#just carry a crafting table and place it every single time you want to shoot an arrow

[keehomania]

a little older (더 나이든) — min yoongi (민 윤기)

✧.* 18+

building a life of your own was supposed to be the most important thing, a sacred endeavor carved out of dreams and determination. it was meant to be a testament to resilience, a collection of moments carefully stacked like cards, each one representing a triumph, a choice, a whispered hope. every decision, every relationship, every step forward was like placing a new card on the fragile structure—delicate, yet full of potential. there was an elegance in the construction, a beauty in the precariousness, as each layer rose higher, promising a future that was uniquely yours.

the foundation was always more fragile than it seemed. life, with all its unpredictable twists, was like a breath of wind, capable of unsettling even the sturdiest of foundations. the careful balance, once so meticulously maintained, could be disrupted by a single misstep, a fleeting moment of imbalance. and when it happened—when that one card faltered—it was as if time slowed, the world held its breath, and the house of cards began to tremble. in an instant, everything you had built with such care, such hope, began to collapse. the cards fell, one by one, in a cascading rush of loss. it wasn’t just the physical manifestations of your efforts that crumbled; it was the dreams, the aspirations, the very essence of what you had imagined your life could be. the crash was both silent and deafening, a paradox of destruction that left you standing in the aftermath, surrounded by the scattered remnants of what once was.

in those moments, it became clear that the life you had built, so painstakingly and with such love, was never as invincible as you had believed. it was delicate, ephemeral, a structure of possibilities rather than certainties. and now, with the cards lying in disarray around you, the realization settled in—building a life of your own was not just about the construction, but about the constant balance, the vigilance, the understanding that everything could be lost in a heartbeat. the house of cards was beautiful while it stood, but it was a fragile beauty, one that required more than just ambition to sustain—it demanded a deep awareness of its own impermanence.

the gentle hum of rome surrounded you like a comforting embrace, the city's timeless charm intertwining with the luxurious life you had carefully crafted for yourself. the cobblestone streets underfoot, the scent of freshly brewed espresso wafting through the air, and the vibrant murmur of voices from nearby tables—all were part of the life you had come to know and love. it was a life of indulgence, of quiet moments in quaint coffee shops between photoshoots, where you could savor the richness of your success, the delicate balance of beauty and fame that you had so skillfully maintained.

your phone vibrated softly on the marble tabletop, interrupting your thoughts. the screen flashed with the name of your manager, a reminder of the world that existed just beyond this fleeting moment of peace. you took a slow sip of your coffee before answering, already knowing the conversation that was about to unfold. “why won't you be able to make the shoot in milan?” her voice, usually calm and composed, carried a note of urgency, of disappointment that you could almost feel through the line.

you sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of the decision you had already made. “i gotta go back to daegu,” you began, choosing your words carefully as you gazed out at the bustling street, the vibrant life that you had temporarily claimed as your own. “i was enjoying some time off between shoots, but i have to go back. my mother called. she wants to get the family together.”

there was a brief pause on the other end of the line, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you. then, your manager exhaled, the disappointment in her voice palpable as she responded. “i'm disappointed. you know how important this shoot is, how much it could mean for your career. but i understand—family comes first.” you ended the call with a simple, “i'll be in touch,” the finality of the words echoing in your mind long after the call had disconnected. the weight of her disappointment hung over you like a shadow, mingling with your own. you were disappointed, too—disappointed that your carefully constructed life, the life you had fought so hard to create, was once again being pulled away by forces you couldn’t control.

the last thing you wanted was to spend a month in daegu, surrounded by your family and whoever else your mother decided to invite into your life. you had built something here, something that was yours alone. the glitz and glamour of the modeling world were more than just a career—they were your escape, your sanctuary from the past you had left behind. the riches, the fame, the adoration of the media—they were all a part of the life you had chosen, a life that felt worlds apart from the one that awaited you back home.

your father had always been supportive, his pride in your achievements a quiet but constant presence in your life. but your mother, your mother was another story. she had never truly understood the life you had built, never missed an opportunity to remind you of the family you had left behind, the obligations she believed you were neglecting. she was too emotional, too needy, always quick to turn to you with her problems, her fears, using you as her therapist when all you wanted was to be her daughter. it was a role you had never wanted, a burden you had never asked for, and one that had driven a deep wedge between the two of you.

as you sat in the coffee shop, the realization settled in with a dull ache—you didn’t want to go back. not now, not ever. the life you had built was there, in those moments of quiet luxury, in the thrill of the spotlight, in the knowledge that you were beautiful and that the world loved you for it. the idea of returning to daegu, to the suffocating expectations of family, was almost unbearable.

and yet, there you were, about to board a plane back to the place you had spent so many years trying to escape. you knew that once you were there, the walls you had so carefully constructed around yourself would start to crumble, brick by brick, as your mother’s words chipped away at the confidence you had so painstakingly built. but for now, you let yourself savor the last of your trip. you let the warmth of the roman sun wash over you, let the taste of rich coffee linger on your tongue, let the sound of the city’s heartbeat fill your ears. you allowed yourself this final moment of peace, a small luxury before the storm that awaited you back home.

the airport was a sea of hurried footsteps and murmured conversations, a place of constant motion and transient connections. the lights overhead were bright, almost glaring, casting a harsh glow on the polished floors and sleek, modern architecture. you walked through the bustling terminal with your head down, the brim of your hat casting a shadow over your face. the hat was slightly too big, the edges brushing against your sunglasses, but it was a necessary discomfort. you knew the hat and shades might draw attention, might make people look twice, but it was a risk you were willing to take. you couldn’t afford to be recognized tonight—not when the weight of the decision to return to daegu was already pressing down on you.

the noise of the terminal was a constant hum in your ears, a backdrop of lives intersecting and parting ways. you moved with purpose, but each step felt heavy, as if the gravity of what awaited you back home was pulling you down. the bustling crowd gave you a sense of anonymity, a comfort in the chaos, but there was always the underlying fear—what if someone recognized you? what if a single glance, a moment of misplaced attention, shattered the fragile anonymity you clung to?

you reached the gate, the final checkpoint before you could slip into the relative safety of the plane. the lady at the gate, dressed in a crisp uniform, greeted you with a professional smile, her eyes scanning you briefly before she spoke. “ticket, please.” you handed it over, your fingers brushing against the smooth paper, and you watched as she glanced at it, her expression unchanged until her eyes fell on your name. the realization dawned in her eyes, a flicker of recognition that quickly blossomed into a wide smile.

her voice dropped to a near whisper, a mix of awe and excitement as she spoke again, her tone more personal now. “are you in first class?” you nodded, a small, polite gesture, before affirming softly, “yes, i am.” her fingers trembled slightly as she checked the ticket, the formalities of her job momentarily forgotten as she glanced back up at you. the admiration in her eyes was unmistakable, a look you had seen a thousand times before, but one that still made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

“i’m such a big fan,” she said, her voice almost reverent. “would you mind—?” she trailed off, pulling out a poster she had tucked away—a poster of you, one from a recent campaign, your face smiling back at you with a confidence you didn’t quite feel in this moment. you forced a smile, a nervous laugh escaping your lips as you replied, “of course.” you took the pen she offered, your hand moving almost automatically as you signed your name, the signature that had become so familiar to you, yet felt so alien in moments like this. the pen scratched lightly against the glossy paper, the sound almost lost in the noise of the terminal, but to you, it felt deafening. when you finished, you handed the poster back to her, your smile still in place despite the churning in your stomach.

“thank you so much,” she gushed, her voice barely above a whisper now, as if she were afraid to break the spell. “i hope you have a safe flight.” you nodded again, murmuring your thanks as you took your ticket back, slipping it into your bag with hands that felt too heavy, too cumbersome. the brief encounter had left you feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way that only the public eye could make you feel. as you walked away, towards the plane that would take you back to a life you weren’t ready to face, you kept your head low, your hat pulled down just a little further, your sunglasses pressed tightly to your face.

the publicity was suffocating, a constant reminder of the life you had chosen, a life that came with its own set of rules and expectations. there were moments, fleeting but persistent, when all you wanted was a normal life—one where you could walk through an airport without being recognized, where you could board a plane without the weight of fame pressing down on your shoulders. but that life wasn’t yours to live, not anymore. so you kept your shades on, the brim of your hat shielding you from the world as you made your way to the gate, your steps quickening as you neared the entrance to the plane. you handed your ticket to the flight attendant, her smile professional and warm, and without a word, you slipped past her and into the sanctuary of first class. you found your seat and settled in, sinking into the plush leather with a sigh that was more of resignation than relief.

daegu’s air felt different the moment you stepped off the plane. the warm breeze carried with it the scent of familiarity—of home, of memories both cherished and forgotten. you moved through the terminal with a practiced ease, gathering your luggage as if in a trance. the sleek, designer suitcases were a stark contrast to the airport’s simple decor, a reminder of the life you had built away from here.

once you had everything in hand, you made your way out of the airport, your hat still pulled low over your face, your sunglasses firmly in place. the crowds here were less intense, less likely to recognize you, but you weren’t taking any chances. it was better to remain hidden until you were safely out of public view. you stepped out into the open air, the evening sun casting long shadows on the pavement, and you quickly hailed a cab.

the driver—a man in his mid-fifties with a kind, weathered face—didn’t say much as you slid into the back seat. you gave him the address, and he nodded, pulling away from the curb without a word. the silence was a gift, and you found yourself grateful for it. the drive through daegu’s familiar streets was oddly comforting, the buildings and landscapes bringing back a flood of memories, some pleasant, others less so.

as the car approached your childhood home, you felt a knot tighten in your stomach. you tipped the driver a bit extra as a silent thank you for the uninterrupted journey, and he accepted it with a small, appreciative nod. only when you were certain you were out of sight did you finally remove your sunglasses and hat, letting the cool air of the evening touch your face. you took a deep breath, steadying yourself before stepping out of the cab.

the sight that greeted you was unexpected—your parents stood in front of the house, their faces alight with joy, and a small group of people you didn’t recognize clustered around them. there was a makeshift cookout in the yard, the smell of grilled meat and the sound of laughter filling the air. it was a welcome-home celebration, one that should have made you feel warm inside, but instead, it only heightened your unease.

your father was the first to approach, his arms open wide. he was a strong, silent man, not one for overt displays of affection, but in this moment, he wrapped you in a hug that spoke volumes. you allowed yourself to sink into the embrace, feeling a flicker of genuine warmth. when he released you, you noticed your mother standing off to the side, her expression slightly pinched, as if disappointed that she hadn’t been the first to greet you. still, you turned to her with a smile, pulling her into a hug. her embrace was firmer, more scrutinizing, as if she were searching for something. “you’ve gotten thinner,” she remarked, pulling back to look at you, her tone half-critical, half-concerned.

you couldn’t help but laugh lightly, brushing off her comment. “that’s part of my job, mom.”  your father’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, his voice gentle as he added, “and you’ve gotten prettier, too.” he smiled as he stroked your hair, a gesture that felt both tender and grounding.

“i’ve missed you both,” you said, the words slipping out before you could fully process them. they felt genuine, though, and for a moment, you let yourself believe in the comfort of this reunion. but the moment was fleeting, your eyes drifting to the unfamiliar faces in the yard. “who are all these people?” you asked, unable to keep the curiosity—and slight irritation—from your voice.

your father gestured towards the group, his tone casual as he began introducing you to each of them. “these are some family friends. they’re only here for the day, but one of them will be staying for the month.” you smiled and nodded politely as each person was introduced, some of them expressing admiration for your work. you’d gotten used to it—meeting people who knew you before you knew them—but it didn’t make the encounters any less awkward.

“who’s the one staying?” you asked your father, trying to mask the apprehension in your voice. he chuckled softly, a knowing glint in his eyes. “you know him very well.”

you frowned, confusion knitting your brow. “what do you mean by that?” your father didn’t answer directly. instead, he simply gestured to a man walking toward you from the other side of the yard. you turned to look, your breath catching slightly as you took in his appearance. he was handsome, undeniably so, with a soft smile on his lips and a calm, confident way of moving. there was something familiar about him, but you couldn’t quite place it.

as he approached, his smile widened. “no, this can’t be (y/n),” he said, his tone light, almost teasing. for a moment, all you could think was how striking he was, and how frustrating it was that you couldn’t remember who he was. your father beamed with pride, his gaze flickering between you and the man. “she’s pretty, isn’t she?” he asked, his voice full of paternal affection.

the man nodded, his eyes not leaving yours. “gorgeous,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. there was a pause before he added, “do you remember me?” you searched his face, trying to dig through the layers of your memory, but nothing came to mind. with a reluctant shake of your head, you admitted, “i’m sorry, but no.”

your father laughed, a deep, hearty sound that rumbled through the air. “this is yoongi. he used to come over all the time to take care of you when you were younger and home alone.” your eyes widened in recognition, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly falling into place. “yoongi?” you echoed, incredulity coloring your voice.

he nodded, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “i’ve changed a bit, haven’t i?” you laughed nervously, still processing the transformation before you. “only in the best way,” you replied, your voice slightly breathless.

yoongi shrugged, the smile on his face turning a bit wry. “that’s what divorce does.” you blinked in surprise, the revelation catching you off guard. “you, you divorced miss jeon?”

he nodded, his expression calm, as if he were discussing something as mundane as the weather. “yeah. it was for the best, though.” you shook your head slightly, still reeling from the news. miss jeon had been such a constant presence in your life, always there to help out, to cook meals when your parents were busy. the idea of her and yoongi no longer being together felt strange, almost surreal. sensing your shock, yoongi gave you a reassuring look. “don’t worry about it,” he said gently. “it was the best outcome for both of us.”

you nodded slowly, still absorbing the information. “it’s just hard to believe.” he smiled again, this time a bit more softly. “i know. but it’s good to see you again.” he paused, stepping forward to envelop you in a warm hug, his arms strong and comforting. as he pulled back, he added with a teasing glint in his eye, “and don’t worry—you’ll be seeing a lot more of me for the next month.” you managed a smile in return, though your mind was still spinning with the unexpected turn of events.

yoongi had changed significantly, to your shock. it seemed to make your father chuckle, his amusement evident at your reaction, but it wasn't temporary shock. you found yourself staring at him for a second too long, trying to process how much he had changed. he was handsome, he seemed less stoic than you remembered. he had been taking care of himself, it was evident in the way his skin shined under the sunlight and how his muscles flexed in his shirt that was just, maybe, a little too tight. you had remembered him as skinny, borderline bland, but he took good care of you while he had to. he looked amazing for his age, even though he wasn't too older than you.

his mine had chosen to run wild, too. he was aware that you were no longer the little girl he watched over with his ex-wife. you had changed, blossomed into a woman. he knew it beforehand, when you had started working. as much as you were a global hit, you were a national star just as much, if not more. he had seen the photos, the interviews, the shoots. the first time he saw them, your father had showed them to him with a proud smile on his face that seemed to clash with yoongi's shock. it wasn't negative in the slightest, he simply couldn't believe how bold and beautiful you had gotten. seeing you in person made all the difference, you were even prettier in person.

the hot water cascaded over your skin, the steady stream washing away the lingering tension of the day. you stood under the showerhead, eyes closed, letting the warmth seep into your muscles, relaxing the knots that had formed from the journey and the unexpected reunion. the steam filled the small bathroom, wrapping you in a comforting cocoon of heat and humidity. the scent of the lavender-scented body wash mingled with the steam, creating an almost meditative atmosphere. there, in the quiet, steamy space, the world outside felt distant, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to be fully present, savoring the solitude.

but as you turned off the water and reached for a towel, your hand met only empty space. panic sparked in your chest as you realized you had forgotten to bring one with you. the heat from the shower quickly dissipated, leaving your skin to prickle with the chill of the air. you glanced around the bathroom, hoping to find a spare towel or anything to cover yourself with, but there was nothing.

resigned, you wrapped your arms around yourself as best as you could, trying to cover your body as you opened the bathroom door just a crack. the house was quiet, the murmur of conversation from the yard barely audible through the walls. it was late, and most of the guests had left. you took a deep breath, assuring yourself that everyone else was either outside or already settled in for the night. the coast was clear. you stepped out into the hallway, your bare feet making no sound on the cool wooden floor. with your hands still clutched to your chest, you hurried towards your room, your steps quick and silent. the soft hum of the house was the only sound accompanying you, and you felt a small sense of relief as you neared the safety of your door.

but as you rounded the corner, your breath caught in your throat. standing in the hallway, just a few feet away, was yoongi. He froze, his eyes wide with surprise as they locked onto yours. for a split second, neither of you moved, the shock of the situation rooting you both in place. yoongi’s gaze traveled down, his eyes widening further as he took in the sight of you—damp, vulnerable, and very much exposed. you saw the moment he realized what he was doing, his eyes snapping back up to your face, filled with a mix of apology and something you couldn’t quite place. his mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came out. he seemed to be struggling with himself, as if trying to force his eyes away, but they lingered just a second too long before he finally managed to turn his head, averting his gaze.

your heart pounded in your chest, embarrassment flooding your system as you clutched the clothes in your hands to your body, trying to cover as much of yourself as possible. “i—i’m sorry,” you stammered, the words coming out in a breathless rush. “i forgot to bring a towel.” he shook his head quickly, his back still turned to you, his voice strained as he replied, “no, i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have looked. i didn’t mean to—i wasn’t trying to—” his words trailed off awkwardly, and you could see the tension in his shoulders as he gestured vaguely for you to return to the bathroom. “just go back. i won’t look.”

you didn’t need to be told twice. with your heart still racing, you turned on your heel and hurried back into the bathroom, closing the door behind you with a soft click. leaning against the cool tile, you let out a shaky breath, your skin tingling from both the chill and the residual heat of the shower. the image of his face, the way he had looked at you, flashed through your mind, and you felt your cheeks heat up in a mix of embarrassment and something else you couldn’t quite identify.

meanwhile, yoongi stood in the hallway, cursing himself silently. he had seen you grow up, watched you transform from the little girl he used to babysit into the stunning woman you were now. but that didn’t give him the right to look at you like that, to let his gaze linger when he knew he should have looked away. you were his friend’s daughter, and he was supposed to be here to support you, not ogle you like some kind of creep. he rubbed a hand over his face, trying to dispel the image of you that was now seared into his mind—the way your wet hair clung to your neck, the water droplets that had trailed down your skin, the way you had looked at him with those wide, startled eyes. he had to have some restraint. he couldn’t afford to lose control, not there, not now.

on the other side of the door, you were having similar thoughts. you couldn’t believe you had been so careless, so oblivious to the possibility that someone might see you. the last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable, or worse, to leave him with a bad impression of you. you had always respected him, admired him even, and now you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had ruined everything with one careless mistake. as you slowly dressed, your hands still trembling slightly, you couldn’t help but wonder how this would affect the next few weeks. you would be seeing a lot more of him, and the thought of facing him after what had just happened filled you with a mix of dread and nervous anticipation.

dinner that evening was quiet, the usual hum of the house interrupted only by the occasional clink of silverware against porcelain and the soft murmurs of conversation. the long wooden table, covered with a simple white cloth, held the comforting spread of homemade dishes—steamed vegetables, grilled meats, and a bowl of steaming rice, all of which your mother had prepared with care. you had slipped into the kitchen earlier, wordlessly assisting her in setting the table and serving the food. she had smiled at you, her face softening with an expression you hadn’t seen in years. “thank you for helping,” she had said, her voice tinged with a quiet appreciation that made you pause. you had simply nodded in return, trying to ignore the strange twist in your chest.

as you walked into the dining room, you couldn’t help but notice yoongi seated at the table, his posture relaxed but his eyes watchful, as if he were silently observing everything around him. you caught his gaze for the briefest moment, and your heart skipped a beat. his eyes were dark, reflecting the soft light of the room, and when he looked at you, it felt as though he could see right through you. flustered, you quickly looked away, busying yourself with placing the last of the dishes on the table. your mother noticed the faint pink on your cheeks but said nothing, though a small, knowing smile played on her lips.

“you look beautiful in that dress,” yoongi said suddenly, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the comfortable silence. You froze for a moment, the compliment catching you off guard. the white dress was simple, something you had thrown on without much thought, but the way he said it made it feel like a grand gesture.

“yes, it really suits you,” your mother added, her tone bright. she was beaming at you, clearly pleased that someone had noticed. you forced a smile, your hands twisting the fabric of your dress nervously. you could feel yoongi’s eyes on you, and when you finally looked up, he was smiling at you—not just a polite smile, but something warmer, softer, and it sent a shiver down your spine. you tried to smile back, but your lips wobbled with the effort.

you took your seat, feeling his presence beside you like a tangible force, even though he was seated across the table. your father, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, began to ask you about your recent time in italy. “how was it?” he inquired, his voice full of genuine curiosity.

you paused, gathering your thoughts, and then answered, “i indulged in three things in italy—writing, wine, and men.” the words slipped out with a playful lilt, intended to tease, and the room erupted in laughter. your father chuckled, your mother giggled, and even some of the guests offered polite laughs. but yoongi’s reaction was different. his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and there was something stiff about the way he forced it onto his face. you caught the change in his expression and quickly looked away, but the image of his tight-lipped smile lingered in your mind. the thought of you—his little princess, as he had once affectionately called you—indulging in men made his stomach churn. he couldn’t reconcile the image of the young girl he had known with the woman sitting before him now.

“did you find a boyfriend?” your mother asked, a hopeful glint in her eyes. the question was laced with expectation, but you shook your head, dismissing the idea. “no, i don’t have time for that,” you replied, waving off the notion with a flick of your hand. the truth was, the thought of settling down, of committing to someone, felt suffocating, especially when your life was a whirlwind of photoshoots and travel. you enjoyed the company, the fleeting connections, but nothing more.

your father nodded thoughtfully and asked about your writing, his voice full of encouragement. “and your writing? how’s that going?” you hesitated for a moment, thinking about the journals and notes you had scribbled away during your time abroad. “i’ve done some dabbling here and there,” you admitted, keeping your tone light. you knew your father was proud of your creativity, always encouraging you to express yourself. but the truth was that the words you had written were a reflection of your darkest thoughts, the sides of yourself you kept hidden from the world. they were pieces of you that you had no intention of sharing.

“you should show us sometime,” he suggested, smiling warmly at you. you nodded, knowing full well that you never would. those words were yours alone, a private sanctuary in a life that was otherwise so public. as dinner wound down, the conversation grew quieter, the energy of the evening mellowing out. the food was nearly finished, and you pushed your plate aside, offering to help your mother clear the table. “i’ll do it,” you said, standing up and beginning to gather the empty plates.

“i’ll help,” yoongi offered, standing up almost immediately, his hands reaching for the dishes as well. you glanced at him, surprised by his sudden eagerness, but you didn’t refuse. together, the two of you worked in silence, clearing the table and bringing the dishes into the kitchen. the room was warm, filled with the lingering smells of the meal, and the only sound was the soft clinking of dishes being stacked.

as you reached for the same plate, your fingers brushed against his. the touch was brief, but it sent a jolt through your system, your breath catching in your throat. you looked up, your eyes locking with his, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. his expression softened, something unreadable in his gaze, and you felt a blush creep up your neck, spreading across your cheeks. you both pulled your hands away quickly, embarrassed by the unintended contact. “sorry,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes as you focused on the dishes. “no, it’s fine,” yoongi replied, his voice steady, though there was an undercurrent of something deeper there. he paused, as if he wanted to say more, but instead, he simply turned away, continuing to clear the table.

the house had quieted down after dinner, the lingering smells of the meal now replaced with the comforting scent of night. you had helped your mother finish up in the kitchen, and after a few more polite exchanges with the guests, you excused yourself, claiming exhaustion from the long journey. your mother had given you a gentle, knowing smile, and your father had patted your shoulder, telling you to rest well. but even as you ascended the stairs, the house settling into a comfortable stillness, your thoughts were far from calm.

in your room, you began your nightly routine, each action methodical and deliberate, as if going through the motions might settle the unease in your chest. you pulled on a shirt—a soft, oversized one that hung loosely on your frame, the hem brushing against the tops of your thighs. it was one of those shirts that felt like a second skin, comforting in its familiarity. you paired it with a simple set of panties, the cool fabric brushing against your skin. the choice was practical, a blend of comfort and modesty, yet there was something almost intimate about it, a reminder of the solitude of the night.

you glanced at yourself in the mirror, the reflection showing a woman who should have been ready for sleep. but instead, your thoughts were restless, wandering to places you couldn’t quite control. you climbed into bed, the cool sheets welcoming against your warm skin, but the moment your head hit the pillow, you knew sleep would not come easily. there was something tugging at you, an inexplicable pull that you couldn’t ignore. it started as a whisper at the back of your mind, an insistent urge that grew louder with each passing moment. you told yourself it was foolish, that you should simply close your eyes and rest, but the more you tried to ignore it, the stronger the feeling became.

before you knew it, you were slipping out of bed, your bare feet silent against the wooden floor as you made your way out of your room. the house was dark, save for the faint moonlight streaming through the windows, casting long, pale shadows along the hallway. you moved quietly, the soft rustling of your shirt the only sound as you padded down the corridor, your heart beating steadily in your chest. you paused outside yoongi’s room, the door slightly ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling out into the hall. you could hear him inside, the soft rustle of fabric, the quiet sound of his movements. you knew you shouldn’t be here, that you should turn around and go back to bed, but something kept you rooted to the spot.

you peered through the gap in the door, your breath catching in your throat at the sight that greeted you. yoongi was standing by the bed, his back to you, shirtless. his skin was pale, almost glowing in the soft light, his muscles defined yet subtle, the kind of physique that spoke of quiet strength. his shoulders were broad, tapering down to a narrow waist, and as he reached for a shirt, you couldn’t help but admire the way his biceps flexed, the smooth lines of his back. you knew it was wrong to look, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away, your gaze drawn to the way the muscles in his back moved as he pulled the shirt over his head.

it was only when he turned around, his eyes locking with yours, that you realized you had been caught. your breath hitched, a wave of heat flooding your face as you stumbled over your words, flustered and embarrassed. “i—i’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper, “i didn’t mean to—” but he just smiled, that familiar, soft smile that you had seen countless times before. it was a smile that was both understanding and amused, as if he found your embarrassment endearing rather than intrusive. “it’s alright,” he said gently, his voice low and soothing. “you don’t have to apologize.”

you hesitated for a moment, still caught in the awkwardness of the situation, but then you found your voice again. “i just wanted to wish you a good night,” you said, your tone earnest, though your heart was still pounding in your chest. his smile widened, a hint of warmth in his eyes as he replied, “good night to you too.” there was a moment of silence, the air between you thick with something unspoken, and then you nodded, offering him a small, shy smile before turning to leave. as you walked away, you could feel his gaze on you, the weight of it sending a shiver down your spine.

when you returned to your room, the sense of restlessness had faded, replaced by a strange, warm feeling that you couldn’t quite explain. you slipped back into bed, pulling the sheets up around you, but this time, your thoughts were quieter, your mind slowly drifting towards sleep. in the room down the hall, yoongi stood for a moment, his mind replaying the brief exchange. he chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head. no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much you had grown and changed, to him, you were still that sweet, flustered angel—the same girl he had known all those years ago.

yoongi lay in the oppressive stillness of his room, his mind a tempest of conflicting emotions. the darkness enveloped him, offering no comfort, only amplifying the storm within. every attempt to find solace was met with the image of you in that absurdly tight white dress, an image that had seared itself into his consciousness with unforgiving clarity.

the sight of you—no longer the innocent child he once knew but a vision of such tantalizing allure—it was no shock when his hand found its way to his clothed dick, a silent admission of the battle he was losing. he began to stroke himself tentatively, the fabric of his boxers a barrier that only served to heighten the anticipation. his mind was a minefield of guilt and desire, each step he took towards release laden with the weight of his transgressions. he knew he should stop, that he should find some semblance of dignity and self-control, but his body was a traitor, demanding release from the prison of his own making.

his strokes grew more deliberate with his boxers gone, the friction increasing as he thought of what it would be like to touch you, to explore the softness of your skin and the heat that he was sure lay beneath. he bit his lip, trying to muffle the sounds of his own pleasure, his eyes fixed on the door that separated you from his indecent thoughts. the knowledge that you were so close only served to exacerbate his arousal, making his hand move faster and with more urgency.

his breath hitched as he imagined the moment of penetration, his cock pushing into you, feeling the warmth and wetness that was so alien to his usual solitary rituals. his hand was a poor substitute, but in the quiet of the night, it was all he had. the tension grew, a coil tightening in his balls, and he knew he was close. his thoughts grew more fervent, his strokes more frantic, until finally, with a silent groan, he reached climax.

his hand was sticky with his own release, a reminder of his failure to resist temptation. the guilt washed over him like a cold shower, leaving him trembling and ashamed. he knew he should clean up, should move on from this moment of weakness, but instead he lay there, panting and disgraced, the image of you still etched into his mind's eye. the quiet of the night was now a taunting silence, a reminder that he was alone in his depravity.

you awoke to the soft murmur of the morning light filtering through the curtains, its gentle embrace coaxing you from the depths of sleep. as you stretched languidly, you felt a sense of calm that made you smile. rising from your bed, you ribbed your eyes and padded softly down the stairs. the house was quiet, save for the faint, rhythmic ticking of a distant clock. it was a serene morning, perfect for easing into the day.

when you reached the kitchen, yoongi was already there, sitting at the table with a distracted air. his posture was rigid, and there was a certain tension in his demeanor that you couldn’t quite place. the moment you entered the room, his eyes flickered up toward you briefly before darting away. despite his efforts to look elsewhere, his gaze betrayed him, lingering far too long on your bare legs, which were still exposed, to his dismay. “good morning,” you said cheerfully, trying to set a light tone for the day. your voice was like a splash of warmth in the chilly air of the kitchen.

yoongi’s response was almost a whisper, a bare acknowledgment of your greeting. “morning.” you moved toward the coffee maker, the comforting routine of preparing breakfast a welcome distraction. “you want some coffee?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder at him. “yeah, that’d be great,” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of gratitude, though it was laced with an awkwardness that made you wonder about his mood.

as you busied yourself with the coffee, you noticed the kitchen was unusually empty. your parents were absent, a fact that piqued your curiosity. “where are my parents?” you inquired, your voice carrying a note of concern. yoongi shifted slightly, as if the question had pulled him from his own thoughts. “they’re out for the day,” he said, his gaze now firmly fixed on the table, avoiding meeting your eyes.

you nodded, accepting his answer without further question. the rhythmic sound of the coffee machine filled the silence as you went about your task. when you reached for the sugar, you bent over to retrieve it from the cabinet. the movement was casual, a natural part of your routine, but you were acutely aware of yoongi’s intense gaze. the breath caught in his throat was audible, a sharp intake of air that seemed to punctuate the otherwise silent kitchen. he watched the way your shirt rose, faltering just above your hips, giving him a view of your thighs pressed together, ass hanging in the air with nothing but a pair of stupidly red panties adorning your skin.

it struck you then that yoongi’s reaction was more than mere surprise. it was as if he was struggling to maintain composure, as though he thought you were doing this deliberately to tease him. but you weren’t aware of any such intent; it was simply the way you moved. you straightened up with the sugar and continued preparing the coffee. when you finally handed him his cup, his eyes met yours for a fleeting moment. despite the lack of makeup, you felt a surge of confidence in his presence. his eyes softened, and there was a fleeting, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at his lips as he took the cup from you.

he cleared his throat, his voice tentative as he ventured into a new topic. “so, i’ve been meaning to ask about your writing. you seemed hesitant to talk about it last night.” you chuckled softly, the sound light and airy. “my writing is a product of all my worst parts,” you said with a shrug, attempting to downplay its significance.

yoongi’s eyebrows knitted together, a look of disbelief crossing his face. “i don’t believe you have any bad parts,” he said earnestly, his eyes searching yours for a hint of the truth. you shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “you’d be surprised,” you replied. “there are things that even the closest people don’t see.”

his expression softened, and for a moment, the tension in the room seemed to ease. you felt a familiar sense of safety in his presence, as if no time had passed since the days when you had felt so secure in his company. the familiarity of his presence, combined with the casual conversation, made you feel as though the world outside had paused just for the two of you.

you prepared for a day by the pool with a casual elegance, slipping into a bikini that showcased your figure with a subtle confidence. over it, you draped a sheer cover—a delicate, airy jacket that fluttered with every movement, its only purpose to add a touch of grace rather than offer any real coverage. the fabric was almost ethereal, catching the sunlight with each step you took, giving you an otherworldly aura.

descending the stairs, you made your way back to the living room, where you spotted yoongi. the moment you entered his line of sight, he looked up, and the breath caught in his throat. his eyes widened, a visible shift in his demeanor as he took in the sight of you. his heart seemed to drop, overwhelmed by the sight of you in your swimwear, the sheer cover highlighting your figure in a way that was both mesmerizing and painfully distracting.

with a cheerful smile, you called out to him, “hey, i’m gonna be by the pool. if you need anything, i’ll be around.” he nodded, his response barely audible, as if his mind was struggling to catch up with the reality of the moment. there was a heavy silence between you, filled with unspoken tension, as you turned and made your way outside.

once by the pool, you settled into a lounge chair, stretching out and letting the warmth of the sun envelop you. the heat should have been palpable, but your thoughts were consumed by yoongi. the sun’s rays might have been intense, but they barely registered in your consciousness compared to the whirlwind of thoughts about him. your mind drifted, replaying moments with him, the sound of his voice, the way he looked at you.

the quiet of the morning was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. you turned your head, squinting against the sunlight to see yoongi emerging from the house. he was shirtless, the warmth of the sun glistening off his skin. in each hand, he carried a glass—one for him and one for you. you couldn’t help but gulp at the sight of him, the way his physique was revealed in the sunlight adding a new layer of intensity to your already tangled feelings.

he reached you and offered one of the glasses with a slight, nervous smile. “i brought you something to drink. vodka lemonade.” you accepted the glass with a grateful smile, the cool drink a welcome relief from the heat. “thank you,” you said, taking a sip and savoring the refreshing taste.

he sat down beside you, his own drink in hand. there was a hesitant chuckle in his voice as he remarked, “i can’t believe i’m watching you drink. it’s kind of surreal.” you laughed softly, the sound light and airy. “i’m not a little girl anymore,” you said, glancing at him with a playful glint in your eye. “can you believe it?”

yoongi’s laughter was nervous, a strained attempt at casualness. “yeah, i can,” he replied, though the lie was almost tangible in the way he avoided your gaze. oh, if only you had known just how deeply his words conflicted with his inner reality. the poolside atmosphere was serene, the gentle ripples of the water reflecting the sunlight and adding a soothing background to your conversation. you sipped your drink, feeling the cool liquid contrast pleasantly with the warmth of the sun on your skin. yoongi sat close beside you, the space between you charged with an undercurrent of unresolved tension.

the heat of the sun was almost unbearable, and you found yourself shifting restlessly on the lounge chair. the coolness of the vodka lemonade was not enough to quell the growing discomfort you felt. it wasn’t merely the oppressive heat that was troubling you; there was an unsettling awareness that you had developed feelings for yoongi, and it was all too complicated. you knew it was wrong, knew you shouldn’t feel this way, but the truth was undeniable.

rising from the lounge chair, you decided to seek refuge in the kitchen. the cool interior of the house was a welcome relief from the sweltering heat outside. you carried both glasses with you, their contents now barely touching the bottom of the tumblers. as you walked through the house, you could feel the tension in your steps, an eagerness to escape your own thoughts and the weight of your emotions.

once in the kitchen, you set the glasses down and grabbed the bottle of vodka and the jug of lemonade. the motion of pouring the vodka into the lemonade, the swirl of the liquid mixing together, was almost meditative. yet, the comfort of the routine did little to ease the restlessness simmering within you. in an effort to cool off, you discarded your sheer cover, letting it fall onto a nearby chair. the fabric slid off your shoulders and pooled on the seat, leaving you in your bikini once more.

