?"

"not really?" you shuffle nervously. "hobi always just sort of...got the message that i wanted to go slow. he hasn't pushed it and neither have i."

"talk to him," jisoo urges with a smile. "come on, this is hobi. even if you explain you're not ready to go exclusive yet, you think that'll be a dealbreaker for him? the guy would probably wait for the rest of the century if you asked him too!"

"she's right," seulgi nods. "we say it like it's a big deal, but it really is just a party. a good guy like him wouldn't get insecure over something like that, especially if you felt strongly about it."

"you're right," you nod to yourself more than the girls.

"so is that everyone?" jisoo flicks through seulgi's lilac planner after taking it from her hands.

"pretty much," seulgi leans back with a snort. "but you just know all this planning is for shits and giggles. jimin's gonna bring like, a thousand other people anyway and the next thing you know one of our bedrooms will be on fire."

"then why did we use your pretty paper?"

"because these are new gel pens! we should have just given him tae as a plus one and left it at that, you know. remember last year, when he brought that guy wonho and then all his gym friends showed up? jesus, i thought i'd have an aneurysm that night."

"i know, wasn't it great?" jisoo's eyes are already lighting up at the memory. "i'm still convinced me and minhyuk are in love even though we haven't spoken in like. eight months," she sighs dreamily. "maybe he'll turn up on some off chance and make me forget all about taehyung."

seulgi makes a sly face. "if forgetting a guy is what you're looking for then why don't we invite jungkook?"

"god, can you imagine?" jisoo laughs. "jeon jungkook eating the snacks in our kitchen, fucking some girl on the coffee table?"

"then giving her friend a turn once he gets bored," seulgi snorts.

"yeah," you laugh nervously. you try your best to look inconspicuous even though your palms suddenly go clammy, wiggling into the bed to shove them under your koala plushie. you haven't heard from jungkook since the post office incident, but to be fair even you were shocked by that peck on the cheek you gave him. you just assumed he was busy or too crippled with second hand embarrassment to talk to you again, and you don't blame him. maybe it was best that the whole jungkook phase came to a close now that things with you and hoseok were about to move forward.

but that doesn't stop you checking your phone every now and again, hopeful to see his name light up your screen.

"are you kidding?! i mean, all of that's true but you're crazy if you think jaebum would willingly step within ten miles of seulgi," jimin laughs loudly, making you laugh with him. "i still remember my balls clenched in sympathy just looking at the bastard. you know he texted me the day after and said he really thought his future was childless? i kept the screenshot."

you hold up your hands defensively. "look, these are seulgi's words not mine. just make sure you bring taehyung, because even if him and jisoo kick off it'd be better than eye contact between seulgi and that asshole," you check your phone for the time. "where is tae, anyway? you told him drinks were tonight, right?"

"duh. he's just always late to everything," jimin says, gulping his beer. "aren't you glad we didn't order for him now?"

"no, because now people are gonna think we're here together. like together together."

jimin rolls his eyes. "stop looking so surprised. it wouldn't be the first time."

"exactly," you huff. "aren't you sick of it?"

"you should consider yourself lucky," he shrugs. "so are you bringing hobi hyung?"

"i'm seeing him tomorrow to ask him about it. to be honest i don't really know how that conversation's gonna go..."

"what do you mean?" jimin queries, getting up from his chair to squeeze into the booth with you. he tries to keep his attention on you and your pretty lips while you talk, but he can't help letting his gaze swerve off to that creep by the bar who's making googlies at you. not that you'd notice, because you're far too busy rambling about hoseok, hands gesturing comically and hair sticking to your lipstick.

"...and i dunno, something just feels off about the whole thing and i'm not sure if it's because i'm not ready or if hobi really just isn't the guy for me, which i seriously doubt given that if i met him a few years ago - are you kidding me? artsy fartsy looking prince in balenciaga? i would have been all over him! but now?" you laugh dryly. "well, we both know how much of an abandonment-fearing mess i can be, so-"

"that's not true," jimin says gently. a pause. "okay maybe it's a little true. but hoseok obviously doesn't care," he says, face splitting into a cheery grin when you squint at him. "well, none of it's been enough to deter him so far, has it? so maybe he has a thing for girls with a tragic past and a cocktail of defence mechanisms," he consoles you, although it certainly doesn't feel consoling. "you have told him, right? about those assholes that used to be your family?"

"no..." you say sheepishly. "i don't know, i just...! how do you break something like that to a guy you've been dating? like, he's talking about bringing me to meet his mother and her vegetable patch this summer, the fuck am i supposed to do? casually mention that i was disowned next to her avacado tree? it's a lot of baggage, jimin."

"i get that," he says, opening his mouth say something further when he notices the creep at the bar stare even more explicitly when you cross your legs. "you finished your drink? let's meet tae in the bar next door."

"oh, alright," you say, gulping down your glass. "any reason why?"

"yeah," he huffs, standing in front of you while you shrug on your coat. "that weirdo over there keeps making eyes at you. he's giving me jaebum vibes."

"what weirdo?" you perk up curiously, craning your neck to look over jimin's shoulder but he's already spinning you around by the waist and pushing you in the direction of the door. your playful giggle dies in your throat when his hands remain planted on your hips, leading you through the busy bar with his chest against your back. he's so warm, his grip around you so wonderfully firm it excites you. "you're not gonna let me take a look at my potential captor?"

he chuckles, right behind your ear so that your goosebumps go wild. "shut up. why would you want to look at him," you don't remember how many drinks jimin has had but it must be more than you thought, because you can feel him smirking against your neck. the heat of his lips lay right over the pressure point so you positively melt back into his chest. "you're with me, aren't you?"

"yeah," you shudder, the cold from outside hitting you harshly. you're still gulping for breath while he stares from under the moon like that, utterly gorgeous. the pine of jimin's scent gets you going even though he's a good step away from you again. there's a serenity about his face while he looks at you, hooded eyes intense and hair covering his forehead so you can’t see the way his brow softens. earnest. "what? why are you-why are you looking at me like that? do i have lipstick on my teeth-?"

"you have no idea, do you?" he whispers, like it's a secret. like he meant to ask himself instead of say it out loud, but all the beer's gone to his head and fucked up the thought pathway. "how lovely you are. how many men want you for it."

suddenly in the autumn night winds you're sweltering hot. flushed. jimin's all but not referred to you with gender neutral pronouns since you met him, plunked you into a sexless box you had grown comfortable in. so what on earth do you say to that? especially when it's coming from park jimin? "is-is this your way of saying you like this shirt on me?" you laugh nervously, doing anything you can to diffuse this heavy air. "it's actually jisoo's so i'll pass on the compliment if you wa-"

"its a nice colour," he's looking to the side so you can't gage his expression. "but that's not what i mean."

you blink up at him, totally and utterly lost in this uncharted territory, the butterflies in your stomach climbing up your spine with its intensity, because apparently they seem to know where to go better than you do. thankfully taehyung chooses this moment to make his grand entrance, yelling your names from across the street so you can watch him jog towards you instead of deal with...whatever this is.

"sorry i'm late," he pants, but he doesn't look sorry at all, instead darts his eyes between you and jimin suspiciously, misplacing the tension. "if you're really that mad i'll get the first round."

"are you kidding? first round was an hour ago," jimin laughs, teeth shining. he's so annoyingly model worthy, hair tickling his lashes and hands sliding neatly into his jeans pockets. he glances at you like he didn't just call you beautiful under the moonlight two minutes ago and nudges taehyung in the direction of the bar just a short walk down. “rounds three and onward has your name all over it, though.”

[taehyung 10:52pm] you going to seulgi's birthday thing this weekend?

jungkook is so bewildered by the message even the blonde is lap starts to knock on his head to ask if anyone's home. she gets up and leaves him alone with namjoon and yoongi outside once he fails to reply, but in jungkook's defence he didn't think he'd have to deal with his thoughts going a mile a minute at this time of night: seulgi, seulgi as in the wasted girl he carted around in his truck for you seulgi, your friend, your flatmate. aka, seulgi's having a party in the house that you shared and so you were going to be there. you, with your big eyes and cute cheeks. you with your tinkling laughter and addictive aura, probably clad in a little dress for the occasion that was flattering and girly with the perfect touch of slutty that you'll coyly pretend isn't slutty.

fuck.

"kookie?" namjoon cranes his neck to see what jungkook is agonising over. the kid was young and confident, so it wasn't often that namjoon saw the boy with a knitted brow and dry lips. it could only mean two things: beer flu or a girl. and since the night had barely started at this shitty friend-of-a-friend's party it was safe to rule out the former, but namjoon has enough tact to start off with, "have you seen a ghost, or?"

yoongi, however, isn't one to dance around. "more likely just a girl he's ghosted," he leans back in the rusty deck chair. "wouldn't expect anything less from the highest body count on campus."

"i'm pretty sure that's jimin-ah," namjoon muses.

he takes another drag before answering. "maybe last year, but he's been slacking ever since he became a senior."

jungkook ignores them, thumbs dancing over the keyboard of taehyung's chat as he rakes his brain for a reply that sounds just the right amount of apathetic even though he aggressively needs some answers. right. now.

[jungkook 10:58pm] birthday thing?

[taehyung 11:03pm] ____ didn't invite you already??

[jungkook 11:05pm] she hasn't said anything to me

because i've been avoiding her he says internally. taehyung seems to see right through it because-

[taehyung 11:06pm] well have you talked to her?

[jungkook 11:07pm] typing...

[jungkook 11:07pm]

[jungkook 11:08pm] typing...

[jungkook 11:09pm]

[jungkook 11:10pm] typing...

[jungkook 11:12pm]

"fuck," he hisses aloud, unable to think of a reply that didn’t make him seem like a total asshole.

