#link wants to proclaim his love for one big orange so bad

[asherlockstudy]

A moment for the ages x

[johobi]

Falling, Falling, Gone

Word count: 5.8k

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Warnings: None really, it’s my first ‘SFW’ fic, though there is some extremely bad language in here. And there might be an erection because I can’t help myself.

A/N: This is the fourth and final ‘drabble’ for the drabble game I ran ages ago. Prompt: “The thought of me making out with someone else is ruining you.”

Music inspo: Don’t Be So Serious, Baby Don’t Stop, Waste It On Me

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23477485

Taehyung. Captain of the soccer team. Master of your heart. You'll never tell him for fear of rejection.

So why the fuck are you about to do it in front of dozens of his peers?

Banana and peanut butter become pulp in your mouth as you glare out the kitchen window. It's so grey out there. Greyer than it has any right to be. As if your dour mood has polluted the very atmosphere. Rain lashes the exterior in leaden pellets, each one compounding your headache like a rap on the head. Don't be so serious, your bluetooth speaker croons as you chew and chew, unblinking. The bridge of your glasses slip further down your nose but you don’t correct them. Don't be so serious.

Oh, but it's all so serious. 

Your final portfolio lacks in ways your mentor is incapable of articulating, and you only have so much time to fix it. Your college life is coming to a close. There are frighteningly few opportunities out there and they’re sure to spurn a sham like you. What do you do now? Where do you go from here—

"God, you listen to such depressing music," a husky voice sounds. It’s thick with sleep and horribly attractive. You hear his feet next; big and bare as they slap the tile floor and disrupt the ambience. 

Yes, dismal is an ambience. 

Before you glimpse the interloper himself, his fingers pilfer your next mouthful of toast. His other hand has your phone and is skipping through your carefully curated playlist of moody tunes. With all the scant energy you can muster, you glower at him. 

“Taehyung.” 

Soccer captain. Campus celebrity. Doofus.

Unlikely friend and unlikelier crush. But life is strange, and he is both these things. Indeed, he proclaims himself your best friend to all who will listen. As for the matter of your tender feelings, however, he is oblivious. And will remain so.

Taehyung is long-legged and limber-bodied, but round of face and feature. A kitten in a tiger’s pelt. Will mew for affection and roar when angry. Has quite literally nudged your hand for pets and raged at referees in the same afternoon. There is usually no in-between. 

Your scowl goes unseen. He sidles past like the oblivious buffoon he is and continues to tamper with Spotify.  Smears his peanut-buttered thumb around your phone display. Ugh. You brush back your hood and fix him again with extra scorn.

"Actually, douchebag, it’s good music for thinking. And I have a headache. I hardly wanna listen to something like—no, don't you dare put fucking Party Rock on right now. Tae!"

It’s too late. The lanky idiot is already gesticulating to the beginning beats. Your phone is an unreachable hostage in his flapping hands. You’re about to lunge for it but he preempts the attack by smothering you with your own hood. “Tae.” Your whining sounds all the more pitiful muffled. “Everyfing hurfs. ‘m hungover. Pleathe.” 

Taehyung relents after further, strangled pleas. Unwraps you with a grin that grows like the sunrise. For a moment, you’re dazzled. “Sorry. No more torture,” he chuckles all low, hair in his eyes. His locks are long and always untamed. An aureate crown befitting of his celebrity status. 

One swipe and he’s muted the racket and returned your phone. You turn the sticky thing over in your hands, rueing the day you met the overgrown imp. “How did you get it this dirty…?”

You go ignored and Taehyung gets closer. He scrutinises your hunched and hoodied appearance with a thoughtful hum. “Headache?” A rounded nose and two brown eyes come into focus. "Hungover? How? I didn't see you go out last night."

Averse to such study, you shy away. "Well, I did." You did not. You stayed home and guzzled $4 Prosecco while lamenting your trash portfolio. But you aren’t about to regale him with that pitiful tale. The sheerness of shame prevents you. Taehyung would be so sweet about it, too! So buoying, with his sunny smiles and fervent encouragement: "Why were you crying over that?!" He'd ask. "Your work is amazing. Seriously amazing. I love everything you do!" He'd gush. "People will be stumbling over themselves to hire you!" He'd continue, naively. And that hurts the most, because he just doesn't get it. Taehyung is a sponsored, collegiate athlete that's graduating into a guaranteed draft. He is—and always has been—praised widely as up-and-coming. The kid has had scouts scrapping for him mid-way through high school!

You, however, are small fry, swimming in a shoal of other unknowns, leaping for the hook of internship. Your dreams of animating for Disney died long back. They dwelled with Walt now.

But you don’t resent Taehyung for any of it. Ever. He’s a paragon. Born for the limelight. Has sweat and bled oceans for it. And for some reason he insists that you, too, are deserving of that same renown. Why? He’s ridiculous. Far too kind. And—Christ, he has a big dick.

"Taehyung, can you please not shove your tiny fucking penis in my face while I'm trying to eat? I'm nauseous enough as it is."

The soccer captain rests a foot on the seat next to you, giving you ungainly insight into his crotch. Taehyung, as he often, inexplicably is, is clad only in his boxer-briefs. This would be alarming were it not so goddamn commonplace. He is allergic to clothes.

According to him, he’s a naturist. 

According to you, he’s an attention whore.

Taehyung points to his elevated foot, but it's a little difficult to ignore the bulge he's brandishing. "Do you understand the concept of inappropriate proximity and your current state of undress?" You rattle on, words slurred half by OJ, half by fluster. He simply points again, and with more insistence. Relenting, you follow the line of his finger to his pretty, if gigantic, foot. Then notice the ink around his ankle, black and fresh. "Oh, wow, you got a tattoo? Cool!"

"Yep! I didn't ever really think about getting one 'til I saw yours. They were so cool I became kinda obsessed with getting one. So I finally did it last night."

‘Til he saw yours? Your stomach flutters. It's not the nausea. You smother it with more orange juice. "Well, that's awesome, Tae. You'll probably want more eventually. I would've gone with you if I'd known you were gonna go alone."

Finally, he lowers his leg. It’s a small mercy. But then, for no discernible, earthly reason, Taehyung begins flexing his many defined muscles. His calves in particular catch your attention. They’re so goddamned thick. They ripple. Fucking soccer players. "Hm? Oh, I wasn't alone. I went with some guys from the team." He ogles his reflection in the microwave door.

How can you avert your eyes when his pecs dance so compellingly? It all becomes a bit too much. "Okay, what are you doing? Seriously, what? I know you're into yourself, but this is ridiculous.” He stops. Snorts. Thank God. “If you were with the guys, why did you come back here last night? I thought you’d go back to your dorm."

Finally Taehyung sits, but he’s spread-legged and that’s perhaps worse than what he was doing just now. He’s 6ft of pure, hewn sex and just so fucking casual about it. He reclines. "Some of them took girls home last night so I needed somewhere to go and you're always an open door." Finger guns follow a cheesy wink.

You scoff, but he's right. You’d do anything for the big-hearted clown. Open door? You'd be the doormat under his soccer cleats, licking them free of dirt— "You're lucky Areum isn’t here right now. Don't think she’d take kindly to having some almost-naked oaf clambering into her bed."

"You say that, but she’s tried to hit this several times.” Taehyung is smug, brows high on his forehead. Yours lower harshly. “Tell her I slept in her bed last night. She’ll cream herself thinking about it later, I guarantee you."

“You’re gross. And can you stop—why do you keep flexing? There’s just me here.” You peer about for emphasis. Taehyung is again admiring his form in some burnished surface. “No-one is looking. Or cares.” Contrarily, you’re doing both those things. But he needn’t be privy to that. 

"This is serious. I need to work on my angles.” He contorts himself into something of a pretzel to peek at his back muscles. “We're holding a hook-up auction at our dorm to raise money for a graduation blow-out. And I'm on sale. Do you think I need to work on my back?"

You ease into a squint. "When you said serious, I thought serious words were about to follow."

"I am being serious!" Again Taehyung flexes, biceps bulging by his ears like an overfed turkey’s thighs. "How much do you think I'm worth?"

The world.

"I dunno. I'd take you for free, I guess, if you were the last one left."

Taehyung is unperturbed by your acerbic wit. It ricochets off him like rubber bullets would a muscle-bound ox. He is your greatest adversary. The bastard lacquers his lips until they’re plump and glossy and boasting a smirk. 

He’s always doing this. 

Always moistening himself. 

"Oh yeah? Well, I think you'll be disappointed." A boxy smile emerges. "I got girls and guys already approaching me about it. Some of the guys literally just wanna buy me for mentoring. I mean, that’s more effort than kissing, but—" He shrugs. The thought goes unfinished.

"That makes sense. You are a God among these mere mortals, Taetae." It's not sarcasm this time. Taehyung senses it. The grin he returns is life-affirming. You're so close to reaching across the table and squeezing his hand. Telling him you're proud. Telling him you most likely, maybe, love him. But you notice you've dragged your sleeve through peanut butter—”Ah, shit,”—and you can tell him how you feel some other day.

Some other day.

"Some of them just wanna make out too, of course, and, like, I'm happy to comply. It's all for charity." His altruism knows no limits.

"Charity, huh?" You snort. Taehyung's mouth grows more square at your incredulity. "Who else is up for bidding, then?"

"Mostly guys from the team and dorm. There are some mutuals who just wanna get in on the action, too. Uh, you know Kim Namjoon?" He measures your reaction. When you give none: "Jeon Jungkook?"

Disinterest mellows your features. "Oh, right. Cool."

"So you don't like Jeon Jungkook?" Taehyung's eyes are eager, his body poised. Anticipating.

"What? No. What gave you that idea? I've talked to him, like, twice." Your face crumples as you towel your soiled sleeve. The peanut butter smears into a tragic, shit-brown stain. "Damn, that's never coming out."

"He's gonna be so disappointed. He might even cry." Taehyung heaves a hammy sigh and clutches at his breast. There’s nothing the captain enjoys more than clowning his subordinates.  "Kook likes you so much. He's really into your whole androgynous fuckboi thing you got going on. He literally said, 'She's like a mystery, man. I'm not sure if she's a girl or a guy and—like, I'm not like that, but that's hot.'"

If your eyes could roll past the bounds of their sockets, they would. "Wow, what a poet. He sounds like a douchebag and I'm even less interested now. Fuckboi? Is that really the vibe I give off?" You don't fuck full stop. Nor were you aware you could dress like you do. 

"I dunno. You just seem kinda like a gremlin to me. Or like that weird guy from Death Note," Taehyung is quick to reassure you. Cool. You’re fucking overjoyed that he perceives you that way. Not as a goddess, or his beautiful, sexy soulmate, or the princess that wanders the spires of his captive heart. No. A gremlin. Or L.

"Well, you got me there, son."

"What about Kim Namjoon?" Taehyung presses, urgent again. He picks at your bread crusts with one hand, head cradled delicately in the other. The boy could be a world-class model, too. His loose, dark curls hang like a Van Gogh nightscape, framing the planes of his unmarred face. It hurts to look at him. It hurts to be looked at.

A self-conscious shuffle. "What about him? I don't know who that is." You flick away his foraging fingers but he draws you into an impromptu game of thumb-war in retaliation. It's the only thing to extract a smile from you today.

Taehyung looks sceptical. "He's the physio student with our team! You literally talked to him all day during this season's semi-final." His lengthy digits best yours easily. But though the match is won, he doesn’t withdraw his hand. Instead he encroaches further. Thumbs your wrist. Encompasses your knuckles in a soft, warm palm. He’s clasping you like an enamoured suitor might their bashful sweetheart, and it’s very strange. What is he doing? His mind looks to be elsewhere, now.

"Uh...—oh. Oh." Yours ambles back to you. "Yeah, he was really nice, but you know my rule. No—"

"—dating in final year. Yeah, I know. I'll tell him that if he asks about you again." Taehyung has returned, too. His hand is gone. Your gooseflesh ebbs with it.

With a cough, you sober. "I think the auction's a bit stupid, really, Tae. You sure you wanna do it?"

"Stupid? Why?" He shimmies in close, smug on his face and intolerably naked the rest of the way down. His skin is hot and golden and just far too close. "You're only saying that because you're jealous, right?" He tickles your chin to keep you honest and your eyes on him. You seize and squeeze the offending hand because he might be right and now you’re embarrassed. "The thought of me making out with someone else is ruining you," he goes on to say, brazen as the smirk defiling his cherubic cheeks.

"Some rather large conclusion-jumping going on there," you smile, sweet as sugared cyanide. Your vice-grip tightens until he’s pouting in repentance. "I meant it's stupid to put yourself in a potentially uncomfortable situation if you don't want to kiss that person." 

"I'm just joking!" he whimpers like the overlarge puppy he is and you free him of his snare. Because you would die for this big, soppy boy and his big, soppy eyes. “You’re so grouchy today.”

‘The joke won’t land if it collides with the truth, Taehyung,’ you muse. You expect him to know this despite never having apprised him of your situation. You’re jealous and cowardly and completely unreasonable. You want him for yourself but you never want him to know that. 

If he wants your candour he should be a telepath. Simple.

Irritated by your own nonsense, you lash out at the unsuspecting boy. "You know what? I was joking, too. I remember Namjoon, he was hot. And smart. I think I'll cheat on my dating ban this once and bid on him. He has super nice lips, so." 

Taehyung simply smiles. "Oh, okay. Cool! Glad you’re gonna come along." 

Your threat proves ineffective because he doesn’t like you like that. Wouldn’t give a shit if Namjoon rawed you on stage while you stared him down. You stall on that thought because it’s kinda hot. “It’ll be great. Can’t wait to get my tongue down his throat.”

“Hell yeah! I knew you liked him.”

Yep, Taehyung is oblivious to your pining. As he should be. Because outwardly, your pining consists of nothing more than the odd, lingering look here and there. The balled-up sketches of him he will never see. A secret smile if you’re feeling particularly sentimental. Other than that, you're steely. Poker-faced. Rarely blind-sided by his allure, especially now that you've acclimated to his penchant for exhibitionism. 

 "Thank you in advance for your patronage." Rising from his seat, Taehyung comes to a stand behind you and leans. Encircles your shoulders with his terribly athletic arms and puts his lips to your ear. You're like a feral cat in the arms of a senseless child. You're bristling. "If he turns out to be a jerk and tries something he shouldn't, I'll protect you." For a moment, you're touched enough to unclench a little. "With these guns." And then you choke between his straining biceps and vie to repay him in kind.