the heat of the kitchen seemed to intensify as you stirred the drink, but it wasn't just the temperature that was making you sweat. you were grappling with the undeniable reality that you had feelings for yoongi—feelings that were supposed to be off-limits. the conflict inside you was almost as unbearable as the heat itself. he was quite literally your father's best friend, you had to keep repeating that to yourself, praying for some sort of voice of reason.

just as you were lost in thought, the sound of footsteps alerted you to yoongi’s presence. you turned to find him standing at the kitchen entrance, his eyes fixed on you. for a moment, time seemed to freeze. your heart leaped in your chest, each beat echoing the tumult of emotions that had been swirling within you. you cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. “are you okay?” you asked, the words slipping out with a hint of vulnerability.

his gaze was intense, almost pained as he took a step closer. he shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “how can i be okay?” he asked, his voice heavy with emotion. “with you like this around me, for the next month?” the words hung between you, charged with a tension that neither of you seemed able to escape. Your heart pounded as you processed the implication of his statement. it was clear now—he was feeling the same struggle, the same undeniable pull that you were.

you pressed your lips together, trying to find the right words. “i can’t handle it either,” you admitted quietly, the weight of your own confession settling over you. “but it feels so wrong.” to your surprise, yoongi closed the distance between you in a few swift strides. his hands reached out, gripping your waist with a firmness that was both reassuring and electrifying. his gaze was locked onto yours, filled with a blend of longing and resolve.

without another word, he pressed his lips against yours. the kiss was sudden, a powerful surge of emotion that seemed to silence every other thought in your mind. his touch was both demanding and tender, his lips moving with a desperate intensity that spoke volumes. when he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours with an almost anxious urgency. “does it still feel wrong?” he asked, his voice a low, husky murmur.

the question hung in the air, and without thinking, you responded by closing the space between you again. you pressed your lips against his, this time with a fierceness that matched the tumult of your feelings. the kiss was fervent, each movement a declaration of the emotions that had been kept in check for far too long.

his hands began to roam, exploring the curves of your body, lingering on your breasts. the feeling of his rough fingers against your sensitive skin made you gasp into his mouth. yoongi took advantage of the opportunity, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. you could feel the hunger in his touch, the need that mirrored your own.

his thumbs grazed your nipples, eliciting a moan from your throat. the sound seemed to drive him wild, and his touch grew more insistent. he pinched and rolled your nipples, sending bolts of pleasure straight to your core. your pussy grew wetter with each touch, and you found yourself grinding against his thigh, seeking relief from the growing ache.

his hands slid down to your waist, then under the fabric of your bikini bottom. with a swift motion, he pulled it aside, exposing your wet, eager pussy to the cool kitchen air. the contrast made you shiver, and you felt his cock harden against your stomach. the reality of what was happening was overwhelming, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. all that mattered was the feel of his hands on you, the taste of him, the promise of what was to come.

you broke the kiss, panting. “right here?” you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. yoongi nodded, his eyes dark with lust. “right here, right now,” he confirmed, his voice a gruff whisper. he stepped back, guiding you towards the kitchen counter. “i need to taste you,” he said, his gaze dropping to your pussy.

his words sent a thrill through you, and you eagerly climbed onto the counter. your legs parted, and he stepped between them, his eyes feasting on the sight before him. you watched as he leaned in, his breath hot against your skin. then, his tongue touched you. the sensation was exquisite, sending shockwaves through your body. you grabbed onto the edge of the counter, your knuckles turning white as you held on for dear life.

his tongue swirled around your clit, flicking and probing, as his fingers delved deeper into your pussy. you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your body tightening in anticipation. the air was thick with the scent of your arousal, and your moans filled the kitchen. it was all so wrong, but it felt so incredibly right.

his eyes met yours, and you could see the hunger in them, the desire to claim you in every way possible. without a second thought, you leaned back, exposing your throat. “choke me,” you begged, the words slipping out on a breathless whisper. yoongi’s eyes flared with surprise, but he didn’t hesitate. his hand wrapped around your throat, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you feel both safe and utterly vulnerable.

his mouth returned to your pussy, his tongue working in tandem with his fingers. the feeling of his hand on your throat, the way he controlled your breathing, was intoxicating. your orgasm built, wave upon wave of pleasure crashing over you. and when it finally hit, it was like nothing you had ever felt before—intense, all-consuming, and absolutely filthy.

his mouth remained on you, even as you gasped for air, his tongue lapping up every drop of your release. when he finally pulled away, his eyes were gleaming with satisfaction. “you gonna help me out, too?” he murmured, his voice low and seductive. “gonna suck my cock like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do?”

you slid off the counter, your legs wobbly from the intensity of your climax. dropping to your knees, you looked up at him, his cock standing proud and hard before you. without hesitation, you took him in your mouth, the taste of your juices mingling with the salty tang of his skin. his hand found its way to the back of your head, guiding you deeper. “fuck, princess, just like that,” he hissed, his grip tightening. you could feel his cock thicken in your mouth, and the power of the moment was exhilarating. you sucked and licked, eager to please him, to show him how much you wanted this.

his hips began to rock, fucking your mouth with an increasing urgency, his head embracing the back of your throat. you didn't care, you had all the reasons in the world to stop and set boundaries, but even more not too. he pulled at your hair, grunting with his heavy cock splitting your throat open. he looked down at you, your teary eyes and puffy lips, and it only made it worse for him, his cock throbbing in your mouth, but he couldn't cum like that. he needed to feel you, to tear you apart, to ensure that you'd never look for that kind of control from any other boy. nobody but him, he was the perfect pick. you needed somebody just a little bit older.

his cock slipped out of your mouth with a wet pop, and before you could even gasp for air, he turned you around, pressing you against the counter. his hand found its way into your bikini again, two thick fingers plunging into your pussy. you felt yourself stretch around him, your body begging for more. “you're soaked,” he murmured, his voice filled with a dark kind of glee. “you're gonna be the death of me.” you pushed back against his hand, wanting him to go deeper, to fill the ache that had only been heightened by his touch. “please,” you moaned, the word barely coherent as it slipped from your lips. “i need you.”

yoongi stepped closer, his body pressing against your back. “you're gonna get me,” he promised, his voice gruff with desire. he removed his fingers and lined up his cock, pressing the head against your entrance. he hadn't even pushed past your sopping folds yet, and you were already a mess. you felt him enter you, inch by inch, stretching you out. it was painful and perfect all at once, his girth splitting you open, filling you up in a way that made you feel so full, so alive. you bit your lip to stifle a scream as he pushed deeper, until he was fully seated inside you. your pussy clenched around him, desperate to keep him there, to never let him go.

his hand returned to your throat, squeezing gently as he began to move. the counter was cold against your stomach, but you didn't care. all you could focus on was the way he filled you, the way his cock slammed into you with each powerful thrust. his other hand snaked around your body, playing with your clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

his grip tightened on your throat, cutting off your air. you felt the panic rise, but it only made you wetter. “you like that, don't you?” he whispered into your ear, his breath hot against your neck. “you like being choked while i fuck you?” your eyes rolled back in your head, and you nodded frantically. it was sick, it was twisted, but you didn't care. it felt too good to think about stopping.

his strokes grew faster, more erratic, his breathing ragged in your ear. “i'm gonna cum," he warned, his voice strained. “where do you want it?” you choked out the words, “inside me,” and he growled his approval. with one final, powerful thrust, he released his grip on your throat, and you felt his warmth flood into you. your body convulsed around him, your own orgasm ripping through you with a ferocity that left you trembling.

his cock remained buried inside you as he leaned over, pressing his sweat-slicked chest against your back. “all mine,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “mine to fuck, to fill up with my cum.” your pussy clenched around him, milking every drop he had to give. the thought of his cum inside you, claiming you, made your core throb with a deep, primal need.

his cock slid out of you, and you felt the emptiness acutely. but before you could protest, he was pushing his cum-soaked fingers into your mouth. “have a taste,” he demanded, and you eagerly complied. the taste was salty and bitter, but it only served to drive you wild. your eyes watered as you sucked on his digits, cleaning them thoroughly.

he pulled away, his fingers tugging your bikini bottom up, the fabric pushing his sticky cum further into your sore cunt. “keep it in,” he ordered, his eyes dark and possessive. “i don't want my cum to spill out of that tight little cunt.” you nodded, standing on shaky legs. he reached out, grabbing your chin and tilting your face up to his. “good girl,” he praised, his eyes searching yours.

you stepped away from the counter, the stickiness between your legs a constant reminder of what had just happened. your bikini was askew, and your body was still flushed with arousal. yoongi reached out, gently adjusting your bottoms to cover your swollen pussy. “don't tell anyone,” he whispered, his eyes serious. “this is our little secret.” you nodded, your throat tight with the promise of more to come. the air was thick with the scent of sex, and the kitchen felt different now—like a sacred space where you had both lost and found something in the heat of passion. “i won't,” you murmured, your voice hoarse. “but what happens now?”

yoongi leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “now,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “we do this again, and again. until we can't get enough of each other.” his hand slid down to cup your ass, squeezing it possessively. “you're mine, and i have no intention of letting you go.” the words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of excitement and fear. you knew this was wrong, knew that it could ruin everything, but the feeling of his cum inside you, his claim on your body, was too tempting to resist. you were in too deep, and you had no intention of climbing out

the hours stretched interminably, the passage of time marked only by the shifting light that filtered through the windows. you found yourself drifting between contemplation and restlessness, your thoughts endlessly circling the intimacy you had shared with yoongi. the weight of the moment, the raw intensity of the sex, seemed to press down on you with an almost unbearable gravity.

you had retreated to your room, seeking solace in its familiar confines. the bed, once a place of comfort, now felt like a vessel of confusion and regret. you lay there, staring at the ceiling, the room around you bathed in the soft glow of late afternoon sunlight. your mind was a turbulent sea, tossing around memories of the kiss, the touch of his hands on your waist, and the conflicted look in his eyes. the sex, though fleeting, had been a revelation, an unspoken admission of what lay between you, and the enormity of it was daunting.

every time you closed your eyes, his face would appear, his gaze filled with a mixture of longing and anguish. the guilt that gnawed at you was mirrored by his own struggle. you had noticed it earlier when he had walked away from the kitchen, his shoulders slumped and his expression a portrait of internal conflict. it was clear that he was grappling with the same turmoil that had taken root within you.

the silence of the room was occasionally broken by the vibrations of your phone. the pings were a jarring intrusion into your contemplation, each one a reminder of the world outside your cocoon of worry. finally, when you reached for your phone, you found a message from taehyung, a friend whose exuberance was a contrast to the somber mood you were engulfed in. it read, “hey! i heard you’re back in daegu. i’m at the club tonight, and it’s been a while. you should come out and join me.”

the simplicity of taehyung’s invitation, the promise of an evening away from your internal strife, was like a breath of fresh air. it was exactly what you needed to escape the relentless spiral of guilt and self-reproach that had been consuming you. the thought of a night at the club, surrounded by friends and lost in the rhythm of music, was a welcome distraction, a way to momentarily forget the weight of your decisions and the confusion surrounding your feelings for yoongi.

without hesitation, you texted him back, accepting his invitation with a mix of relief and eagerness. the prospect of spending a night out, dancing and socializing, offered a tangible remedy to the unease that had settled so heavily upon you. in the privacy of your room, you stood in front of the mirror, preparing for a night out at the club. you had carefully chosen an outfit that was both stylish and expressive of your current mood—a sleek, black dress with a daring neckline that accentuated your figure, paired with heels that added just the right amount of allure. the dress clung to your curves in a way that felt both confident and liberating, each movement highlighting the grace you carried with you.

you applied your makeup with a meticulous touch, opting for a smoky eye that added a touch of glamour, and a bold lip color that completed the look. each brushstroke was a deliberate effort to transform yourself into someone who could temporarily escape the heaviness of recent days. the final touch was a pair of sparkling earrings that caught the light as you moved, completing your ensemble with a flourish.

as you finished getting ready, you heard the faint sounds of yoongi moving about in his room across the hall. you knew he was there, but the emotional weight of your recent interactions had kept you from directly addressing him. yonight was about reclaiming a sense of normalcy and fun, and the club seemed like the perfect escape. as you prepared to leave, you crossed the hall to grab a quick look at your reflection in the full-length mirror one last time. just as you turned, yoongi’s door opened slightly. he stepped into the hallway, his eyes widening in surprise as they took in the sight of you.

“where are you off to?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of curiosity mingled with an undertone of something else—something darker. you flashed him a bright, carefree smile, trying to inject a sense of lightness into the conversation. “taehyung is taking me to a club tonight,” you said, your voice cheerful despite the undercurrent of unease you felt.

his reaction was immediate. a flicker of frustration crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with a strained smile. “okay,” he replied, his voice barely concealing the tension that simmered beneath his words. “have a good time.” you nodded, feeling a pang of guilt at his subdued reaction, but the promise of a night out with friends was too alluring to ignore. you offered a final smile before turning and walking down the stairs, the click of your heels echoing in the quiet house.

as you stepped outside, the cool night air greeted you with a refreshing contrast to the warm interior. taehyung was waiting by his car, his face lighting up with a friendly grin as he saw you approach. he stepped out of the vehicle, and the two of you exchanged a warm hug. his arms encircled you in a friendly embrace, his laughter ringing out as he playfully commented on how good you looked.

from the window, yoongi watched the scene unfold with a growing sense of unease. he saw the way taehyung looked at you, the way his eyes lingered on you with an admiration that seemed to cut through the night’s darkness. the casual familiarity of your hug, the easy way taehyung interacted with you, ignited a smoldering frustration within yoongi. he clenched his fists, trying to suppress the bubbling anger that rose within him. it wasn’t just the sight of you with someone else—it was the way taehyung’s gaze seemed to hold a mixture of affection and possessiveness that yoongi found almost unbearable. every movement, every gesture, seemed to etch itself into his memory with a burning intensity.

as you and taehyung got into the car and drove away, yoongi’s eyes remained fixed on the scene. the darkness of the night and the dim streetlights cast long shadows, but his thoughts were sharp and clear. the image of taehyung’s hug, the warmth and ease between the two of you, was seared into his mind, adding fuel to the smoldering frustration that had taken root within him.

the club was a pulsating whirl of neon lights and thumping bass, the energy of the crowd vibrating through the floor and into your very bones. the air was thick with the mingling scents of perfume and sweat, and the faint haze of smoke from the fog machines created an almost dreamlike atmosphere. music reverberated through every corner, a relentless beat that drove the rhythm of the night.

you and taehyung arrived to a warm welcome from the crowd, who greeted you with a mix of admiration and excitement. the club’s patrons had clearly heard of your return to daegu, and you were immediately swept up in the buzz of their enthusiasm. as you made your way through the throng of bodies, taehyung by your side, you found yourself caught in a whirlwind of flashing lights and lively chatter.

at the bar, you signed another autograph, your signature fluid and practiced as you scrawled your name on a series of glossy photos and memorabilia. taehyung stood beside you, his laughter a comforting sound amid the chaos. “i’ll never get used to this,” he said, shaking his head with a grin. his eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and curiosity. you chuckled softly, the sound almost lost amidst the cacophony of the club. “neither will i,” you admitted, your voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. the constant attention, the flashes of cameras, it all felt a bit surreal, a reminder of the world you had momentarily stepped away from.

his expression softened as he glanced at you, noticing the subtle change in your demeanor. “why so down?” he asked, his tone gentle but inquisitive. you hesitated for a moment, the weight of your recent experiences heavy on your shoulders. “it’s a long story,” you replied, not willing to delve into the complexities of your emotions right now.

his eyes showed a glimmer of understanding, and he didn’t press further. instead, he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “well, don’t let it ruin tonight. you’re here to have fun, remember? just let go and enjoy yourself for once.” his encouragement was a lifeline, and you took it to heart. you smiled at him, gratitude mingling with the resolve to let the night’s energy lift you from your thoughts. “okay,” you said, taking a deep breath. “let’s do this.”

the two of you moved towards the dance floor, the pulsating rhythm of the music beckoning you closer. as you stepped onto the floor, the crowd seemed to part and then close around you, a living sea of people moving in sync with the beat. he slipped into the rhythm effortlessly, his movements fluid and confident. you followed his lead, allowing the music to wash over you and carry away the remnants of your lingering worries.

the lights above shifted in a kaleidoscope of colors, casting dynamic patterns across the dance floor. you lost yourself in the beat, your body swaying and twisting in time with the music. the beats were relentless, and as you danced, you felt the strain of the day’s emotions slowly dissolve, replaced by the exhilaration of the moment. the music seemed to resonate with something deep inside you, a reminder of the joy and freedom that had once been so familiar.

you occasionally glanced at taehyung, who was clearly having a blast. his infectious energy was a bright spot in the evening, and his carefree dancing seemed to pull you further into the night’s festivities. every now and then, he would catch your eye and flash a grin, as if to say, “see? isn’t this fun?”

as the night wore on, you took a break from dancing to grab a drink. the bar was bustling with activity, and the bartender quickly mixed a vibrant cocktail that was both refreshing and potent. you sipped the drink, feeling its coolness slide down your throat, and let the alcohol take the edge off your remaining anxieties. the conversation around you was a pleasant hum, and you found yourself engaging in light, cheerful banter with a few fellow partygoers.

every once in a while, you would catch sight of taehyung making his way through the crowd, often surrounded by a small group of admirers. his laughter and charisma were magnetic, drawing people in and creating an atmosphere of shared joy. you were grateful for his presence, his ability to make the night feel lighter and more enjoyable.

the night continued in a blur of music, dancing, and shared moments of joy. you felt a renewed sense of connection with taehyung and the people around you, a reminder that even amidst personal turmoil, there was still space for fun and camaraderie. as the hours passed and the club’s lights began to dim, signaling the approach of closing time, you felt a sense of contentment.

stepping outside into the cool night air, you took a deep breath, savoring the contrast between the heated club and the refreshing outside air. he stood beside you, his expression one of satisfaction and camaraderie. “see? that wasn’t so bad,” he said, nudging you playfully. you smiled, feeling a genuine sense of relief. “thanks for getting me out tonight,” you said. “i needed this.”

his grin widened. “anytime. let’s just make sure you don’t stay cooped up forever. there’s a lot more fun to be had.” as you both made your way to the car, the night felt lighter, and the burdens of the past few days seemed a little more manageable. the club had provided the distraction you needed, and as you drove away with taehyung, you allowed yourself to savor the fleeting moments of carefree joy that the night had offered.

in the stillness of the living room, the ticking of the clock seemed to echo louder with each passing second. yoongi sat slouched on the sofa, the dim light from the table lamp casting shadows across his face. his fingers fumbled with a can of beer, the metallic crumple of the empty container a testament to his mounting frustration. it was two in the morning, and you still hadn't come home. the silence of the house was oppressive, amplifying his anxiety and gnawing at his thoughts.

had something happened to you? had a stranger taken you for the night? the possibilities raced through his mind, each one more unsettling than the last. the quietness of the house was occasionally interrupted by the distant hum of the refrigerator or the soft rustle of the curtains, but these sounds did little to soothe his growing unease.

he watched the second hand of the clock tick away, each movement a reminder of the time slipping by. his fingers drummed impatiently against his knee, and the empty beer cans scattered on the table beside him were a reminder of how long he’d been waiting. the weight of his concern grew heavier with each passing minute, turning into an almost unbearable pressure.

finally, a sound broke through the silence—the unmistakable click of the front door opening. yoongi’s head snapped up, his heart racing with a mixture of relief and frustration. he watched as you stumbled into the living room, your movements unsteady and your eyes slightly glazed. the sight of you brought a wave of relief, but it was quickly overshadowed by a surge of anger.

you wobbled slightly as you approached him, your gaze softening as you took in his presence. with a tired but genuine smile, you wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning into him. “i missed you,” you murmured, your voice thick with the effects of too many martinis. he let out a low chuckle, his amusement tinged with exasperation. “you smell like alcohol,” he observed, his tone more resigned than accusatory.

you frowned slightly and gestured towards the table where the empty beer cans lay. “and you’re no better,” you retorted, a playful edge to your words despite your unsteady stance. he raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “what were you doing at the club for so long?” he asked, his tone more serious now.

you shrugged, your arms still draped around his neck. “having fun,” you replied, a hint of mischief in your voice. he scoffed, a small smile playing on his lips. “with who?” he demanded, his tone edged with a hint of jealousy.

you grinned, a contented sigh escaping your lips. “with taehyung,” you said, the name rolling off your tongue with an affectionate lilt. his expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the information. to your surprise, he reached out and gently lifted you up, placing you onto his lap. the movement was deliberate, his hold firm but gentle as he settled you comfortably. “with taehyung, huh?” he said, his voice low and contemplative as he looked at you.

you nodded shyly, your hands pressing against his chest for balance. “yeah,” you said softly, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. his gaze lingered on you, a conflicted mix of emotions evident in his eyes. “you two must be pretty close, huh?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of possessiveness.

you nodded again, feeling the intensity of his stare. “we’re friends,” you said, your voice steady despite the lingering effects of the alcohol. his eyes darkened slightly, his frustration evident. “i don’t like that,” he said, his tone firm and resolute.

you tilted your head slightly, leaning into his touch as you pressed closer to him. “why not?” you asked, your voice soft and inquisitive. his hand slipped to the back of your neck, his fingers brushing gently against your skin. “friends who look at you the way he does,” he said, his voice a low whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. he paused, his lips brushing against your neck as he continued, “make my blood boil.”

your eyes fluttered shut at his touch, the warmth of his breath mingling with the softness of his lips. the sensation was intoxicating, drawing you closer to him. without further hesitation, yoongi closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. the kiss was both urgent and tender, a mixture of the longing and frustration that had been building between you. his arms encircled you, pulling you even closer as the world outside seemed to fade away.

the kiss deepened, his fingers tangling in your hair as he explored the softness of your lips. it was a moment of pure connection, a release of the emotions that had been pent up for too long. the intensity of his touch, the warmth of his embrace, made you feel as though nothing else mattered in that moment.

his hand slid down to the small of your back, his grip tightening as he pulled you onto his lap. the fabric of your black dress was thin, offering little resistance to his touch. you could feel his arousal pressing against your thigh, a silent declaration of his desire. your breath hitched in your throat as his hand moved higher, cupping your breast through the material. your nipples were already hard, begging for his attention.

without breaking the kiss, yoongi reached down and began to tug at the hem of your dress. the sound of fabric ripping filled the room as he pulled it up over your head, leaving you in just your lacy black lingerie. the sight of you half-dressed was almost too much for him to handle. his eyes raked over your body, taking in every inch of your exposed skin. his hands roamed over your curves, his fingers tracing the lace of your panties. as he pulled them down, he caught a glimpse of the cum stain from earlier, a pleasant reminder of what he had done. his eyes flashed with possessive lust as he took in the sight of his dry cum on the fabric. “took it like such a good girl,” he growled, his voice thick with desire.

his hands found your hips, guiding you onto his waiting erection. the sensation of skin on skin was electrifying, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. he was rougher this time, his movements urgent and demanding. with each thrust, he slapped your pussy, the sound echoing in the quiet room. the stinging sensation only served to heighten your arousal, making you moan louder with each hit.

his hands gripped your waist, his hips moving in a steady rhythm that had you riding him like a wave. the feeling of his cock filling you up was almost too much to bear, but you craved more. your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving little half-moons in his skin as you leaned back, throwing your head back in ecstasy.

his dirty talk grew more intense, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your chest. “don’t wanna see you with anymore boys,” he said, his eyes never leaving yours. “they won’t ever get to have you like this.” the words sent a fresh wave of desire through you, your walls tightening around him as you neared climax. his strokes grew more erratic, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he approached his own release. you could feel him swelling inside you, his muscles tensing as he fought to hold back. but you were beyond caring about his control, your own need overwhelming any thought of restraint.

he took sight of the way his cock buried itself in your stomach, the outline evident. it was enoufh to make his dick twitch, he could practically see it happening. finally, with a guttural groan, he let go, filling you with his hot cum. the sensation pushed you over the edge, and you came hard, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. tears streamed down your face, not from pain, but from the intensity of the pleasure that consumed you. as you collapsed onto his chest, gasping for air, you realized that this was the most alive you had ever felt.

“we need to stop doing this,” you exhaled softly, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. “stop?” he echoed, his voice gruff and surprised.

“it’s complicated enough already,” you murmured, your heart racing from the aftershocks of your climax. his grip on your waist tightened, his cock still pulsing inside you. “i don’t want us to stop,” he said, his voice unyielding. “is it such a crime to want you all to myself?”

his words sent a thrill through you, but also a pang of fear. you knew the consequences of your actions, the web of lies and deceit that would unravel if anyone found out. yet, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt towards him, the way he made you feel alive and desired in a way no one else ever had. you pushed the thoughts aside and focused on the present, the warmth of his embrace, the scent of your mingled arousal, and the sticky mess between your legs. it was a mess you didn’t want to clean up, a mess that was a testament to your shared passion.

his hands began to move again, stroking your body with a gentle fierceness that made your skin tingle. he knew exactly how to touch you, how to make you ache for more. his fingers traced the path of his earlier possession, the cum stain on your panties now a wet smear as he slid his digits through it.

you gasped as he brought his hand up to your face, your own cum glistening on his fingers. before you could protest, he brought them to your mouth and slid them in, urging you to taste. the sweet and salty flavor filled your mouth, and you felt a wave of submission wash over you. his other hand found your clit, his thumb flicking and circling the sensitive nub as he began to thrust into you once more. his cock was still hard, the friction of his earlier release only adding to the intensity of the moment.

you couldn’t help but moan, your eyes fluttering shut as you gave in to the sensations. the room spun around you, your body no longer your own as he claimed you over and over again. it was a rough, animalistic fucking that made you feel more alive than you ever had. his slaps grew more forceful, his words more demanding. “say it,” he ordered, his voice harsh in your ear. “say you’re mine, only mine.”

“yoongi,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper. “i’m yours, only yours.” his pace quickened, his strokes becoming more erratic as he neared his second climax. you could feel his balls tightening, his body coiling like a spring ready to release. with a final, desperate groan, he emptied himself inside you, his cum mixing with your juices.

you collapsed onto him a second time, your body trembling with exhaustion and satisfaction. the room was still, the only sound the harshness of your breathing and the thundering of your hearts. for a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered but the two of you, lost in a sea of passion and desire. but reality would come crashing back soon enough, with the light of day and the harsh truth of your actions. for now, though, you were his, and he was yours, bound by a secret that neither of you could escape.

you sat at your desk, the dim light of your lamp casting a soft glow over the pages of your journal. the room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of the pages as you turned them, the only sound breaking the silence of your introspective evening. the journal was your refuge, the place where you poured out your grief and unspoken pain, each word a release of the emotions that had been bottled up for too long.

your pen moved across the page in a hurried scrawl, the ink reflecting the depth of your sorrow. you wrote about the ache of missing your old self, the pressure of expectations unmet, and the weight of a future that seemed increasingly uncertain. tears blurred your vision, making the words on the page dance and waver. each tear that fell onto the paper seemed to absorb the rawness of your emotions, the ink smudging as your sorrow seeped into the pages.

you had shared so much with those sheets of paper, details of your grief that had remained unspoken. it was as if the journal was an extension of your heart, a place where your deepest fears and frustrations could find solace. but tonight, the act of writing felt especially cathartic and painful, the tears falling freely as you bared your soul to the empty pages.

the sound of footsteps from downstairs interrupted your solitude. you closed the journal and wiped your eyes hastily, trying to regain composure as you headed towards the staircase. the air downstairs was cooler, and the distant clinking of dishes and murmurs of conversation signaled that your mother was awake.

as you descended the stairs, you saw her seated at the kitchen table, her gaze directed towards the window. yoongi was in the living room, his presence a silent comfort in the midst of the familial tension. you greeted them quietly, your heart heavy with the emotions that you had tried so hard to contain. your mother looked up as you entered the kitchen, her expression unreadable. “how’s work?” she asked, her tone neutral but carrying a hint of concern. “when do you have to go back?”

you took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “i’ll be going back after the month passes,” you replied, forcing a calmness that didn’t match the turmoil inside you. she nodded, but there was a shadow of disapproval in her eyes. “i prayed for your success, you know,” she said. “but i wish you had chosen a different path—one that’s more respectable. you could have been a doctor, a lawyer, someone who makes a real difference. instead, you’re just posing for a camera.”

the words struck you like a physical blow, each syllable a reminder of the gap between your aspirations and her expectations. your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, your heart aching with the weight of her judgment. “i’m sorry,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, the apology feeling inadequate in the face of her disapproval. her gaze softened slightly, but the damage was done. the conversation had laid bare the fact that no matter how hard you worked, no matter how much you achieved, your mother’s acceptance was always just out of reach. the realization was a sharp, stinging reminder of the ongoing struggle to reconcile your dreams with her expectations.

without a word, you excused yourself from the room, the weight of the conversation pressing heavily on your shoulders. you moved with a sense of urgency towards the bathroom, needing a moment away from the prying eyes and the crushing disappointment. in the bathroom, the cool, sterile light offered little comfort as you shut the door behind you. you leaned against the sink, your hands shaking as you fumbled with the tap, letting the water run until it became a soothing backdrop to your tears. the tears came freely now, each drop a release of the pain you had been holding inside. the harsh brightness of the bathroom seemed to amplify your emotions, every sob echoing in the stillness of the room.

you closed your eyes tightly, letting the tears flow unabated. the mirror reflected your tear-streaked face, the red-rimmed eyes a testament to the depth of your grief. you took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm the storm of emotions that had been stirred up by your mother’s words. the tears were a release, a way of letting go of the pent-up frustration and sadness. as the sobs began to subside, you found solace in the simple act of crying, allowing yourself to feel the weight of your mother’s disapproval and the grief of your own unmet expectations. you knew that the moment of vulnerability was a necessary part of your healing process, a way to confront and process the emotions that had been building up inside you.

yoongi's heart felt heavy with the weight of the earlier conversation. his concern for you had deepened, and he felt an overwhelming urge to understand more about what you were going through. his feet, driven by a mix of worry and compassion, carried him towards your room. the door creaked open slowly, and yoongi stepped into the space that was so intimately yours. the room was bathed in a soft glow from a lamp on your nightstand, its light gently illuminating the walls adorned with photographs. his eyes were immediately drawn to the collection of images, a testament to the life you had lived.

photos of you as a little girl lined one wall, capturing moments of innocence and joy. in some, you were caught in candid laughter, a radiant smile lighting up your face. others showed you at milestones, each image a snapshot of a time before the complexities of adulthood began to weigh heavily on you. yoongi’s chest tightened at the sight, a pang of sorrow stirring in his stomach. it was impossible not to feel the ache of how much you had grown, how far you had come from that wide-eyed child full of dreams.

next to those nostalgic images were more recent photos—of you as you were now, your beauty more striking than ever, yet layered with an undeniable sadness. each photograph seemed to tell a story of its own, a reflection of the woman you had become. his heart ached at the contrast between the vibrant child in the old pictures and the poignant figure in the more recent ones. it was clear that beneath the surface of your radiant exterior lay a deep, unresolved pain.

his gaze was drawn to the desk, where he saw your journal resting atop a pile of neatly stacked papers. he hesitated for a moment, knowing it was a violation of your privacy, but the pull of his concern was stronger. with trembling hands, he opened the journal, its pages warm from the gentle light of the lamp.

the first entry his eyes fell upon was a stark revelation of your inner turmoil, “i want to die, doesn’t everyone?” the words were raw and haunting, a glimpse into the depths of your suffering. yoongi’s breath caught in his throat as he read on, his heart breaking with each line. you had written about sleepless nights, about the emptiness that came with a lack of meals, and the guilt you felt for your suffering despite having what many would envy. the words were a vivid portrait of your struggle, painting a picture of the pain you had carried alone.

further along, you wrote about your mother, your conflicted feelings towards her. despite her love, you had felt her disapproval, her preference for a different path for you. the way you described your feelings of inadequacy, the yearning for acceptance, cut deep into yoongi’s heart. each entry was a window into a world of quiet desperation, a reflection of your most private fears and regrets.

as his eyes scanned the entries, he felt a profound sadness. the weight of your words, the anguish you had poured onto the pages, seemed to press down on him with a crushing force. he was lost in the depth of your pain when he heard the softest of voices behind him. “it’s stupid, isn’t it?” he turned sharply to see you standing in the doorway, a sad smile on your face, the remnants of tears still visible on your cheeks. his heart ached even more seeing you like that, so vulnerable and exposed. he took a step towards you, his face reflecting a mix of anguish and determination.

“nothing you feel could ever be stupid,” he said gently, his voice laden with sincerity. his hand reached out, brushing the tears from your cheeks with a tenderness that spoke volumes. “why didn’t you tell me about this? why didn’t you share any of this with me?” you shrugged, your gaze falling to the floor as if it held the answers you couldn’t articulate. “i always had a feeling i’d never live long,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

yoongi’s breath caught at your words. the notion that you felt such a finality in your existence was more than he could bear. without thinking, he closed the distance between you, pulling you into a tight embrace. the hug was a physical manifestation of his anguish and his need to offer you comfort. he stiffened as he held you, the weight of your words settling heavily on his shoulders. “never say that again,” he whispered fiercely into your ear, his voice trembling with emotion. “is that really what you want? to leave me alone, to fight it all in silence?”

you clung to him, your tears soaking into his shirt as you cried into his shoulder. “i’d give anything to be the little girl you remember,” you admitted between sobs. “i miss her more than anyone.”

his heart broke at your admission. he pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his own filled with an earnest intensity. “you should be proud of the woman you’ve become,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions within him. “that little girl would be so proud of you. and no one could be more proud than i am.”

you looked at him, searching his face for any trace of insincerity, but all you found was a deep, unwavering conviction. “you really think so?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “yes,” he affirmed, his eyes locked onto yours with a warmth that seemed to dispel the shadows of doubt. “she would be proud, but nobody could be as proud as me. you’ve grown into someone incredible, someone who has faced so much and still stands strong.”

in that moment, wrapped in his embrace, you felt a sense of comfort and acceptance that had been elusive for so long. his words, filled with genuine admiration and affection, offered a glimmer of hope amid the lingering darkness. you clung to the promise in his voice, the promise that despite everything, you were valued, you were loved, and you were worthy of pride.

✧.*

a/n: a shorter one lol a dabble if u will

[shittyminecraftmodsdaily]

A mod where you have to craft a bow into a bow and arrow each time before you shoot it

yep, that’s shitty. 

[baby-bearie]

the waves don’t move here

(NOT MY GIF)

jj maybank x reader

taglist: @sunflowermotel @howdyherron @drew-starkey @maraseavey @outerbanqs @yelyahryan @loveylangdon @obxwriterfan @avashroom @rewindlr @raekenliar @ceruleanjj @dolanfivsosxox @heyhargrove @lashtonandmalumsbaby @beautyandthebleh @pancahke @outrbank @kiarasflowr @corleigh @poguemacking @kristineee-obx @shawnssongs @thorsangel @daniel9seavey9 @hopefultrashforanythingreally @maybe-maybanks @katie-avery @snarkystarkey @5sos-seavey @jjmaebank

a/n: i know y’all don’t like the magical stuff as much, but i kind of liked this idea so this one’s for me :)

The sky is a weird shade of blue. 

That’s all you can think about. The sky is a brighter shade of blue than it normally is. Everything looks brighter. 

The trees are overly green, the road is nearly blinding you with how much the asphalt is reflecting the sun, and you realize you have no clue where you are. 

Or how you got there. 

You’re standing in the middle of the street. There is absolutely nobody around. It’s eerily silent. 

Not even a bird chirps. 

You search your brain to try and figure out how you wound up here. The street around you looks vaguely familiar. The look of the houses, the sound of waves crashing nearby tell you you’re still home. 