[taehyung 11:13pm] lol thought so. it starts at 9 bring your own beer

jungkook doesn't know what to say to that, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he stares at the message. his mouth blooms bright pink under his thoughtful gnawing: he knows it's wrong. he knew from the second you kissed his cheek weeks ago that this wasn't a good idea, that this was something he just wasn't ready for, something he may never be ready for. it's too comfortable, too easy, too real. and jungkook doesn't do real. this was destined for disaster written in red, red, red all over his hands that are just itching to have you.

but that feeling in his gut, sitting right below his rib cage, the selfish feeling that knows his weak points and feeds his impulsive nature - it's telling him to go. it's telling him just one more drink with you, one conversation...one dance. after that he'll quit you. after that, after that, after that he's done for good.

"earth to kookie?" yoongi leans over to wave a hand in front of his face. "geez, did this girl send you a nude or something? what's got you so spaced out tonight?"

"nothing," he says quickly, sitting up in his seat. "i was just wondering...do you guys wanna come to a party this weekend?"

hoseok gives you a long kiss when you finally arrive back at his flat, fingers grazing at the nape of your neck to pull you that much closer to him. you can't help but fall into him. everything about him is just so kind, so soft around the edges. even more so today; hobi was extra doting during lunch, holding hands the whole walk home, kissing you slowly and often. maybe that should've been your first indicator that something was wrong.

"we're having a party this weekend," you say absently when you finally plop down onto his couch, playing with the end of his shirt when he joins you. he smiles as you do, because you're just so cute and breathy after he kisses you for while. everything about you was just so endearing, so his type. "for seulgi's birthday. and i was thinking..."

"we should go together?" he finishes lightly, your doe eyes fluttering up to him before you nod nervously. his shoulders practically deflate with affection for you, how vulnerable you look. he leans in, giving you a long peck that leaves you content. but then his next words follow, "i can't."

"oh," you cannot hide your disappointment. "that's too bad...are you busy or something?”

hoseok watches you for a second, really watches you like he's savouring this specific moment before answering. "we need to talk. i think," he takes your hands, hesitant. "i think this is it for us."

your brain short circuits, the city of your body screeching to a stop: the people stand still, the cars stop moving, the power goes out. hoseok's words hang in the air before your face because you're unable to compute them, unable to do anything but look at him dumbly. "what?"

"i know the first thing you're gonna think is that it's because of you," he says evenly, shaking his head. "but it really isn't. it's me, it's all on me. i didn't want to do this at the restaurant, rob your chance of getting to react how you're entitled to, so..."

"you're," you're still rushing to catch up. "you're breaking up with me?"

he sighs, and you can feel how heavy it is. the hollowness in your chest, surprisingly, isn't caused by what he's said or what this means for your budding relationship. instead, it's the absence of hoseok's smile that makes your eyes well up for some reason. he doesn't look right without it. "yeah."

one more time. "you're breaking up with me..."

"you can yell if you want," he assures. "go on, honestly."

instead, you laugh. soft and quiet, very breathy and broken before you cover your face with your hands. of course even when he's breaking up with you, he's the most noble man on the planet. it's not like you're used to people not wanting you, but it still makes the static ring louder in your head because you just didn't see it coming this time. you and hoseok got along so well, your affection for him growing by the day. what were you supposed to do with it all now? "there's nothing to yell for hobi, this isn't a contract. i-i'm not mad, i just..."

"there's something else," he says gently before you can finish, running a hand through his red hair. you miss his dimples suddenly. he licks his lips, chest heaving with how he tries to word it. "i'm also doing this because i think it's for the best. because i don't know how much longer i can go wondering if i'll ever hold a candle to him."

"please," your heart sinks. "please don't say jimin."

"not jimin. jungkook."

a beat. "what?"

"you think i didn't notice how he blew up your phone a few weeks ago? texting you every hour?" he laughs quietly, looking down at your hand that's still in his. "how quiet you've gotten ever since he stopped?"

"hobi," you swallow hard, shaking your head. "there was never...i was never involved with him like that. you know that right?" you squeeze his fingers. "you know i'd never do that to you, don't you?"

"of course i do," he says gently. "i'm just saying that he got more of a reaction out of you from a few texts than i have in two months. doesn't that tell you something?"

you swallow. "that you should send me more memes?"

"you like him," hobi corrects with a sympathetic look. "you really like him, ____. whether you want to accept it or not. so this," he gestures between you. "really isn't doing anything but slowing us both down."

you sigh, covering your eyes in embarrassment. "so what you're saying is you're breaking up with me to save me the misery of doing it in the long run?"

he chuckles softly. "you make me sound so gallant!"

"because you are," you say, so quietly he barely catches it. you see it then, the almost of it all. if things were different, if the timing wasn't like this, how if you had just spoken to hoseok at that party before jungkook you'd probably be history now. it's the strangest thing you've ever felt, looking at hobi in that moment and seeing everything your life could've been together flash past in front of you like a supercut. a cassette movie on fast-forward.

why does no one ever talk about the feeling of knowing that you could've loved someone?

hobi feels it too. he doesn't say it but you know he does, because even though he's smiling again his aura has lost all its orange. like he's only ever been living on the blue side this whole time. it would've been easier if you took his advice and yelled, anything to fill up the gaping hole that is this silence. there are no hard feelings, only soft ones even while hoseok drives you home. you chat over the radio like always, even laugh about that same song you heard at the cafe last week together. except this time he doesn't kiss you when you get out the car.

only when your bedroom door closes do you start to cry, for a reason you can't pinpoint.

the house is already crammed full of people by the time jisoo teeters over to you with two drinks in hand, doing awfully well for herself given how many malibu and cokes she's been sipping all night. of course, none of you had half a clue who most of these people are, since jimin did that thing where he accidentally invited the entire campus again. people filled the halls, spilling out the doorways. the house wasn't big so it was almost like it was falling apart at the seams with drunk college kids and then some, but jisoo still wedges herself onto the staircase with you like it's any old saturday night.

"here," she hands you the drink. "you're looking way too sober for someone who just got dumped and it's upsetting me."

you take a tentative sip, the sour-sweet taste leaving your mouth upturned though it wasn't unpleasant. just strong. "jesus, who made this?" you take another sip before clocking on. "oh no, this is one of jimin's cocktails isn't it? my liver's starting to panic already," jisoo throws her head back in a laugh when you take her hand to press against you. "can you feel that? she's pissed! the last time i had one of these i almost died, 'soo!"

"tonight's an exception," she grins, fixing your hair at the back. "seriously though, are you okay? you should be shit faced by now, singing love ballads and crying on my lap!" she watches you shrug behind the rim of your cup. "you really didn't like hoseok that much, did you?" she looks a bit sad, playing with the end of your dress guiltily. "and there was us, forcing him on you for weeks..."

"it's not that," you assure her quickly with a hand over hers, trying to make your thoughts cohesive through the fog of chatter and alcohol. "it’s just that, i've had a few days to chew on what he said now, and...he was right."

"right about what?" she prods.

"girls!" you both look up to seulgi who's peeking at you through the banister railings before teetering her way over as fast as her slight tipsiness can allow. you and jisoo instinctively grab a wrist each and pull her to squish between you, all clambering knees and party shoes knocking together. "did you see who just walked in? smell my drink, i swear i've been spiked-"

"what?" jisoo takes the cup before she can spill it. "who is it?"

"it's not hoseok is it?" you crane your neck, scanning the people in the hall. "there's no way-"

"no," seulgi shakes her head. "it's jungkook!"

jisoo throws her head back in a laugh while the blood runs icy in your veins. out of all the names you were prepared to hear, that certainly wasn't one of them. "jeon jungkook? alright, maybe you have been spiked-"

"see for your fucking self!" seulgi practically shrieks before hauling their pair of you up with her impressive strength. they both link up arms with you in the middle, weaving through the crowd in a secure chain before reaching the kitchen doorway. it's like some sort of warped stakeout mission from a kids show, the comical way the three of you squish into the door pane and you spy from a distance. sure enough, jungkook is there just outside the open back doors, lighting up a cigarette with two of his friends that you haven't seen before. you can practically feel your stomach flipping through the thin fabric of your dress. seulgi hiccups above you. "now is that him or am i really just off on one?"

"that's," you can hear jisoo gulp. "that's jungkook alright," another pause of disbelief. "god, has he always been that hot?"

"yeah," seulgi huffs. "but it's those friends of his that're making me nervous. see the tall one? god, i'd climb up him like curious fucking george-"

"i gotta pee," you say breathlessly before darting off.

you search through the sea of people for jimin, hands sweating and teeth chattering because you never thought you'd see jungkook here. now. looking like that; brown hair pushed back so his ridiculously handsome face is on display, his leather jacket back with a vengeance tonight. you feel on edge by the time you desperately circle the house a second time to finally see jimin and tae, grabby hands reaching out to clutch their elbows like you need them to hold you up.

"someone having fun?" jimin steadies you with a strong hand.

"um," you swallow back all the babbling you want to do, doing your best to appear collected. "yeah. yeah, you?"

"as good as jisoo ignoring me can feel," taehyung mutters into his cup.

"god, don't you think you're getting a little ridiculous now?" jimin rolls his eyes. "and that's coming from me, taehyung. it's been months! if you really liked her you would have done something by now-"

"it's not about that, it's about my principles!"

"which are?"

"i want attention," taehyung huffs like a child. "all the time, no exceptions."

jimin rubs his head. "do you hear how much of a brat you sound right now?"

"of course i do. i'm a self proclaimed brat, jisoo knows this," taehyung's mouth stretches into a mischievous smirk. "and she got with me anyway."

"actually, can i ask you guys something?" you butt in a little too loud, unable to watch their back and forth in silence anymore. "uh, did one of you...did you invite jungkook? not that i care or anything, i just...didn't expect to see him here...is all..."

"jungkook?" jimin's brow immediately creases. "no, i didn't. he never shows up to parties anyway, are you sure it's even him?"

"it's him," you confirm. "definitely him."

