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fattybattysblog · 2 months ago

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Friend, Please (Chapter 19)

Fandom: Kirby/Kirby Right Back At Ya!

Gen | Teen

Characters: Meta Knight, Dark Meta Knight, Velka | Arcta Knight (OC)

Summary: They should be used to desperate people making horrible decisions by now, but somehow it always goes too far before anyone does anything about it. A person fell prey to the empty promises of dark, powerful hearts to become Arcta Knight. As they make their mark on Dreamland, Meta Knight grows anxious about the encroaching danger and leaves suddenly to prepare for a duel like no other.

AO3 | SqWA

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Swordfighting, Original Villain Character, Gijinka Kirby Characters

@ocappreciationtag

(Cover art done by Dean, edited together by me)

Nightmares

The echo of the Warp Star's departure faded into the distance, leaving behind only silence in the darkened chamber. Meta Knight stood motionless for a moment, staring at the empty space where Escargoon had vanished, carried away toward safety.

Dark Meta Knight shifted beside him, rolling his shoulders as though to shake off the lingering tension from their recent encounter with the Vinescourge. The faint scent of sap still clung to the air, a reminder of the battle they had won. There was no victory to celebrate yet. Not when the true enemy still awaited them in the heart of this forsaken place.

“Well, that was touching,” Dark muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “But we’ve got bigger problems ahead. We’re wasting time.”

Meta Knight’s grip on Galaxia tightened, the familiar weight of the blade in his hand bringing him focus. “I know.”

Without another word, Meta Knight turned toward the far end of the chamber. The only exit to this chamber was the way they came. A wide, jagged opening that led back up to the rest of the ship. The walls were lined with dark, pulsing vines that seemed to twitch in the low light.

Dark followed, his armored boots making heavy thuds as they moved toward the opening. “What’s the plan, Meta? Charge in and hope for the best?” His voice held a mocking edge, but there was an underlying seriousness to his question. They both knew that rushing headlong into Nightmare’s lair was more of a death wish than it was a plan.

Meta Knight didn’t answer right away, his mind racing through the possibilities. They were walking into the heart of Nightmare’s domain, where the villain had the advantage in both terrain and power. Nightmare was wise using their desperation against them, acting as soon as he had a key to the remaining Star Warriors past.

Well, that past was gone. There was nothing to stop him now. Meta’s fists tightened, gauntlets creaking.

“We’ve been fortunate to get this far. To save someone and get them out of here…” Meta took a deep breath, “perhaps that luck will follow us forward.”

Dark scoffed. “I don’t believe in luck.”

Meta glanced over at him, his yellow eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. “Then believe in this: Nightmare will try to use everything in his arsenal to stop us. We are worn down, we are unprepared. But we have one last thing up our sleeves.”

As they spoke, they passed through the old halls, past the guards and monsters they had already slain. Reminiscent of the Halberd’s halls the last time he saw them. He clenched his fist tighter.

“That’s not very promising, Meta,” Dark’s shoulders tightened. He seemed aware of that final trick, but it didn’t bring him any ease. He was realizing just how screwed they were and just how serious Meta was about not escaping this place. He felt something heavy take a place in his stomach.

They entered the passage leading to the helm of the ship. Gradually, the temperature seemed to drop. A frigid chill crept along the steel walls, and the low hum of machinery buzzed in the background. It was an unnatural cold, the kind that gnawed at the bones. It was like stepping out into the frigid chill of space itself.

Dark’s eyes scanned the shadows, his sword at the ready. “So, what are we expecting? More vines? Tentacles? A nightmare in the literal sense?”

Meta Knight’s gaze was steady as they ventured further into the corridor, his eyes focused ahead. “Nightmare feeds on fear. He’ll try to break us before we even reach him.”

The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly before them, twisting and turning as if the ship itself were trying to disorient them. The deeper they went, the more the walls seemed to close in, the oppressive energy growing thicker with each step. Faint whispers echoed through the darkness—inaudible voices that seemed to scratch at the edges of their minds.

“Just another day in paradise,” Dark muttered under his breath, though there was a note of tension in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

Without warning, a flicker of movement caught Meta’s attention, just at the edge of his peripheral vision. He turned sharply, raising Galaxia defensively, but saw nothing—only shadows. But he knew better than to dismiss it.

“He’s watching us,” Meta murmured, his voice low and calm.

Dark growled, his grip tightening on his blade. “I’m ready.”

They continued down the path, the oppressive weight of Nightmare’s presence pressing down on them more and more. It felt as though the ship itself was alive, twisting and contorting to suit its master’s will. Every sound was amplified—the creak of metal, the distant hum of machinery, and their own footsteps, sharp and ringing against the cold, steel floor.

Finally, the passage opened up into a vast, dark chamber. It was cavernous, with no clear end in sight. The walls were lined with strange, pulsing growths, like tumors that had spread throughout the ship. At the far end of the room, a figure loomed, shrouded in shadows but unmistakable.

Nightmare.

He was waiting for them.

The air was thick with the scent of cosmic dust and the oppressive weight of Nightmare’s presence. Meta Knight and Dark Meta Knight stood shoulder to shoulder, their capes billowing in the unnatural winds that swept through this final chamber. In the distance, Nightmare loomed like a dark specter, his form twisting and shimmering with dark power.

With a low, malevolent laugh, Nightmare raised his hand, his fingers curling as though pulling strings on a puppet. From the shadows of the ground itself, creatures began to emerge, one by one, their twisted forms slithering and crawling into the open. Nightmarish beasts—spiked, misshapen, and grotesque—tore their way out of the ground. Some were covered in thick black scales, others writhed like shadows, their glowing red eyes locked onto the two Knights.

Meta Knight tightened his grip on Galaxia, eyes narrowing as the monsters formed a solid wall between them and Nightmare. “He’s stalling us,” he muttered, his voice low but steady.

Dark Meta Knight sneered, brandishing his blade with a flick of his wrist. “Then we cut through.”

In an instant, the horde of monsters charged, a writhing, snarling mass of claws, teeth, and shadowed limbs. The ground trembled beneath the weight of their approach, their collective growls and roars like the rumble of an impending storm.

Meta Knight was the first to move, leaping into the air, his wings snapping open as he slashed downward with Galaxia, slicing through the first creature that lunged at him. The beast let out a shrill screech before dissolving into black mist, but another took its place almost immediately. He pivoted, sidestepping a spiked tail that whipped toward him, cutting the monster in two before it could land a hit.

Dark Meta Knight wasn’t far behind. He charged into the fray with reckless abandon, his sword moving like a blur of steel as he hacked and slashed his way through the mob. His blade tore through the nearest creature, sending it flying into two others. He barely dodged a set of claws that scraped at his helmet, turning with a snarl to deliver a crushing blow to its owner.

“These things are endless!” Dark growled, cleaving through a beast with thick, armored skin. The beast howled as it fell, but Dark’s frustration only grew. No matter how many they cut down, more appeared, their numbers seemingly infinite.

Meta Knight landed beside him, the air crackling with the remnants of a slashed monster fading into nothingness. “We don’t have time for this,” he said, scanning the mass of creatures in front of them. His gaze shifted momentarily to Nightmare, who was watching them from a distance, his grin widening with every passing second. “He’s toying with us.”

“That bastard, I’m tired of waiting. I’ll deal with him now!” Dark snapped, his sword glowing with a dark energy as he charged forward once more. His blade cut a swath through the horde, each strike more forceful than the last. His frustration gave way to brutal efficiency, and for a moment, the tide seemed to slow.

But just as they gained ground, the monsters retaliated, their ranks swelling as new, even more twisted forms emerged from the shadows. Massive, hulking beasts with spiked carapaces charged at them, while smaller, faster creatures darted around, aiming for their legs, their claws scraping against armor.

Meta Knight parried a blow from one of the larger monsters, gritting his teeth as the force of the impact pushed him back a few steps. His wings flared out, and with a quick twist, he dodged another incoming swipe, retaliating with a slash that sent the beast crashing to the ground.

“I’ll take the left!” Meta shouted, rushing toward a cluster of creatures that were swarming from the side.

Dark Meta Knight gave a curt nod, moving to cover the right flank. Together, they fought with deadly precision, their movements fluid and practiced, despite the overwhelming odds. Every swing of their blades cut down another foe, but the monsters were relentless, clawing and snapping at their heels.

With a mutual nod, the two Knights moved in unison, their swords flashing as they tore through the creatures in a coordinated assault. Their movements were a blur of steel and force, cutting down any monster that dared to stand in their way.

They fought like a force of nature, unstoppable and relentless. The horde thinning, the ground littered with the dissolving remains of the fallen creatures. Nightmare’s grin faltered, his confidence wavering as he realized his army was no match for the combined might of the two Knights.

And then, with one final, powerful slash, the last of the monsters fell.

Meta Knight and Dark Meta Knight stood side by side, breathing heavily as the battlefield fell silent. Their blades dripped with the remnants of the creatures they had slain, and though they were battered and bruised, they were far from defeated.

But the true battle had yet to begin.

Nightmare, still looming in the distance, let out a low, rumbling growl. “Impressive,” he said, his voice echoing through the air like thunder. “But you’ve only delayed the inevitable.”

Meta Knight tightened his grip on Galaxia, his eyes locked on Nightmare’s distant form. "Then let's end this."

The air in the room grew heavier, the shadows deepening around them as if the darkness itself was alive, drawn to Nightmare's presence. The villain’s form shifted and flickered, an ever-changing mass of fear and malevolence. The shine from his shades was all they had to know his gaze. He stared down at them from the far end of the chamber, his voice echoing through the darkness like a sinister lullaby.

“I suppose we should…” Nightmare’s voice dripped with malice. “I’ve been expecting you, Meta Knight.”

Meta Knight’s eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, his sword at the ready. His lips were pressed tight, the intensity of his glare speaking his mind.

Nightmare’s laughter filled the chamber, a sound that sent a shiver down their spines. “Oh, little knight… You’ve been a thorn in my side for far too long. But no matter. You will soon learn that no one can escape their nightmares.”

The darkness around them began to shift, moving like a living entity, coiling and twisting as Nightmare summoned the full force of his power. Meta Knight raised his sword, ready to face whatever horrors lay ahead. This was it.

Dark Meta Knight gripped his sword with both hands, his knuckles white under his gauntlets. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to choke on. His eyes narrowed, but behind the confidence in his stance was an unspoken understanding.

They both knew what they were up against.

Meta Knight stepped forward, his cape flowing behind him as he lifted Galaxia, its golden edge catching an unnatural light in the chamber. The blade gleamed faintly, but even its legendary power felt insignificant in the face of the monstrosity before them.

Nightmare’s amorphous form shifted and writhed, his smug expression only half-formed, like a mask barely clinging to the swirling mass of darkness that was his true essence. He was fixated on the two knights with a mixture of amusement and contempt, as though they were nothing more than a passing distraction in his eternal reign of terror. It seemed as if space reflected in his shades despite nothing but shadows in the room.

“You know these toys of yours can’t harm me,” Nightmare’s voice slithered through the air, low and mocking. “Why waste your strength?”

Meta’s grip tightened on his sword, his resolve hardening even as doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind. They all knew the truth: regular weapons could do little against something like Nightmare. He was an entity born of fear and shadows, a force that defied reality. But standing here, waiting to be swallowed by that darkness, was not an option.

He didn’t need to say anything. They had come this far—they wouldn’t go without a fight.

Without warning, Dark Meta Knight let out a furious roar, his body launching forward like a black lightning bolt. His blade cut through the air with a sharp hiss, aimed straight at Nightmare’s center. The strike was fast, fueled by rage and defiance, but as the blade met Nightmare’s form, it was as if he’d struck a cloud. The sword passed through, the mass of shadow and smoke rippling but undisturbed.

Nightmare’s laughter filled the chamber, booming and echoing off the walls. It was a sound that crawled under the skin, gnawing at their minds.

“Pathetic,” Nightmare sneered. His form twisted, and with a flick of his arm, tendrils of darkness shot out, coiling like serpents toward Dark Meta Knight.

Dark reacted instantly, raising his sword in a defensive arc, slashing through the writhing shadows as they reached for him. But the tendrils only split and reformed, grasping at his legs and dragging him down. With a guttural snarl, he struggled, hacking at the shadows, trying to free himself, but more and more emerged from the ground, wrapping around his body like living chains.

Meta Knight dashed forward, his cape transforming into wings as he leaped into the air. With a swift, precise slash, Galaxia cut through the tendrils binding Dark, freeing him for the moment. Dark staggered back to his feet, his breath ragged.

“You’re welcome,” Meta Knight said curtly, landing beside him.

Dark grunted in response, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Don’t get used to saving me, Meta.”

Nightmare’s laughter rang out again, louder, more sinister. “You’re delaying the inevitable. Just surrender, Meta Knight. I’ll make sure you’re treated… kindly.”

Meta Knight’s eyes flared with anger at the suggestion.

“We’re not done yet!” Meta shouted, charging forward with desperate defiance. With a powerful leap, he brought Galaxia down in a sweeping arc, aiming for Nightmare’s core once more. The blade glowed, infused with the energy of the stars, and for a brief moment, it seemed like the strike might connect, might do something—anything.

But Nightmare shifted again, his form splitting into a swarm of shadowy figures, each one cackling as they surrounded the knights. The blade passed through empty air once more, and Meta stumbled.

From the corner of his eye, Dark saw an opening. A moment of hesitation in Nightmare’s defense. Without thinking, he darted forward, his blade poised to strike at the nearest shadow. But just as his sword connected, Nightmare’s shadow vanished. A puff of foul mist and nothing more. The lashing tendrils launched from the fissure and ensnared Dark as soon as he faltered.

“Damn it!” Dark cursed, thrashing violently as the shadows constricted around him.

Meta Knight turned, eyes wide. “Dark!”

Before he could move to help, a set of stars crashed down on him with a force that knocked Meta Knight off his feet and sent him crashing to the ground. His sword clattered away, just out of reach.

Nightmare loomed over them, his form twisting and expanding, more menacing than ever before. The cosmic storm beneath his massive cloak raged, lightning crackling and thunder rolling in the unnatural, star-streaked darkness. His sneer widened into a terrifying grin, filled with malice as he glared down at the two knights. “You can’t win, Meta Knight,” he hissed, his voice dripping with contempt. “You should’ve known better.”

Meta Knight staggered to his feet, his body aching from the strain of the battle. His gaze flicked toward Galaxia, just within reach. The sword, once glowing with the power of the stars, now felt like little more than a fragile defense. He wasn’t fighting to win anymore—he was fighting to hold the line. As long as he stood, he could keep Nightmare away from Dreamland. That’s all that mattered now.

He’d do it until the end.

Dark Meta Knight wasn’t faring much better. He was struggling, caught in the grip of Nightmare’s dark tendrils. His movements were sluggish, each attempt to swing his sword met with resistance as the shadows tightened around him like chains. He let out a furious snarl, his blade cutting through the dark matter again and again, but for every tendril he severed, two more took its place. His strength was waning, his form battered and beaten from the relentless assault.

The room darkened further, oppressive shadows deepening with each breath as Nightmare’s form swelled, his towering figure distorting the very fabric of reality. His shades gleamed with malevolent glee, the eerie glow flickering across the chamber as if feeding on the growing terror. The ground beneath the two knights began to tremble, and a low rumble echoed through the space, shaking their resolve.

With a deafening crack, the floor split open beneath their feet, jagged fissures ripping through the metal and stone. Darkness poured from the cracks like an unstoppable flood, spilling across the ground in thick, oily waves. The air itself grew heavier, as though the very atmosphere was suffocating under Nightmare’s power.

Meta Knight’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, grip tightening around Galaxia. This wasn’t real.

“There’s no way…” Meta muttered, his voice cold but edged with doubt. “He wouldn’t destroy his own ship… not for a one-sided fight like this.”

Dark Meta Knight shot him a glare, his blade already raised. “Illusions,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “It has to be.”

But the doubt crept in as the fissures widened, and the ground truly seemed to crumble beneath their feet. Darkness coiled and lashed out in the form of inky tendrils, whipping across the chamber with deadly precision. The two knights leaped back just in time as one of the tendrils slammed into the ground where they had been standing, shattering the metal floor.

Illusion or not, the danger felt real.

The tendrils came faster, striking with lethal intent. Meta Knight dodged to the side, parrying the onslaught with expert precision, each movement calculated and measured. His wings flared as he vaulted into the air, Galaxia flashing as it cut through the dark energy, but it was relentless—each severed tendril seemed to spawn two more.

Dark Meta Knight wasn’t faring any better. He slashed at the tendrils with raw aggression, his strikes wild and forceful. But the more he fought, the more tangled he became in the overwhelming darkness. Sweat dripped down his brow, and his breathing became labored. The shadows seemed to cling to him, pulling him deeper into the nightmare.

Nightmare’s laughter echoed around them, a guttural, chilling sound that seemed to reverberate through the walls of their minds. “You cannot escape this,” he hissed, his voice low and sinister. “You cannot escape me.”

Meta Knight shook his head, trying to dispel the ringing in his ears, but the room spun around him, warping and twisting in a way that made his head throb. The walls blurred, and the shadows deepened, swallowing everything in sight. His body felt heavy, sluggish, as if the very air was pressing down on him.

And then he saw it.

That mask—the harlequin mask.

Meta’s heart froze in his chest. His wide eyes locked onto the figure before him, his pulse thundering in his ears. The twisted grin etched across the mask was all too familiar. Behind it, piercing violet lights stared back at him, cold and malevolent. It couldn’t be.

Velka.

Meta’s breath hitched. It’s not real. It can’t be real.

But there she stood. Some twisted vision of her. Grinning as though she hadn’t been slain, as if the blade that had ended her life hadn’t left her body in ruins. Yet the evidence of her demise was there: the broken latch of her cape, the deep wound on her neck, jagged and nearly severing her head from her body. She shouldn’t be standing. She couldn’t be standing.

And yet, she was.

“Stay back! Get away from me!” Dark Meta Knight’s voice cut through the haze, frantic and raw, but distant—so far away that it was as though they were in two entirely different battles. Meta couldn’t see him. The fog of the illusion obscured everything, the nightmare of Velka’s presence consuming his attention.

Meta Knight tried to tear his eyes away, tried to refocus his thoughts, but it was futile. The harlequin mask loomed in front of him, demanding his attention, dragging his mind back into the past, back to the wound that he was trying to ignore until their job was done.

She’s dead.

But she was still moving.

Velka’s phantom lunged at him, faster than it had any right to. Meta barely raised his sword in time, the clash of metal against metal reverberating through the room. The force of the strike sent him staggering back, his wings flaring to regain balance. The weight behind the attack—it felt real, too real to be just an illusion. His arms shook as he parried, the weight of guilt and memory pressing down on him. The nightmare was playing with him, twisting the knife in old wounds.

“You’re not real!” Meta shouted, his voice sharp and edged with panic as he slashed at the illusion. Galaxia cut through the air, and yet Velka was still there, her eyes burning behind that accursed mask. Each strike she threw felt heavier than the last, and his sword trembled under the weight of her blows.

He fought her back with everything he had, each strike a desperate attempt to sever the illusion, to tear through the lie. But with every clash, with every glint of that harlequin mask, the ghost of her presence grew more oppressive, more suffocating.

Meta’s vision blurred. His thoughts spiraled.

Why are you still here? Why won’t you die? I couldn’t save you, I tried. You wanted to die.

“Meta! Don’t—” Dark’s voice was there again, but Meta couldn’t focus. He couldn’t listen. Velka was too close, too real.

The illusion closed in on him, her blade swinging in wide arcs, and Meta met her with everything he had, Galaxia flashing like a beacon in the darkness. The two figures moved in a deadly dance, swords clashing and sparks flying with every blow. Meta’s breath was ragged, his limbs shaking with effort.

She shouldn’t be this strong. The weight behind each of her attacks was far more than a memory’s ghost should wield. Meta gritted his teeth, his grip tightening around Galaxia’s hilt as he forced himself forward, slashing at the illusion with renewed determination.

He spun, his blade catching her across the side, sending her stumbling. For a moment, her form wavered, like a mirage on the edge of reality. Yes. He’d almost broken the illusion. He could end this.

But as he moved in for the final blow, everything shifted.

Velka’s mask flickered. Her body flickered.

And in that brief moment of clarity, Meta Knight saw the truth.

It wasn’t Velka at all.

Without warning, Meta’s blade collided with Dark’s.

Meta’s breath caught in his throat as the illusion shattered, revealing the all-too-real figure of Dark standing before him, his own sword raised defensively. Dark’s chest heaved with exertion, his armor dented and scratched, blood dripping from a deep gash on his side where Meta’s blade had struck him.

“Dark…” Meta whispered, horror flooding through him. What have I done?

Dark Meta Knight stumbled back, his hand pressed against the wound in his side. His face twisted in pain and fury, his eyes burning with accusation. “You cut me!” His voice was ragged, strained, barely holding back a snarl. “You could’ve killed me!”

Meta dropped his guard, his mind spinning as the last remnants of the illusion faded away. His body still trembled from the intensity of the fight, but now the weight of guilt crushed down on him, heavier than any blow he had endured.

Meta tried to speak, his words faltering as he took in the sight of the blood staining Dark’s armor. This is my fault. “Nightmare… he made me see…”

Dark’s eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp with fury. “You saw what he wanted you to see,” he hissed, wincing as the pain in his side flared up again. “I get it… dammit…”

Meta’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, shaky gasps. He had fallen for Nightmare’s trap. He had been so consumed by the illusion of Velka, by his own memories and guilt, that he hadn’t even realized who he was attacking.

And now Dark Meta Knight was bleeding because of it.

“I didn’t—”

Dark’s glare cut him off as he struggled to stay on his feet.

The weight of the attack hung between them, heavy and suffocating. Meta’s grip tightened on Galaxia, but his strength was gone, drained by the realization of what he had just done. His gaze flicked to the wound on Dark’s side, the blood still dripping onto the cold metal floor.

Nightmare’s laughter echoed in the distance, low and sinister. “How easy it is to turn you against each other,” he taunted, his voice slithering through the shadows like a venomous snake. “You’re nothing more than puppets, dancing to my whims.” Nightmare’s laughter grew louder, filling the chamber. “Your minds are so fragile… so easily twisted…”

Meta Knight and Dark Meta Knight stood side by side, their breathing heavy, their bodies bruised from the blows they had unwittingly inflicted on each other. All this did was show him that it really was futile. No matter what they did here, it wouldn’t amount to anything.

Cold light began to gather around Nightmare’s form, swirling like galaxies being born in the black void of space. A series of stars coalesced above him, shimmering with raw, destructive power. They orbited around his hand as he raised it, the energy building to a terrifying crescendo.

Meta Knight’s breath came in ragged gasps, but he stood tall, even as he knew what was coming. This was it. The final blow. Nightmare intended to end it in spectacular fashion—a relentless barrage of starfire that would pummel them into oblivion, leaving nothing but dust. But Meta did not flinch. As far as he saw it, it was deserved. It was about time something came back to him for his mistakes.

If this was the end, he would meet it with honor. Unwavering.

The stars above Nightmare pulsed once, twice, ready to rain destruction down on them both. The swirling maelstrom of power cast long shadows across Meta’s face, but he did not waver. His eyes hardened behind his mask, and with one last effort, he raised Galaxia, prepared to block the inevitable storm, knowing full well it wouldn’t be enough.

“This is where your story ends, foolish Knight,” Nightmare stated coldly, as if it were a simple fact.

But he would not kneel. Not here. Not ever.

The stars launched.

Time seemed to slow. Meta Knight braced himself, the roar of the cosmic energy bearing down on him. He could feel the heat of the stars, the sheer force of their power. His body screamed in protest, but he held firm, determined to stand his ground until the very end. The first wave of stars hit, sending shockwaves through the air, each impact pushing Meta back, his feet sliding against the ground as he struggled to hold his position.

Nightmare chuckled darkly.

But then, just as the second wave of stars was about to crash down—

A blinding flash of light exploded through the room, cutting through the darkness with a brilliant, radiant glow. The stars scattered like dust in the wind, their energy dissipating as something—no, someone—plunged into the battlefield like a comet from the heavens.

He flew in on a Warp Star, his form glowing with the same starlight that had once seemed so distant. Kirby shot toward Meta Knight, intercepting the stars with his own power, spinning at breakneck speed on the star vessel and deflecting the deadly barrage before it could reach his mentor.

Meta Knight’s eyes widened in shock. “Kirby…?”

Kirby landed gracefully beside him, the Warp Star shimmering behind him, waiting. He turned to Meta Knight, giving him a reassuring nod, his round eyes full of fire and resolve. There was no need for words—Kirby had come to fight, and he wasn’t backing down.

Nightmare’s grin faltered for only a moment. His form darkened even further. The cosmic storm beneath his cloak raged, swirling more violently now as he redirected his full attention toward the newcomer. “So nice of you to join us, Kirby. You’re foolish to think this will change anything. You still won’t be able to defeat me!”

Kirby stood firm, his small body radiating a quiet, unyielding strength. He reached up and adjusted his sword hat, a determined gleam in his eyes. This wasn’t just about saving Meta Knight. This was about saving all of Dreamland.

Meta Knight pushed himself to stand straighter, the weight of exhaustion lifted slightly now that Kirby was by his side. He felt a surge of hope—small, but undeniable.

“We can end this,” Meta said quietly, his voice steady despite the chaos surrounding them.

Kirby gave him a sharp nod, his expression fierce. Together, they turned to face Nightmare, ready for the final battle.

Nightmare’s form shifted again, the swirling galaxies within his cloak pulsing faster, the reflections in his shades burning with the white-hot intensity of a quasar. His presence seemed to cast long shadows across the dark battlefield. An ever encroaching and constant deepening of void. “You’ll all perish here!” he roared, his voice echoing like the rumble of a distant supernova. The stars above him flared back to life, reforming into a barrage even more powerful than before, the cosmic energy brimming with lethal force.

Meta Knight clenched his fists tighter, but this time, the weight of hopelessness no longer dragged him down. They weren’t fighting alone anymore. Kirby was here, and together they had a chance.

It only took a few subtle signals between them—a glance, a slight movement—for Kirby to understand Meta’s plan. With nimble speed, Kirby launched himself toward Nightmare, his tiny form a blur of motion, drawing the villain’s focus entirely. Stars streaked through the air like missiles as Nightmare unleashed his fury, but Kirby skillfully dodged them, bouncing and weaving around the onslaught.

Meanwhile, Meta Knight ducked out of the line of fire, using the distraction to dash toward where Dark Meta Knight lay collapsed by the shaking barrage. He was barely able to move, his energy drained, defiance waning.

With a swift, precise motion, Meta Knight snatched Galaxia from the ground. Dark groaned in pain, his battered body barely able to move as he pulled away from Meta’s attempt to aid him. They had no time for this.

Meta pulled him to his feet, struggling under Dark's weight as they stumbled out of the immediate battlefield. Nightmare’s relentless attacks continued to rain down around them, the ground shaking with every impact.

“How bad is it?” Meta asked, his voice calm but urgent, his eyes scanning Dark’s injuries as he half-dragged, half-carried him away from the worst of the chaos.

Dark gritted his teeth, his usually cold demeanor faltering under the strain. He was moving sluggishly, every step seeming to cost him more than it should. “You’re not a Knight for nothing,” Dark hissed, his voice strained. “Don’t… drag me off like some weakling.”

He attempted to push Meta away, trying to stand on his own, but the tremors of the battle raging around them knocked him off balance. His knees buckled, and with a bark of pain, he collapsed to the ground.

Dark growled through gritted teeth, clutching his side as the pain surged through him. He slumped against the ground, one hand pressed against his ribs, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Meta dropped beside him, eyes sharp with concern.

“We need to do something,” Meta said quietly, his tone leaving no room for argument. His mind raced, trying to assess the situation. Dark was in no condition to keep fighting.

But they didn’t have time. Nightmare’s fury was still growing, his attacks becoming more wild and destructive as Kirby continued to dance around him, deflecting the stars and cosmic beams with his sword and dodging with incredible agility. It wasn’t enough for Nightmare.

Dark winced, his stubborn pride evident even as his body betrayed him. “I can still fight…” he muttered, his voice hoarse. But when he tried to push himself up again, he let out a sharp breath, the pain too much to ignore.

Meta placed a hand on his shoulder, keeping him down. “Stay here,” Meta ordered, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’ve done enough.” Meta looked around for something to use, having little to choose from. He pulled his cape around to his hands, tearing the bottom of it off and using it to wrap Dark’s wound. It was as much as he could do here.

Dark scowled, but there was no defiance left in his eyes—only frustration. He slumped back, forced to accept his current weakness. It was clear he wouldn’t let the attack go so soon, but he understood the urgency was best placed elsewhere. “Tch… Fine,” he growled, begrudgingly, though it was clear he hated every second of it. “Just… finish him off.”

Meta nodded, standing back up. He turned toward the battlefield once more, watching Kirby continue his relentless fight against the cosmic force that was Nightmare. The little Star Warrior was holding his ground, but Nightmare’s overwhelming power was pushing him to his limits.

Meta’s grip tightened on Galaxia. He wasn’t about to let Kirby face this alone for much longer.

With one final glance back at Dark, ensuring his companion was at least somewhat safe for now, Meta Knight launched himself forward, sprinting back into the fray. His cape billowed behind him as he charged toward Nightmare, his mind focused and clear.

Nightmare, sensing Meta’s return, sneered. “Back for more?” he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance. He raised his hand again, summoning another storm of stars, each one more violent than the last.

Meta ducked under the first wave of attacks, his movements swift and calculated. Kirby, noticing Meta’s approach, leapt into the air and slashed through the remaining stars, clearing a path for him. The two exchanged a quick nod—no words needed. It was time.

Nightmare roared, his booming voice reverberating through the battlefield, shaking the ground beneath Meta Knight and Kirby’s feet. The stars within his cloak burned even brighter, becoming like molten embers against the swirling void of his form. The storm around him whipped into a frenzy, cosmic winds howling as meteors of light and darkness tore through the air. But Meta and Kirby didn’t falter, their resolve unshakable.

They moved together in perfect sync, a well-practiced rhythm honed through many battles fought side by side. Meta Knight’s wings flared wide as he surged forward, clashing with Nightmare’s massive claws, while Kirby dashed around the battlefield with nimble speed, staying just out of reach.

But the weight of the battle was shifting. Nightmare’s power was growing, his attacks becoming more erratic and destructive. Meta Knight could feel the strain in his muscles as he parried blow after blow with Galaxia, each clash sending shockwaves through the air. The cosmic stars swirling above them began to condense, gathering into a new, more deadly barrage. Dark clouds gathered in the air, crackling with malevolent energy, ready to unleash hell upon them.

Kirby darted out of the immediate fight, making his way back to where the Warp Star had landed moments ago. He could feel its energy pulsing, calling to him. As he reunited with the powerful relic, a plan formed in Meta’s mind. The story passed between Star Warriors was finally ready to come to fruition. Kirby didn’t need direction, by instinct he knew what to do.

Nightmare didn’t see it. His focus was still locked on Meta Knight, who remained in the heat of battle, fending off the relentless barrage of stars. With a savage grin, Nightmare cast the full weight of his star-storm down upon him, the cosmic orbs crashing around Meta in blinding explosions of light. The ground cracked beneath his feet, the force of the attack pushing him back, his wings straining to keep him upright.

Meta shot into the air, his wings beating hard as he ascended through the lashing darkness and cascading stars. He raised Galaxia high, the golden blade gleaming in the stormy skies as he locked onto Nightmare’s clawed hand, ready to meet the strike head-on. Sparks flew as their weapons clashed, the impact rippling through the air like thunder.

For a moment, Meta held firm, his strength matched against Nightmare’s overwhelming force. But he knew he couldn’t hold this position forever. His muscles screamed with effort as he strained to keep Nightmare’s claw at bay, the sheer weight of the attack pressing him back. Sweat dripped down his brow as he gritted his teeth. This was the moment.

"Now, Kirby!" Meta barked, his voice cutting through the chaos as he suddenly closed his wings, vanishing from Nightmare’s sight in an instant.

Nightmare stumbled, his massive claw lurching forward as the object of his resistance disappeared. His eyes darted wildly, searching for Meta Knight, his gaze flicking through the darkness. For the first time, there was a hint of unease in his movements. He couldn’t see the true danger approaching.

Just then, a brilliant flash of light filled the room, piercing through the oppressive shadows that cloaked Nightmare’s form. The light was pure and powerful, chasing away the darkness with radiant energy. Nightmare flinched, recoiling slightly as the searing glow reached his eyes, the lenses of his shades barely shielding him from the intensity of the light.