But you know every single inch of your island, and you’ve never been on this street before. 

Your legs carry you down the street without you even realizing, and you’re suddenly facing the ocean. The dock you stand on is just as unfamiliar as the street was. It looks somewhat like home, but deep down you know it’s not. This is not home. 

It doesn’t take you long to realize this is a dream. In what world would the Outer Banks ever be this quiet?

Once you realize, you settle yourself on the end of the dock, dipping your legs into the water. There are no ships in sight. The ocean is open, endless. The water doesn’t move. 

You’ve always wondered what it would be like to lucid dream. You’re pretty sure the very first step is to realize you’re dreaming. 

Check. You pinch your arm to see if you can wake yourself up and nothing happens. 

Maybe you can control the dream. Maybe you can manifest a tiger. 

You close your eyes and scrunch them up tightly. 

How do you create a tiger? You try and picture one in your mind. 

You peek one eye open. No tiger. 

Okay, maybe you need to say it out loud. “A tiger.” 

You point to the dock, still closing your eyes. 

“Roar?” 

The sound of a voice, a human voice, makes you open your eyes and turn sharply. 

It’s a boy. About your age, too. He seats himself next to you. 

Apparently, your subconscious definitely knows how to make your perfect guy. He’s not a tiger, but he’s a hell of a lot better. 

You’re not waking up anytime soon. You might as well play along. 

“Hi,” you deadpan. 

“Hi,” his voice is filled with confusion. “I’m JJ.” 

Your subconscious knows what you like really well if it’s making a voice like that. 

“I’m Y/n. But, you know. You probably know that.” You laugh. This is so weird. You’re introducing you to yourself. 

“Why would I know that?” JJ questions, sounding more confused than before. 

“Because, you know,” You nod at JJ, assuming this manifestation of yourself understands. He just shrugs. 

“So, like, who are you? Like, what are you doing here?” You prod.

“Shouldn’t I ask you that?” He shoots back. Now it’s your turn to be confused. 

“No?” 

You don’t remember how long you talked to JJ that night. You remember telling him how you can’t stand the texture of mushy apples, though. You remember him telling you the craziest things about a treasure hunt. 

God, you really did have an overactive imagination.

When you wake up the next morning, the only thing you can recall other than JJ is the way the waves didn’t move. 

You spend the day at work, bussing tables at the Wreck. It’s a good distraction from your running mind. 

When your head hits the pillow that night, you keep him in your mind. You can’t manifest a tiger, but hopefully you can manifest a boy. 

You open your eyes and you’re on the street again. This time, you know exactly where you are. You sprint down the street, not stopping until the small houses have turned into the familiar dock. You run towards the ocean. 

He’s already there when you get there. He’s sitting in the same spot, and turns to look at you as your bare feet thud on the ground. 

“You came,” JJ smiles. 

“I think I would have found you even if I didn’t try.” “We don’t really get much choice, do we.” 

You take your place next to him.

“So, you wanna tell me more about this treasure hunt of yours?” 

You know when you wake up, you won’t remember this. You tell him how you cry when you watch those puppy commercials. He tells you how he loves the feeling of the sun on his back after he’s been surfing.

You tell him how your sister died when you were little. He tells you about his fear of his dad.

You’re both silent for a moment. Everything is silent. The waves don’t crash. The waves don’t move. 

When you wake up, you stare up at the ceiling for a moment. He should’ve been real. You’ve never been able to connect with anyone like you’ve connected with the boy in your dreams.

But it’s just you. Just your brain coping with itself by creating a version of you to connect with. 

You haven’t talked with anybody like that in a long time.

Nights after nights pass, and you continue to meet JJ in your dreams. You know you’re not really talking to someone, but it feels good to get it all of your chest. To just keep talking and know someone can listen. You tell him things you’re not even sure you really knew about yourself. 

Many of those nights, JJ talks to you. He tells you his dad hits him. You’re not sure what to say. 

He tells you some crazy things. You listen, and marvel at the way your brain has crafted this boy. This perfect boy. 

Over these nights, things change. It’s in the way he places his hand on yours when he sits next to you. It’s in the way he looks at you when he listens to you talk. It’s in the way you realize JJ isn’t just a piece of your imagination. 

The last time you meet JJ at the dock, you tell him you haven’t figured out how to surf, but you’re trying to learn. That makes him smile. 

“I love surfing! I wish I could teach you.” 

“Of course you do.” “What does that mean?” JJ frowns. 

“Of course you love surfing. You’re just the perfect embodiment of who I’ve been looking for, so of course you know how to surf. You know how to surf because I want to surf.”

“Y/n, what are you talking about?” “Yeah, yeah, you’ll- sorry, I’ll never admit it. You’re not real.”

“No, you’re not real.” 

You turned your head so fast that if this was real, you would’ve had whiplash.

“What?” “I know you’re not real, man. My brain just gave me someone to talk to because I couldn’t take being alone anymore.” JJ sighs. 

“Oh my god. Oh my god, you’re real, aren’t you?” You whisper. 

There’s no way this can be true. You couldn’t have spent the past months calling yourself crazy for being in love with a boy in your dreams just to find out that he was real. 

“Yeah? I wish you were.” “JJ, I am.” “Quit it. There’s no one like you in my world. I would’ve found you by now.” “I’m not kidding, this whole time I thought you were just my imagination, but,” you take a breath in, “but you’re real. Aren’t you?” 

“So, so what? We’re both just dreaming the same dreams?” “I don’t know. I guess?” “Nah, this doesn’t make sense. What if we’re sleepwalking? Maybe we just sleepwalk to the same spot.” “JJ, that makes less sense.” “It makes just as much sense as us sharing dreams!” “The waves don’t move here, JJ.” You waved a hand towards the still water. 

JJ left first that night. When you woke up, you tried to remember everything he had said to you. With each passing minute, more and more slipped away from you. 

What did he tell you? Something about surfing?

All you could remember was the feeling. You remembered the overwhelming feeling of relief. As if a thousand pounds had been lifted off your shoulders. As if you could breathe again. 

You couldn’t focus at work. You nearly dropped an entire plate of sandwiches and soup on a poor group of teenagers. 

When you took your break, you retreated outside for a breather. You sighed and leaned your head back against the building. 

“You’re so weird, Pope.” “I’m just saying!” The voices of teenage boys rung out in the air, snapping you out of your thoughts. You turned and rushed back into the restaurant, aggressively re-tying the apron around your waist and tugging your hair back into a rubber band. 

The door blew open as you turned to clear dishes off of a nearby table. You didn’t check to see as they seated themselves at a table in your section. They must’ve been the people from outside. Setting down your tray, you hustled over to the new table, fumbling to get your pad out. 

“Hi, welcome to the Wreck, do you need a second or can I get you started with,” The rest of your sentence failed to slip out. You had just managed to get the pen out of your pocket when you looked at the table and the words died in your mouth. There were 3 boys. 2 of them you didn’t recognize. 

One you definitely did. 

JJ’s lips parted and his eyes grew wide. Your pen clattered to the floor, long forgotten. Neither of you could find it in you to say anything. 

The other two boys seemed more confused, calling their friend’s name. 

“Is this,” JJ got out, his finger mindlessly twirling around his head, “am I dreaming again?”

You tore your eyes away from JJ to look out the window, out towards the water. 

The waves were crashing, pulled by the ebb and flow of the water. 

You shook your head. 

“I’m, uh. I’m JJ.” His voice was unsteady, just as unsure as you were that this could be real. 

“I’m Y/n. But you probably know that.” 

[seokiloquy]

Green or Gold - Sakusa Kiyoomi

AU: Royal + Butler

Requested (I had a Butler Sakusa idea in my head so I'm happy that he was requested)

Tags/Warnings: GN! Reader,

Word Count: 13.1k+

“Drat, where is that child? (Y/N)! Your parents request your presence! (Y/N)!”

The poor butler ran around the palace gardens, desperately searching for the young royal through the shrubbery. His white gloves tore as they got caught on the thorns of rose bushes. He sneezed as the pollen got in his nose, mentally cursing the active 4, going on 5, year-old for making him run around without his mask.

“Snip.”

The butler’s dark curls bounced as he looked up. His son, age 7, carried a single-handed clipper in his two hands and chopped off the odd twig and branch that stuck out of the rose bush’s neat shape. The young boy kept his eyes on the pants, meticulously trimming as he sniffed underneath his mask.

The butler, Daiki, sighed. “Kiyoomi, have you seen the young royal?”

The boy paused for a moment, eyes shifting to the side before shaking his head silently. The older man whined.

“That rascal. The king will very well take my head if I don’t find his kid soon.”

The small Sakusa giggled quietly into his mask. His father leaned down to peck his head before standing straight and flicking the sleeves of his suit jacket and running off. Beckoning calls for the young royal followed him.

A small rustle was heard overhead, causing Kiyoomi to look up at the pink petals of the garden’s only cherry blossom tree. Within the bloom, a pair of small legs swung in time to airy giggles.

“Your Highness, you shouldn’t be hiding from the king.”

Your voice chirped like the birds that hopped cautiously around you. “I’m not hiding!” Kiyoomi tilted his head up just in time to see the birds fly off at your little screech. “I’m just not being found.” You let out small harrumphs as you tried to step your leg onto the nearest branch.

The small leaves at the end of the branch rustled as your weight was added. “Ah, how did—?”

Kiyoomi watched your head swivel wildly as you look for your next step. “How did you even climb up there?” Setting down the clippers he came to stand beneath you.

“I,” your bottom lip jutted out, and your brows pinched, “I don’t know! Help me!”

The curly-haired boy sighed into his mask, before pulling it beneath his chin. The pollen, though bothersome, could be dealt with easily. He reached his arms up as high as he was able. “Jump.”

“Jump? That’s scary.” You hugged the tree trunk a little tighter. The bark scratched the expensive material of your sleeves. Looking closer, Kiyoomi could see little tears and stains everywhere.

He sighed. “You don’t have to be afraid of falling.” Seeing you hesitate, he turned to the rose bush, snipping the stems of one of the flowers. Breaking off the thorns, he raised his arm to present you with the bright red rose. “I’ll even give you this flower when you jump down. Don't worry, I’ll be here to catch you.”

“Will you? Forever?” Your hands shifted to let you sit on the shaky branch.

“Forever. Now jump.” 

“Now, unlike the king and queen, your position doesn’t hold any power in the legal sense. Many people look your way for social etiquette, fashion, and overall trends,” your tutor drawled on, scratching a small piece of chalk against the dusty mobile blackboard. 

The palm of your hand felt warm and plush against your cheek, but the wood table underneath your elbow was not. Your eyes wandered over the tall book filled wall of the library and the ornate carvings on every available surface. The lateral light bathed every detail in a cool glow. An armless statue peaked over your teacher’s board, glaring. You were about to pay attention when a soft rolling sound hit the back of your head and echoed through the giant library. You turned.

Kiyoomi, your ever stoic personal butler, silently wiped down the surfaces of shelves and the covers of books while standing perfectly straight on an inclined rolling ladder. You pinched your lips between your teeth, trying to stop the pointed smile that was inching its way onto your face.

You spun in your seat. “Now, as you turn 19 your participation in such events will skyrocket—” You pressed your left hand into the centre spine of your book, then took your right to pinch the corner of the page. Silently, as your teacher’s back was turned, you ripped the page out. Jotting a quick note onto the lines of the page, you eagerly crumpled the sheet into a ball and turned. 

Pulling your good arm back, you send the paper ball through the air and into the back of Kiyoomi’s head. 

Kiyoomi, raised in the family that had been by yours for generations, had taken up the very position his parents had been in for decades prior. While his father remained the best friend and right-hand butler to the king, and his mother the same for the queen, Kiyoomi had taken his position by your side. He was the one put in charge of cleaning up your messes and mistakes, all while suffering through the spring as his allergies began to pick up with dust and pollen flying around. 

His diligence to his job sometimes pulled him out of focus, eyes and mind frozen on the task at hand until there wasn’t a speck of dirt to be seen. It left him forgetting that, while he always had a job to do wherever he went, he was always in your presence.

The ball of crumpled paper never made contact with the skin on the back of his head. Instead, bouncing off his dark, cheek length, curls and hitting the floor beneath his feet. He blinked for a moment. When he turned his head around to find the source of the paper ball, he was immediately swept up like a relaxed dust bunny under a bed at the sight of your conniving smirk directed his way. 

Your hand flicked and brows raised in a pissy manner, gesturing to the white ball on the floor. 

You watched attentively as Kiyoomi stepped down from the ladder and picked up the balled paper. Your heart rate picked up as he stood straight, and you smiled. 

“Now, what I’m drawing here is the formal wear that you’ll be expected to wear—”

He tossed it into the trash.

You gasped.

“Yes, very exciting. Beautifully crafted.”

You spun around again, repeating the process, and tossing the paper back Kiyoomi’s way. You could hear him grumble before tossing your second note into the trash.

Again, and again, he never read the damn notes. You threw another one just as he was turning around. It crunched a bit as his fingers curled around it.

“Always introduce yourself to the host—”

He threw it. You ducked, and it hit the chalkboard, right where your old teacher’s hand was about to write.

“(Y/N), balls don’t actually have balls in them, not even paper ones. Please, pay attention.” 

Your shoulders hiked up as you took in a breath to protest. Only to be met with a light smack at the back of your head.

Kiyoomi sneezed into his mask as he worked on the rose bushes.

“We can go inside, I just wanted to get some sun for a bit, so if your allergies are picking up—”

“It’s fine, I got work to do anyway.”

You huffed, kicking your shoe along the surface of the grass as you hobbled over to the blooming cherry blossom tree. You jumped up to grab a hold of its lowest branch, swinging gently.

The calm wind felt nice washing over the layers of your clothes. You listened to the little petals rustle above your head as you watched the butler delicately pluck away stray leaves. The navy colour of his uniform stood out in the sunlight. He glanced over his shoulder, catching you staring briefly before you turned your head away.

“Hmm, want to go into town later?”

“You're not allowed outside of the palace grounds right now.”

“When have rules ever stopped me?”

“Evidently, less than they should.” He paused for a moment, letting his arms fall from clipping and turning your way. “Do you ever plan to get serious? Actually fit the role of a royal.”

You let go of the thick branch, falling onto your feet and hissing as the small scrapes in your palms. “Well ya, of course.” He watched your playful smirk drop, making his stomach sink with it. “But look at us Yoomi. Someone’s gotta try and have fun while we can. You’re always trying to take care of my messes.”

“If you stopped making messes we could have fun.”

You didn’t respond, causing Kiyoomi to look away from the view of the gardens. Head tilted down and sideways against the tree’s trunk, your eyes drooped, staring at the grass beneath your feet. “I just—”

“Your Highness!”

Your head turned, shooting up to find the maid that was carrying the weight of her skirt as she ran. 

“Your Highness, the King wishes to speak with you.”

Kiyoomi watched your lips purse, annoyed at being interrupted before your expression completely changed to a kind one. You looked his way, giving a slight nod as you pushed yourself off the tree and padded dirt off your garment. “I best be going then. Thank you, Lydia.”

Lydia panted, hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath.

“Any idea what it may be about?” he asked.

Idle gossip, though looked down upon, typically came from truths and kept the staff informed on what to be mentally prepared for.

The maid sucked in a large helping of air. “Not too sure, but my guess would be a ball.”

“A ball?” A wave of nerves tickled the back of Kiyoomi’s neck. For what? He wasn’t sure.

“Well yes, it’s common to hold an event for the 19th birthday for a member of the royal family.” She paused, sucking in more air.

“Ah, that—”

“Got to find a suitable spouse, of course.”

The tingles on his neck fizzed out, sending a cold wave of discomfort through his body. He choked on his sentence, coughing harshly.

“Is the allergy acting up? Might want to put your mask back on.”

Through his fit of coughs, he brushed his hair back while pulling the mask over his nose. Between the sharp exhales, he managed to choke out a couple of words.

“Damn it.”

Dinner was quiet. On a large, elongated table, the three royals sat far apart. King (L/N), took his place at the head of the table, on a large seat with an ornate backrest with blood-red fabric and gold detailing. The queen, almost oblivious to the tension carried on eating at the opposite end of the table, on her own special chair.

Kiyoomi stood against the wall behind your small decorative chair, watching as you slowly picked at the food in front of you. An unsettling feeling made a home in his stomach. He sent side glances to his parents, who took position behind their respective royal. They looked concerned but not confused. They knew. His father bit his lip slightly when Kiyoomi made eye contact with him. 

Taking in a deep breath, he turned back to studying your hunched posture, watching your decorated fingers reach blindly for your glass. Likely some sort of tea.

“(Y/N).”

You jumped, your hand pulling back too quickly and effectively spilling your drink all over your fresh pair of dress pants. “Shit!”

“Language,” your mother laughed.

Kiyoomi rushed to your side, towel-cloth in hand. Taking a knee beside your chair, he began to pat against your soaked thigh with the towel, hoping to soak in as much of the spilled drink as possible. His focus wavered. Now closer, he could see your hands clench under the table. He frowned slightly.

Your closest hand reached for his under the table cloth and he moved to clean the floor next, pulling it onto your now dry knee. He looked up at you, hoping to get some sort of response to his silent question. 

You stared at his gloved hand in yours, watching how his long fingers completely enveloped your hand and covered the bulky rings you wore.

Kiyoomi was made to choke silently as you shifted to weave your fingers between his own, squeezing tightly. He was thankful to still be soaking up the liquid on the floor, worried that without his mask on that the adults in the room would take notice of the sudden heat in his cheeks.

“Sorry,” you knew he hated germs, but for the moment he couldn’t quite care. The warmth of your hand in his was enough to quell any germaphobic tendency. “But thanks.”

He squeezed your hand a little tighter, separating his lips to respond.

“(Y/N), we must speak of your birthday.”

Right, your birthday. The young Sakusa’s stomach dropped. Were you going to be put up for marriage? Buy yourself a spouse, or worse be bought as one? His heart rate picked up.

Shit, shit, shit. 

He wanted to say something to you, but it wasn’t his place. Standing to his feet, he brushed his thumb along the back of yours, ready to separate your hands. You reciprocated the movement but quickly held his hand tighter.

He froze, holding his position on the floor next to your chair. Setting the towel down for a moment he held your hand between his, then let go. Kiyoomi grabbed the towel, stood up, and began soaking up the tea from the tablecloth. 

“We, of course, will be holding a ball. And On top of celebrating your birthday, we hope that you’ll be able to find a partner among the guests.”

A jolt shot up Kiyoomi’s spine. Not just from the sudden confirmation of the rumours, but also the light pull on his pants as you took hold of the fabric behind his knee, pinching it desperately. He searched your face for an emotion other than desperation. Not saying a word, he straightened his knee against your fingers, permitting you to hold a little tighter.

Your mother spoke up,  “We wanted your input on the theme and such, it is your birthday,” she emphasized the word sending a poignant look towards your father, “after all.”

The palm of your hand pressed against his knee for a moment. Fingers pushing through the slick fabric to squeeze his skin gently. He finished soaking up the tea quickly, having to leave your side and face your parent’s questioning gazes alone. He stepped back, making your hand drop. You paused for a moment, taking in a slow breath.

Once back in his position against the wall, one of the working maids rushed over, swapping his damp cloth for a clean one, before running back into the kitchen. His parent’s concerned gazes continued.

“How about a masquerade? And maybe theme it like a night under the stars?” Your hands, now separated from your usual companion, ringed together anxiously. Your teeth felt sharp against the inside of your cheek. “But does it really have to be some sort of spousal search? Is me getting married that big of a deal right now? I’m barely 19 yet.”

“Your father and I started courting at 18, and Kiyoomi’s parents it was 20, isn't that right Ichika?”

Kiyoomi’s mother hummed, “Ya that’s about right.”

Not helping, mother.

The queen spoke up again, “are you sure you want a masquerade? How will you know what people look like?”

You paused for a moment, fiddling with your favourite silver ring out of the gaudy bunch that were given to you by your parents. The simple band spun around your finger. A gift from Ichika on your last birthday. 

“The anonymity will help me get to know their personality rather than just judge based on their appearance, no?”

The king hummed, “Not a bad idea, but if that’s the purpose, you better find a suitable partner among them.”

Your heart felt heavy. “Yes, of course.”

“Ooh!” your mother sat straight in her seat. Nearly bounding. “How about a three-day event?”

You looked horrified. You felt it too. “Three days? Mom, that’s—”

“Wonderful idea! That’ll be enough time for you to find a spouse. I’ll go write the letters.”

“Wait but-”

Mr. Sakusa followed him out the door with a surprised look.

“I’ll go figure out decorations! Ichika, your assistance please?”

“Of course.”

You were left standing in front of your chair, mouth open like a fish waiting for food. Your hands shook mid-air. “What just happened?” You turned to face your personal butler.

Kiyoomi looked just as frazzled, shrugging at you.

Kiyoomi switched the fitted sheets as you sat on the windowsill of your room. The moon was half full and letting off a dim blue light. You fiddled with the solid band on your finger while studying the stars.

Kiyoomi had finished fluffing the last pillow when you finally spoke up. “We never did get to go visit the town.” 

Standing straighter, he walked to your side and wiped the empty surface of the window sill before sitting down in front of you. “I suppose we didn’t.”

Keeping your head in the same position, you flicked your gaze over to the older man. The blue light made the highlights of his hair look purple. It sharpened his cheekbones and made his old butler’s uniform his regal. The two moles above his right brow pulled your attention back to his eyes.

“Will we be able to?” You looked up again, not seeing his head shift your way.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, forget my birthday ball. I want to be able to have fun, run around and be free. I want to spend more time with you.”

“You already spend all your time with me.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the moonlight or just his imagination, but he could see tears begin to build up in your eyes. You sniffed, meeting his eyes. “I want to keep it that way.”

You listened to the fabric of Kiyoomi’s pants slide against the surface of your windowsill. Watching as he reached to hold your hand, he sucked in a deep breath, chest expanding and pushing against the tight fabric of his vest.

“Forever, right?”

“Yes, forever.” His thumb ran over your rings, settling onto the flat band his mother gave you.

“Even if I get married?”

The cogs turned in his head, imagining up hundreds of scenarios at once, trying to paint the most ideal outcome. He breathed again, nearly choking on the dust that flew around your room. One second, and another. You waited desperately for his response.

“Especially if you get married.”

A knock broke out at the door, “Incoming!”

Kiyoomi strategically rose to his feet dropping your hand quickly despite the fleeting tug you gave his fingers. He heard you sniff again, and wipe your tears away, not that they’d be visible in the dark.

The queen and her best friend. “Ah Kiyoomi, you are here. Could you help Ichika with decorations and accessories?”

Kiyoomi nodded, quickly heading for the door to leave with his mother. 

“Accessories?” You moved to stand, only to be shushed down by your mother.

“For the staff, of course.” She sent a wink Ichika’s way. Before the maid closed the door. she gave a nod and smile.

“You’re really going in on the masquerade thing, huh?”

The two of you sat alone, bathed in moonlight.

“I think it’ll be a great opportunity.” She patted your shoulder. “Alright, you should sleep. I got work to do.”

“What kind of work.” You stood up with her, pacing to your bed as she went for the door.

“Oh, just something. Rest up!”

Tailors had woken you up, knocking loudly against your bedroom door. They barged in, pulled you out from out of your covers while you were in a groggy state and had you stand.

Your mother came in a bit later, a new fancy dress hanging off her shoulders.

You yawned. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Well, all the guests are arriving tomorrow and we need your clothes done.”

One of the tailors put the end of the measuring tape to your waist, pulling it down to your ankle and calling out a number to the one with a pen and clipboard in hand.

“Shouldn’t clothes be made ahead of time? Not the day before guests arrive.” You yawned again, looking around the busy room as you tried to find a missing body among them. “Here’s Yoomi?”

“Ah, Yoomi? He’s, uh, helping Ichika and Daiki with organizing everything. They’ve got a lot on their plates, you know. Speaking off, I should go check up on the progress.” 

You sighed as the head tailor lifted your arm up.

Later on, once you finally managed to escape fittings, you ran down to the main ballroom where most of the castle’s staff had been. The ornate chandelier had strings of sparkling lights meticulously streaming off it to tie to the walls. The typically red curtains had been swapped out with midnight blue ones, tied back to let the natural light in, and later give a view of the stars.

You found Ichika in the centre, clipboard in hand as she directed the positioning of tables around the back wall.

“Ichika!” You ran over, nearly tripping over unhung decorations. “Have you seen Yoomi? He wasn’t here when I woke up this morning.”

“Ah, Kiyoomi? I have him helping pick out plates and utensils as Daiki is organizing the menu.”

You gasped out a thank you, before sprinting towards the kitchens. You passed by various staff on the way there, doing your best to weave through them as you ran through the hall. A trip happened here or there, but you managed to get to the kitchens without a catastrophe occurring.

Cooks ran around the kitchen, various samples in hand.

“Yoomi!”

He stood at the other end of the room, sleeves rolled up as he inspected the beautifully handcrafted plates in front of him. 

Despite the lack of breath, you ran again.

“Yoo—ACK!”

You liked tea, you did. Especially on a cold day, where you could sit in the library and read while Kiyoomi took a break and sat with you. A book with a wandering knight with the power of the moon, any book. Lemon, chamomile, all the soft flavours that were never too harsh for your throat.

You loved tea, just not on your body.

“Hot, hot, hot.”

The cook was quick to calmly apologize, brushing his dark silver bangs off his forehead as he handed you a towel to dry your chest with. It wasn’t his fault, not that he seemed all that worried.

“You clumsy fool.” The wavy-haired butler had come to your side before you even noticed. He took the towel out of your hand and began slowly dabbing at your collarbone, leaving you standing awkwardly with a racing heart (Likely from all the running). “It doesn’t burn does it?”

“Only as much as hot water. Just got shocked.”

“Good.” He pulled the towel back, examining the stain. “You should go change, that shirt should get washed.”

“But I ran all the way down here to spend time with you. I’ve been locked up in my room all day,” you whined pitifully, stomping your heel against the tiled floor.

He didn’t meet your eyes, instead choosing to look at the shuffling feet of the nearest chook as they fed his father samples of the proposed meals. “It’s alright, we’ll have time to hang out later.”

Hands on your shoulders, he began walking you towards the kitchen doors. He held you facing forward when you tried to turn around.

“But the guests will be arriving—”

“Later.”

The door closed on your nose, leaving you in the silent hallway alone. You clicked your tongue, looking down at your feet and pressing your head against the door.

“Damn it.”

"Mom, why do I have to wear a mask? They already know it's us," You huffed, adjusting the stiff costume piece on your face.

"For aesthetic purposes. You're the one that wanted a masquerade remember? Now hush, the last family is coming in," she said as he lightly smacked your hands away from your face. "And keep it on."

"But—"

She interrupted. Making your father chuckle next to you.

“Ah, hello, hello. I see you have your masks on! Did the guards treat you nicely?” Your mother cheered, inviting the incoming guests with open arms.

The next royal family that walked through the door wore masks with warm colours, complimenting their blonde hair. You didn’t recognize them with the accessory covering their faces. Standing just a bit shorter than you, the daughter wore a salmon coloured dress to match her mask. Her heels seemed to throw her balance off. 

They were the last family to approach you after all the guests had arrived, and although it was a masquerade, it’s hard to not notice the most overdressed royals in the room. Your father, especially, as he boated a thick blood-red cape that dragged across the floor

You gave the princess a grin and offered her a hand as the four walked over to the food. 

She smiled broadly, maybe a bit nervous, before dragging you into the centre of the dancing pairs. Her short hair, braided on one side and pinned to her head, bounced slightly as you waltzed. 

You're not sure how long you had danced in total, having switched from one partner to the next with no break. You supposed it had to do with the fact that the ultimate goal of this event was to find you a partner. One other than for dancing.

After being whisked away from the blonde princess and into the arms of a flamboyant prince in teal, you were being passed around the guests like they were playing hot potato. Only the loser happened to be you as the balls of your feet began to ache. Now, with the pain becoming tiresome, you swayed limply in the arms of a dark brunette in a dark maroon suit with gold accents.

You looked over the prince’s shoulder, resting your chin on the soft velvet of his suit. He held you a bit tighter, successfully preventing you from falling or tripping on his toes. You watched the staff on hand as they moved gracefully among the guests, offering drinks and snacks away from the back tables. Kiyoomi wasn’t among them.

You sighed into your partner's neck.

“Is everything alright?” His voice was rather deep, harmonizing with the winding down music that the orchestra played. You stumbled onto his toe, he didn’t even seem to notice.

“Oh, yes, sorry about that. Thank you for the dance, but I best get something to eat.”

He bowed. “Of course,” he said, and then went on his merry way.

Finally. Dancing with —for what you could only recognise as— strangers was tiring. And despite it being the majority of your job considering your position as a royal, you couldn’t help but want to limit your social circle to a chosen few. One, to be specific.

Your stomach rumbled as your eyes browsed over the staff. Sighing again at the lack of Kiyoomi in the room, you started walking towards the slowly disappearing food. Your gaze shifted. Despite the dark curtains being pulled open, it almost looked like they weren’t except for the fact that the stars were shining brightly in the sky. You continued to walk, not noticing the tail of one girl's skirt dragging across the floor.

“ACK—”

Something constricted around your wrist, holding your face a few feet above the floor.

“You’ve taken more than a few fumbles this evening. If you need a cane, I’d be honoured to offer my assistance.” The owner of the smooth voice pulled you to your feet, turning you to face him in the process. “Are you alright, Your Highness?”

His top eyelids hug over his iris’ slightly, making his already dark eyes seem darker. They reflected the ballroom’s lights like the stars outside. His mask, midnight blue like the curtains with light gold detailing around the rim and centre, looked like the night sky and covered all but his mouth and eyes. His dark hair was slicked back, looking neat and polished. The mask’s design carried out through his clothes, a three-piece suit with inner soft gold lining and detailing.

You let out a silent gasp at the moon and star cufflinks he wore.

“You were heading for the food right? Let me accompany you.” He offered you an elbow, letting you slip your arm through at your own accord.

His chivalry felt near fictional. With your eyes still zeroed in on his profile, your mind began to wander into the depths of stories you’ve read.

“You look like a prince.” The words seemed to slip out of you unconsciously.

“Aren’t all the guests here royals?” He smirked, giving a side-eye glance to all the other people in the room.

You laughed lightly, embarrassed by your own mistake. He grinned with you. “You’re right. I just, I don’t think anyone looks as fantastical as you do.”

“Fantastical?” He grabbed a small plate from the table, using the tongs to place various treats on it and handing the plate to you. He didn’t seem to think about which ones you’d like, not that he had to, they were all your favourite. He reached for his own as you took a bit out of a small pastry. “Have you been reading too many fantasy novels?” 

A knight? The memory of a dark cloaked saviour in the dead of night popped into your brain. You chuckled. “Possibly.” You faced the large crowd again, searching.

“Looking for something?” 

“Huh,” you blanked. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a bit tired. I’m never around so many people at once.”

Plate in hand, he stood straighter offering his arm again. “Would you like to step outside? I saw a nice place to sit in the gardens.” He saw your hesitant glance at the crowd. “They won’t even notice you’re gone, and if you’re worried about me, there are guards at every corner. I wouldn’t dare harm you, Your Highness.”

Though trying to weave through the crowd was difficult, the fresh cool air that rushed into your lungs once you made it outside was worth it. The prince guided you to a bench in the centre of the circular rose-bush, nodding politely at guards as you walked by. You laughed happily as the cherry blossoms went over your head.

You sat down on the bench, stretching your tired legs and back. Standing, and dancing, for hours on end did a number on you, him as well. That masked prince’s clothes blended nicely with the surroundings, looking like a piece of the night sky had fallen to keep you company.

He stretched, raising one arm above his head while the other continued to carry his plate, before taking a seat beside you.

“It’s a lovely garden,” he hummed, watching you take a bit from the plate of food in your hand.

You chewed quickly before swallowing, licking your lip to get rid of leftover crumbs. “It’s one of my favourite places in the castle, along with the library. I spend so much time here my friend has taken it upon himself to keep the rose bushing in top shape. It’s not even his job.”

“Your friend?” he prompted. The gentle tone of his voice told you that he wanted to listen.

A slow sigh rolled off your shoulders. “My butler. Haven’t had the chance to make many other friends than him. He's always by my side.”

“You seem to enjoy his company at least.”

You laughed. “I do. Can’t throw away my only friend, and he can’t escape me either; it’s his job.”

The prince let out a sharp laugh, a bit louder than you expected. The embarrassed look in his eye from making such a loud sound made you laugh along with him.

He took a deep breath, leaning against the bench’s back-rest and throwing his head back. “I have a friend like that.”

“Really?” You rested your arm against the back of the bench, holding your head up as you studied the prince’s mask and listened.

He hummed. “Growing up isolated in a castle isn’t fun, but having someone there for you makes it better. Even if it wasn’t their choice.”

“I guess all royals have some similar experiences huh.”

“I suppose, but we all have slightly different expectations and backgrounds, live in different cities and towns. Each is unique in their own way.”

“What's your town like?”

He turned his head your way, mouth open. His eyes flicked to look up at the cherry blossoms, before coming down to meet your eyes. You didn’t realize how close you had been sitting.

Your propped up elbow rested nearly behind his relaxed head, and his shoulder pressed into your arm. He maintained eye contact as he sat up, taking your plate in his hand and setting them both on the end of the bench. He blinked slowly.

“I— I don’t really know. Thinking about it now, it seems that I’ve only ever gone through but never to visit.” He laughed at himself.

Pinching your brow, you jumped to your feet. “Let’s go.” You held your hand out to the prince, beckoning him to his feet.

“Go where? Aren’t you tired?”

“Yes, tired of not having fun. I’ve been wanting to go into town with Yoomi for days but haven’t had the chance.”

He placed his hand in yours, allowing you to tuck him onto his feet. “Are you sure—”

“Your Highness.” Lydia stood and the opening of the rose bushes, hands held together. “The guests are heading to their rooms. Your parents are requesting your presence.” She gave the prince next to a confused look. “You best head inside.”

“Ah, wait, Lydia.” You stepped her way slightly. “Have you seen Kiyoomi today?”

Her eyes flickered, and her brow pinched together. “Sorry, I can’t say I have.”

Your shoulders slumped slightly. “Ah, it’s alright. I’ll be in soon.” 

As the maid left, spun on your heel. A rose was presented to you and the hand holding it was attached to the night prince. The view of him in his dark suit surrounded by a giant bouquet of pink was an image that would be ingrained in your mind forever.

He spoke calmly, a joking undertone pushing through. “I hope I don’t have to vie for attention over this Kiyoomi fellow you keep speaking of?”

“Well, he’s definitely not going to like you picking the roses, that’s for sure.”

The prince laughed, coming up from his gentle bow to place the thornless rose in your hand. He smirked beneath the nose of his mask. “I'm trying to woo his friend here. I’m sure he won’t mind.” He then reached for your empty hand, placing it on his elbow, and grabbing the stacked plates. “Let’s head back in.”

You had been spending a lot of time on your windowsill as of late, staring at the moon as it slowly becomes whole. You sat and stared, arms around your knees, as you slumped against the glass. Waiting.

It was long past midnight when you finally decided to return to your bed for some rest. The door opened when you stepped onto your feet.

Your heart swelled.

“Where have you been?” You ran to the door, wide eyed, as you held the curly-haired butler by the shoulders. His uniform matched those of the rest of the staff, new and crisp with celestial accents. “I wanted to spend time with you, but you weren’t there.”

As he spoke, you wiped off a pink stain from his white collar. “Icing, I was working in the kitchen?”

“You can't cook.”

“But I can bake.”

“Right. I’m still mad at you though, I was alone!”