----

The common room of Taehyung's dorm has been crudely transformed. Some questionable construction has taken place in order to build the catwalk centrepiece. Sofas and tables line the walls, thrust from the limelight. You've occupied the drinks table for the last 45 minutes, from the second you entered this place. You harbour an intense dislike for the chaotic energy of Taehyung's dorm. Machismo rages noisily between these walls and you much prefer less testosterone-drenched environments. Nevertheless, despite it all you're here on an endeavour this evening. One your idiot, rampant mouth has obligated you to. To buy time with a guy that's perfectly nice and all, but isn’t Taehyung.

Kim Namjoon makes eyes at you from the head of the runway, awaiting his musical cue. The beer you just slurped down bubbles up. You have to look away. Unfortunately, when you do, Taehyung is immediately there, his face in yours, his thumb and fingers pulling at your cheeks. "Hey you, don't get too drunk, okay? I don't trust a single man here. Especially not nice-as-pie Namjoon." 

Nice-as-pie Namjoon has chosen some Bruno Mars track by the sounds of it. The auction-goers' excitement ramps up considerably.

Unable to move your captured face, your eyes sweep the room. "Not even your own teammates?" you scoff cynically, swatting at his hands until he’s baited into a game of slapsies. "Now who sounds jealous?" 

Taehyung stops for a moment, thoughtful. "You know, you're right. I'm extremely jealous. I want Namjoon all to myself. He gives the best massages. And a happy ending when I ask nicely." And then he's back to rough-housing you, slapping your upper arms to alternating beats. "You look cute tonight. Your outfit, I mean," he offers up out of nowhere, so quiet you almost lose it to the bass. "He's lucky."

But you look exactly the same as you did earlier that day. Exactly the same as that afternoon in the cafeteria when he ribbed you for raiding Billie Eilish's Good Will donations. "Um, thanks. I guess." You're genuine, but don’t sound it. You can't look at him for fear of revealing the dopey grin that has hijacked your face.

"You're welcome, buddy." A large palm flattens your hair. His fingers get all in there, ruffling it until it probably looks more akin a bird's nest. Is Taehyung trying to sabotage you? Also, buddy? "Look, Namjoon's walking." 

You turn and see that he is. Strutting, moreover, albeit awkwardly. It's obvious that the lanky boy is unaccustomed to the same attention the team he services is. Nevertheless, there are whoops and hollers aplenty for the handsome blonde dork, and you, too, catch yourself smiling. How can you not, when he pokes at his dimples so? The others seem captivated, too, though less by the  finger-hearts and more by his form-fitting tracksuit. 

“I’d wrap my car around a tree if he was the tree,” one auction-goer confides to her friend. “And then I’d wrap my legs around—”

“Yeah, we get it Lisa.”

Lisa quiets. 

Namjoon’s endless legs sidle to a stop at the catwalk's end, directly opposite you. His bespectacled eyes meet your bespectacled eyes. For one, long second, the interest is palpable.  But then he breaks, and casts his gaze down to his FILAs. 

"Okay, he's, like, in love with you, I think," Taehyung whisper-yells, hands aflurry in applause. "Are you gonna bid?"

Shouts puncture the cheering either side of the room.

"$10!"

"$20!"

Neither of them are you.

The evening’s auctioneer - Taehyung's partner-in-slime Park Jimin - echoes each cry that rings out, giggling into a tinny karaoke mic. "$20 for our team physio?! Is that all you got ladies and gents? Do I have to remind you this guy can grope away pain with his magic hands?"

Namjoon spins toward Jimin's makeshift podium of an upturned bookcase and menaces him with his eyes. Well, it would be menacing were the man not as threatening as a ribbon-wrapped basket of newborn sloths.

The striker backpedals. "Okay, the massage might not be included, but don't let that deter you! He kisses like a pro!"

Screams of how do you know that, Jimin?! erupt and the throng grows ever more wild. Namjoon is redder than the cup you're strangling.

"Are you gonna bid?! You're gonna miss your chance!" For some reason Taehyung is still here, harassment game still strong. He should be preparing to walk next, but sees fit to pester you instead. And because of that, he's caught you in your lie, bare-faced and blushing.

No, you are not going to bid on Kim Namjoon.

"Uh, oh no, I forgot my purse," you grumble around the rim of your next drink, gulping it down like the bottom is your way out of this God-awful situation.

Then what are you doing here?

"It's right there." Taehyung pokes the cross-body bag hanging traitorously by your side.

"Oh, is it?" You reach for another cup even while burdened with one. Anything to sidetrack this conversation.

Taehyung intervenes with a firm hand. Swaddles your knuckles ‘til the shaking stops. You’re shaking? Beer slops over the sides, unnoticed. “___?”

Stupid, warm hand. And why are his fingers so fucking delicate for a footballer? He should model jewellery. Wedding rings.

Yours.

His ringless fingers close around your wrist when you persist in avoiding his gaze. The ruse is almost up. Fuck. There’s nothing left to do but to look at him. 

You do, ever so timidly. “What?”

"What are you doing?" Puzzlement becomes him well. Why is he so goddamn handsome? "If you aren't gonna bid on Namjoon, why did you come?"

Silence, but for the pump of background Bruno Mars.

‘You. I came for you. You were the plan all along. Not him,’ your mind screams.

You, however, just stare.

"Going—going—gone! Sold for $70! Come claim your kiss!" Jimin can hardly stop himself from squealing. For a guy that beds girls on the daily, his sincere excitement over simple lip-locking is amusing.

Taehyung's teammates hail him from the drapery behind the catwalk but he won't yet go. No, he insists on searing holes into the side of your face while you watch Namjoon get sloppy on-stage with some girl you don't know. They're really getting into it. Damn, he forgot about you quick. In  their fervour they edge towards the bounds of the catwalk, too absorbed in one another to notice. Thankfully, voyeuristic bystanders are on-hand to catch them before they fall.

"Kim Taehyung! How many times do I have to call you?! Get over here before I kick your fucking ass," Jungkook roars across the hubbub, halfway through the room. He  enacts the violent gesture for emphasis and knees some unsuspecting girl in the ass. Immediately the macho facade drops and he's all doe-eyed and buck-toothed, prostrating himself before the girl who actually seems grateful to have been assaulted by one Jeon Jungkook. Between his hushed apologies, Jungkook shoots Taehyung a look something murderous. And then he sees you and throws a shy wave, the kind a little kid might when cajoled by his parents.

"Ew." The word comes up involuntarily, like bile.

A deep cackle emanates from beside you. "Okay, guess I'm up." Taehyung squares his shoulders. His mouth, too. He's a very angular boy. "Better get my kit on. Cheer for me!" With a pat to your shoulder, he makes for Jungkook. Leaves you with an insidious dread. His soccer kit is your weakness. 

No, he is your weakness.

"Next up - and I'm sure most of you here tonight are anticipating this guy - our very own Team Captain and soon-to-be Major League Soccer player, Kim Taehyung!" Banshee-shrieking reverberates at Jimin's announcement. "Stick around, he'll be out in a few minutes!"

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. You turn from the catwalk and fully embrace the drinks table, supporting yourself with two hands and God's grace.

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

No way.

This wasn’t an actual plan. Just a fantasy.

You're not gonna tell him like this.

You're not gonna tell him ever.

All you have to do is just say you turned out to support him. You rarely get to go out with him anyway, what with his ever-growing entourage. Taehyung would appreciate that, and he'd never have to know that you came here for cornier purposes.

You're not a big gesture kind of girl.

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

Distantly, you wished Areum were here. She'd have slapped some sense into you, maybe even literally.

No. Wait.

The devious cow would've talked you into doing it. For sure. She has a flair for the dramatic.

"Sorry, can I just—thanks." Someone with offensively bony elbows bulldozes you aside and passes a drink to her companion. An apology is on the tip of your tongue but evaporates into the ether upon seeing the twosome in question. Both were complicit in the casual bullying you endured during your high school years. They don't appear to recognise you now. Not that they even spare your pitiful person a glance.

"Who's up next?" the worst one queries, cup snug to her bosom.

"Taehyung," the lackey answers, glee upending her petulant features. "Kim Taehyung."

An elbow jabs you again as the girl struggles with the clasp on her clutch. Her overlong claws impede her. "Oh shit, already? I thought we had more time. Shit."

"Nope. It's go time. Hurry up, girl, competition's gonna be fierce." The other one watches her digital acrobatics to get into her purse.

Oh God. She has so much money. There's no doubt in your mind she'll trump everyone present.

No. Oh, no.

Not her. Not with him.

Your mind flits through premonitions of the future. They’re all  rather grim. The last one is that of a wedding. A marriage between this dreadful bitch and your most cherished of friends, Taehyung. It's garish and tacky - she's denied him input, of course - and the ceremony is filled with faces that once mocked you mercilessly. None of Taehyung's friends are there; indeed, he is no longer even part of his team. Her possessiveness and his undying loyalty have put an end to his blossoming career. He looks sad beneath a mask of happy. Eyes that once blazed with the embers of ambition are doused by despondency. He is a husk.

And their first meeting is this auction, this cute anecdotal encounter of oh, I just had to have him, and when I kissed him I knew.

Just a glimpse at this dystopian future disturbs you silly. Conviction, while tentative, burgeons in your heart.

You can't let her have him. Anyone but this noxious cunt.

And suddenly you've money in hand, too. Bills you withdrew specifically for this purpose, and yet would sooner have left them crisp and cold in your purse than followed through. But public humiliation is endlessly preferable to damning Taehyung to a kiss with this serpent. Because it won't stop there. It won't just be a kiss but an appeal for more. She’ll say it’s no strings attached, but she doesn't attach strings. She weaves webs. You recall her high school boyfriend. He was a well-performing, jovial guy that always waved hi. And she consumed him, heart-first, ‘til he was naught but a sunken-eyed zombie. He took a leave of absence that never ended.

Sexy, dangerous synth sounds from the speakers either side the catwalk. Ah, shit. Not that song. Any song but that one. NCT U’s Baby Don’t Stop. Of course Taehyung picked that. It fills the air with a fatal drum beat and in he comes through the curtains, strutting like he is the rhythm. The room, rather than become uproarious, falls eerily quiet. Everyone breathes as one entranced being, and no one moves but him. Halfway down the catwalk he body-rolls with the fluidity of wind-rippled satin, burgeoning from his chest and snapping at the hips. Prospective bidders gasp, as do you. And then his thumb is in the hem of his shirt, luring it upwards, exposing his olive expanses inch by mouthwatering inch. You see his abs near every day, but in this context, backed by that song, you find yourself as winded as everyone else. His stomach tautens for show, feeding into loose-waisted shorts that sit far too low. Even you haven’t been privy to this much. And especially not the alluring trail of hair that thickens at his waistband.

Someone shatters the stupor and screams, “$80!”

“Geez, you’re a horny bunch.” Jimin’s laughter peals. “We already have $80. Any advance on—“

“$100!” Some breathless sap cries next. “Oh my God, look at his thighs!”

And look you do. Taehyung grooves at the catwalk’s end, shirt back in place but hiking up the hems of his shorts instead.  You almost glimpse groin. He’s absolutely shameless, straining the muscles of his thighs until they’re lewdly pronounced. They’re veritable tree trunks. His calves, too, defy belief. Rock-hard and rounded and begging to be bitten. The party-goers crowding round his feet must think similarly. 

What distracts you most, however, are Taehyung’s straying fingers. They skirt his crotch in a salacious manner, stretching the material where it shouldn’t. Accentuating things they shouldn’t. You may pass out.

All the while his eyes are down, maybe closed. You want to see his face more than anything. The playful smirk on his plump, wet lips and the focus in his brows. 

“$120!!” You almost lose your head to a cash-strangling fist beside you.

It's her. Pointy-elbowed bitch.

But you aren't thrusting your student loan up just yet. You're in the middle of an almost holy, revelatory experience. Taehyung is still undulating and provoking the crowd, who are no longer hushed but whooping like chimps in heat. His shirt is off and helicoptering overhead. He allows one overcome girl at the sidelines to verify the thew of his biceps and bags himself another bid. You, however, do nothing but gawp, bills clutched to your chest and your eyes affixed to the glorious grin that breaks across his face. His eyes open onto you and then it's you you see at his wedding, standing afore him, bouquet instead of a wad of cash. You want to be the one. Now is the moment, while he's watching you envision this.

"$200,” you splutter. Volume is difficult when your voice is a quivering inconstant.

"What was that? Did we just get another bid?" Jimin wavers too, out of disbelief. "Did someone say $200?!"

The room is a clamour of confusion but Taehyung watched you mouth the very syllables. The shock is such that it softens his salacious movements to a dance more modest. His eyes are wider than you've ever seen them; mouth too. It hangs agape and downturned, as yours does. Because you're not quite sure whether you said something else altogether. Maybe you hurled a cuss word out of frustration? Did you momentarily black out and proclaim Hitler did nothing wrong? Nothing else can account for the scrutiny with which he punishes you with now.

Or.

You actually did bid, and that's why he's walking over, to the very drop-off of the catwalk, no longer any swagger to his step. "What are you doing?" he calls down, the music still strong and now strangely inappropriate. You simply watch the mole beneath his bottom lip move, dumb.

Louder, now, you call again. "$200!"

"Oh! It was a bid! ____?!" The flame-haired MC shares his puzzlement with the rest of the reacting room. All heads turn toward you.

But yours turns nowhere but Taehyung, your expression an open book of long-hidden liking. You watch, suspended by dissociation, as he lays a palm flat against his chest. "Me?"

It could all still be explained away. A joke. You drank too much. You just wanted to see the look on his face. Instead, you grant him the minutest of nods. A simple tip of the chin. "You," you whisper, whether it's heard or not.

Taehyung sees it in the shape your lips make. And then his gaze sweeps back upward, his chest heaving far too much for a man standing stationary.

"What's going on?" The disgruntled echo each other.

Jimin is quick to make sense of things and keep it rolling. "Okay, so, a bid of $200! Anyone else?"

A new song comes on; it's gone on too long. Something with a cantering beat that's adequately sentimental.

So if love is nothing more than just a waste of your time—

Clambering atop the platform, you counter someone's desperate bid of $220 with a measured breath. "$250." You hold Taehyung at fingerpoint. "You."

Waste it on me.