Kirby had swallowed the Warp Star.

The power surged through him like a flood, coursing through every fiber of his being, filling him with an overwhelming, radiant strength. His whole body gleamed with a powerful glow, the shimmering light wrapping around him like a second skin. The air around him crackled with energy, pulsing in rhythm with the beating of his heart. And then, with a blinding burst of light, the Star Rod manifested in Kirby’s hand—a weapon of legend, formed from the pure essence of hope and dreams.

Nightmare staggered back, his previously smug expression replaced by one of shock and alarm. The Star Rod’s light was too much for him, a power far beyond what he had expected. His towering form recoiled, the swirling galaxies within his cloak twisting erratically as he tried to shield himself from the burning light.

"Impossible!" Nightmare hissed, his voice dripping with fury and disbelief. "You… you couldn’t have known about that!"

But Kirby stood firm, unshaken by Nightmare’s screeching. The Star Rod glowed brilliantly in his grasp, its light a beacon of hope cutting through the darkness that had engulfed the battlefield. With a determined gaze, Kirby glanced at Meta Knight, who had reappeared at his side, his wings folded and his eyes locked on their enemy.

Meta Knight, despite his exhaustion, felt a renewed strength in his heart. They had a chance. With the Star Rod in Kirby’s hands, they could defeat Nightmare once and for all.

Nightmare roared again, his cosmic fury unleashed as the blue light gathered at his claw tips, arcing lightning between his fingers. A storm of cosmic energy swirled around him, but Kirby was ready. He lifted the Star Rod high above his head, its light growing even brighter, before pointing it directly at Nightmare.

The two forces collided in a cataclysmic explosion of hope and despair. Nightmare’s lightning fizzled against the Star Rod’s power, each strike hitting a barrier as they met the brilliant glow. With every strike Kirby made, the oppressive shadow around Nightmare weakened, the monstrous figure slowly losing his form.

"NO!" Nightmare bellowed, his voice cracking with desperation as his once formidable power crumbled. "This can’t be! I will not be defeated by the likes of you!"

But Kirby was relentless. With a mighty swing, he flung a massive, sparkling star from the Star Rod, crashing it against Nightmare’s chest, the light piercing through the villain’s cloak like a spear of pure energy. The wild, swirling void within Nightmare’s form collapsed inward, his towering figure unraveling as he let out one final, anguished scream.

The battlefield exploded in a brilliant display of light and color, and then—silence.

When the light faded, Nightmare was gone. His cosmic form had dissolved into nothing, leaving only the faint, distant shimmer of stardust. The oppressive weight of his presence had lifted, the air now calm and still. The darkness started to dissipate.

(Previous Chapter) | (Next Chapter)

#battyfics #fanfic #oc #original character #kirby fanfic #kirby #tw blood #tw death #fanfiction #ocappreciation #kirby right back at ya #ao3

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a-dragons-journal · 3 years ago

Note

Hun, DNIs are a way for people to tell racists, homophobes, and gatekeepers not to follow. It's not normal for a DNI to say "non-kin DNI" or whatever. I mean, there was someone who had "men DNI" is her bio but as an adult, I respected that wish because there's a reason for it. I don't know where you're seeing weird-ass DNIs like that lol.

Yes, because a bigot looking to harm people is going to see a sign saying "bigots keep out" and go "aw shucks" and leave in good faith /s /lh

In all seriousness, I recognize that that is one reason people use DNIs, specifically the "homophobes/racists/etc. DNI" part, but honestly in my experience that kind of DNI more often leads to things like, for example, crypto-TERFs deliberately putting "TERFs DNI" on their posts and/or bios so that people won't read into their content - and it works, which is the thing that makes me not like that, because a shocking number people see "TERFs DNI" and their critical thinking skills turn off because "well, it said TERFs DNI, so they must not be transphobic and this post must be in good faith!"

But also, like. It is super common to see DNIs that are not just those super egregious kinds of things and include things that are a lot more innocuous, anon. And while no, I haven't seen "non-kin" on a DNI specifically, that DNI/BYF culture is what causes people to ask questions like that even to someone like me who does not have a DNI or BYF and has spoken about not liking them quite a bit in the past, and I do think that's silly to say the least.

Again. They have their place, and also I'm not gonna get pissy at anyone who uses DNIs, because some people do find them useful (and not everybody needs to agree with my petty opinions about things, lol). But generally speaking, I personally don't like them and think they do more harm than good, and while I probably didn't need to soapbox about it, getting an "am I allowed to follow you" ask kind of threw me for an "are you actually kidding me" loop last night. I just. really do not like that people are starting to feel the need to even ask that question.

#tone tag key: /sarcasm /light-hearted #dni critical #also like. for what it's worth if i see someone's dni on a post i DO generally respect and abide by it #...or if it's more than two lines long i just don't read it and don't interact anyway #i'm not going around ignoring people's dnis because i don't like the concept #but also i'm not going to go and look at the bio of every single person i reblog a post from to see if i'm on their dni #i'm just not #block me yourself if you don't want me interacting with your content that is your godgiven right #i will not be offended lmao #asked and answered #anonymous #rani talks

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peachsayshi · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 12 - Muse

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Fluff, Rough Sex (Light but Consensual), Light Degradation, Role-play (Reader In French Maid Outfit), Oral Sex (Male Receiving), Making Out With Gojo, NSFW, Unprotected Sex

Summary: You keep your promise to Gojo and the two of you enjoy a little bit of roleplaying.

A/N: I know it's been a while since I posted last. Here is the updated chapter (she is kind of long) and it's basically 5% plot where everything else is smut. I have been reading this same thing for over a week and spent most of today editing, so I hope it's fine! Please keep in mind again that I do not have a beta, and will highly miss a lot of things or even misspell them. I hope you enjoy the chapter! Requests are still open! I currently write for Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna and Choso. Please make sure I can see your age on your profile, otherwise you will be ignored (minors dni)

- - -

(Three Years Ago)

“Looks like someone is being spoiled…”

You glanced around your apartment that has been completely decorated in flowers. You started grinning like an idiot thinking of Haru’s promise to give you a garden before replying, “ it’s a long story... ”

“ Soo , things worked out after the failed anniversary dinner?” Gojo questioned, noticing the way you shyly bit your bottom lip as you returned your attention back onto the T.V. screen.

“ Yes, they did …” you answered casually, still holding that pretty smile on your lips. You were clicking the button on the remote as you switched between movies to pick one to watch for the evening. “I don’t think I gave you the full update…”

Gojo took a sip of his melon soda, before leaning back comfortably against your couch. “No you did not. Last time we spoke you told me you were going away for the weekend. So tell me, how did prince charming work his way back into your good graces?”

Hakone , the weekend getaway; memories of you and Haru’s trip flooded back to your mind. The onsen experience, strolling through nature by day, visiting art galleries and losing sleep at night just to make love…

“It was… perfect.” you whispered breathlessly, your heart skipping a beat after you gave Gojo the brief explanation.

“ How romantic… ” the sorcerer replied, doing little to hide the hint of sarcasm in his tone.

You rolled your eyes at his comment, nudging your elbow playfully into his stomach. “Don’t be such a killjoy…”

From behind his dark frames, Gojo was reading your body language when you spoke. He pressed his lips together, not wanting to take away the happiness you were basking in and burying the thought that lingered his mind.

“You really love him, don’t you?” he asked again, his eyes glued onto you as he patiently waited for your reply.

Your cheeks went warm and your reaction was to adorably bury your face into the palm of your hands, desperately trying to fight off the butterflies swarming in your stomach. You leaned back on the couch next to your friend, dropping your hands down by your sides as you tilted your neck to face him.

“ Hopelessly so… ”

Gojo swallowed hard, a sinking sensation pummeled through his gut upon hearing your words. Your eyes flickered when you noticed how his expression hardened but he quickly switched to a big grin.

“As long as you’re happy … ” he reassured, giving you a thumbs up.

“I am, very much so …”

“ Good!” Gojo replied, but the word tasted sour in his mouth and he quickly changed the subject. “Now let’s get back to picking our movie…”

What the hell am I supposed to do now? he thought to himself, the disappointment weighing heavy on his heart.

I can’t tell her yet…

I’ll just have to wait...

(Present)

Gojo was exhausted. His day was tiresome and everything seemed to be getting on his last nerves. His morning started off on a bad note thanks to the higher ups. Itadori Yuji swallowing one of Sukuna’s fingers was not what he expected but now he had a problem on his hands involving the life of another teenager.

A talented kid at that, Itadori definitely had potential...

Gojo was good at hiding his frustrations from his students, and even from some of his peers. However, the minute he stepped into the lobby of his apartment building, the weight of his day came crashing down on his shoulders. He exited the elevator, slowly making his way over towards his apartment door but paused for a second before entering inside the safe haven of his home.

He immediately sensed your presence.

You called him earlier when he was at the school, asking if you could stop by his place to pick up something that you had forgotten.

“Just ask the security to let you in, I’ll give them a heads up and inform them... ” Gojo distractedly replied before ending the call.

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly to himself, thinking that maybe you decided to stick around and hang out at his place.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked, as he stepped through the threshold of his front door. “Did you really miss me that mu-uhhhhhh…”

Gojo dropped his keycard on the floor, his mouth agape as he took in the sight of you standing before him. His heart literally stopped beating for a whole second and the sorcerer found himself frozen in the entrance of his living room.

“ Gojo-san,” you purred, turning your heel from the large glass window you were wiping and smiling as you faced him directly. “ You’re home...”

Catching the great Gojo Satoru by surprise was something rare but you managed to do it with ease because he always had his guard down around you.

Gojo admired the outfit you were wearing. Your black dress was short, very short, with the bodice buttoned all the way up to your neck and little puffy sleeves covering your shoulders. The white apron you were wearing over it was trimmed with little frills, matching the detailing along the collar. His mouth went dry when he reached your legs covered in a pair of stockings but he noticed the single garter wrapped around your thigh adorned with a tiny bow. You were wearing black pointed high heels to match the ensemble, adding a decent amount of inches to your height. The cherry on top was the white silky headband that was pulling back your beautiful hair.

Gojo had given up on your promise weeks ago, thinking there was no possible way you might actually follow through with his idea.

Yet, here you were , dressed up in a french maid outfit.

You placed the cloth in your hand in the basket on your floor. Your heels clicking against the wooden surface and echoing around his quiet penthouse apartment as you approached him, holding your head high as you confidently nestled into the role you were playing.

You gripped his attention, but couldn’t see how shocked he was from behind his dark sunglasses. As you stood in front of him you bent down to pick up the key card before elegantly standing upright and holding it up to his face.

“You dropped this,” you stated quite matter of factly, batting your lashes at him innocently.

The man had been rendered speechless.

You raised your brow as the seconds passed, waiting for Gojo to say... something.

He could sense your heart beat increase, as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other and you nervously glanced away from his direction. You dropped the act for a minute as you placed your hands around your waist to look down at the outfit you were wearing.

“ Uhm … did I do this wrong ? This is the only outfit I could find online that was even close to the idea you had and it took weeks to actually get here. I can...I can try to find another dress if this isn’t what you li-”

Gojo cupped your face in his hands, interrupting your comment and tilting your head up so you were looking at him as he snapped himself out of the trance you seemed to have put him under.

“No! No, no no …you look… fuck… you just caught me by surprise…” he replied, a wave of excitement rushing through him as he stumbled over his words. He proceeded to lower his sunglasses so you were met with azure eyes, softening his gaze as a cheeky grin spread across his gorgeous face. “You look ...perfect…”

He stretched out that last word, ensuring to savour every part of you. Your face grew warm but you couldn’t help but smirk with approval that all your hard efforts into this costume worked their magic on your friend.

“Really?” you questioned in a hopeful tone, reaching for his wrist and giving him a squeeze. “I’m glad! You worried me for a second…”

Gojo leaned forward to kiss you, the heavy weight he bore when he stepped into his home dissipating as he tasted you on his tongue. Once he had his fill of you, he broke away from the kiss before casually walking backwards and instructing, “don’t mind me, I’m just going to step out for a second so we can properly start this over…”

You giggled before turning around and making your way back to your position next to his window. Gojo noticed your white slip peak from under your skirt, and he gently bit down on his knuckle unable to contain his own anticipation.

This is going to be fun, he thought.

When he stepped back inside his apartment it was with a totally different demeanor. He cleared his throat as he made his way over, noticing your face playfully light up before repeating your initial greeting:

“ Gojo-san, you’re home... ”

***

One hour.

You had the man stirring for an entire hour.

Gojo didn’t think you would take this as seriously as you did but you were putting on a performance for him.

At first he sat in the living room, watching you mindlessly wipe his spotless windows and bending over ever so slightly for him to peep under your skirt. He impatiently tapped his finger against his thigh, knowing full well that he was not allowed to touch you unless you touched him first .

That was the rule you both agreed on.

When Gojo realised that you weren’t planning on giving in so easily, he used the moment as an opportunity to change out of his uniform but that didn’t stop you from being a tease.

While he was in his room, he switched to a pair of comfortable sweatpants and just as he was about to slip on his hoodie, you barged into his bedroom.

“ I’m sorry to intrude…” you announced innocently, sauntering your way over with your eyes lingering on his abdominal muscles and lifting up his half-filled laundry basket. “ I just needed to wash these…”

Gojo pressed his tongue to his cheek, shaking his head at you as he moved to his drawer to replace his shades with his blindfold, knowing full well you were going to draw this out for as long as you can.

Maybe this is payback…

Gojo returned to the living room, his eyes fixated on the television screen as a way to distract himself from you.

After you did a few meaningless chores, you picked up the feather duster from your equipment basket and directed yourself into his line of sight. You began to “ dust ” off his shelves, swaying your hips deliberately from side to side as you walked in front of him.

“ I hope you don’t mind me in your way, Gojo-san …” you said serenely, flicking the duster over the random items on his shelf.

“Not at all…” the sorcerer replied, his voice smooth as silk when he spoke. “But you should know you missed a spot…”

You raised your brow as you glanced over your shoulder to meet his stare.

“ Oh ?”

Gojo spread his legs further apart, resting his long arm on the back of the sofa before bringing his other hand forward to point high on his shelf.

“Right there,” he indicated.

You hummed to yourself, knowing full well that Gojo wanted to see more of what you were hiding underneath your outfit. As you stood on your tiptoes, you deliberately arched your back to stick out your rear in his direction.

Gojo trapped his bottom lip between his teeth, humming in approval and deciding in that moment just how he plans on eventually fucking you in this cute outfit of yours.

“A little higher…” he commanded, forcing you to stand on your tiptoes as you “cleaned” his top shelf, and he felt himself harden against his pants when the fabric of your dress just barely covered your ass.

The minutes passed, dragging slowly until the sorcerer found himself growing impatient. The longer you were making him wait, the more cruel he was planning on delivering his own punishment in return.

“May I get you some water, Gojo-san?” you asked him, snapping him out of his own thoughts as you made your way over to the kitchen. “You look a little thirsty…”

Oh yes, he definitely wasn’t going to hold himself back…

“ Please…” he said through gritted teeth.

You made your way over to the kitchen, pulling out one of the random trays he had and placing a glass right in the middle. You fill it up with ice before pouring in the water, then lifting up the tray and making your way over to him.

“ Here you go…” you offered, but instead of picking up the glass with your fingers, you deliberately knocked it over, allowing the cool liquid to pour all over Gojo’s lap.

The man hissed, surprised that you caught him off guard yet again with your tactic. The water pooled between his thighs, making his muscles tense up even more.

You captured your bottom lip between your teeth, the goosebumps running up and down your arms when you noticed the outline of his dick against his sweatpants.

Staring at him with your knowing, apologetic eyes, you proceeded to say, “I’m so sorry, let me get something to help you dry up…”

When you returned, you found your place down on your knees in front of him. You pressed the dry towel against his inner thigh, earning a grunt in response because your touch was close to his growing erection.

Your other hand glided up his calf, sending your message across as Gojo’s eyes widened when that same hand replaced the towel.

Fucking finally, he thought, no longer frustrated by his own desire or the fact that he was now soaking wet.

“I can dry these with the rest of the clothes…” you explained, lifting yourself upright on your knees. “I’m going to have to take these off..”

You hooked your hands around the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down his lean legs and removing them.

“What about these?” Gojo asked, tilting his head towards his tented boxers. “I’m soaked all the way through…”

“ Uhm… of course!” you chirped, as you removed the second article of clothing. “I’ll get these dry for you right away…”

As you tried to stand up, Gojo reached for your forearms and dragged you back down on the rug.

“What about this?” he asked, directing your attention towards the length of his swollen cock.

“I-I don’t know if I can help you with that,” you teased, averting your gaze as you feigned shyness.

“I pay you to use your hands, don’t I?” Gojo questioned.

“ Yes, Gojo-san …”

“Then you should do whatever it takes.”

Gojo could have sworn he saw you smirk but you were swift to hide your reaction. You brought your hand to his length as you began to stroke upward, circling your thumb around his swollen tip. Your other hand teasingly traced a vein up and down his shaft, and Gojo exhaled as his body relaxed against his plush sofa.

You squeezed his cock, feeling the width of his hard member as you continued teasing his head. You spread the pre-cum all over the tip, before bringing your lips down and replacing your thumb with your tongue as you swirled around the head before finally sealing your mouth over him.

You gently suck, your cheeks hollowing but you remain focused on just his head. The hand that isn’t holding his shaft moved to his thigh, where you gave him an eager squeeze as you tasted him in your mouth.

Meanwhile, Gojo leaned his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes as he hummed with relief. The low rumble of his voice spread down his abdomen, and your ears perked upon hearing his satisfied reaction.

You released him with a pop, before adjusting your position so your forearms were now resting over his thighs.

Gojo was average in thickness but his length definitely made up for it and you wanted to get comfortable before taking him all the way in.

You guided him into your mouth, easing him down inch by inch as you bobbed over his impressive length. Your hands pressed into his thighs, a small whimper escaping you as your teeth grazed lightly over his cock while you expertly worked him.

“You keep doing this and I might consider increasing your pay…” Gojo murmured, half-drunk with arousal as he began losing himself to you.

You quickened your pace, ignoring the discomfort in your jaw as you let him fuck your mouth. Gojo reached his hand to the back of your neck, gently stroking you with his slender fingers as encouragement. His chest began to rise and fall as his breathing grew heavier.

“ Keep going …” he coaxed, his voice shaking and growing tender. He rolled his hips in rhythm to your movement while your hands began massaging his legs and working their way high up to his pelvis.

His fingers curled around your hair, your throat burning but you kept going not wanting to disappoint your esteemed employer.

“ Mmm , F-fuck… ” he whined, his words sweet in your ears as he reached his peak.

Gojo’s hips bucked into you and he held you in place, releasing thick ropes of cum in the back of your throat as he moaned.

His grip was tight around your head and you tried not to gag as you swallowed everything he gave you. You slowly retracted him out of your mouth, desperately catching your breath in between small coughs as you settled yourself.

“Such a beautiful mess…” Gojo complimented as he looked down at you from where he was sitting.

Your chin was covered with your saliva, your perfectly styled hair unraveling from his grip and your smokey eye makeup smudged. Gojo flicked his fingers in his direction, ordering you to get on his lap.

Your knees hurt when you stand up, the cheap fabric of your stockings already wearing from the friction against the rug. You spread your legs as you straddled him, lifting the hem of your dress up as you adjusted your position.

“ Well, well…what have we here… ” he cooed when you flashed him. “Hold your dress up for me…”

Your face grew hot but you obediently obliged as you bunched up the dress to your waist, giving Gojo a full view of your stockings that covered your bare pussy.

Gojo dragged his index finger along your slit, your arousal stringing on the tip of his finger as he pulled away from you.

You were completely soaked through.

“ Do you always show up to work without any underwear on?” he teased, bringing his finger back between your legs and pushing the material of your stockings between your lips.

“Only when I know I am seeing you…” you replied seductively.

“Is that so?” Gojo mused, biting his bottom lip as he focused on his finger circling your folds. “How professional…”

“Actually I'm very unprofessional. I have something to confess, Gojo-san …” you whispered, dropping your dress as you placed your hands on his broad shoulders. You leaned forward, brushing your lips against his ear before stating, “…I touch myself whenever you’re not home .”

Gojo froze his movements. You were doing everything he described when talking about this particular fantasy: the hot maid that he comes home to who teases him into fucking her.

Oh, and you were playing the role beautifully.

“Did you do that today?” The man questioned, directing it towards you and not the character you were pretending to be.

You giggled in his ear, “ twice .”

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, his free hand that wasn’t between your legs reached for his blindfold. He lifted the fabric, where a pretty blue iris was staring at you with sheer adoration.

“ Oh, angel, you continue to surprise me…”

“None of that, yet…” you announced, covering his eye as you pulled his wrist away. “ We’re still playing, Gojo-san.”

On that reply, Gojo reached for the band of your stockings. He ripped the flimsy fabric with his strong hands, tearing it straight down the middle before picking you up and laying your back against the arm rest.

“I’m going to have to start putting security cameras around the place,” he added, getting back into the role as he slipped off his hoodie. “But I think I would prefer seeing you with my own eyes…”

He instantly noticed the way you checked him out, your gaze hungry for his body. He lifted up your dress, bunching it up at the waist to reveal your torn undergarment. Your sweet pussy was glistening with your arousal and Gojo licked his lips with anticipation. He raised one of your legs over the sofa, leaving the other to dangle off the side and exposing you completely to him.

“ Touch yourself.”

You brought your fingers to your fold, working your throbbing clit as you closed your eyes. Your body was electric, riled up to the point where you were already so sensitive as you rubbed yourself. Soft whimpers left your lips and Gojo held your knees apart as he watched you masturbate.

“Are you always this quiet?” He teased, “A dirty slut like you begging to be fucked…I’m sure you get louder than that…”

If you weren’t so heated by everything that was going on, you would have been caught off guard by what he was saying but instead you moaned at his derogatory words.

The character you were playing began blending in his mind with your own person, his dear friend, and the thought of you eagerly pleasing him made the blood rush between his legs, his arousal making him harden again.

“You hear that?” Gojo continued, knowing full well how much you enjoy his dirty talk and pointing out the way your pussy squelched as your fingers drove themselves inside you. “You’re so fucking wet and I hardly even touched you. Are you that needy already? Are you that desperate for someone to fuck this pussy of yours?”

“Y-yes…”

“Do you call out my name when you make yourself come? Do you beg for it?”

“ Mmmm, yes, Gojo-san…want you so bad …”

“If you want me to fuck you, you little slut , you’re going to have to tell me how much you want it…”

You gasped, your free hand reaching to massage your breast over your uniform as you finally opened your hazy eyes to meet Gojo’s. Your heart was racing, your body gyrating against his sofa as you slipped your fingers between your folds.

“ Mmahh, Gojo-san, I want you to fuck me on this couch. I want to feel you inside me. P-please, I need you inside me…so fucking bad…I can’t…I ca-” you voice pitched as you increased the speed of your movements, rolling your hips in circles and your dropped your head back against the arm rest.

You came all over your fingers, your orgasm hitting you hard, as you sang your noises of pleasure. You were trembling against the chair, panting heavily as you pulled your fingers from between your legs.

Gojo flipped you on your stomach, unable to hold himself back any longer. Your hands were on the arm rest, your knees pressed into the plush cushion as you spread yourself as wide as you could for him. Usually, Gojo would enjoy taking this time to lick your sweet cunt clean but he was barely holding on himself after what he witnessed.

The tip of his cock teased your lips, before he slipped himself inside you with ease, coating his entire length with your arousal. Your eyes widened as you looked at him over your shoulder with slight panic.

“Satoru, you’re not wearing a…”

“I’ll pull out…” he replied, holding your hips up before snapping roughly into you.

You were dizzy, completely functioning on your urges without giving logic any thought. If it was anyone else, you would have stopped but Gojo wasn’t just anybody and the man had quite the control over his own body.

You cried out feeling your walls clench around him. He was moving hard and fast, fucking you roughly on his sofa, with every push harder than the last and leaving your legs trembling as you tried your best to hold yourself in place for him.

He drags his length out of you, ensuring that you felt every inch before wildly plunging back inside. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs against your stockings, your nails digging into the sofa as you whimpered.

Your drenched cunt made it so much easier for Gojo to fuck you but his slightly sadistic mind was forcing you to feel it more.

Your toes curled inside your pointed heels, your back arching as speckles of black clouded your vision. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your hips jerked when your orgasm compounded into you, making you drop down to your forearms as you were unable to counter your explosive release.

Gojo was covered in your juices and with a few sloppy thrusts he finally pulled himself out before finishing himself off by pumping spurts of cum all over your back, decorating your outfit with his release.

The man didn’t stop there. Instead, he flipped you onto your back bringing his hands to the buttons of the top half of your dress and ripping it apart.

Your chest was bare, covered in a bra that he tugged down until it was resting underneath your breasts. He brought his insatiable lips to your mound, rolling your pointed nipple between his thumb and index finger before closing his mouth over the other nub.

You were shaking underneath him, unable to handle any more stimulation as he pinched one nipple and peppered the other with kitten licks.

Gojo did it until he was hard again, leaving marks all over your breasts as he pushed himself inside you. He held your legs apart but you barely had anymore energy to keep up with him. Instead you kept him motivated with your pleasured mewls, praising him for all his glory.

“ Harder, please…harder….”

Gojo stopped, holding himself inside you and feeling you pulsate against him. He ensured to drag the seconds out making you whimper with impatience as you were desperate to have him continue.

“ Gojo-saaan…” you pleaded, tears pricking your eyes as you wailed for mercy. “Don’t stop fucking-ahhhhhhh …”

You couldn’t even finish until he was thrusting inside you again. Fucking you to the heavens and back with the same intensity he did earlier. When he pulled out of you as he climaxed, he finished himself off all over your cunt, marking you with his essence.

***

Steam covered the glass door surrounding you, the warmth engulfing your body as you and Gojo stood in the hot shower together. Your body was sore but in the most pleasant way possible and you allowed the water droplets to massage your skin, closing your eyes as you exhaled and enjoying the amazing pressure from Gojo’s shower.

You only opened your eyes when you felt Gojo’s large palm on your stomach, bringing you into his torso as he leaned down and kissed your ear.

“Did you have fun?”

The knot in the pit of your stomach twisted, sending shivers down your back from his question. He treated you with so much kindness after you both slept together. He sang you praises, telling you over and over how good you were to him as he took his time to clean you up, not allowing you to even lift a single finger while he used the time to focus on taking care of you instead.

You turned around to face him, your eyes gazing up at that unjustifiably handsome face that was uncovered because he had his hair slicked back.

“Surprisingly, I did…” you teased with a smile, placing your hands on him, as you delicately traced your fingers up and down his forearms.

His height was overbearing now that you didn’t have your heels on, and the sorcerer found himself tilting down just to look at you. His fingers pressed into your lower back as the silence filled the space between you both. Gojo used it as an opportunity to bring his lips down to meet yours, indulging himself with a kiss. He picked you up in his strong arms, before holding you against the grey tile of his bathroom wall. You moaned into his mouth, playing with his tongue as your hands reached for his neck.

“So, tell me, angel… ” he whispered into your mouth in between a kiss. “What kind of fantasies do you have?”

“Uhm, I don’t really have any fantasies…”

You felt his fingers underneath your chin, tilting your head back so you were looking him in the eye.

“You know, if you tell me , I can return the favor…” he stated, flashing his pearly whites as he gave you an easy grin.

“You’ll think it’s stupid…”

“Try me.”

You rested your head against the tile, playing with the back of Gojo’s hair as you cleared your throat.

“Uhm, so , back in college there was this professor that I had. He was extremely good looking, I think everybody in our class had a crush on him. I realised I did too because everytime I would try speaking with him, I always jumbled up my words or said the wrong thing. It was super awkward…I mean, he wasn’t awkward but I definitely was…”

A small laugh escaped you but Gojo was still listening attentively.

“Anyway, I never told anyone. I was with Haru and always felt like I was being a terrible girlfriend because I was just so attracted to my professor. He was also the sweetest guy, was married and had three kids…” you sighed as Gojo grazed his hand across your thigh, blushing before admitting, “…but I used to think about him taking me on his desk all the time. Like, it got to the point where I had to drop his class because he was too much of a distraction…”

Gojo chuckled, “oh, you dirty slu-OW!”

You tugged at his earlobe, pouting to stop yourself from laughing at his snide comment.

“That’s what you get,” you replied, before loosening your grip and dropping your hand to his pecs.

“Relax, it takes a slut to know one. There is no need to get offended!” he teased, shifting the joke onto himself and you couldn’t help but giggle. “Okay, so you’ve got a little thing for a teacher/student scenario?”

“Just a little…”

Gojo brought his lips to your neck, planting small kisses upwards until he murmured against your ear.

“As a teacher myself, it will be my utmost pleasure to be your sensei for an evening,”

“You don’t have to…”

“You're not forcing me, angel. I want to,” Gojo insisted, his lips now hovering above yours. “Besides, I’m your friend, right ? We take care of each other, that’s what friends do.”

You nodded in agreement, your eyes dropping down to his lips as you patiently waited to taste him on your tongue.

“Since you did a stellar job with me tonight, let me do the same for you… ” he whispered, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and nipping at it gently.

You squeezed your legs tighter around his torso as you held him close, feeling faint when Gojo kissed you again like he was pulling the oxygen straight out of your lungs.

And yet, you had no desire to let him go.

***

CHAPTER 13: SPINNING

#Gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x reader insert #Gojo Satoru x reader #Gojo Satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #Gojo Satoru #Gojo Satoru smut #gojo smut #Gojo Satoru fluff #gojo fluff #Gojo Satoru angst #gojo angst #gojo fanfic #gojo saotru fanfic #Gojo Satoru fan fiction

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mypersonmyg · 4 years ago

Text

Tebori Tapioca | JJK

**beautiful banner made by @monvante <3

pairing: Jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, love at first sight, tattoo au, tea shop au

wc: 15k

warnings: language, slow burn???

summary: a shining beacon in a sea of monotony OR you just might believe in love at first sight

a/n: hi friends, umm so yea this is a fic i’ve been cooking up for a while and as seems to happen with most of my fics there’s definitely room for more but i didn’t wanna go overboard because the last time i did no one read womp womp...

ANYWHO there’s still very much room for this universe to grow whether it be drabbles, smaller oneshots or whatever so if you have requests pls send them !! for this au or any others

honorary tag: @gukssunshine

masterlist

Sunlight filters through an open storefront, natural light shading the room in incandescent glow, the honk of horns just overstating the chirp of the birds perched in overarching trees that line the street. Lights are still lit, strung throughout branches despite the hour slowly inching toward noon.

Your pencil taps a worn pad, the hundredth rotation of the dormant rectangle of sheets providing no more inspiration than ninety-nine and below. You shove the contents along a desk littered in your crumpled defeat, legs kicking to the wooden surface with comforting intent.

It’s not unusual, the stray of your eyes to the shop just a few buildings from the florist decorating the opposing side of the street. A work in progress, a work almost in completion. It’s become a game, the guessing of its contents, the colorful display before it’s displayed intriguing to many passersby. You’re close to pondering a new theory when Jimin interrupts with his entrance from the back, reciting safety to Namjoon’s latest masterpiece.

He whistles an impressive tune following the departure of a satisfied client, rounding his occupied desk and knocking your feet from his cluttered surface. You don’t have time for the countered glare of offense before his words are zeroed in as if he’s been waiting to direct them long before now when your guard is readily disarmed. “You have an office for a reason, why do you always have to sit at my desk.”

“It’s a nice view.”

“I’ll admit that my delicate features leave nothing to the imagination, but I’m tired of cleaning up after you.” His words are emphasized by his hand’s routine swipe, piles of paper tumbling to the can beside him in rapid succession. Your eyes roll, Jimin’s fingers already beginning to type away on his desktop while your pupils track the delicate arch of his digits and your ears listen to the satisfying click of keys. The consideration of locking yourself away in your office trapezes along the wide expanse of your mind, but before it’s made up Jimin is speaking again, this time with an air of factual superiority. “A tea shop.”

“Hmm?”

“The shop down the street, it’s a tea shop.”

“You sound pretty confident,” You hum, eyes darting to the window, turquoise staring back in the fashion of awnings and fresh paint bordering a wooden frame. The sleeves of your sweater bite at your wrist in comforting fuzz, a slight itch along the skin to pull you from quaint interest. “What makes you so sure?”