“Really?” He walked over to your clothes that you had hooked onto the wardrobe. He draped the fancy clothing over his arm before walking to the door again. “I heard from Lydia that you snuck off with a mysterious prince.” He smiled lightly, blinking as he met your eyes. “It’s late, get some rest.”

He spoke curtly, pulling the door.

Where was he going; tugging the door without a thought despite you desperately wanting him around. Your heart seized as your hand reached to try to catch the door before he left you in the cold room alone.

“But—”

The door shut.

Why your mother had chosen a lean fitted, sun orange garb for the second day of three, you weren’t sure. Already standing out amongst the other royals for being the host of the party, the vibrance of your clothes seemed near embarrassing. You couldn’t imagine being surrounded by so many people for another day, but it was too late to change plans.

You flicked the large handkerchief over your waiting for everyone to pile into the dining room. Staff had set up two extra tables for the number of guests, having you and your parents sit at the head of separate ones. You looked to the right and watched the king and queen speak happily with the guests sitting closest to them.

Each seat had a name card on them, guiding people to their assigned seats for the midday meal. You couldn’t read the names from your vantage point, but it wasn’t hard to tell that one was missing.

You looked over your shoulder, hoping to find Kiyoomi behind you, standing against the wall. You sighed at the empty space before waving one of the nearest butlers over. Guests continued to slowly find their chairs.

“Bellamy, is there a name tag missing here?”

The butler leaned down to hear your words over the crowd. He tilted his head, making the grey hairs on his head bounce slightly. “I was certain there was one earlier when we were setting the tables. Do you want me to look?”

“No, it’s alright, they’ll find their way here eventually.” He moved to stand straighter. “Oh, and Bellamy? Have you seen Kiyoomi at all today?”

The old man’s eyes widened and back straightened. “Ah, yes, he was helping lay out the cutlery earlier. I believe he and the other head’s are working in the kitchens. Do you want me to get him for you?”

You bit your lip, looking at the rings on your hand as you fiddled with the solid band. “It’s best not to interrupt him, he’s probably working hard. I’ll see him soon.”

“Not talking about me are you? Did I leave that good of an impression?” 

The night prince slid into the unlabeled seat, smiling kindly. He gave a nod to Bellamy. The tails of his coat flicked as he sat down. He wore all black with silver accents, fitting the midnight theme better than you did.

“I was asking about Kiyoomi,” you explained. “This is your seat?”

He grinned, showing off the pearly colour of his teeth in a sharp, thin line. “Trying to get a peek of my name were you, your Highness? That would defeat the purpose of a masquerade wouldn’t it?”

You shivered under his stare as he slid into the seat. “I’ll admit that not knowing your name is turning me into a cat, but I was more concerned about someone not finding their seat.”

“That curiosity will kill you.” You smirked at his anecdotal reply that finished off the little phrase as you reached for your glass of tea. “Besides, any seat next to yours is rightfully mine, so you don’t have to worry about me not finding it.”

You choked on the warm liquid as the plush chair next to you slid back. “Oh my, are you alright? I didn’t mean to frighten you.” It was the blonde princess from yesterday.

A hand held your chin, tilting your head over towards the masked prince. In his other hand held a handkerchief, dabbing the sides of your mouth and chin gently. He looked at the blonde. “Don’t worry princess, they’re just clumsy. Can’t take care of themselves.” His thumb rubbed your cheek before dropping both hands. 

Had Kiyoomi been around he would’ve done the job himself. Gentle brushes, making sure that you would be tidied up and presentable without irritating your skin. He would chuckle at your slip ups and laugh at you in a way that the other staff wouldn’t. Would’ve had be not been avoiding your presence like the plague.

Kiyoomi wasn’t here.

Your heart fluttered as you watched the prince's eyes glitter. Heat washed across your chest and rose to your cheeks. It nearly sent you into another coughing fit. 

Kiyoomi wasn’t, but the prince was.

“Oh thank goodness, I would’ve been killed for scaring a crowned royal to death.”

You finally stopped coughing as entrees were being placed in front of people. “I really don’t think—”

“It could happen! I’d be an outcast, a murderer to the nth degree!”

You laughed. “Princess, please. Just eat.”

As you reached for your fork, something landed on your knee underneath the table. You took a small bite of the prepped meal and lifted the table cloth as you listened to the other two royals talk.

“Have you ever visited the Bahamas, it’s quite lovely.”

The prince's closed hand rested on the orange fabric on your knee, thumb brushing gently. Giving you a side glance, he lifted his hand but kicked his foot out taking your ankle with it. 

Already flustered, you reached over to smack the back of your hand lightly against the prince���s shoulder. He gave you a kind smile in response.

“I can’t say I ever have. I don’t travel unless it’s work matters, and even then I’m typically held up in one building or another.”

Your leg used his ankle as a footrest. Furrowing your brow, you tried to take your leg back, only for the masked prince to place his other one on top of it. You were shackled to the man. You huffed slightly, leaning into the back of the chair as you tried to hide any darkness that had risen to your cheeks. “The most exploration I get is of the town. Like the prince said, even outside of our city, I’m typically restricted to where I can go. I always have Kiyoomi to keep me company though.”

The light on the prince's slicked-back hair glistened as he turned his shoulders more your way, mimicking a similar posture to that the pink princess (now in baby pink) took. “You speak very kindly of your butler. I don't think I’ve seen him around though. What’s he like?”

“Oh please tell.” The blonde smiled, light brown eyes shimmering.

“Huh, well he’s my closest friend of course. I don’t have many in the first place unless you consider the other royals we sometimes visit.” Hitoka and Wakatoshi came to mind suddenly, you haven’t seen either of them in years though. “Those connections aren’t as well built as I would like though. I’m not sure if they’d call me their friend.”

You could see the princess’ eyes darken underneath the cut out of her mask. “I’m sure they do, (Y/N).”

You forgot that the anonymity of the mask didn’t apply to you for a while. You gave her a genuine smile. “Thanks.” 

The hand was on your knee again, brushing it in a calm, soothing manner. You reached for the last bite off the plate, swallowing it down quickly. 

“Well anyways,” you continued, “Kiyoomi is calm, clean, very clean. He’s always by my side unless I don’t want him to be, which isn’t often. He takes care of me in a way my parents can’t since they have to work all the time. He used to read me stories from the library when I was young. I still use the same old chair.” 

You hummed happily and took a sip of your tea as the plates were exchanged for the next course. “I love him a lot.”

The meat looked lovely. You went in for a bite as the hand on your knee pressed into your skin a bit. “I better not have to fight for that affection,” the prince teased.

You only gave with a silent, non-committal, laugh.

After all the food had been eaten (staff taking the place of the full royals to help finish the untouched food) and none was left except for bones, The guests were free to roam and mingle around the castle grounds. Most took it as an opportunity to dance in the ballroom and network amongst the heads of states. Even with the masks, kings and queens could easily tell each other apart.

A hand held your arm back from joining your parents in talking to the blonde princess’ family. The kind smile the price gave you beneath his mask made your stomach flutter again. “You like the library right? Care to show me the best books?”

You tried to choke down an embarrassed yelp as his hand slid down to hold your own. “I’d love to.”

Taking one last second, you looked over your shoulder to the cleaning staff, hoping to find a wavy mop of black hair before you were stolen away.

How this prince managed to take up a vast majority of your time thus far, you didn’t know. Maybe it was the dark hooded eyes that seemed to give people a death stare when they approached, or possibly the lips that seemed stuck in a permanent downturned position.

He seemed to assess the situation of the crowd around him, then turn his attention your way with a small smile. Each expression was minute, letting his posture and words speak for him.

He grabbed a wet wipe from off the librarian’s counter, wiping his hands down as he scoured through the library’s titles. “So, is there anything you’ve been wanting to read?”

“Me? I did finish a book recently but haven’t chosen a new one yet. Anything you recommended?”

He hummed, tilting his head at the book spines, before turning around and speed walking toward the fiction section of the library. It didn’t take long before he wiped his hands again and pulled out a green-covered book from the shelves.

“‘Night Pirate’. Have you read it?”

Standing in the centre of the tall, open room, hands clasped together, you shook your head. “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

Coming to your side, he placed his open hand between your shoulder blades, turning you in the direction of the old chairs. He sat you down on the large, plush red one, the one you had claimed since you were little, and took his place in the matching dark green one to your right. The one Kiyoomi had started using once you were too big to share a single seat.

He got comfortable quickly, kicking up one ankle to rest on the opposite thigh. “‘To the open waters of the great unknown, a pirate makes home among the fish and mermaids.’” He paused looking up from the first page. “Might as well get comfortable, the book is 500 pages long.”

You followed the suggestion, leaning your head back against the soft velvet backrest and studied the intricate details of his mask, and how his lips parted as he read each word. His hands looked large against the book, carrying it with one hand, no effort required. You noticed the small spots that decorated the back of his palm with a smile. He pinched the book’s read ribbon tucking it away as he continued. His voice, mellow and calm, reflected the atmosphere that the words in the book were trying to paint.

It was five, maybe six pages into the book before your eyes closed, and another three before you had fully dosed off.

You weren’t entirely sure of how you got to bed, but judging by the warm cup of tea and a new set of clothes for the last day, Kiyoomi had been there. You couldn’t let the warm feeling in your chest settle for long though, because within minutes the tea was gone, your outfit was on and you were rushing down to the banquet hall before the quests could beat you to it.

Today, the food was set up in the middle of the ballroom in a large circular table with a multi-layered cake in the centre of it all. The guests swarmed your and your parents as they waited for the knife in your hand to hit the bottom of the cake. Once it did, deafening cheers that made your shoulder’s scrunch, erupted throughout the castle.

Everyone got a slice, you even managed to get a piece for Ichika and Daiki, ensuring that they each got a bit of galaxy coloured icing and fondant stars. 

“Do you like the design? Kiyoomi thought of it, though Osamu did help bake it,” Ichika said.

You looked to the slowly disappearing desert, admiring what was left of the black, blue, purple, and pink layers that got lighter as they reached the top with small star-like details. 

“He knew you wouldn’t want anything too extraordinary. I better save him a piece of his hard work.”

You felt something tap your red-clothed shoulder. “Excuse me, you two, but I hope you don’t mind me stealing (Y/N) away for a bit do you?” You looked to the masked prince, who now wore a dark forest green suit with gold accents. The mask remained the same shape but had a chain hanging from the edge near his right eye down to the right point of the mask near his chin.

Butterflies were already fluttering in your stomach.

Ichika gave the prince a wide smile, elbowing her husband. “Of course, of course. We don’t mind.”

Twisting his feet to point your way, he offered his hooked elbow and waited for your silent permission to escort you away.

“What are you planning?”

“Hmm, not much, a small trip.” His eyes shifted your way as he kept his head angled forward toward the castle's nearest exit. “I heard that the town is having fireworks for your birthday tonight. You’ve been wanting to go, right?”

“Well, yes but— How did you know about that? I haven’t heard anything.”

The corners of his mouth flicked up. “The staff like to talk.”

So there you were, with the princely stranger in dark clothes at your favourite cafe in town, definitely sticking out like a pair of sore thumbs. The obnoxious laughing pouring out of you didn’t help keep eyes off, either.

“What do you mean you bleached the crown?!”

“It was a mistake! Luckily, it wasn’t the real one or else my father would’ve sent me to France to be beheaded,” he sighed, and then noticed your raised brow and slow bite into the puffed sugar cloud with a hard shell. It crackled under the pressure of your teeth. 

“We— well,” he stuttered, “What happened was, I was helping clean the crown case, and the crown gets swapped out with a duplicate so it can get polished. And I accidentally got bleach on the velvet portion.”

He shut his eyes as if replaying the memory, wincing at your laughter. “I knew you’d find that funny.”

“Of course I would, you seem so put together it’s hard to believe you’d make a mistake.”

“I hope that means I’ve made a good impression thus far.” He leaned forward, setting his crossed arms on the table and letting his elbows carry his weight.

You mimicked the movement, letting your chin rest in the palm of one of your hands. You wore a squinted smile. “Not like you would let me get much of an impression about anybody else.”

“Not my fault. No one else was trying hard enough.”

You laughed through your nose as you drank the last few drops of tea. The cup didn’t make a noise as it hit the table again. The waitress, who had been watching idly from behind the counter, rushed over to bring the check and collect the dishes. Her dark hair swished over her shoulder fluidly. You saw her every time you visited.

“Thank you.”

"The sun is going to set," the unnamed prince spoke as he set a bill on the table. "How about we walk through town and look at the shops before the fireworks start."

Your cheeks hurt a bit from smiling. "Sure."

He offered an open hand to you as you got to your feet. Wiping your hands on your legs first, you graciously took his open palm. Pulling you to his side, the prince led you to the cafe's exit waving at the workers as he did.

“Hmm, How about— Woah!”

You pulled his hand, dragging him towards the slowly moving crowd that grouped around the various shops. His hand shifted in yours, twisting so he could fiddle with the ring on your hand with his thumb.

“Your Highness, if you wanted to steal me away, you could've just asked. Of course, I’d have to tell my parents first—”

“That wouldn’t be stealing,” you snorted, dropping his hand. 

You stopped at an accessory store browsing over all the little pieces of jewelry that sat on display, glittering in what was left of the available sunlight.

You jumped as the light near your head flickered on. Hand on your stomach, you played it off by looking for the masked prince among the crowd. Two young boys giggled behind you, running off when you glared their way.

You eventually caught sight of the midnight prince bowing his head to a blonde man who had his hair brushed back and a cigarette balancing on his lip. He appeared to be the shop owner. Soon after he began walking your way, bare hands tucked into his suit pockets. He nudged your side. “Come on, the fireworks will begin soon.”

Slinging your elbow around his, you followed. “What do you do in your typical day anyway?”

He started walking towards the large fountain in the centre of the pavilion. “I typically help the staff where I can. Don’t have many responsibilities as of yet.”

You looked up to the gold chain on his mask, hypnotized by its swaying movement. “As of yet? How old ar—ACK!” The tip of your shoe slammed into a lifted brick, flinging you forward.

“Clumsy, clumsy. Watch where you step, or I'm gonna have a lot of cleaning to do.” 

Your trip luckily didn’t end with your head slamming into the edge of the fountain. Which made you breathe a sigh of relief (wouldn’t be the first time it happened). With his elbow still locked around yours, and hand securely tucked into his pocket, the prince had managed to catch your arms between his and his side before you dove into the concrete.

You huffed, taking your arm back and sitting on the fountain’s ledge. “So, how old are you anyway? I never asked.”

He sat next to you as the first —test— firework went off. “Hmm, 21.”

You hummed. “That makes sense, I would’ve been too young to go to your party. I’m glad that you didn’t find a partner I suppose.”

“My parents are rather lenient. I didn’t want to find someone immediately anyways.”

“I can’t say I did either.”

Two pops went off in the air, pulling your attention to the dark sky. The lights flickered, falling as they did before burning out. The burnt-out fireworks were quickly followed by a slew of others.

“I got you this. From the shop.” From his pocket, he pulled out a small box and flipped it open to present it to you. A muted gold band sat in the slit of the velvet cushion.

“Proposing already? I didn’t think you were so forward.”

Even with the ornate mask on his face, you could see him falter. Eyes darting around as he puffed out some hot air. “Think of it as an offer. Who knows, you might regret it later if you fall in headfirst.”

Your heart felt like it was tearing in two, competing on different teams. But when you met the prince’s hesitant eyes that darted back and forth between your own, it felt like the two sides were coming to an agreement. Your whole body scorched.

The feelings you had would always be there, but what could Kiyoomi do if he wasn't around to reciprocate them, and would your heart be able to take it?

You flushed, staring more intently into the prince’s dark eyes. “I think I've done enough falling as it is.”

Looking at your fingers, you paused, thinking, before pulling the ring out of the box and exchanging it for your beloved gift from Ichika. With no warning, you grabbed the prince’s bare hand and slipped the warm metal onto his ring finger. It stuck at the knuckle for a moment before sliding down to the base. 

You analyzed the hand that now wore your favourite ring. Holding it delicately, you slid your fingers over the few small dark specials that decorated the back of his hand.

No going back now.

“Well, at least it won’t fall off. Don’t lose it okay, that ring is dear to me.” You looked up to his face, watching as the bright fireworks brought out the green of his mask, and saturated his straight slicked-back black hair with shifting iridescence. 

“Does that make me dear to you, as well?”

The fireworks were loud, but your heart was louder. And all you could remember from those few fleeting seconds were the smell of clean clothes and mint toothpaste as your eyes stared into the bleak darkness of your eyelids and the feeling of his lips pressed oh so gently into yours.

Kiyoomi tirelessly worked on the final meal for the departing guests. His shoulders ached as he worked his hands into the bread dough, trying hard not to let any sweat fall off his nose. His curls bounced with each push. He grunted as he flipped the dough over, before yawning.

“Woah there, little Sakusa, what got you all worked up?”

The butler huffed, picking up the large pound of dough and tossing it into the oven. Once the oven started cooking, he made his way over to the sinks, desperately hoping to scrub away the remnants that stuck to his skin.

“Nothing, Bellamy, just trying to get all the bread ready before the guests wake up.”

Daiki entered the kitchen patting down the sides of his suit jacket. “Is there a loaf good to go? The family is awake.”

Kiyoomi cursed quietly, throwing on his signature white cloth gloves and grabbing three plates. Lifting his mask over his nose, he began cutting into one of the loaves.

His father’s brow furrowed as he watched his son rush to cut the bread. He went to collect the condiments from the fridge. “You okay there? You seem a bit stressed.”

“I’m fine, just didn’t sleep until late last night.”

Daiki slathered a large clump of peanut butter on a slice of bread, prepping it for the king’s stomach. 

“Hmm, no sleep? I wonder why that is,” Ichika said in a reading manner, walking in with one of the finished loaves in her gloved hands.

Kiyoomi’s head drooped, hair falling in front of his eyes. His straight arms pressed into the counter, causing his shoulder blades to jut out. Having his parents giggle behind his back, quite obviously, made the pit of anxiety that had been growing in his stomach collapse into a ravine. 

Ichika coughed slightly, transferring away from teasing her son. She reached for fruits to add to the plates. “Bellamy, gather the staff won't you? We need to deliver breakfast to the bedrooms.” She grabbed the plate with jammed covered toast before wrapping her arm around Daiki’s. “The three of us will bring breakfast to the family. Okay?”

“Of course, Mrs. Sakusa. Right away. Lydia, Osamu!”

Kiyoomi tightened the gloves around his fingers, pulling them tighter and keeping them secure. He took a slow breath, trying not to yawn as he did so, before grabbing your plate.

Kiyoomi had woken you up with his eyes squinted in a soft smile. Though you couldn’t see, you could easily picture the smile itself behind the white mask he wore over his mouth. Camomile tea in one hand, and fresh toast in the other, you walked down to the foyer of the castle to meet your parents with Kiyoomi yawning into his mask by your side.

“Tired?”

His eyes squinted in a relaxed smile again. “Ya, but this morning everything will be done, and I can rest.”

You hummed, swallowing your last bite of bread before taking a sip of tea. You began walking down the large steps that took you into the castle’s main entrance. “Why don’t we go to the library to read after they’ve all gone? There’s a book that I recently started, I can read it to you from the beginning.”

“Hmm? Sounds nice. What is it about?”

“A pirate? If I'm being honest I fell asleep, so I don’t remember a whole lot,” you laughed.

Your parents stood by the large double doors, guards on either side as they finished off their tea and handed the dishes off to Daiki and Ichika. “(Y/N) hurry down. The guests will be leaving soon.”

Kiyoomi stood behind you as you shook hands with the leaving guests, desperately wanting to wipe your hands clean between each interaction. He held himself back though, not wanting his germaphobic tendencies or possessiveness take over.

The queen’s head turned your way. “So, did anyone catch your eye?”

The question went unanswered as the last family came your way. You recognized the short dark-brown hair of the tall prince from the first night. He silently took your hand in his, letting out a deep hum as his chin hit the back of your knuckles. You heard your parents thank the father, and seemingly grandmother for visiting before they headed for the door. Guards opened it for them.

Kiyoomi rushed in front of you, taking your hands in his gloved ones and wiping them clean. Maybe he’s let them take over a little. You didn’t seem to notice though, too fixated on the memory of the unnamed prince.

“Was that the last family?” you asked, brows furrowed. 

Your parents' eyes widened. “Were you expecting someone else?”

Kiyoomi’s fingers tightened on yours. Unconsciously, you squeezed back. “There was one. A prince. He had slicked black straight hair. Wore navy colours with metal accents. His mask covered everything but his eyes and mouth.”

Your father hummed before calling for Daiki’s attention. Having been talking quietly to his wife, Daiki and Ichika both shot straight up as the royals turned their way. You sidestepped towards Daiki, letting Kiyoomi join the circle.

“How many guests were on the list.” Your father’s tone was heavy.

“80, your Majesty,” Daiki replied.

“And how many chairs were there total?”

Ichika spoke up, “84.” Her eyes flicked to your mother’s for a moment.

Your father hummed again before calling the nearest guard, a strong looking white-haired man and his red uniform. “Gather the knights, there will be a search for the intruder. And he will be punished for disturbing the safety and peace of the castle.”

You opened your mouth to protest, heart beating painfully at the thought of the man being in danger.

“No!” It was a chorus. It seemed you weren’t the only one. Everyone’s heads turned on swivels at the other’s outbursts.

A puff of hot air blew out of your father’s nose. “What's wrong with all of you? Why not?”

You took the chance to speak before the others could. “I spent plenty of time alone with the, uh, prince. If he wanted to harm me he very well could have.”

“Also,” your mother continued. “Wouldn’t sending out the knights be a bit much? I know they don’t have a lot to do, but that seems overboard.”

Daiki sighed. “Your Majesty. You could ask the guards on watch if anyone has left the grounds since last night. They might still be in the castle.”

The king's posture seemed to slouch. “But what about the knights?” He blinked for a moment before standing straight again. He called for the guard. “Find out if anyone has left since last night. If everyone is accounted for, send the knights through the castle, if not, they go on an expedition.”

The guard only hummed and nodded, before walking off.

Your chest hurt, squeezing tightly around nothing. It felt like you were going to vomit. You lifted your now mostly ringless hand to your mouth in a fist.

“I'm going to write letters to the families, best find out if they’ve seen anything. Daiki?”

The head butler nodded. “Kiyoomi, care to join us? We might need some help.” Daiki gave his son a pointed look and an urgent beckoning wave.

Kiyoomi placed a gloved hand on your back, pushing heat through the fabric of your clothes. He spoke quietly into your ear, dragging down his mask with a hooked finger. “I’ll find you later. Alright? We can read in the library as you said.” 

You looked into his eyes, watching how his lids relaxed, and ten the small pair of moles above his brow. You lowered your clenched hand away from your mouth and nodded.

His hand fell from your spine before he was off, following the fathers up the grand staircase and to the king’s study. Your stomach tightened a bit.

“Is that a new ring?” Your mother slid over with Ichika at her side.

The maid gave a teasing laugh. “I sure hope you didn’t toss my gift away.”

“I wouldn’t say toss.” A cold sweat ran down your neck. “You both seem very put together, aren’t you a bit scared over all this?”

“Not at all, I’m sure everything will be sorted out quickly. But isn’t it fun? It’s like you're experiencing your own fairy tale instead of one in those books.” Your mother teased, taking your hand with the simple gold band and lifting it to her face. She paused. “I don’t recognize this one.” 

“Oh! Did you?” Ichika bounced like a child despite her age. “Oh, you did, didn’t you?”

“Did what? OH!”

Sometimes you forgot that they were best friends. 

“You exchanged rings?!” they both cheered, giving you large smiles.

Your stomach sank more, thinking of how not only did you lose the mysterious prince, but your favourite ring as well. The tightness in your chest continued, and despite it still being the morning; “I’m gonna go lie down.”

You heard your mom chuckle as you tripped on the top step.

You weren’t sure exactly what time it was or how long you had been in your room. But, after stomaching a couple of meals and sitting by the window with a blanket on your shoulders as the sun began to lower with a purple sky following, you could hazard a guess.

A knock vibrated your door. “I’m coming in.”

In a casual white shirt, instead of his authority screaming clothes, your father kept a neutral expression as he sat at the end of your bed. He weaved his fingers together and pushed his bottom lip up in a perturbed pout.

It was silent for a moment.

“So, did you finish the letters?”

“Hmm? Oh, ya. Ya, we did. Had to rewrite them all, but we finished them.”

You sat straighter. “Re-write? Why?”

He hummed shutting his eyes as if replaying a memory before looking up at the moon through the large window. He scratched his neck, mumbling quietly, “We found out who the prince was.”

“You did? Where—?” You nearly shot to your feet. Your heart pumped in your ears and hands began to clam up as they gripped the blanket. If they found out then he must be nearby.

“Calm down.” He clicked his tongue, moving his hand from the back of his neck to his forehead, rubbing away a dull headache. “No reason to get worked up about it right now. I still got to grill the guy.”

The growl that took over the end of his sentence was menacing, like a rabid wolf with a chunk of meat being teased in front of his snout. Your shoulders curled at the sound, imagining the fire that the prince would have to walk though under your fathers scrutiny.

“Please don’t.” If your father was that put out by the man’s identity, you couldn’t help but feel overly curious. Sometimes cats really do need to sedate their curiosity. 

Your father let out a deep chuckle before rising to his feet. He walked to your side and placed a large hand on your blanket-covered shoulder, patting it slightly. “There's no need to get worked up about it. Get some sleep; you’ve had a long few days.” 

As he walked to leave, you began to climb to your feet, following after. Something tickled the back of your brain at your fathers demeanor, but you hadn’t gotten any answers “Wait but—!”

“Get some rest, (Y/N).”  He pulled the door a bit before pausing, giving you a tired and rugged smile. “You have nothing to worry about.”

The door closed behind him.

Despite everything that had happened, the three day party, your 19th birthday, a charming prince that had somehow swept you off your feet, all you wanted was to talk to your best friend. It felt like forever since you were last able to lean on his shoulder.

Maybe tomorrow. You looked at the gold band on your finger, heart swelling as your mind shifted. 

You’d search for your friend tomorrow.

Kiyoomi wasn’t there to wake you up the following morning. Only a cup of lemon tea sitting on a dust-free side table, and a clean poet shirt with black slacks, were left to prove his presence in your room at some point.

You yawned, stretching your arms as high as they could go before grabbing hold of the cup’s handle and taking a sip. The smell travelled up your nose.

You noticed that the sour feeling in your stomach had dissipated as you slipped the shirt on and started making your way down to the kitchens, cup in hand.

The wooden door to the cooking domain pushed open beneath your hand, suddenly revealing the same silver-headed chef you had run into a couple days earlier. He stepped backwards.

“Don’t worry, the cup is empty.”

“Not exactly what I was being cautious about, but good to know. Just didn’t want to be in your line of fire.”

You gasped, “Am I really that much of a hazard?”

He looked at the plated onigiri in his hands before holding one out for you. “More to yourself than to us. Want one?”

You huffed but took one anyway, biting into it immediately. Suddenly, out of your drowsy haze, you remembered your search. “Have you seen Yoomi around?”

The chef hummed, “This morning, but not since. Let me take your cup.”

You handed it over sadly, letting your shoulders droop at the news of your absent friend before stepping back into the hallway to begin your trek to the library.

Was he avoiding you? Running around and busying himself with work to keep himself away from your side? 

You paused in the large hallway with towering windows that overlooked the front garden. The sun was soft and warm, letting you easily look out the window without being blinded. Lydia stood out in the rose bushing with Bellamy, trimming the hedges and talking happily. The bench underneath the cherry blossoms held a pitcher of iced water and three glasses, both empty.

Did he know? He was with your father helping write the letters. Did he find out?

Your footsteps echoed through the empty wall as you continued your way down to the library.

You froze for a moment. Was he disappointed? Shaking your head, you quickened your pace.

The librarian just so happened to be stepping out as you got near, his light grey hair bouncing as he fiddled with the books in his hands. When he heard your heels hitting the floor he looked your way with a big smile. “Ah, your Highness, are you going in?”

“Sure am. May I ask where you’re heading?” You walked by him, through the doorway as he held it open for you.

“Oh, I'm joining Lydia and Bellamy in the garden.” He lifted the shoulder that was attached to the hand holding the small stack of books. “We plan to take a break and read in the sun.”

“Sounds lovely. Have fun.”

“You do too.” He winked before letting the door go and walking down the hall.

As the door closed behind you, your smile fell slightly and the sick feeling began to eat away at your stomach again.

From across the way, you could see the same green book from the second day of the event sitting on the coffee table in front of the two chairs. Its red ribbon poked out of the spine that became a bookmark as it hid between the pages.

Your steps echoed as you walked through the room, eyes trained on the novel that sat out of place.

Your fingers wrapped around the spine as you pushed your weight back to fall into your red seat. Kicking your legs up on one of the armrests, you twisted sideways to face the matching green chair and tilted your head to rest against the backrest. You opened the cover and began reading out loud to yourself from the first line.

“To the open waters of the great unknown, a pirate makes home among the fish and mermaids.”

You paused, stomach sinking as the sunlight lit up the view of the empty seat in front of you. 

The pages shook as you turned them, quivering lightly, sounding like a bird’s wings flapping. Even with the sun’s warmth pouring onto you through the skylight, it felt unbearably cold around you.

You eventually caught up to the marker, pausing as you held the ribbon between your thumb. Your mind wandered off the contents of the page in front of you to the mysterious man’s hand tucking it into the cover of the book.

Shutting your eyes for a moment, you shoved the ribbon back in place before flipping to the next page.

Only once the words stopped abruptly halfway through the page did you notice you had come to the end. Your mouth shut around the last syllable, swallowing the air as the story finished. Flipping the book in your hand to read the spine, you breathed slowly, readying yourself to rise to your feet and put the book away.

“You should read out loud more often, your voice is very soothing.”

The feeling that had dissipated in your stomach came back, shooting into your chest to make your heart race quicker. 

Frozen in place, you watched out of the corner of your eye as a freckled hand with your favourite ring adjourned on one finger came over your shoulder with a thornless rose balanced between two fingers.

“I’m sorry I haven't been around as of late.”

“Pri—” You swivelled in your seat, coming face to face with a familiar mask.

His arm now rested fully on your shoulder from the movement, giving you wide eyes beneath the crafted frame of green and gold. His hand lowered and arm moved, dropping the rose so it bounced off of your back and landed behind you, and came to rest on the back of your neck. The ring burned your skin. 

His breath was clean, warm against your cheeks. You bit your tongue as his other hand came to obstruct the view of his mask. Fingers gripping the top edge, he pulled the mask back, brushing over what you began to notice were loose wavy hairs. All the air in your lungs was stolen as you caught sight of two stacked moles through the moving eye socket of the mask.

You quickly raised your hand, brushing the pads of your fingers against the skin of his neck and weaving them through his shorter hairs. He breathed calmly as he pushed his forehead against yours. As he held the position you lifted your other hand to rest on the side of his neck, feeling his speeding pulse.

His moving hand dropped the mask, making it drop on the floor, and came to brush your side, gripping the flowy fabric of your poet's shirt between bare fingers.

Your stomach fluttered as his eyes closed and the tips of your noses touched. He hummed a happy sigh.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been rather absent the past few days.” You heard him kick the mask. “If you couldn’t tell already I was working two shifts at once.”

“Shut up. Yoomi.”

You pushed forward, lifting your knees onto the armrest and straightening up to get a higher vantage point, fingers pressing into his skin as you breathed against his lips. He held you tightly in return, pushing his chest into yours as his fingers danced along the centre line of your back. He pulled you closer, pushing your lips against his in a desperate manner.

The opposite side of the chair lifted, shooting your weight forward before falling back against the floor with a bang. You pulled away with a gasp, almost having fallen backwards if it weren’t for Kiyoomi’s arms gripping you tightly against his form.

“Clumsy aren’t you?” He smirked with half-lidded eyes.

You huffed through your nose, leaning toward his again. “I thought I told you to shut up.”

Guest appearances (not just by name) by: Yachi, Oikawa, Ushijima, Osamu, Ukai, Kiyoko, Aone, Sugawara

…..So I did say I’d write a long one. I was originally only going to be around 4k words…. Then I had an idea and kept writing. Normally I would write faster but this one took three weeks total. I’m proud of it though.

Also makes me want to do a mini series in this same universe… Maybe. Not sure how I'd have to set that up.

I’m sorry for making you edit so much Kiwi. - Bacon

(Don’t worry about it! It’s amazing! - Kiwi)

Posted: 28/02/2021

[pandoraborn]

BORN TO RISE Chapter 3 (also found on ao3)

----------

“Okay, so let’s try this again from the beginning,” Bad says as he dumps all the excess items into a hole. “You were paying attention, right?” There’s iron, excess dirt, excess cobblestone, and even food being dropped down. He wants Tommy to really understand, and the less items they start off with, the better off they’ll be. He even wears a smile as he turns to face Tommy, who’s only armed with a single block of wood. Bad had allowed Tommy to keep a few iron ingots on him, feeling bad over everything that happened previous to now.

“Yes, yes, I got it. You’ve repeated yourself three times now,” Tommy says with exasperation. He doesn’t look too frazzled though, but he’s staring down at the discarded items. He almost looks like he’s ready to grab them, so as a precaution, Bad grabs a single dirt block and places it over the hole. “Oh come on Bad, I wasn’t. You know what? You’re still a dick. I know how to speedrun, you don’t have to baby me.”

“I’m just making sure!” Bad kicks at the dirt before clearing his throat. “Okay, so I’m going to have Sapnap use a timer, and I’ll give you the go time and end time. You’ll have-

“Wait, hold on here, are we starting already? I’m not ready! What do I have to do?”

“No no, it’s okay Tommy.” Bad points to the wood block in Tommy’s hands. “You can start with that and the iron I left you. It’ll be okay. I want you to craft an iron set of tools within ten minutes. It’ll be easy to start, just remember to only get what you think you need, and nothing more.”

“I mean, if you’re sure.” Tommy sucks in a deep breath as he rocks on his heels, turning to face a different direction. “Wait, where do I go? Are you chasing me?”

“No, I won’t be chasing you. We’re timing you this round.”

“So all that stuff about me being hunted before, was that a lie? Am I still being hunted?”

“You know, I don’t really know.” Bad shrugs. “You were supposed to be, but I don’t know what happened with that. Maybe the hunting part is taking a break so we can focus on your timing.” He steps back to give Tommy room before tapping at his headset. “Sapnap?”

 “Don’t worry, I’m on it. Tommy, I’m starting the timer right now. Ten minutes, go.”

There’s a faint beep that sounds, and then Tommy is jumping to action. Bad has to hand it to the kid, when Tommy gets focused on something, he doesn’t seem to argue the point. He’s actually getting to work, punching out wood and making a crafting table. It’s at this point Tommy starts to slow. Bad doesn’t say anything, he’s just watching quietly. He’s aware that Sapnap and George are probably watching over the cameras as well, but he doesn’t bother asking for them.

There’s a wooden pickaxe now, followed by a wooden axe. Bad doesn’t really see why Tommy needs the axe, but at least materials aren’t being wasted.

“Oh, wait.” Tommy stops right after he moves away from the table. “I meant to craft sticks, I didn’t mean to make an axe. What am I even doing? Bad, why didn’t you stop me? This is all your fault, you know.”

“Oh, sure, okay.” Bad snorts, shaking his head. Tommy’s tossing the axe to the side and quickly making more sticks, before heading over to the bottom of the cliff towering over the pair. “Remember, you only have ten minutes.”

“Shut up, stop it, I know.” Tommy shoots a quick glare in Bad’s direction before beginning to mine away at the stone. He digs a small hole, already finding coal, before digging down. At least he’s moving quickly. “Hey Bad, can you just say fuck once for me?”

“Language.”

“Sorry.”