"he probably just heard from a friend of a friend of a friend. you know how it goes with these things," jimin appeases, totally missing the way you lock eyes with taehyung who's rather keen to avoid your gaze all of a sudden. you know in an instant that it has something to do with him, but for now you just nod up into jimin's flawless face. his lips extra plush tonight, candy pink and inviting. "but it doesn't matter though, right? since hobi hyung's gonna turn up any minute now."

"yeah about that, jiminie...he's not coming," your chew your bottom lip. "we broke up."

jimin's brows snap together. "what?"

"aw, sorry princess," taehyung rubs your arm affectionately. "you okay?"

"what do you mean you broke up?" jimin splutters, looking far more upset than you would've anticipated. he wets his lips when you peer at him curiously, reigning in his volume a little to card a hand through his hair coolly. he only pulls it off because he is a master of composure. "did you, um, meet someone else or something?"

"nothing like that. hobi just thought we had run our course, you know?" you give taehyung's fingers a reassuring squeeze. "i'm okay, really. we had fun and we're still friends, so-"

"i gotta pee," jimin mumbles, taking out his phone to tap frantically before stalking off.

you blink after him. "uh, is he okay?"

taehyung just rolls his eyes, finishing the rest of his beer. "how much time do you have for me to answer that question?"

"probably not long enough," you sigh, sagging against taehyung only to shoot up straight again when you see the unmistakably large silhouette of jungkook making his way up the corridor. it was too late to try and scurry out of his line of vision now, all you could do was turn to face taehyung with wild eyes and your hands locking around his thick arm. "now do you mind telling me why you decided to invite jungkook into my house?"

"what's the big deal?" he counters, already waving the younger boy over with his signature big smile. he peers down at you with an expression that is way too cheeky for your liking. "you're friends, right? you invited all your other friends, didn't you?"

"i mean," you huff, exasperated. "yeah i guess, but-"

"hey hyung," jungkook's voice is behind you, forcing you to turn and face him. his jawline alone has your throat going dry alone, round eyes full of stars as they swivel down to take you in. you watch jungkook wet his lips, small and pink. the mole dotted underneath holds your gaze for longer than you'd like to admit, your hands squeezing the life out of taehyung's arm just to keep yourself upright. "how are you, noona?"

"me?" you blink up at him, your fluttering lashes making you look that much more irresistible. thankfully jungkook is great at saving face, flicking some hair from his eyes so you can see his brows hop up at you. god, you can barely breathe. "i'm good, really good. you? are you...are you having fun?"

"yeah," he flashes his big smile at you and your knees practically quake. "you know how to throw a party."

"oh, it's not me! seulgi and jisoo did all the work. jimin's guest list might've had something to do with it, too..."

"did you come here with namjoonie and yoongi hyung?" tae perks up. "i haven't seen them in ages!"

"yeah, they're outside. you should say hi tae, they missed you," he points a thumb over his shoulder. his eyes fall back to you, looking impossibly gorgeous even in the shitty lighting. "i'll see you guys around, yeah?"

"yeah," you mumble, the disappointment causing a sinking feeling in your stomach when you watch jungkook walk off to chat up some girl who's with her friends on the sofa. you don't even realise you haven't said anything until taehyung pokes you in the ribs, dragging you back to earth.

"you good?" he asks, his tone casual but the look in his eye serious.

"yeah," you say quickly, finally releasing him. "yeah, i'm good."

jungkook doesn't talk to you for the rest of the night. not that you expected or even waited around for him to, but it still rubs you the wrong way, like something isn't quite fitting and you're not sure what. within the span of a few hours you've seen him entertaining more girls than you can count on one hand, and you don't know what it is about that that makes you reach for the spirits jisoo hid behind the microwave for emergencies, but it does.

even at the height of your passion with hoseok, you had never felt so jittery. jungkook wasn't even in the same room as you and you felt like a ball of nerves. he clearly wasn't interested in you anymore, on any level; clearly came all the way here to show you that. and yet here you were, giddy and excited simply because he was near you for the first time in weeks. it felt a bit humiliating. you mutter to yourself, trying to shake all thoughts of him out of your head and at least try to enjoy yourself tonight. "the fuck is wrong with me..."

"absolutely nothing by the looks of it, beautiful," a guy says beside you. he must be one of jimin's friends because he's pretty, tall with dark hair and a shit-eating grin. the friends around him have the same kind of vibe too. "i'm jinyoung. miss...?"

"____," you answer with a forced smile, though you're really not in the mood to talk.

"a pretty name for the prettiest girl here..."

you try your best to play the polite co-hostess. it's not your birthday party to mouth off on, after all. "thanks. have we met before?"

"maybe," he shrugs, quickly invading your personal space. "i'm friends with jaebum. you know him?"

you visibly wince. "the name...definitely rings a bell," you scan his friend group cautiously. "he's not here is he?"

"not tonight. something about a crazy chick in stilettos," he leans in close, leaving you barely any breathing room. you take a hearty step back to which jinyoung only follows. given how overwhelmed you are tonight, you quickly become irritated. "but thankfully i'm here to show you a good time tonight."

"thanks, but no thanks," you finish, until his hand encloses around your arm. firm, demanding.

"come on doll, don't i deserve a chance?" he smiles sweetly, totally contrasting with his grip on you.

"do i look like i'm gonna give you a fucking chance? take a hint," your eyes narrow dangerously. "and let go of me."

"or what?" he teases, clearly not taking you seriously even though steam is practically erupting from your ears.

"there you are, baby!" a voice jumps in, a nimble arm snaking around you to effectively tug you away from jinyoung and the situation in general. a guy with near-white hair has planted himself between you and the asshole, and even though he's shorter than him and wearing a sickly sweet fake smile, there's something about him that makes you play along. "thanks for keeping my girlfriend company. you can go now."

jinyoung scoffs. "whatever. your bird's too stuck up for a lay anyway."

"the fuck did you just say?" you spit over the short guy's shoulder but he's got an arm out to stop you, letting jinyoung walk away in one piece. he takes your wrist when you open your mouth to shout something at his retreating back, dragging you out to the tiny patio with the other smokers the night air sobers you up a little but you still tingle with anger. "what are you doing? that prick does not get the last word, not in my house-"

"take it easy tinkerbell," he drawls, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, clearly amused by your temper. he's rather striking, what with his pale hair and delicate features contrasting with his camo jacket. he looks tough, but the way he drops your wrist is tender. "pick your battles. not saying the dirt bag doesn't have it coming, but he's a tree. and you're shorter than i am, for starters."

you pout miserably. "i could take him...!"

"with what?" his friend laughs next to him, a tall boy with silver hair and beautiful dimples to boot. the same one seulgi was lusting after earlier. "those pretty eyes of yours? isn't that how you got into this mess?"

your cheeks heat at the inadvertent compliment. "a-are you advising me or hitting on me?"

"do i have to pick one?" the guy smiles, perfect teeth shining at you in the night. he looks like he's been plucked straight out of an eighties movie leaning against the brick wall in his ripped jeans like that, him and his friend. "i'm namjoon, by the way."

"yoongi," the other boy grins around his cigarette. "your fake boyfriend."

you sigh at his reminder. "i guess i should thank you," you shift from one foot to another begrudgingly. "for helping me. i don't know why guys like that always end up finding me, but..."

"i think i know why," yoongi chimes, eyeing you up and down.

"people fight my battles for me a lot," you say quickly, your determined stare making yoongi smile to himself again. you're cute. "at this rate i'm starting to think i should hand out complimentary mints or something."

"i don't think people are after your mints baby," namjoon smiles. "but sure."

"my approval, then?" you test, letting him tug you gently between him and yoongi so you're out of the way while people walk past to get through the door. even through the fog of smoke and party musk, their presence is comforting and resolute. nothing like jinyoung’s. "or my undying gratitude, maybe?"

"is that what they're calling pussy these days?" yoongi flicks his brows up. "well fuck me, i'm getting old."

"hyung, you're twenty-five!"

"positively ancient," he grins at you. "don't you agree, tinkerbell?"

you laugh with namjoon into his arm. "actually, my ex-boyfriend from like, years ago, back when i was a science major...he'd be twenty-six right now. so i guess i can't vouch for you, yoongi-ssi."

"so you're saying i have a chance?"

you pinch his chin. "i'm saying you're not old. and as my fake boyfriend, aren't you first in line anyway?"

"he is old," namjoon jumps in. "he's super, super old. pre-historic. look, even his hair's white."

"i told you, this shade’s called platinum," yoongi warns, tousling it for emphasis. "and you think you have room to talk shit with silver fucking hair? what are you, a vampire cosplay? a broody anime kid? pick one, joon-ah, the rest of us are getting confused."

"excuse me, i can be both. haven't you watched vampire knight?"

"no, because i'm not a fourteen year old girl."

"now i understand how you're friends with jungkook," you hum, to which the boys both snap their heads to you. they take a long look at you before exchanging one between themselves, the sudden pair of eyes on you at once making you feel exposed.

"you know kookie?" namjoon blinks. "like know kookie?"

you squint. "uh. is there a difference between those, or..?"

"i'm certain it's the second one," yoongi says confidently while regarding you. "i've known that kid a while and i've never seen him so desperate to come to one of these house parties before. you must've really done a number on him."

something in your chest flutters, making you shake your head dismissively. there was no way. "i really don't know what you're talking about. me and jungkook are just friends, it's not like he even...it's not like that at all."

"you sure about that?" namjoon challenges, so gently you can't help but entertain the idea. he watches you stare off thoughtfully, the way you ring out the end of your dress in your hands and hold your breath. your feelings were written all over your soft features, and namjoon now sees exactly what jungkook was losing his wits over. you’re so...tempting. "look, i've seen kookie involved with a lot of girls. not one of them has made him as antsy as you have."