“Just a feeling, it’s got that certain ambiance, you know?” Jimin’s hands wave with the impression of the ambiance so to speak, his eyes squinted in that way you so adore. The thought crosses your mind on many occasions, to compliment his subtle beauty, but the knowledge of his playfully arrogant counter always draws you from speech.

“Or because we ran into the owner on our way in this morning,” Namjoon chirps in kind, strolling to the lobby, his own pad in hand. He neatly tosses it to the desk, fingers skimming through unkempt hair. “Nice guy, said he might drop in for a consultation sometime.”

“Consultation? Sounds big,” You muse, hand finding your abandoned pencil to drag faint strokes along your page, though even the slight draw brings grimace to your features, dulled in the shadow of your palm pressed to your forehead, easily nudging wisps of loose hair. Namjoon shrugs, a non-committal range of motion, his neck craning over your shoulder to sneak a peek at your lack of a work of art.

He doesn’t speak on it, simply taking in the unfinished strokes, presumably in an attempt to reassure you in the midst of inspiration long lost. You're prepared to assure him that there’s no need for forced encouragement, but he moves on, collapsing onto near plush without a word.

“Says he’s been thinking about it for a while so I told him we could help him out. He also invited us to his opening, said he'd save some tea for us if we’re busy.” Lips pull back, dimples accenting Namjoon’s heavy cheeks.

You’re unsurprised by his amicable tale, recalling your fresh steps into this very shop just a few years prior. Your body was bare of ink and your arms bore only a flimsy book with hopeful sketches. He’d taken in your wide eyed glance and the disappearance of your bottom lip to the gnawing confines of your teeth. His towering height and newly trimmed hair taunting you within the daunting shadow that filled your frame through the doorway.

You chuckle at past memories, wondering how you could ever fear the gentle giant, his lips pulling into ready grin as he showed you to the very desk before you now.

“What’s so funny?” Namjoon calls to you, Jimin halting in his current endeavor to glance the smirk stretching your cheek.

“Nothing, just thinking. Was that your last client for the day?” You grab for the sign-in ledger, finger trailing the thick page, pinky tugging at the pulled edge of a worn corner. Your smirk flips to a frown poorly withheld, the page filled with Namjoon only reminding you that your own supplies need only be sanitized to prevent the collection of dust.

“Yeah, I figured we’d just close shop early today.” Jimin swipes the ledger with a tisk in your direction, not blind to silent thoughts.

“It’s noon, what if someone wants a walk-in?” Your gaze slides to the clock, hands ticking slowly along the round wall piece. It’s not unreasonable to assume someone will come in seeking art of the bodily variety, and your hands itch to prove your worth, even if it lies within an album long binded.

“Then I’m sure they’ll still want it tomorrow.” Namjoon shrugs, his hands folding over his chest forcing the bulge of recently buffed arms. You almost make a joke about the possible tear of the t-shirt hugging his frame, but refrain out of refusal to partake in the pursuance of sure to follow antics. “Besides, it’ll give you more time to work on that.”

You follow the tilt of Namjoon’s hair, long grown out from his routine refusal to take time from his day to get a trim. You often joke that he’ll be gallivanting with a tail soon enough, his thick locks nearly shoulder length as it stands. He often finds himself shaking it from his peripheral with the wrong angling of his head. He motions to your barely done sketch, the page glaring at you with a mocking disgust.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do.” You drip sarcasm, pad tossed to your bag and jacket jerked to waiting arms.

~*~

Off-white trim borders the wall of a shop nearly complete, Jeongguk checks and double checks a list stored in the confines of his mental. Aside from constant fear of the opening of doors without the steady flood of patrons he’s eager for business, hard work finally paying its due.

He’s only in for the morning, the steady tick of his wrist a reminder to snap from his obsessive habit, sure that he’ll receive word from Taehyung that he's on his way to drag him from the building. His grin rivals the glare of the sun as his eyes travel a building come together. His hand falls to his arm in dramatic pinch to ensure that his eyes aren’t filled with hopeful deceit.

It fits, he thinks, stepping out onto the walk, key slotting into the door to ensure security. His shop melds perfectly with the heavily lined street, animated tapioca unfinished in the window somehow making sense with the neighboring extravagance of bloom at the near florist and the samples of ink from the tattoo shop across the way. Even the simple thrift shop with it’s objects of interest decorating the window compliments his simple display.

Opportunity hasn’t struck to visit his new neighbors, though he did stumble into a chunk of the owners of one of the shops. He found surprise in the ease with which conversation flowed, his mouth like the babble of a brooke despite the nerves that skipped like pebbles in his stomach and his heart that beat a million miles a minute following their friendly departure.

In his stupor he nearly misses the float of voices a ways down the quietly milling street, but the recognition of a melodic tone draws his gaze.

“I’ll take you for ice cream.” Jeongguk recognizes the voice that seeks to entice as Jimin, though he doesn’t recognize you.

“I’m not a child you know.” Your statement is grumbled, the words echoing that of a childlike pout. Jeongguk can see the movement of your arms as they reach to a playful shove, the rhythmic shift of Jimin’s feet looking routine even from a distance. You choose not to acknowledge Jimin’s coo, his fingers poking at your protruding cheek as if to say Oh but aren’t you?

Jeongguk watches with interest and the initiative to work up the courage to bring acknowledgement to his presence and perhaps introduction to who he expects is the other third of the tattoo shop. You and Jimin are too caught in bickering to notice the figure just feet away, your fingers pinching Jimin’s nose with a countering taunt.

“Can’t I just treat you to a nice frozen treat? I don’t recall that being a crime, but please enlighten me.” You pinch the bridge of your own nose, the scent of freshly packed soil wafting from neatly situated pots.

You spot the poke of pink from one of the tall and timid plants, though you imagine the fragile nature is only by way of visual, Yoongi always diligent with his seedling evolved friends. You make note to beg him to allow the purchase of a precarious plant, an act of teasing to stem from your track record, the memory of shriveled begonias bringing even your shoulders to lift in cringe.

“Are you still talking?” Your gaze shifts back to Jimin, his flow not conscious to your unconscious senses.

“So rude, you should be thanking me for the extra time off.”

“As if I need more time off, but fine, I suppose I can let you treat me as an apology for your ratty transgressions.” You tut. Were your ears peaked and footing less strayed you would’ve noted the distant chuckle of Jeongguk, still standing dormant outside of a dimmed shop.

His thoughts of hurried introduction came to halt with his notice of you. Your voice held a playful jab when you spoke, Jimin’s reactions only animated enough to draw slight attention from your raised tone. Despite your fussing dialogue, your posture was slouched just a tad and your hands fisted into snug jacket sleeves to mimic paws. Jeongguk decides he’d be hard pressed not to be endeared by you in the slightest.

“Wow, I thought I was gonna have to come here and drag you out by the ears.” Hands clap Jeongguk’s shoulders, Taehyung rounding his frame, grin gentle as he regards with relief. “I swear you’d probably live here if I didn’t keep you at bay. What are you--oh she’s pretty.”

The two watch your retreat, your hand easily clasping Jimin's, the swing of connected wrists appearing natural with your stride through the afternoon chill. Jeongguk ignores the flare of his cheeks at the notion of exposure, thankful that Taehyung doesn’t make a show of his ogling.

“Yeah, looks like she’s taken though...you wanna get ice cream?” Taehyung scrunches his nose, wind kissed cheeks held between gloved palms. His scoff is inward, Jeongguk’s suggestion appearing nothing short of ridiculous as the two are swept by a wind that’s particularly biting. While Taehyung shivers, Jeongguk doesn’t appear to mind, hands shoved in his pockets, heels rocking along cracked concrete.

“Do I look like I want to get ice cream? It’s freezing out here and not everyone radiates the warmth of a furnace.”

“Well unlike you, not everyone is so dramatic.”

“Whatever, just get some when we get home.” Taehyung lightly shoves, legs turning in the direction of his car, parked on asphalt, freshly coated by summer’s end.

Jeongguk stares after the winded trail of a billowing pea, your bobbing figure rounding a corner and straying from widened eyes. He sucks through clenched teeth, opportunities knock having been missed at the hands of Taehyung. The clench of fists in pockets goes unnoticed as he rounds on planted heels and makes his way to the car, Taehyung happily staring from the passenger seat waiting with a grin dripping sincerity.

“You definitely owe me for this.”

~*~

You twitch along with the consistent drip of a leaky faucet, the tap of digits on worn ceramic offering a release to limbs without proper use. The biting chill in your toes is only minutely cured by the pilling of four blankets, barely thick enough to rival the wool knit socks Hoseok gifted you last christmas.

You find pause in the sun setting from the window, dim lighting pouring through weak curtains. Your tongue prods at the confines of your mouth, frosted by forced treat and abandoned with the recommendation of a mug of hot cocoa which now rests lukewarm in your clenching palms.

You force your mind to yield, racing in a direction opposite the self destructive course that usually remains dormant until you lay to rest for the evening. Hands numbed by the interference of a numbing chill met with the warmth of a mostly empty mug nearly spilling when your right palm jumps in the direction of your phone, perched on an end table composed of chipping wood and stains too set to resemble anything but a dark pool, a picture puddle fit for galoshes in adolescence.

You wonder if Yoongi’s taken his plants in, the set of cold not nearly the condition for any pending life surely. Though you quickly pull back, recalling a conversation following another mishap, your plant lying limp before the attentive florist, his cheeks rosy from the heat lamps and the temperature set to ensure maximum growth year round. It was with passion that he waxed about the difference between certain plants and the amazing circumstances of their survival.

It was with half amused grin, your head lopsided along the freshly painted door frame that he assured you that if a plant can survive the harsh conditions of the season of cool there was surely one meant to survive you.

You glance to the succulent placed on the sill overlooking your sink. You had been indignant at Yoongi’s insistence that you take it, almost begging that he give you one of the smiling pink numbers reflecting in the window rather than the less impressive green poking from the dirt of a tiny hand painted pot. Yoongi’s reaction was much the same, innocence painting his rose blushed cheeks as he explained the beauty of every plant, sure to continue on until you gently removed the pot from his fingers.

Now the once shy note of green was large enough to cover your palm, a bright spot in the dark of your apartment, falling apart at the hands of purposeful ignorance from an absent landlord.

A sharp tap against your front door draws your gaze, pointed as if to break the barrier of solid wood. You don’t notice the spill of your drink until warmth slips through your sweater, arm jerk sending the mug careening to shatter. The pieces decorate the floor with a colorful tap to pair with the running of dark liquid along the hardwood.

“Shit.” Words muttered in haste, one of many blankets piled in swaddle is heaved to the floor, your legs lifting you from the chair and gently to clothed knees. Cocooning the glass in the thick material you stand to full height when another tap draws you. Your hands tug at your sweater, the seep of the liquid already beginning to set in and your skin grows irritated from the unwanted intrusion. “Coming!”

You glance to the spot where chocolate dances along the edges of your braided rug, the centerpiece itching to soak up what it can manage of the chocolatey drink, already dreading the work of scrubbing to prevent permanent damage. Making your way to the door your feet stride in a half walk half slide along hardwood, tripping up due to the soiled bits of fabric sticking to your feet and resisting a usually easy trek along the hardwood. The pull of the door is a surprise, an unfamiliar face staring back at you with a geometrically flattering smile.

“Hello…” Your words are drawn and rasped, a mixture of the lack of dialogue and settling curiosity.

“Hi, I’m Taehyung.” There’s no deterrence from Taehyung at your lack of reciprocated enthusiasm, just the shake of locks, shaggy and shielding his eyes that appear to glisten in the flicker of the hall lights. His eyes brighten in recognition, though you can’t seem to separate his stare from the reflection of his shocking irises and simply accept his hand as it slowly extends.

“Y/n. Is there something I can help you with?” You attempt a glance around his ever present frame in hope for an explanation, but the notion is non-existent so you wait as he gathers his own. You don’t miss the wandering of his eyes to the open of your apartment but don’t call him on it, an entrance composed of nothing more than a table and a crooked portrait gifted by Jin. You can hear his distant cackles as he positioned it just perfectly before the door.

“Actually I was gonna ask you how to work the heat in this place, but you look about as warm as me so…” He shifts on his heels unsure, taking in your heavily bundled appearance.

You tug once more at your stained sweater, your face heating with recollection of the soiled garment still clinging to you, now with more fervor from the added moisture. Your thick socks are layered over a pair only slightly less so and your legs appear heavily padded under two pairs of dense sweats. “You must be new here.”

Taehyung shrugs, half a step taken in retreat. He tilts his head just so, gesturing to the vacant hall, a door half ajar allowing the flood of light to illuminate the peel of ancient wallpaper. Not for the first time you wish you’d taken Jimin up on his spare room. “Yeah, just officially moved in today. We’re down the hall, heard the apartment’s been vacant for a while and it seemed nice enough.”

“But no one told you that the heat only works correctly on a good day, sounds about right.”

“And our shower--”

“Leaks?” You finish, the distant drip from your kitchen just audible over your speech. Your thumb pushes against the bow of your pursed lips, teeth grabbing hold of roughened skin whilst you watch the turn of cogs tumbling before you.

“Yeah...should I call the landlord?” His brows knit at your nonchalance, thumb jerking to his apartment. You almost chuckle, covering your outburst with a quick tilt of your head. The simplicity of the suggestion seems only to add to the hilarity of the situation.

“Sure, but I’d recommend investing in a space heater and keeping a couple of tools handy. I’m not wearing four layers to make a fashion statement.” Your fingers drum along the frame of your door, the gentle tap carrying between you in soft silence. “Well...welcome to the building and sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Guess someone had to be,” His throat clears in chuckle, hand tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie, the strings hanging lopsided where his hood lay half scrunched at the base of his neck. His thumb lifts to trace the corner of his mouth, shifted in that same grin that greeted you minutes prior, though this time your return is swift and without the same haze that accompanied his unfamiliar presence. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

Taehyung turns on his heel at the pace of the gears turning in his brain, swift stride carrying him back to his door, yours clicking shut along the shells of his ears. He pushes into his residence, door squeaking on hinges as it closes in his wake. Straight for the living room he makes haste with lengthy stride, spotting Jeongguk who swallows the couch with his body, spread as much as the lengthened cushion will allow. He peeks from his curtain of hair, dangling at the angle of his head, blinking with the poke of a follicle gently prodding his pupil.

“So?” He pushes up to a sit, nearly knocking his phone from the arm where it’s perched without care. His shoulders shake from the mix of cold and anticipation, mistaking the grin that Taehyung sports as a triumphant mission.

“Oh this place is spectacularly shitty, my friend. Looks like we’ll be snuggling like penguins if we wanna get warm tonight.” As if to punctuate his vivid explanation, Taehyung slides dangerously close to where Jeongguk remains sitting, legs brushing as he sinks into the already heated seat.

Jeongguk nudges to the sharp of Taehyung’s shoulder, encouraging him further inward with a defeated groan. He’s sure he catches the scent of something similar to carpet that’s been left to mildew, but he attributes it to imagination. Somehow this very apartment seemed a saving grace just a month ago. “I knew we should’ve splurged on that loft. Why are you smiling?”

“Hm, so that girl that you were staring at earlier, you know her?” Taehyung doesn’t shy from his urge to throw himself over Jeongguk’s lap, ignoring the squint scrutiny from above. He pokes at the underside of Jeongguk’s chin, teasing a reaction from him, grimace evident from the suction of his cheeks.

“Not exactly, I know the guy she was with though. They own the tattoo shop, why?” Taehyung braces his head with one hand, the other grabbing hold of the string dangling from his clothes, rolling the aglet between agile fingers. He ponders the thought of revealing that just beyond moth eaten wallpaper and the cracks of a concrete hall you await just a few doors down.

“Just a question. You didn’t think I would just leave it, did you?” Jeongguk’s nose scrunches because he did in fact find that avenue favorable among the chosen. Taehyung pats his muscled thigh with a patronizing shake of the head, hair already tangling with the push of his heavy skull to Jeongguk’s tough jeans.

“So what, she’s cute, not like I know anything about her. I’m more concerned with making it through the night without contracting pneumonia or risking the complete freeze of my limbs.”

The two seem to scoot closer at the thought, Taehyung now pushed against Jeongguk’s abdomen. They paint quite a picture on their second hand furniture, couch in need of stitching at the seams and the questionable stain that inhabited it upon arrival nipping at the press of Taehyung’s socked feet into the cushion.

Fatigue abandoned the task of unloading boxes that litter the expanse of open flooring and leftover furniture. Their energy fueled endeavor long forgotten along with the memory of comforting warmth. They both ponder the idea of retreating to respective rooms, but find it would be a miracle if they could manage to pull themselves from half comfort, abandoning the hope of body heat against the chill of the shared space.

Audible groan travels the four walls when a gentle fist beats against the door. Taehyung shoves at Jeongguk’s shoulder, a silent appeal to the younger to make sacrifice and leave their cocooned warmth. Jeongguk won’t be swayed, his arms easily finding the weight of Taehyung’s side and nudging enough to send him careening to the floor with a resounding thud.

Grumbles and groans of the incoherent leave Taehyung’s mouth, amused giggles falling from Jeongguk whose legs are now pulled to drink in the heat left behind. Taehyung stops for a moment, thinking that his timely trek was wasted, opposing party’s fist meeting wood no more. He gently opens the door, head ducking around the corner, foot stepping out only to stub into something surely placed for such an occasion as his physical reckoning.

He foregoes subtly, mouth unhinging and curses falling akin to rocks from a cliff side, the echo bouncing against concrete and soaking into the slips and edges of the silent walls. Jeongguk ambles around the corner with concern etched features, the draw of his eyes landing on his roommate, leg at an angle and clutched whilst he leans against the doorframe.

Jeongguk squeezes past, kneeling to pluck the sticky posted from the top of what appears to be a space heater. His eyes scan the crisp note, glancing down the hall with the knowledge that the perpetrator is surely long gone. “Dude, you good?”

“Stubbed my fucking toe,” Taehyung strains. Jeongguk let’s him sulk, hiding a purposeful grin from the dramatist leaning over him. “What is that anyways.”

“Space heater.” He passes the note, Taehyung scans it quickly with a hum. He doesn’t miss the look he’s receiving from Jeongguk, aware of the name scribbled along the tiny parchment. “Was nice of them. What did you say anyways?”

“Nothing really, guess I’m just a natural charmer.”

~*~

“Will you tell her that she should just move in with me like I suggested in the first place?” Jimin snags on the thick of Namjoon’s t-shirt, pulling him from his task, resituating his glasses along his face rather than the slide to the tip of his nose that seemed a regular occurance. You choose to ignore the commotion, back to sweeping dust and scattered leaves from the entrance of the shop.

Your living situation, less than ideal, often leads you to Jimin’s door, his spare room rather drenched in your deposited belongings. It’s his futile mission to persuade you to trade up from your desolate one bedroom with it’s desperate calling for tlc and take permanent residence in his humble abode just uptown.

It’s foolish not to consider, but you always find the scrape of your teeth roughening the budded surface of your tongue when he turns to you with his grin of sweet saccharine nearly once a week. You don’t know what it is about the cracks that seem to shimmy further up the walls with each passing minute or the breaks in the tile that beg an earthquake decades off, but you aren’t quite ready to part with it.

“If you want me to stop coming over just say so,” You huff, fully aware that’s not the case but sure it’ll throw Jimin for a curve with enough distance to keep him at bay.

He sputters, releasing Namjoon with a gentle shove, “That’s not it and you know it! I just don’t see why you stay there, it’s so...broken.”

“I’ll have you know that I-”

“Have lived there since you came here blah blah blah, we know. Oh hey, a customer! Would you look at that,” Jimin’s over enthused response following a set of feet flooding through draws your next words to thin air, replaced with a well meaning grin. His perked posture slumps when he realizes that it is not in fact a patron looking to empty their wallet. “Oh, it’s just Hobi-hyung.”

“Thanks for the sunshine,” Hoseok counters, elbows covered with a patched overcoat resting along the edge of Jimin’s desk. Though his words hold a tinge of sarcasm, he’s all smiles as he regards you. Much like Namjoon he sports his frames today, wide and rectangular perched along the bridge of his nose. From the opening of his coat you smirk at the peak of a bright yellow sweater, an animation practically dancing along the expanse of his chest.

“Guess it’s a good thing that’s your job,” Namjoon pats him on his way to his office, returning with a box overflowing with garments and books. It’s not unusual that the two of them exchange goods, Hoseok’s thrift always looking for ways to fill the shelf.

It surprised you in the beginning, the flow of people who seemed to always leave his shop holding something to their chest like it was the world stuffed into a novelty bag. That was before Hoseok insisted that you visit yourself, sure you’d find something of interest. He wasn’t perturbed by skepticism, it only seemed to fuel the glint of a thousand galaxies that flared in his concentrated stare.

You’d ambled the lot for a good thirty minutes, fingers gliding along shelves so sturdy it came as a shock that he installed them himself, the wiggle of his elongated fingers when you recited the thought still fresh. It was the belief of Hoseok, in his own words, that there was a magic in places like his. A magnetic pull that would lead you to just the thing you need, often times things he himself didn’t even know he possessed.

“The rest is all in good fun,” He’d finished with that smile that rivaled the shine of the largest star glistening from above.

Your magic was nestled in the thick of it all, buried beneath someone else’s waiting fortune. It was the far corner that drew you, something about it just a shade darker than the rest of the large room. You’re unsure what possessed you, ignoring the insistence of magic cycling through the heavy air conditioning as you pillage through a pile of neatly folded quilts and the random placement of a busted stereo.

“Find something?” Hoseok appeared, head resting just over your shoulder. Your crouch betrayed you and were it not for quick reflexes and a helping hand the bust of your ass was sure to find the floor. Hoseok stood with a pool of change shaking in his palm and his neat smile waiting for you to putter around with your find.

“It’s just a necklace, nothing special.”

“Still, take it, you never know.” He was insistent that you leave with the silver chain, an onyx pendant dangling from the end and even more so that, rather than pay him, you admit that there’s something in the air. You agreed, but your reluctance was only truly squashed when you found yourself adorning the necklace more than your usual jewelry reserved for occasion.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the tea shop opening up?” Hoseok plants himself on Jimin’s desk, ignoring the playful glare burning a hole in his side. Namjoon rests the box on the ground next to him with a grunt, clear on Hoseok’s intention to linger as long as time will allow rather than collecting his treasure and hurrying back to his own place of work.

“Jimin and I met the owner yesterday, he seems like a really nice guy.” Namjoon fills before Jimin has the chance to allow his jaw to unhinge, no doubt planning to flaunt his basic knowledge like privileged information.

“That’s nice. Rumor has it he specializes in boba.” You would chuckle were it not for the wild look in Hoseok’s eyes, his hands painting imaginary rainbow before slotting through the pockets of his coat. His feet steadily tap tap against the tile, the gentle nod of his head not at all unusual but nonetheless intriguing. “It’ll be so nice not having to drive a town over just to have a nice tapioca pearl.”

“You know they sell those, you could make your own.” Your words are all but lost on the eccentric businessman, his tactic to avoid information displeasing to his interests taking full effect. His body angles, half hiding a chuckling Jimin from your view. Sliding the broom to the near closet, not unaware of leaves sadly crumpled against the tile from Hoseok’s timely entrance, but not bothered enough to scoop them into the waiting bin, you make haste to your office slipping between the door slightly ajar. “Right. Well I’m gonna go try to get some work done.”

You release a stuttered breath upon the gentle click of your door, mumbled dialogue just barely pushing through the thick wood. Air puffs your cheeks in half contemplation, silence stealing the inspiration that seemed to dance before you, brain now only half awake as time seems to dwindle at the speed of sound. Instead of the reach for a waiting pad and the scatter of ballpoint colors staring from your desk unused and impatient, you grab for a volume that seems to scream from the near bookshelf.

It begs the recollection of time well spent, a pang in your chest follows a rushing to the surface as if air tearing from lungs lacking capacity. Your full weight collapses to your chair, recently upgraded at Namjoon’s insistence that nursing the squeaky four wheeler that threatened to collapse with the wrong release of breath violated his own moral codes before the hushed mumble about legal repercussions. You aren’t complaining, the upgrade makes you feel like a permanent staple, especially when your mind is convinced that layoff is imminent.

Your fingers trace the smooth cover of hardback, reckoning with the ache to feel the crisp of unturned pages and avoid the buildup that follows suit. It’s the not knowing that tugs at the precipice of your flowing mind, wishing for diagnosis from a stagnant flow of a previous gold mine.

Your ears peak at the surge of voices layering the lobby, though your mind squashes the urge for a slip back into the throw of pleasant chatter. You draw a drawer, fishing for half tangled buds, slipping them into your heightened canals to drown with the sounds of your latest fix.

~*~

The lift of Jeongguk’s gaze as heavy feet carry him past the fluorescent sign of Uhgood Tattoo and through the ringing entrance is subtle enough as doe eyes scan the lengthy space for a feminine form. He’s met with null, but the snag of his pupils on a wall of intricacy almost distracts from the loiter of men staring straight for him and Taehyung who is decidedly less preoccupied.

“Jeongguk, nice to see you again!” Namjoon booms over every voice in the room. His arms are half open in eager acceptance and Jeongguk leads Taehyung to the settled group, one last sweep still leaving him wanting for an introduction or a glimpse at best. “We were actually just talking about you.”

“About me?” His tone toes between surprise and unease, lips puckering in the shape of ‘oh’ and steps stuttering against the crunch of leaves slipping along linoleum.

“Yeah, Hoseok here was just saying how excited he is that you moved in. He owns the thrift shop just across from you.”

Hoseok doesn’t need much introduction before he’s centered in front of Jeongguk, smile glinting and hands reaching for the younger man with much fervor. Jeongguk would find the proximity daunting were it not for the friendly face reflecting in his widened irises. His chest rumbles, glad to place a face to bright signs and eccentric displays.

“Nice to meet you, we’re all glad to have a new face on our little strip. I’m especially glad to have an excuse to save myself from Jin’s questionable experiments in the kitchen.” Hoseok’s hand has yet to stop its steady shake of Jeongguk’s, too caught in words, leaving his mind’s body on its own. “Feel free to drop by my shop anytime, I love seeing new faces. Plus-”

“Here we go…” Jimin cuts, feigned exasperation coating his pitched tone before he excuses himself to the back of the shop. His exit isn’t swift enough to hide the exasperation of the puff of air that gaps his lips.

“There’s a special kind of magic in a shop like mine and because you just moved in the first trinket is on the house!”

“Oh magic? Taehyung’s really into that stuff, we’ll stop in sometime.” He gestures to his friend whose hands are shoved to the thick of his sweatshirt, lips pushed inward with the suck of his cheeks. “This is him by the way, Taehyung, he’s my partner of sorts at the cafe and my roommate.”

“Yeah, though the last one is questionable at the moment. Nice to meet you guys, this place is sweet! Do you do piercings by any chance?” As if by pure luck Jimin’s stepping back into the room, his eyes set ablaze with passion by the innocent inquiry.

“Piercings are my specialty actually, I can pierce any and everything!” His hands clasp to Taehyung’s shoulder, glad for excitement out of the realm of files and spreadsheets. Taehyung, surprised by the eager response, can only seem to nod along to the spew that falls from Jimin’s lips that near miles per minute. “Are you interested? I’d be happy to show you our collection.”

“This could take a while,” Jeongguk is startled by the presence of Namjoon somehow closer than before. Jimin is still spouting about his work to his potential client, Jeongguk takes in Taehyung’s features in search of a signal for help, but only finds him painted with interest and intrigue at the bundle of knowledge that is Park Jimin. Namjoon gestures to a hall along the far wall, a couple of paintings half crooked beckoning them forth. “We can talk about those tattoos if you’re interested?”

The buzz that surges in the cavity of his chest is answer enough, companied with the vigorous nod of his head, curls bouncing against the frame of his cheeks. “That would be great!”

Namjoon easily falls into the roll of guide, leading the two down the hall and past a couple of doors tightly sealed. The walls are a dark shade, set aglow by the heat of fixtures hanging overhead. Even in the dim setting, Jeongguk finds his head swiveling in every direction, thirsting to take in every inch of the place. In his haste he nearly trips over a section of flooring slightly raised, likely the result of settled foundation over many years. He decides rather quickly in favor of the building, the character of the interior clashing rather nicely with the updated signage on the outside.

‘We’ve got a few different stations for working,” Namjoon speaks up, drawing Jeongguk’s attention back. “We do them in the section off the side of the lobby if the customer is comfortable and it’s nothing major, but we also have private rooms that we as the artists like to use depending on the project.”

“That’s what these rooms are?” Jeongguk reaches with a pointed finger, tracing the expanse of the wooden frame, chipped and roughened, to a closed door. Rather than plaquing to decipher between the various enclosures there are framed sketches posted outside of each, nothing a newcomer like himself could pick up on, clearly contributed by the owners.

“For the most part, there’s my office and Y/n’s, and a storage closet but this is where the magic happens.” Namjoon allows Jeongguk a path to his office, door shutting in their wake with a dull thud.

It’s less decorated than Jeongguk was expecting, the barely bare walls outside of the office building up the anticipation of the canvas that must be spread within. Instead there’s nothing put bright white, almost blinding compared to what he’s seen so far. There are a few framed photos of Jimin, himself, and you; all smiling in various scenarios of glee. Other than the placement of a decently sized shelf in the corner and the desk perched along the adjacent wall this office gives no indication of Namjoon’ s labyrinthine line of work.

Even so, Namjoon appears highly intimidating as he takes a seat at his desk, gesturing Jeongguk to the comfortable chair across. Jeongguk is well aware that he doesn’t mean to give the impression of a boss, straight backed and fingers laced over mahogany, but that doesn’t make it any less so.

“So!” Namjoon speaks with triumph, his gauntlet the toss of the pen that had previously dangled from the fold of pierced ears. “You have any idea what you’re looking for in the ink department? I figure we can start with graphics and then discuss placement to see who the best fit would be for you.”

“Best fit?” Jeongguk leans forward, boots squeaking obscenely on the tile beneath. His cheeks flush at lack of knowledge, feeling as if the words spewed were foreign when in reality it was a jolt sent to the creases of his spine and straight to the red soaked appendage in his upper chest. While he’s entered this room with the assumption that Namjoon would be his sole artist, there lay a chance that the two of you will come face to face.

“Yeah, Y/n and I are both good at what we do but of course we both have our specialties. So we like to decide our clients that way sometimes.” Namjoon’s explanation leaves him none the wiser to hidden meanings and the hopeful perk of Jeongguk’s shoulders.

“Oh. I haven’t met Y/n yet,” He wonders if you rest behind one of the many doors leading to this one, sketching away on what he’s sure can only be a masterpiece. “Is she around?”

“Yeah...I don’t wanna disturb her though. Maybe she’ll be in the lobby when we’re finished here.” Namjoon’s words are sincere though his eyes seem to drift far off, their target the window over Jeongguk’s shoulder, shadowed by the growth of a large tree, branches dwarfing the ground outside. His trance is but a moment, focusing once more on the man before him. “What did you have in mind for your tattoo?”

“Well, actually, I was wondering if you guys use the tebori method here? I know it’s more widely used in japan, but I don’t really see myself heading over there anytime soon.” This shop isn’t the first that Jeongguk has scoped in hope of an artist with an extra element of technique, the buildup for disappointment resting in a rehearsed expression. He watches the myriad of expressions that Namjoon cycles through, almost as if the answer rests against the tip of his tongue, but he’s unsure if it’s the correct one. “It’s totally fine if—”

“We do.” He speaks without much expression save for the way his spine seems to cave inward as he continues to think. Jeongguk isn’t sure whether he should continue speaking, choosing instead to study the tilt of a pen on the desk, threatening to roll to the floor if it dances any longer at the edge of the surface. His nerves itch to grab for the object for some form of reprieve, afraid that the pending clatter will disturb Namjoon’s steady concentration and perhaps the calm mask that he appears to be sporting.

His head tilts a tad, curls falling over one pupil, the other spying Namjoon as if zeroing in on a target, nearly scrutinizing the pensive thinking with his galaxy gaze. He can see that just past the roof of Namjoon’s head there lies a single divot in the wall, nearly tricking the bump of accidental furniture, but Jeongguk’s own fist clenches in recognition, thumb tracing the jag of his knuckles.