There’s a silence that falls over the both of them as Tommy mines deeper into his hole, and deeper underground. Bad remains on the surface as he stares at the hole, watching as a faint light flickers inside. Tommy must’ve found coal to make torches. He taps his fingers impatiently against the stone, wondering how much time is actually left.

 “Five minutes, Tommy. How’re you doing?”

“Sapnap, can I punch you in the face just once?” Comes Tommy’s reply. “Just once, just to see how you like it. Maybe twice if I like it. Maybe Dream will even point and laugh. See, he likes me a lot more than he likes you.”

 “Punching me isn’t nice, Tommy. Stay focused, okay?”

“Shut up. I’m coming back up. Wait, shit, I’m l..wait, no. No, shut up. I know exactly where I am. Techno taught me how to be the ‘Uman GPS, you know. He’s my brother.”

“We just want to make sure you’re staying on task,” Bad says gently. “We know you’re capable otherwise. You haven’t updated us on your progress.”

“I don’t have to update anyone. I don’t have to say shit about anything. I know exactly what I’m doing, I know how to speed run. You’re all just pussies who can’t handle the big man anymore.”

At least Tommy no longer sounds like he’s in a bad mood. Bad would have to consider this progress. Unless Tommy is getting better at hiding it. Then again, he does seem a little more willing to listen and stick to tasks, maybe. It’s hard to tell what he’s doing when he’s down a hole with only five minutes to spare.

“Tommy, what’s your progress?” Bad pushes. “I don’t want to see you run out of time with only stone to your name.”

“I’m making my way back up, Bad. Christ, you’re so naggy. Has anyone ever mentioned that you nag too much?”

“That’s a little harsh, Tommy.” Bad rubs his forehead as he closes his eyes. He’s not going to let Tommy’s words get to him.

“I’m just saying what we’re all thinking man. Oh, whoops, I don’t want to slip down there, that looks like a big hole.”

“Are you alright down there?” Bad isn’t sure if he should rush down to try and find Tommy or remain on the surface. Probably best to stay up here.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine, Bad. I’m making my way back up to the surface. Are you still stood by there?”

“Yeah, I haven’t left. I’m waiting for you to come back up. Are you sure you’re okay?”

 “Two minutes.”

“I’m coming! Just hang on, both of you!” Tommy sounds almost out of breath, as if he’s rushing. It’s a few seconds before Bad hears dull thudding on the stone below, followed by Tommy rushing back out into fresh air with an arm full of iron ingots. “It’s not time yet. Sapnap, don’t you dare call time. I can still craft them just-”

He cuts himself off, running back toward his crafting table and dropping the iron down. He grabs more wood, turning it into sticks, and then slapping the iron onto the sticks to form tools.

 “Three, two one. Tommy, it’s time.”

“Done!” Tommy stands back proudly, beckoning Bad forward. “A set of iron tools Bad. Pickaxe, axe, sword, shovel. Done. Look, see? I’m a big man, I got so much stuff done in ten minutes. I know how to manage myself. I’m awesome.”

Bad claps, unable to wipe the smile from his face. “You did great Tommy! I was honestly worried you wouldn’t make it in time, but you actually pulled it off.”

“I can’t believe you doubted me. You’re such an asshole.” Tommy huffs as he picks up the axe and starts mining away at the trees. “So what are we doing now? Am I going to have to mine for more iron?”

“No no no, hey, Tommy, you don’t need more wood. We’re not hoarding items. What I want you to do now is to go find food. We’re going to push forward. Take the craft-”

“Why can’t I take the wood? What if I need it?”

Bad steps forward, pressing his hand to Tommy’s arm to pull the axe away from the tree. “Easy, Tommy. You can always get more wood later when you need it. The point of a speed run is to keep a minimal inventory, because you want to constantly be on the go. You get it?”

“Ooh, yeah, yeah. Bad, there’s a desert over there. Do you reckon we could find a village or a temple in there?” Tommy points off in the direction of the desert. “I was going to head over there earlier, but then you all started yelling over the headset and giving me a headache. It was pissing me off, you know. I wanted to stab shit.”

“First off, you can try being a little nicer. We already apologized for what happened.” Bad doesn’t push the issue after that, figuring it’s just Tommy being his usual self. He has to remind himself that Tommy probably still does hold some resentment, and he’s within his rights to feel that way. He decides to address the exploration though. “It wouldn’t hurt to go check out the desert though. I can keep you on task, and we can pretend someone’s hunting us down.” Bad follows where Tommy’s pointing. “Could pretend Dream is hunting you.”

“Where has Dream been anyway? I haven’t heard from him at all. He’s not abandoned you, has he?” Tommy starts walking, but turns around to face Bad as he speaks. He’s wearing a concerned expression on his face that almost seems to hide a smile. “I’m your new leader, aren’t I?”

Bad laughs. “No Tommy, you’re not the new team lead. You’re not even on the team. We want you though, we just have to make sure you’re focused.”

“I bet I’m more focused than all of you combined,” Tommy brags. “I got a full set of iron tools in ten minutes. Just as you wanted. Bet none of you can do that.” He laughs at his own comment. Bad has to admit, Tommy is carrying himself a little taller. Still shorter than Bad by a couple of feet, but he’s standing straighter and looking pleased with himself. Bad feels some sort of strange affection for the kid, wondering if praise is all Tommy really needs. He does seem to respond rather well to it.

“I bet so too,” Bad says absently. He motions for Tommy to turn around and walk forward, which he does. “What else do you want training in, other than speedrunning? Because we could do a lot more once we’re done here.”

“I’m excellent in Sky Battle,” Tommy replies proudly. “I kicked Dream’s ass there.”

“We were there, remember?” It’s easy to be perky now. It’s far easier to talk when Tommy isn’t threatening him or swearing at him every few words. “You did great, we were all proud of you.”

“Yeah?” Tommy spins around again. “I was so focused on everything happening, I didn’t think to look for the rest of you. Were you really watching me?”

“Yeah! We all got to see your big moment in person. You were excellent out there.”

“You know what? Maybe you’re not so bad.” Tommy faces forward again, picking up his speed as they enter the desert. Bad tries to shrug off the rise in temperature as he continues to follow. He’s already scanning the horizon for any structures they could potentially run across, but so far, all he’s seeing is sand piles.

“You think so?” Bad asks. “Tommy, are you starting to like me?”

“Ew, no! Bad, keep it in your pants. Jesus man, I’m a child.” Tommy’s grinning as he speaks, which makes it clear he’s just teasing. Bad doesn’t feel tense with the joke either.

“Not like that Tommy,” Bad wheezes. “You’re not bad, for being a teenager. You’re pretty funny.”

“Wait, really?” Tommy looks surprised by that. “You actually think I’m funny?” He slows his step, turning his head to watch as Bad catches up to him. “Usually people tell me to shut up, but they laugh at me at the same time, so I can’t really tell anymore.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty silly,” Bad says with a nod. “I think sometimes you push things too far, but given your age, it’s expected. I don’t mind spending time with you.” He scans the horizon again, before waving his hand vaguely toward the left. “Also, there’s a temple over there.” “You should lead the way,” Tommy says. “Make sure there aren’t any traps around. You never know when sand will just fall beneath your feet, and honestly? Better you than me.” He stops walking completely, then beckons for Bad to start walking.

“This is your training though,” Bad protests. “You should take the lead.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what I’m doing, so I want you to show me the ropes. Go on then.” Tommy shoots him a too-wide smile as he sweeps his arm again. “After you, Badboyhalo.”

“Alright, if you say so.” It’s Bad’s turn to straighten up, walking with a little more ‘pep in his step’, as Tommy would say. It’s hard to stay serious and focused when Tommy is being optimistic and funny. He’s definitely growing on Bad.

“Tommy, why don’t you tell me about yourself? I barely know you, and if we’re going to spend time together, I’d like to know a little more about you.” He marches toward the temple, impressed by the size. It’s half buried under sand, but it’s nothing overwhelming. He can easily dig sand out with his bare hands, while leaving Tommy to do most of the heavy lifting.

In fact, Bad’s already getting to work on clearing out sand and tossing it to the side.

“Oh, what do you want to know?” Tommy asks. “Just to be clear, are you asking about me, or are you asking about my dad and Techno?”

Bad frowns as he pauses his digging to face Tommy. Tommy’s face is neutral, he’s digging out sandstone and tossing them to the side, much like Bad had done. There’s that same flash of anger that had been in his posture earlier, so Bad quickly shakes his head, realizing that he’s about to tread on some dangerous ground.

“No, I’m asking about you. I love your family, but I want to know more about you. What you’re into, what you like, and what got you interested in competitions and tournaments. What drives TommyInnit?”

“Oh.” There’s a somber tone to Tommy’s voice at the question. “No one’s ever asked about me before.” He swings his pickaxe a little harder than normal. “I like spending time with Wilbur. He likes to play music sometimes, so I like to sit at night and listen to him sing and play his guitar. I like video games too. Simple ones, mostly. Most of my time is either spent in classes or in training.”

“Do you spend a lot of time training? Where do you usually train at?”

“We don’t have our own training grounds. We’re not rich you know.” Tommy shrugs as he mines down the center of the temple. “How many diamonds do you think we’ll find? Ooh, if we find a saddle or horse armor, can I keep it?”

“Careful not to hit the pressure plate at the bottom,” Bad warns. He can’t follow Tommy down; the drop would cause him to respawn too far from Tommy. “And...sure. If you really want a horse, I don’t see why you can’t tame one.” He sits on the edge and looks down, watching Tommy rummage through the chests at the bottom.

“What else do you want to know about me? Are you surprised I like horses? I’m not really a pet person, honestly. Though I can see the appeal behind them. Personally, I’d want a dog.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bad nods, even though Tommy can’t see him. “I have a dog, you know. Her name’s Rat.”

“You should show me a picture. I want to see what this dog of yours looks like. Also I’m coming up.”

Bad leans forward into the darkness. Tommy’s making his way back up, and in the singular lighting of the torch Tommy’s holding, Bad can see a smug grin on the boy’s face. “Did you find anything good down there?” Bad asks.

“Three diamonds, gold horse armor, two emeralds, and lots of wheat. I’m going to assume there’s a village not too far away. Is trading allowed in speed running?”

“Oh, yeah of course!” Bad gets to his feet, then bends over to hold his hand out. “Let me pull you up the rest of the way. I don’t think we’ll have trouble finding the village. I’m going to see if I can’t pull some strings and get Sapnap-”

 “I’m going to get yelled at by Dream for helping you.”

“Oh, don’t worry!” Bad laughs, then makes sure Tommy’s on solid ground. “We’re only training, it’s not anything serious. Can you give us a village please?”

“I guess. Just as long as you don’t tell Dream. There’s a village about an hour off. I hope the two of you have fun.” The line goes dead after he finishes, leaving Tommy and Bad in an awkward silence.

“An hour isn’t...I don’t…” Tommy scowls. He’s clenching his pick axe more tightly in his fists, so Bad just presses his hand to Tommy’s back, hoping to distract him.

“Tommy, Tommy, hey. Keep telling me about yourself. What else do you do that doesn’t involve championships?” Tommy takes a long moment to calm himself. He’s walking though, gaze focused forward, clearly trying to shut Bad out until he gets a hold of himself. Bad is happy to wait until Tommy’s ready to talk.

It’s ten minutes before Tommy’s shoulders finally untense. He exhales, rolling his head from side to side. “Sorry, I didn’t want to swear at you. I just don’t understand the point of this anymore, if I’m just going to have to walk everywhere and not actually make progress in going to The End.”

“That’s fa-....wait. You didn’t want to swear at me?” Bad blinks in surprise. “Since when? You usually can’t wait for a chance to swear at people.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been nice to me lately, and I don’t really want to yell at you because I’m mad at Sapnap.” Tommy shrugs, keeping his gaze downturned. “I also don’t know what else to talk about. I’m the youngest in my family and I have big shoes to fill.”

Tommy’s not joking anymore, he’s not swearing, he’s not even wearing a smile. Bad knows this time Tommy’s good humor is lost. Maybe the novelty of something exciting had finally worn off, leaving a tired teenager in its place. Bad feels bad all over again, but nothing now can help other than some conversation.

“You’re pretty good on your own Tommy. I love seeing you in action.”

“Tell me more about yourself instead.” Tommy nods, while still marching forward. “Tell me about your life, who you spend time with. I daresay you don’t spend a ton of time with your own team, do you?”

“You’d be right. My best friend is Skeppy. I also really like spending time with Antfrost. We like to play pranks on each other, do random things.”

“Is all your time spent training too? Are you always out here? Or do you have your own training grounds?” Tommy is at least trying to sound more cheerful than he looks. Still, Bad wonders if this was too much. He wonders if Tommy even slept well overnight, or if he’s just pushing himself.

The more Bad stares, the more exhausted he realizes Tommy looks.

“No, like you I’m not always training. Who’s your closest friend, if not Wilbur?”

“Tubbo and Timedeo, mostly. I spend a lot more time with Tubbo though. He likes to play the piano.” There’s a flicker of a smile on Tommy’s face now. “I bet Tubbo would enjoy being here.”

“You already miss him?” Bad asks. “I didn’t think you were the sentimental type; it’s only been about a day or two.”

The smile drops from Tommy’s face instantly. “Let’s just walk, okay? I don’t feel like talking anymore.”

Bad doesn’t argue. If Tommy’s in a bad mood, he’s not going to push it. He’s probably done too much pushing lately, and he doesn’t want to damage the newly forming bond they have. It’s probably not just Sapnap that’s gotten to Tommy either, but something else.

They spend the next couple of hours finding the village. It’s on the edge of the desert and a savannah, along with a savannah village not too far off, either. It’s a lucky find, but it’s still not enough to snap Tommy out of his funk.

“Bad, can we take a nap?” Tommy asks. “I want to take a break.” He’s already heading for one of the huts. “I think there’s a double bed in here too.”

“Sure, Tommy.” Bad follows him. “You tired? Do you need food?”

“I’m not hungry. I just want to lie down for awhile.” Tommy enters the hut and flops down on one of the beds. He sets all his things down on the floor next to his bed, ignoring as Bad settles on the other bed. He lies down, kicking the blankets to the edge and away from him.

Bad isn’t quite tired, but he wonders if a nap will help him focus more, too. He pulls his headset off and rests it on the nearest nightstand. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Not really,” comes the muted reply. “I just wanna make them proud.”

How is Bad supposed to respond to that? He continues staring at Tommy’s prone form, long after Tommy’s fallen asleep. That same guilt twists his gut again, but instead of doubting Tommy, he wonders if Tommy has any faith in himself.

He hopes so.

[dr-stone-things]

how about some headcanons of senku, yuzuriha, and taiju overhearing their s/o gushing about them to their friends!

*raises arms up in the air* YES PLEASE!!!! MY BABIES… also i made a thing.. (also i hope you like this bc i wrote a lot lmao) (also!! i know you asked for friends, but taiju’s kinda became… err you’ll see haha)

Senku, Yuzuriha, And Taiju With Gushing S/O HCS

I mean like, I feel like Senku didn’t have too many friends in school. I mean, we all know Senku can be a bit… rude and many of his classmates did not really like how he was a smartass. So he pretty much lived his life, his only real friends being Taiju and Yuzuriha, maybe some of the nerds from his science club as well.

When he met s/o, he was kind of surprised at how much they wanted to be with him, and how they thought he was super cool. Of course, he didn’t voice these thoughts.

So when the school sees s/o and Senku walking together all buddy-buddy, everyone’s like?? How?? Why?? Eventually, they spilt to go to class.

Senku sat down in his seat, a bit early. He dug through his bag to find his notebook when he saw the pieces of paper sticking out of it. Curiously, he took them out to see it was his s/o’s homework he helped them with.

He sighed. They had forgotten their homework, again. He quickly exited the classroom to go to s/o’s class. It was quite close, thankfully. The door was already open. He was about to enter when-

“Why do you even hang out with him, s/o?”

“With who?”

“That Ishigami boy.”

“Because he’s my boyfriend, (friend-name)!”

Silence.

“EEEEHHHHH???!!”

All of s/o’s friends jumped from their seat and crowded around their desk. “Are you serious??!”

“Well, yea! Why would I lie about-”

“Oh my God, s/o no one even likes that guy.”

“S/o, you can do so much better than him.”

“Yea, he acts like he knows so much about science but-”

“Guys! You have the wrong idea about Senku! He’s actually really kind and caring.”

Senku frowned as he peered through the door. He loved s/o, but he didn’t want to bring their reputation down by being with them… he continued to listen.

“Oh really? How is a brat like him kind and caring?”

“Senku is always there for me, even though he shows it in a roundabout way. Even though he’s not that strong if he sees me struggling to carry my books he offers to help me.”

“But-”

“Whenever I need help with my homework, Senku always gives up his free time to tutor me. He won’t leave me alone until I understand the topic. Even though he’s not too romantic, we always go watch the stars as dates. He may come off as rude sometimes, but he doesn’t mean it. That’s just his personality. When you get close to him, he really does care about you. Whenever I’m scared about an upcoming exam or something, he always reassures me that I’m going to be fine. We always conduct these crazy experiments together and-”

S/o just kept going on and on about Senku. At least 5 minutes had passed, and s/o’s friends and Senku stood there stunned.

“Oh and, there was this one time when he let me play with his hair! It was so soft and fluffy!” s/o gushed as they giggled.

Senku could feel the tips of his ears burn as he covered his mouth with his hand, trying to stop smiling like an idiot. The bell rung as the teacher saw him not in his class and ordered him to go before he gets detention.  He didn’t even hear as he slowly walked back, still trying to get his emotions under control.

That was the first time he was ever late to science class.

“Senku, Senku!! Do you know where I put my homework??!”

It was after school, and s/o was in the clubroom frantically searching through their bag.

“Yea, you left it in my bag.”

“I did? Thank God! You’re the best Senku!” they ran up to him, placing a quick kiss to his cheek.

He tried to keep his blush under control and he nodded.

“Hey, s/o?”

“Yea??”

“Thanks for all of the things you’ve done for me.”

S/o stopped what they were doing as they looked at him with a blush. “Well, of course, it’s no problem. But where is this coming from?”

Senku cracked his neck, searching for the right words. 

“S/o… what I’m trying to say is that… I love you.”

Hehe… as I’ve said for the 10 billionth time, Yuzuriha is soft babey….

I feel like Yuzuriha would be that one person everyone knows and loves because she’s so nice and kind and good and- you get the point.

You know how she’s the club leader for the Arts and Crafts club?? All of the members love her!! So I mean, they are totally willing to listen to s/o gush about Yuzuriha.

Yuzuriha had excused herself in order to get more supplies from the storeroom.

“Oh my gosh, Yuzuriha is the cutest thing ever.”

“I know s/o, you say that every single day. Is there a day where you don’t say that?”

“I know but… she’s just so amazing and creative!!”

“Yes, I get it s/o-”

“No!! You need to hear about how great she is!!”

Yuzuriha had made her way back to the room when she heard loud voices coming from it. Had something happened while she was gone? She peered through the crack of the door and say her s/o standing on the table, holding a broom to their mouth like a microphone, as the other club members watched in amazement.

“You see everyone, Yuzuriha is literally a sunflower. When she smiles it is as bright as the sun. AND,” s/o said emphasizing the ‘and,’ “she is prettier than any flower in the world.” 

“Well that’s nice but-”

S/o furiously lifted their finger to their lips and emitted a loud “SHHHHH!!!!”

“Anyway, do you guys see how creative she is?? In a second she can create the most fashionable clothes!! And look around you!!,” s/o gestured to the artistic designs on the walls and floors, “who do you think painted and came up with this? It was the love of my life, Yuzuriha Ogawa!!! And!!! Do you know how kind and sweet she is? She always helps people when they need help and is always willing you help you perfect your craft skills! And-”

S/o stopped as they saw Yuzuriha standing at the door with a blush on her face.

“YUZURIHHAAAA!!!”

S/o jumped off the table and ran to her, squeezing her body in a tight hug. “I missed you soooo much!”

“She’s only been gone for 5 minutes…” one of the club members sighed.

“S-s/o…” Yuzuriha gently smiled as she patted their hair. Her heart squeezed and pounded against her chest because of s/o’s cuteness.

“I love you, s/o…” Yuzuriha murmured softly. The club members looked up, astonished. S/o looked up with a huge grin on their face.

“I LOVE YOU TOOOOO!!!!!”

Sorry for the crying Taiju gif-

Anyway!! Taiju was like, mindblown (I’ve been using that word too much) when s/o accepted his confession. He’d been harboring feelings for them for so long… and he was really surprised when s/o said the magic words back to him.

“Actually… Taiju… I like you too!”

Ok… before I go on I have to say Taiju has to be like, the best boyfriend ever!! Always supporting his s/o in whatever they do and just… uwu.

Taiju was practically running to his s/o’s last period class. School had just ended and he was eager to see his s/o again. He skidded to a halt and stopped in front of the open classroom door.

“Why are you even dating that meathead?”

“Because I love him.”

Taiju frowned as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

“He’s not even good at anything-”

“I am going to stop you right there. Taiju is an amazing person.”

“Oh really? How in the world is someone like him-”

“Taiju is good at plenty of things, ok? He’s always right by my side. Whenever I’m feeling down or sad, he knows what to do to make me feel like myself again. He may seem dense at times, but he can easily read my feelings and knows exactly how to care for me. Taiju always picks me up and spins me around…” s/o began to get off-topic as they gushed about him.

“Taiju always has a good attitude about everything. He’s always so positive and that makes me happy too. He’s goodnatured and has a beautiful heart-” s/o stopped as they noticed Taiju standing at the doorway.

“Taiju! You’re here!”

“Yea…” Taiju oddly walked over to s/o, quickly taking their hand in his and shooting a look at the bullies. S/o stuck their tongue out at them as she pulled Taiju out of the classroom.

“It’s been a nice little chat, but as you can see, I have to go.”

They quickly exited the school as s/o sighed. “You saw that didn’t you-” s/o did not get to finish their sentence as Taiju screamed.

“S/O!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” he yelled at the top of his lungs as he effortlessly picked s/o up and spun them around in the air.

“OHHHHHHH!!!!! S/O!!!!” he put them down and kept screaming.

“T-Taiju! You can stop screaming my name now!”

“S/O….. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!” he screamed out again, engulfing them in a bone-crushing hug.

“Taiju…” s/o said softly, caressing his hair as they smiled. They pulled him down to their level and pecked him on the lips.

“I love you too!”

[swimyghost]

Camellias and Carrots

Hey y’all. I’m finally writing something for my OCs. I just wanna say that @wickedhellagoodtime‘s OC is briefly mentioned but otherwise I hope you enjoy!

--------

"Uh, Hanamori-san, she's back again."

Tsubaki let out a groan. She set the bag of soil she was carrying on the wooden counter next to the cash register. Tsubaki could hear the front door shake as someone continuously banged on it.

"Just let her in, Ichiro," she sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. "She'll bust down the door if we don't hurry."

The young black-haired man gulped and nodded. He passed the rows of flowers on shelves stood guard with their backs turned away from the walls. Side-stepping the island table containing the array of multi-color bouquets, Ichiro nervously adjusted his glasses then opened the door. The door wasn't even fully opened when the figure shoved themselves into the store. Tsubaki crossed her arms. She eyed the rude intruder up and down.

"You know, you're making yourself rather suspicious in that outfit, bunny."

The person growled and ripped off her broad-rimmed hat. Instantly two fluffy white rabbit ears perked up once their cover was gone. The person, a woman wearing a rather large white coat with a fluffy white collar and cuffs, pointed an accusatory finger at the Tsubaki. "I've told you repeatedly to not call me bunny, Dropout!"

Tsubaki rolled her eyes. "Fine. Just lose the coat. You look like you just murdered a bunch of polar bears for it."

The woman growled and her ears swiveled towards Ichiro. He was trying to inch his way towards the backroom when the woman grapped his shirt collar. Ichiro let out a yelp as the woman whipped him around to face her.

"Listen, kid, take my coat and hat and put them somewhere in the back then stay there. Your boss and I need to chat."

"Yes, Usagiyama-san!" Ichiro replied, immediately taking the clothing items and rushing to the back.

Now that Tsubaki could fully see the person, the identity of the individual was confirmed. The Pro-Hero Rumi Usagiyama, Hero Name Miruko, returned to her flower shop to bother her once more.

Miruko stretched her arms over her head, grunting at the action. Tsubaki, against better judgment, gave her another once over. Miruko's skin was smooth and marked with dozens of tiny and large scars alike. Her body was definitely built for her Quirk, with her muscular thighs and her lean calves certainly reminded Tsubaki of the rabbits she saw at the park. But that didn't mean her upper body was neglected. Tsubaki observed her rock-solid core as the Hero shifted to stretching her triceps. Speaking of triceps, both them and her biceps were bludging with the clear power that was under her deep brown skin. Tsubaki then moved to her chest which had a crescent moon symbol plastered right on it.

The store owner turned her head in shame. This woman harasses me constantly and yet I have the gull to objectify her. I'm disgusting!

"Hey, who's that kid?"

Tsubaki returned to the present and noticed that Miruko was staring at the entrance to the backroom. Tsubaki sighed. "I tell you his name every time you come here, it's Ichiro Niwakojo."

"Riiiiight, and, uh, what's his Quirk?"

Tsubaki didn't reply right away. She decided that if Miruko wasn't going to leave any time soon, she was going to continue working. She was grateful that her toolbox was still on the floor near the half-circle counter that was still holding the bag of soil from earlier. Making a mental note to take care of that later, Tsubaki made her way to the front of the store, knowing some petunias needed to be pruned for a client. Miruko stayed where she was but both her eyes and ears were still pointed at the pink petal-haired storeowner.

"It's called Plant Growth. Basically, he can grow plants slightly faster if he knows the biological makeup of said plant." Tsubaki cut back some dead leaves off one of the petunias. She took great care in not damaging the stem or the healthy leaves.

"A lot different than your Quirk. A lot weaker." Miruko sneered.

Tsubaki knew what the Pro-Hero was playing at. She didn't take the bait, instead choosing to move to a different flower. "Yes, but he's great with all the flowers and his bouquet-craft almost rivals my own. I know he wants to be a horticulturist but if he ever changed career paths I wouldn't be upset."

Miruko's ear twitched but she didn't say anything. Tsubaki finished her pruning and set her tools back into her box. She was lucky to have some fresh soil and transport bags underneath her counter and began to dig up the flowers. Miruko watched with intensity as Tsubaki poured fresh soil into a cloth bag with the flowers gently placed inside. As the florist began to finish up her task, the Pro-Hero spoke up once more.

"You're hardworking."

Tsubaki raised an eyebrow. "Thank you?"

Miruko frowned. "Why do you say it like that?"

"Because this is the first time you've complimented me," Tsubaki explained.

"No, it hasn't." Miruko denied, her ears folding back against her head.

"Yes, it has."

"Whatever!" Miruko's hand flew up in annoyance before slamming down onto the counter. Tsubaki heard a crack. "You're paying for that," She murmured.

"You're clearly know how to work with all this plant stuff, you're hardworking and never stop working even when I show up-"

"Because I have a business to run."

"-you show great talent with your Quirk."

"Now I know you're pulling at straws! I haven't used my Quirk a single time you've been here."

"Really?" Miruko smirked and pointed at the bag still tightly grasped in Tsubaki's hand. "Last time I was here those flowers were nothing but seeds."

Tsubaki looked away. "So?"

"I was here only two days ago."

Tsubaki growled and tossed the bag onto the counter. "So what, I use my Quirk to help my business? What else am I to do with my Quirk?"

"Become a Hero! Stop playing with your little flowers and actually do something!" Miruko leaned over the counter. Tsubaki could feel her hot breath on her face. "You could be saving lives but instead you choose to hide away because you got scared."

Tsubaki bared her teeth. "How dare you! I lost everything in that battle and, instead of wallowing in despair, I made a name for myself. I built myself a life where I can find peace within myself and I don't have to wake up every day worried if those I love are dead or not."

"You wake up every day for what? Something that someone else will buy and probably not take care of? Something that will end up dying in less than a few weeks? Maybe a few months at the most?"

"At least I enjoy what I do and don't have to parade around pretending my life is so cool and that there are no downsides to it."

"Oh please, you're a fool to think I don't know I could die." Miruko grinned. "That's just apart of the thrill."

"Apart of the- Oh Lord, you've lost your mind." Tsubaki leaned against the hall. She buried her head in her hands. The conversation always went like this when she was faced with Miruko.

"Besides," Miruko continued. "I can just have days off when I feel like it."

"So can I. You're not special." Tsubaki countered.

"I thought you had to work every day just to keep yourself afloat," Miruko said.

"That is a fantasy you crafted yourself. I'm financially stable. But I do close the shop if I'm feeling sick or if I have to go out shopping. Sometimes I close early when it's a holiday." Tsubaki explained.

Miruko scoffed. "You need to go shopping? Why can't you just grow it, Dropout?"

"You can't grow meat on trees, bunny." Tsubaki snapped.

That shout Miruko up because her ears shoot up at the statement. Tsubaki thought the Hero was going to say something snarky but the opposite happened. Miruko's face contorted into confusion and bewilderment. Her body sort of fell forward against the counter as if she couldn't properly stand. Tsubaki wondered if the rabbit Quirked hero was having a heart attack or something. Instead, the store owner was stunned by Miruko's next sentence.

"You eat meat?"

It was Tsubaki's turn to be confused. She stumbled with her words before she finally shot out, "Yes? Why wouldn't I?"

Miruko blushed and awkwardly looked at the floor. "Well, it's just... You know!" She gestured up and down at Tsubaki.

Tsubaki blinked a few times before it hit her. "Are you... Stereotyping me?"

"No! I just... Are you like a venus flytrap?"

"No, I'm not like a venus flytrap!" Tsubaki shouted, gripping the siding of her head as if a headache was beginning to form. "I'm a human being!"

"But wouldn't you be a vegetarian because you're, like, a plant?" Miruko asked, her voice rising several octaves higher.

"If I were a plant, why would I eat my own kind?" Tsubaki replied with irritation seeping into her tone.

"I don't know, I just thought-"

"If you're a rabbit, why don't you eat carrots all the time and say 'what's up, doc?'". Tsubaki interrupted, putting on a bad impression while she was at it.

Miruko's blush deepened as she shoved a finger in the plant Quirk user's face. "I'm not Bugs fucking Bunny, first of all! And second of all, I do enjoy carro-"

A low yet loud growled rumbled through the store. Tsubaki instantly whipped her head around, trying to locate the source of the noise. She learned from both living in the big city and Hero Training that villains could be around every corner. She did a once-over of the shelves, making sure no one had snuck in while the two were arguing. When no one could be seen she yelled for Ichiro. She asked if he had heard anything, still making sure the front of the store was safe.

"No, ma'am. Is something wrong?" Ichiro replied, still hiding in the backroom afraid to face Miruko if she saw him disobeying his orders.

"Miruko did you-"

The Pro-Hero was clutching her waist and visibly shaking. Her ears were lying lifeless against her head. Tsubaki ducked slightly and noticed her eyes were watering. It took her a few moments, her Tsubaki's own eyes widened with surprise.

"Are you... Hungry?"

"Shut up!"

Tsubaki winced as Miruko slammed her forehead into her's. The rabbit woman's red eyes were like two fiery suns as she spoke.

"I wasn't able to eat breakfast today before some villains decided to stir up some trouble. They were super close so I couldn't just do nothing! Then I had to on a search and rescue mission after a bunch of hikers got in a landslide and then-"

"Alright, I get it," Tsubaki pushed the hero off her and rubbed her aching forehead with the back of her hand. "But... It's nearly two-thirty, why didn't you just stop and get lunch?"

Miruko growled but turned her gaze away from Tsubaki. "I had to see you first, of course."

Tsubaki dramatically placed two hands on her chest and cooed. "Oh, darling~, you shouldn't have!"

Miruko's temper flared up. "I'll make you eat those words, Dropo-!"

The small silver and green-screen communicator on the Pro's wrist lit up and began to beat. Miruko snarled and ripped it off her wrist before holding it up to her ear.

"What?!" She barked.

Tsubaki couldn't hear the conversation, but she could tell Miruko was getting more and more annoyed by her slouched body posture. Her right foot was tapping away like crazy as the conversation continued.

"What do you mean I-!" Miruko shouted after Tsubaki was sure her foot broke through the floor. "I already said no! ...What do you mean I have to!? Do they know who I fucking am!? No, don't 'Usagiyama-san' me, I- Don't hang up you cock-sucking-!"

Miruko whipped around with both shock and fury plastered all over her face. "They hung up on me!"

"Who is they?" Tsubaki asked.

"The Hero Public Safety Commission," Miruko explained, solving her communicator back into its silver band-like holster. "They believe it'd be better for me to be seen with a sidekick so the public doesn't worry about me dying or whatever. Says it's to 'calm their nerves'".

Tsubaki couldn't help but snort at Miruko's mocking tone. She watched as the Hero make her way to the front door before cursing.

"Shit, my disguise! Whatever, I'll have to pick it up later. The Commission will have my head if I don't show up soon."

"I thought you said you were free to do Hero Work whenever you felt like it. That you could choose your free days." Tsubaki smirked.

"Shut up, Dropout!" Miruko yelled back.

Tsubaki chuckled. She was about to turn to go back to her work when she realized something.

"You said you liked carrots, right?"

Miruko didn't even look at her, just swirled her ears towards her to let Tsubaki know she was listening. "Yeah? What about it?"

"Just curious." Tsubaki waved it off.

Miruko just grunted and exited the store, giving the building some time to breathe.

---

Rumi hated taking the back ways when going places but she didn't want that dropout's store flooded with paparazzi when she just wanted to receive her clothes. The last wave was already hard to shake off, if they saw her going into some random flower shop owned by one of UA's biggest scandals, both her and Tsubaki would be swarmed by the press for weeks to come.

Crouching next to a dumpster, Rumi shivered as she was forced to place her feet in some nasty brownish puddle. Rumi grided her teeth together then faced the way leading onto the street.

I swear, if someone with a camera comes up to me I'll break it over their heads!

She did a mental countdown in her head before using all her speed to dash out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. She had to use all her leg muscles to skid to a stop or else be run over by a car then raced down the street. To everyone else, she was just a white blur. Someone would probably call the cops or try to get some Heroes involved if she continued to run past civilians.

Let 'em! She thought to herself, grinning one of her famous smiles I'll be out faster then before those stupid police can even think of coming over here!

Luckily, Tsubaki’s store was at the end of the line of buildings so Rumi just ran inside and slammed the door behind her. It was a miracle the glass door didn't shatter as the entire building shook due to the force.

"Dropout! Guess what! I got a sidekick and he might actually be kickass! His name is Oniyama, like my name, he wears a rabbit- Hey! Where are you?"

Ichiro, standing behind the cash register, waved at the Pro. "Hello, Usagiyama-san!" Although he sounded friendly, he was slowly inching away from Rumi so he wouldn't be in her line of fury.

Rumi placed her hands on her hips. "Hey, kid, where's Dropout?"

Ichiro fidgeted with a nearby rag. "Hanamori-san? She went out to make a delivery ten minutes ago. She won't be here for another hour."

Miruko frowned and opened her mouth to speak, but Ichiro beat her to it. "Oh, I already have your coat and hat here, ma'am. But Hanamori-san told me to tell you that she has something for you upstairs." He pointed to the wooden stairs behind the counter.

"You mean... She left something for me in her apartment?" Rumi scoffed. "Yeah, right, I'm not stupid. That has trap written all over it."

Ichiro tried to speak, but it was Rumi's turn to cut him off. "But I'll see what that Dropout has in store for me."

She walked past the rows of flowers and went behind to counter to the stares. Ichiro's gaze followed her until she turned to look at him. Her mouth grew into a wide smile.

"Move even a hair and I'll break your legs and send you to the police myself."