For a pants-shitting second, nothing happens. Your outstretched arm gains a tremor that could crumble it. Taehyung sifts your soul with his big, dewy eyes and then he's walking. Stalking toward you. Knocks the money from your hands and seizes your shying face with both of his. The last thing you see is his nose mole before his mouth joins with yours. His grip is like a vice and his lips are no gentler. They pry you open with little effort and then you're flooded with wet heat. Taehyung is insatiable in pursuit of your tongue. His hands drop to draw in your waist, your chest, every inch of your overclothed form. He's underclothed but burning hot, planes of honed skin beneath your fingertips. It's all so right. Feels so good. Taehyung moans that much into you when he chances a breath of air. Applause starts up as the music swells. It's so cliche but you've never had a cliche of your own before and your gloom-ridden ass needs this.

"Going—"

"I didn't know. I wish I had. This would've happened sooner," Taehyung gasps between desperate, too-short smooches. It proves too difficult to resist the pull of your mouth and he captures it again, sloppier. Slower.

"Going—"

"It doesn't matter." You pull the oxygen in, impatient. "Doesn't matter." Your fingers are a tangle at the nape of his neck, tugging on his lustrous locks. "Make up for it."

"Gone! Sold for $250!"

The two of you won't be parted for a moment. Not even when dismounting the platform. There's ruckus around you but it's so distant when his lips are on you. You sink into him like you would a scalding bath. "You don't have to pay that," Taehyung tells your cheek, smearing his saliva-slick mouth back to yours. His greed for you manifests against your stomach, and you ache in return. "This is a freebie."

Your passionate clinch takes you to the sidelines, away from prying eyes. Most of them, anyway. "What about this?" Your hands are suddenly in unseemly places.

"Th-That's also free. Everything's free. Oh, God."

[belladxne]

i will see you where the shadow ends | chapter 3

[see notes for ao3 and ff links]

part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 4,454

chapter 3: who do you follow when there’s no one else around you? (tell me where i need to go)

Eijiro’s quiet while they prepare lunch, but Inko doesn’t press him. She seems content to wait for him to express what’s bothering him, while they both go about their parts. She keeps up a constant commentary, explaining the steps to everything she does to prepare and cook the food, and all the seasonings she uses, even though Eijiro hasn’t asked.

She’s either determined to teach him to cook, or just to keep him distracted from the thoughts weighing in his head, but either one is appreciated. At one point, he struggles to keep his hair out of his face as he cuts up the pork he’d hunted down earlier for their meal, and she jumps up from her seat with more agility than he’d expect from someone her age, proclaiming that she has just the thing.

She rummages for only a few moments in a pot at the other end of her small, one-room home, before coming back to him with a few short lengths of string and handkerchiefs.

“Here, sweetie,” she says, as she folds one of the handkerchiefs a few times until it’s a thin strip, and then helps him secure it around his hair as a headband. “You can keep these. They’ll come in handy with that hair of yours.”

She’s maybe the absolute kindest person in all of Hyrule, and Eijiro’s so glad she was here when he awoke. One hundred years—in which he’d been… been resurrected, apparently. And in which the kingdom had fallen apart around him. He could have woken up alone up here, with no help, but instead he has Inko, and he’s so grateful.

He must have been silent too long, though, because eventually as she’s just finishing up the cooking, she sighs gently and asks, “Eijiro, dear, what’s on your mind?”

“Oh.” He echoes her sigh, though his is a lot heavier, and looks down at his hands. He’s been thinking about it, too much, on and off ever since he saw the words on the map. “Well, it’s… I found out the name of the place I came from, the one I was asking about. It’s, um, it’s the Shrine of Resurrection.”

He knows what that word means, okay, he knows—and—and why else would he need to sleep for so many years? And how else could he sleep for so long and come out of it so young? He looks up at Inko, chewing nervously at his lip.

“Inko, do you think I’m dead?” he asks, somewhat pitifully.

She stares at him for a couple of moments, before “Oh, honey,” escapes her abruptly in what sounds like a laugh, though it’s not unkind. She just sounds sympathetic, if a little amused. “No, no, sweetheart. Of course you’re not.”

“But… I mean, what if...”

How could they know, really? He can feel himself pouting again as he looks at her with big, worried eyes, but she tilts her head at him with a fond, if concerned expression. “Eijiro, trust me. I’ve been in this world a very long time. I’m probably one of the most qualified people around to tell you you’re not dead. By the time you get to be my age, you’ve learned a thing or two; I promise I could tell if you were.”

Eijiro nods, but he continues to gnaw at his lower lip in thought. A slightly amused huff escapes Inko, and she stands, wiping her hands clean on a rag she’s had set aside, before she marches around the table to pinch at his cheek teasingly.

“Ow, ow!” he whines, wiping at the spot she’d pinched even though it hadn’t hurt that bad. She chuckles, moving back around the table to move their lunch—sautéed mushrooms and herbs, with seared pork—onto plates for both of them.

“See?” she asks, the laughter lines around her eyes deepening once more. “Couldn’t feel that if you were dead. You’re flesh and blood and very alive, dear, I promise.”

He sighs again, but he does feel better, and he manages a small smile that he’s surprised to realize is genuine.

Gods, Eijiro loves meat.

Inko was right, and he’s glad he waited to eat before tackling the shrine. There’s a monster camp just outside of it, and he’s downright gleeful about getting to have that fight on a full stomach—and he can’t imagine how much worse it’d have felt, to have to fight past them with arms still shaky and achy from the climb down the Great Plateau Tower.

When he finally steps up onto the level surface before the shrine, admittedly, his shoulders and muscles all feel sore and protest at most movements, but they’re still steadier than they might have been. There’s a pedestal, just to the side of the gate into the shrine. The gate looks similar to the doors that had kept him sealed into the Shrine of Resurrection, with interlocking panels pressed together—but these ones lie horizontal, instead of vertical.

He hears a tune sound from the Sheikah Slate, and as he pulls it from his hip to approach the pedestal, he sees that the map now displays two new emblems—another bright blue one, where the tower is, and an orange one here, at the shrine. It also displays a name over this shrine—Oman Au Shrine.

It’s a little less straightforward than ‘Shrine of Resurrection’, but it doesn’t really matter, he guesses.

He looks down at the pedestal, and the incredibly helpful advice of, ‘this isn’t complicated,’ flashes through his mind, making him chuckle as he moves to press the Sheikah Slate to this pedestal, the same as he did to get out of the Shrine of Resurrection. This time his slate has to confirm instead of authenticate, whatever either of those things even mean, and then the voice delivers another new phrase.

“Travel gate registered to map.”

He wonders what travel gate means, turning to look behind him curiously as the large circular emblem in the platform behind him lights up blue, again with that strange blue energy clouding off of it for a moment. And then, after a chime of “Access granted,” the door just past the pedestal begins to open—this time the panels swiveling in, instead of sliding past each other.

It’s… just a hollow little nook? He expected maybe a stairway or passageway leading down, but it’s empty in there, but for another slightly smaller circular emblem on the floor inside. It’s patterned differently, but it’s also lit up. Cautiously, Eijiro goes to stand on it—gods, he hopes this structure isn’t about to shoot up into the sky, too.

Instead, the circular marking on the floor shifts, and smoothly—and gently, thank the Goddesses—it begins to sink down. Eijiro watches, wide-eyed as this apparent platform just—floats? Seemingly suspended by nothing, as it slowly lowers him through a dark tunnel, lower and lower into the ground. He can’t quite see yet where the platform is taking him, so he cranes his head instead to watch the sliver of sunlight up above slowly shrink with distance.

When he finally emerges from the bottom of the chute he’s been descending down, and the shrine opens up around him, it’s—

Oman Au Shrine is otherworldly. It’s hard to believe that the rest of the world even can exist, somewhere far above this.

It’s not dark and claustrophobic like the Shrine of Resurrection was, and there isn’t a thick layer of dust choking the air or the same atmosphere of abandonment, despite what Inko had said about no one being able to enter. There’s an unnaturally bright, blue-ish light that beams down from the entirety of the ceiling. Unlike the Shrine of Resurrection, this space is—it’s huge, much more open, and instead of the curved walls of the Shrine of Resurrection sealing him in, nearly everything here is angular, compiled of rectangles or squares.

Something… something about the structure reminds him of a child’s construction out of blocks—like not all of the shapes fit together quite how they’re supposed to, bits of black and tan stone jutting out just a little farther here and there. It adds all the more to the unreal feeling of this place.

An altogether new feeling hits him as soon as he steps down from the platform—unlike with the voice that calls to him from the castle, which he almost hears, though the sound is more in his mind than in his ears, now a sensation of words washes over him, but it’s not at all like hearing them. It’s barely even like feeling them. It’s like the words are just… appearing in his mind.

To you who sets foot in this shrine… I am Oman Au. In the name of the god Bakusatsuo, I offer this trial.

There’s a sensation just ghosting at the edges of his mind with the words, something that feels ancient, but… not malicious, at least? It’s deeply unfamiliar and unsettling, and he knows he’s never experienced anything like it in his life, but he gets the sense that whatever entity or force just—spoke?—to him, it’s very, very old.

Off to his left is another pedestal with a black, somewhat-pointed stone suspended above it, just like at the tower, so Eijiro gets to work.

This time, when the glowing fluid drips onto his Sheikah Slate, it’s not a map that appears on the screen. It says it’s a... rune? He doesn’t know exactly what that means in this context, but he does know that Sheikah use runes in their magic—is that what this is? Is this gonna let his slate do magic? Let him do magic? Oh, he so wants to do magic.

Eijiro can fucking do magic.

He’s never felt this cool in his life, slinging giant chunks of metal around like they’re weightless, through the power of whatever odd tether forms out of the slate when he activates the rune. After he’s worn out the fun of marveling in his new unchecked power—(okay, it’s a little checked; he can lift anything made of metal, but he can only move it so fast and only up to a certain distance, and he can’t even lift metal objects that he’s standing on, which is lame)—he finally moves on to the trial that’s apparently set before him.

It feels like less of a trial and more of a hands-on lesson to get him used to the rune. There’s more than a few opportunities for him to get creative about moving obstacles, finding things that are out of his reach or not immediately visible without use of the rune, and stacking or arranging things to get around to places he otherwise couldn’t reach.

He quickly feels like a pro at toppling walls of obstacles, making metal bridges, and climbing metal boxes. It gets almost boring fast, and the only things that throw him off, and that he could have done without, are the automatons sprung on him about halfway through, when he still has the slate out and isn’t suddenly ready for combat.

By the time he’s using the rune to heave open the hulking metal gates at the end of his trial, wincing from the results of that battle—the machines had shot lasers at him, lasers! And though he’d hardened in time, his skin still stings, feeling burnt and raw where the beams had hit—he feels like he’s been here ages. The slate says it’s been more like only an hour and a half, but he’s still way too ready to be done already.

Past the gates is an odd, elevated—platform? Or altar, or something like that. Eijiro freezes in his spot when he lays eyes on the spectacle before him. There’s two tiny sets of stairs, only six shallow steps to each, leading up to the odd platform, which is encased on all sides by some glowing blue screen or window. But it’s what’s inside that transparent blue wall that gives him pause, because—

Because that’s definitely a dead guy. Oh, gods, that’s so a dead guy, sitting there.

Eijiro only continues forward very begrudgingly, closing in to notice that this freaky, shriveled and mummified form with long white hair is in some sort of meditative pose, with his hands shaped together to form a triangle. He’s also pretty distinctively wearing clothes that remind Eijiro of traditional Sheikah garb, a hat slung over his back that’s of obvious Sheikah make, and, oh, Eijiro shouldn’t neglect to note the shadow people’s symbol painted blatantly on this man’s forehead. He’s also shirtless, which Eijiro can respect.

Reluctantly, he climbs the steps, coming to a stop at the small, railed-in landing at the top of the second set. Oh, he’s way too close to this dead guy for his liking. Is there something he’s supposed to do here…?

There are a few seconds spent shuffling awkwardly in place, hoping for something to happen as he alternates between looking at the mummy and the Sheikah eye that hovers between them on the glowing window, before Eijiro finally sighs. He’s gonna regret this, but fuck it. He clearly is supposed to do something, so he—with every instinct in his body screaming at him not to—reaches up to touch the Sheikah symbol on the partition in front of him.

The whole thing shatters, and he jumps.

Again, he gets that suggestion of words, not heard or felt but still somehow there, and he knows without a doubt that their origin is this dead Sheikah before him. They’re a little stronger now that he’s closer to the source, but still a foreign and indistinct feeling.

You have proven to possess the resolve of a true hero. I am Oman Au, the creator of this trial. I am a humble monk, blessed with the sight of the god Bakusatsuo and dedicated to helping those who seek to defeat All For One. With your arrival, my duty is now fulfilled. In the name of the god Bakusatsuo, allow me to bestow this gift upon you. Please accept the strength of my spirit.

Eijiro blinks, brow furrowing as he wonders what that means—but then he sees what it means, as suddenly, a compact, hazy cloud of purple—he doesn’t even know, energy?—seeps out of the monk’s chest, and—and begins to drift towards him.

A little alarmed, Eijiro staggers half a step back in a probably less-than-manly move, eyes flicking between the monk and the approaching haze—but before he can make the decision to bolt, unsure what the hell that substance is exactly, it touches his chest and begins to absorb into him. He yelps, one hand reaching up to clutch over his heart like he can somehow pull the essence back out of himself, the other clinging at the railing like a lifeline so he doesn’t tumble down the stairs in his attempt to reel away.

He feels… he doesn’t know, something blanket and course through him, the feeling deeply unsettling and he wants to ask this guy to take it back.

May Bakusatsuo smile upon you.

As Eijiro watches, the monk before him starts to—to disintegrate, freaking him right the hell out as the mummified Sheikah dissolves into greenish particles that float away upwards. His eyes feel like they’re about to bug out of his head and he’s half a second from hyperventilating as he stares, mouth agape.

Oh, gods. Oh, gods, did he just get possessed? He doesn’t want to be possessed! He does not want some weird ancient monk to pilot him around! Not cool! It’s not cool!

He needs to sit and have a moment before he can make his way back to the platform out of the shrine.

Inko is waiting for him when he does get out of the shrine. He steps out into the sunlight, still unsettled but comforted by normal fresh air and surroundings again, and she steps up onto the surface at the entrance of the shrine, meeting him.

“How did it go, sweetie?” She looks him over, eyes crinkling warmly in the way he’s used to. “You have a different sense about you. You look a little heartier.”

This is the last thing Eijiro wants to hear right now, and he looks at her in alarm. “I seem different? What do you mean? Different how? Do I still seem like me?” Oh, he’s so possessed. He’s so possessed by a weird old dead monk man. This is the worst.

Taken aback, Inko blinks owlishly at him. Concern coloring her expression, she steps closer with furrowed brows. “What do you mean? Of course you do.”