“Y/n is the only person here that can tattoo with that particular technique, she’s amazing at it really, I’m just not sure if she’ll be up for it right now.” Namjoon’s words seem to pain him to utter, a strained longing in his voice that’s indecipherable without context. Jeongguk only nods along, curiosity curbed by his unyielding sense of etiquette in a situation that doesn’t wholly concern him. His feet are already pressing against the flooring, prepared to push to his feet and exchange pleasantries and assurance of no hard feelings, but Namjoon doesn’t seem quite through, leaving Jeongguk’s position to an awkward one hanging from the edge of his seat. “I don’t wanna speak for her though, so maybe you two can talk.”

“Okay, should I set up an appointment?”

“No, I think I heard her leave her office, she’ll probably be in the lobby. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you now.” Namjoon’s mouth is once again split in dimpled grin, leaving Jeongguk’s head to a spinning akin to a child’s top. He’s led from the room, paying extra attention to the hall, ears itching to pick up a tone much higher than those in the lobby he left only a short time ago.

Contrary to Namjoon’s inference, the lobby is emptier than when they left, Jimin and Taehyung the only ones left milling about. Their speech mimics old friends, Jimin poking at Taehyung with the smile of someone who knows something that no one else does, Taehyung simply replying in kind with half grin.

“I thought I heard, Y/n.” Namjoon directs his voice at Jimin, fingers tapping the surface of his desk whilst his eyes take inventory of the shop. Jeongguk wonders if he thinks you’re hiding behind one of the plants situated in the corner, waiting for the perfect moment to catch them off guard.

“Mm, she left. But not before this one got his flirt on,” Jimin’s elbow catches Taehyung’s rib with a sharp jab coloring his words. Taehyung doesn’t allow this to phase him, standing to his feet with a shrug of nonchalance.

“Not flirting, we just happen to know each other. You done here?” He aims at Jeongguk stepping with purpose toward the door. Neither makes eye contact, the subject of interest not particularly left to the category of unmentionable, but leaving them both awkward and stiff.

“Uh, I think so.” Jeongguk slants so that Namjoon is well in his sights, already typing vigorously on his phone screen. “Should I schedule something or…?”

“Don’t worry about it, I have your number so I’ll just have Y/n give you a call to see when you guys meet.”

Jeongguk stands a moment longer, his toes tapping to the leather roof of boots so chunky they seem to swallow him from toe to ankle, the footwear attempting to take from his lengthy form and failing miserably. He turns mid-step when Taehyung slaps lightly at the sleeve of his jacket, urging him to step beyond the threshold. He lifts his arm to half wave, mumbling pleasantries, barely audible of the steps that echo in his ears with each pace onto the desolate sidewalk.

Jeongguk heads toward his own shop, missing the realization of the lack of paired steps with his own. Several paces behind him, a subtle guilt dressing the plains of his cheeks, Taehyung tugs at the wear of half chapped lips, wondering if the broach of a hazy subject is necessary. He catches Jeongguk easily with a jog, nearly stilling him mid-stride but saved from the extra physicality by the passing of a car.

“You know...Jimin was just joking.” Jeongguk’s brows lift, clearly only just catching sight of his constant companion, his own thoughts carrying him along the street without a wayward glance. His eyes widen, unsure of Taehyung’s intentions or the direction of the current topic. “About Y/n, I mean. I don’t really know her and we don’t flirt.”

“Wouldn’t matter if you did.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s just—look I know you saw her the other day and I’m willing to bet the only reason you haven’t mentioned that you’re intrigued is because you thought she was dating Jimin.” Taehyung treads, careful to avoid the gaze of reddened cheeks, Jeongguk’s hand raising to a nudge at his soft lobe, the other clenching and unclenching in denim blue, nails scratching the rough of fabric with each clasp. “Well clearly they’re not dating, so it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did like her is all I’m saying.”

“Like I said, I don’t really know her. I think she’s cute, from a distance anyways, but I don’t think that’s any reason for a declaration.” The gentle tick of the crosswalk draws Jeongguk's attention on the present path to the opposing side of the street, ignoring the gentle tick of his chest.

A shining beacon in a sea of monotony. The words that filtered like a mantra, dressing the walls of his clogged brain, overflowing from files and dancing with the fires in tipped bins. Taehyung’s words extinguish the licking flames, if only momentarily, with meticulous reassurance.

A pocket of vibration, dark and clinging to his chilled skin, is notification for incoming correspondence. His steps skip, tripping along asphalt, saved only by the subtle grasp of a steady hand. His thanks are dropped without hesitation, hand slipping from fabric confines with the heavily encased lifeline pulsing with power.

From: Unknown [ 2:25pm]~is this jeongguk? namjoon gave me your number, said you need a consult?

From: Me[ 2:26pm]~yea...this is y/n im guessing?

His eyes pierce the screen, undressing the words with precision, ensuring he doesn’t make a fool in reply. He wasn’t prepared for the quick interception of the conversation he’s still processing, inner workings too focused on what’s straight ahead, not minutely prepared for Namjoon's speedy deliverance.

From: Unknown [ 2:30pm]~ding ding ding. im pretty much free whenever, so let me know what works with you and we can meet to discuss what you need and whether im the person for the job

From: Me[ 2:33pm]~ how about tomorrow around this time?

From: Unknown [ 2:34pm]~ cool. let’s meet at the park around the corner

And now, he waits.

~*~

The first thing you noticed was his approach, a confidence in his stride yet eyes that tried and failed to hide the glisten of steady orbs and the kiss of wind landing atop the surprising density of his cheeks like the piling of new snow. Your legs were crossed at the ankle, bare skin grazed by the cool of grass half dried by the desert chill, hands gripping the accumulation of sleeve inched to the open of your palm whilst your lips curved in mimic at the pout of his own, unintentional but perfectly protruding with the tracking of your steady tilt.

If one were to ask about the slight tremor in your hand or the subtle inch across inches between, you would fail to mention the metaphorical personality of your pulsing appendage and the ooz of liquid red abandoning the organ overflowed to trace the expanse of veins humming with the melodic string of laughter yet to abandon the space since he first spoke. You were immediately taken with soft speech and stolen glances, the professional tossed aside when you asked him to meet you, altogether forgotten when he said hello.

The pulsing was stunned only momentarily when he withdrew, hand disappearing into deep pockets to pose leather-bound pages and the hesitant stretch of muscles, the quick twitch of his neck the line of a rod, drawing you forward with each gentle reel of innocence. Now you sit, tangled in silent adoration, dripping admiration for the collaged pages, soaked in brilliance.

“These are yours?” You stroke the page with the ease of your pointer, his head tilting, hair framing, whilst he nods in a lopsided grin. You don’t notice the glue to your cheek, his eyes steady studying you while you study the glide of his hand with jet black against the white page.

He wonders if you catch the nerves, the steady vibration of his unsteady palms, gentle leap of muscled thigh and the brush of your leg with each accidental inch closer. The proximity did him in, your face from a distance only a picture on a page, face to face giving him the overwhelming sensation of the walk through a gallery filled with seven wonders, their spectacle meaningless without the promise of you.

He pretended for a moment, between laughter and brushes of innocence that he’s known you a lifetime, the thought only pulling at his metaphorical strings because he wishes he had. Your voices echo is sure to leave him wide eyed and ceiling bound for nights to come, imagining the galaxy as you, white expanse the only thing keeping from the grip he so wishes he could establish on the slip of your time here.

He knows it’s insanity, thoughts that won’t leave him be, the closeness driving him further to the edge. It’s the reason for his transition to the journal, the reason you’re perched in the grass with the whipping wind and dead leaves skirting around you.

“It’s just some ideas I have, I jot them down so I don’t forget. I was hoping we could work on them, flesh them a bit more…” Your gaze leaves the page, magic dwindling a sum, aghast at the audacity in his words. You withdraw, clenching fists to rationalize the wait for rejection on your behalf.

“Why me? I mean, you’ve seen Namjoon’s work, he’s great.”

“He said that you’re skilled in the tebori method. I’d like them to be done in that style and not many people can. Plus, I’ve seen your work too, it’s just as amazing.” Jeongguk notes the deflation, not unaware of Namjoon’s warning. He’s tempted to pry, but reverses hoping to stumble upon neutral territory, already missing the strain of your muscles in smile. “But obviously it’s only if you’re comfortable. I don’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“You’re not, I just...can I think about it? I know that’s so incredibly unprofessional of me but—”

“Take as long as you need.” Jeongguk decides immediately he doesn’t need an explanation, that your rumination is the promise of another rendezvous, high hopes lifting him over the horizon of the midday sun, skin aching for the glow of golden hour.

You already know you’ll say yes, outright rejection never an option, the flicker of expression alight in your left receptacle more than reason to feel him once more. The physical is through the page, but the metaphorical is the connection of souls, the cliché of one person and the hope of renewed ardor.

“I promise I won’t be long…” The words hang, heavy in the air between and with more meaning than your intent. You’re led away by the weight of obligation, required assistance from Jimin to cover the desk, legs like infant limbs after an hour unmoving.

Jeongguk follows suit, still chewing the words before spewing his own right back. The same weight and familiarity in his soft deliverance.

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, you climb.

~*~

“How was your date?” Jimin is already setting up his station, eyes not sparing a glance, concentration wholly reserved. His vibration is palpable, though you don’t immediately notice, the feeling still finding stringed limbs when you reach your seat behind the desk.

“I was meeting a client,” You speak hollow and unconvincing, the magic coursing through your veins begging to differ. Wonder is silent, eyes latching to the single eye muraled to the wall, imagining it to glisten like Sirius reflecting in the night sky, musing how one day could build a coherency of such magnetism yet still be held at arm’s length.

“Oh really? It’s just that, I never meet my clients at the park...” His voice is a hum, settling an array of options for the post pierce browse. “—it’s certainly a bonus that said client is very handsome and already seems pretty interested.”

“You’ve never even seen us in the same room, I just met him today.”

“Whatever. I assume he’ll be coming around a lot more.”

Your fingers grasp the nearest instrument, ballpoint clicking in time with the tap of your toe against the leg of the chair. “I don’t know if I’m gonna agree. I don’t want him to be disappointed in the result.”

“I know you think you’re old news, but the fact that you didn’t say no is reason enough. There’s clearly a part of you that wants to, so why not take the plunge?”

“I can’t say yes just because I feel some strange attraction to him. That would be inappropriate,” Your mind barely registers the entrance of figure three, a client you presume, the sign-in ledger already halfway across the desk when Jimin speaks again.

“So you are attracted to him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you did,” Your pen clatters, nimble fingers swooping it in your absence, Taehyung’s smirk a playful gleam to counter your startled posture. He greets Jimin as an old friend, the two waiting for you to catch up, the slouch of your spine and the configuration of the scene pulling you back into the current take.

“You’re the one getting a piercing?” Wheels push the foundation, abandoning the desk in favor of the plush leather Taehyung has already sunken into. You believe he feels at home, the decorative jewelry already hanging from his lobes the badge of a pierced veteran.

“Yeah, I figure it’s time to expand my collection.” His hand brushes the lengthy edges of his dark locks, leaving ample space for Jimin to reach his target, the depth of his gaze landing on your arch over the chair’s arm. “I’m assuming your meeting went well?”

“What do you know about my meeting?”

“Why do you think I was here yesterday? The piercing was just a bonus,” He pokes at the tray beside him, the light smack of Jimin’s hand drawing him back to the confines of his lounge. You try to connect dots lost in the fray of day to day. Taehyung is not entirely new to you though still unfamiliar, but you don’t recall the mention of Jeongguk during his earlier visits.

“So you guys know each other then?” Your disbelief finds Jimin, his hand’s busied with extra sanitation and his lips focusing hard to keep his face straight. “I’m assuming I’m simply the last to know, okay then.”

“It’s just circumstance really, I’m the one who came to your door, you were in your office when we came here yesterday and he was in Namjoon’s office when you came out. I promise he wasn’t avoiding you, quite the opposite actually.” You’re too intrigued for embarrassment, your attention handed tenfold to Taehyung, his head slightly tilted while Jimin readies to pierce him.

As of late the stench of disinfectant would trigger a memory you were fighting hard to shield from the surface, but the idea of not knowing more of Taehyung drives it from your mind, currently on one track and unwavered by anything that’s not Jeongguk. Even so, there’s a haze, or perhaps the attempt of common sense forcing you to look past the filter of brights to truly grasp reality.

“We’d never met before today, how could he possibly be looking for me?”

“We actually saw you a few days ago, before you and I officially met. You and Jimin were leaving the shop and he seemed pretty distracted by you, but he thought you two were dating.” Your laughter emits in breathy sighs, muddled by the fluttering in your abdomen, Jimin’s lips smug, shoulders rounded.

“Easy mistake, we’d make a cute couple.” It would be a fib to deny that it’s the first time it’s been thought that you and Jimin were more than friends. His neighbors foolishly believe your late nights are spent anywhere save for the couch, silver screen glaring back at your glued lids.

You watch Jimin work, ignoring the bore of Taehyung’s eyes, his focal point to ignore the sharp sting of the needle. He barely flinches, your own body lurching in slight when the needle meets puffed skin. His hand clasps your wrist, pulling you closer, examining the bare skin in earnest.

“You don’t have any tattoos...none that I can see at least.” He notices, jumping to your eyes and back to your arm. He leans forward when Jimin steps away, gathering his studded collection of earrings, reflecting with golds and silver. “That’s pretty interesting considering you give them to other people for a living.”

“Astute observation. I do not have any tattoos visible or otherwise.” Taehyung kisses his teeth, easily opting for a pair reminiscent of chains. You look for judgement, but there’s none in his study of the colorful space, just a curiosity he’s not sure he should breach. “I’ve always wanted one, but I was too scared. Ridiculous but true.”

“Scared of needles?”

“At first maybe. Scared of the permanence of it all. It feels like such a big responsibility, to me at least, to decide what to get tattooed and I’ve never gotten to a point where I could just do it.” You think back to pages bound by leather with frightening immediacy, the conviction with which the they screamed at you almost haunting if not for the beauty of it. Chilling in the details of sketches, moments in time grasped so eloquently. A part of you is certainly jealous, but the other part is so irrevocably drawn to depth and desire. “Hey, Taehyung, is Jeongguk still at his shop by chance?”

“Actually I’m supposed to be meeting him for ice cream after this so he might already be there.” He pulls his device from his jacket, squinting at the screen, thumb gliding in swiftness. “You guys should come!”

“Oh we don’t wanna—”

“I’m in, I’ve been craving a good scoop,” Jimin leaves no room for disagreement, his limbs already at full speed to hurry cleaning his station. “We don’t have any clients and Namjoon is out of town for the day, so I think we’re good to close up. Plus, you can tell Jeongguk you’ll take him on.”

“I never said I would,” You slide back into your jacket, tucking your limbs into the sleeves. The sky has darkened significantly since the dusting of rays that splashed your skin as you sprawled the grass barely an hour earlier.

“You never said you wouldn’t.” The two are like stooges, already mastering the collaborative effort to challenge you.

“Have fun with your ice cream, I’m, hopefully, going home to a heated apartment.”

~*~

Jin has been talking to Jeongguk since he entered, the recognition of the new young entrepreneur on the strip catching his attention without pause. He’s a nice guy, his energy something Jeongguk would appreciate on any given day, but he was hoping for a moment of collection before Taehyung arrived.

He’s stuck on a blur, the low heat of his skin and the canals of his ears, yearning for the vibration of laughter and soft words spoken beneath the breeze. It was easy and good, an hour lost, an hour found. He would’ve laid there in the grass for hours after your departure were in not for the chill that crept in so easily without you beside him.

He wonders if it was a mutual feeling or if your reaction was just polite, a business tactic. No. Not you, you’re not the type to pretend, he knows even if he doesn’t know. Your sincerity was like a sickness, spilling from your every crevice, pouring out with your every phrase. He’s sure even you don’t notice the significant way you carry yourself, impossible to turn away from.

“Hey, Jin, talking Jeongguk’s ear off I see.” Jeongguk breaks his stare from where it concentrated on the ink already eating his skin, Jimin standing over the booth with Taehyung chuckling beside him. “Maybe give him a break and take out order?”

“There’s a counter, Park Jimin, and—” Jin squints in the direction of the counter, a small line waiting for their treats of the frozen variety, though not many people are keen for the cold in the midst of winter. “—yup there’s definitely someone up there waiting just for you.”

“Ha ha, leave him alone, Jin, his mind is already occupied plenty.” Jin slides from the booth, Jimin immediately taking his place, Taehyung sliding in after him.

Jin feigns reluctance when Jimin recites his order, all around friendlier when Jeongguk and Taehyung do the same. Jimin turns his attention to the other side of the booth when Jin sidles off, already choosing his next target. “Where’s your head at?”

“Hm?”

“We just talked to Y/n, I hear your meeting went well, prospects are high. She seems interested,” Taehyung’s speech is backed with encouragement, Jeongguk’s lip quivering, but winning the fight against his impending smile, intent on not giving himself away too quickly.

“She said she’d think about it and I’m perfectly okay with that.” He thinks of your promise, the thoughts skirting past the surface for a sign, a signal that the more he feels is exactly the meaning behind your words. His rang true, he would wait and be content. He would be prepared to have you work as his artist and end things there, but the weight in his pocket and the recollection of your eyes doubled in size leaves room for the want of more.

“She seemed impressed with you,” Jimin adds, chin rested in his palm, reading for reaction. “The fact that she’s considering is a really good sign. For her and for you.”

“It all just felt really natural,” The two watch as Jeongguk’s eyes glaze over just thinking about the exchange. “Almost like we…”

He trails, face heating, his thoughts almost betraying him. He’s relieved when a server comes bearing dishes, thanking them aloud with pleasantry and inwardly for saving him from himself. The relief is short lived when two sets of eyes beam at him like he’s an amusement, waiting for him to continue.

“Almost like you…”

“Nothing, it’s really stupid. She’s really great, I’ll be lucky if she decides that I’m worth it.” He covers lamely, shoving his spoon past his lips, letting creamy vanilla coat his tongue and ease his mind.

“Trust me,” Jimin mumbles, swallowing his own hefty scoop. “She decided that the moment you sat down.”

~*~

It’s unclear what brought you to this stool some nights later, half buzzed and wondering if you’ll have to call Jimin to drag you home. Your mind hasn’t completely fogged, liquor light with mercy, heavy consequences no doubt pending for the morning to come. A break, you’d decided, hands and knees stained with product, trying in vain to work the stain from your carpet, the smudge faint but not enough to miss your eye.

The crowd is surprising, though you wouldn’t know as you don’t often go to the place with the metaphorical bad stuff, your own brand of lunacy dancing in boxes lacing your cabinetry. You recall the draw of drinks from mugs and Jimin off-key when you’re sliding more bills than you prefer across the counter. Moving is without appeal, head to the counter the way to go.

“Hey, you okay?” The voice is familiar, worth the work to lift your head. Jeongguk looks down at you, his hand placed to the bar, eyes wide with concern.

His own stumbling through the door of the room with the dim lighting and the absurd amount of sports playing in every corner was boredom. Taehyung had plans and he was left alone to the drone of the television, the shop in need of a break from him. The dishes already glistening from his tenth wash despite the lack of use. A spot of dust enough to send him into a frenzy. From Jimin the name of the dive was briefly mentioned, in relation to what he couldn’t say, the topic never picking his brain from the moment it was first spoken.

Now he’s glad he wasn’t a horrible companion, the sight of you hunched over reason enough for his half listen. He notes your solitude immediately, drawn to the side of the bar rather than the thick of it all, two glasses empty before you.

“Jeongguk!” Your tone is uneven, eyes looking watered under the lights, your smile brightening in his eyes. He can’t help but to return, lowering into the stool so your faces are level. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I just got here actually and I saw you so…”

“You came for me?” If you were less influenced the words would have remained nothing more than a thought, passing in a sea of others you could never muster courage to speak. Though you’re not sure that a post buzz reflection will make you wish they were any less materialized, the way his features soften like a fertilization for the growth of your thudding heart.

“I—yeah, I came for you. Are you ready to head home?”

“You don’t know where I live,” You say the words, knowing you’ll go anywhere with him even if he doesn’t. You let him guide you from your stool, his touch soft, never too much.

“You know, I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

~*~

He lingers outside of your door, adoring the small struggle you have with lock and key, about to lend a hand when your triumph catches him, arms lifting over your head, turning to him with a smile. “Come on!”

“You want me to come in?” Taehyung will be home soon and he has no way of explaining that he’s at your place that doesn’t involve some teasing on his best friend’s end of it, though it doesn’t matter when you latch on to the sleeve of his jacket and pull him past the threshold.

The biggest difference between your place and theirs is the lived-in aspect. He would say that it’s cute, but it’s too simple a word. It seems you prefer mood lighting, the flip of a switch igniting fairies strung to the base of the ceiling. It suits you, who’s already stumbling toward the kitchen expecting that Jeongguk is hot on your trail. The décor is simple, a few paintings on the wall, rugs and cozy furniture.

“I’m sorry if it’s cold in here, it’s always kind of cold in here,” You mutter, grabbing two mugs and giving life to your kettle. Jeongguk recalls that you were no longer in possession of your space heater, taken by Taehyung and himself and still unreturned. He debates running over to grab it, but your hand once more on his wrist, drags him to the sofa erasing the thought of walking out of that door. “Thanks for bringing me home, I promise I’m not that wasted. You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“No, I’m not nervous! Not because you were drinking anyways…”

“So you are nervous...why?”

“You make me nervous...in a good way!” He’s quick to regroup, noting the fall of your features, hating that it’s because of him. “It’s completely insane, but from the moment I saw you I…”

“Me too.” Jeongguk’s previously averted gaze rushes to meet you, already staring back. He doesn’t need to ask what you mean, confident that what you feel is what he feels. Confident that it doesn’t matter how insane it may sound. “It’s so crazy, but when I saw you yesterday something just clicked and I thought maybe it’s because you’re ridiculously attractive but then we talked and it was so natural.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” He takes a chance, hand sliding to yours, resting against your thigh. Your fingers tangle without stutter, the position meant to be, so full of warmth and understanding. “I saw you with Jimin a few days ago, I couldn't stop staring."

So long is spent staring, enjoying each other and the mutual affection that's like an aura engulfing you.

"Where exactly do we go from here?” Jeongguk tugs at his bottom lip, another quality that fills you with warmth.

“Why are you opening a tea shop?”

“What?”

“We’re practically strangers, I don’t even know your last name actually. So, if there’s some weird predestined love at first sight phenomenon going on here, I’d like to know everything about you before we proceed.” You click, smile a contagious thing, one that Jeongguk would be remiss not to embrace wholeheartedly. “So why a tea shop?”

“Well first, my last name is Jeon—”

“Jeon Jeongguk…” He watches you test the words against your tongue. “Cute. You’re cute.”

“Anyways,” He blushes. “I’ve always loved making tea. I learned it at a young age and then I started experimenting and decided that this is what I wanna do. I figured focusing on boba would draw more people in, but I also wanna expand on what I already know.”

“Well if anything, Hoseok will be there at least twice a day.”

“What about you?”

“I think I can make time, though you are really out of the way I might not be able to swing it.”

“I’ll pick you up, or better yet I can just bring it right to you,” He offers, amused but truthful. “No, but I mean how did you get into tattooing, and how did you learn tebori?”

“Ah…” Your eyes find one of the frames hanging nearest the window, a landscape that Jeongguk can barely make out aside from the distance of neon. “Well, I was studying abroad actually, in Japan. I was an art history major and I didn’t really know what I wanted to do so I thought getting away would help me figure it out.”

You think often about the day when your current occupation seemed so foreign, your adolescence always filled with imaginings of galleries under curation, days filled with frames and packed schedules.

“One of my classmates convinced me to go out with her one night because she wanted a tattoo and I wanted one too, so I didn’t really see why I shouldn’t go. She got hers first, a flower I think, and while I was watching the artist I was just blown away by the technique.”

“Tebori?”

“Mmhm, of course I’d seen the regular ink and needle, but this just seemed to me something on a deeper level and I fell in love with it. It’s probably the most insane thing I’ve done to date, but I finished my degree abroad and stayed in Japan to learn and now I’m here.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“It just felt like it was time...sometimes I wish I hadn’t or that I could go back to visit. Like it’ll remind me what it felt like in the beginning, make me feel like less of a failure. I'd actually get my tattoo.”

“You’re not a failure, we just have patches sometimes. You’ll figure it out, we’ll figure it out.” The steam of the kettle startles from the moment you're quick to exit to the stove, mulling words and recovering from the embarrassment of exposure over the steaming water. “You know, I don’t have tea so I hope hot chocolate is okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Jeongguk accepts his mug and the packet of mix, stirring it in time with his breathing. He’s left to the obvious blushing of his cheeks, musing his circumstance, sharing a drink with the perfect anomaly. He’s ignored the constant stream of vibration from his pocket, no interest in removing himself from the cozy bubble. “So this place is pretty shitty, I would know and I’ve only lived here about a week. Why do you stay here?”

“You live here? Wait...you and Taehyung are roommates, duh sorry. I’m still trying to catch up.”

“Yeah, thanks for the space heater by the way. I’m pretty sure I would’ve given in the first night if I had to sleep in the cold.”

“Ha! No worries, sometimes I do give in and I stay over at Jimin’s place. But I’m just not ready to let this place go yet, I guess. It’s not great, but change is hard and I’ve been here for so long.”

You're close along the counter, space invaded without invitation, gravitation controlling your every step. The rest of the night follows suit, closeness and appeal. You enjoy words and laughter, ignoring the possibility of the responsibility the next day alludes.

Somehow you find yourselves in your bed, faces close and bodies tucked beneath the thick duvet. You're glad the heat isn’t working tonight, Jeongguk wrapped around you like a boa, slowly falling into the depths of unconsciousness, the conversation lulling with each random topic. Your throat is strained from laughter and your brain is filled with more than it thought possible.

Inches are now centimeters and you’re snails inching toward the finish, certain but uncertain if the light of day will change the result of your exchange.

The morning following you wake much the same as you slept, tangled, breaths mingling between. Jeongguk is still snoring, blissfully unaware of the authoritative knock echoing from your front door. Hands pushing at your eyes, feet tingling against the cold flooring, you swing the door with an annoyance you’re prepared to unleash before you’re met with Taehyung.

His eyes are half frantic, neck craning to see around you.

“Taehyung?”

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Jeongguk? I’ve been trying to reach him since last night and he’s not answering.”

“O-oh...um he’s here, let me get him,” You mumble, allowing Taehyung, his eyes softening and features squinted, to step inside. You leave him standing in the living room, ignoring the knowing smirk, head bowed as you step into your bedroom.

You regret the gentle shove of his shoulders, and the hushed “wake up” that slowly but surely draws Jeongguk from his sleep. He looked peaceful, full of youth with his eyes stapled and breath steady rising and falling. His eyes are puffy when he raises, confusion laced features recalling that he wasn’t in his own home.

His arm extends, patting your side of the bed, unaware that you were the reason for premature awakening. “Hey sleepy head.”

“What are you doing up?” He finds your hand, grabbing hold in an attempt to pull you back to bed. Though you would be more than willing, Taehyung is sure to have heaps to say already, no reason to add fuel to the fire already blazing in his pupils.

“Taehyung is here,” That catches his attention, eyes darting to the door half open. “He said he’s been trying to reach you. He’s waiting in the living room, I’m sorry if you didn’t want him to know you’re here, I panicked.”

“No it’s fine,” He assures, sliding from the bed, the same chill that ate you catching him with bare feet. You follow him back out to Taehyung, who’s taken it upon himself to peruse the space, currently examining the coffee table with it’s day old mugs. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.”

Looking between the two of you, your hand finding habit at Jeongguk’s shoulder, he shrugs. “No biggie, just thought you might be in a ditch or something. Turns out I was very wrong, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“I’ll just come with you, I should probably shower and change. I’ve got some stuff to take care of before the opening. I can’t believe it’s only a couple months away.” You drop your hand, leaving him to it, an awkward and unsure feeling settling in your stomach. It’s clear that Jeongguk is a bit embarrassed, not that you’re own emotions haven’t caused the sting of a heat in your cheeks. You wait for him to follow Taehyung, who’s already waved goodbye, hands in his pockets as he stalks away.

Jeongguk isn’t so quick, turning to your ground bound pupils, fingers drifting to the trace of your jaw and nudging you to greet him. You’re taken by the lack of hesitation when his lips meet yours in kiss, short and sweet, altogether unexpected. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” You coo, fingers brushing his cheek gingerly, rewarded with one more peck before Taehyung is groaning in the hallway, effectively tearing Jeongguk from you to catch up.

~*~

You’re warm, for the first time in a long time you’re warm, from your chest to your veins, head and toes, and it’s all because of Jeon Jeongguk. His departure wasn’t the last of him, the next few months full of meetings planned and spontaneous, your phone alight with too many notifications, every one taken in with the same adoring smile and your own obsessed response.

You would stop by Hoseok’s blessing him with a coffee, happily listening to his rambling about the horrendous new flavor Jin had him and Yoongi test the other night. Across the street you could just see Jeongguk through the window, lips pulled in concentration, pen scribbling on the pad in front of him. Though it was cute, you couldn’t help but to attempt to cheer him up, his eyes immediately finding you after he’s read the little note sent to his phone.

You would be sick with yourself if you were the one to witness the affection radiating from your expanse, but you couldn’t care less how many times Jimin fake gags or the small lecture you endure when Yoongi delivers flowers later in the day. You hold on to the feeling and you hope that it feels like this all the time.

“What are you working on?” Namjoon steps into your office, no other reason than his own boredom swallowing him whole, much like the cushions when he collapses into your sofa.

“Just some of Jeongguk’s sketches…” You noticed rather quickly the familiar book resting on your bedside table after your first night together, no doubt placed by Jeongguk before sleep could find him. You spent the morning getting to know his art better, so you could try to make it exactly what he wanted. You only just got around to transferring the sketches to your own notebook, hoping to have something to show him at his opening.

“He’s really good for you. I haven’t seen you this eager about sketching in a while.”

“You think so?”

“What, you don’t?”

“No, I just...I don’t want you to think I’m completely insane for jumping into this so suddenly. I mean, I think it’s insane that I could be so completely sure about someone so quickly and I think the world of you, so I don’t want you to be disappointed…”

He laughs, whole hearted laughter fills your office and you’re not positive how you should respond. Your hands are unsteady on your pen, ready for him to completely crush your soul, back to the same girl standing in his doorway all those years ago.

“Honestly, you give me way too much credit.”

“What do you mean?”

“The night that you showed up, I was wondering how I was even gonna keep this place open. The building wasn’t the most friendly looking, most people walked right past, the outside giving them the impression that the inside was just as decrepit,” He sighs, head supported by the arm of the chair, eyes holding the ceiling in place. “When you showed up I was seconds away from telling you to get lost, then you handed me your sketches and you looked so hopeful. You were my last chance, so really I should be thanking you for being so spontaneous, especially if it means you’re happy.”

“Wow, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I didn’t want to put more pressure than you already put on yourself. Plus, it doesn’t really matter now, does it? We’re doing pretty good, and that’s what’s important.”

The revelation is a motivation, your grip on the pencil tightening, strokes light and even on the page. Namjoon doesn’t say much more, silent inspiration while he falls into slumber, the only reason he ever finds himself meandering into your space.

“Knock knock,” Jeongguk peers around the corner, your finer flying to your lips, the other gesturing toward Namjoon, dozing peacefully. “Sorry, does he do that a lot?”

“Oh yeah, he pretends he wants to know what I’m up to then he’s out like a light before I’ve finished speaking.”

“I’ll have to try it sometime—”

“Watch it,” You warn playfully, sneakily closing your notebook so he can’t see. “What’s up? I figured you would be too busy filling orders for little ole me.”

“Never, and I want you to try this! I was thinking I could add it to the special menu. I know everyone is into the whole lemonade with boba thing which we do offer but I was trying to make a tea that’s more on the fruity side than the tea side because I know some people are put off by the tea taste, ya know?” He watches you uncomfortably closely, your face trained to be as neutral as possible while flavors explode, traveling to opposing ends of your mouth, battling it out, but ultimately left with no winner.

“You know, I appreciate the thought and I’m sure if you work on it some more it’ll be perfect but…”

“It’s disgusting.” He finishes for you sighing in defeat, collapsing in the chair across from you.

“No!” You round the desk, his arms ready to accept your slide into his lap. “It’s not disgusting, it’s just...not quite blended yet.”

He takes the to-go cup, sipping his own concoction. You wonder if he tried it at all before running over here, his habit of trusting your initial judgement extremely endearing, but unnecessary. It stems only from your admittance that you weren’t the biggest tea drinker and that you’re one of those lemonade with the boba people. His mission became clear, he couldn’t stand to see you walk into his shop knowing that you’ll be leaving with sugared lemons squeezed into juice. He has to make you the perfect tea if it’s the last thing he does.