Ichiro whimpered but nodded profusely. Rumi felt a little bad for scaring the young man but still made her way up the creaky staircase. The dark oak door was heavily stylized with detailed depictions of flowers and vines, something Rumo would've been more interested in had she not been in a hurry. She opened the door and was surprised to see how... Cozy Tsubaki's apartment was.

A coat rack stood tall in front of her with several different coats of different materials and lengths. Her walls were a honey brown color with pictures lining the walls. Rumi could see that many of them were Tsubaki with what she assumed was her family. Like the downstairs, plants were either hanging from the ceiling, in pots of various sizes, or wrapped around objects like vases and table lamps. To her left, was the kitchen with cabinets and a circular white table with chairs placed on the center edge.

Rumi walked in and saw that there were two doors next to the kitchen which she assumed she wasn't allowed in. She passed the corner of the apartment there held the couch and the flatscreen TV raised above the fireplace as she used her ears to listen for any noises. She went completely sit to make sure she could properly hear everything. Rumi could hear the panicked breathing and thudding heartbeat of Ichiro downstairs but otherwise nothing. The apartment was completely empty.

"If no one is here, why-"

That's when she noticed it. Carefully wrapped in saran wrap and on a white plate laid a small cake. It had a layer of white frosting spread across the top with little frosting carrots accompanying it. On top of a metal fork and knife, which had another plate under it, laid a folded piece of paper. Rumi lifted it up, unfolded it, then read it.

Knowing you, you probably didn't go and get something to eat after your meeting with the Commission, so I made you a little something. Hope you like it :) -Hanamori

Rumi tossed the note aside and ripped open the saran wrap. She plunged the knife into the cake and cut herself a slice. She plopped it onto the second plate and took a bite. She froze after her second chew.

It was a fucking carrot cake. A good one at that. Rumi almost melted at how moist it was. It had the perfect layering of frosting and cake with pecans baked into the middle. Rumi could also taste the mouth-watering pinch of vanilla extract added to the cake.

The carrot cake was gone and only a minute. Rumi wiped away the bits of crumbs and frosting with the back of her arm. Once again, she looked at the note. Tsubaki's added smile made her chest bubble with rage. She crumpled the note in her hand and raised her head towards the heavens.

"FUCK YOU, HANAMORI!"

[angelicthor]

billion dollar man - part 15

pairing: tony stark x reader

summary: after mounting bills and debt cause you to look at alternative means of making money, you’re thrown into a whole different kind of life when one of the most famous billionaires on the block offers to be your sugar daddy, of course in exchange for a different from of payment. non-superhero au.

warnings/genre: +18 only, sugarbaby/daddy relationship, fluff, angst, smut x3: exhibitionism, outdoor sex, slight dom!tony, 69. 

masterlist | billion dollar man masterlist

a/n: Carol Danvers in this series is based on Charlize Theron, not Brie, just to make the story line more comfortable! Please let me know what you think!

You adjusted your dress one last time in the mirror, it clung to you like a second skin, showcasing every inch of you through the thin material and you’d brought it for the specific reason of making Tony’s head spin, wanting to look your absolute best for his birthday.

Unlike Nat, Tony had decided forgo throwing a lavish party this year, thinking it best for his reputation if things got out of hand - which they tended to do at his gatherings - and instead choose to spend his birthday at his mansion in Malibu with you and the rest of his friends. The thumbing bass of the music travelled through the house, a few celebratory cheers sounding as the party started as you checked your appearance to make sure everything was perfect before heading down to join everyone.

Although the number of people attending the celebration was much smaller than Nat’s you had no doubt that it would be just as rowdy, if not more so, than hers. Your point seemed to be proven as Thor and Steve came bombing past you in nothing but their underwear at such speed that you nearly toppled over, both of them launching themselves into the pool as everyone cheered them on from the side lines. You thought back to your university days, the hours you spent pouring over Steve Rogers’ most impressive case files and the image you had crafted of him in your head of a serious strait-laced lawyer couldn’t have been further from the truth.

You spotted Tony on the other side of the room chatting with Sam and Bucky, his attire was more relaxed than normal, but he still looked good. A crisp white shirt tucked into dark grey slacks, the sleeves rolled up and first few buttons undone as he forwent a jacket and tie, his hair left free from product and somewhat stylishly tousled, the slight grey growing through his dark strands behind his ears giving him a silver fox vibe.  

Ok, so maybe he looked more than good.

His grin widened as he met your gaze across the room, eyes approvingly drinking in your form as he left Sam and Bucky behind, knowing smirks plastered on their faces, before coming to a stop before you, hands resting on your hips and pulling your body flush against his.

“Fuck, you look incredible,” Tony muttered, nipping at your lower lip as your fingers tangled in the thick hair at the base of his neck, tugging gently on strands.

“Funny, I was just about to tell you the same thing.”

“Oh really?”

You claimed his lips with your own, tongue licking into his mouth in a filthy kiss effectively cutting off whatever crass remark he was going to make, feeling his lips curl into a smirk as his hands travelled from your hips to your ass.

“Happy birthday daddy.”

Tony emitted a noise, something between a strangled groan and a growl, his nose bumping against yours as he rested his forehead against your own, dark eyes blown with lust staring intently at you.

“Bad girl.”

His hand came down to lightly spank your ass, revelling in the way your eyes widened and body jolted at the surprise contact. With a hand on your lower back, Tony lead you to the bar, pouring you a drink before escorting you into the heart of the party, people dancing and drinking as music rang throughout the house. Steve and Thor had both emerged from the pool, standing amongst everyone else in nothing but their soaked through boxers as they raced to down as many shots as they could, boisterous chanting surrounding them, egging on their absurd exploits.

Tony’s Malibu Mansion was a thing of beauty, carved out of white marble it was a delicate blend of both old and new – tradition and modernity – a perfect reflection of its owner’s mind. It was open and spacious, rooms upon rooms fit for whatever he desired, the pool outside overlooking the Malibu coast that the house was built over. Given the size of the abode, all of Tony’s guests were staying there for the duration of the mini-break taken for his birthday and you wondered if the seclusion from the outside world was the reason why people seemed to be acting wilder than usual, the absence of fear at being spread across trashy magazines and gossip sites making people looser than they usually were. Or maybe this was simply how all of Tony’s birthday parties happened to go. The latter wouldn’t surprise you in the slightest.

The place was filled with everyone who was close to the birthday boy and you relished in the feeling of contentment that washed over you as you realised just how many people cared about the man, your mood only dampening slightly when you realised that he didn’t even comprehend just how loved he was by everyone in this room.

Rhodey was here with his wife Carol, hand resting on the little swell of her pregnant belly, and you could tell that Tony was going to spoil that child rotten when they finally arrived. They were chatting to Happy and Pepper who had been forced to take time of from their normal responsibilities and join in with the celebrations, not that they minded of course, happily telling Rhodes and Carol about their upcoming wedding.

Steve and Thor were now engaged in an arm-wrestling contest as Sam and Bucky placed bets on who would win, Nat standing to the side rolling her eyes but the small smile on the face gave away her amusement. Sharon and Hope were sat on one of the sofa’s, a bottle of wine on the table before them as they laughed together about something or another, most likely the poor dance moves of Bruce and Scott on the makeshift dancefloor not too far from them.

The only person absent was Obadiah who couldn’t leave work apparently and you couldn’t say you were disappointed, you had never warmed to the man and you were certain the feeling was mutual but you knew how important he was to Tony, the only family he really had left and so you kept those thoughts to yourself.

Every other important person in Tony’s life were in this very room, all ready to celebrate his birthday with him, to rejoice in his life and their friendship and love for him. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice Tony wrap his arm around your waist from behind, resting his head on your shoulder as he kissed the exposed skin of your neck.

“Lamborghini for your thoughts?”

You let out a snort at his paraphrase, not doubting for a second that he would in fact gift you with such a car if you so much as hinted at it. The two of you began to mindlessly sway slightly, completely ignoring the beat of the music in favour for your own melody that only you could hear.

“I don’t think you understand how birthday’s work; people are supposed to give you gifts, not the other way around,” You teased, turning in his arms to wrap your own around his neck.

You expected to see Tony’s trademark cheeky grin playing at his lips, mischief in his eyes that dared you to participate whatever game he has playing but the was an uncharacteristic seriousness to his features. He still held the same warmth he always did, he was still your Tony, but this was not a joke to him.

“I already have everything I could want.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours for a single second, his face a picture of sincerity, it was nearly too much – too intense - you were torn between needing to bury your face in his chest to avoid his gaze and the inability to remove your eyes from his. You were waiting for the teasing, for the quip, for the inevitable façade to drop but it never did, he just kept his steady gaze on you, seemingly anticipating your response.

Your lips parted but no words would pass them. The silence between you stretching on until you could take it no longer, hand reaching out to cup his cheek, lips quirking in a small smile as he turned and pressed a delicate kiss to your palm.

“Tony, I…”

You what? You weren’t even sure what the end of such a sentence was. Or maybe you were. Maybe it wasn’t uncertainty but fear that kept those words at bay. A confession that you had yet to reveal to yourself.

Before you could think to hard on what to say to him, you heard a shout from across the room, heading snapping in the direction of Sam, Steve, and Thor who were rushing towards the two of you. “Stark!” Thor’s voice boomed like thunder and Tony’s eyes widened, muttering a curse under his breath as he quickly stepped back from you, much to your confusion.

You watched as the hoisted Tony from the ground, easily carrying his weight between the three of them and ran straight towards the pool, throwing Tony into the water before jumping in after him with a yell.

You hid your smile behind your hand, a mixture of shock and amusement running through you as you watched Tony resurface, hair stuck down to his head as he shot an annoyed look at his three friends.

“Seriously? Every year?”

Laughter sounded from behind you, the rest of the party standing along the pool side watching the scene infold before them. You jumped when you felt someone’s breath on your neck, turning to see Bucky shooting you a sinister smirk that caused you to take a few cautious steps away from him.

“Nu-uh Doll, don’t think you’re getting out of this that easily, it’s tradition.”

His arms wrapped tightly around you before you could protest, lifting you off the ground as you let out a startled scream at the sudden altitude change, clinging on to Bucky with a vice-like grip that you were sure would leave marks as he ran towards the pool, submerging you both in the water before you managed to free yourself from his grip.

You resurfaced with a gasp, scowling at Bucky as you wiped the water from your eyes, slapping his arm as he laughed at your reaction, your annoyance short lived as you joined in his laughter, a jovial squeal escaping you as you were sprayed with water as Nat jumped into the pool. Soon enough everyone had thrown themselves into the water – aside from a pregnant Carol, who sat on the poolside with her legs dangling into the water – all fully dressed as they swam about, splashing each other and fooling around like a group of unsupervised children.  

You giggled as Tony glided through the water towards you, arms wrapping around your waist as you both spun effortlessly in the water. You combed your fingers through Tony’s wet hair, legs wrapping around his hips, taking full advantage of your weightlessness in the pool.

“You know, if I knew this was going to be a pool party I would have dressed more appropriately,” You taunted, nodding to your ruined dress that clung to your skin, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Before Tony could respond, the sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips letting you know that he most certainly had something to say, Bucky swam by you on his back, the picture of relaxed elegance as he seemed to recline against the water, the small kicks of his feet pushing him wherever he wanted to go.

“Hey, if you wanna slip out of that dress doll, I sure as hell won’t stop you.”

Your arm cut through the water to send a wave right in Bucky’s face, his cheeky smile falling from his lips as he spluttered at the water caught in his throat and your grinned victoriously. You missed the dark look that passed over Tony’s features but felt the way his fingertips dug into your thighs, nowhere near enough to bruise but hard enough to bring your attention back to him.

Tony captured your lips in a steaming kiss that caused everyone around you to whistle at the sight, your cheeks burning as you buried your face in Tony’s neck. Soon enough the party continued on, no one fazed by the change of location or their ruined attire: Thor and Steve were now competing to see who could hold their breath under water the longest, Scott was doing hand-stands under water, Hope and Sharon were to the side talking with Carol. Happy, Pepper, and Rhodey were in the shallow end talking amongst themselves, Bruce was floating on his back without a care in the world and Natasha was sat on Sam’s shoulder challenging you to a game of shoulder wars.

Without realising, Tony had sunk below the water, quickly moving between your legs until you rested on his shoulders and quickly standing with you atop of him, a startled scream escaping your lips as your quickly moved to balance yourself. Tony’s hands gripped your knees, his beard scratching at the skin of your thigh as his lips grazed the sensitive skin there, your muscles twitching in retaliation to the delicate onslaught and you wondered if Tony could feel the heat of your pussy radiating against the back of his neck.

Nat wasted no time in grapping your hands with hers, trying to push you off of Tony’s shoulders as Sam and Tony tried to keep you both upright, insults flying between them both as you and Nat struggled atop of them. Your raucous giggles hindered you, body shaking with them and you had to stop yourself from falling more than once, upper-body strength diminishing as laughter grew at the look of pure determination on Nat’s face.

Soon enough, you were pushed off Tony’s shoulders, the both of you falling backwards into the water as Sam and Nat hollered in victory, making a lap around the pool with her still sat firmly on his shoulders as they both gloated over their conquest.

The pair decided they needed another drink to celebrate and at the promise of more alcohol, the pool was soon vacant of everyone but you and Tony, the sudden silence around you was only disrupted by the faint sounds of the party continuing back in the house.

“Don’t you want to go back inside? It is your party after all?”

“I’m right where I want to be.”

The teasing smile slipped from your face at the softness in his features, the gentleness of his tone that was void of its usually cockiness and the seriousness in his eyes reminded you of that uncharacteristically vulnerable moment before the boys decided to baptise him in his own pool and just like before you were at a complete loss at what to say.

Before you could think to hard on the matter, Tony stole your breath in a kiss backing you up until you were pressed against the side of the pool, his body pressed flush against yours and you could feel his hard length against your thigh causing you to break the kiss as you gasped in shock.

He couldn’t be serious. Could he?

Tony seemed undeterred by your hesitation, trailing kisses down your throat as he hooked your thigh over his hip, grinding his length against your panty-covered core. You bit your lip to silence the moan that threatened erupt from deep within your chest and you could no longer tell if the wetness in your panties was from the pool or your arousal.

“Tony,” You groaned lowly for only his ears, “We’re outside and your friends are within hearing distance, you can’t really want to do this here.”

“C’mon, I can be quick. And you can be quiet,” Tony nipped at your throat causing you to buck against him, “It’s not like you haven’t cum in front of them before babygirl.”

Heat flooded your cheeks at the memory of those damn vibrating panties and the way he had made you cum in the middle of a charity gala of all things at the very table your friends were all sat around.

“Ya know, I distinctly remember you saying that you had to do whatever Nat asked for her birthday. What? Don’t I get the same treatment?”

You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, making sure that you were in fact alone and that everyone else was preoccupied with the party indoors before your hands moved to deftly unbutton his pants, pulling the zipper down and lowering them enough to free his hard cock, stoking him in your hand as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Tony chuckled darkly at your submission, hands cupping your ass as you pressed you even harder against the pool wall at your back. “Good girl,” He purred in your ear before biting at the lobe causing you to let out a needy whine.

You wrapped your arms around Tony’s neck as he gripped his length in his hand, pushing your panties to the side before running the swollen tip through your glistening folds, your body keening as he bumped against your sensitive clit. Without wasting pretence, Tony pushed into your awaiting heat until he was seated deeply within you, your mouth falling open as a guttural moan threatened to spill from your lips at the feeling of being so full. You bit down on Tony’s shoulder, the slight chemical taste of his soaked shirt from chlorine and detergent coating your tongue, but you couldn’t find it in you to care, your sounds of pleasure were muffled and that was all that mattered in that moment.

Tony began a bruising pace, quickly fucking into you with short, strong thrusts, your ankles locked tightly on his ass as you clawed at his back, the position you were in causing Tony to graze against your g-spot every time he thrust into your wet cunt. His fingers moved to trace messy circles around your clit, the pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves coupled with his harsh thrusts pushing you towards your climax at record speed.

A soft whimper escaped you as your orgasm washed over you, eyes clenching shut as you bit down hard on Tony’s neck, his low grunts sounding in your ear as your pussy clenched around his cock, his hand abandoning your overstimulated clit to cup the back of your neck, forcing your head back so he could lock eyes with your bleary ones, the sight of you so thoroughly fucked out triggering his own release, his cum painting your walls as he gritted his teeth to silence his would-be growls.

You two reminded entwined as you both caught your breath, Tony nuzzling his face against yours, the tip of his noise grazing over your skin as a small grin played at your lips. You jumped when you heard Rhodey yelling after you both from the house, eyes widening in fear before you realised he was coming no closer.

“Ay, you two! You ever plan on coming back inside?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re coming in. Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Tony called back, giving you one last lazy kiss before he slowly pulled out of you, tucking himself back into his pants in the water as you adjusted your panties and straightened out your soaked dress as best you could.

Once you were out of the water, you picked up a discarded glass of wine and threw it in pool, the dark red staining the water as Tony watched with a puzzled expression. You arched a brow at him in return, as if it was obvious why you did such a thing, but realisation never seemed to dawn for him.

“It’s to stop anyone going back in there,” You explained but Tony’s features were still twisted in confusion. “Tony, we literally just fucked in there. You can’t seriously tell me you’d be ok letting people go back in knowing what we did?”

He remained silent for a second too long and you gaped at him it became clearer that Tony couldn’t care less if his friends swam in the very same pool you had both fucked in before it even had a chance to be cleaned.

“No, of course not,” He replied unconvincingly, his expression far too innocent to be genuine and you swatted at his arm in retaliation, his faux purity melting to reveal a cheeky smirk as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his body as you walked back inside.

Everyone cheered as Tony reappeared to his own party, talking about how it was just in time for cake, towels wrapped around their bodies as they moved about to prepare Tony’s birthday cake. You thanked Nat as she handed you a towel, the glint in her eye letting you know that she knew you and Tony hadn’t been out there swimming, and you ducked your head to avoid her gaze, focusing instead on drying off your hair as much as you could before wrapping the fluffy towel around your body.

The lights dimmed as Sam carried out Tony’s cake from the kitchen, a multitude of candles light on it and you made your way over to stand next to Tony, his friends crowding round him in a circle as everyone sang Happy Birthday. Your singing, however, was cut off with a snort as Sam placed the cake down on the table in front of you, laughter bubbling from within you as you saw how it was decorated – in icing was none other than the birthday boy himself, in nothing but his underwear as he ran from the paparazzi, hands covering his modesty and the widest eyed expression you had ever seen, it was borderline cartoonish. You were certain you recognised the photo being spread over every nosey magazine and blog there was a few years back.

Tony shot you a mischievous wink before he bent to blow the candles out, everyone clapping as he did before Steve moved removed the candles and cut the cake into enough pieces for everyone. You and Nat moved to the side to allow them to get on with it, narrowing your eyes when Tony refused to move from where the cake was being carved up and you knew he was up to something, the way he shifted his weight from the front to the back of his feet, rocking with anticipation giving him away.

Your suspicions were soon confirmed when Tony grabbed a specific piece of the cake and leaped over the couch to hand it to you with a wide grin, unable to contain his glee. Looking down you understood exactly why he seemed so damn proud of himself, the slice of cake he had handed you was the one that had his iced crotch on it and you sent him a pointed look in return that only caused his laughter to escalate.

It was hard to believe that this man was turning 40 tomorrow.

You stared him dead in the eye as you wiped your finger through the icing, sucking the digit clean as lewdly as you could in present company, making as much of a show out of it as possible and the way Tony’s smile dropped to something more sultry, the way his eyes darkened, glinting with something that boarded on dangerous, let you know that it was indeed working. Tony shifted to sit next to you, tucking you under his arm as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head as you shared the piece of cake between you.

The night soon drew to an end, Tony’s guests retiring to their respective guest rooms as you followed Tony to the master bedroom, your hand clasped firmly in his as he pulled you through the door. Tony pressed a soft kiss to your lips before stripping out of his ruined clothes and heading towards the shower in the en-suit; normally, you wouldn’t hesitate in joining him but today you had a surprise to ready for him, one that would require some privacy.

Tony emerged from the bathroom, steam silhouetting him in the doorway as he stood there wrapped in only a fresh towel, the fresh scent of his shampoo reaching you as your eyes followed a stray bead of water that ran down the soft skin of his stomach, disappearing as it reached the white cotton that hung low on his hips.

You snapped yourself out of your stupor, rolling your eyes at the smug expression painted on his features, holding your ‘surprise’ behind your back as you slinked past him and into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind you.

The hot water was relaxing against your chilled skin, washing away the chemical scent of the chlorine as you tipped your head back under the soothing spray. Stepping out of the shower, you dried your hair that remained glossy to the touch thanks to the hair mask you used and massaged the rich moisturiser into your body, your skin feeling as silky as the garments that sat to the side.

The babydoll was a stunning maroon colour, the silk bra cupped your breasts perfectly, adorned with a deep gold lace along the cups, the sheer skirt stopping at the top of your thighs giving a perfect glimpse of the matching thong underneath. The set had been a gift from Natasha, although she claimed it was a gift for Tony when she had handed it to you last week and you could see why, he was definitely going to get some enjoyment out of it, that was for sure.

You spritzed perfume across your neck and over the tops of your breasts, dabbing some on your inner wrists and thighs as you relished in the seductive floral scent. Casting one last look in the mirror you tied the silk robe around your waist, the fabric ending only a little further than the babydoll did, and walked out to greet Tony.

The man in question was lounging across the bed in nothing but a pair of boxers, idly flicking through a magazine without paying attention to a single word on the page, his head rolling towards you at the sound of the door opening before he snapped up where he sat, crawling forward on the bed as he gapped at you, eyes hungrily devouring your form as you sashayed towards him, stopping at the edge of the bed as he kneeled before you.

His hands caressed your hips, thumbs stroking over the silk that encased you like wrapping paper around a present, eyes taking in every inch of you, unable to focus on one spot for too long. He tugged the bow that held the robe together free, groaning as you were revealed to his hungry gaze, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he pushed the robe off your shoulders and let it pool to the floor without a care.

Tony sucked in a harsh breath at the sight of you, eyes darkening as they roamed over your lace covered breasts and down to the sheer skirt that flared from them, the outline of your thong visible through the material, a throaty groan erupting from deep within his chest as he pawed at you, pulling you closer to him as he buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply as the smell of your perfume washed over him.

“Natasha?” He nodded towards your attire in question and you nodded in affirmation, letting out a startled yelp as his hands quickly grabbed the back of your thighs and threw you down onto the bed. “Remind me to thank her.”

You giggled as Tony littered the side of your neck with kisses before capturing your lips with his, tongue claiming your own as he rolled his hips against yours, hardening length pressed against your barely covered core. His hands moved to seize your breasts through your bra, back arching at the touch as he yanked the cups down, mouth attaching to one of your hardened nipples as you carded your fingers through his hair.

Tony released your nipple with a lewd pop, shooting you a filthy smirk as he slithered down your body, settling between your legs as he pushed the sheer skirt of your babydoll up, taking the edge of your thong between his teeth and slowly tugging it down your legs as you panted wantonly beneath him.

Before he could so much as kiss your thigh, the most sinful thought crossed your mind, lips curling up at the corners as you quickly sat up, ignoring Tony’s bewilderment as you pushed him onto his back, quickly tugging his boxers off before settling yourself over him.

Tony let out a rasping moan as you straddled his face, glistening lips on full display to his hungry gaze as you pumped his length in your hand. His hand came down on your ass, biting his lip as he watched your flesh bounce at the force before he spread your cheeks apart to give him full access to your pussy.

“God, you’re such a dirty little girl, huh?”

You didn’t answer, instead shooting him a wink over your shoulder before your tongue darted out to lick the length of his pulsing shaft, wrapping your lips around his swollen tip, bobbing your head languidly as your hand gripped his base.

Tony’s head fell back against the pillow with a pleasured howl and you wiggled your hips in his hands to remind him of your own need which he quickly rectified, burying his face between your thighs as he lapped at your cunt like a man starved. Your moan was muffled by his cock still heavy on your tongue, the vibrations causing Tony to buck upwards as he pulled you even harder against his mouth, lips locking around your throbbing bud as he sucked hard. Every action he took against you was repaid in kind, the both of you competing to provide the other with the utmost amount of pleasure.

Your free hand moved to fondle his balls as he slipped two digits into your slick channel, curling them against your g-spot as you jerked at the action, his hand swatting your ass in a warning to keep still. The smell of sex was heavy in the air, the silence of the room punctured by your stifled grunts and groans and the wet sounds of your mouths working against the others sex as you propelled each other to fruition.

Just as your eyes began to roll back into your head, toes began to curl as you could taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue, Tony pulled away from you, hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you off his twitching length and you whined at the loss, of his mouth on your pussy or his cock in yours, you couldn’t be sure.

Before you could even think to question it, Tony pulled you onto his lap with your thighs straddling his own, one hand gripping the base of his cock to stave of his impending orgasm as the other settled on your hip, guiding you into position over his swollen head.

“Fuck,” He hissed through gritted teeth, “Ride Daddy, babygirl. Let me see you.”

Needing no further encouragement, you lined yourself up with his cock, his head pressing against your sopping opening before you slowly sank down on him, velvet walls wrapping around him with a vice-like grip until your pelvis was firmly pressed against his. His hands moved up your hips, bunching the material of your babydoll in his hands before he pulled it up and over your head, tossing it aside with a concern, cupping your free breasts in his hands as your head fell back with a sigh.

You placed your hands on his thighs to steady yourself, giving an experimental roll of your hips and grinning on the sound Tony emitted, his fingers pinching your erect nipples as he gave a shallow thrust up into you.

“Baby, don’t tease,” he warned.

So you didn’t. You rolled your hips like a wave, making the head of his cock brush against that spot with every movement, this position making you feel every solid inch of him inside of you. You began to bounce harder, faster, your clit grinding against the patch of his hair at the base of his cock as you swirled your hips on top of his, biting your lip to stifle the sounds of your bliss.

You gasped as Tony spanked you, hardened eyes locked on your own. “Don’t,” He growled, voice dripping with menace, “Let me hear you.”

“But-”

“Don’t care, let ‘em here you. Let ‘em here how fuckin’good you ride Daddy’s cock.”

You let your mouth fall open, moans and cries and praises falling from your lips unchecked as you fell forward, one hand on Tony’s chest and the other gripping the headboard so hard you feared the wood would splinter under your touch. Your back arched pulling him deeper inside you, the tightness in your core building and building until it finally snapped, euphoria flooding your every nerve, eyes clenched shut as your body worked through your orgasm, voice hoarse from the scream that tore from your throat.

Tony groaned at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around his cock, your slick leaking out of you and dripping down his balls, quickly pinning your hands behind your back, his calloused hand wrapped around your wrists as he widened his thighs and planted his feet on the bed as he began to wildly thrust into you, chasing his own end as you collapsed onto his chest.

The bed squeaked beneath you in protest, headboard knocking against the wall obnoxiously loud as moans spilled from your lips unabashedly, your cunt making a vulgar squelch every time Tony thrust into you and you had no doubt that everyone in the house could hear the two of you.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good. Perfect little cunt wrapped so - fuckin’ - tight around me. Fuckfuckfuck, baby-” Tony cut himself off with a fierce groan, thrusts losing their rhythm as he sloppily bucked into you, his cum filling you as his cock throbbed with his release, triggering another minute orgasm that sent a small shiver through you.

You both lay there spent as you came down from your highs, slight aftershocks making your pussy quiver around Tony’s softening cock before you fell to the side, the ache in your thighs beginning to make itself known to you, sweat-slicked skin and cum-filled pussy reminding you that you’d need to take another shower before you allowed yourself to drift off to sleep. Once you could actually stand on your legs again, of course.

Tony wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards him as he pressed his lips to your bit-swollen ones in a languid kiss before scattering kisses across your cheeks and nose causing you to giggle softly, the corner of his lips curling up in a tender smile.

“You ok?” He asked, fingers stroking up and down your back as you hummed in affirmation. “Want another shower?”

“Yeah.”

“Shame, you look good full of my cum.”

“Tony!” You moved to sit up, slapping his arm lightly in reprimand as you stretched out your muscles.

“What? You can fuck me like a pornstar whose rents due but I say you look good afterwards and suddenly you turn into some blushing virgin at a titty bar?”

You avoided his gaze as you gathered some actual pyjamas, feeling the heat burning your cheeks as Tony’s chuckle sounded from the bed before he stood up, crossing the room to wrap his arms around you from behind, pressing kisses into your neck as he held you to him.

“You’re precious, you know that?” He murmured, voice like velvet and you turned your head to look at him, his earnest expression causing your face to flush even hotter. You cleared your throat, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before taking his head in yours and pulling him towards the bathroom so you could share a hot shower before finally tucking yourself into bed.

There was no round two – well technically, three – in the shower, you were both far too exhausted after such a long evening and even if you weren’t, you doubted your body would be able to cooperate. Instead you exchange soft kisses and even softer touches, his body wrapped around yours as you cleaned each other of your combined releases.

The bed was a welcome comfort, tired muscles practically melting between the cool sheets and pliant mattress. You let out a content moan when Tony pulled you to him, tucking your head under his chin as you tangled your legs with his, the feeling of him curling a loose strand of your hair around his finger lulling you to sleep as your arms tightened around his torso.

“Night Tony.”

You fell asleep before he could answer, the soft puffs of your breath against his chest soothing to the man beneath you who took a strange sense of pleasure in watching you sleep. It was serene. A gift of peace for a part of his soul he didn’t even know needed it. He watched the way your eyes twitched beneath closed lids as you dreamed, the way you snuggled closer to him, the way your mouth parted just slightly as faint snores escaped you.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, careful not to wake you, arms wrapping firmly around your waist as he settled into the bed.

“Night babygirl.”

In a rare occurrence, you woke before Tony, the man still sleeping soundly beside you, arm tossed over your waist and you slowly turned over to face him, careful not wake him. You cast your eyes about his features, his face void of cocky smirk or furrowed brows, for once he looked simply peaceful, like there wasn’t a thousand racing thoughts plaguing his mind. Reaching out, you lightly traced your finger across his cheek, following the slant of his face down to his lips, a small gasp escaping you as his lips puckered to press a kiss to your fingertip, bambi eyes opening to meet your own as his lips stretched in a sleepy grin.

“Good Morning, babygirl,” Tony said on a groan as he stretched his stiff muscles.

“Good Morning,” You pressed a tender kiss to his lips, voice scarcely higher than a whisper, “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.”

You remined embraced together, sharing soothing touches and easy kisses between morning words of adoration. Your eyes caught sight of the small giftbox across the way, bright red ribbon tied around the black leather, for once a gift to Tony, not from him but you were still uncertain if you should actually give it to him or not.

You had debated for weeks if such a gift would be a good idea or not; it would either offer him closure you weren’t even sure he knew he needed or it, or it would reopen old wounds and potentially ruin his birthday. In the end you decided to take the risk, the benefits outweighing the possible damages but as it came time to actually present it to Tony, that nagging feeling of doubt came rushing back.

Hesitantly, you stood from the bed and made your way over to the present that was hidden away in your overnight bag, a peek of the red velvet bow visible from the open case. You kept the present concealed behind your back as you tentatively walked back to the bed, sitting beside Tony who was watching you with an arched brow, intrigued by what you were up to as he mirrored your position on the bed, sitting cross legged opposite you.

“Ok here’s the thing, if you don’t like this, you have to tell me. Cause if you don’t like it, you’re really not going to like it, ya know? And I don’t want to upset you or anything, especially on your birthday, and I can always take it back, no problem – honest. I won’t be offended in the slightest cause I knew it was a risk and I really don’t know why I thought this was a good idea and maybe I-”

“Babe.” Tony cut you off and you drew in a deep breath. How fast were you talking? “Just – breathe, alright? I’m sure I’ll love it.”

You still worried at your bottom lip, apprehension still etched on your features as you placed the box in Tony’s awaiting hands, heart racing as he pulled the ribbon off and opened the lid, eyes watching every slight movement of his face like a hawk as you searched for any signs that he hated what was inside.

Gingerly, Tony lifted the watch out of its box, thumb tracing over the face, intricate metal work that you’d had customised to look like the arc reactor he was working on, your breath hitching in your throat as he turned the watch over in his hands, expression falling as he saw what was on the other side, your heart hammering in your chest as you waited for him to say something.

His eyes kept moving over the engraved letters over and over again, reading and rereading the words as his heart stuttered in his chest, throat drying as his body struggled to process the sheer onslaught of emotions he was feeling.

Tony Stark: A Man of Iron with a Heart of Gold.

The tension in your muscles built as Tony tucked the watch back into its box and placed it on the bedside table, bracing yourself for the inevitable storm as the silence stretched between the two of you. You didn’t know how he was going to react: Red-faced yelling? Sullen silence? Would he ask you to leave? Tell you that you were crossing a line? You had no idea but you did know that you wanted him to do something, the waiting was like torture and you wanted nothing more than for it to end.

“Tony?” Your voice was weak, the desire to reach for him growing with every second but you weren’t sure if you should, if your touch would be welcome.

“C’mere,” He rasped, swallowing against the lump in his throat as he held out a hand for you to take, pulling you onto his lap and wrapping his arms around your waist.

His eyes were wide, brighter than you’d ever seen, unshed tears making them sparkle in the light of the morning sun, the corner of his lips curling up in a shy smile. Shy. That was definitely new. His fingers reached out to brush your hair away from your face before cradling your cheek in his hand, thumb brushing over your cheekbone like you were fine art – something to be marvelled at.

He brought your lips down to his, his touch new and familiar all rolled into one. It lacked his usual heated passion, it wasn’t playful nor cocky – it was different, the same lips you loved to kiss but the feeling behind it totally unfamiliar. There was a reverence behind it, the way his lips moulded against yours, the way his hands slid up your chest and freed you from your vest, the way he rolled your body beneath his own and stared down at you with such awe.

Clothes were shed falling to the floor without a second thought, hardened length stretching your innermost parts as he rolled his hips into yours, your chest pressed against his, his hands roaming your back as your own wrapped around his neck, the both of you needing to feel as much as you could. It was far from fucking as you could get, it wasn’t even sex, it was simply about the connection – the two of you as one single being, his soul pouring into yours, leaving his own personal brand on your most sacred part and vice versa.

There was no rush, no hasty movements as you tried to propel the other into climax, there was only the feeling of him rolling his hips into your own, hardly even drawing out of you as he moved, his forehead resting against your own, eyes locked on yours as your soft breaths filled the silence between you.

One hand moved from your back, grabbing on of your own and lacing your fingers with his, pinning it the bed beside your head as he continued his steady rhythm, tears pricking your eyes, threatening to spill because it was too much: his heavy gaze, his touch, his cock, his heartbeat sounding so steadily against your own. And yet, you’d never felt anything so pure before, you wanted to drown in it, to let this moment consume you whole until he was all you could ever feel.

You came together, names falling from each other’s lips like a chanted prayer. A promise. For what you weren’t sure, but it didn’t matter, in that moment you’d have promised him the whole world. He didn’t pull away from you, holding you tight against his body as he settled onto his back, cock still buried within you as he pressed gentles kisses to your lips, fingers dancing along the bare expanse of your back.

He pulled away with a content sigh; “Thank you,” His voice was thick with emotion, deep baritone barely making your ears.

You knew he meant for more than the watch, because it was more than a watch, it was a way for him to move on from something that had been weighing him down for far too long. You said nothing, instead slanting your mouth over his own, fingers tangled in the short strands of his hair.

“I love it.”

This time it was he who watched your expression with bated breath. You searched his eyes for the hidden meaning, you think that was the first time he had ever used the word love for anything before.  

He loved it. He loved it. He loved it. He loved you.

Oh.

It wasn’t time – if there would ever be a time - for either of you to admit to those words and say them out loud. But still, the sentiment was there and he was waiting for you to say something.