“But are you sure?” he asks, a little desperate.

“Yes! Eijiro, sweetheart, what happened in there to have you in this state?”

The story comes pouring out of him all in one breath, voice only getting more hysterical as he goes. “I don’t know, I—I went in there and there was a trial? Sort of? It wasn’t really hard at all it was just kind of teaching me how to use a new thing on my Sheikah Slate and there were machines that attacked me and then there was this weird old dead guy at the end of it and he said he’d give me ‘the strength of his spirit’ and then this weird purple stuff came into me and now I think I’m possessed!”

Inko stares. Eijiro stares back, probably a little wild-eyed and frightened. Not for the first time today, Inko’s eyebrows lift high on her face, and then she shakes her head as she reaches out to place a hand on his arm. “Eijiro, honey, don’t you think you’d notice something different about yourself if you were possessed?”

“Maybe?” He’s so desperately hoping she’s right, but he’s just a little freaked out right now. “Just—I don’t know, what if, like, my own thoughts are different so I’m not even thinking like me and that’s why I don’t notice?”

“I think if you were possessed by something that made you think differently, you wouldn’t be worried about being possessed at all,” she reasons, firm in her stance. After a beat, she tilts her head and asks, “Are you always this paranoid about silly things?”

“No!” He can’t help but be defensive. “I mean. I don’t think so?” Given a moment to process the whole conversation, he finds himself a little embarrassed, dropping his face into his hands with a groan. “I’m sorry, I’ve had a really weird day, Inko.”

She chuckles sympathetically, patting his arm comfortingly. He doesn’t want to come out from behind his hands, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless. “How about we get to thinking about your next step, hm? What happened while you were in there? Did your voice speak to you again?”

Eijiro doesn’t even want to get into the happy little jump his heart performs when she refers to the voice he’s heard so much as his, so instead he focuses on taking a deep breath and removing his fingers from his face. He shakes his head, trying not to be disappointed.

“No, I haven’t heard from him again.” He’d really been hoping that using Sheikah technology was the key to prompting him to speak but… apparently not. “Um… okay, so. I got down into the shrine, and this, um, really old Sheikah monk, who was like, shriveled up and mummified? He said it was a trial. And when I finished the trial, he said...”

Eijiro’s brow furrows as he tries to remember, exactly. He’d gotten pretty distracted and weirded out, afterwards, so the words hadn’t exactly had time to stick.

“He said… that I have the resolve of a true hero? And some stuff about Bakusatsuo, and that he was supposed to help anyone who wants to fight All for One.” Thinking back on it, Eijiro definitely starts to feel a little silly, now. Obviously, the monk wouldn't possess him if he wanted to help him. “And then he said he was giving me a gift, and he, like—disintegrated, after sending some weird purple… stuff into me, I don’t know, that’s when I got weirded out.”

Inko hums thoughtfully, considering. Just when she’s opening her mouth to respond, Eijiro spots an old, battered metal crate nearby and remembers.

“Oh!” He’s already whipping the slate out in his excitement, activating the magnesis rune. “And I can do this now!”

He uses the slate to grab the box, lifting it into the air—Inko lets out a quiet cry of, “Goodness!”—and moving it away from them, before dropping it with a heavy thud and beaming at her.

“That looks awfully handy,” she admits with an indulgent smile. “Just be careful with it. So, if that shrine gave you an ability like that, and was placed there to help you fight All for One, it stands to reason that the others will probably help you, too? There are a few more shrines even here, on the Great Plateau. Maybe you could go to them, while we figure out how to get you down?”

Moving to clip the slate back to his belt, Eijiro’s eyebrows raise. “There are? Where?”

Admittedly, he’s not exactly eager to have more of that weird purple… mist, or whatever, thrown at him, but this magnesis thing is cool. If the other shrines have other runes for him… maybe one of them could be something that grants him the ability to get down from the plateau. So, even if the thought of dealing with that again makes him a little uneasy, he knows he has to man up. He’s not going to save anyone if he’s too scared to even face dead guys trying to help him.

“You could probably see them all from the top of that tower you raised,” Inko suggests helpfully. “Your Sheikah Slate should also have a scope feature that will let you mark the shrines on your map from far away.”

“Really?” He hasn’t even found that feature. It’s not his most pressing issue though, because he finds himself looking dubiously at the tower in the near distance, ahead of them. He sighs. “Man, I’m not looking forward to climbing all the way up there. Down was hard enough.”

Inko chuckles agreeably, clearly understanding of his plight. “Your slate has something for that, too. To help you travel places faster.”

“You mean the map?” he asks, brow furrowing. He guesses that would make sense; having a map that moves with you and shows you exactly where you’re facing in relation to your destination probably speeds things up a lot more than using a regular map and constantly having to orient yourself.

“Oh, you know about the fast travel on the map already?” Inko asks, sounding pleasantly surprised, and Eijiro blinks. The shrine had said something about a fast travel gate, right?

“Um… no?” he answers honestly. “Wait, how do you know all this about my slate? I thought you said you didn’t know a lot about Sheikah stuff?”

An amused huff escaping her, Inko gives him a chiding look. “Sheikah Slates were around one hundred years ago, young man. I may not know much about Sheikah buildings or how they all work, but your slate is another matter entirely. I’ve heard quite a bit about what they’re supposed to be able to do. Now, pull out your map.”

“Oh.” He does as she says, but as he’s bringing up the map he can’t help but furrow his brow as he realizes her wording. She made it sound like she was around one hundred years ago. But she still doesn’t look old enough for that—unless she was, like, a baby, and aged really well, and even then, a baby couldn’t work a Sheikah Slate. Probably.

“All right,” she begins, moving beside him to peer at the map with him. He notes with some interest that the emblem for the shrine where they stand is no longer orange on the map, but blue like the other emblems. “So if you tap on the tower on the map, it should let you move there quickly.”

He does as she directs, watching as a message appears on the screen, bearing two words, each separated and outlined: ‘Travel’ and ‘Cancel’. “Like this?” he asks, finger already moving unthinkingly to tap the word travel.

Before Inko can answer, Eijiro is ripped violently out of his body.

Describing the sensation of fast travel would probably be impossible. One moment, Eijiro is normal, and the next—it’s like he’s blacked out, except not at all because he can still think and panic, but he can’t feel his body, like at all. Can’t keep track of any part of himself. He feels so disjointed, unable to gain any sense of equilibrium or awareness of his surroundings or the orientation of his own limbs, and the whole while he feels like he’s hurtling through the air at horrifying speeds.

And none of that comes close to describing the discordant sensation of all of his senses reassembling themselves all out of order, as he’s placed on the circular symbol on the top of Great Plateau Tower—placed gently, but that’s too little too late.

The instant his feet hit the surface, Eijiro topples over, and it’s all he can do to scramble to the edge of the tower before he’s emptying what’s left of his lunch over the side. Oh, gods. That was the most jarring experience of his life. That was so bad. What the fuck.

Pressing his forehead to the tan stone that ridges the edge of the tower, Eijiro groans, wind whipping his hair all around his face.

“I’m never doing that again,” he swears under his breath to himself, voice thick and arms wrapped around his stomach. He fucking means it, too. That was godsdamned awful.

It takes more time than he’d like to admit to compose himself after that, but once he’s finally pulled himself to his feet he can at least say that the scope feature is way easier to find and use than it could have been. There’s tons of shrines, it turns out—he can make out so many from up here, but most of them are well out of his reach, until he can get off of the plateau. It’s not even a full minute before he has the three shrines Inko had told him about marked down on his map, with glowing beacons that appear on the scope when he moves it over them.

One of them, he notes eagerly, is easily reachable, too; not far at all where it sits surrounded by ruins.

It’s just… he can’t help but despair, just a little, because now begins the process of climbing all the way back down. After the worst ascent of his life. Again.

[fan4196]

Emergency Contact (Part 3)

Hey everyone here's the last part of this multi-chapter. Hope you like it. Enjoy!

Thanks again to @angry-slytherin for beta reading 💜

-

Three Halloweens later...

After a lot of annoying and begging, the Karevs are finally shopping for Halloween costumes. Their kids have been annoying them since the first of October, when Jo had decided to decorate for Fall. Big mistake! The minute her kids saw the pumpkin decoration and the leaves turning yellow, orange and red on their walks with the dog, they wanted to go costume shopping instantly. They definitely got their excitement for Halloween from Jo, she gave it to them. She loves Halloween. To be honest she loved every holiday when she was dating Alex back then. The one year, after Alex left, she hated the holiday seasons but then she got the twins and she loved it again. And now she loves it even more, because she finally feels like her family is whole.

After Alex meet the twins in the hospital back then, they kept asking Jo to see Mister Alex again. They went on a few trips together; to the park, the museum, the zoo... things that Alex and Jo would have never done if it would have been just them, but with her twins everything changed. After a year of just being friends and Alex doing everything to get Jo's trust back, they finally started dating again; which was much to the twins joy because they love Alex. On their first anniversary back together Alex proposed again, with the help of the twins and of course Jo said yes. And they got married again, third times the charm, right? Alex also legally adopted the twins too and a little over a year ago little Eden was born and made the Karevs complete. Jo loves to finally have a family to enjoy those lovely holiday times with. Alex on the other hand will totally deny it every time someone asks, but silently he does love all those holidays too. He always plays the grumpy dad, that doesn't care, but everyone knows that he secretly loves to dress up on Halloween too and he loves watching the kids opening their presents on Easter, their birthdays or Christmas. You can see this little smile on his lips and the sparkle in his eyes everytime he watches his kids.

So right now the Karevs are finally costume shopping which, to be honest, is pretty urgent because Halloween is tonight. Yes, even though Jo and Alex too, love getting all out, they are also busy surgeons and today was the first day in weeks, that they had time for shopping.

They decided to split up when they walked into the store to speed up the whole process a little bit; so Jo is looking for a costume with Parker and Eden and Alex got Emery.

He really loves his little girl to death but if there's one thing that she can't do then it's deciding. Maybe it's a girl thing or she took that over from Jo too, but Jo and Emery are crappy when it comes to making decisions.

They have been through almost every freaking aisle and she still hasn't found the perfect costume. She doesn't wanna be a Princess nor any kind of animal nor anything from Disney. After showing her, what felt like, every costume that the freaking store has, Alex quit and now just follows her through the store while she looks for something she likes.

With his mind is somewhere completely different he doesn't notice that his daughter stopped and he walks right into her.

"Ow, daddy. I'm standing here." She complaines, rubbing her head.

"I'm sorry, Princess. Did you find something you like?" He askes, hopefull to end this shopping trip very soon.

"This." She points towards a white suite kind of thing. Alex can't quite tell what it should be so he gets it out from the rack and holds it in front of him.

"You wanna be an Avenger?" He askes a little surprise. Normally Emery is the girliest girl he knows. If Jo wouldn't shop for her, everything in her closet would be pink with Disney and Unicorns. So he's quite surprised that she picks Black Widow instead of Elsa. But he's not complaining. If there's one thing he would never forbid his kids than it's anything connected to Marvel. He loves those movies himself so he's excited about his little girl sharing his passion.

"Yes daddy. Black Widow is a bad ass. I like how she kicks butts." Emery explaines excited, showing her daddy her best little 'Black Widow' kick.

"And daddy you could be the Hulk. And when you're angry I can calm you down. Because Black Widow can do that. She takes the Hulks hand and calms him down and than he's doctor Banner again. Did you know that?" She askes, looking at her daddy.

"I did, Emy." He answers his daughter contently.

"Daddy look! I'm gonna be Spider-Man!" His son shouts while running towards his dad and sister, holding the costume in his hands. Followed by Jo and Eden excited bouncing on her mother's hip.

"Look daddy! He's my favorite because my name is Parker too." His son squeals excited as he stops in front of his dad, showing of his costume.

"That's right buddy. As if your mommy knew that he's gonna be your favorite superhero." Alex answers, ruffling his sons hair.

"Mommy I'm gonna be Black Widow." Emery tells her mom, holding her costume proudly towards her mother.

"That's a great costume, Emy. So we're gonna have two Avangers then? Good choice, I love it." Jo answers her daughter with a smile.

"You know what, mommy? Maybe you should be Black Widow. You are better at calming daddy down. I can be Captain Marvel instead." Emery assures, pointing towards the red, blue and yellow costume on the rack .

"She wants me to be the Hulk." Alex explaines his confused looking wife.

"Ahh. That's actually a great idea, Emy. And if daddy doesn't want to be the Hulk, he can grab an old lab coat and just be doctor Benner." Jo suggestes, trying to find a compromise because she knows that Alex would be grumpy and complain about having to paint himself green, all night long.

"Sure. I can be doctor Benner." Alex answers, accepting the compromise. His kids jumping in excitement, even the smallest Karev.

"And what does Eden want to be?" Jo asks the little girl on her hip, kissing her ear to make her giggle.

"She could be Nick Fury. He's also bald like her." Parker suggestes, with a cheeky grin.

"Parker! That wasn't nice." Jo disciplines her son with an disappointed gaze, which makes him immediately apologize.

"I'm sorry." He says quietly.

"Mommy uncle Link could be Thor. We should call uncle Link and ask if they wants to join the Avangers. Please." Emery asks with big brown puppy dog eyes.

"Sure." Jo answers to her daughters joy, handing Eden to Alex, Jo gets her phone out of her purse and calls her friend.

"Uncle Link is in. They are gonna be Thor, Jane and Loki." Jo proclaims after her call with Link. Her kids again jumping up and down in excitement.

"But we are still stuck. What should Eden be?" Alex adds, tickling the fourteen months old belly, which makes her giggle and slamming her arms at der daddy's chest.

"She could be baby Hulk, because if Black Widow and the Hulk had a baby it would be a baby Hulk, right?" Their daughter suggestes, like the little smart ass she is.

"Alright looks like we finally have costumes." Jo announces happyly. "Avengers!-"

"-assemble!" Their kids scream happyly. Running towards the checkout.

-

@doc-pickles @odd-birds-and-booksellers

[sonofsallyjackson]

A World Not Quite Her Own (pt 1/3) - The Estelle Fic

So here it is, my first foray into the Percy Jackson fandom despite being obsessed with the books when I was in elementary/middle school.  This started as my take on Estelle’s childhood, but morphed into something more with a Percabeth wedding scene in chapter 2.  AO3 Link Here.

Estelle Blofis had never lived in a world without monsters.  Many people in this world would have been driven mad by this knowledge. But for Estelle, it was a simple fact of the universe like humans need air to survive, or blue chocolate chip cookies are the best dessert.  Maybe knowing about monsters should have made her scared, but all it did was show her the heroes who would always come in and save the day.