He was set on making it for the opening, but to no avail, the sign flipped, his employees brewing away, his drop here only partially out of the necessity for his favorite taste tester. “It’s disgusting,” He decides immediately, fighting the urge to spit it back into the cup. “You have to stop being so nice to me, it’s cute, but I want you to yell at me like you yell at Jimin.”

“I don’t yell at Jimin!”

“You yell at Jimin all the time, lovingly, but there are voices raised.” Namjoon rubs at his eyes, tugging at the shirt riding at his abdomen. “We goin for tea or what? I swear people are gonna think we’re out of business with how often we close early.”

"Yeah, can you just give us a minute?" You try your best to be discrete, nodding toward the notebook on your desk.

"Yeah...Jimin and I will just meet you there." He leaves you, door clicking in his wake and you turn to Jeongguk with a ready grin, eyes wide with excitement.

"Is this one of those things where I should knock everything off of your desk? If so I'm down, but this is a weird time…"

"No! I have a surprise for you." You pull his journal from it's position beneath the stacks of paper on your desk. "You left this at my place your first night over."

"I've been looking for this! I was embarrassed to tell you I lost it, but it turns out you're a klepto." He teases, taking hold of the pages. "So you decided to hold it hostage?"

"I wasn't holding it hostage, I was working on…" You lift your sketchbook, flipping to the appropriate page. "These."

They aren't complete, but you want his first impression and suddenly you understand the tea thing. It's a radically different medium, your shared art actually pending ink on his body, but you don't want to go too far only to disappoint. He leans against the desk, not speaking, just staring, expressionless.

"If you don't like them we can talk about what you want changed, I just tried to make something I thought would fit what you've already got going."

He finally looks up, eyes glistening, your stomach doing flips. You're too afraid to ask what he's thinking, so you continue to wait, hoping he'll speak up soon and that you didn't insult him with your vision.

"I love them."

"Really? You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings, it's your body you know."

"Really, you're amazing. This is better than I could've hoped and I can't wait until it's permanent." His words are firm with sincerity, notebook laid to the side in favor of pulling you into his arms. "How am I supposed to compete? I can't even make tea for you."

"Relax, your tea is perfectly fine! I just enjoy the occasional lemonade. Come on, we'll go to the shop, you can make me whatever you want and I'll love it."

"Deal, but...I-we have a surprise for you as well."

"For me?"

"Yeah, I was talking with the guys the other day, we were talking about you..."

"You and the guys? This should be good."

"It is, I promise." He produces an envelope from his pocket, no scrawl on the outside, more mystery than you're ready for. “I was thinking about what you said that first night, about wanting to remember what it was like in the beginning.”

“What did you do?” You tear into the envelope, fingers moving so slowly you fear the skin will catch in the thin edges. What you pull is far from what you imagined, a ticket printed blue for a week’s time. Jeongguk stares at you expectantly, waiting for some form of reaction, but you’re not sure what to say. “This is a plane ticket…”

“Yeah, to Japan. We want you to go back and we knew you wouldn’t do it unless we planned it for you.”

“You guys didn’t have to.”

“We wanted to, I wanted to. The way your eyes lit up talking about that time in your life, I would do anything to give that to you again. So we want you to go to Japan, do something for you.” His lips land on your forehead, breathing you in while you process the unexpected gift. It’s more than you could ever imagine, but there’s a single string, dangling with uncertainty. You figure the only way to eliminate it is to pull full force, risk sounding ridiculous.

“What about you?” Jeongguk’s face scrunches in confusion, the inquiry the last thing he expected. His thoughts were far from himself, not naive enough to think his mind would be focused anywhere but you while you’re gone, but never thinking it would be a reason you’re unsure about going. “I don’t mean to sound stupid, but I’d miss you too much.”

“You can call me everyday, any time of day. I’ll be there, you don’t have to worry about me not being here waiting for you.”

“Or...you could come?”

“Oh, you want me to? I figured you’d want to do your own thing, not have me weighing you down.” Your arms find his waist, head resting against his chest, giggling at the prospect of Jeongguk being anything more than a comforting presence.

“Of course I want you to, I wanna show you everything.”

“I’ll have to figure things out with the shop, but—”

“Oh, wow I’m so selfish. Of course you can’t just drop everything to come with me, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” You shake your head, silently scolding your inconsideration. Jeongguk grabs hold of your shoulders, stopping you mid step, hand halfway to smack your forehead.

“I would love to come, I just have to talk to Taehyung about it. I’m sure he wouldn't mind taking on a little more responsibility. Actually he’ll probably pack my bags for me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll probably have to catch a later flight, just to get things taken care of.” He thinks aloud.

“I think I can manage a few days on my own.”

“I promise I won’t be long.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, we smile.

#bangtanuniversity #bangtanidx #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #jungkook x reader #jjk x reader #jeongguk x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fluff #jjk fluff #bts au #jungkook au #bts s2l #jungkook s2l

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spuffyfet · 3 years ago

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tone tag key !

/j = joking

/hj = half joking

/s or /sarc = sarcastic / sarcasm

/srs = serious

/nsrs = not serious

/lh = light hearted

/g or /gen = genuine / genuine question

/ij = inside joke

/ref = reference

/t = teasing

/nm = not mad

/lu = a little upset

/nf = not forced

/nbh = nobody here

/nsb = not subtweeting

/nay = not at you

/ay = at you

/nbr = not being rude

/ot = off topic

/th = threat

/cb = clickbait

/f = fake

/q = quote

/l or /ly = lyrics

/c = copypasta

/m = metaphor / metaphorically

/li = literal / literally

/rt or /rh = rhetorical question

/hyp = hyperbole

/ex = exaggeration

/p = platonic

/r = romantic

/a = alterous

/sx or /x = sexual intent

/nsx or /ns = non-sexual intent

/pc or /pos = positive connotation

/nc or /neg = negative connotation

/neu = neutral / neutral connotation

#tone indicators #tone tags

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years ago

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PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 31

First time reader click here

it's a mental breakdown *off-key kazoo*. One (1) incident of physical abuse from a parent. And Stephen Strange arc begins opening. Kind of angsty, but more of a filler chapter to resolve the parents-suck thing.

A couple of days was all it took for me to get back on my feet... Figuratively speaking. Neither Bruce nor Tony was particularly excited about me being up and about, I was carried to my desired destination point by one or the other on most occasions. Physically, my body grew tired very easily - I took a lot of sporadic naps throughout the day, more often than not falling asleep in someone's arms. Nobody minded, really - even Loki, who wasn't a touchy-feely person by any means, relented and acted as a body pillow for me when we crashed on the common room couch to catch up with the TV show episodes I'd missed.

Tony was very obviously on the verge of a nervous breakdown. During the few hours I had spent being chased by the Cursed Box Demon in my nightmares, all the leads towards the contractor proved to be cold. Natasha was the most irritated of them all - a late-night talk with Clint through the vent above my room revealed that she took it as a personal insult, unprepared for a simple merc to be so good at evading the world's most notorious spy.

Hulk kept taking over Bruce's body - eyes shining fluorescent green - at the times we were together, periodically clutching me to his chest with clumsy but careful movements. I pitied the mercenary should he encounter my gentle scientist - I didn't think Bruce would even attempt to hold back Mean Green. They seemed to have achieved some sort of symbiosis those days, switching between the two personalities in one body almost effortlessly. Circumstances aside, I was very happy that the tension and the persistent internal conflict inside Bruce had almost disappeared.

What made me upset was Strange. The sorcerer was behaving, well, strangely. He began avoiding all of us - his excuses of helping the search for the merc were flimsy, and Wong's long, deep sigh, when asked about the sorcerer's state of mind, spoke volumes. I suspected Stephen was either seething with anger or drowning himself in the sea of guilt; I had a hunch he was similar to Tony in a way that he hid his vulnerability behind an impenetrable wall of malice and sarcasm and dry wit.

Perhaps I was wrong. But the pent up frustration resulting from the conflict between my overactive brain and my uncooperative body had to blow - and my mother was the fire to my already short fuse. Somehow, she got ahold of the information that I was hurt indirectly because of the actions of the Avengers - and she had called the first available phone she found, which meant Pepper Potts got an earful of vitriol regarding Stark Industries, SHIELD, Tony, and everyone else, including my father. Stoic as she was, Pepper took it all with grace, replying politely to my mother until she hung up on the redhead.

Pepper placed an urgent call to Coulson immediately after that, making the already uncomfortable situation spiral into something truly disgraceful. It ended with strict orders for me to return home - not that anyone besides me and Coulson knew about it. I was a legal adult, I could choose to stay in the tower and my mother was told so on numerous occasions... Knowing her, I was well aware she wouldn't be above storming Tony's home with a small army of her lawyer friends.

Inwardly seething, melting with the anger sitting in the pit of my stomach like a sharp piece of ice, I managed to convince Tony to have Happy escort me home at the guise of gathering more necessities. Tony, being Tony, offered me to buy anything and everything I needed, but relented under my puppy-eyed pleading. It was getting harder and harder to lie to any of my men, the weight of it settling unpleasantly bitter on top of my already foul mood.

Happy grumbled in displeasure at being tailed by a nondescript black SUV - I knew SHIELD would have eyes on me 24/7 now, at least until they catch the rogue mercenary - but seemed to be happy at my general state of relative wellness in his own... Happy... way. Five-second side-grin and "Glad you're up and about, Princess," was probably the most I was going to get from the man who's nickname contradicted his personality. In my humble opinion, he should've been called Brick instead. He was built like a shit house, too.

The moment I stepped into the living room, wearing Wanda's spare sweats and Tony's hoodie, I took a slow look around the room and immediately knew this was it. Most of my anger had receded, courtesy of finally being able to get out of the tower and do something, but the ice in my stomach persisted. The smell of whiskey and cigarettes hit me like a wall, news playing on the TV doing very little to dissolve the viscid, tense silence.

"Sit down," My mother instructed me in the tone of voice she used on people in the courtroom - convicts, people who knowingly broke NDAs.

"I don't think so," I replied, refusing to give in to her bullying. I was being absolutely reckless, I knew it, and still it didn't stop me from standing up for my men. Logically speaking, it could have happened to me anyway, Avengers or not. The cursed box came along long before I'd even met Peter Parker or any of his rag-tag superhero friends.

"Fine," She turned around, steely eyes leveled on me. I was but a speck of dirt under her nails - for the first time in my life, I felt terrified of my mother. I knew what she was capable of. "Listen well, daughter of mine. I'm going to only repeat myself once," She started in that deceptively calm tone of hers. "You are to stop mingling with Stark and his... Company. Immediately. I do not want to hear any more of that Parker boy, either. You will not destroy your future and our family's legacy over some fling with a man twice your age. This little game has gone long enough and it's time for you to get back to reality."

The more she spoke, the higher my eyebrows rose. I was supposed to take orders from my own mother now? Something thin, something thin and crackling with electricity within me just snapped - like a live wire. The hairs on my nape stood up, goosebumps appearing all over my skin. "And what if I do not?" I asked, just as quietly.

I was not prepared for her reaction. One second, she was sitting on the couch and the other - my cheek was burning and my mother was standing over me, breathing the stench of alcohol and tobacco right in my face. I saw the whites of her eyes. "Then you are no daughter of mine. I did not raise you to be someone's cumrag and all this play-pretend scientist shit had to have ended in middle school. I hoped you'd grow up but apparently, you insist on being a baby," She was full-on screaming in my face, so rabid she was shaking.

All I could think of was... How wrong she was. How wrong she would be, her sad little world broken when she finds out just exactly how much I'm capable of. Long gone were the days where I timidly questioned my scientific contributions; thanks to my men - the same men she'd hated so much - I knew my value. I knew I could achieve the things that I wanted.

"If that is your choice, you have thirty minutes to get your shit and get lost. I will not have a whore of a daughter living under my roof," I had missed a good part of her rant; most likely, it consisted of nothing but meaningless insults anyway. After she'd finished, she gave me a shove towards the stairs.

It didn't bother me as much as it should, I think. My cheek smarted and somewhere deep inside, I knew that the eerie calm that had settled over me wasn't normal - on the surface, I felt only relief. The things I suspected all along, finally came to light - she didn't even perceive me as a human being, I was no more than a means to her end. A tool. A thing.

The waterworks started when I frantically shoved most of the shit I could fit in my three suitcases. Upset as I was, my scatterbrain did me a favor that time and I gathered most of the important things. Notebooks full of my research - projects that my mother had called a child's game, projects that could be patented in a week, add a tweak or two. With sudden clarity, I realized I needed none of her money. None of her... At all. In short, I was emotionally all over the place and at the end of it... None of it made sense.

I threw the credit cards with her name on them on the coffee table as I hauled out my suitcases, not sparing the bitch a glance. She was equally quiet, boring into my back with those steely eyes of hers. I felt my skin peel under her stare. In my distraught state, hauling and dumping the suitcases in my car was quick work. Detaching the house key and tossing the last things that connected me to her house on the floor at her feet was a spur of the moment decision; my mother was right, to some extent, and I still had childish tendencies. "You had no right to call yourself my mother in the first place. All you were was an egg donor with more money than you could make sense of. Enjoy your hoard, you damned dragon," I seethed, seeing her frozen in place with her arms crossed and chin held high.

Some part of me hoped she would apologize. That naïve, childish part - I knew my mother and I knew myself, and the trait that we shared was stubbornness. I sped out of the estate without ever looking back, driving aimlessly for a while until the honking coming from drivers around me began reaching alarming levels of volume; tears began flowing down my face at some point, all but obscuring my vision. I parked in the nearest place I could find, in front of a Waffle House out of all places.

Crying in a Waffle House parking lot, how pathetic was that. Logically, I knew at least five people had my back: Tony and Bruce, who surprisingly loved me back; Loki, who had become strangely clingy after my declaration - clingy in the best way. Together with Wanda and Peter, they made my heart warm and my eternally racing brain feel calm and safe.

I called my dad, he didn't pick up. I don't know what I expected of the man, but any and all remnants of my respect for him shattered, breaking into tiny little pieces as I helplessly banged my fists against the steering wheel in a fit of desperate rage. One look in the mirror and my already ashen complexion was made worse by red, puffy eyes and the blooming bruise on my cheek where my mother had slapped me. It was the first time she'd laid a hand on me; I wanted to throw up.

I sat in the car until my breathing slowed; completely and utterly clueless as to what to do. I had no home of my own, three suitcases worth of clothes and research that was useless without a lab to run experiments in, my car, and a small trust fund in my name. The recent incident with the curse box had left me mentally drained as it was, now, I could surely say that my head was empty: no thoughts.

And throughout it all, Stephen's avoidance crossed my mind. As if the self-loathing wasn't enough, as if my own blood, the people who were supposed to care for me, rejecting and ignoring me wasn't strong enough of a blow... The sorcerer's avoidance raised more anger within me. I didn't know why but the thought of him made me want to cry and seethe once again.

Logic gone out of the window, I typed in the Sanctum's address into my GPS with shaking fingers, figuring that if he wasn't willing to do the legwork, I will come to him myself and clarify things for all at once. The mixed signals were just a cherry on top of my sky-high problem sundae.

I banged on the door and it flew open immediately, a surprised sorcerer quickly turning concerned and panicky, noticing my general state of appearance. I was still wearing the same clothes and my hair was in disarray, my face looking somewhere between a coke bender and a manic episode.

"You," I stated darkly, taking a deep breath. "You need to tell me what the fuck is wrong with me and reject me, so I can move on already. And you," I poked the man in the chest, right above the fancy eye-shaped necklace, "Need to stop it with the mixed signals. Stop wallowing in self-pity. Whatever you are doing, STOP IT," My voice involuntarily raised in pitch from all those emotional rollercoasters I've been on that day. "Get back to being normal. Let me fucking live," I finished my tirade as the man stared at me, frozen and open-mouthed.

"I..." He stammered, eyeing me with concern. "What in the multiverse happened to you? What..?" He was so confused, pulling out his phone the moment I bailed my fists.

"My mother threw me out, my father doesn't give a fuck about me, apparently I'm a cheap whore with delusions of grandeur. You're avoiding me and everybody is waiting for me to blow up," I screeched, all but vibrating in my spot. "This is me blowing up. I want answers!" I demanded.

Strange recoiled from me, frowning and pocketing his phone. A deep sigh left him, the kind that made his whole body sag. He ran a careful hand through his hair before looking away and slowly pulling me against his chest, the door shutting behind me and keeping the cold out. I hadn't even noticed I was freezing; my feet were wet from the NYC winter slush and mud.

Stephen's embrace was warm and tender; I wanted to lean into it and push him away at the same time. I was so messed up, it was embarrassing. There was nothing acceptable about this situation - I felt guilty as soon as his face fell.

"Jesus Christ, baby," He mumbled quietly. "Sounds like you had one hell of a day. Let's go, I'll put on some tea," He rubbed soothing circles on my back, something that confused me - I just had stormed in and dumped a bucket of bile right on top of his head.

"I should go," I mumbled, yet had no real strength to move away from him.

"You're not going anywhere. I suppose I need to explain myself, too," He sighed, and despite his obvious discomfort, picked me up, letting my limbs to wrap around his torso like a monkey. I was careful to keep my weight off his hands, even if the trip to the fireplace room was short. As soon as I was placed onto the couch and my shoes were removed, Cloaky drifted over from a dark corner, urging me to take off my soggy hoodie, and wrapped itself tightly around me.

Turns out, semi-sentient cloaks were quite warm.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95

#party favours #bun writes #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader #tony stark x you #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n

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mokuhchi-manuscripts · 4 years ago

Text

Once Upon a Constellation

Fandom: Haikyuu!! Premise: Tsukkiyama (Royalty! Fantasy! AU) Word Count: 4,831 Content Warning(s): Mentions of War, Mentions of Death

Find This on my AO3 as Well

Once upon a time, a prince fell in love with the stars. But little did he know, the stars had fallen in love back.

The stars decided to meet the prince, and together a friendship began to grow.

But when the prince was no longer able to visit the stars, the stars kissed him goodbye.

Once it came time for the prince to leave his castle for the last time, the stars welcomed him with open arms and together they fell in love once more.

-✩-

Tsukishima Kei walked barefoot out of the castle, concealing his footsteps lest he alert the surrounding guards of his whereabouts. Once outside, he could feel the blades of grass tickling his feet as he walked to the lake in the forest. For as long as Tsukishima knew, there was a large body of water in the clearing within the forest that immediately backed the castle. He had stumbled upon it one day as a small child playing tag with his older brother, Akiteru, laughter bouncing against the trees as they chased each other through them.The sun had just set when they accidentally stumbled upon the lake. There, Akiteru had pointed out the few constellations he knew to his younger brother. The older boy had traced the outlines of hunters and bears and scorpions with his finger, unknowingly causing Tsukishima to be absolutely mesmerized by the twinkling lights in the sky.

It had been that day that Tsukishima Kei had first fallen in love with the stars.

Ever since then, he had tried to make his way to the lake almost every day to watch the stars as they slowly shifted overhead. Sometimes he’d speak to them, informing them of his day and what he’d done. He’d tell them of his frustrations, his loves, his disappointments... Tsukishima knew that the stars must have been aware of every aspect of his life, but what he didn’t know was that the stars remembered. And slowly, the stars fell in love back.

It had been years since that day, and forever it held a special place in Tsukishima’s memories. Yet despite the time that had passed, he still spoke to the stars every night. A part of him wondered if the sky above anticipated his talks as much as he did.

Tsukishima was suddenly pulled out of his thoughts as he approached the lake. There, on the shore, sat an unfamiliar boy. He wasn’t sure how the boy had gotten there as the property technically belonged to the king because of the proximity to the castle, and most guards would not have allowed him to get as close to the castle as he did. Tsukishima approached the boy. He tried to make his footsteps as silent as possible, but soon realized he failed when the boy spun around and smiled at him.

The boy by the lake had an olive skin tone, yet despite it seemed to glow in the moonlight. His clothes were such a pure white it seemed almost unreal. His top was sleeveless, exposing his slender arms. There was a small gap between the hem of his top, and the belt of his long pants, and Tsukishima tried his best not to stare. Connected to his shoulders was a shear cape, and Kei couldn’t help but think his attire was odd for a midnight jaunt through the forest and view of the lake. The wind tousled the boy's choppy, almost shoulder-length brown hair- a very different effect than the mess it caused of Tsukishima’s short curly locks. Kei subconsciously ran a hand through his own hair.

“Hello there.” the boy called. His voice was soft yet sweet and seemed almost to be carried on the wind. Tsukishima waved in response, tentatively approaching. As he walked closer, he could see freckles on every exposed part of the boy’s skin, and he could almost swear it looked just like a map of the constellations. “I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi.” the boy spoke again.

“I’m pr- Tsukishima. I’m Tsukishima Kei.” he said. He was so used to introducing himself with his royal title that he almost did so reflexively. But at the last minute, he decided not to tell the boy, Yamaguchi. For once he just wanted to feel like a normal seventeen-year-old boy instead of a prince.

“I know.” Yamaguchi smiled. Kei thought his statement was strange, but brushed it aside. He tentatively approached Yamaguchi, sitting next to him as he stared at the sky.

“That’s Polaris.” Tsukishima explained, noticing where the other boy was staring. Yamaguchi turned his head towards Tsukishima and smiled again. He could almost swear that Yamaguchi’s freckles sparkled in time with the stars. “It’s the brightest star in Ursa Minor, uh, more commonly known as The Little Dipper,” Tsukishima continued.

“You seem to know quite a bit about the stars, Tsukki.”

A blush creeped up his face but he did his next to will it away, “Tsukki?”

“Is it alright for me to call you that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay.” For some reason, the nickname sounded much more pleasant when coming from Yamaguchi’s lips than it ever had from anyone else.

Tsukishima continued to point out the constellations to Yamaguchi, tracing them with his finger just like his older brother had many years before. Tadashi listened attentively, his eyes locked on whichever stars Tsukishima was pointing to. Once the sun rose, they bid each other farewell, Tsukishima turning around to adjust before he entered the forest, but Yamaguchi had disappeared.

The two boys continued to meet every day by the lake. Tsukishima would sneak out of the castle and make his way to the shore, where Yamaguchi would already be. Every day he was dressed in the same pure white garments. No matter how long Yamaguchi sat in the grass, his clothing never seemed to stain. Tsukishima was almost jealous, as he had to hide his own clothing from the maids and wash them in private just to make sure the secret of his late night escapades wasn’t revealed. Yet, despite the trouble he went through to keep his private meetings from the rest of the castle staff, he still would not trade them for the world. In fact, despite his reputation as aloof and a loner, he valued his newfound friend more than anything he had before.

But as the two spent nights together, Tsukishima could tell his feelings for Yamauchi were changing, and he was terrified at what it meant. Before he’d always look forward to seeing his friend, but now a mixture of nervousness and excitement would stew in his belly until the sun finally set and he’d make his way to the lake. When they sat together, Tsukishima could feel his skin buzzing and heart pounding, as he prayed to any deity above to make sure Yamaguchi couldn’t hear his rapid heart rate.

“I won’t be able to meet with you tomorrow.” Tsukishima said one day, lying in the grass next to Yamaguchi. The shorter boy was sitting up, knees hugged to his chest and cheek against his knee, facing Tsukishima. Kei fought the urge to lean forward and kiss him.

He turned to face the blonde. “Why?”

Tsukishima hesitated, wondering how he could twist the truth to make it sound like a commoner's reasoning. “There’s a party for my brother tomorrow and it’s going to last into the night. I don’t think I’ll be able to get away.” It wasn’t a full lie- there was going to be a party for his birthday. A formal ball was being held for him, mainly so he could find a fiance. Despite not wanting to go, Tsukishima was forced to attend due to him being a part of the royal family. Kei had always found these fancy balls to be boring and partly a waste of time. Why would he want to dance with strangers into the night when he could instead watch the stars from his telescope? Or now, when he could go to the lake and sit with Yamaguchi.

“I understand.” Yamaguchi said. His voice sounded almost sad, but a smile was still splayed on his lips.

“I’ll still be able to see you the day after, right?” Tsukishima said.

“Who knows, maybe then it’ll be my turn to be busy.” Yamaguchi laughed at his own sarcasm. Somehow, despite his biting words, his face still appeared soft and kind. Tsukishima would be jealous if he didn’t think he looked so beautiful. Kei’s expressions had always been the opposite, having been accused of not being as sincere as he actually was on countless occasions. Before meeting Yamaguchi he almost believed his face was broken, never showing an emotion, but now he couldn’t help but offer a small smile to the other boy.

“So what constellations are you going to show me today?” Yamaguchi nodded his head upwards, but soon looked back to the blond next to him. Tsukishima tried not to blush under Yamaguchi’s intense gaze. Kei turned away first and began tracing more of the constellations in the sky with his hand. He retold every story he could think of that corresponded with the stars. But the time eventually came where the sun was rising, and Tsukishima had to bid Yamaguchi farewell. Tsukishima turned around just before he was stepping out of the clearing and into the dense forest. But Yamaguchi, once more, was gone.

By the time Tsukishima arrived back to his room and found himself back in bed, the maids woke him up for breakfast. He feigned sick, causing the maids to bring his breakfast to him instead of forcing him to the dining room with his family. Tsukishima couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty as he ate his breakfast alone in his room. He genuinely loved his family, even if he didn’t always clearly show it. But, with the ball that night and the fact they expected him to socialize, he decided it would be best to rest after his late night escapade.

Once the time for the royal party came around, he was quickly awoken and taken to get dressed. He was forced to wear navy pants tucked into shiny black boots. His white collared shirt seemed to crisp against his skin, and the matching navy vest with gold detailing too heavy. The matching formal coat was stifling, and he felt it was much too thick for a celebration held in spring. Finally, a gold sash was placed around him, extending from his right shoulder to his left hip. “You look amazing, Prince Kei.” said one maid as they fixed his rowdy curls, and an echo of compliments rang through his chamber from the few others that were there with him. Tsukishima didn’t respond, instead electing to look away towards the window.

Someone soon ushered him to wait behind a large door, knowing they were going to announce his family members' names as they entered the ballroom. First were his parents, the queen and king, soon followed by the announcement of Kei’s name. He walked down the stairs and peered down to the sea of people he didn’t know, nor cared to know. With a stoic expression plastered on his face, he made his way to stand next to his parents at the bottom of the stairs. Finally, Akiteru was called, and he walked out, all smiles and waves. Kei almost rolled his eyes at how princely his brother was before he stopped himself. He knew he had eyes on him as well, and needed to make sure all guests saw the perfect version of him he was to display.

After Akiteru had descended the staircase, the guests approached the royal family in an attempt to talk. Many female suitors talked to Akiteru, attempting to gain his attention. Tsukishima rolled his eyes then. He knew many girls wanted to marry the future king, but he still found it ridiculous that these female suitors would trip over their own heels to get a glimpse of his older brother.

“Good evening, Prince Tsukishima.” a nervous voice said from behind him. “My name is Princess Yachi Hitoka.” she curtsied after she finished her introduction. Her indigo ball gown swished around her as she nervously shuffled her feet.

Tsukishima politely bowed. “Would you like to dance?” He knew that was most likely the reason she had approached him.

“Okay!” she replied. Tsukishima extended his hand, and she cautiously took it. He could tell she was shy, most likely pressured to ask for a dance by her mother, whichever queen she was.

“You must tell your brother I wish him a happy birthday.” she said as she intertwined her fingers with his and tentatively placed her left hand on his shoulder. She somewhat struggled with his extreme height, and their standing next to each other was almost comedic.

“Okay.” The conversation died. He placed his hand on her waist and guided her in a waltz. Their conversation was stunted, more awkward than anything he had experienced before, and once the song was over, he was quick to bid her a farewell and leave.

As the night progressed, Tsukishima just became more and more bored. He danced with a few of his own female suitors and was forced to speak to many of the guests. Slowly he drifted his way towards the exit when he saw a brunette with familiarly choppy hair in all white making his way to a balcony. Tsukishima was stunned, as he was almost positive it had to be Yamaguchi. He racked his brain for how he would be there, and slowly pieced together that he must be a noble himself. It would definitely explain his constant fancy attire.

Kei pushed his way through the dense crowd, empty apologies passing through his lips as he shoved through conversations in an attempt to catch up with his friend. Once he had arrived at the double glass doors, his heart pounded. He had never told Yamaguchi that he was a prince, and he hoped his friend wouldn’t be angry at his omission. Kei pushed the doors open.

“Good evening, Prince Tsukki.” Yamaguchi said, but there was no malice in his voice; he sounded genuinely pleased to have seen him.

Tsukishima let the door close behind him. “How are you here?” Yamaguchi just smiled in response. Tsukishima knew then that he wouldn’t get a straight answer. “I’m sorry I never told you I was a prince.” the blond apologized.

Yamaguchi turned around to lean against the balcony railing. “It’s okay. I knew.” Tsukishima swallowed the lump in his throat. Now that his friend was facing the opposite direction, he couldn’t help but stare from how beautiful Yamaguchi looked. He wasn’t wearing his normal attire, instead opting to wear fitted white pants tucked into cream-colored boots. He wore a white jacket with gold details and buttons that extended to his knees in the back, but ended at the top of his belt line in the front. The boy had even put his hair into a half-ponytail, with small strands of hair framing his face. Tsukishima walked over and leaned against the railing next to him, and couldn’t help but notice how beautiful Yamaguchi looked bathed in the moonlight.

“How did you get here?” Tsukishima asked again.

“Thank the stars.”

“Thank you, stars.” Tsukishima said, half-sincere. Whatever force had brought Yamaguchi to him that night, he was bound to thank. “You look great, by the way.” Tsukishima impulsively tucked a strand of hair behind Yamaguchi’s ear. A fiery blush burned across Yamaguchi’s cheek bones.

“Thank you.” he whispered as he turned his body to face Tsukishima. Yamaguchi closed the short distance between the two boys' bodies as his eyes darted down to Tsukishima’s lips. The prince did the same, reaching out to gently hold Yamaguchi’s face as they both tilted their heads and slowly leaned in.

The kiss was better than anything Tsukishima could have ever imagined. His heart was racing in his chest, and his entire body felt like it had been lit on fire, heat stemming from every point of contact with Yamaguchi. Kei pulled away for a moment, searching for any reaction in Yamaguchi’s brown eyes. But Tsukishima wasn't prepared for what he saw. He saw a look of pure adoration, pure love, dare he say. Their lips connected again, although neither boy could tell who initiated the second kiss. The second kiss was rougher, more intense, as if making up for lost time, for every time they could've been doing the same at the lake.

“I like you, Tsukishima Kei.” Yamaguchi mumbled against his lips.

“I like you too, Yamaguchi Tadashi.” Tsukishima could feel Yamaguchi shiver from his words, and a sense of pride swelled in his chest at the effect he had on his requited crush.

For the rest of the night, Tsukishima stayed on the balcony with Yamaguchi. They talked between kisses and exchanged content expressions when doing neither. But eventually the night had to end, and Tsukishima had to bid Yamaguchi farewell. He placed a chaste kiss onto the back of Yamaguchi’s hand before heading back to the ball. He passed through the glass double doors and once he was inside the ballroom; he turned around to look at Yamaguchi once more. But the boy had disappeared, leaving behind the memory of his lips in his wake.

Time continued to pass after that day, and the two boys still met by the lake every night. Talking and exchanging glances, but now kisses were intermingled in their interactions where before it had just been silent admiration, floating in the air between them.

But one day, Tsukishima unexpectedly didn’t show up at the lake. There was no way to warn Yamaguchi beforehand, but he felt guilty at abandoning his friend. He knew it wasn’t his fault and family grief came first, but regret burned within him anyway.

An unanticipated war had just recently broken out, and Kei’s older brother had gone to calm down the enemy side. But on his way to a diplomatic meeting, he had been murdered, leaving the kingdom without their rightful heir. Akiteru’s death meant not only had he lost his only beloved older brother, but he now had to continue intense studies to be prepared to be the next ruler. No longer was he allowed to wed out of love either, but an arranged marriage would now be in his future. Kei had never envied his older brother’s duties, but whether he liked it or not, he was being forced to fill in Akiteru’s position in the family. Tsukishima swore he had seen a glimpse of Yamaguchi at Akiteru’s funeral, but if he had been there, he disappeared just as quickly as he appeared.

Because of his new future, Kei barely had time to grieve. They thrusted him into Akiteru’s place so fast his head was metaphorically spinning, and he was expected to take over his brother’s duties as soon as he could. Not wanting to let down his family, Tsukishima put his emotions under lock and key and made sure to do his best job in all of Akiteru’s responsibilities. But because of this, he rarely ever got to see Yamaguchi again.