"now you're just buttering me up," you pat his chest teasingly. "i'm not exactly his type. go and ask the girl he's probably fucking in the bathroom right now, she'll tell you if you don't believe me."

namjoon tries not to enjoy the contact so much, but its hard not to when it’s so chilly outside. "jungkookie's dumb, i'll give you that. him and his dick fight over the one brain cell he's got left all the time, but don't write me off on this one. trust me."

you smile. "i just met you, namjoon."

"trust your fake boyfriend then," yoongi chirps. "kid's got a perpetual hard-on for you, tinkerbell. do with that information what you will."

"no wonder he's always getting so many girls," you laugh between them. "you two might just be the best wingmen on the planet."

"you really don't believe us, do you?"

"____!" taehyung calls from the kitchen, poking his head out of the open back doors. he gives his hyungs a friendly wave before remembering why he was sent to fetch you. "am i interrupting? sorry, but seulgi wants you. someone threw up behind the coffee table and she stepped in it."

"ugh, fuck. tell her i'm coming," you call back, throwing the boys an apologetic look. "i'll see you guys later, yeah?"

"and you'll think about what i said, yeah?" namjoon teases, dimples showing in an amused smile when you poke your tongue out at him.

and jungkook...jungkook really didn't think shit like this would ever happen to him. maybe he'd finally hit rock bottom, and rock bottom looked like your greasy house party because that's certainly what it felt like. how else could he describe coming all this way with the intention of getting over you, only to be so blown away by how beautiful you look that he chickens out? even trying to score some pussy to help himself feel better wasn't working, because every time he has a girl right where he wants her, he leans down and sees you: your eyes, your smile, your lashes fluttering up at him, how breathless you'd sound if you were the one who he was kissing. it just wasn't fair.

so jungkook thinks, maybe this is how he gets you out of his system. fuck a girl in your bathroom, against the door maybe. while you're in the next room with your wonderful laugh and amazing tits, probably getting comfortable under some other guy's arm. maybe this is how he moves on, by parading around on your terf doing what he does best right under your nose. maybe this is how he forgets your sparkling eyes and alluring waist, wrapped up in a nice little dress that makes you look even lovelier than jungkook could've ever anticipated. maybe this is how he swallows this pill. maybe this-

"what is wrong with you?" your voice shoots straight into his earshot, jungkook's head snapping up from some girl's neck to see you through the doorway down the hall. you're distressed, eyes wild, teeth bared in anger - and then he sees it. some guy towering over you, dragging you by your little waist right into his hold with the help of his drunk friends. "would you get off, jinyoung? i told you i'm not-"

"where's your little boyfriend now?" he jeers, far bolder than he was a few hours ago. his grip on you is bruising and his friends surround you, keeping you nicely shrouded in the corner of the room while he locks you against him. "too busy to save you this time? or did you think you were so smart, trying to pull the wool over my eyes? min yoongi and his lot never go exclusive with anyone."

you shove him dangerously, turning your heel before you act irrationally. "you're a delusional motherfucker. you and your asshole friends better leave before i-"

a resounding slap echoes above the bass music. you register the sting on your ass a second later, whirling round to him utterly shocked and positively bubbling with rage. jinyoung sneers at you with his friends, already pulling you back by your skirt. "that's better. nice and quiet, how it should be."

"don't fucking touch me," you warn. but jinyoung doesn't care.

jungkook was already moving by the time jinyoung raised his hand. there's not a thought in his head so it all happens in a blur; one minute you're being manhandled next to the rice cooker and the next thing you know you're pushed back by the fridge, jinyoung suddenly knocked clean onto the ground with a heavy thud. you gasp in shock with everyone else in the room, eyes darting up to watch a fuming jungkook grab him up by the collar, slamming him so hard into the wall the kitchen clock smashes to the floor.

"what part of don't fucking touch her doesn't compute with you?" he slams him again for good measure, jinyoung's head smacking the concrete with an audible thump. "huh? ya deaf or somethin'?"

as horrified as you are to watch the scene unfold before you, nothing compares to the horror of watching jinyoung's friend land a solid punch on jungkook's cheek, throwing his weight to the side so he staggers to the opposite counter. it's like a pit of dread opens up in your stomach, swallows you whole as they loom over him while you watch helplessly, paralysed with fear, a murmuring crowd gathering quickly.

but this isn't jungkook's first rodeo. a duck here and a step there and he's got one guy knocked on the floor within a minute and the other with a bloody nose the next. it all becomes too much when jungkook beats jinyoung's face into the tiles, people gathering round to watch the fight so the sound of bone splitting is covered by shouts and jeers.

"stop...please stop..." you whisper when he raises his fist again. your voice finally finds you, feet racing to plant yourself before him. "jungkook, stop!" he freezes when he registers your hand on his chest, gripping his shirt. "please, please don’t jungkook," all evidence of fury dies when he sees the tears in your eyes, terrified. "please don’t..!"

his hand falls limp at his side. disarmed. jungkook doesn't know what this feeling is but it's the same one he felt when you were in his truck after the post office, and it's the worst feeling ever: seeing you cry. he doesn't know what to do, jinyoung barely conscious on the floor under him. he groans loudly in pain, face swollen and covered in blood so you can hardly look at him without feeling sick.

the lights turn on, music now off. "what the fuck happened?" you hear seulgi above you, the sound of jisoo dissipating the crowd as well. she crouches down to you when she sees you crying, smoothing your hair to get a look at your face for any harm done. "____, are you okay? are you hurt?"

you shake your head, trembling. jungkook can only watch you guiltily, the adrenaline pumping through his body evapourating into nothing under your touch. he doesn’t even notice namjoon and yoongi enter the room with jimin and taehyung once they get most of the people out of the house, the party effectively over.

"we'll get them," namjoon assures jisoo quietly, already hoisting up jinyoung's friends with yoongi's help. they seem to know what they're doing as if it's routine, kicking the other guys out easily before dragging jinyoung out as well.

you've stopped crying now but you're still clutching jungkook's shirt through his jacket, peppered with blood. you sniff and he flinches, the sound alone more painful than any beating. he still doesn't know what to do or say, gulping nervously when you take his hand. it's hot and sticky from jinyoung's blood but still you grip it, tugging him out of the kitchen. "come on."

you're not sure which one of you interlaces your fingers together as you pull him up the stairs and into your room, but you guess it doesn't matter when you let go of him to sit on the bed while you dampen some towels. jungkook waits silently, eyes swivelling around the small room.

it's small and cosy, lots of blankets and pictures of jimin, jisoo, seulgi and taehyung stuck on a cheap corkboard. a lot of pictures of you and jimin. little painted figurines in the corner of your desk, an oil painting leaning against the far wall you haven't hung up yet. hoseok's flowers, wilted in their vase. a sketchbook open before it from where you've half drawn them. the faint smell of vanilla, coconut and you. you didn't have a lot, but what you did have what so obviously precious and it makes him feel even worse for some reason.

when you return from the bathroom, you tear up again when you take a proper look at jungkook's face. his cheekbone is bruised and already swelling, another bruise blooming on his jaw along with a split lip. you look to his hands that rest obediently on his knees, knuckles split and cracked, weeping blood and colouring shades of purple and red around the edges. even the silver rings he wears are bloodied. jungkook can't bear to look at your face as you take him in, turning his head to the side. "it's fine."

you don't reply, just dab his face with the cool towel, sniffling and blinking like mad to cover up your glassy eyes. "it's fine," he insists, but he lets you tend to him anyway. he winces, not sure if the grazes are burning him or if it's just your touch. "geez, if-ow! if you think this is bad you should see me after a real fight."

the pain twisting your voice blindsides him. "is that supposed to make me feel better?"

he doesn't know what to say to that, watching you take his hands to clean the blood away there too. yours are so small compared to his, so gentle and dedicated. he spends so much time staring it's a good minute before he talks. "look, i-"

"what the fuck is wrong with you?" you cut off, your big eyes suddenly alive once again. you huff, shaking your head in disbelief while you focus on his grazes. "hardly say a word to me all night but you still felt the need to pull hero shit like this? are you fucking kidding me, jungkook?"

it's hard not to feel embarrassed because you're right, but jungkook still forces himself to sit up straighter in defiance. it's like the reappearance of your fire has caused his own to resurface, filled with the same anger he had when he marched up to jinyoung. "am i just supposed to sit and watch, then? that cunt had it coming and you know it, noona."

"that doesn't mean you have to beat him to a pulp in my kitchen!"

"yes it does!”

"are you insane? like, do you think before you do literally anything?" you retaliate furiously. "if jinyoung wants to charge you for what you did he can, jungkook! jesus, the guy could barely see out of both eyes by the time namjoon threw him out-!"

"if you're asking me to say sorry or regret it, it's not happening," he stares at you, jaw clenching firmly. some hair falls into his twinkling eyes briefly, and you think it's absolutely unjust that he'd look so handsome even with a busted face, even while you're arguing with him.

"you're ridiculous," you laugh breathlessly in disbelief, head shaking. "you're absolutely fucking ridiculous...!"

"because i taught them a lesson? because i gave them what they deserved? something that should rightfully make them think twice next time?" jungkook bites back. "they don't get to do things like that and think they're hot shit, guys like them are scum and if it takes me getting a mark on my record just to shut them up then-"

"i don't want you getting into fights!" you snap, eyes welling up again so jungkook clamps his mouth shut immediately. "for me or for anyone, jungkook. the idea of something happening to you, of someone doing to you what you did to jinyoung...i can't stand it. especially if it's over something this stupid."

jungkook has always known you're an inherently good person, but this is the first time it's made him feel like shit. he peers at you, your bowed head and wet cheeks. "it's not stupid."

"yes it is."

he shakes his head firmly. "no it isn't."

"don't you want to even try to agree with me?"

"but i don't agree with you! you want me to lie?"

you give up, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "yes!"