Many of those heroes made the best babysitters.  

Sally always let out a sigh of relief when Grover was in town.  The Lord of the Wild didn’t even grumble good-naturedly as he took on his excitable charge for the day.  Grover didn’t need the promise of Sally’s seven-layer bean dip or the collection of recycling curated for maximum crunch to make it through their outings.  He had always wanted to teach humans to appreciate the wild, treasure it, and protect it.  Grover might not be able to teach all humans, but he certainly could teach Estelle.   They sat in an isolated corner of Central Park together, occasionally bothered by druids, but mostly it was just the two of them.  They would sit directly in the grass, Estelle’s orange tutu and rainboots regardless of the weather stretched out next to hairy legs that Grover mostly didn’t bother to cover anymore.  While Estelle likely fidgeted just as much as she listened (spinning breaks were deemed a necessity after a single outing), she did listen to him.  Grover was the best at answering questions and like any small child, Estelle had a lot of questions.  So as she grew,  Estelle sang hi to the individual trees on walks with her parents and proclaimed solemnly in pre-school that “Pan was dead”  (a reference that thankfully her teacher didn’t understand but had resulted in a headache-inducing conversation for Paul).   

In comparison, babysitting with Rachel was essentially one long arts and crafts session.  Finger paintings completely covered the fridge by the time Estelle was three.  They’d repainted the mural on Estelle’s bedroom wall about four times by the time she was ten, with each rendition more fantastical than the last.  Occasionally Sally regretted the afternoons spent writing with Rachel over once she discovered the paint covered mess that once had been her daughter, but overall with the sound of laughter echoing through the house (and only one minor prophecy), she supposed things could be a lot worse.  

On days where snow piled up outside their window, but Estelle adamantly refused to wear anything but a swimsuit and a feather boa,  Paul frantically phoned Piper.   She was at the top of a very short list of people who could make Estelle dress appropriately for the weather.  No one was sure if it was a form of diluted charmspeak or just Piper’s knack for finding outfits that technically could be worn in public but still fit the (unfashionable) vibe Estelle was going for.  

Tyson was never allowed to babysit Estelle by himself, but he made up for his clumsiness and general lack of knowledge of human safety measures with an excess of enthusiasm.  He took to having a baby sister so well that no one really bothered to explain that technically the two of them weren’t related.  Still Tyson’s one eye seemed just as normal to Estelle as his hugs or extremely calloused hands.  

Nico really wasn’t her babysitter.  He would stop by the apartment looking for Percy or Sally, but would end up staying because Estelle had him wrapped around her finger.  The first time they’d met Nico had come over with bad news regarding Apollo’s quest.  Estelle couldn’t actually remember what had happened since she was so young, but Sally liked telling the story, complete with pictures, so Estelle knew it by heart anyway.  Percy hadn’t been home yet and since he was with mortals working on a group project, Iris messages would have been a no-go even if the cosmos weren’t trying to prevent demi-god communication.  So Nico had sat on the couch in the living room occasionally pestered by Sally’s “Are you sure I can’t get you anything to eat?” and “You look tired, sweetheart.  You have time for a nap if you want one.”  

In the end, Nico hadn’t gotten that nap because he’d been greeted by tiny hands pulling themselves upright on the couch cushion next to him.  Estelle’s face had been alight with mischief that Nico would have previously sworn was only possible from a child of Hermes.  Her black curls swung wildly around her as she wiggled her way onto the couch and into Nico’s lap.  Estelle made herself comfortable while Nico looked ready to throw up.  At fourteen, he’d fought in two different wars, but one crawling 10-month-old seemed to be enough to break him.  As Estelle grew older, her little chants of “Nico! Nico! Nico!” had so much power over the boy who wanted a family more than anything else in the world.

Annabeth was one of her most frequent babysitters.  She practically lived at their apartment when she wasn’t at school, or helping her cousins or the camp.   She did keep Percy from giving into Estelle’s every whim which wasn’t ideal, but Estelle could deal with eating a full plate of vegetables if it meant hanging out with Annabeth.  Unfortunately,  Annabeth did not share Estelle’s undying love for all things Little Mermaid and often muttered “Seaweed Brain, I don’t know how but this is your fault.  If I have to hear Under the Sea one more time, I’ll-“ under her breath whenever just watching Disney movies was suggested.  So spending time with Annabeth often meant playing with Legos, creating a disjointed collection of buildings. Mini replicas of New York landmarks would be dwarfed by uneven towers because Estelle cared more about height than stability, aesthetics or really any other architectural principle.  When Annabeth entered school, she was less inclined to spend any bit of free time still thinking about architecture.  So she gave Estelle a little potholder loom and taught her the basics of weaving.  Sally had ended up with more neon-colored monstrosities than she knew what to do with, but the girls could spend hours in relative quiet, so it seemed a small price to pay.  

And then there was Percy, the biggest hero in Estelle’s eyes.  Her love wasn’t like the hero-worship of new demigods, who idolized him for defeating the Titans, surviving Tartarus, or going on countless quests.  Estelle believed more than anything else in the world that her brother would be there to catch her whenever she fell and there was no monster he couldn’t beat.  

Even before she could walk, Estelle had seen her brother’s powers.  Some things were easy to miss, like the way Percy could wash the dishes without getting wet at all, but others stood out to her. The waves at Montauk had calmed so he could teach her how to swim but were quick to come back to life if anyone stared too openly at Annabeth or his mom.   While Annabeth built elaborate sandcastles, Percy added fantastical moats and laughed as Estelle roared like a minotaur to tear it down.   He could hold his breath forever, which seemed awfully unfair the first time Estelle had tried to swim underwater and ended up with a mouthful of saltwater.  Percy was always willing to translate for the fish at the aquarium, although Estelle was pretty sure he did the funny voices for her benefit.  When Percy had landed Blackjack on their apartment’s roof after being called back to camp for an emergency, he had translated for his old friend too. Estelle loved those translations the most, even if they weren’t entirely accurate.  

“Seriously, Blackjack, can you cool the language around my little sister?”  

By age five, her older brother had bought wooden swords for the two of them to practice in the living room.  Percy kept the moves simple, demonstrating before lightly wrapping his fingers around her tiny wrists and guiding her through the movements.  Estelle would copy them intently with her nose scrunched up and her tongue stuck slightly to the side in concentration.   They focused primarily on defensive strategies, but still had practice fights where Percy pretended to die dramatically.  

“I don’t think this is a good idea Percy,” Sally had said after they broke their second lamp.

“Mom she can see them. And as long as I’m around Stella will always be a target.”  

There was an unspoken promise in his words.  I’m always going to be here Mom.  I’m still alive, but I can’t lose anyone else, especially not my baby sister.  

Estelle hugged her mother’s leg tightly, looking up with pleading eyes.   “Please Mom I’ll be careful.”    

Eventually, Paul signed Estelle up for fencing lessons because there had to be a better way to teach her to fight that didn’t involve the two of them wrecking the living room every time Percy visited.  And if the way, allowed Paul to share his old fencing passion with his daughter, all the better.  The living room still ended up with the furniture pushed to the side on a regular basis though because Estelle needed to demonstrate everything she’d learned for her big brother.  

When Tyson had come to her sixth birthday party, his present had been a small bronze sword that transformed into a charm bracelet so Estelle could always be prepared.  He’d look so proud and Estelle kept touching it reverently, but Sally had not been amused.  She had wanted her daughter to grow up safe from this madness, even if she knew that wasn’t entirely a possibility.   It was bad enough to have one child constantly in mortal peril and disappearing on dangerous quests.  

“It can’t even hurt her; it’s celestial bronze.  The first time I met Rachel I ran her through with Riptide and she’s still fine.”  

Rachel flicked her red curls over her shoulder.  “Worried for your sanity, but physically fine.”  

Neither of them was as reassuring as they thought, but Estelle did get to keep the sword for emergency use only.  This was after all a world full of monsters as well as heroes.

[sushiobsessedwriter]

He Thinks You Like Someone Else -Akatsuki

Pein: He'd been in his office all day, his head aching with each word written, so he'd sent you out on a mission so he wouldn't continue to wonder what you were doing without him, thus distracting him. The bright-haired man let out the longest sigh known in history and pushed his finished papers away. It took him twice as long to file them away as his mind kept drifting to you but his ears perked up when your laughter rang through the building. "Oh my Kami, Deidara," you laughed even louder, "I was NOT that bad." Deidara simply replied with a laugh of his own. Pein felt the vein in his forehead twitch at the sound of you two laughing together. It was only when the both of you came into the open doorway of his office did he take great exception. Deidara's arm was flung around your shoulder whilst your face was coloured red in a harsh blush.  "Was the mission successful?" Pein asked through ground teeth. Both you and Deidara nodded and when the blonde sent you a wink you blushed harder and turned your stare to the floor. It was very soon after that when Pein dismissed you. He didn't know whether to feel dissapointed or simply sad that you liked Deidara.  "Pein," he lifted his head at the sound of your voice, "surely you want more information?" Pein stared at you for a moment before returning his eyes to his paperwork.  "I do not need the details of the going-ons between you and your romantic companion." You screwed your face up, 'romantic companion'?? What?? "Pein wh-" "You may leave," you didn't move, "NOW." You scurried out as fast as you could. Itachi: Itachi had been looking for you for hours. He wanted to talk to you about a new book release and wondered if you'd heard about it. Yet, when he finally did find you, his ideas of talking went out the window. There you were, book open on your lap and a drink in your hand, but you weren't reading. Tobi sat in front of you with his arms going wild. He was explaining why exactly lollipops were the best sweets and you sat there playfully arguing with him.  Itachi felt his blood boil. You liked the over grown child? His anger faded quickly into sorrow. He never really had a chance if Tobi was your type, so he sullenly turned back around and trudged to his room. Kisame: You had decided to take a day trip to the beach, the sun streaming down on the two of you as you lay out your towels. You'd both wrangled a day off and you wanted to spend it relaxing with your favourite shark-man. At least, that's what you planned; Itachi and Zetsu also joined you. You weren't entirely sure WHY they joined you, but they did.  It was later on in the day, after long hours of swimming that you flopped on the towel practically on top of Kisame. This caused a blush to cover his face but you were too tired to notice. That was the case until Itachi mentioned ice-cream. You sat up straight and grinned at the Uchiha but Kisame gripped the back of your t-shirt like a 4 year old.  "Why don't you stay and relax with me, Y/N?" You stared at him contemplatively then said, "b-but ice-cream." Kisame's face dropped and you gazed between him and Itachi. The dark-haired man's hand was held out to you and you grabbed it hesitantly. After all, you had a plan that would cheer Kisame up when you get back. However, as you left with his partner, Kisame watched the two of you talking animatedly, you with a grin on your face which caused his heart to clench in his chest. Why, Itachi??

Hidan: You and Hidan fought a lot, and they were usually harmless fights, but lately they'd been getting more and more serious and he knew it was his fault (not that he'd tell you that).  It was after a particularly big fight that you stormed to your room, tears in your eyes. Hidan hadn't followed you straight away as he let the rest of his frustration out on an unsuspecting tree. However, he did eventually go to find you, only to hear you talking to someone. "I-I don't know what to do, I think I-I-I'm in love with him." Hidan stopped in his tracks and felt his heart leap to his throat. You liked -no, loved- someone else. His fists clenched at his sides and he was 80% certain he was going to barge in there and demand answers, but when your light sobs filtered through the door, it only made him hurt more. Without another moment of hesitation, the Jashinist turned on his heel and left you to cry, his whole body aching. Why wasn't he goddamn good enough for you?! Kakuzu: You were a strange person for him to figure out. He often found himself wondering why you spent so much time with him. You were practically perfect to him: you had extensive knowledge in bounty hunting, you were quite cautious with your money and you hated Hidan as much as he did. Yet, he still couldn't help but think you deserved better company.  Therefore, when he saw you explaining the art of bounty hunting to Zetsu he was surprised to find that he was SHOCKED at the sight. The scenario in front of him was exactly what he had been thinking for weeks yet, his stomach felt empty, his mouth dry. You were practically bouncing in your seat when Zetsu asked you a question, and before you could answer, you caught sight of Kakuzu. "Kakuzu, I think this question is better suited for you!"  You waved him over but the stitched man shook his head and glared at the back of Zetsu's flytrap.  "I believe your knowledge knows no bounds, Y/N."  With that statement he walked past the two of you on the floor and out the door. You tilted your head puzzled but slowly began to answer Zetsu's question. Sasori: Sasori knew you sometimes got bored watching him work all the time, but he liked to think you enjoyed spending time with him. He certainly enjoyed your company, so when you stopped frequenting his workshop, he became not only worried, but suspicious.  After the incident with Deidara, he couldn't help the thoughts of you two together running through his head. Emotions like this were the reason he got rid of them in the first place.  "Kisame you cannot be serious?!?!"  Your voice echoed down the corridor and Sasori felt more at ease. However, when you walked into his workshop, arm linked with Kisame's, his ceased to be at ease. He folded his arms across his chest and waited for either of you to say something. "I am here to escort the Lady back to her work space," Kisame proclaimed loudly. You giggled and unlinked your arm. You made your way over to your work space and sat down; you stared at the two men patiently. "I wasn't aware Y/N needed escorting around the hideout," he set a stony stare in your direction, "perhaps she is incapable of doing things by herself." You were shocked for a moment at Sasori's harsh tone but soon glared harshly at him. Neither of you said anything as Kisame inched his way out of the room. "You want to tell me what your problem is?" Sasori rolled his eyes. He couldn't possibly tell you his problem, you'll laugh or even worse, you'll pity him. It wasn't his fault that he fell for you, but why did you have to fall for Kisame? He suddenly felt numb but moved stiffly over to the puppet he was working on. "Sasori, answer me please." He continued to ignore you for the rest of the day. Deidara: Deidara is one of the biggest hot-heads in the world, so when he took you out to town to get supplies, you were waiting for him to cause a scene. Deidara needed more clay whilst you just fancied going shopping for a bit. You two split up to do your separate activities before meeting up for a drink.  When Deidara walked into the coffee-shop to see you chatting to an extremely good looking male, he felt his switch flip. "What do you think you're doing, un?!" You whirled around to see Deidara glaring daggers at you. You held your hands up and tilted your head to the side in confusion. He stomped toward you and continued to glare. "We decide to meet up and you're flirting with every guy you see, un!"  He knew in the back of his mind he was being irrational but he couldn't help the anger and defeat he was feeling. "Dei, what are you-" "If you just came with me to get laid then you can find your own way home, un."  There he left you, baffled, upset, and with two cups of coffee in your hand with both your names scribbled on the side.  Tobi: "Oh my gosh Tobi, look what i've got!"  You glomped the orange masked man from behind and shoved a packet in his face. It was the newest sweets from your favourite company and they were amazing! So, you thought you'd share them with your fellow sweet-lover.  "Y/N, Tobi loves these sweets, where did Y/N get them?"  He was just as excited as you were which brought a large smile to your face. "I actually didn't get them," you stated as you sat next to him, "Pein bought them for me when he went into town." The grin remained on your face as you popped the aforementioned sweet in your mouth. You failed to notice the dark aura emitting from Tobi and held the bag out to him. He shook his head slowly and leaned toward you slightly. "So, you like Pein?" You nearly choked on the sweet as your eyes bugged out your head. Tobi's other personality came forward and decided to accuse you of something like that?!?! "N-no Tobi, I don't-" "Save your excuses until you can come up with a better one." Tobi stood, straightened out his cloak and cleared his throat. "Later Y/N!!"  Normal Tobi was back... Zetsu: Zetsu was probably the most sensitive man you knew. His black side got riled up easily and his white side got nervous really easily, so, when you asked them if they wanted to go to one of the newer botanical gardens you got mixed reactions.  "Why would we want to go there when here is perfectly fine??" "She just wants to spend time with us, let's go and see what it's like." "There's an ulterior motive, I can tell." You sighed and folded your arms across your chest as you listened to them argue. You really wanted to go and see the gardens and you thought it would be something Zetsu would really be up for, even his black side, but he was still untrusting of your actions sometimes so you shrugged, tried to convince them, then walked away when it didn't work. "Y-Y/N, where are you going?" He called out to you. "To see if anyone else wants to go!" You continued walking, not really caring at this point if the plant-man was following.  He was worried though, if he continued to not spend a lot of time with you, would you stop trying? Would you find someone else to hang out with? Would he lose his chances with you?? Both sides started to panic, they couldn't lose you to someone else, they just couldn't!!