“I’m sorry.” he apologized one day when he was able to find time to go to the lake.

“It’s okay.” Yamaguchi was always understanding, offering his support and promising to wait for him until his life calmed down. But things would never calm down again.

“I can’t see you anymore.” Tsukishima’s voice broke. Yamaguchi nodded, sadness filling his eyes as he gave an understanding smile. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” he repeated. Tsukishima had left early that night, leaving Yamaguchi behind him in his past. That day, he didn’t look back. But if he had, he would’ve seen Yamaguchi watching him disappear into the forest.

An arranged marriage soon followed, yet, surprisingly, was with someone he knew. That girl he had danced with the day he finally kissed Yamaguchi was the girl he was supposed to marry because of her family’s position. Out of all the arranged marriages he could've been put into, he figured this was the best version of his options. Yachi and Tsukishima eventually became friends, sharing secrets and childhood stories with each other.

“I’m gay.” Tsukishima had admitted one day, not wanting to hide his sexuality from his fiance.

“I’m a lesbian.” she laughed as she responded, and he couldn’t help but smile too. Yachi spoke to him of her crush, a neighboring princess by the name of Kiyoko who was set to marry another prince named Tanaka. Yachi knew her crush was unrequited, as she was aware of how much Kiyoko loved Tanaka. Tsukishima held her as she cried that day, and the two became even closer.

Yachi and Tsukishima never fell in love, but still married. They had grown to become close friends, but Tsukishima never forgot Yamaguchi just as much as Yachi’s crush on Kiyoko never faded. The first time he had formally met Kiyoko was after he was married. Yachi had invited her to the castle, and the two had talked well into the night. Tsukishima couldn’t help but notice just how quiet Kiyoko was. Her voice was soft and her eyes held a sweetness he couldn’t place. Tsukishima could tell she was pretty with her silky black hair and welcoming gaze behind glasses. He could see why Yachi liked her so much. After Kiyoko had left that night, Tsukishima held Yachi as she cried for the rest of the night.

Tsukishima wasn’t without his own tears. Once the anniversary of Akiteru’s death had arrived, he had locked himself in his office and refused to come out. He didn’t want anyone to see how broken he felt as tears slipped down his face. He had forgotten Yachi had a key to his office, and unexpectedly felt a light hand placed on his shoulder. There was his wife, looking at him with a smile so gentle he couldn’t help but think of Yamaguchi again. Tsukishima hadn’t cried for the rest of the day, but Yachi sat with him in silence anyway, her presence more comforting than he could ever express.

Sometimes Yachi would leave to visit her family back in her native kingdom, and during one of those trips the unexpected happened. Tsukishima had been walking outside in the middle of the night by himself when he saw a young man sitting on a bench in the moonlight. Kei immediately recognized him. There in the middle of his garden sat his beloved Yamaguchi.

“How...how are you here?” Tsukishima was stunned.

“Thank the stars.” Tsukishima laughed at the familiar response and quickly pulled Yamaguchi from his sitting position and immediately into a kiss. When Tsukishima pulled away, he saw an expression of pure sadness on his lover’s face, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

“What’s wrong?”

“This is the last time I can see you. I’m sorry.” Yamaguchi said, tears beginning to silently stream down his face.

“Why?” Yamaguchi hesitated.

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.” Tsukishima was adamant. So Yamaguchi explained everything. He admitted he was the prince of the stars and soon it was his turn to rule over the kingdom of the night. As king, he wouldn’t be able to leave his position. The entire time Yamaguchi talked, Tsukishima wiped away his tears with his thumbs.

“I’m confused.” Tsukishima admitted when Yamaguchi finished his explanation.

“I figured you would be.” Yamaguchi reached into his pocket, “so I brought you this.” In his hand was a beautiful navy gem on a black chord. Tsukishima looked at Yamaguchi, confused. The brunette stepped away from him and made sure he was watching. Yamaguchi wrapped the cord around his wrist, the gem loose and hitting his forearm, and brought his hands together. He cupped both hands as if holding something and brought his hands to his mouth. Yamaguchi blew air in between his palms and opened his hands. There, in his palm, was a constellation.

“I’ve never seen this constellation before.” Tsukishima admitted.

Yamaguchi nodded. “It’s because it’s a gift for you. It’s us.” he said sheepishly, almost as if he was embarrassed by his own gift. Yamaguchi took the constellation and placed it within the gem. “This is a night stone. They aren’t found on earth and can hold certain elements, such as stars. Whenever you look into it, you’ll be able to see the constellation.” Tsukishima just looked at him, stunned.

“This is the most amazing gift I’ve ever received from anyone. Thank you.” a tear rolled down his cheek. Yamaguchi kissed every one of his tears away.

Tsukishima eventually spoke again. “I noticed on our first meeting your freckles are in-”

“The pattern of the constellations?” Yamaguchi chucked, “Yeah, I’m basically a living map. Every person in the night kingdom has a couple constellations on their skin, but I was born with them all.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Yamaguchi blushed as Tsukishima kissed every visible freckle he could.

They spoke for the rest of the night, and as the sun rose, it forced Yamaguchi to kiss Tsukishima goodbye. But once Tsukishima opened his eyes, Yamaguchi had disappeared, and in his hand was the gemstone.

After that day, no matter how many times Tsukishima walked to the lake in the middle of the night, nor how many midnight strolls in the garden he took, Yamaguchi never appeared. Tsukishima constantly wore the cord around his neck, holding it in his hand and peering through it whenever he missed him. Tsukishima couldn’t help but wonder if Yamaguchi missed him just as much as he did.

Decades passed. Wars started. Wars ended. Despite the passage of time, Tsukishima’s love for Yamaguchi was as constant as the sun rising. Never did a day pass that he didn’t love Yamaguchi. Tsukishima spoke to the stars every night, imagining his love was sitting there next to him and smiling.

When another war was started by the same kingdom that killed Akiteru, Tsukishima was adamant on going to battle himself. He was older now, around forty or so, with scars littering his hands from battles and his face even stonier than it was as a teen. Yachi had grown in the opposite, her features softening even more and her kindness growing with each passing day. The two never did fall in love, but they were content with that. When Tsukishima announced his plans of fighting on the front lines, Yachi couldn’t help but grow concerned. But no matter how much she tried to convince him not to, he was adamant on avenging his older brother.

He gave a valiant fight on the battlefield, but after a particularly gruesome battle, they had slaughtered his entire army. Tsukishima lay there, dying, blood seeping into the soil beneath him. The sun began to set just as the light in his eyes began to slowly dim. Tsukishima took a shallow breath, hoping he could hang onto his last thread of life just so he could see the stars once more. He closed his eyes for a moment from the pain.

“Hello, Tsukki.” His eyes snapped open, and of course, there before him was Yamaguchi. He still looked young, only around twenty, the same as he did at their last meeting.

“Yamaguchi.” Tsukishima whispered. He felt as if he was hallucinating. He could barely believe he was there. Yamaguchi smiled, and Tsukishima noted it was the same smile he received the first day they had met. It was a smile of pure happiness and anticipation.

“I’m sorry.” Yamaguchi apologized.

“Why?”

“That I couldn’t protect you.” Yamaguchi extended his hand as he spoke, “and I know you can no longer be king here on Earth, so I would like you to be king with me.”

“What?” Tsukishima was stunned.

Yamaguchi knelt on the ground, pulling Tsukishima’s body into his lap. “I would like you to rule the night kingdom with me. If you’d like to.”

“Please.” Tsukishima’s voice was strained. Yamaguchi smiled and placed a soft kiss on Tsukishima’s lips.

“It’s time for us to go.” Yamaguchi whispered against Tsukishima’s lips.

“Okay.” he mumbled back. Yamaguchi helped Tsukishima stand up, leaving his mortal body behind. Tsukishima noticed he was no longer in pain. He looked at his and Yamaguchi’s interlocked hands and noticed the scars had faded into porcelain skin. He looked down into the pool of blood at his feet, and mirrored back to him was the same twenty-year-old Tsukishima who had said goodbye to his lover all those years ago. He looked back towards Yamaguchi.

“I think you’ll enjoy the kingdom.” Yamaguchi kissed the back of Tsukishima’s hand and there appeared the same constellation Yamaguchi had gifted to him years ago. Yamaguchi disappeared for the last time, hands intertwined with his lover.

It was that night that an astronomer found a new constellation that appeared to form the shape of two people holding each other. The astronomer fondly named the newfound constellation, ‘The Lovers’.Tsukishima Kei walked barefoot out of the castle, concealing his footsteps lest he alert the surrounding guards of his whereabouts. Once outside, he could feel the blades of grass tickling his feet as he walked to the lake in the forest. For as long as Tsukishima knew, there was a large body of water in the clearing within the forest that immediately backed the castle. He had stumbled upon it one day as a small child playing tag with his older brother, Akiteru, laughter bouncing against the trees as they chased each other through them.The sun had just set when they accidentally stumbled upon the lake. There, Akiteru had pointed out the few constellations he knew to his younger brother. The older boy had traced the outlines of hunters and bears and scorpions with his finger, unknowingly causing Tsukishima to be absolutely mesmerized by the twinkling lights in the sky.

It had been that day that Tsukishima Kei had first fallen in love with the stars.

“I know.” Yamaguchi smiled. Kei thought his statement was strange, but brushed it aside. He tentatively approached Yamaguchi, sitting next to him as he stared at the sky.

“You seem to know quite a bit about the stars, Tsukki.”

A blush creeped up his face but he did his next to will it away, “Tsukki?”

“Is it alright for me to call you that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay.” For some reason, the nickname sounded much more pleasant when coming from Yamaguchi’s lips than it ever had from anyone else.

He turned to face the blonde. “Why?”

“I understand.” Yamaguchi said. His voice sounded almost sad, but a smile was still splayed on his lips.

“I’ll still be able to see you the day after, right?” Tsukishima said.

Tsukishima politely bowed. “Would you like to dance?” He knew that was most likely the reason she had approached him.

“Okay!” she replied. Tsukishima extended his hand, and she cautiously took it. He could tell she was shy, most likely pressured to ask for a dance by her mother, whichever queen she was.

“Good evening, Prince Tsukki.” Yamaguchi said, but there was no malice in his voice; he sounded genuinely pleased to have seen him.

“How did you get here?” Tsukishima asked again.

“Thank the stars.”

“I like you, Tsukishima Kei.” Yamaguchi mumbled against his lips.

“I like you too, Yamaguchi Tadashi.” Tsukishima could feel Yamaguchi shiver from his words, and a sense of pride swelled in his chest at the effect he had on his requited crush.

“I’m sorry.” he apologized one day when he was able to find time to go to the lake.

“It’s okay.” Yamaguchi was always understanding, offering his support and promising to wait for him until his life calmed down. But things would never calm down again.

“I can’t see you anymore.” Tsukishima’s voice broke. Yamaguchi nodded, sadness filling his eyes as he gave an understanding smile. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m gay.” Tsukishima had admitted one day, not wanting to hide his sexuality from his fiance.

“How...how are you here?” Tsukishima was stunned.

“What’s wrong?”

“This is the last time I can see you. I’m sorry.” Yamaguchi said, tears beginning to silently stream down his face.

“Why?” Yamaguchi hesitated.

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“I’m confused.” Tsukishima admitted when Yamaguchi finished his explanation.

“I’ve never seen this constellation before.” Tsukishima admitted.

“This is the most amazing gift I’ve ever received from anyone. Thank you.” a tear rolled down his cheek. Yamaguchi kissed every one of his tears away.

Tsukishima eventually spoke again. “I noticed on our first meeting your freckles are in-”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Yamaguchi blushed as Tsukishima kissed every visible freckle he could.

“Hello, Tsukki.” His eyes snapped open, and of course, there before him was Yamaguchi. He still looked young, only around twenty, the same as he did at their last meeting.

“I’m sorry.” Yamaguchi apologized.

“Why?”

“That I couldn’t protect you.” Yamaguchi extended his hand as he spoke, “and I know you can no longer be king here on Earth, so I would like you to be king with me.”

“What?” Tsukishima was stunned.

Yamaguchi knelt on the ground, pulling Tsukishima’s body into his lap. “I would like you to rule the night kingdom with me. If you’d like to.”

“Please.” Tsukishima’s voice was strained. Yamaguchi smiled and placed a soft kiss on Tsukishima’s lips.

“It’s time for us to go.” Yamaguchi whispered against Tsukishima’s lips.

· · ─────── · ☆ · ─────── · ·

Navigation | Masterlists | Before you Request

#.fandom: Haikyuu!!#.ships: Tsukkiyama #.media: Fanfiction #.fic: Once Upon a Constellation #yamaguchi tadashi #tsukishima kei #haikyuu #tsukiyama #tsukkiyama #haikyuu royal au #haikyuu fantasy au #.content: Fluff #.content: Angst

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thominho-incorrectquotes · 4 years ago

Text

I just realized I need you

This is my entry for Thominho Week 2021, Day 5 “ He’s my what? ”

Characters: Thomas x Minho

1945 words

Tags: High School Au, Modern Au, Rivals to lovers, fluff, humor

Summary: “He’s my what now?” “Your tutor”

Note: It was supposed to be poster yesterday, I’m sorry :( Hope you like it!

You can also read it on AO3 and ff.net

_________________________________

Minho couldn't believe what Miss Paige just said. It couldn't be true.

"He's my what now!?"

"Your tutor, Minho" she repeated, already exasperated. "Because you were sick for few weeks and your implications as the track team captain, you have fallen behind my class. I know you're a smart kid and normally have very good grades, so I'm doing you a favor. Thomas is only going to help you get back on track."

"I don't need help! Especially not from him!"

"Yes you do. Thomas is the best student in this class and the only one qualified to help you catch up." She sighed. "I don't care what's going on between you two, but you have to get over it. Be mature! It's okay to need help! Besides, Thomas already agreed."

"Yeah, probably just to mock me…" he whispered.

"Minho!"

"Sorry Miss Paige. And thank you for your help."

He left, knowing it was futile to argue further. Closing the class door behind him, he went to his locker to get his things before going home. Unfortunately, the only person he didn't want to see was apparently waiting for him in front of it.

Thomas.

Ever since the brown-haired boy got transferred at Glade High School, it had become a nightmare for Minho.

The boy was brilliant, he couldn't deny it. But he was so brilliant that he became top of the class, stealing that title from Minho. Even worst, the kid was also a very good runner and could rival the captain of the track team.

Their rivalry started like that. It was always who had the best grade. If one did a better time during practice, the other would hear about it for days. It wasn't exactly hating each other, and Minho hated bullying since he had been a victim of it back in elementary school, it was more of a you-are-annoying-please-get-out-of-my-life type of thing.

And now, Thomas was going to tutor him. It was the biggest hit at Minho's ego. The worst scenario that could have happen. He was glad he had a teacher that cared about him and his grades and was indeed worried his few weeks out would affect his grades, but he would have liked anyone but Thomas to help him.

Perking up at his arrival, Thomas smirked, indicating a sarcastic comment was about to come. That was another annoying thing about the white boy, he was practically as sarcastic as Minho.

"So big boy needs some help in physics?" he teased.

"Slim it" he replied, too furious to come up with a comeback. He opened his locker door harshly, not sparing a glance to the other boy, and took his things.

"It's normal you know" Thomas added in the same mocking tone, "You can't be good at everything."

Minho slammed the locker door shut, before furiously glaring at the other runner.

"If you say another remark, you can say goodbye to your face, pretty boy."

"Oh, so you think I'm pretty?" he teased before he was taken by shirt by his captain "I'm joking! Calm down big boy!"

Minho released him with a huff. He went towards the exit, wanting to get away from the snarky kid as fast as possible.

But he followed.

"We should starts today" Thomas commented. "We have an upcoming test soon, so…"

"No."

"Listen, do you want my help or not?"

Minho groaned in respond. "Okay, fine. Let's go to my house."

…

They arrived shortly at Minho's house. The way home was… awkward. Thomas had let his sarcasm behind and Minho was still mad, so both didn't talk during the bus ride.

Taking his keys, he opened the door for both of them.

"Mom, I'm home!" he said, as usual, hoping she wasn't actually home.

A head popped up from the kitchen. "Welcome home swee- Oh, who is that?"

"That's Thomas" he said, rolling his eyes, because of course, luck was on his side. "He's gonna… help me."

"Nice to meet you" the brunet said politely.

"Nice to meet you too Thomas" Minho's mom smiled. "I'm glad Minho has such good friends."

"Mom, we're not-"

"Do you guys want something to drink? Or something to eat?"

This was getting frustrating. Minho had wanted to avoid all that. His mom tended to be a bit too friendly sometimes.

"No, it's okay, thanks mom."

Before Thomas could say anything, he took the boy's arms and led him upstairs, going straight to his room.

He closed the door behind him, hoping his mom would leave them alone.

He threw his backpack onto his bed, sighing in defeat. This was hell.

"You like One Piece?" Thomas said, breaking the silence. He was standing near Minho's bookshelf, looking at Minho's ever growing One Piece manga collection.

"Yeah…" he replied, blushing slightly because it wasn't something he liked sharing with others. "I've been a fan for a while now."

"Same" the brunet said, turning to Minho with a smile on his face.

"For real?"

"Yeah, I really like adventure stories, and humor, and yeah, One Piece is just really good…"

That was the first time he saw Thomas have a real smile on his face. It was normally always a smirk or a grin. Never a genuine smile. This was weird and he didn't know how to process it.

"I agree" he smiled back. "One Piece is really good." And then he added "Who's your favorite character?"

"I like Robin…"

That made Minho smirk "Because she's hot?"

"No slinthead, I'm gay. I just like her humor" he argued back.

Then realization hit him. He just outed himself. "Oh shuck, damn it, I-I, sorry, I just-"

"Hey, calm down pretty boy" Minho interrupted him before he could panic. He was a bit taken aback by the sudden revelation that his rival was not straight, but he knew out stressful it could be to come out. "It's okay, no need to be sorry. I'm bi, I know what it's like…"

"You're bi?" Thomas asked, as if he couldn't believe it.

"Yeah. I just never told anyone because it's none of their business."

"Oh… uh, well… yeah, I understand that…" Thomas went to scratch his head in embarrassment. "Sorry, I… I don't out myself like that normally…"

"It's okay, shank, don't worry about it."

"Yeah well… thanks."

That was awkward. But it did made Minho sympathize a bit with Thomas. Maybe the shuck-face wasn't has bad as he thought.

"So hum, what about you? Who's your favorite?" the other boy said, wanting the change this conversation.

It was now Minho's turn to blush. "It's, hum… It's Chopper…"

Thomas's eyes widened again, this time in amusement. "Really?

"Yeah… he's… cute" he explained, which only made his rival laugh.

"Oh wow, a big boy like you like cute things, I could've never guessed" he teased.

"Hey!"

"No need to be embarrassed about it, it's okay too like cute things" he said in the same sarcastic tone. "It just means that like Robin, you seems dark and intimidating and have a weird sense of humor, but you still have a good heart inside."

Minho threw a pillow at him "Would you slimt it shuck-face!"

But that only made Thomas laugh even more and tease his captain during the whole time he was tutoring him.

…

Surprisingly, those tutoring session weren't as bad as Minho first imagined.

Besides his mom often interrupting them to ask if they wanted snacks, time alone with the other runner was actually enjoyable. When they were taking short breaks, they often talked about the new One Piece chapter that came out, or talked about theories and which villain was the best. They also talked about track and running in general. Minho learned that Thomas actually started running after his mom passed away. It helped him during a time when he needed it.

More and more, they were opening to each other and soon, they started being friends, which surprised everyone at school when they started greeting each other in the hallway, or even eating lunch together.

"I guess we were a bit like Zoro and Sanji" the brown haired boy once said during one of their break in tutoring. "We fought and competed against each other, but we didn't actually hated each other."

Minho laughed at that "Yeah, I guess you're right."

…

They were laying down in Minho's bed, watching funny moments from the One Piece anime. They had just finished the tutoring session that has become more of a homework session since Minho did caught up with the class. But it seemed they both didn't really want to stop this regular thing they had, so no one said anything and just kept doing their work together, while taking breaks and chatting after they were finished. Even once or twice Thomas got invited to eat dinner with Minho's family.

Their relationship evolved so quickly, Minho couldn't even understand how they didn't become friends sooner. Being with Thomas was just so natural. They had so much in common and it was so easy to trust him. He had been blinded by his ego, that was the only explanation.

As the brunet was laughing besides him at one of Luffy's weird antics displayed on the phone Minho was holding, he realized he need that. He needed a friend like Thomas. And Miss Paige putting him in his life like that was probably the best thing that could have ever happened to Minho.

And when the brunet turned to face him, with a smile that could illuminate the world, something stirred inside of him. And as they stared at each other, tension suddenly filled the room. Without any of them understanding how it happened, their mouths were on each other's and Minho was on top of Thomas, pressing him into the mattress.

The kiss was far from soft and innocent. It was desperate, months of suppressed feelings finally unleashed. It was intense, a reminder of how much they needed it.

"Hey boys, do you- OH!"

They separated each other as fast as lighting. Minho's mom was by the door, a surprised look on her face.

"Honey," she then said "you could have told me Thomas was more than a friend, you know I would have accepted that!"

Minho groaned "No, it's not like that-"

"Don't you trust you mother anymore?" she said with the same sarcastic tone Minho often used. Thomas now knew where it came from.

"Mooom, please…" The Korean was now as red as a tomato. Thomas quite liked the sight.

"Anyway, Thomas dear, are you staying for dinner? I want all the details about your relationship with my son."

"MOM! STOP!"

He was hoping Thomas would say no. That he would say he had to go. But he only grinned in respond. "Yes of course, thank you for the invitation."

Thomas just couldn't resist embarrassing Minho even more.

"Great! I'll let you boys to your thing, have fun!"

"MOM!"

The runner let himself fall back into his mattress, groaning. The boy besides him only laughed.

"So now were a thing?" Minho asked him. "We've only kissed once and we're a thing?"

Thomas moved into now boyfriend's arms before answering "Well, I guess. If you want to. I do want this. I really like you, you know. I think I've always have. Do you want this?"

When did this boy became so soft and adorable? When did his golden eyes started looking at him with so much love and adoration? When did he start falling for him?

"Yeah, I do. I… I need you in my life" he finally admitted, which was met with the cutest smile he had ever seen.

"Good that."

_____________________________

I couldn't help but add I little bit of One Piece in this one, sorry for those who don't know One Piece.

Thank you for reading and I hope you liked it!

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cali-holland · 4 years ago

Text

Golden Bullets, Ch 4: Moonlight Trail

Harrison Osterfield X Reader, James Bond!AU

Harrison Osterfield, Agent 007, was once the best MI6 agent around with the astounding reputation as a womanizer. Between illegal gold smuggling and black market trading of weapons, he finds himself deeper in his latest mission than intended, weaving himself into a web of the criminal organization, S.P.E.C.T.R.E.. At the center of it all is the one woman who’s never fallen for his charms- you, Agent 006, the best MI6 agent, the new assistant director of the program, and his new partner.

Word Count: 2700

Gif is not mine

Golden Bullets Masterlist

Masterlist Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be added to the series tag list

Warnings: discussion of violence/drugs, swearing

Featured Song: All Time High by Rita Coolidge from Octopussy (1983)

~ “We´re an all time high, we´ll change all that´s gone before, doing so much more than falling in love.”

+ “Where are you? Why do you hide? Where is that moonlight trail that leads to your side?” from Moonraker by Shirley Bassey from Moonraker (1979)

A/N: not much action in this chapter, but i’m saving that for chapter five and i’m very very excited about that chapter haha

~~~

You let out a groggy groan, your eyes fluttering open, just to be met with a dull pain in your head from the drugs last night, making you close your eyes again immediately. You tried clearing your mind, focusing on the sound of the DB10’s tires moving with the road, but the sound of Harrison’s music was too distracting. Somehow the normally soothing voice of Sam Smith just made your headache worse- and that’s when it hit you.

“You listen to Sam Smith?” You questioned quietly, opening your eyes just enough to peak over at your partner. The car’s interior lights as well as the streetlights outside were the only things illuminating Harrison’s face.

“I’m surprised you know an artist from this decade.” He chuckled lightly, his thumbs drumming against the steering wheel as he continued his drive down the nearly empty highway.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked as you shifted in your seat, stretching to get more comfortable.

“All you seemed to listen to going to Monaco was Nancy Sinatra.” Harrison stated and you felt a twinge of embarrassment strike you, you’d never have someone so blatantly call out your music taste, but yet again you didn’t exactly spend quality time with many perceptive agents.

“Well, I don’t only listen to Nancy Sinatra. I listen to other artists,” You trailed off, trying to come up with names, “I listen to Carly Simon.”

“As in “You’re So Vain” from the ‘70’s?” He laughed and you let out a groan.

“Alicia Keys.”

“Hardly counts.”

“She still counts.” You insisted, “You were listening to Duran Duran earlier. That’s not from this decade.”

“But I still,” He paused to let out a large yawn, “I still listen to more modern music. Sam Smith is very modern.”

“Where are we?” You asked, wanting to just drop the subject.

“We’ve got about half an hour until we get to Venice.” Harrison replied, glancing over at the clock. You took a moment to study him as he kept his eyes on the road. His hair was the most disheveled you’d ever seen it, and you’d dare to say he had bags under his eyes.

“Let me drive for a while.” You offered, and he glanced over at you like you were crazy. You could tell he was holding back from scoffing in response.

“A few hours ago, you were spilling your darkest secrets to me and then spilling your guts in the toilet. I’m not letting you drive.”

“Then pull over so we can get a hotel. You need to sleep.” You stated. Just as he was about to open his mouth to respond, you added, “As assistant director of MI6 and the lead on this case, I’m telling you to get a hotel.”

Harrison let out a laugh of disbelief, shaking his head at you, “I was just going to say, I’ll stop when we get to Venice. No need to pull the assistant director card.”

“I might as well pull it while I can.” You said, and he raised his eyebrows at you, making you elaborate, “M doesn’t want us to kill Le Chiffre, but if I see him, I will. I doubt I’ll keep my position if that happens.”

The rest of the ride into Venice was silent between the two of you. You didn’t particularly want to talk about last night’s revelations or the upcoming task of having to not kill Le Chiffre; meanwhile, Harrison had his own inner turmoil between trying to empathize with you, allowing you to take out the private banker, or following M’s directions of simply tracking him. By the time the two of you arrived in Venice and got a hotel, it was nearly 3 AM, and, with a six hour car ride behind you and an eleven hour car ride ahead of you, you two were beyond exhausted.

“This bed better be softer than the last one.” Harrison mumbled as the two of you stepped into the elevator. With one hand on your suitcase, you leaned against the elevator wall as he stood in the center, holding onto his own luggage.

“Surprisingly, Monaco had the worst hotel bed I’ve ever slept on.” You stated. The elevator came to a stop on your floor for the next few hours. The doors opened, and the two of you stepped off it.

“Really? I think the worst hotel bed I’ve ever had was actually in New York.” He replied, inserting the key card into the door. He pushed it open, holding it for you to go inside first. You paused once you’d stepped into the room.

“Scratch that. This might be the worst.” You said, eyeing the single king size bed in the room. Harrison blinked, stepping in the room behind you.

“Am I so sleep deprived that I’m only seeing one bed or is there actually only one bed?” He asked.

“There’s only one bed.” You sighed, setting your suitcase down near the dresser and opening it. You started to gather your clothes for the night. “But you’re still sleep deprived, and I’m too tired to even attempt to get a room change, so this’ll have to do.”

“Well, I guess I’ll take the floor, but, for now, while you get ready,” He trailed off, flopping down on the bed with a small sigh of his own. “God damn, this is comfortable.”

With your pajamas in hand, you turned back to face the bed. Seeing your partner so exhausted and sprung out on the large bed, you felt your heart twist a little. “Sleep on the bed, then.”

“What?” Harrison mumbled, sitting up to look at you. “No, you take the bed. I’m a man of chivalry, I can’t let you sleep on the floor.”

“A man of chivalry. Is that what you call yourself when you sleep with all those women?” You questioned, sarcasm dripping in your tone. For a split second, he pouted, before it grew into a smirk.

“If gets the women into the bed, then yes.” He replied, cockily. You turned, making your way to the bathroom as you shook your head at his words. He hopped off the bed to follow after you, “Look, it’s big enough for both of us. Besides, I wouldn’t mind sleeping with you.”

“How lovely.” You rolled your eyes, and he shook his head.

“That’s,” He sighed as you shut the bathroom door, locking it to ensure privacy away from him. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. We can share the bed and sleep next to each other, nothing sexual about it.”

“Agent 007 not wanting to sexualize sharing a bed with a woman? That’s a surprise.” You scoffed through the door, beginning to change in the privacy of the spare room.

“You’re one to talk.” Harrison bit back, “You know we’re really not that different. We both sleep with the enemy.”

“Except you sleep with women for sport and you’re called a womanizer, whereas I sleep with men for strictly professional purposes and get called a whore.” Now changed into your comfortable clothes, you threw open the door, jaw clenched angrily at the double-standard that cursed your ‘profession’. Pushing past Harrison, you sarcastically remarked, “Sexism- isn’t it wonderful?”

“You’re not a whore.” He said, quietly, a new softness in his tone, making you look at him curiously. You could see the genuineness in his blue eyes, “You’re intimidating and, quite honestly, scare the shit out of me sometimes, but you’re not a whore. Anyone who calls you that obviously doesn’t realize they should be less concerned with how you handle your body and more concerned with how well you handle a gun. You use your assets like I do, like any spy would.” He paused, “You don’t like to be known as the maneater, but I don’t like to be known as a womanizer. For us being MI6’s top agents, neither of us are winning in the reputation department.”

You swallowed an uncertain lump in your throat, not sure how to respond to his unusual yet kind words. Turning away from him to put away your clothes, you replied, “Let’s just get some sleep.”

Harrison wordlessly entered the bathroom to get ready to sleep himself, and you quietly climbed into the bed. You laid on your side, facing away from the bathroom and the other side of the bed, keeping to one edge of the mattress. A few moments later, he emerged from the bathroom, turning off the bedroom light as he did so.

“Do you- do you mind if I sleep without a shirt?” He asked.

“I don’t care.” You answered quietly, despite the odd feeling in your gut at his question. Momentarily, you thought it could be leftover from last night, but as you heard him discard his shirt and climb into his side of the bed, you knew it was something much worse- butterflies.

You lay on your side of the bed, waiting for sleep to overcome you, but it seemed to be taking its dear time. Meanwhile, it only took a matter of moments for Harrison to fall asleep. Your poor partner passed out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, and you were left to listen to his soft snoring, little noises that you hadn’t noticed while sharing a room with him in the past. Yet again, the past few nights, you two were plenty far from each other and tonight, well, there wasn’t much space, especially when you heard and felt him shift closer to you in his sleep. You just about put Harrison in a choke hold, feeling his arm sling around your waist, but as you flipped over to look at him, your fight reflexes dropped. He was still asleep and, god, he was a cuddler. You considered shoving him away or even just getting up and sleeping on the ground, but then he let out a soft murmur of incoherent words, light puffs escaping his lips. Finally feeling a sense of peace overcome you, you let yourself lean into his embrace.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of the laptop ringing with an incoming call from M, or at least you recognized the ringtone as that; your arms were currently trapped under the tight cuddles of Harrison, who was still peacefully asleep. With how heavy of a sleeper he was, you were surprised no one had murdered him in his sleep yet, considering how annoyingly loud the laptop was.

“Wake up, Osterfield.” You grumbled, kicking your legs harshly against his. He mumbled something, tightening his grip around your arms and torso, pressing you further into his bare chest, before his eyes fluttered open. His arms dropped from around you immediately as he processed his position, cheeks flaring red a little in embarrassment of his cuddly nature. You shot up from the bed, grabbing the laptop from the coffee table and sitting down on the couch. You open it, answering the call without a second thought. The screen flashed to M in her office, and you bit back a groan at how obvious it was that you just rolled out of bed- it didn’t help that Harrison was in the background, getting out of the bed and tugging on a shirt. Talk about the professionalism between the two of you for not only stopping Venice for some sleep, but also sharing a damn bed.

“Sorry, was I interrupting your beauty sleep?” She questioned with no actual apology laced in her words as Harrison sat beside you on the couch.

“Good morning, M.” You greeted, professionally.

“I must say I was surprised to hear from Moneypenny about Monaco last night. How did Britain’s finest agents get drugged so easily?” While her question was directed at both of you, you couldn’t help, but feel like she meant it more towards you than your partner. You were meant to be the one calling the shots for this mission and you were the one that drank the suspicious champagne.

“It was a mistake, and it won’t happen again.” Harrison replied definitively. Sensing how you tensed beside him at M’s words, he placed a reassuring hand on your knee, hidden from the laptop’s view; he felt almost protective of you for your actions last night, and, having been so vulnerable yourself, you were hesitant to lean into the security.

“It damn well shouldn’t have happened in the first place.” She let out a small sigh, “I know your next target was intended to be Le Chiffre in Montenegro, but there has been a slight change of plans.”

“Are we no longer going to Montenegro?” You asked, trying your best to not sound hopeful about never going back there.

“You’ll still be going there, 006. Le Chiffre has decided to host a charity gala tonight; and, seeing as it’s currently 11 in the morning in Venice,” She spat out the city’s name in distaste as if to question why you two had stopped there for so unintentionally long, “You’ll be taking a private jet to Montenegro straight out of Venice’s airport. Leave the DB10 behind, Agent 003 will be there shortly to retrieve it.”

“How is this different than our prior mission of interrogating Le Chiffe?” Harrison voiced.

“I believe you’re familiar with this woman.” M stated, and a photograph of Pussy Galore appeared on the screen. Harrison dropped his hand from your knee as he recognized the blonde, “Pussy Galore has been identified as Goldfinger’s personal pilot, and she has been spotted in every location the sniper has struck in.”

“She’s the sniper?” You questioned. You already thought the woman was a joke just because of her name, but now, she was the bitch that shot you, and you weren’t about to let that go.

“We believe so. Q traced her to Montenegro this morning. Your new mission is to keep an eye on Le Chiffre and try to keep him alive- he could prove useful as an asset to take down Goldfinger or he could be the perfect bait to get the bullion smuggler.” She sent you a pointed look, catching how you clenched your jaw as a picture of the private banker flashed onto the screen, “As for Pussy Galore, bring her in alive. If she’s Goldfinger’s personal pilot and favorite sniper, she’s valuable to him.”

“Is that all?” You asked, and she shook her head.

“I need to speak with 007 alone.” She said, making you and Harrison look at each other in confusion. You nodded before getting up and leaving for the bathroom, deciding to get ready while they had their private discussion.

“M, the champagne wasn’t Y/N’s fault-” Harrison started, immediately believing that M’s private conversation was about your mistake from last night- that or she was going to strongly suggest Harrison take a leave of absence again.

“Last night happened, and I am not going to fret it any longer. I’m far more concerned with Montenegro.” She spoke, and Harrison’s face fell, giving it away to her that he knew already, “Agent 006 is my best agent, but by now, I assume you can tell she lets her emotions get to her. Four years ago, once she was healed, she went rogue for a few weeks. My only way of finding her and bringing her back to MI6 was a trail of dead bodies- all of which were connected to Le Chiffre.” Harrison gulped at the new information, his eyes flicking nervously to the bathroom door. Le Chiffre really did a number on you and you had the physical scar to prove it. “She will kill him at the first opportunity. You accused me of hiring her as your nanny for this mission, but now I need you to take care of her. Don’t let her kill Le Chiffre; he needs to be alive. Don’t let her kill Galore either. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” He nodded with a heavy head.

“And, for the love of God, no more champagne between the two of you.”

“Got it.” He nodded again, “When will Q be in Montenegro?”

“He had to finish a new prototype for 005, but he will be there tonight.” She explained. “Now, you two get to Venice airport as soon as possible; you have a gala to attend.”

Before Harrison could reply, M ended the call. Shutting off the laptop, he stood from the couch, already feeling anxious about tonight. The only reason he had a partner for this entire mission was his own mistake, and M didn’t trust him, but, now, it seemed like the tables had turned- M didn’t trust you in Montenegro. With each new piece of information, this was transforming into so much more than it was just days ago in London, and, without Q to crack the flash drive, all Harrison could do was keep you from killing the two people that could lead back to Goldfinger.