“I’m glad Tony, I hoped you would.”

The two of you shared small smiles, near conspiratorial in nature, like a secret had been passed between the two of you that only you knew of.

“C’mon, we aren’t the only ones in this house and if we don’t go downstairs soon they’re only going to barge in this room and demand we join them.”

The two of you showered and dressed for the day ahead, heading downstairs and seeing everyone already up, everyone wishing him a happy birthday as he walked into the kitchen. You heard someone complement him on his new watch, his face beaming with pride when he revealed it was from you, wrapping an arm around you and pressing a kiss to the side of your temple as you all sat around the table for breakfast.

“So,” Sam drawled out, eyeing the two of you over the rim of his coffee mug, “Did you two have fun last night?”

You choked on your juice, heat flooding your face as you stared wide eyed at Sam who was grinning like a Cheshire Cat, mortification growing as everyone around the table shared the same knowing look.

“Sounds like they had fun this morning too,” Nat quipped, not looking up from her breakfast as she bit into her pancakes.

That was the final straw, laughter filling the room as you willed the floor to swallow you whole. Tony’s hand came to rest on your thigh under the table, squeezing it reassuringly as he shot you an adoring smile and suddenly, nothing else mattered anymore.

a/n: i don’t have a tag list but if you want alerts please follow @angelicthorwrites and turn on notifications

[bounward]

DAW | 1,623 words - but still not enough [re: everyone]

Dawson… was ready. He (thought) he knew what would come next, and he was prepared for it. Or, rather, as prepared as a man could be, before ultimately facing death.

Then death walked through the doors, alive as ever.

The folklorist stared, his head reeling as he tried to make sense of the situation. Listened, as his peers spoke - voices somehow more real than ever before, when they had been mere ghosts of themselves. Waited, for the questions about his crime, for O'Malley to pull away, for the escape via punishment that… seemed like it would not come. Not yet.

Shaking and miserable, Dawson was not. A man wrestling with his convictions… perhaps that was more apt.

His heart ached, seeing Dola again. Lucita again. Chirin again. Vixen and Chuck again. Basil again. He’d had no way of knowing that they’d be returning, somehow, some way. If he had, would he have held back? Dawson felt the familiar sting of loneliness, of loss - now more than ever, seeing them here, in the flesh. It was right that the people he longed to reach out to most sat furthest from him, out of reach. (Not that they would consider reaching back, at this point.) He watched their emotional reunions, aching for one of his own. Dawson withdraws his hand from O'Malley’s entirely, and places it in his lap.

Well, he’d made his bed. He could lay in it later - for now, answers.

“Ah, I suppose any questions I have can come later, hm?” he asks, green eyes slowly drifting from person to person. “You want to know the how, and I assume Prix’s not going to give us much time for the remainder of our discussion, so… Allow me lay it out plain, then. No point in hiding it, and no time to waste hashing it out.”

After inhaling deeply, he begins speaking, and does not pause for questions or sidelong glances. Dawson keeps his eyes trained to the table in front of him, as if looking anyone else in the eye might cause him to falter.

Even as he spoke, their words flooded his mind.

“This wasn’t as methodically planned as you probably assume. I didn’t sit and stew over wanting to kill [Basil] for weeks, plotting out my plan of attack. You saw the hasty cover-up - death hadn’t been my intention. Not at first.”

“I spoke to Basil a few weeks ago, about… more or less the same topic. The Wardens, whether our association with them might be able to lend itself to some use in understanding the tapes. I’ve been mulling those things over, since I realized they existed. How do they work? Why do they work? What combination of technology and magic allows these artifacts to function, and could we glean some sort of information from them? I’d hoped Basil would be able to assist.”

“… The conversation didn’t go anywhere, and I felt as though he’d been hiding things. Understandably, in hindsight, considering his feelings toward the Wardens - ah, and towards me.” You’re a real fuckin’ dick now. “Both of which I have been oblivious to, it seems. And since I seem to be rather skilled at drawing the ire of my peers around the topic of the tapes, I took it to the living members of my crew.” You cooooooooouldn’t wait until I was cold in the ground before pissing me off again. "Dola and Lucita were gone, but this was something we might be able to do. The three of us talked it over, decided to try and question Basil further. I asked [O'Malley] to stay behind, knowing that I didn’t want to put him into the middle of my own theories - and knowing his closeness to Pan. However, we decided Fievel would tag along, just in case anything did go awry - and to be a second set of ears to hear what Basil might have to say.“

"The plan was to question him, then bring the information back to the rest of the group to discuss and figure out how we’d handle it from there, together." …But you have never listened to me anyway. "Fievel and I went to the theme park to test out his abilities in a larger body of water. If anything went wrong, we wanted to be able to stun Basil - not kill him. You saw the results of those tests - the People Mover was drained of power, the fish in the lagoon had been killed. Not exactly a thorough means of training, but good enough to know how much or how little charge to use in the moment.”

“… I met with Basil that night, in the lobby of the Modern building. We were headed toward the Old Time Bar via the Oasis, and I stopped to discuss things there, where Fievel had hidden himself. I brought the tranquilizer gun with me, tucked into a pocket, just in case. The conversation… didn’t go anywhere, again. Ah, it got a little heated.” Yo-ou gave him no escape, forced him to dig up terrible memories for your own satisfaction, to satisfy your own theory crafting–! “I pushed Basil into the pool, and yelled out to Fievel. I think what happened next is obvious. We quickly retrieved Basil from the water, and restrained him with the bedsheets I’d cut earlier, preparing for an interrogation once he woke up. I’d tossed most of them into a bucket of bleach, not anticipating needing them all… but ended up using them, anyway. I’m not a master of tying knots.”

“Which is clear, since Basil broke free from his restraints upon waking up, after Fievel had already left to recharge. I pulled out the gun, but didn’t shoot. Basil started to use his powers - light radiated from his hands. It was bright, I dropped the gun, I, ah… I panicked.”

Beneath the table, Dawson knits his hands together. He wouldn’t force O'Malley to comfort him through this. He could hardly look to Smee for support, now that Dola was back with them. He’d put enough on Tanya, after killing her close friend. His quadmates couldn’t be expected to carry him anymore.

But still, the image of the light… It seared through his memory, like a seven-year-old boy, back in the forest amidst a thunderstorm. His heart beat faster with every clap of thunder, until he saw that flash of light, and everything went dark. His mind turned to static, and his body moved on its own. Dawson squeezed his hands together, knuckles draining white.

“I rushed Basil. He was still weak from the shock. I thought his reaction to my questions was proof enough that he might have had something to do with the tapes as a whole. The traitors. And… I figured that the only way our group would be able to make an actionable decision would be here, in the boardroom, with a vote.” If you don’t want what happened to [Chuck] to happen to Fievel or Dawson, vote for me. "Even if it meant facing my own death in exchange for murdering an old colleague, I… wanted to bring us back here.“

Finally, he pauses for longer than a breath between paragraphs. It’s a lot to take in. It’s a lot to put out. There’s no catharsis, no release of the weight from his shoulders. They droop, as if holding more weight - as if each explanation only adds to it, rather than allowing it to lift.

”… I’m not going to re-hash all the details about trying to cover it up. Most of you saw it, anyway. And I’m not going to excuse my actions, either. Ah… What was it I said, last time we were here? ‘Every single one of us has something that can justify the crimes we might commit, or the crimes we might overlook.’“ You didn’t get it none. Guess, guess you do now. ”I suppose in that moment, I felt that the ends justified the means, despite being unforgiveable.“

His eyes pan to Knuckles, next to him. A gaze that reads, I understand now, affixed to an expression that laments, I don’t want to.

After a few moments of this, he turns his face to meet the eyes of those who had asked him questions. To Campion, to Chirin, to Dola - a pause, however brief - to Tanya, to Chuck, to… as many faces as he could, before returning back to the table.

"I think the connection of the case to the traitors is clear, isn’t it? I wanted to question [Basil] based on my assumption that he could have done something to help explain - or at least more effectively look into - the tapes, and how they worked, perhaps lead us to a connection to the traitors. I killed him because of his reaction; I assumed he was one of the traitors, and wanted to bring us back here to discuss and vote on it. If I was going to kill anyone, at least it would have been…”

He trails off. Easier? Better? One fewer person to have to kill later?

“… one out of the two traitors. I know that so many of us were content to living here for however much longer - but why would we trust Prix on her word, or lack thereof? And none of us knew that we’d be reunited at all, let alone so soon.”

“I would not have done what I did, had I known everyone would return. That we might have been able to get this chance without the need for such drastic action. But I can’t undo my mistakes, so ah, perhaps all I can say now is…”

The regret permeates throughout his body as Dawson finally allows his eyes to settle on Basil.

“Welcome back.”

[nijiirorhyme]

NaruMitsu/WrightWorth Fic: Lights, Camera, Action! Chapter 2

Sorry for the double upload!

NaruMitsu/WrightWorth Fic: Lights, Camera, Action!

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Ship: Mitsurugi Reiji | Miles Edgeworth/Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright, Ayasato Mayoi | Maya Fey/Karuma Mei | Franziska von Karma

Warnings: None

Tags:Alternate Universe - Actors, Other Additional Tags to be Added, More characters to be added

Description: Rookie actor Phoenix Wright can not believe his luck as he  scores his first major acting role in one of the most anticipated movies  of the year. But, what was better than starring in one of the most  anticipated films of the year? Starring in one of the most anticipated  films of this year with famous actor Miles Edgeworth.

A Wrightworth acting au where two dorks (eventually) fall in love!  

Chapter 2/?

Alternatively, it can be read here!

Text below cut!

Act 1 Scene 2  

October 6th, 10:10am

 Global Studios: Conference Room

Phoenix shifted in his seat, the heavy formal atmosphere unfamiliar to him. This was his first time ever having to properly sit down with the director of the movie and read through the script together. He needed to remind himself to breathe, and his nerves weren’t exactly aiding him to do so.

‘“Thanks for joining us today.” The director spoke curtly, but nonetheless it caused Phoenix to jump from his own hyper-awareness. “You all know why you’re here, so I’ll cut to the chase before I’m finished with my fourth cup of coffee”

‘Four cups of coffee?’ Phoenix thought. ‘We aren’t even five minutes into the meeting though…’

Just as Phoenix thought that, the strangely dressed director’s assistant smoothly pushed another cup of coffee across the table, comfortably sliding right into the director’s hand. He took a sip, “Make that five, Trite.”

Phoenix swallowed, ‘... I didn’t even say anything… And it’s “Wright”, not “Trite”...’

He soon found out that the director’s name was Godot. A strange name, if you asked Phoenix, but it must be a pseudonym. From then on, Phoenix’s first impression of the man felt like some bizarre dream. It almost felt as if it wasn’t real because every time he opened his mouth, Phoenix couldn’t comprehend anything he was saying. It was like that one incoherent dream he had where he was locked in a bedroom and this one talking pillow spoke to him in riddles about how to find the key.

No Time for Turnabouts, a suspenseful action movie which follows an elite detective known for solving any case he’s assigned to, Detective Kyle Solvit. After years of  dedicating his life solely to his career as a detective, he is tasked with his biggest operation yet; taking down the biggest underground crime group, the Liss Family. He carefully crafts an elaborate plan to go undercover as one of their own members in order to take out the group from the inside. However, Ruth Liss, the head of the Liss Family, catches wind of the detective’s plans, causing the entire mission to backfire on him, but not before he is saved by a carefully planned uprising amongst those he caused to turn against them.

Detective Solvit had no time or room for this mission to fail, thus the title of the movie reflected such. The ultimate reason as to why he had this mission in the first place, was not only for the greater good, but because of someone he absolutely needed to save. Years prior to when the movie takes place, Solvit had his first run-in ever with Liss over the debt his family had accumulated and left him with. With absolutely no money in his pockets to repay the debt, Liss takes his older sister as payment, making her his wife. She is never seen again. It is for this reason that Detective Solvit became a detective in the first place, waiting for the day he could see his older sister again.

When Phoenix first auditioned, he auditioned for the part of the super charming and cool detective, Kyle Solvit, but his dreams were dashed once he finally heard the news as to whether or not he passed the auditions. It turned out that they actually casted him as the heartless head of the Liss family. Though it was a shock at first, Phoenix was nevertheless ecstatic to be casted in his first major role… even though he had absolutely no idea how he would portray such a character.

Ruth Liss was a heartless man who prided himself on the fact that he would use anyone and anything to get what he wanted. No matter how many people put their faith in him, no matter how many people pledged allegiance to his family, he was willing to sacrifice anyone and anything to achieve his goal. He kept those who worked under him in line by making them fear him, and those who personally knew him were afraid to even breathe around him, which unfortunately, happened to be the complete opposite of how Phoenix was in real life.

An actor’s job is to portray the characters they are assigned to regardless if they have the same personality as the person portraying them or not, but for Phoenix, this differentiation was hard for him. How could a man who couldn’t even hurt a fly portray someone who would probably kill the fly, then as overkill light its carcass on fire in a way that dramatically displayed his power?

Whatever the answer was, Phoenix would do it. Not only so this movie would be a success, but so he could make his old mentor proud and perhaps… show a certain someone that he was worth at least some respect.

-

During the meeting, Phoenix remained stiff. From his renditions of his lines to every single time he spoke, he could feel an intense and aggressive stare assaulting him. He only noticed this from the corner of his eye, but the moments he did speak, he started to see Edgeworth’s eyebrows sink lower and lower in displeasement. However, on the contrary to Phoenix’s behaviour, Edgeworth was a natural. He would tell the directors what he would be doing for what scenes, gave constructive criticism on where he thought parts of the script could be improved, and even acted out some of the lines in order to get a feel for the ones he wasn’t necessarily keen about. Phoenix was in absolute awe. The fact that Edgeworth could flawlessly play a character in any genre of movie showed Phoenix how versatile the man was as an actor. Though Edgeworth was particularly mean to him just minutes ago, he was certainly admirable.

Phoenix, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to grasp his footing. As soon as he felt like he finally got it when he tried to interject or give his opinion much like Edgeworth successfully did, it would often fall flat as it would be countered by the man himself. After that, he knew that it would just be better if he didn’t talk after he embarrassed himself by suggesting that Kyle Solvit should perish by the end of the movie to which Edgeworth told him that they wanted to respect the original source material and killing the protagonist after all he went through would simultaneously kill the suspense the rest of the movie spent building up. Not like it was possible to alter the script significantly to begin with, so any of Phoenix’s suggestions were already null and void the moment he opened his mouth to speak.

12:13pm  

Once the meeting was finally over, Phoenix took in the deepest breath he had ever taken. For some reason, that meeting was a lot more emotionally draining than he thought it would be, but it felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, making him feel a bit lighter. Sure, he had a lot to do in order to prepare for the days they actually started shooting, but that was a problem for tomorrow’s Phoenix. Right now, the only thing that was on his mind was to go home, kick back, and relax-

“Nick!” Maya’s voice was so loud that it caused his ears to ring and almost spooked him right out of his seat. “Guess what I just did!”

“Something good hopefully?” He cautiously asked in a rising tone.

Maya nodded and gave him a smug look. “Well, I’ve been thinking… Since you and Edgeworth hate each other…” She trailed off.

‘Hate him? I’ve barely even spoken to him enough for me to hate him!’ Phoenix thought.  

“I talked to his agent and… guess who’s going out to grab coffee with the two of them!”

Phoenix froze, suspended in the motion of getting up from his seat. He was in utter disbelief. Coffee? With the two of them? How did Maya even get them to agree to this? Was it possible to cancel?

For some reason, the thought of interacting with the man intimidated him. Edgeworth didn’t seem like he was the talkative type, meaning that Phoenix would have to carry the conversation. Every time he thought of that fiery glare the man gave him when he was displeased with the rookie actor, it was enough to send a chill down Phoenix’s spine and send goosebumps all over his body.

One look at Maya told him that she was stoked for this opportunity. She spoke with such pride in her voice and with sparkles in her eyes that even Phoenix had a hard time making up an excuse as to why he couldn’t go. Besides, Maya was involved in almost every aspect of his life which included knowing his schedule and the fact he had nothing planned after this, so making one would be useless regardless.

“When? And how did you get them to agree to this?” He asked, perplexed.

“Now!” Maya grabbed him by the wrist, then started to drag him out of the room and down the hall. She looked over her shoulder right back at him, Phoenix barely being able to keep up with his ecstatic agent, “And I have my ways.” She giggled.

Phoenix didn’t know what strings she pulled, but needless to say, he was not looking forward to this little outing.

 October 6th 12:09pm  

Global Studios

“Hello, Ms…Von Karma, it’s nice to meet you! I’m Maya Fey, Phoenix Wright’s manager.” Franziska saw a shadow looming over her open binder as she was packing up to leave, an outstretched hand entering her vision.

Franziska looked up, finally making eye contact with the overly friendly girl. “It’s nice to meet you too uh… Ms. Maya Fey…” Hesitantly, she took the other girl’s hand, shaking it firmly. Franziska wasn’t used to this openly expressed friendliness.

“Maya’s just fine.” She said, shifting her own binder to sit more comfortably underneath her arm. A beat of silence passed before she spoke again. “This meeting was interesting! I’ve never been to anything like this before.”

“Indeed…” Franziska responded. “This is your first time being at a pre-production meeting, correct?”

Maya nodded, “Yep, and Nick’s too. We could have gone to more of them… but Nick’s never gotten any main roles besides this one…”

“He does seem like a foolish man.” The manager inwardly cringed when she thought of his suggestions throughout the meeting. Who would have thought that that foolish fool would foolishly recommend something so foolish? Asking if Kyle Solvit could die at the end of the movie… who did he think he was?

“Yep!” Maya affirmed. It seemed that Phoenix Wright was actually the fool she took him as. Then, she added, “That’s how he normally acts, but it’s okay! Somehow, it always ends up working out for him.”

“Somehow?” Franziska inquisitively raised an eyebrow.

Maya stroked her chin, pondering. “Well… there was this one time where he was an extra for this movie and he broke one of the props on set. The director was really mad, but!” Franziska flinched at how loud her voice became to emphasize the word.  “Luckily, they made an extra, so all he got was a scolding!”

…

Franziska looked down at the whip neatly wrapped around itself in her hand. If the man was here right this moment, she would not hesitate to strike him with it for being the fool he was.

“Anyways, speaking of Nick,” she continued, not even stopping to question why she had such a weapon. “I came here to talk to you about something.”

Usually, Franziska was not one for ideal chit-chat. If she mentally categorized someone as irrelevant, then she would cut the conversation short-- let alone have any conversation at all-- but, for some reason, she couldn’t turn the girl down. For some reason, Maya Fey intrigued her.  “What is it?” She asked.

Franziska felt awfully self-conscious of the woman in front of her, watching her as she pushed a stray piece of her long black hair behind her ear. “I was wondering if you and Edgeworth would want to come with us for some coffee or something? After all, I don’t think Edgeworth likes Nick all that much. It’d be a good chance for the two of them to get along.”

Franziska shut her thick binder with a resounding slam, Maya flinching ever so slightly. This caused her to feel slightly guilty, she didn’t mean to scare her. Then, she reached for a smaller notebook--her planner--and flipped it open to today’s date. Giving her and her little brother’s schedule a glance over, she closed it, looking back up at the woman. “Indeed, my little brother and I are not the biggest fans of that fool, but we would be happy to accompany the two of you.” Miles Edgeworth may complain to her later, but this could be considered a professional outing. If they wanted to make this movie good, they needed to cast away their disdain for the other man and get along. Perhaps, this was necessary.

“Yay! Thank you, Franny! I’ll go tell Nick right now! Mr. Godot gave me your number, so I’ll text you the details in a few!” As fast as she entered, just like that, Maya Fey left the room.

Filled with a bit of confusion as she processed the interaction she just had with the woman mere seconds ago, the only thing she could process out of all of that was the fact her heart skipped a beat when she heard Maya call her ‘Franny’.

She smiled to herself. Maybe scheduling this little outing with the two of them wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

[obsidianarchives]

Slavery in Thedas: How BioWare Could Bring Nuance to Dragon Age

The Electronic Entertainment Expo (E3), video gaming’s most prominent trade show, has dimmed its lights and shuttered its doors until next June. One game that was conspicuously absent was the highly anticipated fourth installment of the Dragon Age franchise from EA-owned BioWare. This isn’t so surprising since a Kotaku article detailed the turmoil going on at BioWare that led to a truly abysmal reception for its latest game: their first try at an online loot-and-shoot adventure, Anthem.

Still, I must admit that I have thought about Dragon Age every day since The Game Awards of December 2018. That’s when BioWare dropped a 65-second teaser and launched a hashtag that had me hooting triumphantly in my living room, #TheDreadWolfRises. I even wrote an article about who from the past games should appear in the next.  

I have met some of my all-time favorite characters and gone on my most beloved adventures while traversing the carefully crafted world of Thedas (The Dragon Age Setting). A big part of that is due to the broader themes of how theocracy, colonization, and war affect the marginalized and enrich the powerful. 

Creating worlds

of adventure, conflict and companionship

that inspire you to become the hero of your story.

The statement above is only one of the many messages on BioWare’s website that highlight how much they value story and characters in their games. This attitude has served BioWare well. Its last unqualified success, single player RPG Dragon Age Inquisition, earned a whopping 130 Game of the Year Awards in 2015 and had professional critics specifically praising its story. 

Of course, not everyone has been impressed. BioWare frequently gets criticized by what I like to refer to as the “dude bro army” for daring to include PoVs that aren’t in lock step with the dominant culture. Read: “Y’all have too many queers, coloreds, and non-hot ladies in your games!” Back in 2011, the lead writer for the Dragon Age series at the time, David Gaider, wrote a response to one such gamer on their now-defunct message board that was so well crafted it garnered press. Gaider, an out gay man himself, challenged the notion that video games should cater to the fabled  “straight male gamer” that all such close-minded dude bros evoke when complaining about diversity. As a bi Black woman gamer, this endears BioWare to me even more. 

All is not perfect, however. In addition to sex and sexuality, racial oppression and hegemony are two frequently explored themes in Dragon Age games. There is an allegorical connection between the systemic and situational anti-elf sentiment found throughout Thedas and the anti-Black sentiment that runs rampant in our own world. The problem is that many of these experiences are written and crafted by folks who have never been on the receiving end of this kind of oppression. Although talent and empathy carry the stories surprisingly far, the devil is in the details.   

In fact, the usual formula of giving players the freedom to choose how they want to act allows for just as much conquest, haughty disinterest in ethical decision making, and even slave profiteering as opportunities to fight those evils. (I try not to think of how many players across the globe regularly sell elves to slavers for a few in-game bucks while I’m murdering every slaver that the game will allow.) 

This is why when another Kotaku article reported that a Dragon Age project set in Tevinter—the slave trade capital of Thedas—was scrapped, I didn’t share in the disappointment that bubbled throughout fandom. Quite frankly, I was relieved. I unfortunately don’t see BioWare being able to craft a story taking place in Tevinter in a way that won’t be chock full of obliviousness, microaggressions, and straight up triggers for Black players. 

How can I think this way about one of my favorite game franchises of all time, you ask? Well, in Inquisition, it was not only possible, but extremely easy for someone playing as an elf to make a mistake and wipe out their entire clan while assigning missions on the war table. Because this process takes place over multiple in-game decisions and hours of gameplay, there was no way to go back and fix it. What’s more, no one even acknowledges that it happened in the game.  

To be fair, the developers admitted that this was a problem, but saw it more as a design faux pas akin to other similar war table missions that went awry. To me, it resounded particularly loud to see an oppressed people who were frequently set upon by aggressive humans get extinguished like a flame all due to my actions. What’s more is that this is my Inquisitor’s family and the only society she’d known until the beginning of the game. To say it jettisoned me out of the heroic role play fantasy for a while would be an understatement. 

Later in the “Jaws of Hakkon” mission, when it is revealed the first Inquisitor was also an elf but the chantry (church) scrubbed all records of this from history, the game similarly ignores the profound implications this would have for an elven Inquisitor. I have spent my whole adult life trying to sankofa (go back and fetch) all the history of my people that has been deliberately obscured or warped by a western school system. This connected to my life in a way that was never even partially explored in the game. 

Other ways a few high ranking Black developers could have helped BioWare is with Dorian. Sure, he’s one of their most dynamic, fun, and charismatic characters in Inquisition. But he’s also an unrepentant slave owner who, even late in the game, vacillates between vacuously apologizing to Solas for Tevinter’s fabled domination of Elvhenan and encouraging the annoyed elf to enslave spirits to do his bidding.

And then there’s Vivienne, the one character designed as a Black woman. Look, I’m not suggesting that tough as nails, power enthusiast Vivienne should’ve dropped her unfriendly Black hottie status and held hands with everyone. But how much more nuanced and mindful would Vivienne’s characterization have been in the hands of a Black woman who has spent her academic and professional career modulating her voice and carefully curating her demeanor to avoid the scarlet letter of being dubbed “angry” or “difficult”? What made “The Iron Lady” into the cold, calculated defender of the status quo? The horrors and indignities she must have faced in the Ostwick Mage Circle that led her to create her impregnable persona are never even hinted at.

Furthermore, Vivienne is immediately and permanently pit against the most lovable character in the game, Cole. No one in the game seems to understand her position. She is a Circle mage that was taught to mistrust and fear demons before she was able to read. Of course she’s scared to death of Cole! Instead, the game just casts her as an irrational bigot and a danger to ‘innocent’ Cole, a being that even admits he is potentially quite dangerous.

And that's not to mention Sera's internalized elven racism and self-hatred that could have used more nuanced handling from someone of a community that deals with such things.

I just…Hire some Black writers and developers, BioWare. 

That way when you explore these themes common to our experience there will be a level of authenticity Black players can appreciate and identify with immediately while non-Black players get to enjoy a narrative shaped by people with a deeper connection to the subject matter. Having multiple queer writers helped the sexuality content immensely; it’s time to do the same for the racial commentary.

Patrick Weekes, the current lead writer for the Dragon Age series is an immense talent. He wrote my favorite character in the entire franchise, The Iron Bull, and two others in my top 10, Cole and Solas. I have no doubt that he and his team will create an incredible yarn, but if BioWare wants to level up and reclaim their former glory after their last few games have struggled, leaving their brand a bit tarnished, they are going to have to evolve and invest in more diverse, authentic voices.

[sridisha]

Top Latest Five Entertainment news Urban news

Top Latest Five Entertainment news Urban news

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[occasionalfics]

worth my while // p. 8

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ko-fi | p. 7 | p. 9

Summary: After being banished from his home, Thor Odinson has stopped at nothing to prove himself worthy of his throne, title, and power.

After losing the love of your life, you turned to a power you didn’t understand.You know you shouldn’t get involved.

But how could you not?

Pairing: Thor x Reader (Hercules au…kind of…)

A/N: So the yelling has already started but...it’s only gonna get worse before it gets better ;)

(Y’all know me though - I can’t not end on a happy note. So stay tuned.)

Warnings: Violence, lots of angst, borderline abuse and definite manipulation, way too many feels, major character death (eventually). Hades is still a huge creep.

Words: 2,320

“I hate to inform you of this, Oh Wise One,” you say, sardonic irony dripping from every word, “but the God of Thunder is practically perfect in every way.” You pet Cerberus’s head once more, anchoring yourself in enough comfort to stand up to Hades if you have to.

You’re not going further with whatever he has planned. You will not hurt Thor, not even for your own freedom.

You love him. More than yourself. More than life. More than freedom. Admittance the hardest part, despite how easy it is to act on the knowledge you have.

Hades seems unfazed. He sits and stares at you, then shrugs. “Sounds like that’s a you problem,” he says. “No flaw, no freedom.”

At that, your face drops. How could you have possibly thought you’d be able to get around Hades like this?

“I am disappointed, of course.” He comes around the coffee table, stands over you, and crosses his arms. “I asked you do to something-”

“You definitely didn’t ask-”

“And, time and time again, you’ve come back empty handed. Not really getting my powers’ worth out of our deal.”

“That sounds like a you problem.” You don’t even miss a beat. Your eyebrows lower, and the glare you shoot at him would otherwise be enough to kill.

Despite his reputation, despite the myths and the interpretations, Hades has never gotten really, truly angry with you. He’s never shown pure rage. Frustration, sure. Disappointment - it’s in his navy eyes now. But he saves anger for those beyond the mansion.

Still, you’ve learned that there are deeper ways to cut, more dangerous emotions to feel and show than to rage.

When Hades stays calm and collected, your skin crawls. When he chuckles, you slink back against the couch.

“I’ve made bad deals before,” he says. “You’re not the first. And I know how to deal with servants like you, (Y/N). Now, I don’t want to have to go there.” He shrugs. “But you seem to think you’re playing my hand for me.”

All you can do is stare. Your Cerberus whines for you, but your hand has stilled on his head.

“I’d say I’m giving you one more chance, but you don’t have much of a choice.” At least he acknowledges it. “This time, you do things my way.”

--

The airy, cloudy restraints on your ankles, wrists, and around your mouth should not be so stable. They are, but they don’t look like they should be unbreakable.

They taste like death - or what you imagine death to taste like. They taste like Rick did after you brought him back. They remind you of every mistake you’ve made since you watched Rick storm out of your apartment and into the street - every moment you’ve decided to do something unnatural or abhorrent that’s led you to this.

Hades doesn’t have to carry you. His magic does that for him - another dark, swirling cloud beneath you that smells like the end of the world. You stopped struggling ten minutes ago, because you know that this is always where you were meant to end up. From the moment that you agreed to whatever Hades wanted for the sake of Rick, you stepped onto a path that only continued in one winding direction.

Apocalypse comes to mind. Hades has never called it that, but you know now, and it’s fitting.

He wants to raise the dead.

The Avengers guard the living.

He separates them, gets his Four Horsemen to occupy and imprison them a few at a time, raises the dead, and controls the guardians of the living all in one fell swoop.

But first, he brings you as an offering to the God of Thunder. Thor is the only Avenger that Hades has no manner to successfully hold. He’s too strong, too good, too determined to prove himself worthy of returning home. He’ll agree to anything that might deem him as such.

Hades seems to think that includes bargaining for you.

One tear slips out of your left eye as Hades steps out onto the field behind Avengers’ Compound. You haven’t been here before; you and Thor have only ever spent time in the tower, in Manhattan.

This place is massive. You can’t appreciate it right now, but you can tell it was crafted specifically with someone like Thor in mind - someone who, in theory, should be able to travel inter-dimensionally with the assistance of his hammer. This is where Hades has lured Thor with a whole slew of monsters. This is where he gets the God of Thunder alone, does whatever it is he wants to him, and leaves you to clean up the mess you know is coming.

Like clockwork, his massive frame falls from the sky. You can feel the ground shake, despite being cloaked for the moment and despite not even touching the ground.

Hades stops in his tracks. He leans back, crosses his arms, and chuckles pretentiously. “If it isn’t the Mighty Thor,” he says.

Thor stands tall. His long hair looks freshly washed, despite absolutely having fought monsters no less than forty minutes ago.

In any other circumstance, you’d run right to Thor. You crave his arms around you, want nothing more than to say what’s inside to him, to have him repeat it back. You want to prove yourself worthy enough of Asgard, to go with him and never look back at this forsaken place, this planet that took your heart and sold it to the highest bidder.

Speaking of, Hades holds out a hand and introduces himself. Thor just stares, brows furrowed. You know he can’t see you, but you try to mumble around the cloud in your mouth. He, apparently, cannot hear you, either.

Hades can, though. He glares at you over his shoulder, a warning in his navy depths.

You slink back, a sob caught in your throat. This is all too much. You hate yourself for ever getting into this; you hate Rick for dying; you hate Hades for taking advantage of your broken heart; you even, for just a second, hate Thor for attempting to put it back together.

But that just restarts the whole cycle, and you know it’s not fair to hold that against Thor. Not when you kept going back to him because it felt good and right and all manner of shiny, magical descriptors.

You look up at the sky and pray - you hope Odin can hear you, wherever he is, hope he has telekinesis and that it can work at such a distance between Midgard and Asgard and that he’s listening to some random mortal because you pray for Thor. You beg Odin to bring him home, to save his son, to protect the only person who’s even attempted to restore your faith in humanity.

He’s not even human. The irony sinks in as just one more tear falls from your right eye.

“I’ve got something you may want to consider,” you hear Hades say. He snaps, and suddenly a veil you hadn’t even been aware of lifts. The world is brighter - harsher - and you squint as the cloud your on brings you out from behind Hades.

Thor lunches for you, but he phases right through you.

“I wouldn’t try that, friend,” Hades says. “You want the girl? You give me your strength for 24 hours - let’s say the next 24 hours.”

Thor must hear it all. He gets up slowly, watches you carefully, then drags his eyes to Hades. “If I agree,” he says, voice a dangerous growl from low in his chest, “if I give you my strength, you have to swear no harm will come to her.”

Hades glances back at you, this time with a hint of dramatic teasing alight in his eyes. “Of course,” he says. He thrusts his hand out further toward Thor. “Not a single hair out of place.”

Thor’s nostrils flare. The lines etched in his face make him look much older than you’re used to. Much more aggressive. Lightning fits this man.

“I don’t really have all day,” Hades says. “You either want her, or you don’t.”

You hate the way he says that. Like he can convince you both, with just one sentence, that you either mean nothing or everything to Thor.

You know better. He’s an Avenger for a reason. You are just one human - one measly little girl he’s spent too much time with, invested too much emotion in. He’s a hero because he always puts the people first.

Except...for when he doesn’t, apparently.

“Fine,” he nearly whispers.

Your breath hitches when you watch his hand stretch out toward Hades’. You shake your head, hope he sees, but his fingers move in and around Hades’, and suddenly he’s on his knees, groaning as the strength within him is pulled from his essence.

Your throat is raw as you yell around the cloud, shaking your head. You know that Thor is more than his strength. Mjölnir knows it, too. But without it, you know he can’t go up against a hoard of zombies. Without his strength, Mjölnir could easily rip his arm from its socket before he could even think of joining the fight.

When the job is done, Thor falls back onto his heels. He kneels and breathes deeply, and Hades snaps.

The clouds fall away from you. You fall forward, your hands catching you at the last second, wrists exploding with jolts of pain after having been bound together for so long.

More sobs spill from between your lips.

You could’ve stopped this. Except, no, that’s not true.

But you could have prevented it.

“Oh, and isn’t she just...the best little actress?” Hades asks. His fingers grip your chin and pull you up so you kneel at his side.

There’s no fight left in you. You don’t even try to pull away.

Thor breathes heavily as he asks, “What?” His eyes dart to you - those electric blues sending static shocks all over your face as he glares.

“She didn’t tell you?” Hades asks. He tsks, shakes his head, looks down at you like the disappointment you are.

You can feel something inside of you is about to break. No, not just break - shatter.

“This whole time, your little friend here, has been working for me.” The smile Hades shoots at Thor churns your stomach, makes you want the grass around you to swallow you whole so you don’t have to see the look of absolute heartbreak on Thor’s face.

A dull peal of thunder rings, but it’s far off. The day is, otherwise, sunny. Annoyingly so.

You pull your face from Hades’ grip and try to scoot closer to Thor, but he leans back. It’s a subtle shift, but it’s all he can manage and all you need to know that he does not want you close. Not like you so desperately need to be.

“I-I tried to stop him-” you offer, but it comes out pathetic and defeated. “I couldn’t tell-”

He shakes his head. His bottom lip trembles, but you’re sure you’re the only one that sees it.

You can’t force yourself to keep eye contact with him as deserved and heated shame fills you. The thing - your heart - inside does, in fact, shatter. Into a million and a half pieces, now littering the field beyond the compound.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, folding in on yourself.

--

At first, Thor doesn’t let you help him up. But after a while, when his brain finally recognizes that his mass is too heavy for his ability, he lets you touch him. He pulls on you as lightly as he can, but you end up doing most of the work anyway. Somehow, you manage to get him standing.