---

If you like this then please buy me a coffee.

[nervyghost]

Back in all of my glory with another chapter of  @littlekiwifrog ‘s Turned good AU! This one (like the last chapter) got crazy long, but it mostly did so because I wanted to write something with the rest of the losers. (Cursing, as per usual with these losers) I’m tagging @da-chubby-burb as my lovely beta, and just before I begin, I wanted to ask if any of you wanted to be on my tag list.

Yep! You heard it! I’m starting a tag list, so if anyone wants to be added, shoot me a PM and I’ll be more than hapy to throw your name into the next one! That’s it from me, enjoy the chapter!

Bill hammered on his younger brother’s door for what had to be the thirtieth time that morning, his patience wearing thin as seconds ticked by. “JUH-GEORGIE! C’MON!” He shouted irritably. The sound of bedsheets being torn off of a mattress followed his words, causing him to add: “If you’re not out here in f-f-five minutes, I’m leaving wi-without you!” There was a crash from within the room along with the sound of clothes hitting the floor with a panicked sort of haste. Bill smiled and shook his head fondly, knowing full well that his brother was nowhere near ready to go and meet the gang.

Richie was hardly ever on time anyway, and Georgie was practically stuck to the other boy’s side whenever they were in the same room, when he wasn’t asking Stan a thousand questions about birds. Both would complain sometimes, but Bill knew they both secretly loved the attention the seven-year-old was more than willing to give them. Before he could become too lost in his thoughts, he turned his attention back to the door decorated with turtles and banged on it again, harder this time. “Suh-sometime today!”

“COMING!” Georgie hollered. Bill listened as the banging noises became more frantic, less spaced out, and altogether hectic as the boy within fought with his pajamas and tugged on his clothes. With a final creak of protest from the floorboards, Georgie emerged in all of his glory, his hair swept awkwardly across his face to obscure his bright eyes. He was quick to brush his bangs out of his eyes and look up at Bill with a grin on his face.

He tugged at the strings of his yellow hoodie before striding forward, trying- unsuccessfully- to hide his excitement. “I’m ready to go, Billy!” He chirped. Bill shook his head firmly.

“Guh-go eat something.” Georgie’s face fell near instantly.

“You’re going without me?” Bill snorted and leaned forward to ruffle his hair.

“Course not.” He reassured him. “But you sh-should eat something first.” Georgie looked ready to argue but Bill silenced him by turning on his heel and striding in the direction of the door. “I’m j-just going to fuh-fix Silver up a bit, okay?”

“Okay.” Georgie seconded, running to Bill’s side to grab him around the waist and stare up at him with his big brown eyes. “Promise?” He asked. Bill smiled.

“Of cuh-course.” Georgie grinned up at him. Bill almost felt bad for crossing his fingers behind his back as the younger boy bounded to the parlor to snag a muffin.

Bill knew he wouldn’t have long to wait before he was back at his side, so he quickened his step, letting his feet carry him out of the front door and to the pair of bikes parked neatly out front, looking like two dogs waiting for their masters to return. Bill ran his hands over Silver’s rusted frame. “Not yet.” He whispered to it, letting his fingers run over the dents in the handlebars before pulling away. Silver was in pristine condition, as always. The bike he was worried about, was Georgie’s.

He stared at it, wondering idly if it would disappear before his very eyes, but the bike remained, its blue paint gleaming in the sunlight as it waited for Bill to touch it. It seemed to call to him, which was ridiculous. It was a bike, not some sort of child-eating-demon. Bill still couldn’t bring himself to even touch it, the smell of what he knew wasn’t popcorn clinging to it like a foul musk to a wild animal. He had to take a deep breath before laying his hand on the cheery paint, just to calm his racing heart. It was stupid, really, to be afraid of a bike. He hated that he had to fight to convince himself that was true.

He knelt next to it and poked at the spokes, his eyes scanning the chain for any kinks or breaks in the metal. He ran his finger along the edge and inspected it further, the links cool on his hands. He pulled away with hesitance, wiping the grease stains on his hands across his pants, leaving twin smears across his jeans. He hardly batted an eye, standing to feel the seat instead, searching for anything sharp, not wanting to be responsible for anything bad happening to the kid.

He almost wanted to find something, just to prove to Georgie that Penny was nothing more than imaginary, but the lack of anything dangerous was driving him up the wall.

And, it still didn’t explain how it ended up in his bedroom with a red balloon. He didn’t want to admit how long he had stared at the red balloon, a feeling of dread causing his stomach to twist into a tight knot of sheer fear, the room near electric. The hairs on the back of his neck had stood on end as though Georgie had left his window open.

He hadn’t.

As he further inspected the bike, he couldn’t hold back more skeptical thoughts regarding Georgie’s friend. It was impossible for it to have brought the bike back, and Georgie wasn’t one to lie. Bill had no trouble believing that the Bowers gang had attacked his little brother, it had happened enough times. But the part that he was finding hard to swallow was the fact that the bike had been returned. Someone would’ve noticed if their house was broken into, surely. And for the intruder to be carrying a bike? It just didn’t make sense.

But, as his hands wandered up and down the pristine bike, he came to his conclusion. The bike, was just that. A bike. A blue bike that somehow had magically appeared in his younger brother’s room after being tossed into the river.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the door behind him swung open on squealing hinges. He threw his leg over Silver’s sturdy frame and rested on the seat, watching with a forced smile as Georgie galloped over to his own ride.

“I had a muffin!” He proclaimed.

“Knew it.” Bill booted the kickstand into place and began to pedal forward. “C’mon, or R-Richie will beat us th-there!” That was all the convincing Georgie needed to spur the bike forward and out of their yard. Bill looked toward the road as Silver began to pick up speed and he stood up on the pedals, loving the feeling of wind in his hair. He let it blow all thoughts of ‘Mr. Penny’ out of his head, and with every noise of metal-on-metal that Silver let out, he felt just a little better about- well, everything.

He would never admit it, of course, but on the day Georgie had gone out all alone with his little paper boat, something inside of him just screamed that his brother was in danger. And not just in danger of a fall, or a bruised forehead, no. Bill was almost certain that something absolutely horrifying was going to happen to Georgie while he had been immobilized by fever. It was stupid, really, but the fear gluing him to the bed had felt so real, so cold and sharp, he was positive that he’d never see Georgie again. He didn’t want to admit how he had stared at the ceiling and said a silent prayer for his brother’s safe return as the piano downstairs played the tune Für Elise. It seemed to last for hours. Hours of waiting to hear Georgie’s screams from the window. Days of wanting to be anything but as useless as he was. Years of feeling his head burn and sweat drip down his back.

And then- Georgie had come home. Wet and waterlogged, but with a joy that warmed him from head to toe. He would never admit to practically leaping down all the stairs in a single bound when he heard his brother call him down.

He wasn’t even mad about the boat, not really. It was only his cold that stopped him from scooping his brother up in his arms and holding him close, just for a second. He’d be able to blame it on being more than a little loopy off his meds (As they all knew Eddie had been in the past) and that would be that.

“Wait!” Bill slammed on the brakes and nearly went flying over the handlebars as Silver screeched to a stop. He shot Georgie a dirty look.

“Wh-What the hell, Georgie?” He snapped. Georgie looked a little bit sheepish as he dismounted and began to pull his bike toward Bill, crossing the arguably large distance between them until he was at his brother’s side.

“Could you slow down a little?” He asked, looking as though he was asking Bill to carry out his own death sentence. Bill’s glare turned into a soft smile.

“Course.” He slid off of Silver’s seat with ease and began to walk his beast of a bike, Georgie’s looking ever so small in comparison. The small grin he earned as a reward was more than enough to make up for being late.

“So,” Georgie looked at the passing houses as he spoke, a hundred unsaid thoughts rushing about in his head. “Why exactly did Richie call you in a panic last night?” Bill let out a small laugh.

“They went to the N-Neibolt house, H-Him and Bev.”

“Why?” Bill shrugged.

“D-Dunno. Riche was too puh-panicked to say an-anything other than fuh-fuck and shit. It’s a w-wonder I got anything out of him at all.”

“Why was he panicked?” Georgie asked. Bill hesitated for a moment before deciding to be truthful.

“Well, I couldn’t guh-get much out of him, y-you know T-Trashmouth. Buh-but, he said that it always seemed ruh-really creepy to him, juh-just the whole place, y’know?” Georgie nodded. “An-Anyway, th-they said it was no-normal, except for the smell.”

“The smell?” Georgie echoed.

“L-Like something from the o-old drainage tunnel. Se-sewer water.” He knew that his brother wouldn’t sleep that night, but he hardly cared. “And downstairs, B-Bev and Richie kept s-saying that they were hearing this creepy n-nursery rhyme about oranges? M-Mike said it was super old, like from the seventeen-hundred-”

“Oh, Billy! Wait a sec!” Georgie rolled his bike to a stop and pushed down the kickstand of his bike. Bill watched him slide off of the seat and reach into his pocket, fumbling for a moment before his hand closed around something. “Mr. Penny?” He asked, a small grin finding his face. “Thanks for getting my bike back!” Bill could’ve sworn he saw something glimmer in the dark opening, but once he blinked, it was gone. That same feeling of unease began to creep back into his bones as his brother drew a small bag of popcorn from his pocket, along with a couple of hot cocoa packets. “I brought you some popcorn since yours blew away in that storm! And some hot cocoa packets ‘cause I bet it gets cold down there.” Bill smiled softly as Georgie rested the offerings in the leaves.

He shot Bill an innocent smile as he straddled his bicycle once more, only stopping to say a cheerful: “Hope you like them! Bye, Mr. Penny!” over his shoulder. The two pedaled forward a few feet before Bill spoke again.

“You really th-think that your imaginary f-friend from the sewers is the one that b-brought your bike back?” Georgie nodded enthusiastically.

“How else did it get in my room with a red balloon? I just wanted to say thank you.” Adding under his breath: “And he’s not imaginary.” Bill rolled his eyes, the near-horrific prickling sensation in his stomach completely forgotten.

“F-Fine.That just better not have been the k-kettle-corn from the fair.” Georgie began to pedal faster, Bill keeping pace easily astride Silver.

“I only took some of it.”

“G-Georgie!” Georgie, however, had already shot ahead a few feet, his legs pumping madly as he raced along the street. Bill grit his teeth and pedaled harder.

Had either of them turned to look back, they would’ve seen a pair of gloved hands reach up from the sewer and delicately grab the offerings, pulling them into the darkness.

Georgie kept shooting glances over his shoulder at Bill, cackling madly in a way that only a seven-year-old child can. He wasn’t even mad, not really. He just wanted to get into the competitive spirit, and what better way to do it than to race his sibling to the Barrens?

“Shit and shinola!” He heard Georgie shout as Silver’s huge front tire began to overlap his shadow. Bill grinned, standing up on the pedals and coasting past Georgie with ease.

“I’m g-going to beat you th-” This time, it wasn’t his stutter that caused him to stop. He was stopped by a sharp cry of:

“Look out!” from Georgie. Bill slammed on the brakes for the second time that morning and felt the back tire begin to skid out of control, leaving a black line on the street in its wake. He screeched to a halt, his heart hammering heavily in his ears, but-

Georgie began to cackle and he shot past Bill, nothing more than a blue blur. “Gotcha!” He crowed. If looks could kill, Georgie would have winked out of existence in an instant, leaving his bike to freewheel right off the road.

“You little sh-shit!” Bill leapt off of Silver and grabbed the handlebars, putting his head down like that of a charging bull as he tried to coax Silver out of its dormant state. He began to barrel forwards, the clink clink clink of the chains beneath him drilling into his skull. Forcing himself to breathe evenly, he kept on pedaling, sweat beading on his brow even though the morning was cold. His hot breath fogged up the air and he lowered his head, giving Silver one more good kick to keep it going as he stood on the pedals once more. He could see Georgie’s bike wobbling and pushed himself to keep on pedaling like a crazy person.

Georgie looked over his shoulder and Bill grinned as his face drained completely of color. “Gotta be fuh-faster than that!” He taunted as he crept ever closer. Georgie squealed in response and stood up on the pedals. Bill didn’t do so much as slow down.

“Bill!” Georgie shouted. Bill stuck out his tongue as he zipped past.

“Gonna b-beat ‘ya!” He knew he was the textbook definition of a big brother when he rolled into the Barrens, a huge, somewhat cocky grin in place on his face. Georgie wasn’t too far behind, but even though he was tired, it couldn’t stop the scowl that slid onto his face.