~~~

Let me know if the tags aren’t working or if you want to be tagged :)

General Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart @joyleenl @t-o-m-holland @lonikje @sleepybesson @sunkisseddreamer

Harrison Tag List: @Calhtlland @tomkindholland @where-art-thau-romeo

Series Tag List: @quinjetboi @baby-haz @kickingn-ames @rougese7en @hollandsosterfield @nj01 @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @spencerreidxoxo @duskholland

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield x y/n #harrison osterfield series #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield one shot

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january-summers · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fate: The Winx Saga (TV), Winx Club Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bloom/Stella (Winx Club) Characters: Bloom (Fate: The Winx Saga), Stella (Fate: The Winx Saga) Additional Tags: adding sapphic energy, why rage when lesbian vibes, Canon Divergence, just girls being a little bit gay for each other, non-sexual intimate touching, Episode 2: No strangers Here Summary:

Stella finds Bloom in the Stone Circle and teaches her how to call her magic.

Bloom all but scowled at the bowl, sparks and embers crackling amidst the crystals at the bottom, but no real fire.

She had to get this, she had to get control.

'Clear mind and positive emotions,' she reminded herself. There was too much riding on this for her to keep failing. How long until she hurt someone else? How long until it wasn't just hurt?

“I hear you're broken,” Stella's voice cut through the mire Bloom hadn't even realised was building in her head. In jerky motions Bloom turned, letting go of her magic attempts.

Stella stood by on of the stone circle's shorter pillars, dressed in pale blue. Bloom shoved the thought that Stella looked like the peaceful sky on a nice day into the darkest, most private corner of her mind.

“- in more ways than one,” Stella said, stepping forwards and into the stone circle. Bloom turned back to the pot, shame blossoming in her gut. “No secrets in the suite,” came the reminder as Stella made her way to the opposite side of the altar stone to Bloom.

“I'm still going to help you,” Bloom replied, a little aggressive as her shame coiled tighter around her insides, the feeling of uselessness creeping in.

“And I'm thrilled,” Stella said, a touch of sarcasm in her voice, “but I'd prefer we wait until you aren't completely useless.” The blonde looked Bloom over for a few seconds.

“What's the damage?” Stella asked.

'I'm just useless and pathetic,' Bloom doesn't say, stumbling instead over the admission of “I don't know. The more I try to figure it all out, the harder it gets.”

Stella ignore the waver in Bloom's voice, the one that says she might just be about to cry, and focuses in on the book beside Bloom. The pages are filled with writing, and even reading it upside down, Stella can see the key words of the 'magic for dummies' speech.

'Magic = Emotions'

“This thing is your problem,” Stella leans across the altar to tap the book, “you can't think your way into magic.” Stella knew that well enough.

“I know,” Bloom acknowledges, picking up the book, “it's all about clear and positive emotions. I have a whole page dedicated to them.” Bloom smacks the book, probably the page just mentioned, with the back of her hand.

Stella wants to laugh, Bloom had completely missed the point, she was likely still thinking of emotions as an academic objective. As a separate ingredient instead of just feeling them. A whole page full of...

“Wait, you made a list? What's on it? Your favourite ice cream flavours?”

Bloom was starting to scowl, it made something twinge in Stella's gut as Bloom all but slammed the book onto the alter stone.

Stella took a deep breath and changed tracks. She'd thought for a brief second about taunting Bloom, showing her how to build her rage into a magical manifestation, but the idea caused an ugly sensation in her gut.

It tasted like old bile on the back of her tongue.

Bloom had been the subject of Stella's ire since they'd met, Stella's jealousy leaking out, but Bloom still looked at her like...

Like Stella hadn't been so harsh, like Stella hadn't been bitter at their every interaction.

Like she honestly thought Stella would do and be better than she really was.

Besides, it looked like Bloom was already steeped in negative emotions, and that clearly wasn't working out for her.

Stella stepped around the altar stone, one hand trailing on the stone's surface as she tried to remember the advice Farah Dowling had given her. Why bother teaching Bloom rage when it was the very thing that had ruined Stella's own magic.

Stella's mistake... how much worse would it be were it made in fire?

“Here,” Stella said, sliding behind Bloom, taking hold of the other girl's hips and pressing against her back so she could prop her chin on Bloom's shoulder. “Step one: 'close your eyes, and open your heart'.”

Bloom let out a little snort, turning to Stella with a bemused expression.

“'Close my eyes and open my heart'?” There was a hint of mocking, and Stella knew what Bloom felt, the incredulous 'how' of it all. She could hear the question in Bloom's tone as well. Stella turned her head for a second to hide a smile in Bloom's shoulder before looking back.

“Just... close your eyes,” Stella tried again, a hint of laughter at Bloom's expression making it through her control. “Hands on the pot,” she added as an after thought.

She saw Bloom open her eyes just long enough to grab the pot again.

“Now,” Stella slid her hands from Bloom's hips, one to Bloom's stomach, the other inappropriately high. Bloom gasped, the kind of gasp that's made with your whole body, a subtle motion that rocked her back into Stella.

But she didn't try to shake the blonde off.

“Breathe,” Stella said, “feel it in your body.” She let Bloom breathe deeply for a moment before pressing with her hands.

“Feel, you're looking for a warmth, it's inside you probably somewhere near my hands, can you find it?

Bloom did feel a warmth, a roiling heat in her gut, but she thought it had little to do with magic, and more to do with the beautiful girls hands pressed intimately against her.

“I feel a heat?” Bloom admitted, but her tone was light, blithe. The nonchalance conveying the idea that 'this is silly, and I'm going to fail, but it doesn't matter, because it's silly'.

Stella saw right through it though. She heard the truth.

'I'm scared I'm going to fail, so I'm pretending it doesn't matter, so I can lie to myself about how much it will hurt when I can't.'

“Good girl,” Stella doesn't mean to make it sound saucy, but wrapped around Bloom as she was, there was no way those two words weren't coming out dirty. “Follow,” Stella said as she began to move her hands again, “bring the heat up, breathe, let the fire breathe.”

Stella shoved aside the thought of how nice Bloom's breasts were as she passed them, her hands drawing up to the shoulders then down the arms, as though she could physically drag the fire with her.

“Let the heat build between your hands, let it breathe and ignite.” Stella saw the fire blossom over the bowl from the corner of her eyes, her gaze fixed on Bloom's face.

There was focused intent, but also a peace there.

“Remember this feeling,” Stella said softly into Bloom's ear, “this heat, this flow of fire, engrave it in your mind, sink it so deeply in your bones you never forget it.”

Bloom nodded in a single slow motion.

“Now,” Stella smirked, “open your eyes.”

Bloom gasped, startling back into Stella when she saw the flame, bright and strong above the bowl.

Grinning Bloom turned to Stella and froze, the fire in the bowl flaring as Bloom realised how close Stella's face was to her.

How close their lips...

“You're glowing,” Bloom said, and it felt like someone else was saying it, but it was her mouth moving and her voice. Her awe at the soft light emitting from Stella's skin and hair.

Even in the daylight Bloom could see the glow.

'I should have kissed her then,' the regret filled thought dropped as Stella turned away, embarrassed, glow fading to nothing.

“Ahem,” Stella cleared her throat and pulled back, putting space between their bodies for the first time in... how long had they been there? “It happens, light fairy, don't worry about it,” Stella's face felt hot as she tried to wave off her lapse, she was certain she was blushing.

“Anyway,” she turned back, narrowing her eyes in a mockery of a glare, “you're not finished.”

Bloom frowned, so Stella rolled her eyes and tilted her head in gesture to the bowl, where the flame still lit the air.

“Now put it out,” Stella said, leaning gently against the altar stone. Bloom's face pulled into a slightly exaggerated grimace, and Stella could imaging the 'yikes' Bloom wasn't saying. Stella smiled, a little smug.

“Let it cool,” Stella advised, “dissipate, fire goes out when it's done, if you decide this fire is done, you decide it's time for it to go out.”

Bloom nodded, not saying anything about how nonsensical that sounded. She let the idea of it settle in her head. This fire was hers, it lived and died as she decided.

She breathed, and let the flame die out.

Slowly, cautiously, she took her hands from the bowl's handles. Nothing disastrous happened.

Bloom smiled, felt a laugh bubble up in her chest. She raised her arms, both in triumph and so she could fall onto Stella and hug her.

“Now do it again,” Stella said, cutting off the planned hug before it could begin.

Bloom pouted cutely as she dropped her arms and turned her attention back to the pot, but her smile soon returned as she called and banished the flame repeatedly under Stella's instruction several more times.

#fate the winx saga #stella x bloom - Fate Saga #fate the winx saga fic #fate the winx club saga #dealing with my disappointment by making things gayer #stella x bloom

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obligatorynasty · 5 years ago

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The Weight of the Knife, Part 1: Edgeless

— Sequel to I’ll Be the Fight to Your Flight, Baby. [Read on Tumblr | AO3]

Part: [1] [2] [3] | Read on: AO3 | WC: ~10k | Please excuse any typos.

Main Tags: BadBoy!Tony, Highschool AU, NFF, Angst, TW:Mentions of Blood, TW:Abuse, TW:Graphic Depictions of Violence, TW:Bullying, TW:Underage Drinking and Smoking, Bruises, Choking, [Read all tags on AO3]

Dedicated to @starker-stories, whose love for this AU kept me motivated to write more.

~*1*~

When Peter crossed the threshold into the Stark mansion, the first image that etched itself into his mind was the painting that hung in the foyer. It was massive; nearly covering a two-story wall from ceiling to floor. Adorned with an ornate frame, it stood out from its modern surroundings – partially due to the happy visage of Howard Stark and the even happier young Tony – but mainly due to the large white sheet draped over half of the frame. Peter could tell from the gentle feminine hand placed atop the young Tony's shoulder that it was his mother, Maria Stark, who was obscured. It was hard to fathom – covering a painting in such a blatant way – but watching Tony completely ignore it was even harder. The image was so ingrained that the impact Peter felt was nothing more than a diluted normalcy to Tony.

So Peter didn't bring it up. Instead, he made small talk about the twelve car garage and the unbelievable size of the chandelier that hung in the dining room. He remarked about the mansion’s eerie spotlessness; a feeling like no one lived there or, as Tony clarified, like a dozen house staff maintained the property. He chatted about the practically untouched furniture and how the polished marble tiles squeaked beneath their sneakers, echoing against the high ceilings, as they hurried to the lab.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to be here, Tones?” Peter asked, each new step into the mansion scratching at his latent anxieties.

“Definitely not but that just makes it more fun, doesn’t it, baby?”

Tony delivered the line with a heap of charm and that signature bad boy grin. He was so nonchalant, never bothered and always teasing. Sometimes Peter couldn’t believe he was dating the infamous bad boy; the fearsome fighter; the unhinged delinquent; Tony – fucking – Stark. Yet, in their six amazing months as a couple, Peter has had the pleasure of seeing him more as the remarkable genius, the hilarious car singer, and the loyal friend. Sure, Tony was a bad boy through and through but Peter had given him the space to be anything other than that and, so far, they were thriving because of it.

“Maybe it’s more fun for you, but I’m stressed. I’m anxious. I’m-” Peter was stunned into silence when Tony ushered him into the lab. The workspace was a sharp contrast to the rest of the house. It was cluttered; multiple workbenches and desks scattered with complex machinery and technological marvels. “I’m in heaven.” Peter sighed dreamily.

Tony laughed, leaning close, whispering in Peter’s ear a very flirty, “I know something else that could take you to heaven.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Tony!” Peter giggled, jumping away from his boyfriend, his face flushed pink. “We’re in your dad’s lab !” His laughter trailed off as he wandered the room. His nerd senses were on overdrive and his attention to everything else was waning in the face of all the robotic spectacles and hologram capabilities.

“You’re right.” Tony threw his hands up in surrender. “Wouldn’t want to get caught in here.”

“Exactly,” Peter nodded, brows furrowing in focus as he examined a circuit board that seemed to be forgotten in a pile of desk clutter. “Are you sure your dad isn’t coming home any time soon?”

“I’m sure enough." Tony smiled, stepping forward to hook his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “But let’s stay focused, sweetheart. I promise I’ll show you around more next time.”

“Okay,” Peter pouted, ditching the circuit board and falling out of his tech-obsessed trance, allowing Tony to lead him to the large hologram screen at the center of the room.

“Plus, we have that thing at your place later,” Tony said as he began navigating the screen with small flicks of his hand. “I just need to find one thing on this computer and then we can go to the... what exactly did Auntie call it again?”

“Our six month anniversary dinner extravaganza,” Peter punctuated each word with grand hand gestures, all coated in sarcasm. “Catered by chef May ,” Peter joked, mocking his aunt’s voice. “Why she thinks we care about things like that is beyond me.”

“Oh?” Tony glanced at his boyfriend with a raised brow and a sly smile. “But I got you a gift, baby.”

“No, you didn’t!” Peter laughed, playfully pushing against Tony’s shoulder. “You said we’d celebrate a year. You said that.” He paused, eyebrows momentarily knitting in concern, “Wait, you didn’t actually get me something, did you?”

“And what if I did?”

“I would obviously fall into an empty-handed panic.” Peter feigned terror, emphasizing his jest by throwing a dramatic hand against his forehead before letting his expression drop into a small pout. “But, really, did you get one?”

“Maybe, maybe not, but it’s not like I need a gift in return.” Tony stopped searching the console, glancing at Peter with suggestive eyes. “You can just let me fuck the lights out of my virgin boyfriend and we'll call it even.”

“Tony! Oh my-” Peter blushed, covering his face and laughing into his hands as the embarrassment bubbled within him. “O-Okay, first of all, MJ says virginity is a construct.”

“And as usual, she’s right,” Tony joined the laughter, shaking his head as his focus drifted back to the computer. “Virginity is a construct – and with all the shit we’ve done, calling you a virgin just wouldn’t do that mouth justice, sweetheart – but still, it doesn’t stop me from wanting to fuck you until you’re a mess.”

Peter froze, his cheeks going a deeper red at his boyfriend’s candid words and his mind running through memories of their most fervent makeout sessions. Like the time Tony used Peter’s mouth – just fucking used it however he wanted. Or the time he naively wondered how his boyfriend managed to last for so long and Tony proceeded to edge him for an hour. And Peter still got goosebumps whenever he thought about that time in Tony’s backseat when he first learned what frotting was. Fuck , he could go on forever but the soft touch of his boyfriend’s hand smoothing through his hair pulled his focus.

“I know we’re joking and shit but- will you...or I mean, do you want to?”

And Peter could tell by the way Tony averted his eyes, speaking so nervous and low, that the question was serious. So, for a moment, he considered if this was the right time to say yes; if this was the right time to go all the way. Yet, he struggled with that phrase – that right time and the inherent importance it somehow held. As if sex was a special frontier that he needed to cross with care. It was strange because although this type of sex was new, being sexual was not; being close to Tony was not; being intimate was not. There were far more important milestones to worry about, so why was his heart thrumming so loud at the mere thought of answering?

“Okay,” Peter finally spoke, solidifying his answer with a smile and a nod. “How about during the break? I-Is that okay?”

“Wait, for real?” Tony perked up, his expression beaming. “I mean, no pressure, baby. You don’t actually have to if you don’t want to, but if you want to – like really fucking want to, not some my-boyfriend-wants-to-so-I-want-to bullshit – then yes. Hell yes. The break is fucking perfect. It’s-”

“Okay, don’t get too excited,” Peter giggled, leaning against Tony’s shoulder and breathing in the older boy’s scent to calm his nerves. “I want to, so I’ll have to p-prep and stuff, but yeah- last day of school is in two days so we’ll have time this weekend to – I don’t know – focus on it, or I mean- um... fuck , talking about it like this is weird.”

Tony pressed a kiss to the top of Peter’s head, “First rule of fucking: Don’t do any fucking until you can actually talk about fucking.”

“Good tip,” Peter crossed his arms and grinned. “Should I credit Pepper or Bruce for that one?”

“Wow, excuse you,” Tony shook his head, mirroring Peter’s grin. “It was actually Rhodey. His dad taught him about sex stuff and he taught me.” His smile faded then, “I mean, it’s not like my old man would teach me anything about that shit anyway.”

Peter’s expression fell solemn, “The important thing is that you learned it, right?” He slipped a gentle hand underneath Tony’s leather jacket, rubbing comforting circles into the small of his back. “If it makes you feel any better, ever since we started dating, May won’t shut up about safe sex. Every morning, when I’m trying to have a peaceful breakfast, she’s there talking about condoms or lube or – oh my god – ‘anal cleanliness’ and I’m just mortified in front of my cheerios.”

“Glad to hear Auntie has been advocating for me to get my dick wet.”

“Oh god,” Peter shook his head, gripping his sides from laughter. “Do not say Auntie and dick wet in the same sentence!”

Tony laughed, “I was just- oh shit, hold up, I found it,” Tony focused on the screen, quickly moving to transfer the file to his phone.

Peter leaned in to get a closer look, “Found what exactly?”

“The file I need to upgrade Jarvis.”

“Wait, why do you need your dad’s file to upgrade Jarvis?”

“It’s less of an upgrade and more of a key... well, it’s not really that either,” Tony explained. “My dad has this elaborate dynamic encryption protecting the Stark Industries file system and, where Jarvis is right now, he doesn’t have the processing power to brute force the encryption before a new key is set.”

“Oh!” Peter joyfully interrupted, “And this file will give Jarvis access to the encryption key, which would, in theory, give you access every time the encryption algorithm changes to a new key.”

“Fuck, baby, you really know how to turn a guy on.” Tony playful bit his lip and wiggled his eyebrows at Peter.

“Tony!” Peter blushed, rolling his eyes with a smile. “Seriously.”

“Sorry, couldn’t help it,” Tony laughed, turning his attention back to the downloading file. “But you’re almost right. This file is the encryption algorithm so by having Jarvis learn this, he should be able to learn not only how to break in, but also how to predict any improvements made to it.”

“So you’ll never be locked out of Stark Industries again.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Now that’s something to get turned on about.”

Tony raised his brow and turned towards Peter, placing a gentle hand on the younger boy’s hips. “Am I making you hot and bothered, sweetheart?”

“Maybe a little,” Peter softly spoke, bracing himself on Tony’s arms as he was hoisted up onto a desk. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What am I not going to do?” Tony playfully whispered as he stepped between Peter’s knees, wrapping his arms around Peter’s svelte frame, pulling their chests together and closing the gap between their lips.

Whenever they kissed, Peter was reminded of their first. He was reminded of how nervous he was; how bashful; how shaky. Sitting in his bedroom with his face cupped in Tony’s hands, feeling that heated closeness and the warm breath tickling his lips. Their first kiss was tender, slow, and full of emotion. It was so different from the kiss they shared now.

This kiss was frantic and hungry, filled with emotion but fueled by lust. Their lips crashing together like being apart was agony and their hands exploring every inch of exposed flesh, just aching to dip beneath hems and seams. Peter had gained confidence in kissing, even when open-mouthed and graced by tongue. Threading his fingers through Tony's hair had become commonplace and moaning into Tony's mouth was a thoughtless eventuality. A few months ago, he would have cringed at the thought of making such needy sounds but now, he reveled in it.

Not a lot made him nervous these days. His stutter was practically gone and his skittish nature seldom made an appearance. Something about facing his bullies head-on just changed him. He was the picture of courage, dauntless and bold, the most fearless…

Oh fuck. Peter was dragged from his thoughts by the electric sensation of Tony’s hand on his nipple, pinching and rubbing at the tender nub as the kiss became rougher. Tony tugged Peter’s bottom lip through his teeth, pleasantly groaning at the satisfied expression on the younger boy's face.

Peter gasped, dipping his head down to hide his surely flushed cheeks and clutching at Tony’s leather sleeves like they were the ground that kept him from short-circuiting. “T-Tony, th-that um - that’s-”

“What is it, baby?” Tony gave a smug grin, bringing a hand up beneath Peter’s jaw, gradually squeezing as he guided Peter’s gaze to his. “Go on, tell me.”

And all Peter could do was whine, shakily and through a strained breath. The lightheaded rush of being choked and the mere presence of Tony’s touch making him bulge in his jeans. His hands trembled where they grasped and his eyes yearned for more. So Tony gave a final hard squeeze before pulling his hand away, opting to grab a handful of Peter’s curls. “I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

“T-Tony, I-I’m- um ...i-it’s-” Peter stuttered, falling back into his nerves like they were never really gone. “It’s g-good.”

“There you are,” Tony whispered, a mischievous smile working its way to his lips as he grazed his fingertips against the hardness just beyond Peter’s zipper. “All nervous and cute just for me.”

The only response Peter could muster was a high-pitched Mhmm and a slight pull on Tony’s sleeves, making the older boy lean in for another kiss – and holy shit was it a really fucking good kiss.

So good that the Jarvis alert was background noise and the click of the door handle was their first indicator that Tony’s dad had arrived. The sound made Tony’s shoulders go rigid as he recoiled away from Peter, quickly closing the hologram console before glaring at the door with tension in his eyes.

Howard stepped into the room, dressed in slacks and a button-up shirt with rolled sleeves and a loose tie. His face was cast in a five o’clock shadow. His eyes were dark – darker than each swig of whiskey from the glass he cradled in his left hand. “So this is your newest boy toy, Anthony?” He shook his head, “I’ve got to say, I’m underwhelmed by this one.”

“ Don’t call him that.” Tony practically growled, his voice taut and his tone a bit deeper.

This was the first time Peter has ever seen Tony and his dad interact. It was shocking – petrifying, really – enough to kill all arousal and compel him to absolute silence.

Tony was seething, even more than usual, but Howard just laughed, short and belittling, “Of course, you would be more passionate about a slut like this than the company. Predictable as ever, Anthony.”

“Fuck you,” Tony spoke through clenched teeth.

And from his place at Tony’s side, Peter could tell that the older boy’s knuckles were starting to lose color from how tightly he balled his fists. He could see that Tony was shaking beneath that leather like a boiling pot, brimming with fury and rage. He knew that Howard’s spiteful baiting was bound to make that anger boil over.

Howard audibly tsked, downing the remaining whiskey in one large swig. And for a moment, the room was still, filled only with the sound of breath and the tick of a clock, when suddenly, it wasn’t. Howard spiked the glass against the floor. The shattering glass and subsequent splay of shards against tile cut through the lab and shook Peter to his very core. The erratic behavior eroding any doubt Peter held about Howard’s presence; imposing and threatening as it was, like watching a carnivore tear through his dinner.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Howard asked, his voice deep and menacing.

And Peter thought that would be it. He thought Tony would boil over with anger, yell at his father for speaking to him like that; for acting like that. He thought Tony wouldn’t stand for it.

He was wrong.

“Nothing,” Tony shook his head and grabbed Peter by the wrist, radiating a feeling that Peter knew all too well. The fearsome bad boy was scared ; so scared that his hand began to tremble where it gripped; so scared that he started towards the lab doors with Peter in tow. Tony – never lost a fight – Stark was so scared that he was choosing flight and that alone was terrifying.

Without so much as a glimpse in his father’s direction, they rushed towards the doors. Nearly there, nearly escaped. Yet, in those few seconds, in those few breaths, in those few strides, Peter learned what made Howard Stark so dangerous.

“Always a coward, just like your mother.”

Tony flinched, his muscles tensing and his grip tightening on Peter’s wrist. “Don’t talk about her like that.” He spoke low, scared but provoked, thrashing in his father’s trap.

“Like what? Like the waste of space she was?” Howard scoffed. “All she did was birth a useless criminal son and left when she couldn’t deal with the pressure of raising you.”

And it was like throwing a grenade into a bonfire.

“She left because of you!” Tony exploded, screaming loud enough to rival the impact of the shattered glass.

Slap!

It was faster than Peter could process but the echo of Howard’s hand connecting with Tony’s cheek rang in his ears. Fear and anger ricocheted through his body like lightning in a bottle; yet, he could do nothing but watch. Watch how quickly Tony was shaken from his anger like a knife whose edge had dulled. Watch how unapologetic Howard was; how sickeningly pleased he was with Tony’s prompt obedience. Watch firsthand just how twisted Tony’s life at home was.

It was silent for a few heartbeats, then Tony gripped Peter’s wrist even harder than before and pulled him out of the lab. Walking with urgency and leaving behind the callous laughter of his father.

“Tony,” Peter whispered, his fingers feeling prickly as the feeling started to fade from the pressure of Tony’s hold. “Tony, um-” He struggled to speak as he was practically dragged towards the front door. “Tony, my hand, you’re-!” He tried pulling against Tony’s strength but to no avail. So he planted his heels when they reached the foyer and the force of Tony’s momentum caused them both to trip forward. “Tony!”

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Tony screamed, grabbing Peter by his upper arm and looking at him with the same frustrated expression that he showed his father. “We need to fucking go!”

Peter’s eyes went wide, a twinge of fear bubbling in his chest before anger overtook it. “You were hurting me!” Peter snapped back, yanking his arm away and marching passed Tony, heading towards the car.

“I- fuck , Peter, I didn’t-” Tony frustratingly ran his hands through his hair, following Peter into the garage.

“Don’t,” Peter interrupted, raising his palm.

“Why didn’t you just say something?!” Tony yelled, still fuming as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“I tried too!” Peter yelled back, slamming the car door on his way in and training his eyes out the window, trying to ignore the tension and the dull pain of the bruise on his wrist. “Can you just drive me home?”

Tony inhaled sharp, “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“That-!” Tony stopped himself and took a deep breath, finally dropping his tone. “Whatever.”

“Great, now you’re whatever-ing me,” Peter mumbled, crossing his arms and gripping his sides in a self-hug. He could feel his emotions in his throat, shaking and threatening to burst, and as he leaned his head against the window, he bit the inside of his lip to keep them at bay.

“If you don’t want to talk, then we’re not going to talk.”

“I never said that I didn’t want to talk.” Peter sniffled – fuck , he thought, as a single tear managed to escape. “I-I just don’t appreciate you t-taking out your anger on me.”

“I’m not!” Tony snapped again.

Peter’s voice was shaky, “T-Then why are you still yelling?”

“Because-!” Tony had a vice grip on the steering wheel, his face a blend of anger and fear and regret. “Because he fucking says shit just to get under my skin and he calls you all these fucked up things and ignores that you’re there and just fucking-” He paused, dropping his forehead against the wheel as well. “I just...”

The sight of Tony struggling made Peter’s heart hurt, but the sound of Tony’s sadness went beyond it. “You just?”

“Nevermind.”

“No, Tones. Don’t do that. Talk to me. I’m-”

“Drop it, Peter.” Tony started the car, ending the conversation like Peter stepped on his toes.

Then, they drove in silence. An awkward and deafening kind of silence – filled with the hum of Tony’s engine and whoosh of the passing scenery – but deafening nonetheless. The peeved energy radiating off of the older boy was familiar but, this time, it wasn’t remedied with silly lip-synced rock ‘n’ roll. No, this was different from those times. Peter couldn’t help but feel tense and, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop the way his body shook beneath that fact.

When they arrived at the apartment, the air in the car was so stifling that stepping out into the evening breeze was jarring. Peter tried on a smile, holding the car door open as he spoke, “Are you still coming in for the dinner thing?”

“No.” Tony kept his response short with his lips pressed in a hard line and his eyes fixed on the windshield. “See you at school tomorrow.”

And Peter parted his lips but no words came. So he shut his mouth and the car door, watching from his place on the curb as Tony drove away. For a short while, he stood there, inhaling deep breaths to stave off the tears, but soon, the patter of rain gave him cause to walk inside.

The apartment was filled with the savory scent of pizza and the sounds of the evening news. It was warm and bright and there was confetti trailing from the front door to the dining table. Taped to the entryway wall was a sign, printed on multiple sheets of white printer paper, that read ‘ Happy 6-Month Extravaganz ’ with a sloppy letter ‘A’ scrawled on a sticky note at the end.

And Peter didn’t know much more his heart could take.

“Hey boys, I ordered pizza! You wouldn’t believe the fight I had with the office copy machine! It was-” As May rounded the corner and saw the look on Peter’s face, she paused. “Oh, Peter, what happened?”

“Nothing,” Peter shook his head. “This all looks great, thanks Aunt May.” He smiled but even he couldn’t deny the feeling of wetness against his cheeks – he blamed the rain.

“How about some pizza?” May gave a small smile, moving to pull the sign down. “We can eat and watch some movies together. How’s that sound?”

“No, I’m- I’m tired and I’ve got- um, homework to finish up,” Peter sniffled, involuntarily using his sleeve to wick away his sadness. “So I’m just going to go to my room. Night May.”