"okay," jungkook looks you square in the face. "if another perv lays a finger on you i won't beat his ass into the fucking dirt. happy?"

already, you're fuming again. something about him gets you juggling emotions so fast, faster than you can keep up, nails dragging through your hair as you momentarily turn your back to take a breather. "i hate violence, jungkook. i fucking hate it, okay? talk big if you want, measure dicks if you have to! i don't care what, but nothing is worth getting hurt over-"

"some things are," he says vehemently. you are, is what he doesn't say.

"this isn't one of them!"

"you're wrong."

"look at yourself!" you retort, all patience lost. "look at your face, jungkook! even that asshole jinyoung's! how can that be something that you stand for?" he doesn't answer because he knows it's futile. jungkook wasn't going to change his opinion and neither were you, his raw hands gripping his knees hard in whatever composure he can still manage around you. it only makes you that much angrier, chest heaving from it. "you understand that what you did was absurd, right? that it's exactly the kind of thing that's gonna bite you in the ass one day if you're not careful?"

jungkook's gritting his teeth so hard the words barely form. "yeah, got that loud and clear."

"good," you snap, before stepping between his parted knees and taking his bruised face in your hands. he got bruised...for you. bloody, for you. so for the first time you act without thinking, only with emotion as you brush your lips over jungkook's chapped ones. it's short and warm, but the contact is electric, jolting. jungkook's lungs seize up in his chest upon the feather-lightness of it, but you're already stepping out of his space before he can process what you just did. you kissed him. your cheeks burn as you fight to maintain eye contact with him defiantly. "then don't ever do that again or i'll kill you. okay?"

jungkook stares at you. he's thought about this a few times now, and every scenario in his head did not play out like this. he never thought his bad behaviour or an argument in your bedroom would lead to this but fuck if he isn't buzzing about it. he really can't help himself after that, taking your waist in his battered hands like a compass to north and pulling you back between his thighs snugly, parted lips searching for yours. "got it..."

jungkook's kisses are slow and breathless, everything you expected and more. hotter, wetter. in an instant his tongue is in your mouth like neither of you can stand to wait a second longer. you'd be toppling over if his hands didn't bracket your middle like that. you feel him rubbing the pads of his fingers into where you cinch in, your mouth falling open at the sensation to sigh softly. jungkook drags you closer upon the sound, laying a sweet open mouthed kiss over your top lip before diving in again. he feels relieved with your round hips finally in his hands, his low hum resonating against you when you drag your nails through his undercut and let him trace your tongue with his. he's so thorough, so greedy and practised - so perfectly jungkook.

his hands slip under your thighs expertly, lifting you up with ease to slide you onto his lap faster than you can squeak. you clutch jungkook's big shoulders and he smiles at your surprise, so blindingly charming your face burns. "j-jungkook, your lip is half busted, we shouldn't-"

he kisses you harder just because you said that, your weight in his lap making his shoulders relax and jaw go slack, tongue bolder, finally feeling the pressure in his chest release. your brain is still clouded from the arguing and lingering alcohol so you don't know how long he spends kissing you senseless in your room - grabby hands mapping you out like fucking terrain - but by the time taehyung barges in your brain has effectively turned to fuzzy static, your body a pile of mush in jungkook's lap that only his hands hold together, warm torso meshed into yours, arms locked around his neck with his tongue down your throat when the door slams open.

"princess, ya know where jungkookie is? yoongi’s got his car, they're outside and-" he stops dead in his tracks, takes in the image. you screech and scurry out of jungkook's grip, mortified. "well! can't say i didn't see this coming!"

jungkook lets you climb out of his lap but grabs your wrists before you can put any more space between you, turning to hurl a pillow into taehyung's face with his free hand. then he tugs you between his legs again, your face on fire, but jungkook doesn't care. "get out, hyung."

"or what?" he challenges with a naughty smile. "ya gonna pretend you'd stop?"

"tae, get out!" you hiss, your hips wriggling insistently in jungkook's hands.

taehyung shows a palm defensively. "fine, fine! but your lover boy's ride is here."

"he's not my-!" you start indignantly, but he slams the door shut before you can finish.

there's a pause, your eyes sliding reluctantly to jungkook, who wears a pleased smile on his wet, kiss-swollen lips (that are little bloodier from it all). you drum your fingers on his wide shoulders, watch him look down your dress at your cleavage without a lick of shame. "i really didn't think this'd happen," he squeezes your ass affectionately so you gasp. "like this."

his eyes twinkle, smug. "you thought about this happening?"

you wince, realising the hole you've dug yourself into. you take a minute to reply, distracted by jungkook's hand venturing up your back again to trace your bra clasp absently. "that's not what i mean." he hums in response, brown bambi eyes now on your bitten neck, and you fight the urge to kiss him again, instead have another go at shimmying out of his strong hold. "come on. it's past dawn, you should go home and-"

"i'm busy," he retorts, leaning his face so close against yours his eyelashes just miss your skin, round nose nestling into your face. his warm breath fans over your lips which part upon reflex, and jungkook quickly realises how much he loves making you squirm, all hot cheeks and fluttering eyes.

"don't think i won't throw you out," you say albeit breathlessly, finally peeling his hands off your ass. he lets you drag him up, compliant for once, managing to keep his hands to himself the whole trip downstairs and to the porch. yoongi beeps again just as you open the door, namjoon’s arm sticking out of the passenger’s window, ushering jungkook to the car.

"hey," you say, holding back. jungkook turns, watches your arms fold over your soft breasts, cute pout making him suddenly eager to touch you again. "i’m serious. you promise you won't do anything stupid like that again, right?"

he smiles, somehow even more attractive with a swollen cheek and sore jaw. "no."

you glare at him, opening your mouth to start another row but jungkook reaches out before you can, takes you by the waist and pulls you flush against him so that everyone can see when he dips his head down and catches your lips in a passionate kiss. the boys catcall from the car but you can't hear, helpless against jungkook's big chest, tender lips parting yours to taste your tongue one more time, leaving you reeling when he finally pulls away. he tucks your soft hair behind your ears, the sweet action unfamiliar but somehow not out of character for him. his eyes skirt over your face, gratified.

he really does love making you squirm.

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ohblackdiamond · 5 years

Text

the end of the world tour (kiss/endgame crossover, r) (part 3/4)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

In this chapter: Training continues, sans Rocky montage. Peter gets some answers courtesy Gene and, maybe, Ace. Prepare the preparations.

Or, four washed-up former rockstar superheroes don the spandex of old in a last-ditch effort to save an already half-gone world. They just need a little support from a billionaire who’s not too keen on KISS interrupting his private life. Somewhat Endgame compliant.

Two days later, the visitors started to arrive.

Peter couldn’t exactly call them fans. He didn’t think they were fans, exactly—he didn’t think more than half of the younger ones even exactly knew who KISS was. But they started to creep up to the yard, phones in hand, eager for even the barest hint of superheroism.

The other guys were eating it up. Even Ace, who wasn’t quite as introverted as Paul but still relished his time alone, started showing the visitors around the backyard like it was some kind of grand tour (unsurprisingly, the only sacrosanct portion was his spaceship, roped off as if it were the Venus de Milo—“’m sorry, you can’t touch it, but if you wanna stand over there and take a picture, you can”). He only looked mildly taken aback when a couple of the visitors got brave enough to go from sneaking around the yard to actually knocking at the front door.

“Don’t let them in,” Pete snapped, watching Ace get up on automatic to answer. Ace only offered him a lazy shrug.

“Why not?”

“You know why not. We’ll never get rid of them.”

“They ain’t gonna stay, Peter,” Ace started, interrupted by Paul hurriedly half-tripping down the stairs, having to grab onto the railing. The six-inch, star-encrusted heels of his Alive outfit seemed to be giving him trouble.

“Don’t answer it yet!” he called out, looking from Ace to Peter. “Don’t answer until you’re in costume!”

“Paul, you vain bastard—”

“I’m not being vain! You’ll ruin the mystique!”

“What’s the point? They all know we’re old!”

“That’s not what I mean! Ace, how the hell is anyone gonna have any faith in us saving the world if you answer the door like that ?”

Ace shot a brief, amused look Peter’s way just before a puff of blue smoke obscured him from sight. A second later, Ace emerged, in the facepaint and a purple, velvet onesie.

Paul looked as if he were about to have an aneurysm.

“ No ! That’s not even one of our outfits! How did you—”

“Don’t have to be. You can do any outfit you wanna.” Ace paused. “C’mon, Paulie, you didn’t just think we were stuck with the tour shit, did you? What kinda superhero only gets six costumes?”

The rapping from the other side of the door continued.

“Oh, come on, are you telling me if I want my black leather overalls back, all I have to do is—”

“I dunno if I’d recommend ’em, Paulie, but—” Ace stopped again, yanking open the door. “Hey, how you doing?”

The kid at the door—he couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven, by Peter’s reckoning—seemed to mostly be his dwarfed by his own mass of curly red hair, his face plastered with freckles. He just stared at the three of them, mouth a small round o of surprise.

“I didn’t think you’d open it!”

Paul was mumbling under his breath, gesticulating to Peter with about as much subtlety as a conductor during Handel’s “Messiah.” Transform , he was mouthing. Peter ignored him.

“Well, we don’t always, but…” Ace trailed, grinning. “How’d you hear about us, huh?”

The redheaded kid shrugged.

“Somebody at school said you were supposed to be fixing everything.”

“Yeah?” Ace’s expression didn’t shift a single centimeter.

“Uh-huh. They said you were gonna be the Avengers’ secret weapon and they’d pulled you out of the freezer like Captain America.”

Peter glanced over at Paul, who was still standing halfway down the staircase. From Paul’s expression, it was patently clear that the sheer amount of interviews, meet and greets, and impromptu hobknobbing he’d endured over the last forty years was all that was keeping him straight-faced.

“We didn’t get pulled out of the freezer,” Paul managed after a moment.

“I guess he didn’t,” said the kid, pointing to Peter. Before Peter could respond, but not before Paul and Ace started to snort, he continued. “Are you, though? Are you guys really gonna do it?”