“Cheater.” He huffed, sliding off of his bike so he could properly cross his arms. Bill playfully knocked shoulders with him.

“I’m n-not the one who caused the uh-other to slam on the buh-brakes.” He quipped. Georgie sighed, but Bill could see the small smile on his lips. “Cuh-come on, the others are probably waiting.” That caused Georgie to stop hiding his smile.

“Really?” Bill didn’t have time to respond before his suspicions were confirmed.

“Oh, come on!” Richie’s voice rang through the trees. “I’m not going to die, Eds! It’s a leaf, for fuck’s sake!” Bill grinned and began to quicken his pace in the direction of the shout, already able to see flashes of Richie’s eye-bleedingly bright Hawaiian T-shirt through the trees.

Bill was about to turn to Georgie to prompt him in the direction of the gang, but the boy was already bounding ahead, the strings of his yellow hoodie bobbing unevenly on his chest. It didn’t take him long to follow close behind. The scene he walked into was one that instantly caused his already wide smile to stretch impossibly wider.

Eddie was standing on a tree stump, pointing an accusing finger at Richie as he yelled something unintelligible about diseases and animal shit, hands fiddling weakly with his inhaler. Mike however, was his polar opposite, leaning forward and tapping his fingers on his thighs, eyes fixated on the object of Eddie’s discomfort.

“You can’t just eat leaves!” Eddie shrieked, “You’re going to give me a fucking asthma attack!” Ben was laughing so hard he could hardly make any noise, his shoulders shaking with frenzied giggles. Bill could practically hear Stan roll his eyes. Richie looked up at Georgie with the biggest shit-eating grin that he had ever seen, a leaf hanging from between his lips.

“Why are you eating a leaf?” Georgie questioned between giggles. Richie held up one finger, causing Eddie to gag.

“If you swallow it, you’re dead to me.” He threatened. Richie shrugged.

“I’m already dead if I eat this anyway, if what you say is true.” He managed to say around a mouthful of plant.Stan choked on the laughter he was holding back, letting it out in a sort of gasping bark.

“Suicide attempt,” he wheezed “I can see the headlines: Local boy killed by leaf.”

“T-Tragedy.” Bill agreed. Georgie was already at Richie’s side, peering curiously at the boy who was now doubled over, holding up his glasses with one hand to keep them from falling off.

“What’re you doing?” Richie made an exaggerated gulping noise and Eddie let out a high-pitched whine.

“Don’t you dare!” Eddie’s voice was nearing a screech now, sounding just a little more frantic. He turned his wide-eyed gaze to Stan. “Did he fucking swallow it?” Stan shook his head.

“Not yet.” Georgie’s eyebrows knit together.

“What’s he doing?” Mike chuckled.

“This loser,” He pointed to Richie, causing the accused to lay a hand over his heart dramatically. “Was pretending to lick a leaf, which, of course, set Eddie off.” Stan nodded, brushing a few stray curls behind his ear before continuing Mike’s narrative.

“And so Eddie’s ranting on and on about-” He laughed, cutting himself off. He had to brace himself against a tree until his frenzied giggles stopped. “About how you can get some disease-”

“Not a disease,” Eddie cut in. “Poison. Deadly poison.” Richie rolled his eyes dramatically and began to tip his head back. “SWEAR TO GOD, RICH!”

“Right,” Stan continued, “That. Anyway, that led to Richie saying, and I quote-” Richie grinned widely.

“I’ve got this one, my man.” Richie cleared his throat, but momentarily forgot that his mouth was full of leaves. This, of course, led to him inhaling a mouthful of leaves and gagging as one got stuck in his throat. Eddie instantly began prancing about on his stump whilst screaming:

“I FUCKING KNEW IT!” Richie hammered on his chest once and coughed feebly.

“I said-” He croaked. Bill cringed as something green dripped from Richie’s mouth. Richie followed Bill’s gaze and tried to wipe it from his chin with little success, leaving a bright smear across his jawline. “I said-” He tried again, only managing to make it worse, to everyone except Eddie’s amusement. “That-” A gob of something green was visible between his two front teeth. Georgie giggled, which of course, caused Richie to grin wider. Eddie gagged again. “That I could probably eat five of them and be fine, because they’d taste better than his Mom did last night.”

“Beep beep, Richie.” Mike warned, jutting his chin out in the direction of Georgie. Richie waved him off.

“He’s fine, right Georgie?”

“Yep!” Bill rolled his eyes and moved to sit beside Mike.

“How long’s huh-he been ch-chewing on those?” Mike flashed him a wide grin.

“Few minutes? Eddie can probably give you the time to the second.” They both leaned forward as Richie turned back to Eddie. “I wish we had popcorn.” Mike mumbled. Bill covered his mouth with his hand to hide his laughter.

“You know what,” Eddie threw his hands up in the air and stalked over to where Bill sat. “It’s your funeral.” This sent both Ben and Stan back into hysterics. Richie surveyed his audience with a gleam in his eyes that made Bill more than a little bit nervous. It was the signature Trashmouth look, the ‘Hey, look at me!’ sort of look he usually put on when he was about to do something stupid. Bill wasn’t wrong.

With a theatrical sort of flourish, he tipped his head back and swallowed the leaves in one gulp. Eddie looked like he wanted to scream.

“You’re disgusting.” He spat. Richie shrugged.

“Maybe so.” He licked his lips and Bill noticed that his tongue was tinted with a toxic looking green. “Still tasted better than your Mom did last night.” With that, he bent at the waist and bowed low, holding up his glasses with a green stained finger to keep them from falling off of his nose. Georgie applauded enthusiastically while Ben and Stan hooted their approval. Eddie glared at Richie until the giggles coming from the rest of the losers ceased.

“As much as I cherish every moment spent with you,” He growled. “I really hope this isn’t the reason you called me, and my mother while doing a god awful Mexican-”

“Pancho Vanilla, senor.” He corrected, but his smile faded with his next words. “No,” He broke off into nervous laughter. “God, I wish.” Something about Richie’s tone of voice made Bill’s stomach knot. He shifted his weight from one side to the other in a sort of nervous fashion as Richie wiped his tongue on his shirt and cleared his throat once more. “Can I wait ‘til Bev’s here?” He asked.

“Sh-She’s coming?” Richie nodded.

“Si, senor.” Mike leaned further back toward the tree he was propped up against.

“Depends if her psycho dad lets her come.” He pointed out. Georgie frowned.

“Psycho Dad?” He repeated uncertainly. Richie opened his mouth to respond, but Bill was quick to cut him off.

“Beep buh-beep, Richie.” They all knew Beverly’s home life was far from perfect, but Georgie didn’t need to know why she showed up with bruises on her arms some days, or with nasty gashes on her knees. They’d all seen the scars. All, that is, except for Georgie, and they intended to keep it that way.

“Ah, he couldn’t keep me away if he tried.” All eyes turned in the direction of the feminine voice, and they all pretended not to notice how Ben sat up just a little straighter.

“Bevvie!” Georgie was the first one to move, prancing through the trees to give her a hug. Bill would never say just how much he liked to hear her laugh.

“Hey, Georgie!” She said between melodic giggles. Bill watched as Georgie tugged her into the circle by the hem of her spotted summer top, oblivious to the eyes on him. Bev’s smile faded once she saw the solemn expression on Richie’s face. “Neibolt?” He nodded meekly.

“Wanted you to be here, but you’re here now, so…” Richie rubbed at the back of his neck nervously and coughed, causing Eddie to elbow Mike in the ribs. Bill managed to overhear Eddie saying something about how:

“He’s been poisoned, see?” Mike scoffed.

“Nah, he’s fine. Just nervous.” Bill’s stomach twisted unpleasantly upon hearing that Richie, of all people, was nervous

“Yuh-Yeah.” Bill agreed. Ben and Stan had both sobered up once Beverly appeared and sat at attention. Even Eddie had calmed down enough to take his eyes off of Richie as he sat next to Georgie, Beverly on the other side of the smaller boy.

“Do you want me to start?” Beverly asked, her questioning gaze connecting with Richie’s. Richie nodded.

“Si, Senorita.” She cuffed him on the shoulder playfully before turning her attention the ensemble.

“Okay, so. Neibolt street.” The clearing was silent as she gauged their reactions. Bill silently willed away the blush on his cheeks and the way her gaze made his thoughts blur together like the words that left his mouth. She laughed nervously. “Where do I even begin?” She stood and began to pace, nervously fiddling with the folds of her dress. “Everything inside was normal, I guess, for Neibolt. It was this idiot’s idea to go into the basement.” Richie let out a small squeak of indignance.

“Your idea.” He corrected. Beverly rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. We weren’t down there for very long anyway.” Richie slumped forward and averted his eyes, mumbling something that nobody could make out under his breath. “So, we’re walking around in the pitch-darkness, both of us bitching about our lack of flashlights when-”

Richie shuddered. “The fucking singing started.”

“Singing?” Stan asked, his voice showing how much he didn’t want to know, but also how much he knew somebody had to ask.

“Yeah, singing, if you can even call it that. It came from the well past the puppet room full of clowns.” Bill was surprised that Richie could even get the words out of his mouth from the way he was shaking. “It kinda, echoed…” He pushed his glasses up into his hairline and let out a groan. “Jesus.” He har to take a few deep breaths before continuing. George shifted over to him wide eyes, sidestepping Eddie in order to get closer. “We ran after hearing that shit, we didn’t even have to say anything to each other, we just kinda-” Richie searched for the right word for a moment. “Knew.” He settled with. “Like, dunno, we read each other’s minds or something.”  

“No,” Beverly corrected, moving to tug at Richie’s shirt. “We just fucking ran.”

“True.” Richie admitted. “God, I can still fucking hear it, just the tune.” Mike propped his chin on his hands, letting his feet shuffle nervously beneath him.

“Oranges and lemons…” Bill frowned, not wanting to acknowledge the prickling sort of anxiety sparking into existence in the back of his mind. Georgie, however, didn’t seem to mind. His gaze kept shooting from Richie back to Beverly, his questioning gaze lingering on them until they looked away. Bill knew he wanted to speak up, but also knew that he could sense the tension leaking off of all of them.

“Oranges and lemons?” He watched as Georgie tried to make eye-contact with the losers. “What does that even mean?”

“It’s a nursery rhyme.” Mike answered, his voice uncertain, as though he didn’t want to keep speaking. Bill knew the feeling well. He had enough problems with speaking to know. Every time somebody teased him for his stutter and he knew that defending himself would just make it worse, he still wanted to, just to prove them wrong. Every time he would stand in front of his Mother in the dining room, hands clenched into fists that quivered at his sides and his jaw so tightly shut, he thought it would break off from the tension. Every time he would open his mouth with her eyes on him, trying to make sense of all the noise.

He thrusts his fists

“It’s about churches.”

Against the posts

“How’s that scary?”

And still insists

“Look, when you hear it while in the basement of a house that could collapse at any given moment.”

He sees the ghosts

“It’s pretty fucking terrifying.” Bill could tell Richie was fighting hard to keep his voice under control. Even Eddie looked like he was showing the boy some sympathy, his gaze infinitely softer than it had been mere minutes ago. “We hardly even talked on the way back.”

“I cuh-can see why.” Silence descended in heavy waves in the barrens, not even the birds were singing as they all thought over the words that had been shared. It was crazy, really. Batshit insane, as Richie would not-so-delicately put it. Bill couldn’t say he disagreed. “D-Do you remember the tu-tune?”

The two who had been in the house paled and shared a glance.

“It’s just a song.” Richie reasoned. Beverly nodded.

“Right.” Beverly agreed. “Not like it can follow us.” She was the first one to start humming, and after a few bars, Richie joined in, adding his voice to the haunting melody. Bill felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand on end as slowly, Mike began to try and add words, despite his lack of a proper tune.

Uneasy looks were shared between all of them, Richie and Bev’s eyes staying firmly squeezed shut, as if opening them would unleash an unspeakable evil onto the entire club. Bill wasn’t sure he disagreed with the notion, as insane as it sounded. Even after they had stopped, the notes seemed to linger in the air along with Mike’s uncertain words, leaving a near-electric sort of crackle in the air in its wake.

“That was…” Stan’s voice trailed off uncertainly. “Wow.” He settled with.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice cracked and he flushed beet red. “Shit.” He mumbled, rubbing idly at his left arm, not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes. Georgie was gripping Richie’s hand tightly and bouncing his knees.

“You can open your eyes.” The nervous way he was speaking made Bill feel a pang of sympathy. “Richie?” Richie slowly opened one eye.

“What, little dude?”

“Are you…” Georgie bit his lip. “Are you feeling okay?” He laid his hand on the other boy’s knee.

“I’m always okay!” He insisted. “It was just,” He shuddered violently. “God…”

“It’s over n-now.” Bll managed to get out. “You’re huh-here with uh-us. It’s suh-safe.” The others nodded in agreement.

“And if it isn’t, whatever was down there is getting the shit kicked out of it.” Bev cracked a smile at Mike’s words. Her green eyes widened and she blinked once, slowly, as if she was lost and just regaining her bearings. Bill offered her a small smile and tried to hide the flush his cheeks gained when she returned it.

Conversation was hesitant after that, the dark cloud of what had been said hanging over the small group, weighing on their shoulders with just how- real it was. Even Richie’s constant jokes couldn’t lighten the mood, no matter how many times he pinched Eddie, all he got were a few forced chuckles. Eddie hardly even reacted, just swatted him away and tried to refocus on the rest of the club. He ended up being the first to go, and before Bill had time to do so much as blink, he was walking his bike next to Georgie on the way home.

“They were pretty scared of that lemon song.” Georgie stated after a few moments of silence.

“Yuh-Yeah.” Bill agreed, shifting so he could push his hair back from where it hung on his forehead. “Let’s just guh-get home, okay?” He silently begged Georgie to grasp the change of topic, not wanting to have to tell him about the creature that they all knew was haunting the town of Derry.

“Okay, Billy!” Georgie chirped, straddling his blue bike. His yellow hoodie seemed to glow in the sunset, and Bill couldn’t help but smile. “Do you think Penny liked his popcorn?” Bill swung his legs over Silver’s back and began to pump.

“Puh-probably tastes better than wh-whatever’s in the sewer.” He panted between breaths. The steady clicking of Silver beneath him helped ease his mind.

“Sewer popcorn.” Georgie mused. Bill grinned at that.

“Gross.” Let the kid have his fun. After all, imaginary friends were harmless, and a clown in a sewer couldn’t be the worst thing in Derry.