~*2*~

“Okay, I’m just going to say it,” MJ shook her head, tossing her books into her locker, staring her best friend squarely in the face. “You look like shit.”

And Peter, whose eyes were puffy and whose shoulders were slumped and whose only form of expression came through exasperated sighs, gazed at MJ with tired eyes, “I know.”

“What happened, dude?” Ned questioned, slamming his locker closed and moving to put a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“A lot,” Peter dropped his forehead against his locker. “A lot happened.”

“Want to talk about it?” MJ offered, her eyes shrouded in sympathy.

Peter sighed, slowly shaking his head, “Not even a little.”

“Well, well, what do we have here?” It was Natasha’s voice, like nails being hammered into Peter’s sanity. “Why so blue? Did your psychotic dog run away?” She laughed, “Maybe for some other twink? Or – what did Loki say? – plaything , right?”

“Nat, stop,” Clint grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away from Peter’s group.

“No,” Natasha resisted, shaking her arm free, a smirk perched on her lips like she was invincible. “Didn’t see Tony with you this morning either. Did he get tired of his bitch?”

“Nat, fucking chill,” Clint whispered under his breath, trying once again to pull her away. “She doesn’t mean it guys. We’re sorry. Come on, Nat!”

“ Sorry? I’m not fucking sorry. ” Natasha scoffed, “Looks like he’s all alone today, maybe we should text Loki, see what he thinks about that.”

“Are you done?” MJ interrupted, glaring at the pair of bullies with her arms crossed.

“Not talking to you,” Natasha sassed, rolling her eyes at MJ. “I’m talking to bitch boy over here.”

Peter inhaled slow, calming the nerves that sat at the back of his mind. “Text them,” He challenged, lifting his forehead from his locker and turning to face Natasha with a bored expression. “Do it. I dare you. Go ahead and see what happens.”

And Natasha, with all of her brazen snark, was taken aback by Peter’s abnormally quick response. “Whatever, you’re not worth my time.”

“ Whatever, you’re not worth my time. ” Peter mocked, his face unfazed despite the speed of his anxiously racing heart or the force of his grip on the seam in his pocket. “You’re not worth my time, Red.”

“Dude,” Ned held back a laugh, but MJ had no such control; her laughter pulled the attention of curious hallway students, including a guy Peter has never seen before. He was tall and a bit muscular, sporting a denim jacket and staring at Peter with a confidence a bit too reminiscent of Tony’s. It was weird, like locking eyes with a much more smiley and bright version of Tony. Why was this guy staring at him like that anyway? Peter didn’t have the energy to question it; besides, all his attention should be on not getting beat up again.

“Nat, stop fucking around, let’s go,” Clint didn’t give in this time, placing a firm hand in hers and walking away with her in tow.

“Fuck you, bitch. Stark can’t protect you forever!” Natasha’s final words, topped off with a flip of her middle finger, as she disappeared down the hall.

Peter gave a relieved sigh, hand over his heart like he narrowly escaped death, “I think I’m going to pass out.”

“Well, don’t,” Ned laughed. “That was fucking awesome, dude. Very Tony Stark of you.”

“Guess that’s what happens when you move up the food chain,” MJ joked. “Suck Tony Stark’s dick for protection one time and the whole school becomes your bitch.”

“We both know he’s sucked that dick more than once,” Ned smirked, bumping his arm against MJ’s.

“Please stop,” Peter rolled his eyes and started towards the lunchroom, “Let’s just go eat.”

MJ laughed, moving to walk beside Peter, “Where is Tony today anyway?”

“Yeah, he’s usually at your locker before lunch starts,” Ned added.

“Like I said,” Peter sighed. “ A lot happened.”

“Oh, okay, fair enough,” MJ shrugged as they entered the lunchroom. “No further questions.”

“Well, I have a question,” Ned interjected, following behind Peter to the lunch line. “What the fuck are we doing for the break?” He posed the question with urgent eyes. “Because, and I don’t want to alarm anyone, but we have got to be the only juniors without spring break plans.”

“Oh no, not that.” MJ feigned surprise, her eyes bored and her voice monotonous but not even her eye roll could stop Ned’s enthusiasm.

“Oh no is right, MJ! Peter, are your cool friends doing anything?”

“My cool friends?” Peter squinted as he grabbed a tray and moved down the line, unimpressed by the high school food but too exhausted to complain.

MJ snorted, “He means the big buff trio.”

Well, even Peter had to smile at that, “You mean Steve, Sam, and Bucky?”

“MJ, that codename is for private correspondence only,” Ned joked. “But yeah, have they roped you into any plans yet?”

“I don’t know,” Peter shrugged as they exited the line, surveying the lunchroom for Steve’s table and locking eyes with a waving Bucky. “Let’s go ask.”

“What?” Ned’s eyebrows flew upward. “You’re bringing us to sit with Steve Rogers?”

“I guess I am,” Peter gave a small grin. “I’ve got to introduce my cool friends to my new friends eventually, right?”

Ned dramatically gasped, “When did my best friend become so smooth?”

“He was always this smooth,” MJ laughed, following Peter to the table.

“Hey Peter,” Bucky smiled, gesturing to some empty chairs. “And MJ and Ned, right?”

“Yeah,” MJ said as she sat. “Nice to finally meet you guys.”

“Likewise,” Steve said before shooting Peter a skeptical look. “Hey Pete, where’s Tony?”

“Not sure,” Peter clenched his jaw, biting on the inside of his lip to stave off his lingering emotions, preparing himself to make excuses. “He’s probably just skipping today. No big deal.” He waved away any hint of sadness, replacing it instead with an over-enthused – and clearly forced – smile. “Anyway, we were talking about spring break, right Ned?”

“Right,” Ned said, blinking a few times before shaking his head. “Right!” He dropped his hands against the lunch table, pulling everyone’s attention – leave it to him to always have Peter’s back. “Spring break is next week, guys. Do you have any plans?”

“Well, me and the guys usually visit my family’s beach house,” Steve answered.

“How big is the house?” MJ asked.

“Oh, the house is huge,” Bucky assured. “If people doubled up in the beds, it could probably sleep like twelve people.”

“Did you guys want to come with us?” Steve offered. “We could make it a party. Tony could bring his friends too. What do you think, Pete?”

Peter was distracted, idly pushing food around his lunch tray and staring into the abyss of students. His mind wandered through yesterday’s events, silently wishing they never happened. He wondered where Tony was; where Tony had been all morning. It was like him to skip classes but never lunch. It was the only school period they shared. What was happening?

“Peter!” MJ snapped him from his thoughts. “You there?”

“O-Oh, what? Sorry, um- what were you-?”

“Spring break party at Steve’s beach house with all of us and Tony’s crew?” MJ summarized. “That sound good?”

“Yeah, probably,” Peter nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

“Great, then I’ll ask my parents if we can use the house and let you guys know what they say on Friday.”

“Thanks, Steve,” Ned excitedly said.

And the conversation went from there. Planning about what food to bring, what alcohol was the best, what games they would play. Some great mingling between mutual friends that Peter was barely present for. He was so in his own head that he didn’t realize who was approaching the table.

“Hey.”

Peter lifted his head, surprised to find that the voice belonged to the guy from the hallway, who was pulling up a chair to sit beside him. “Um...hey?”

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Definitely not kid .” Peter raised his eyebrow. “Who’s asking?”

The guy laughed, “My name’s Quentin – Quentin Beck – and I saw you, in the hallway, telling that girl off and I knew I needed to introduce myself.”

“Wait. That girl? ” MJ interrupted, looking just as confused as the rest of the table. “You don’t know who Natasha Romanoff is? Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m new here. Just transferred today. Nice to meet you guys,” Quentin was courteous, making eye contact with each person at the table before focusing his attention solely on Peter. “Especially you, kid.”

“Peter,” He introduced himself, feeling a bit uneasy with the unfamiliar attention.

“It suits you,” Quentin gave a bright smile. “Your shirt is also pretty funny.”

Peter furrowed his brow, so unsure about what shirt he threw on today that he had to glance down. Peaking between his unbuttoned plaid shirt was his ‘ if you believe in telekinesis, please raise my hand ’ t-shirt. A classic. Peter let out a light huff of breath that ended in the smallest of smiles, “Thanks. It’s actually my favorite one.”

Quentin gave a small laugh of his own, looking at Peter with adoration, “Suddenly, it’s my favorite too.”

“U-Um...you look good too,” Peter clumsily reciprocated. “I mean, your jacket is really cool.”

“You’re really cool,” Quentin shot back with a grin.

“O-kay!” Ned loudly interrupted, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get back to the spring break plans.”

“Agreed,” MJ nodded, staring at Peter with the strongest what-the-fuck-are-you-doing look. “Peter, do you think your boyfriend would mind driving?”

“ Boy friend, huh?” Quentin smirked, not looking away from Peter for even a second. “Glad to know we’re teammates, Peter.”

The line made Sam and Bucky burst into laughter. “Steve, you need to take some notes,” Bucky joked, smiling at Steve, who laughed as well.

“And you better be careful, new kid,” Sam warned, pointing towards the cafeteria doors. “Tony is literally coming this way.”

Peter perked up, surprised to see Tony sauntering towards them. The bad boy’s presence brought the lunchroom to a grinding halt and only when he made it to Peter’s table, did it resume.

“Move,” Tony spoke directly to Quentin.

“Um...no,” Quentin snorted, seemingly unbothered. “Don’t be a dick. Just get another chair. I’m talking to Peter.”

Everyone, even Peter, was stunned by Quentin’s blind confidence. Tony, however, was immediately set off. “ The fuck? ” Tony cursed as he grabbed Quentin by the jacket collar and effortlessly yanked him up from the chair. “It wasn’t a fucking question.”

“T-Tony! Stop,” Peter promptly stood, pulling Tony’s hand away from the denim. “He didn’t mean it.”

“What?” Tony gave Peter an incredulous look. “Who the fuck is this guy to you?” He moved forward, shoving Quentin back a step. It was all the cafeteria crowd needed to be fully tuned in. Enraptured by the actions of the notorious bad boy and what seemed to be his latest target: a very confused Quentin Beck. A second shove had people whispering, but a third had them outright rowdy with their phones primed to spread the brawl to everyone in the school.

“Tony, stop it !” Peter snapped, his voice low but serious, immediately compelling Tony’s focus. “Hallway,” He demanded before walking off.

Tony tsk ed but followed with his hands shoved in his pockets and anger lingering his eyes. All the way to the empty hallway, where Peter now stood, arms crossed and disappointed, “What is going on with you?”

“Who the fuck was that?” Tony fumed.

“Nobod- wait, no, I-I’m asking the questions,” Peter stressed. “Why are you so on edge?”

“You know why.”

“Actually, no. I really don’t.” Peter pointed out. “You told me to drop it , remember.”

“Not that- fuck, that’s not what I meant.” Tony let out a frustrated sigh.

“Then what did you mean, Tony? Because skipping out on dinner really sends a clear message.” Peter could feel a sting in his eyes. “I’m so confused and hurt and I was looking for you all day today and you finally show up but you’re not even here for me. You just came to cause trouble, didn’t you?”

“No, Peter, that’s-” Tony stepped forward, grabbing Peter’s hand. “I am here for you. I only ever come to this fucking place for you.” He shook his head, “I didn’t want to fight, I just- Why would you even think that?”

Without warning, the lunchroom doors swung open and Quentin emerged, “Oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“Yes!” Tony yelled, in sync with Peter’s very annoyed, “No.”

Peter pulled his hand from Tony’s, “Did you need something, Quentin?”

“Oh, um- I just wanted to say sorry for what I said in there,” Quentin seemed apologetic, looking at Tony with remorse in his eyes. “I didn’t realize that you were Peter’s boyfriend. I overstepped. Sorry, man.”

It appeared a sincere apology, but Tony remained silent.

“Tony, he’s apologizing ,” Peter emphasized.

“So?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Peter whispered, shaking his head and moving towards the lunchroom doors. “I don’t want to talk anymore. Skip the rest of the day for all I care.”

And Tony did just that.

~*3*~

When Peter said skip all day, he didn’t think Tony actually would. He was convinced that, despite the tension, his boyfriend would follow their normal routine. On a regular day, Tony would be there within minutes of the buses leaving, ready to drive him home. So Peter stood outside the school, hopefully waiting for his boyfriend to pick him up. Yet, as the minutes ticked by and the school became emptier, Peter realized that Tony wasn’t coming.

Left with no choice, Peter started the walk home, just as he’d done countless times before; trekked the three miles whenever the weather was nice or he missed the bus. After all, getting driven around by his boyfriend every day would make him lazy. There was no harm in putting feet to the concrete, exercising his legs, inhaling some fresh air. No, the harm started after the first two blocks, when the sky decided on rain and not just any rain – no, this was soak-through-a-backpack , fuck-you-Peter kind of rain.

And Peter nearly screamed, his frustrations pooling as he dashed to take shelter beneath a storefront awning. In the cover, he dropped his head into his palms, convinced that the universe hated him. He didn’t have an umbrella, he didn’t have anyone to pick him up, and no matter how much optimism he tried to muster, he knew an hour-long walk in the pouring rain would break him.

Beep!

A car horn close enough to Tony’s that Peter’s whole body experienced a wave of happiness but, as he lifted his head, the wave dissipated. The car wasn’t Tony’s or MJ’s or Steve’s. Just an ordinary sedan that he was set to ignore, but then, the windows rolled down.

“Well, if it isn’t Tony Stark’s plaything.” It was Loki, parking the car against the curb and stepping out into the rain with vengeance in his eyes. “Where’s Stark?”

Shit. Peter tensed, “Fuck off, Loki. Tony’s on his way.” A bold-faced lie – one he wished were true; one he hoped appeared as true.

“Is he?” Loki smirked deviously, moving closer and closer to Peter, “You see, I received a quite interesting text from Natasha today.” He cracked his knuckles, “What was it you said to me that night? Touch me again and I’ll have him break the other one ?” He recalled, standing inches away from Peter. “Now, that only works if you actually have a him , doesn’t it?”

Yeah, the universe definitely hates me. Peter thought, inhaling sharply as regret seeped through his body and he backed against the brick of the storefront. The very thing he tried so hard to contain swarming to the surface: fear. “Don’t come near me! T-Tony will find out! H-He’ll know, he-”

“There’s the Parker I know,” Loki smirked, grabbing Peter by his collar, “Once a scared little bitch, always a scared little bitch.” He gave a dark laugh as he slammed Peter against the brick with one hand. The other winding into a fist and poised to deliver a punch.

And Peter closed his eyes, relaxed his jaw, and prepared for the inevitable, a pit in his stomach from knowing Tony wouldn’t be saving him. He wanted to cry.

“Hey! Get off of him!”

A perfectly timed interruption that stopped Loki in his tracks and filled Peter with a thankful relief. It was Quentin, emerging from an expensive, tinted-windowed sports car and bolting towards them without hesitation. With his fists balled and ready to defend, he promptly stepped between them, shoving Loki back a few steps.

Quentin’s serious eyes were striking, especially when paired with that confident grin and the way he hovered his fists like a trained fighter squares up for a brawl. Or the way he pulled off that denim jacket and draped it over Peter’s head like he was protecting something important. Or the way he so reassuringly affirmed that Peter would be fine, so hold this for me, kid. I’ll handle this.

And Peter would be lying if he said it didn’t remind him of Tony.

However, what happened next was nothing like the notorious bad boy. Quentin wasn’t a violent fighter. Though Peter appreciated the protection, the way Quentin fought was boring. He didn’t seem to enjoy the conflict – in fact, he only threw punches when Loki threw them. He was clearly trained but instead of a self-serving show of brutality, he leaned toward ending it as cleanly as possible. In the end, Loki stopped the fight. Not because he was dazed or bruised or bloody, but because Quentin’s resolve was stronger.

And much like Natasha, Loki left Peter with a warning before driving off. “Sooner or later, you’ll run out of assholes to protect you, Parker. And you and I both know that a scared little bitch like you can’t protect yourself.”

Quentin exhaled, winded from the fight and thoroughly soaked with rain, but smiling bright nonetheless. “Hey, Peter! Do you need a ride somewhere?”

Maybe the universe didn’t hate him after all. “Y-Yes!” Peter spared no time in rushing to Quentin’s car and following him inside. “You’re a lifesaver, Quentin.” He said as he shed his wet clothes, denim jacket first, plaid long sleeve second.

“Beck.”

“Hm?”

“My good friends call me Beck.” Quentin smiled, slicking his wet hair away from his forehead.

“Oh,” Peter nodded. “Beck, then. ” He sighed, leaning back against the seat, thankful for the heat pumping through its vents. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“No need to thank me. I’m just glad I showed up when I did,” Quentin gestured to Peter’s wrist. “Before he could do anything else.”

Peter flinched, covering his bruised wrist like he was caught doing something wrong, “This was- um...yeah, I’m glad too.”

Quentin furrowed his brow, “Who was that anyway? And that Natasha girl too?”

“That was Loki,” Peter sighed, “They’re my... enemies , I guess?”

“Enemies?” Quentin gave a soft laugh, “That’s pretty intense. What’d they do?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

“No, I don’t like getting too much into it,” Peter shook his head. “I was duped and Tony helped me. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Tony helped you, huh?” Quentin repeated, clearly annoyed. “Then where was he just now?”

“He was just busy today.” Peter was making excuses. Again.

“Too busy to protect his boyfriend?” Quentin scoffed. “If you were my boyfriend, I would protect you all the time. No matter what, even if we had some stupid argument at school.”

Peter’s eyes went wide at Quentin’s sentiment, “We weren’t arguing. We were just-”

“I’m not blind, Peter,” Quentin interrupted. “I heard you both fighting in the hall. Tony seems quick to anger and, honestly, you don’t deserve that.”

Peter crossed his arms and stared out the window, “And how do you know what I deserve?”

“I don’t, but I know you don’t deserve a guy that would leave you stranded in the rain.” Quentin sighed, “Look, I can tell you’re upset, so I’ll drop it for now, but at least think about what I said, okay?”

Peter glanced over to Quentin, whose eyes seemed so genuine that he felt bad for being annoyed. “Okay,” He nodded, relaxing his arms, feeling a bit embarrassed for being so peeved. “Um...so, your car is... nice.”

“Thank you. It belongs to my parents,” Quentin gave a bashful laugh. “I couldn’t find my bus stop this morning and when I finally got there, I missed the bus so I took the car.”

“Without telling them?” Peter rose his brow.

“Without telling them,” Quentin slowly repeated with a grin. “I’m definitely going to be in some deep shit so let’s enjoy it while it lasts.” He pressed a button to the right of the gearshift, “Seat warmers,” He said as he pressed another button, switching on the radio and filling the car with the low hum of rock music. “Surround sound and–” Another button. “Self-driving navigation. Put your address in and we’re all set.”

“Wow, this is my first time in one of these,” Peter mentioned as he inputted his address on the touch screen. “There. Did that work?”

“Perfectly.” Quentin nodded as he started the ride and the car pulled away from the curb. “Now, sit back, relax, and enjoy your warmed butt. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Peter almost laughed at that one – almost – instead, he took the advice. He relaxed, soaking in the warmth and peacefully listening to the radio mixed with the pitter-patter of the rain. But then an AC/DC track played. “Can we skip this one?”

“Not in a ‘Shoot to Thrill’ kind of mood?” Quentin asked as he skipped the song.

Peter shook his head, leaning forward slightly, “It’s not that...it’s other stuff.”

“Does this other stuff wear leather and have a surprisingly high grip strength?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, “By the way, sorry he did that to you.”

“No worries,” Quentin shook his head. “Let’s not talk about him. I want to know more about the kid, Peter Parker.”

“I am not a kid,” Peter lightheartedly complained. “We’re probably like one year apart.”

“I know but you get so worked up over it,” Quentin grinned. “I can’t help it.”

Peter sighed but smiled, “Fine, what do you want to know?”

Quentin beamed, “Do you have any hobbies?”

“Comics, I guess,” Peter answered. “I have a collection up in my room.”

Quentin gasped, “Can I come in and see it?”

“Sure, I guess.”

And when they arrived at Peter's apartment and ventured into his room, talking about comic books turned to playing video games for a few hours. And that turned to homework together and raiding the fridge for snacks. Chats about sharing interests turned to lending comic books, which very quickly turned to hey, Beck, do you want to come on our spring break trip? Somehow, it all turned Peter’s awful day into something a little brighter.

“Thanks for hanging out today, Beck,” Peter flashed a quick smile, leaning against the door frame.

Quentin smirked, “And thank you for the comic book. I promise to bring it back with all its pages and exactly one unidentifiable snack stain.”

Peter laughed, an honest laugh, “Sounds good.”

“Wow,” Quentin smiled, moving his hand to gently tilt Peter’s chin upward, “Your laugh is really cute, Peter.”

“W-What?” Peter blushed – what the fuck? blushed? – he pulled away, quickly laughing it off like one big joke. “My laugh is actually quite manly.”

“Anything you say, kid.” Quentin gave Peter one last smile before turning to head down the hall. “See you tomorrow!”

“See you!” And as he closed the apartment door, Peter scoffed but there was no denying the smile on his face; no denying that Quentin’s company had cheered him up.

Just as Peter turned to head to his room, the door opened again. It was May, “Hey Peter, who was that boy in the hall?”

“His name’s Quentin,” Peter answered. “He gave me a ride home today.”

“He was here until now?” May glanced at her watch. “It’s past seven. What about Tony?”

Right. Tony.

Peter sighed, the flurry of negative emotions washing back over him at the mere mention of his boyfriend’s name. “What about Tony?” He mumbled, stalking into his room like the moody teenager he was.

~*4*~

The next morning was just as rough as the last but, at least, the sun was up today. Peter rode the bus to school, thankful that the ride was quiet despite the rumors that were starting to brew. According to a very frantic text from Ned this morning, students were starting to gossip about his relationship. The question at the center of speculation: are Tony and Peter breaking up? And it hurt to not know if that speculation was justified. After all, they had been arguing a lot and tensions were high.

Peter sighed as he stepped off the bus, ready to resign himself to another day of sadness, but then a voice called out to him that made his chest feel tight.

“Peter!” It was Tony, leaning against his car in the parking lot, smoking and gesturing for Peter to join him. He seemed less angry today, less brooding. The sight filled Peter with joy, but he was reluctant to show it. He was still upset. He was still confused. He was still hurt, but none of that could stop his feet from carrying him across the lot. “What?” He asked, crossing his arms, keeping his eyes on the pavement.

“I want to talk,” Tony said, flicking his cigarette away. “Can we?”

“You ditched me yesterday,” Peter whispered, unsure why his hands started to tremble in his pockets. “It was raining and I had to walk and-”

“ You told me to skip,” Tony interrupted. “Why didn’t you take the bus?”

“Because I didn’t think you would listen to me,” Peter sighed, shaking his head. “I waited for you.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Tony let out a frustrated huff of breath, dragging a hand through his hair.

Peter bit the inside of his lip and turned on his heel, “If I’m bothering you, then we can just-”

“Wait, no!” Tony reached out, grabbing Peter by his wrist.

The same bruised wrist as before. Peter flinched at the contact, inhaling sharp through his teeth as a dull pain erupted up his forearm. “L-Let go!”

Tony’s eyes went wide, releasing his grip immediately. “Sorry! I’m sorry, baby, I forgot-”

“How could you forget something that you did!?” Peter snapped, clasping his bruised wrist in his hand, holding it to his chest. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

“Peter,” Tony’s voice was unsteady, frantic, worried. He reached out again, a gentle hand in Peter’s, but the younger boy just yanked it away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Tony paused, slowly closing his hand and stuffing it into his pocket. “Okay, but please, baby, just talk to me, I didn’t mean-”

“No,” Peter shook his head, once again starting towards the building.

Tony followed, keeping his hands to himself but unrelenting in his pleads. “Please. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad, baby, just stay and talk to me.”

“Stop calling me that,” Peter fumed, irritation dripping from every word.

Tony jogged forward, stepping in front of Peter to halt his strides. “Okay, okay , but I really just want to talk. I want to fix this, I-”

“I told you no,” Peter repeated, stepping around Tony without even looking him in the eye. “The bell is going to ring soon. I have class.”

“Peter,” Tony reached out again, grabbing almost desperately at Peter’s hand.

“I told you not to touch me!”

“I don’t know what else to do-!”

“Is there a problem here?” All of sudden, there was Quentin, fearlessly interjecting with one hand pushing against Tony’s chest and the other hovering in front of Peter in protection. His shoulders rigid and his body braced for a clash more intense than their last.

Tony scowled, his eyes cast in a dark and threatening glare, “Move the hand before I break it.”

“He told you not to touch him.” Quentin challenged, ignoring the warning and shoving his hand harder against Tony’s chest.

And Peter watched with a sinking feeling as Tony grabbed Quentin’s wrist and fingers like he was leveraging to snap the bone. “Tony, don’t!” He yelled, louder than he has in a while and Tony must have taken notice because he released Quentin without question.

But then Quentin scoffed, putting two and two together, “You’re the one that fucked up Peter’s wrist, aren’t you?” He laughed low, his tone unsurprised, “And you left him in the rain to get beat up?”

“What?” Tony squinted, “What the fuck is he talking about, Peter?”

Peter shook his head, panicking, “Quentin, stop, you don’t have to-”

“No, he should know that because of him, you almost got the shit kicked out of you by that Loki guy.” Quentin asserted. “I’m glad I was there to take you home.”

“He took you home?” Tony’s voice went stagnant, coasting somewhere dark that had Peter struggling to find the words to respond.

“Yeah, I did,” Quentin boasted. “I was there to protect him, to spend time with him, to get his mind off all the stress you put him through.” He said, stepping back and throwing his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “So, don’t worry, I’ll be taking him again today.”

Peter froze, staring into Tony’s eyes and feeling a swarm of guilt in his stomach, “I didn’t- um, Tony, we didn’t do anything-” He pulled away from Quentin, “It was just-”

“Was he in your room?” Tony asked, tone unchanging.

“Yes, but-”

Tony closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through clenched teeth as his hands balled into fists. Anger was radiating off of him, billowing into the air and making it hard for Peter to breathe. Yet, as Tony opened his eyes, his fists relaxed and his fury seemed to wane as he brought his hand up slowly, threading his fingers through Peter’s hair, “I’m taking you home today.”

And Peter understood that it wasn’t a question.

“Okay.”

~*5*~

After school, the tension had grown beyond control, especially now, as the spring break group convened for a quick meeting – meaning Steve, Sam, Bucky, MJ, Ned, and Tony were hit with the surprise of Quentin’s invitation all at once. To make things worse, the sheer pressure emanating from Tony was making the atmosphere unbearable.

“So,” Steve began, smiling at the group despite the clear unease. “I’ve got good news.”

“We got permission to use the beach house!” Bucky blurted out, beating Steve to the punch.

“Steve’s parents said we can have it for the week.” Sam added, “Monday through Friday.”

“Like they said,” Steve shook his head, playfully putting his hands over their mouths. “Before I was so rudely interrupted. We got the okay from my folks.”

“Yes!” Ned exclaimed, shaking Peter by the shoulders, probably trying to relax the mood. “Spring break!”

Steve laughed at Ned’s enthusiasm, “Is he always like this?”

“Always,” MJ assured. “So is everyone clear with what they’re bringing?”

“We’ll handle the drinks,” Bucky gestured to Sam, Steve, and himself.

“MJ, Peter, and I will get the food.” Ned gave a thumbs up. “But someone else needs to get stuff to light the grill.”

“I can handle that,” Quentin offered.

“Perfect,” Steve nodded. “Tony, you’re friends are good with getting the music set up and the games, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony shrugged. “Happy’s bringing his car.”

“I’m bringing mine,” MJ added.

“Me too,” Quentin and Tony said in unison, only adding to the tension nagging at Peter’s insides.

“Having four cars is perfect,” Ned interjected, laughing awkwardly. “Everyone will have legroom.”

“Sounds good to me.” Steve smiled, waving to everyone as they dispersed. “See you all on Monday!”

No one lingered – not that Peter blamed them – the conversation was strained and uncomfortable. He was relieved that Quentin didn’t start something as they exited the school. Maybe it was because Tony was so silent and Quentin wasn’t the type to start a fight on his own. The walk to the parking lot was quiet, even quieter was the drive to Peter’s apartment. Another awkwardly silent drive with Tony’s unease imposed on the atmosphere.

As Tony parked the car against the curb, Peter opened the door before saying, “Do you want to come in?”

“No,” Tony said, keeping his car running and his hands on the wheel.

“We should talk now, Tones,” Peter closed the door. “I’m sorry about what Quentin said.”

“Which part?” Tony stressed. “The part about Loki, or that he brought you home, or maybe that he was in your fucking room ?” His voice got louder and louder with each word.

Peter’s voice caught in his throat, “W-We didn’t do anything.”

“How long was he there?”

“I don’t know...until May got back,” Peter shrugged. “We just played video games and did homework. I lent him a book,” His hands were starting to tremble again. He hated it. “He’s my friend.”

“Sure, a friend ,” Tony scoffed.

“What are you trying to say?”

“You let him touch you,” Tony seethed. “You couldn’t stand me touching you but you didn’t seem to care when it was him. What the fuck happened to I’m yours, but you’re mine too , huh?”

“Nothing happened to it!” Peter was starting to panic. All of their conversations had spiraled out of control, escalated beyond what they should have been, and this one was no different. “I was just upset with you and he was nice to me so I didn’t think about it. I didn’t mean to-”

“I wanted to end this shit today.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat, so scared by the vagueness in those words that his whole frame began to shake. “W-What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Tony shook his head. “Get out of my car.”

“What?”

“I said get out.”

“Tony.” That came out more pitifully than Peter wanted and – oh no – his vision began to blur behind tears. “I don’t like him,” His voice was distorted and breathy and on the verge of sobs, but somehow, that didn’t stop him from getting angry. “You’re the one that started this!” He yelled, looking up to combat his tears. “You’re the one that got mad first! I was trying to talk to you about your dad and you-”

“I don’t want to talk about him!” Tony snapped, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. “Why don’t you get that? Why can't you just fucking let it go?!”

“Because he hit you, Tony!” Peter snapped back. “He hit you and I couldn’t do anything and I could tell you were scared and that-”

“Peter, stop! Just fucking stop!” Tony dropped his face into his hands. “This isn’t something you should worry about.”

“Tony, I’m your boyfriend ,” Peter stressed, wiping at his tear-stained cheeks. “How can I not worry? It happened in front of me and I-”

“Can you just get out?” Tony lifted his head, his expression was blank but his eyes were wet, so clearly filled with tears of his own.

“But Tony, I-”

“Peter, I’m serious, get the fuck out of my car.”

“If that’s what you want then fine!” Peter fumed, throwing open the car door and stepping out. “Be that way!” He yelled before slamming the door shut and turning towards his building, not bothering to glance back, even when the roar of Tony’s engine disappeared down the street.

As he ambled into his building and up the stairs, Peter wondered if this was what it felt like to be at his wits’ end; to feel utterly crushed by the weight of his emotions; to feel his heartache and be at a loss when trying to fix it. He stepped into the apartment, surprised to see May’s shoes by the door and hear her bright greeting. Right, it was the weekend, she was home earlier than usual.

“Peter!” May was stunned when she laid eyes on her nephew, rushing over to pull him into a hug. “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” Peter started to break down. “Things just keep getting worse and we keep arguing and I-” He sobbed, “I don’t know what to do!” And the tears he so viciously tried holding back fell freely and he was hopeless against them.

“Okay, calm down,” May rubbed gentle circles into Peter’s back. “Come sit down,” She said as she guided him to the couch, where he continued to cry. Where he continued to weep as she headed into the kitchen and prepared two cups of tea. Continued to sob as she grabbed a box of tissues from the linen closet and calmly sat, waiting for the tears to run dry. And once they did, she finally spoke, “Now, explain.”

“Tony hates me,” Peter’s voice was hoarse. “All we’ve been doing is fighting with each other and Quentin made it worse.”

“The boy from the hall?”

“Yeah,” Peter sniffled. “He’s my friend but Tony thinks I like him and we’re fighting about that too now.” He sighed, taking a sip of tea before continuing, “And everyone’s going on that trip to Steve’s family’s beach house. And it’s just going to be the worst, Aunt May.”

“What were you fighting about before Quentin?”

“I-” Peter hesitated, “It was something that happened at Tony’s house.”

“And what happened?”

“Something bad,” Peter mumbled, placing his mug on the coffee table.

“I’m listening.”

Read Part 2: Here.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark #badboy!tony au #obligatorywrites

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