“We—”

“I got a sister,” and the kid wasn’t looking at either of them now. Peter waited, expectant, a rock forming somewhere in his gut. He knew the story before the kid could tell it. He was sure of it. Just as sure of it, just as uselessly sure of it as he ever had been during their cancer ward visits. The kids all hoping just because KISS had come by, that maybe everything was going to be all right, even as they lay there hooked up to IVs and a half-dozen machines. Even as they lay there dying. The kid swallowed. “She… wouldn’t be coming back even if you did save everybody.”

“I’m sorry.” It was Paul. He’d said it before Peter could. He wasn’t looking the kid in the eye, either, Peter noticed. Just staring at the door directly behind him. Peter’s gut was lurching. He’d been wrong. She hadn’t disappeared from existence. She’d died before.

The kid didn’t say anything for a few seconds that seemed to stretch and pull like taffy. Ace’s lips were pursed so tight the black of his lipstick seemed barely-there. The cloistered existences they’d led the last five years, trying so hard to avoid pain when it enveloped everything around them. Everything past them. Consumed in their own grief, unable or unwilling or both to really acknowledge the real human toll of it for fear it would break them. Everyone on Earth had lost someone. Some had lost everyone. And some just watched as the ones left behind followed after.

Peter was almost starting to get it. Some of it. For Gene and Paul and Ace, FER probably hadn’t only been an exercise in talisman abuse and easy lays. Stupid as it was, hedonistic and disastrous as it was, trying to make a life in a dying world… it must have warmed them. It must have made them feel good for more than just the afterglow.

“I’m gonna see her again someday.” The kid finally glanced up from the floor. “Not for a long time. But I will.” An exhale. “You’re gonna try, right? You’re gonna try to fix everything.”

“We’re gonna try,” Peter said, throat feeling warm and thick and too-heavy.

“Okay.” And he was starting to smile, dimples pushing into the freckles on his face. “That’s good.” He hesitated. “Oh, uh…”

“Yeah?”

And he pushed his phone forward.

“Could I get a selfie? The kids at school won’t believe me unless I get a selfie.”

It might have been the most questionable selfie Peter had been a part of in his life.

“I told you to get in costume,” Paul mumbled as he held up the phone for the picture, putting his free arm behind Peter’s shoulder on idle default, “but no —”

Begrudgingly, with that utterly inevitable puff of green smoke signaling everything, Peter got into costume. Well. He got into the cat-embroidered jacket and cutout leotard he’d worn when it was too cold to go sleeveless. The kid’s eyes went buggy. Paul looked deeply offended. Ace just snickered.

“None of us match at all,” Paul said flatly.

“I don’t care. Take the picture.”

“Fine.” Paul was still fiddling with the angle, unsurprisingly, tilting his head as he stared at the camera. Peter waited for about fifteen seconds—fifteen seconds too long for Ace, who snatched the phone from Paul and snapped the picture before he could grab it back. Paul looked as if he were about to snag it back, or at least argue, but instead he just let Ace hand the phone back to the kid—after leaning over to inspect the selfie first.

“It pass inspection, Paul?” Ace lilted.

“It’s good enough,” Paul muttered, before turning his attention back to the visitor. “Anything else you’d like? Autographs? Posters?”

The kid nodded shyly, and Paul immediately scrambled for merchandise. For once, Peter was profoundly grateful Gene was gone on an errand run. The man might have tried to sell the poor kid some of those KISS-branded air guitar strings he still had in the basement.

Things quieted down faster than Peter had expected them to. A few weeks of buzzing activity, a few weeks of impromptu, free meet-and-greets, and then the visitors retreated again. Fickle. No attention span. No second tidal wave of KISSteria overwhelming their half-gone world. Peter found he didn’t really mind. Workouts and training were a lot easier to focus on without being stared at or recorded.

He’d spent an hour or so downstairs, fiddling absentmindedly at the piano, digging through old memorabilia and guitars, before coming back up to the main floor to start on dinner. His assigned day again. Gene was the only one hanging around the kitchen by the time Peter got there.

“Where’re Ace and Paul?”

“Trying to fix the spaceship.”

“They getting anywhere with it?”

“I doubt it. Ace didn’t get out the blowtorch.”

Peter snorted in reply.

“Three more months, he said. S’like how he used to say his next album was coming out in the spring. Only it was ten springs in a row, the lazy bastard.”

Gene shrugged.

“I can’t remember the last time he asked one of us to help with it.”

“I wouldn’t want us helping with it. C’mon, Gene, none of us have any business fooling with that shit when we barely know how to top off the oil tank in the car.”

“What’s gotten you so pissed-off this late in the afternoon?”

“You know what.”

“Peter, I really don’t—”

“Things are getting screwed-up again,” Peter said dryly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The connection bullshit’s back just like it used to be. Don’t you feel it?”

It was a moot question. Of course Gene could feel it. That weird bleeding in of everyone’s emotional states into a messy, almost indistinguishable puddle. Getting so in-tune it got creepy, borderline empathic. It was the one thing about their crimefighting days that Peter hadn’t missed much at all.

“I’m feeling it.”

“Somebody’s keyed-up as hell. And it’s not me, so it’s got to be either you or Paul or Ace…”

“It’s probably Paul.”

“Paul’s always anxious! What’s he got to be so nerved-out about?” Peter groused, yanking the trash bag out of the garbage can, tying it off, and setting it down on the floor. “Shit, I thought he might be feeling better these days.”

Gene shrugged.

“He’s sensitive.”

“Ace is, too, the big difference is he has a sense of humor about it,” Peter grumbled, heading outside with the trash bag in tow, still calling out to Gene as he toted it out. “I don’t like feeling antsy just because someone else is antsy. I’ll tell them both that as soon as they get in.”

“Don’t do that. There’s probably a reason.”

“Reason, my ass. My blood pressure’s high enough without Paulie dialing it up with all his fucking feelings.” Peter returned, only to find Gene had, surprisingly, replaced the trash bag while he was out. “What’d you want for dinner?”

“Do we still have any of that steak left?”

“Yeah. Probably enough for a stir-fry.” Peter opened up one of the cabinets by the stove, taking out a cutting board and a frying pan. Wok , he could almost hear Paul correcting. If it got the job done, the proper terminology didn’t matter. Mentally, he started to tally the vegetables they had on hand to toss in. Onions, peppers… maybe some mushrooms. He wasn’t after authenticity so much as getting rid of as much produce as possible. Boil up some rice, and it wouldn’t be a bad meal.

“Brownies would be good, too.”

“I didn’t buy any mix.”

“I did.” Gene dug it out of the pantry, along with a bottle of oil. Peter rolled his eyes.

“You know none of the workouts we do in costume do a damn thing for any of us out of costume, right?”

“I know. I just don’t care.” Gene was already taking the egg carton out of the refrigerator, absolutely shameless. Peter shook his head slowly, watching Gene set the ingredients out on the counter. “Figure we’ve earned it.”

“You’re gonna get diabetes, man.”

“I’ll live to be a hundred. I’ve got great… genes.” Gene said it with his usual dry, obnoxious self-assurance, familiar enough that Peter had long stopped minding it. He expected Gene to get out a bowl next, but instead, he went and plugged in the record player on the other side of the kitchen. Peter could hear him cross over into the living room, and knew he was probably pilfering through their records. “This’ll help your blood pressure. What album do you want?”

“Anything that isn’t us.”

Gene nodded, walking back into the kitchen with a ratty copy of the Beatles’ Yesterday and Today . Peter winced.

“Okay, anything that isn’t us or the fucking Beatles.”

“Best two names in rock and roll.”

Peter rolled his eyes. Gene set the album down on the kitchen table, still looking at Peter, which was a bit of a surprise. Peter had expected him to dig out another album and put it on the player, regardless of his opinion on the matter. But no, he was waiting on Peter to pick.

“One of the Krupa records is fine.”

“All right.”

Gene crossed back over to the living room, got another album out, and put it on the turntable. Peter recognized it after the first few bars as Burnin’ Beat. He sighed and retrieved the leftover steak and vegetables from the fridge, started to chop the steak into strips while Gene began mixing up the brownie batter. Peter’s arthritis wasn’t treating him half so badly this evening.

It was always a different kind of silence with Gene than it was with Ace or Paul. Strangely easier to handle. Gene wasn’t off in an avoidant, self-inflicted orbit like Ace, or stuck chronically ruminating like Paul. Gene was always thinking ahead. Always moving forward. Sometimes it aggravated the shit out of Peter, and sometimes it was just what he needed to be around.

“The talismans expose the true selves of the holders,” Gene said finally, as he poured a frankly disastrous amount of mini M&Ms and broken-up Hershey bars into the batter. “Did you ever give that any thought?”

“No. Not until the last couple months.” Peter shrugged. “I didn’t think about it back then. We’d been doing the makeup before we got the talismans.”

Nothing Gene didn’t already know. They’d mapped out rough designs themselves in a desperate bid for a gimmick. Something to get them noticed. The regular genderbending schtick they’d tried before, with the four of them in heavy blush and eyeliner and lipstick, hadn’t suited anyone but Ace. They hadn’t looked like they were tearing down the establishment, blurring the lines between male and female, any of that—they’d just looked sad. Putting on the white greasepaint had been the turning point they needed. The talismans just sealed the deal.

“I’ve thought about it a long time.” Gene’s voice, always quiet and deceptively even, got a little lower, as if there was any likelihood Ace and Paul could hear him from out in the backyard. “It’s a great origin story. Struggling band gets magic powers, becomes successful superhero musicians. But…”

“But what?”

“When your true self wears more makeup and higher heels than Frank-n-Furter, that’s concerning.”

“Like Stark’s Iron Man crap is any better.” Peter crooked a smile. “He doesn’t even have a codpiece.”

Gene snorted. He only looked marginally more at ease.