The second he’s stable, he pulls away from you. You watch him slowly trudge back to the main compound building - or what you think is the main building, anyway. You still don’t get a good look at the grounds, but if you stray too far from Thor, you’ll never get to explain yourself.

At least you’re free, now. You know you are simply by feeling.

There was a weight before that no longer presses on the knot between your shoulder blades. It evaporated with the clouds that bound you.

But your freedom has come at the cost of every other living soul on the planet. And even you know that that is not a fair trade.

“Why did you do it?” you ask Thor. The only other sounds are occasional birds and the rustling of grass as the wind blows and the two of you walk.

“Why did you?” he asks, brows still lowered as he looks at you.

Silence reigns. You know your answer - you were drawn to him, you made rules to keep you both safe, and then you systematically broke each of those rules until you were so far deep in love with Thor that the only thing you could do was put his journey first.

The thought that he’d done the same for you should make you feel happy. Weightless. Loved.

But knowing what Hades will do because of that choice drowns out any semblance of positivity.

He continues through the compound - doesn’t stop at a bedroom, doesn’t find the kitchen to even attempt to replenish his energy. Thor just keeps going. And you follow him.

When he reaches the main doors of the building, you jog to step around him. “Where’re you going?” you ask.

“I have to find the others,” he says.

You shake your head. “You’re weak now,” you tell him.

The fire in his eyes is not the kind of fire you like. It’s not meant to make you feel wanted and secure. It burns you, just like he wants it to.

“If you go out there, you’ll die.”

He pushes around you and says, “There are worse things.”

[lovelybuccky]

Three Things That Are Certain (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your mother once taught you that when you feel afraid, you should look at your surroundings and find at least three things that are certain, just three things that you know to be true. However, a collection of photos are found from different points in history, and you are in every single one. Questions are being raised, and you are finding it more and more difficult to name those three things. But he is there to remind you of what they are.

Warnings: Violence, profanity, graphic violence and descriptions of pain in later chapters.

A/N: It’s been a while...sorry! There is a lot of information in this one,,,I’m sorry if it’s confusing and I know there’s gonna be some technical errors especially with canon. But!! I hope you enjoy it! Please do let me know if there are any massive errors/problems with canon!

Previous Chapter

The tests went pretty smoothly. Bruce walked you through everything beforehand, and it seemed simple enough. A handful of questions, a couple of scans - and a blood test. That was the worst one, the glistening tip of the needle jolting you back into the past. The glowing green substance, the leather straps holding you down, the rag that only did so much to muffle your screams as fire soared through your veins. Something in your stomach sunk, and you forgot to breath.

Then you looked over at him.

He was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. He raised an eyebrow at you, asking silent questions. Are you okay? Do you need a break?

Your lips turned up slightly, a subtle nod sent his way as a silent answer. I’m okay. I can do this.

He returned your nod in acknowledgement, but your eyes remained locked. You focused on his face, his form, keeping your head turned away from the doctor as you performed your ritual.

It’s just three things. Easy peasy.

Bucky’s eyes are blue, baby blue.

His beard is only just past a stubble, he obviously hasn’t shaved in a couple of days.

If you look close enough, you can see a small dimple in his chin. Cute.

The last thought caught you off guard, your heart skipped a beat as Bruce removed the needle from your arm, a lopsided smile creeping up Bucky’s face. He uncrosses his arms, slow steps carrying him towards you, “The worst part’s over, you can relax.”

So, you did.

Or at least you tried to.

That was only fifteen minutes ago, and now everyone was gathered in the lab awaiting the results. It should’ve taken days for results to come through, but thanks to Stark’s tech it only takes a few minutes.

However, the results come back negative.

Perplexed looks are shared as both Bruce and Tony analyse the statistics one more time. There’s muttering, whispering - like school students interrupting a lesson. You bow your head, trying to think of some way to explain your situation. How could you make them understand?

An open hand comes into view, looking up you’re met with green eyes and a shy smile. Wanda, you think her name is. She nods in the direction of her open palm, an invitation for you to take it. Hesitantly, you place your hand in hers, and you just feel warmth.

Her eyes flutter shut, until green stares back at you once more. She sighs, a sympathetic look in her eyes, “Which one?”

Somehow you knew what she was asking. You fidget in your seat before answering, “Time.” You’d hoped it would come out stronger, but it’s merely a whisper.

She nods in understanding and turns back to Tony, whose mouth is agape. “The tests are pointless, you’ll never find anything. But I promise, she’s no threat to us.”

Tony blinks at her, “I’m sorry, am I the only one who has no idea what just happened? ‘Time’ what?”

Wanda looks at you for permission to continue - you nod.

“Time Stone. One of the six Infinity Stones. That’s what has given her the ability to travel through time.”

“And how did you know?”

“The Stones are connected,” Vision steps in, “Wanda and I both felt it when she first walked in, however we didn’t know at the time that it was the Stone.”

“But when we touched, both of the Stones’ energy fed off one another, that’s how I knew. Just like me, she has one of the Stone’s power in her, I just couldn’t feel which one.”

Everyone’s gaze falls to you, and you subconsciously squirm under the attention. You look for the familiar pair of blue eyes, but he’s busying himself with the photographs.

Steve steps forward, “Let’s take a break. When we come back, would you be able to tell us a bit more, Y/N?”

He offers you a kind smile, and you return it as best you can, “I promise I’ll tell you as much as I know.”

And with that, everyone disperses until just you and Bucky remain. He's sat at the desk now, flicking through your photographs. You hop off of the lab table, pulling up a chair next to him. You sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments before you speak up, “Do you miss it?”

He gently holds one photo of you crossing the street, his eyes scanning over every detail. The bakery in the background, the Harley shooting past you, the style of dress you wore. Familiarity washes over him, but it’s distant; like he’s remembering a dream. He sighs, “Sometimes, but it just feels like a story now.” You smile sadly at him, he just shakes his head, “But hey, this decade ain’t so bad. Although I still can’t believe a loaf of bread costs $2.”

You snort, “Tell me about it. Music’s shit too.”

He laughs at that, full bellied as he places the photo back on the pile, facing you fully now, “You’re damn right.”

Silence settles around you once again as you take each other in. There’s no specific intent, it’s just nice being in the company of someone who understands. It’s true Bucky had Steve to talk to, but he had a “live in the present” kind of attitude, at least on the outside. Bucky knew deep down Steve missed the old days just as much as he did. Sometimes it’s easier to bask in the warmth of nostalgia.

You sit for a few more moments in each other’s presence, until he starts to shuffle in his chair, “You should get some rest, you’ve barely slept.”

The warmth seeps away and cool reality reclaims its place. He hadn’t said it cruelly or coldly, but his smile fades away and his focus switches to some tools on the desk, fiddling and twirling them in his hands. Maybe he was genuinely concerned, maybe he wanted to be alone. You wanted to know more, desperate to learn about James Buchanan Barnes - the man he was before war, before Hydra, before you. But you knew he wasn't ready to dive head-first into the deep blue past. He was still a fractured man. Not broken - not anymore - but cracked, and cracks give in under too much pressure. The photographs were the first push, and you weren’t going to push more.

So you nod in agreement and the smile you offer him is soft, but free of agenda. You thank him for helping you through the tests, and head back to your room.

“Hydra agents are everywhere, all the time. They’re waiting for something to pop up, someone to slip so they can retrieve what they need. They knew about the Infinity Stones, they just had no idea where they were - except one. But they wanted more, they needed more. So they used the one Stone they had long before I was even born. It was blue, and was kept in this…cube; but it was enough to retrieve some power from it. Like Wanda said, the Stones are connected, they feed off of each other, attract each other like magnets. From the cube, they could create a device that would attract energy from another Stone and store it for Hydra’s own use. It was weak, but it took enough power from the Time Stone that would enable them to manipulate time. However, it was only enough for one person, and that’s where I come in.”

“Hang on, back up. How did they get energy from the Time Stone in the first place? It’s been protected for years, there’s no way anyone could have gotten near it without anyone’s knowledge,” Steve questions.

“I don't know the exact details,” you continue, “from what I heard, there was a window of time where the Stone was exposed, allowing enough time to take some of its energy. A Hydra agent managed to return with the Stone’s power, and one hell of a promotion.”

“Right.” Tony speaks up after a moment of consideration, “So, you were the one they chose to give the power to?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

You sigh, “Ask myself that question everyday, but I haven't a clue. I guess I was easy. Weak, scared, young - they knew I couldn’t fight back and would obey without fuss. I was the easiest option.”

Steve opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates, crafting his next words carefully, “Y/N, how old were you when they took you?”

You look down at your feet, “Sixteen.”

“Jesus.” Sam breaths, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration.

You cast your eyes over to Bucky, his elbows are resting on his thighs as he looks down at his hands, and you notice his jaw clench.

Steve shakes his head and looks at the ground, a sigh escaping his lips, “When did they take you?”

“1983,” you state, wiping your clammy hands on your sweatpants, “I don’t remember the circumstances exactly. I was just walking home from school, when suddenly everything went black. Then I was in the chair, and they got to work.”

Tony sits down, “God, what did they even do? How did they get the energy from the Time Stone into you?”

“It was a liquid that they injected it straight into my blood stream,” you shudder, pushing down the nausea in the pit of your stomach, “and then boom, I could travel through time. I don’t know how they made the liquid - the ‘elixir’ they called it - that was top secret.”

“Why didn’t you just, like, time travel out of there? Surely they couldn’t catch you?”

“I considered it, but in order to use the power you need an extreme amount of focus and a trigger. The trigger is something from the time you want to travel to, anything physical. That bit was easy, with antiques and all that, but it means that you can only travel backwards, since it’s impossible to have an object from a time that doesn’t exist yet, if that makes sense.” You clear your throat, aware that you’re rambling, “The ‘focus’ was the difficult part. They tried to essentially wipe my mind, so all my focus was on their orders. This took them years to figure out, that’s what the experiments were for.”

“Did they do to you what they did to Barnes?” Natasha enquires.

Bucky’s eyes shoot to yours, and you notice a mild panic in them. You give him a reassuring smile, “I honestly have no idea, I was blacked out for most of it, but I don’t think so. They already knew that method, and if it worked for me then there wouldn't have been all those years of trial and error.”

There’s a pause as the information settles in, and sombreness fills the air. Tony clears his throat, “Okay, but how did you get here? As in this time?”

You take a deep breath, you know that all these questions are crucial in helping them understand you and your situation, but God it was exhausting. “I woke up in the 1941, completely in control. I guess after all their tries they still couldn't find a method strong enough. I wondered around, decided that there were worse places to end up. So I settled down and tried to make a life for myself, expecting to die of old age before Hydra could find me again. But I suppose the Stone doesn't just effect the time around me, but also my internal clock, since I haven’t really aged since I woke up in Brooklyn in 1941. I’ve been on the run since, knowing Hydra would look for me eventually, since I never completed my mission.”

“Which was?”

You look at the ground, shame oozing out of you. You were dreading this moment. This is where everything shifts. You avoid all their curious gazes, holding off the inevitable.

“Y/N,” Steve’s voice spoke gently, but strongly too, “what was your mission?”

Your eyes flicker back to Bucky to find him already watching you, confusion etching his features. You fear his reaction the most, and you know that there is no chance that he could ever trust you, not anymore. There’s still so much you haven’t told him, so much that you both weren’t ready for him to know. But this is where things get complicated. You hold eye contact with him for as long as possible - until the very last second.

“I…was sent to kill Steve Rogers.”

***

Next Chapter // Masterlist

A/N: Feedback is really appreciated!

[thelifeofm]

Contests Schmontests: a few thoughts

It’s that time of year again… AKA photo contest time. I wrote this post 5 years ago after judging POYi for the first time, and housed it on a blog I’ve long-since scrubbed clean. But figured it was worth reposting now since the same conversations are happening now about the winning images. 

----- Judging POYi is such a unique experience that I wanted to share some thoughts and insights with you. From February 2-6, 2015, AP Photo Editor Jacqueline Larma, South African photojournalist (and last year’s 2nd place POY portfolio winner) James Oatway, WIRED Magazine Director of Photography Patrick Witty and I looked at about 10,770 unique images at the University of Missouri’s 72nd annual POYi competition. 

We were judging the News Division — with categories ranging from Feature and Portrait to Human Conflict and Issue Reporting to Portfolio of the Year.

It was an incredible honor to look through the best pictures of the year to determine the VERY best. For me, the goal going into the week was not to not only recognize a very high level of work done this year, and give it a second life, but also to help establish the benchmark for the next year’s work. The magnitude of that task weighed heavily. And I guarantee you, it wasn't taken lightly.

One thing we kept returning to as a judging team was that, above all, this is a photojournalism competition. At its most basic level, the photography has to be there. The quality of the pictures is paramount.

We removed several really good pictures from the competition because of carelessness on the photographer’s part (or sometimes on the part of the entry coordinator — yes some publications actually still have people that enter contests for their staff — which amazes me). Small things like a dirty sensor, poor toning, low res images and crops that left lines or borders on the edges were difficult to get past. This contest is for Pictures of the Year. Before you enter, take a second to ensure there’s nothing detracting from your image.

On a higher plane, come the intangibles. What is this picture saying? Is it truthful? Does the photographer have a voice and a vision, are they moving photography forward with their image? It’s not enough to simply show up (f8 and be there), point, and shoot. When everyone with a camera phone fancies themselves a photographer, we have to set ourselves apart by approaching situations skillfully — photography is, after all, a craft.

Moments always weigh heaviest for me. But there are other elements like mood, composition, light, and what the photographer is trying to say, that we took into account as well. It’s not enough to show up, you have to bring something to the image as well.

That said, judging is a very subjective process. Put different judges on any year's contest jury, and the winners might be different. I think the phrase “best” isn’t necessarily a qualitative term, it’s a quantitative one. A majority of the judges have to agree that it's the best, not all...

We asked ourselves: which pictures resonate with us…. four people from totally different and diverse backgrounds. One thing that was obvious is that when you respect what the other judges bring to the table, it’s an incredibly fascinating process to go through. We talked about the pictures, a lot. You have to be able to articulate why something is good, not just that it is. 

But perhaps the biggest thing I learned from this process is that good judging is about compromise and consensus. It’s not a perfect process, no contest is, but when done right... it’s incredibly fair. Ultimately, the other three judges and I had the utmost respect for the work we were looking at, and wanted the best of the best to be recognized. 

I say that because I got text messages, emails and phone calls after judging was over asking why a certain story didn’t win, or a certain issue not rise up and be recognized. And the bottom line is this: it's hard to second-guess judging because it doesn't come down to one person's opinion... it comes down to a collective vote by just a handful of people that you've put your trust into.

I'll also say this: you can only judge the work that’s there against other work that’s there. I know that there was some powerful work done in 2014 that wasn’t entered. I know that we saw better pictures of certain events or moments on the wires or newspapers, but that work wasn’t entered. You can’t judge a best of anything contest against the ideal stuck in your head — that’s not fair. You have to weigh the strengths and weaknesses of what’s on the screen in front of you — the end. (On a side note: I hate contests that refuse to award a 1st place, and just give a 2nd and 3rd... It's a contest of, the year, you judge what's there. Because that's the best of what you've got. Period.)

Issue Reporting story was, in my mind, one of the strongest categories this year. And it was my favorite to judge. It shows how deeply people are digging in their own backyards to tell important stories.

Brad Vest’s look at the residents of a Memphis Housing project took us inside this place, put a face on the people there, had heart, and a beautiful aesthetic. The pacing and editing of it really felt like every picture pushed the narrative forward a little bit more, adding something to the story. Lisa Krantz’s story on obesity took us inside the life of San Antonio’s Hector Garcia. It had intimacy and depth. It told an important story about a powerful issue and did so with beauty and dignity for the subject. And notice how both of those photographers also had winning portfolios, because those issues, those in-depth stories, those important and incredible moments, carried them through.

The Staten Island Ferry Portrait Series that placed second resonated with me for the same reason: it’s such a good reminder that you don’t always have to go far or seek out the exotic to make interesting and compelling images.

Feature Picture Story was (again, in my mind, I’m not speaking for the other judges here) one of the weakest categories. It felt like a dumping ground for event coverage, for collections of images photographers were lumping together, for fluff that lacked both substance and style. Without purpose, 12 pretty photos from the State Fair do not a picture story make. Make those pretty images, but then ask yourself what you’re trying to say about this place, these people, this thing… AND FIND A WAY TO SAY IT. The feature stories that won, did so deservingly — especially the first place winner which is a quiet, yet almost lyrical way of telling a story. Different, yet emotive. Powerful, yet thoughtful. But the drop off was steep after the ones that placed.

Before we began judging the Newspaper Portfolio round, contest coordinator Rick Shaw reminded us that there’s no such thing as a perfect portfolio. And he’s right. Although some portfolios came close, ultimately, picking a winner came down to weighing the strengths and weaknesses of a body of work. For me, stories held more weight in the portfolio, because that’s really when you get to see a photographer’s strengths: how they work through a story, how they edit it, how their ideas translate into moments. And then how do the singles back this up?

It helps to look at things in a grid form, all together in a contact sheet, to see how things not only look, but feel, as a group. Are there any clunkers that are bringing it down? Is there a frame there that because of aesthetic or approach feels like it was shot by a different photographer? Are you putting a weak sports or spot news photo into your portfolio to fill a hole or is it really necessary and does it add to the work? It’s definitely given me a lot to think about when assembling my own portfolio for future contests.

The state of the newspaper industry is lousy right now. With layoffs and buyouts, losing experience and expertise hurts. I saw that come through in the editing time-and-time again. There were stories and portfolios that were too long, redundant, or full of too many pointless unnecessary photos. Those we eliminated. It sucks thinking, this is a great photographer… if only they had a good editor.

But the winners give me some hope for the industry. There’s no question that there’s still some amazing work out there by photographers who are findings ways to get it done. There are brave photographers willing to risk their lives to make images that show us the suffering, brutality and inhumanity of conflict. There are inspiring and innovative photographers who are finding new and different ways to make images. And there are concerned photographers digging deeper into their own communities to shed a light on the darkness.

Contests aren’t perfect. And entering them isn’t either. Just because a set of judges doesn’t pick an image doesn’t mean it’s bad. It just means it didn’t resonate with those judges in that place on that day. 

And if you win something and have a photo that places, congratulations. It’s a feather in your cap, a pat on the back and hopefully some validation to take back to your bosses to remind them why we need the time and space to do what we do.

The opportunity to see how your own work stands up to the work that’s being chosen is a learning experience. And if your work’s not quite there this year, you know where the bar has been set. Hopefully it’s a motivator more than a deterrent. More than anything though, what I hope people get out of contests is the conversations they spark. The debates about photos are healthy, as long as they’re constructive.

And with all that said: the most important thing to remember is judging is incredibly subjective and it depends on a lot of factors coming together and aligning perfectly — one of the biggest being luck.

[anistarrose]

Some Sunny Day - Chapter 10: Happy to Know (Gravity Falls - Same Coin Theory)

Summary: It’ll all out in the open now.

Warnings: Suicidal ideation (no one dies)

Previous / Next

The Beginning (see here for AO3 link)

Just a quick foreword for this chapter and the next one: now that the main cast members are all realizing the truth, they’re going to be expressing some opinions on the situation (interpretations of the theory) that are not necessarily my own, and may not reflect the overall direction this fic is taking. The truth is out, but there’s still a lot that needs to be worked through, so if this chapter feels like a downer, don’t worry — this fic is tagged Hurt/Comfort for a reason that will (eventually) become apparent.

(The Same Coin Theory is by @dubsdeedubs and @renmorris!)

Stanley’s mindscape was changing.

Ford somehow remained blind to it until he tried to stand up, only to fall back down to his hands and knees as the floorboards shuddered and swayed beneath his feet. All around him, walls buckled and planks were torn out of place, rearranging themselves to craft new hallways, new connections between memories.

Hissing geysers erupted from cracks in the floor, the scalding-hot plumes weaving deftly around him as their steam escaped through the holes in the roof. Some of the clouds took longer to drift out of sight, and as they hung lazily in the air, Ford could make out images in them — a rift, a shooting star. A fire, a fist. A statue.

The steam even seemed to seep out of the walls and floor themselves, sapping the darkness from the wood as it grew lighter and lighter, brighter and brighter until it burned Ford’s eyes just to look at. The grain patterns in the planks shifted and flickered like waves of fire, taking on a blue hue as they leapt out of the wood and into the air, chasing away the last wisps of darkness to render Stan’s mind in all white and light gray, accented by the yellow gleam of the knots in the walls as they all shifted to fixate their gaze on Ford, unblinking.

He covered his eyes, but the images stayed seared in his memory.

***

Stanley laughed — a long, hearty laugh that would have brought tears to his eyes and a sore sensation to his gut, had he not been immaterial and invulnerable, free from the oppressive laws of physics as the undisputed master of the mindscape.

Oh, it had been so long — so long since he’d last looked beyond where his cataract-ridden human eyes could see, since he’d last snapped his fingers and rewritten the rules of the universe however he deemed fit, so long since he’d last consciously thought about how ancient and how powerful he was, how much he was truly capable of when he set his mind to it…

He didn’t know whether to call it ten months or sixty-two years, but it had been so long, too long.

So long since he’d last cheated someone out of some precious time in possession of their own body, so long since he’d razed a dimension from the inside out and danced as it went up in flames, so long since he’d —

So long since he’d tortured his former pawn (his future brother) to give up the equation confining his reign of terror to a single town, so long since he’d left it up to chance which child (which nibling) he’d kill in cold blood, to convince Ford that he meant what he said about hurting those kids —

Fuck, fuck, fuck —

More and more memories kept rushing back, some already remembered from a different perspective, but many worse than anything a still-amnesiac-Stanley would have ever dreamed of. Dimensions burnt to the ground, deals struck and puppets claimed, eyes dripping blood and cutlery jabbed into arms —

He had always known on some level, he realized.

(No, not realized. Admitted.)

He had known since the blue flames first flickered up around his fingers that morning, and he had known since he first found the prisms in Ford’s house and been struck by a wave of déjà vu, as long-slumbering memories grew restless in their sleep. He had known since he’d swung back and forth on a rusty swingset on a beach, staring at the six-fingered hands gripping the chains of the other swing, and addressed their owner by a nickname from a prophecy written centuries ago, in a cave two thousand miles away. He’d known ever since the blue fire of the burning mindscape had faded away, and he’d opened two eyes in a hospital in New Jersey, mind blank but not truly empty.

He just couldn’t admit it to himself and stay sane. He didn’t dare risk reawakening the demon that lurked in his memories, bound in place by the flimsy chain that was his newly acquired conscience — but it hadn’t just been about self-preservation, or even the preservation of the rest of the world, had it? He hadn’t been able find the courage to admit it to his family, either, to tell them who he was — and then, even worse, to explain how he’d known and lied about it for so long, for as long as he’d known them. How he’d lied until he couldn’t remember what was a lie and what wasn’t.

And he didn’t know how to tell them that all the lying been futile, in the end, because denial could erase memories but not actions. Not who, not what he was. His very identity as the others saw it — as even he had been foolish enough to see it, for sixty-two years — was nothing more than just another con. Just another fake name.

All belief of being Stanley Pines abandoned, Bill Cipher raised a hand to cover his mouth and screamed.

***

The one remaining column of steam in the room exploded just as Ford pulled himself to his feet, and winds tore across the room, howling in agony but miraculously not knocking him down. On unsteady feet, a figure with disheveled hair but an impeccable suit and tie walked falteringly forwards, away from the site of detonation — and despite himself, Ford stepped towards him.

“Stanley? Are you —”

Stan’s head jerked up, and he stared at Ford like a deer in the headlights. “No! No, don’t come any closer, I —”

His feet lifted off the floor, and waves of pixels and static rippled up his body as he gritted his teeth, form flickering back and forth between human and —

And something Ford couldn’t quite make out, human and —

Human and —

A sickly yellow triangle materialized out of the static, single eye unblinking as thin black limbs dangled limply towards the ground.

“Well,” he said, in the quietest voice Ford had ever heard emanate from Bill Cipher, “you probably see why you shouldn’t come near me.”

Ford’s stomach churned like it had been thrown into perpetual free fall, and his eyes unfocused.

“What did you do to him?!” he howled. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BROTHER?!”

“Nothing,” Bill said, hands curling into tiny black fists as his appearance flickered and morphed into Stan once again. “I got some bad news, Sixer.”

“Stop pretending to be him!” Ford snarled. “I know you’re really Cipher, so stop — stop making a mockery of him like that! Stop pretending!”

“I have stopped.” The being that took on Stan’s appearance looked genuinely upset, shaking his head slowly and refusing to make eye contact for more than a fraction of a second. “I was — I was pretending for a really long time, but —”

“You’re not making any sense, St—” Ford barely caught himself, and corrected frantically. “No, I mean — fuck. What do you fucking want from me, Bill, that —”

Stan took a shaky breath — the type that often comes when tears are starting to dampen one’s eyes, and they’re trying not to let them creep into their voice. “I really had you convinced, didn’t I?”

He closed his two eyes, after another burst of static, Bill opened his one. “Sixer, I… I was always Stan.”

“What?! No, of all the bullshit — is this some reincarnation angle you’re going for? Because you clearly died long after Stan was —”

“Time doesn’t work like that, Ford! You went rooting through my memories, you saw me invoke the Axolotl — that big frilly know-it-all exists way outside of any backwards and forwards or cause and effect, you must have figured that out by now! I invoked it back when I was burning in my own damn mindscape, when I didn’t actually want to die, and you know what it thought? It thought I was worth saving — oh, and not just saving, but worth shoving me back into your lives like I hadn’t ruined them enough yet!”

“Don’t talk like that about him! Don’t talk like you are him! I won’t fall for your tricks, Cipher, I —”

“I don’t want it to be true either!” Bill wailed, and a fiery blue tear fell from his eye, continuing to roll down his cheek as he turned back into Stan. “You have no idea, I — I want more than anything to to go back to just a couple days ago, to being able to pretend everything is normal and only thinking about spending the summer with you all! But — but it’s not — I can’t pretend anymore! I’m too dangerous to all of you!”

His hoarse voice broke every few words, so full of anguish and so unmistakably Stan. So far beyond anything Bill would ever have the capability to fake.

“There’s — there’s got to be memories getting mixed up in here somehow,” Ford whispered, and though he tried to sound comforting it ended up sounding more like a desperate prayer. “We’ll get this all sorted out, Stanley, don’t worry —”

“You can’t sort out what was never mixed up in the first place!” Bill yelled. “Why won’t you just listen to me, Ford? What about — what if I show you something you remember too?”

The Shack shuddered, planks groaning as they moved to make way for a new door that was dragged out from the hallway by an unseen force. Blue flames ignited around the knob as it twisted open on its own, letting the door swing open to reveal —

Earlier this June, about two weeks ago. Ford shuffled cards as Dipper and Mabel pulled chairs up to a table, and Stan carried in a bowl of fresh popcorn.

“Alright, what are we doin’ for teams?” he asked, setting down the bowl. “Ford and I are obviously unstoppable together, so it’s only fair if we both team up with one of you kiddos…”

“Yeah, ‘cause you both count cards…” Dipper muttered under his breath.

Stan ignored him and folded his hands together, making a point with his index fingers as he gestured between Mabel and Dipper. “Eenie meenie miney… you.”

Dipper flinched as Stan landed on him, staring at his pointed fingers with horror for a moment before taking a few hurried steps backward. “I, uh…”

Stan frowned. “Something wrong?”

“Oh, no,” Mabel murmured. “It’s a Bill thing, isn’t it, Dipper?”

Dipper started to shake his head, but then sighed and pulled down his hat. “Yeah. He… he said that to me a couple times, and now I just…”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Stan said. “Tell me right away if I ever use a bad phrase like that again, okay?”

Dipper nodded, and Ford put a hand on his shoulder. To Stan, he whispered: “I think I remember hearing Bill use that phrase once, but… aside from that, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it from anyone but you. Did he — did he steal your catchphrase?”

Stan shrugged. “I dunno, but I hope he didn’t steal anything else. Dipper — or any of you, actually — are there any other words you guys want me to avoid?”

The other three Pines shook their heads, and Stan smiled, passing the bowl of popcorn in Dipper’s direction. “Well then, let’s play some euchre before the popcorn gets cold. I got fancy with this batch and made it on the stove, ya know.”

The door to the memory slammed shut, and Ford bit his lip. His hands were trembling at his sides, fingers curled so tightly that they ached like hell, and he couldn’t bear to look down at them in fear he might find them bleeding.

“Coincidence,” he choked out. “It has to be.”

“What will make you believe it, Sixer?” Stan asked. “Fuck, even that nickname should clue you in! Did you ever think it was weird that the two of us both called you Sixer, and just the two of us?”

“Bill must have stolen it from you. Like he stole —”

“That nickname came from the zodiac and you know it! I know you know it, so why can’t you just — just — just look at yourself, Stanford!”

The air shimmered between them, forming a surface so pristine and perfectly reflective that Ford almost thought he was still looking at his twin, view unobstructed — but Stan had been silhouetted in blue flames just a moment ago, while Ford’s reflection was awash with darkness. Clouds circled him slowly, not a single spark of lightning seen in the air between them, and they blurred together with his trenchcoat as it flowed in the gentle wind, disintegrating into tiny gray droplets at the hem. Dark paths traced from the corners of his eyes down his cheeks, running off his chin and down his neck towards his sweater, where they bled into the wool and stained it black.

And the hands, unmistakably six-fingered and undeniably his own, were dripping dark liquid too — not the blood he thought he’d felt, but relentless cascades of black, feeding rivers that hissed and steamed as they ran across the floor’s glowing planks.

“Don’t you see? You’re drawing all the darkness left in my mind towards you because you’re the one in the deepest denial now — but trust me, Ford, it’s not gonna last forever. Something’s gonna snap you out of it sooner or later, so it — it might as well be now. Just accept that I’m not who you thought I was.”

“Fuck,” Ford whispered. “Stanley, you — you’re — you really —”

Stan rose above the mirror, still cloaked in flames as his body convulsed into the form of Bill once more.

“You said no one is allowed to say Stanley is worthless, but guess what? ‘Stanley’ isn’t real. He was just another lie, invented by an amnesiac dream demon who almost managed to convince even himself that he deserved to have a family.”

His voice broke again, but he looked at Ford in the eye as he continued:

“Face it, Sixer — you never had a twin.”

“No!” The dark clouds and blue fire both blew back from Ford as he yelled, voice echoing in his own ears like a grenade going off. “Reincarnation is one thing, but — but there are some things that I’ll never — that can’t —”

He lunged at (Stan? Bill? His brother? He didn’t know) but his hands and then arms passed harmlessly through the triangle, flickering and fading to white — and then Bill’s body turned transparent too, seeming to almost catch him off guard.

“Oh,” he whispered, and transformed back to a faint, quickly fading outline of Stan. “Guess it’s time. See you on the other side, Sixer.”

And then Ford couldn’t see anything anymore, but he could hear a high, echoing voice call out once again as if from far away:

Remember, a deal’s a deal.

***

“Alright, that should be it for the barrier,” Fiddleford announced as he stood up from his kneeling position and watched a glowing blue dome briefly flicker into existence around the sleeping Pines. “Remind me not to leave these mercury vials here on the floor after this has all blown over.”

“How will we know if it works?” Melody asked.

“Great question! I have no idea, an’ hopefully we’ll never hafta find out.”

“Real reassuring,” Wendy muttered under her breath. “Hey, how long do you think it’ll be before —”

Ford leapt bolt upright and tossed the pillow he’d been clutching halfway across the room. “Bill, what do you —”

He locked eyes with Fiddleford. “Fidds? Oh no, Stanley, where’s Stanley —”

He whirled around and saw Soos and the kids beginning to stir, but only Stan opened his eyes — regular and brown, no sign of possession to be found.

“Shoot me, Ford,” he whispered.

Ford froze. “No!! Why would you think I would ever do that?!”

Slowly, as if still feeling the effects of the sedative, Stan pulled himself out of his chair. “Because you promised?”

“When did I ever promise I would shoot you?”

Stan shook his head and sighed, nervously glancing at the kids and Soos and taking a few quick steps away from them while they opened their eyes and rubbed their ears. “Look, Ford, I know it’s been… a long day, but you’ve gotta remember. You promised you’d kill me if Bill took control, and I’m feeling — I’m feeling pretty in-control of myself right now, so —”

“What?” Soos jumped to his feet and grabbed ahold of Stan’s arm. “Mr. Pines, what are you saying? You can’t — you can’t leave us, you’re —”

Stan tore himself out of Soos’s grip and rushed to Ford’s side. “Just get it over with! Please!”

He ran both hands over his skull, yanking on fistfuls of his own hair. “You have to, before I end up hurting someone! Please, I — I — I fuckin’ killed you enough times in Weirdmageddon, I deserve this! Don’t you want to get revenge on me?! Don’t you want to protect your family?!”

“You what?! Grunkle Stan, what do you mean?!” Mabel grabbed ahold Ford’s trenchcoat, voice rising as she clasped handfuls of the brown fabric in trembling, balled-up fists. “What does he mean?!”

“Don’t say that, Stanley,” Ford breathed. “For the kids’ sake, I can’t —”

Stan’s gaze drifted towards a spot the floor a few feet away, fixating on a pale blue chunk of moonstone. He’d noticed the barrier, Ford realized a second too late.

“Fine,” Stan whispered as he stepped backwards. “Then I guess I’ll just have to… take care of it myself.”

“No! Don’t go! Don’t you dare leave us like —”

Ford lunged after him, but Stan backed out of the barrier too quickly, and Ford’s hand passed right through Stan’s shoulder as he disintegrated like smoke in a gust of wind. A single tear fell from where Stan’s face had just been, striking the floor without a sound.

“Grunkle Ford, what happened?” Dipper’s voice cracked. “We found Bill’s memories, and then he — Bill glitched out, and it felt like the whole mindscape was gonna get torn apart —”

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Ford said. “I — I don’t know what to believe.”

“Stan’s not — that wasn’t Bill just now, was it?”

“I don’t know.”

Dipper went silent, leaving the quiet sobs from behind him as the loudest sound remaining in the room.

“He’s really gone,” Soos wept. “After everything, he’s just — he’s just gone —”

Ford took a few steps backward and slowly laid an arm over Soos’s broad shoulders, eyes still fixed on the damp spot where Stan’s tear had struck the floor.

“He’s still out there somewhere,” he insisted, “he has to be. I would know if he wasn’t. I’m sure I would.”

He wasn’t sure. That — that entity, with Stan’s eyes and Bill’s memories, almost certainly had the power to destroy its own self in an instant, and Ford had no reason to believe that it hadn’t just done so. (It might not even matter, if Stan wasn’t even in there anymore. Or if he’d never been in there in the first place —)

But baseless hope had pulled through for Ford countless times before, and once again, it was all he had to go on now.

“Stanley is still out there,” he repeated, “and we need to find him.”

***

End notes:

I chose Ford’s POV for this chapter because it made certain scenes a lot more horrifying/impactful, especially the part with the mirror, but I realized while editing that the result is a bit of a trade-off in which Stan’s motivations become a little less clear, so I’d like to clarify: the reason Stan doesn’t immediately leave the new unicorn hair barrier is because he doesn’t trust himself to end his own life, and in fact doesn’t really trust anyone besides Ford to do so. It’s only when Ford shows he’s clearly not willing to cooperate that Stan leaves, realizing that taking it into his own hands is the best option he has left. (Also, as much as he’s convinced he has to die… it’s still terrifying to him, and he doesn’t want to leave the world all alone. It’s not his main motivation for his actions at the end, but it definitely plays a role.)

Anyways, feedback/reblogs are appreciated as always! Next update should stick to the every other Monday schedule that I’ve been attempting!