[my-one-love-is-music]

Be My Player 2? Ch. 34

Also on AO3!

Keith ran his hands over the shirt and flannel he was wearing. He bit his lip, trying to keep his nerves under control. He ruffled his hair again, feeling it wasn’t going to look good no matter what he did.

“Keith?” Shiro asked, appearing behind him in the mirror. He smiled and wrapped his arms around his waist, perching his chin on his shoulder.

He sighed and leaned back into the touch.

“You have nothing to worry about. You know that, right?” Shiro asked with a small smile.

Keith met his eyes in the mirror. “But what if they don’t like me?”

Shiro grinned and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “I think you’re forgetting about the number of times we played Voltron together. And then there was the whole drunk job application party that we had over Skype.”

“Yeah, but that was all over the computer. What if they don’t like me?”

“They’ll love you. You really don’t have anything to worry about, Keith. It’s going to be fine. We’re going to have a great night and I really think you’ll like the pub we’re going to. It’s mine, Lance, and Allura’s favorite spot.”

Keith bit his lip and ducked his head.

“Come on,” Shiro said, trying to tug him away from the mirror. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“Okay,” Keith mumbled. He straightened in Shiro’s hold and took a deep breath. He met his own gaze in the mirror and narrowed his eyes, nodding once before he turned to face Shiro who was smiling at him.

“You’re not going into battle, don’t worry.” Shiro held out his hand and Keith linked their fingers together, shutting off the bathroom light.

Shiro tugged him down the hall and opened the front door for him. Keith paused at the edge of the front step as Shiro locked the door and took a deep breath, enjoying the lingering warmth in the air as the sun sank closer to the horizon.

Shiro placed a warm palm at his lower back and Keith opened his eyes, giving him a smile as they descended the two steps to the sidewalk and crossed the small yard to Shiro’s car in the drive.

Keith climbed into the passenger seat and sank into the broken-in leather. He wiped his warm palms on his pants. Shiro started the car and backed out of the drive, turning down the street.

Keith bit his lip and stared out the window at the other houses they passed, trying not to focus too much on the night that was to come.

He stiffened when warmth slipped across his palm. He glanced down and found Shiro’s hand gripping his. He looked up and found Shiro staring straight ahead, a smile pulling the corner of his lips up.

Keith smiled and slipped his fingers between Shiro’s, giving his hand a squeeze. He relaxed back in his seat, looking at the houses they passed with less anxiety and a greater sense of calm radiating from his heart.

~~

Keith wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when Shiro told him they were going to a pub, but the small location with minimal parking had Shiro written all over it.

“What do you think?” Shiro asked, locking the car behind them as he took Keith’s hand in his.

“It’s nice. Very you, if I do say so myself.”

Shiro chuckled. “Just wait until you see the inside,” he said happily, tugging Keith towards the narrow wooden door.

A few people standing outside smoking cigarettes gave them curious looks, but Keith didn’t think too much of it. Not until they stepped inside and a few people glanced their way, pausing their conversations or games of pool, sizing him up and down.

Shiro didn’t notice, waving at the bar and a few people as he made his way to the back corner, keeping Keith’s hand locked with his all the while.

“Shiro! Keith! Finally!” Lance proclaimed, jumping up from his seat in the booth.

“We’re not that late,” Shiro huffed, guiding Keith towards the booth and keeping an arm around his waist.

Keith glanced at the other patrons as they slowly resumed their conversations and games, glad the attention was drifting away from them.

“You know,” Lance murmured rubbing his chin as he looked Keith up and down. “I thought you’d be taller.”

“Lance,” Allura huffed. She shoved him to the side and got to her feet, holding out her hand to Keith. “I’m so glad we’re finally getting to meet in person, Keith.”

Keith smiled. “Me too. Thanks, Allura.”

“Why don’t we sit down and figure out what to order, I’m starved,” Shiro said, nudging Keith into one side of the booth before sliding in after him.

“If you’re so hungry you should’ve gotten here sooner,” Lance said, swiping the menu Shiro was reaching for.

“Come on Lance,” Shiro huffed, swiping the next two and handing one to Keith. “I was just giving you extra time to decide since it always takes you forever to order.”

“Only because I want to be certain of my choice,” he protested.

“You order the same thing every time,” Allura sighed and shook her head.

“Well maybe I just want to be extra sure I’m not in the mood for anything else,” Lance shot back, lifting his menu up to his face.

Keith smiled and flipped through the short list of menu items. Even though it wasn’t extensive everything sounded delicious.

“Who’s going to order anyway?” Shiro murmured, flipping to the back with the drinks list.

Keith glanced up and saw Lance and Allura share a look.

“I think it should be you,” Lance said, pointing his finger at Shiro.

Shiro glanced up and blinked when he saw Lance looking at him expectantly. “Why me?”

“Because you got here late,” Allura offered. “It’s only polite.”

“Keith got here late, too,” he stammered.

Allura sighed and shook her head, disappointed. “That would be rude of us to make Keith order when he’s our guest. No, it should be you.”

Shiro pursed his lips. “Fine,” he grumbled. “What do you want?”

Allura smiled and pulled a pen from her purse. She swiped one of the napkins from the holder and scribbled down her order before passing it to Lance who did the same. He slid the napkin over to Keith, who took it and wrote down his food and drink order.

“Are you sure you’re okay taking care of this yourself?” Keith asked, handing the napkin to Shiro.

“Of course he is,” Allura said. “We trade off taking the order all the time. And he’ll really just have to bring the drinks back for us since they have someone take care of the food and bring that around to our table.”

“Uh, huh…” Keith said, glancing between her and Shiro.

“I won’t be long. They’re usually pretty quick about getting orders in,” Shiro said, pressing a kiss to the side of the Keith’s head before he stood from the booth and headed towards the bar.

Keith watched Allura wave her hands at the bartender and make a quick hand sign. The man with bright orange hair and a mustache nodded and scurried to the opposite end of the bar, engaging in conversation with a couple of the patrons as Shiro approached the counter.

“I’m guessing this is your cue to threaten my life if I do anything to hurt Shiro,” Keith said.

Lance grinned and placed his palms on the table. “You bet it-”

“No,” Allura interrupted. “We’re not going to have any shovel talks.”

“But why not?” Lance whined. “Shiro got one from Pidge’s friends. It’s our turn.”

Allura huffed and turned back to Keith. “We’re not going to give you a shovel talk. I just wanted to tell you that I’m really glad you and Shiro are together and managed to find each other. It was completely by chance you found each other that night when you were gaming and I know how much happiness you’ve brought to Shiro’s life since you came into it.”

“He’s made me happy, too,” Keith murmured, glancing at Shiro who was still trying to wave down the man at the bar who was going everywhere but to him.

“I really hope you can both be together like you deserve. Shiro’s been looking forward to Spring Break for so long because it meant you’d be reunited with each other,” Allura added.

“I’ve been looking forward to it, too,” Keith said, scratching the back of his neck as he felt his cheeks heat up. “After being here for a few days already, I really can’t imagine being anywhere Shiro isn’t.”

He glanced up and found Allura smiling at him.

“I was really hoping you’d say something like that, because I have an idea.”

“Woah, wait. What do you mean you have an idea?” Lance asked, turning towards his friend scandalized. “Why didn’t you tell me about this idea?”

“Because I don’t think you would’ve been able to keep this idea to yourself if I told you about it earlier and I really want to make this a surprise for Shiro,” Allura huffed.

“Okay, fine,” Lance admitted. “Just tell us before Shiro gets back.”

They all glanced over at the counter where the bartender was finally taking down Shiro’s food and drink order.

“Okay, okay,” she sighed. “I was thinking—since we’re all getting ready to graduate and we’re already looking for jobs—that it might be a good idea for you to apply for jobs here in Florida.”

Keith blinked at her. “You want me to apply for jobs here?”

Allura bit her lip to try and stop her grin and nodded. “I think it would be amazing if you got a job down here because then you could be near Shiro. I’m not saying that you have to move in with him or anything, but the two of you have been through so much and I’d love to see you be closer after the months you’ve spent apart.”

Keith opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the words to put to his tumultuous feelings. The idea wasn’t bad. He wasn’t against it at all and actually really liked the idea of moving down to Florida and getting a job and being close to Shiro.

“I…I really like that idea actually. And I think a part of me may have already been considering it. Being with Shiro these past few days…it’s been like a dream come true and I really can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

Allura beamed. “I’m so happy to hear that. And you don’t have to worry about this getting out to him. We’ll make sure to keep it a secret. Even with Lance’s big mouth,” she said with a soft chuckle.

“Hey, don’t expect me to let the cat out of the bag on this one. I’m going to keep this completely under the radar. Just you wait and see,” Lance huffed.

Keith and Allura chuckled.

“Thanks,” Keith said, looking between them. “I really appreciate you getting behind this idea and supporting us so much.”

“Of course!” Allura scoffed. “The two of you are clearly happy together and I don’t want anything to come between you. Not figuratively or literally.”

She glanced to the side and cleared her throat, leaning back against the booth cushion. Keith frowned, following where her gaze had been to Shiro approaching their table with four glasses in his hands.

“Well that took a lot longer than I expected,” Shiro muttered, gently setting the glasses in the middle of the table. “Usually Coran isn’t so flustered when he’s taking orders and managing the other patrons.”

Allura shrugged and grabbed her beer. “Maybe he just got behind on things. It seems a little busier than normal in here.”

Shiro raised and eyebrow and looked around the pub at the small groups at the bar and around the pool table. “I think you might be imagining things Allura.”

“If you say so,” she said voice light.

“Anyway, what did I miss? What were you talking about while I was gone?”

“Nothing really,” Allura said.

“We were just giving your boyfriend the shovel talk,” Lance said into his glass.

Allura elbowed him in the side, pulling a hiss from his lips.

“They didn’t grill you too much, did they?” Shiro asked, wrapping an arm around Keith’s shoulders.

He smiled and shook his head, snuggling further into his side.

“Good,” Shiro said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“You know what we haven’t done in a while?” Lance asked, perking up. “We haven’t played much Voltron lately because of school and applications and everything else. We should do a round or two sometime this week.”

“Why not tonight after dinner?” Allura asked. “We’ve got plenty of time. As long as Keith brought his computer.”

“Of course I did,” Keith scoffed.

“Sounds like a plan,” Shiro said.

~~

“Come on, come on, come on,” Keith chanted, frantically pressing the spacebar on his computer as he fought the enemy they were facing.

“That’s not going to kill them any faster, Keith,” Allura huffed, swooping in to take out a new line of fighters and clearing the path for Lance’s Lion to burst through and shoot a laser blast at the soldiers farther back in ranks.

“This battle hasn’t been easy,” Shiro said from the opposite end of the couch. “But I know we can win this. We just have to be smart and make sure they don’t get any other serious attacks in.”

“Easy for you to say,” Keith quipped. “Your Lion is practically a tank.”

“There’s a difference between being smart and having a strong Lion,” Shiro huffed. “I’m just not as reckless as you are.”

Lance snickered over their headsets.

“Can we focus, please?” Allura said, barrel rolling across the screen before she dived and swiped through several lines of soldiers. “I don’t doubt that I could take all of these fighters out myself, but it would be nice to have at least a little help.”

Keith gunned his thrusters and raced forward, shooting past Allura for an attack. He dove under and around three enemy planes, dragging his claws along the sides to break their engines open and leave them as exploding masses in the sky.

“We’re almost there,” Shiro said, leaning forward. “We just have to get past the remainder of the troops and get the egg.”

“No problem,” Lance and Keith said together.

There was silence across the line before Allura sighed.

“I’m getting that first,” Lance snapped, taking off across the battlefield.

“You wish,” Keith scoffed, racing after him. “We both know who’s more skilled in getting past ranks of soldiers.”

“Guys,” Shiro said. He looked up and glared at Keith, but he ignored his gaze, more concerned with beating Lance to the prize.

He dived around the laser blasts, grinning as he pulled ahead of Lance.

“Not so fast,” Lance huffed, pulling up underneath him.

Keith swerved, barely avoiding a collision. He focused his gaze ahead, only caring about the rapidly closing distance between them and the egg.

He sucked in a breath when he saw one of the fighter planes, aiming for Lance.

“Shit,” he hissed, jerking his Lion to the left. He slammed into Lance’s Lion, forcing him off course.

“What the hell, Keith?!” Lance shouted.

Keith tried to force his Lion upward, but the laser blast from the fighter hit his right flank and sent him veering off course.

“Damn it, Keith,” Shiro said, voice tight.

“I’m fine,” he huffed. “Just get the egg. I’ll regroup in a second. It’s not that bad.”

He glanced at his stats. He wasn’t doing great and another hit like that would take him to the ground. He wasn’t sure what would happen to him if he crashed. It had never happened before. He just hoped they made it out of this before that could happen.

As the ship that attacked him readied another strike, Allura’s laser slammed into it, sending it spiraling to the ground to take out rows of soldiers.

“That’s how you do it,” she huffed.

“Thanks,” Keith said with a chuckle.

Allura flanked his right and Shiro came up on his left. Lance was already several miles ahead and Keith was relieved to watch him sweep up the egg from where it was sitting.

“Thank god,” Keith muttered as the scene dissolved around them and they were taken to the main base.

Something brushed up against his leg and he looked up to find Shiro watching him with a raised eyebrow. Keith grinned and Shiro narrowed his eyes at him.

“Just how close were you to dying?” Shiro asked.

Lance and Allura fell silent.

“Uhhhhh,” Keith said.

“Well, this has been fun guys,” Shiro said. “But I need to punish my boyfriend for being an idiot.”

Lance made a noise in the back of his throat while Allura cackled before they both signed off.

Keith pulled his headphones from his head and set them on the coffee table with his laptop. He stared at Shiro for a moment before bolting from the couch.

Shiro was after him in seconds. “Keith!”

Keith ducked around the corner into the kitchen and shoved the glass doors open to jump out onto the patio, avoiding Shiro’s first grab for his shirt. He wasn’t really sure where he was planning to go or if he thought he was going to jump the fence, but he wasn’t ready for whatever retribution Shiro had to offer.

He made it down the steps and halfway across the yard before arms wrapped around his stomach and pulled him against a solid chest.

“Got you,” Shiro gasped, trying to catch his breath.

Keith squirmed in his grip fighting to get away. “Let me go.”

“Nope,” Shiro said, finally getting himself under control. “I worked hard to catch you and I’m never letting you go.”

Keith’s heart skipped, feeling like Shiro was talking about so much more than just their chase around the house.

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