“That’s not exactly it.” He paused. “We were still wearing the outfits and makeup five years ago. Paul and Eric and Tommy and I.”

“Yeah, I know.” God, did he know. Peter didn’t even remember—or didn’t want to remember—when he’d signed over his makeup rights. He hadn’t been thinking about crimefighting then. None of them had. He just remembered disgust roiling in his stomach as he’d watched the band go on without him for the second and then the third time in a fucking row.

“It was getting to me. Getting to all of us—Paul won’t admit it, but…” Gene trailed uncharacteristically. “It was starting to feel like a parody.”

“ Starting to?” Peter snorted. Gene, surprisingly, didn’t look too ruffled.

“Yeah. At first, I thought I was fine with that. We’d been running off nostalgia since the nineties. If people were still paying to see us, who the fuck cared if I wasn’t stomping around anymore? If Paul wasn’t jumping all over the stage? Who—”

“Gene, the only reason either of you stopped that was because wasn’t turned into couldn’t .” Peter tossed the steak into the frying pan, started to chop the mushrooms, just dropping them into the pan, not bothering with the cutting board. “Didn’t matter how many tickets you sold. You couldn’t buy your way back to ’76.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Gene’s eyes, always so appallingly focused, weren’t on Peter for once. “Fuck, if dignity was in KISS’ vocabulary, we would have folded our first concert in drag. I didn’t care about getting old and looking like crap onstage. I didn’t want to buy my way back to ’76.”

“Then what did you want?”

“Shit, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“I wanted to hang it up.” Gene was pouring the batter into the pan now, smoothing it over more than he needed to with the back of a spoon, his mouth pursed tightly. He hadn’t even taken a taste of it yet. Peter knew exactly how poor a sign that was.

“You’ve wanted to hang it up before. You even said you would. Remember the Farewell Tour?”

“ Really hang it up. No more KISS, no more concerts—I was tired of it. Maybe Mick Jagger can keep on croaking ‘Satisfaction,’ but—”

“But Paul can’t get through ‘Detroit Rock City.’”

“Don’t tell him that. It’d kill him.”

“He already knows it.” Peter paused. Started chopping up the peppers and onions and dropping them into the wok, which was hissing with every new addition. A thought had come to him, one he’d mulled over for ages, but hadn’t dared mention until now. “Gene?”

“Yeah?” Gene had finally put the brownie pan into the oven.

“Was that the real reason for all the Hall of Fame crap? Was that why we didn’t play?”

“Peter,” Gene started.

“It was, wasn’t it? Why the hell didn’t you say so? I thought it was just the usual bullshit. Don’t let me and Ace play with you and Paul or everyone’ll be begging for another Reunion Tour. If I’d known—”

“That—”

“You should’ve said ! Did we really hate each other that bad? Was Paul that fucking scared of what we’d say? Were you?”

“Peter, at this point—”

“If you’d said, I might’ve understood. But Christ, Gene, just refusing without a reason was fucking awful. I didn’t wanna see any of the rest of you outside of a funeral home ever again.”

“I’m pretty sure we were all thinking that.” Gene sounded as if he were trying to force out a snort. “Even Paul and I didn’t coordinate suits.”

“The hell did you two have to be sore about? Did you insult one of his paintings?”

Gene just shrugged.

“We’re basically brothers, we have our disagreements.”

“Cut the crap, Gene, Paul ain’t ever been your brother. He’s your princess.”

“Fine, whatever.” The Krupa record slowed to a stop. Peter peered over as Gene turned it over and set the needle back down. “What happened at the Hall of Fame was a mistake.”

“You’re damn right it was.”

“But I didn’t get to dwell on it. We were in the middle of touring when…” Gene swallowed thickly. Peter knew he wasn’t about to detail him and Paul’s falling out. When without a specification always meant five years ago. Another four-letter-word for half of humanity disappearing in front of them. “But I figured it out before then. I’m serious, I really did. I was out there doing the fucking ‘God of Thunder’ routine and all of a sudden…” Gene shook his head, looking almost bewildered. “I realized I could not give less of a shit.”

“You? Are you serious?” Peter did snort. “C’mon, you’ve gone onstage sick as a dog before, don’t tell me you—”

“I’m serious. It was terrifying. You don’t—” Another shake of his head. “The audience wasn’t feeding me anymore. I wasn’t feeding them. I realized that the show didn’t really become a show until we stopped believing in it. I’d stopped believing in it.”

“So what changed your mind?” Peter turned down the heat on the stovetop, absently pushing a spatula through the stir-fry. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Gene had gotten out the soy sauce for him. “What made you believe in it enough to get the talismans back out?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Gene hesitated. Rare to see him hesitate. He looked as if he were about to deliver another practiced interview sermon, and Peter prepared himself for it, but it didn’t happen.

“I wanted to see for myself. Prove there might still be some magic there.” His lip was twitching. Peter shifted closer as Gene continued. “After everything, I needed it. But I didn’t want to get them out alone, I don’t know why. I suppose I was just afraid of nothing happening.”

“You really thought nothing would happen?”

Gene raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing had happened since ’80.”

“Nothing at all?”

“They’d just glow a little sometimes. I didn’t expect that much, but I was hoping for it. So I asked Paul to come up to the attic with me. I said I was wanting to look through some old pictures, maybe get something together for a KISS coffee table book—”

“And he believed you?”

“Of course not, but he came up there. Once I pulled out the box, he didn’t hesitate. He told me to go ahead and open it up.” Gene’s mouth twitched. “They were glowing, all right. They hadn’t been that bright in years. I’m not sure which one of us reached in and grabbed his talisman first.”

“Then you decided after that to join FER?”

Gene didn’t look too abashed.

“Yeah, I found an article on it a few days later. I showed it to Paul, then we told Ace, put in our applications and started in, then you found out, and the rest is—”

“If you say KISStory, you’re not getting dinner.’

“That’s fine. I’ll just eat the brownies.”

Ace and Paul returned a few minutes later, after the stir-fry was done but before the brownies were ready. They both looked weirdly drained, almost down, Paul stiffly pulling out his chair and sitting at the table without a word.

“How’s the spaceship?” Gene asked.

“Outlook not so good, Curly,” Ace mumbled, walking over on automatic to the sink, retrieving the bowl Gene had used to mix the brownie batter in. He started scraping a spoon up the sides, seemingly unaware that Gene had, for once, actually half-filled the bowl with water and dish soap, even if he hadn’t washed it. Paul threw him an acrid look. “But we’ll see, y’know?”

Peter didn’t bother to plate the stir fry, just put the wok itself on top of an oven mitt on the table. He did the same with the rice bowl a moment later. No need to clean more dishes than he had to.

“We’ll see,” Gene agreed, glancing Peter’s way. “Look, if you want us all to help, just let us know.”

“Nah, Geno, it’s—” Ace had put that first absentminded spoonful of water, batter, and suds in his mouth, and immediately spat it out. “ Shit! ”

Gene barely suppressed a laugh.

“Sorry—”

“Jesus,” Ace mumbled. “You usually just leave it in the sink and don’t fill it up…” he trailed, dropping the spoon back into the bowl and heading over to sit at the kitchen table across from Paul.

“If you didn’t get anywhere with the ship, what were you doing in there?”

Paul looked like he was about to say something, but then he just reached over and spooned out some of the stir-fry from the wok, staring at the vegetables like they had personally offended him. Peter had to swallow back a spiteful comment—God, Paul probably thought he’d overcooked the onions or some stupid shit like that—but then Ace piped up again.

“Well, we talked about flying. ’S kind of the one thing we still haven’t tried yet.”

Gene nodded, checked the brownies, and then got his plate, scooping up rice and the stir-fry in generous portions. Peter followed suit, a little warily, taking his usual spot next to Ace.

“Flying would give us one over half the Avengers.” Peter glanced over at Gene, trying to gauge his reaction first. For all his fear of heights, Gene barely flinched. Consummate professional. Or maybe he was just thinking about the brownies.

“Yeah. We’ve been putting it off too long.” Gene stuck a forkful of rice in his mouth. “Let’s review the tapes after dinner and start practicing tomorrow.”

“Review the tapes? C’mon, Gene, we’ve been doing that for ages! You just don’t wanna—"

“I do want to. First thing tomorrow.” Gene took a swig of water. Peter’s gaze went from Gene to Paul and then over to Ace, and he shook his head.

“You mean it?”

“I mean it. I’ve even got the equipment ready.”

---

“Gene, when you said equipment, I thought you meant a bungee cord.”

Gene just grinned widely. Gene’s idea of equipment had been a whole lot more useless.

Gene’s idea of equipment had been lugging the trampoline out of the garage.

And as good as it was to get an excuse to peel off their six-inch heels, and as entertaining as it was to jump on the trampoline, Peter had to admit it wasn’t getting either of them airborne. But it was giving them an excellent vantage point to watch the other two.

“We could be trying it up there.” Peter gestured, maybe unnecessarily, to Paul and Ace, who were perched, and arguing, on top of the third story roof. “You hear them, right?”

“How could I not fucking hear them,” Gene mumbled.

“Pauuuulieee. C’mon. You trust me?”

“We’re almost fifty feet off the ground!”

“It’s like with a baby! You put ’em in the pool and they’ll have to swim!”

“Ace, how the fuck did you ever have a kid—”

“Same way you did. Well, sorta.” Ace started laughing, shaking his head. “Relax, man. Just relax. You’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine. Look, if we’re about to crash I’ll teleport us both back down, okay?” Peter couldn’t see it from where he was, but deep down he was sure Ace was winking.

“I don’t see how he talked Paul into this,” Gene said.

“They’ve been hanging out more lately.” Peter wasn’t sure why. They hadn’t made another room switch or anything. Then again, Paul and Ace hadn’t ever had any major row between them, either. He managed a backflip, to his own surprise. “And they knew you were going to wuss out.”

“You’re not up there, either.”

“I will be once they get it,” Peter retorted. Right now, the scene on the roof was too entertaining to miss. Paul was wobbling slightly on the roof, grabbing onto Ace’s arm in an attempt to steady himself. Unfortunately, and predictably, Ace was wobbling, too.

“Ace, c’mon, this was a bad idea, let’s—c’mon, man, just teleport us back do—”

“Uh-uh, Paulie. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“You do know I’ve had my hip replaced twice, don’t you?”

“I thought it was three times.” Ace was laughing. Worse, he was swaying. Paul hanging onto him was only making them both more off-balance, teetering towards the edge of the rooftop. But Ace was talking just as easily as if they were safely on the ground. “Two makes more sense. I always wondered how the hell you could break a titanium one—"

“I didn— fuck !” Paul screamed, clutching Ace with both arms as they fell off the roof together. Peter and Gene scrambled off the trampoline, running out to catch them—stupidly, neither of them had thought they’d need to—only to watch them swoop down, and then hover, six or seven feet from the ground.

By that time, Peter was pretty sure that Paul’s face at least had probably gone almost as pale as the greasepaint. He watched as Paul slowly loosened his grip on Ace and then let go entirely, eyes wide, smile spreading even wider as he realized he was still in the air. They both were.

“Ace, we—I—”

“See? I told you!” Ace was letting himself sink down further, barely hovering more than a few inches from the ground before landing in front of Peter and Gene. “I told you, just like a baby.”

“Gene! Gene, look, I’m doing it!”

Gene still had his arms out, hovering half-remembered, as if part of him still thought Paul was about to fall. He didn’t get a single word out before Paul dove down straight toward him, gathering Gene up in his arms and lifting him into the air with him, gradually higher and higher, laughing softly, excitedly. Peter half-expected Gene to start screaming, or at least be clutching Paul for dear life, but he wasn’t. The higher up Paul took him, the more relaxed Gene seemed to get. The looser their grip on each other became. Gene’s arms went from around Paul’s waist to up around his shoulders—then, finally, just as it was getting harder for Peter to get a detailed look, Gene caught Paul’s hands in his own.

Both of them flying now.

Peter watched them, shaking his head a little, for a few seconds more. They’d land eventually. It took him a bit—it took Ace tugging at his sleeve—before he looked down again. There was a weird winsomeness to Ace’s expression, almost a longing, that made something in Peter itch and ache all at once. But then it faded nearly as soon as it appeared, and Ace’s old, sleepy-eyed grin was back on his face.

“Your turn, Cat. Get your heels on.” He winked. “Don’t worry, I got a whole other rooftop for us to jump off of.”

Ace had teleported him as soon as he'd yanked on his boots. Peter knew where they were almost before he’d opened his eyes. Almost like a bottom of the barrel sense. Or maybe it was just the connection bullshit, letting him dig into Ace’s mind without even wanting to. But Peter didn’t think that was all of it. He could recognize this place anywhere. Anytime. The oldest of their stomping grounds as a band. Jimi Hendrix’s old studio in Greenwich Village. The Electric Lady .

They’d never done a photoshoot on the roof or anything. There wasn’t even much physical evidence left that they’d been there at all, besides the records themselves. Just a couple photos from their own albums, mostly, that had gotten scattered like confetti across the internet. Photos from those early, early recording sessions, when they were four nobodies that occasionally drove cabs and taught school and fought petty crime. When they weren’t much better than four kids.

The memories themselves were so intoxicating they were painful. It wasn’t just where they’d first recorded. It was where Peter had first met up with Gene and Paul, before he’d even auditioned for KISS. That made the Electric Lady almost sacrosanct even when he felt most embittered about the band, about the guys. And he wasn’t alone in his sentimentality. Gene and Paul had continued to record there occasionally in the early eighties, too, unable to avoid their own nostalgia.

Peter sat down on the roof, letting his legs dangle off the edge. Ace did, too, swinging them back and forth over the side like a little kid. They sat there in silence at first, watching the people, the traffic. The old, harried energy of Greenwich Village was gone. The weirdness, the newness. The hope.

“It’s not like it was,” Peter said finally.

“You think it was gonna be?”

“No, but I wanted it to be.”

Ace crooked a small smile.

“Y’know, back… aw, hell, it was probably five, six years after the Reunion tour… I was talking to Bobby.”

“You made up with him after that shitty book he wrote?”

“Kind of. It went sour again, dunno.” Ace paused. “Anyway, I was talking to him, and he said to me, he said, ‘Paul, you won’t believe it, I climbed a telephone pole the other day.’”

“The fuck did he do that for?”

“That’s exactly what I asked him. Word for fucking word.” A short, eerie laugh. “He said, ‘to prove I still could.’ He had to’ve been at least fifty then… fifty and climbing telephone poles. I thought it was stupid. But here I am, sixty-eight and—”

“Sixty-eight and flying is pretty good, Ace, I gotta say.”

Ace laughed a little longer.

“Yeah, well. S’like with anything else, all I need is a little motivation.” He was starting to lean his shoulder against Peter’s, just a bit, casual and easy. Pointing at the people going by, the cars going by. “It could be the same. You just gotta squint pretty hard. Get rid of the gentrification and shit… stick the kids in bell bottoms…”

“Can’t do it.”

“Sure, you can.”

“It’s gone, Ace. Can’t bring it back.”

“You can try.”

“Nah. Don’t it make you wanna go home, now,” Peter half-sang under his breath, “don’t it make you wanna go home—”

“All God’s children get weary when they roam,” Ace kept on with the old Joe South chorus, tuneless as always, “God, how I wanna go home… didja have that record, Pete? I had the 45 way back …”

“Lydia’d only give me a three-buck allowance, Ace, what do you think?” Peter laughed quietly.

“Three bucks? You told me it was a dollar-fifty, man!” Ace shook his head. “Shit, and poor Paulie always bringing you by sandwiches back then ’cause he thought you really were a starving fucking musician—”

“Hey, I didn’t ask for those—"

“I know. He was real sweet. Still is, you just gotta give him a minute to relax.”

“Or five years.” It came out more aggressively than Peter meant it to, and he glanced away, staring at the streets beneath them. Half-full like all the rest of the world. Even the cars looked dismal. None of that toked-up brightness he remembered, none of that hope. The part-time cabbies replaced by Uber drivers, the flowerchildren turned geriatric and bitter with the passage of time. He shook his head.

“Don’t take that long. Just takes being gentle. Gene’s always been real gentle with Paul.” Ace said it without any real rancor. Just matter-of-fact.

“Gentle, my ass. You mean he lets Paul do whatever the fuck he wants. Fucking bends over for him anytime, every time—”

Ace snickered.

“Didn’t used to—”

“Jesus, Ace, don’t remind me.” Peter winced as if the memory of it was really so awful. Or awful at all. He’d never actually witnessed that much out of Paul and Gene back in the seventies. They’d been about as exclusive as rabbits in heat, anyway. What they’d had, what they still had, Peter didn’t envy. “Doesn’t it piss you off?”

“Nah.” Ace shrugged. “Wouldn’t know what to do if somebody treated me like that. I used to think Gene was trying to make up for something, y’know?”

“He is.”

Ace shrugged again. Peter let the silence hang in the air for a moment or two before changing the subject.

“Hey, Ace?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s say this all works out and we bring everybody back. What’re we really gonna do after? Where are we gonna go?”

“Jen—”

“No, really.” Peter paused. His throat felt sticky. “Where are we going to live?”

“Pete, we both got a couple million in the bank, we ain’t gonna be homeless—”

“I know we ain’t gonna be homeless, but we ain’t all gonna be living under the same roof anymore, either.”

Ace’s brow started to furrow up.

“I dunno.”

“What if Paul and Gene want to move back to Beverly Hills with their families? We couldn’t afford it out there.” The disparity between their incomes hadn’t been a big deal in five years, with all their relatively communal living. Especially at first, Gene had taken it upon himself to cover most of the expenditures. Then, once Paul had his bearings back enough to at least glance at legal documents long enough to scribble his signature on them, the two of them had mostly split everything in half. Everything but groceries and gas, really. To Peter, it hadn’t felt like they were living off of someone else’s charity, not at all. But in the real world, in a world back to the way it was… “What we’ve got here is gonna go away.”

“Nah, it won’t.” Ace sounded more self-assured than Peter could readily believe. “You think all it’ll take is us not living together to split us up? Shit, Peter, before the last couple years, we only lived together on the road, and—”

“That’s different, though!”

“’S not.” Stretching out, Ace looked over at Peter, brown eyes focused laser-sharp on his face. “We don’t all got a bond because we’re all in the same house. We don’t got a bond because of the talismans, either. We got a bond because—”

“I know.”

Ace’s lips pursed.

“I—”

Peter reached a hand out, catching Ace’s before he could finish. Ace’s expression tensed, then started to soften, slowly, almost imperceptibly. He nodded, and before long, they both stood up, there on the roof of the Electric Lady , there in six-inch heels and leather, hands still clasped.

“You ready, Cat?” Ace started to smile. “I got you no matter what.”

“’M not afraid of heights,” Peter muttered. “You wanna do a countdown?”

“Nah, you make the time—”

“One, two—three—”

Peter felt the brief, awful lurch of falling for hardly a second at best. Then he was hovering, buoyed up by—he didn’t even know. All he knew was the sharpness of the breeze searing through his skin, blowing back his hair. All he felt was that wonderful weightlessness, that ease, trickling down his spine, heady as a glass of champagne. Unreal.

Ace’s hand tightened around his.

“You gonna fly, Peter, or are we just gonna hang around here?”

Peter only yanked him up with him. Ace’s cackles seemed to soar to the heavens, up and up as they flew higher. Story after story. The people below, and then the buildings, got dimmer and dimmer, blurring out beneath them into pavement gray, each skyscraper like a glittering stalagmite pushing up to the surface as the afternoon sun shot through.

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #peter criss #ace frehley #paul stanley #gene simmons

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