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n1kolaiz · 3 years

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The Six Realms

Okay, so I was pretty close to giving up on writing analyses but I'm back LMFAO plus I see we're close to 100 followers and I just want to thank you guys for being so very supportive <3

Alright, I'm not sure if anyone's ever written about this, but if an analysis like this exists, please do let me know because I'm kind of curious as to what other people think about this, too!

Remember that time Fukuchi spoke about bringing "about the five signs of an angel's death"?

I read a little bit more about it, and as a minor content warning: this analysis will focus on a few religious aspects (Buddhism + Hinduism). So if I get any of the facts wrong, firstly: I do not mean any disrespect to either religion, and secondly: please do correct me if I interpret anything in the wrong way.

Spoilers for BSD chapter 90 onwards + BEAST!AU under the cut!

So I'll start by talking about the Decay of Angels. As we all know, the members include Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Nikolai Gogol, Sigma, and Bram Stoker, and their leader, Fukuchi Ochi. After Fyodor's arrest, the Decay of Angels came into light with Nikolai murdering four government officials in a week. These murders symbolise the Buddhist cycle of existence, or otherwise known as samsara: the cycle of life, death, and rebirth.

"We are the Decay of Angels—hiding here as terrorists, a 'murder association', five people who will announce the demise of the celestial world."

Nikolai Gogol, chapter 57

Samsara is described to be a concept beyond human understanding. According to Hinduism, samsara is the physical world where every being has its soul trapped into a physical vessel. The Hindus believe that everything has a soul, and due to a soul's attachment to desire, it is forced into a deathless cycle of being born, dying, and reincarnating into a different body. In Buddhism, the ultimate way to break free from this cycle is by obtaining nirvana.

Nirvana is a Sanskrit word for the goal of the Buddhist path: enlightenment or awakening. In Pali, the language of some of the earliest Buddhist texts, the word is nibbana; in both languages it means "extinction" (like a lamp or flame) or "cessation." It refers to the extinction of greed, ill will, and delusion in the mind, the three poisons that perpetuate suffering. Nirvana is what the Buddha achieved on the night of his enlightenment: he became completely free from the three poisons. Everything he taught for the rest of his life was aimed at helping others to arrive at that same freedom.

- TRICYCLE'S definition of nirvana

As Fukuchi mentions in the panel above, there are six different realms of existence. These realms represent every possible state of existence, but one cannot live in a specific realm forever. Depending on whether or not one's past actions were morally good or bad, an individual is born into one of these realms. Basically, the controlling factor of which realm a person is born into is dependent on their respective karma. The realms are separated into two categories: the hellish ones and the heavenly ones.

The Deva Realm: where beings are rewarded for the good deeds they have done. This realm is void of anything unpleasant. It is basically paradise— empty of unfulfilled desires, any form of suffering, and fears of every kind. Religious individuals, however, do not seek to be born into this realm since its attitude is more or less carefree.

The Asura Realm: where demigods are admitted. Asuras are driven by greed and envy, and may come in conflict with human beings since they are quite similar. They are powerful beings, but quarrel with each other quite a bit, making this realm quite undesirable to be reborn into.

The Animal Realm: where beings are given the form of an animal (you probably guessed that lol). Individuals here don't actually have good karma to take pride in, but rather, they are born into this realm to work off their bad karma (by being slaughtered, hunted, or forced to work, etc). Being born into this realm forces one to atone for their past sins by living out their life as an animal.

The Hell Realm: where one is punished for their evil actions. The most merciless of realms, where one pays for their transgressions through pure suffering, methods of which include: dismemberment, starvation, and psychological/physical torture. However, once a person's term is fulfilled in this realm, they are presumably promised to be reborn into a higher state.

The Preta Realm: similar to the hell realm, in which beings pay for their past sins (specifically: greed and stinginess) by having to survive through hunger and thirst. This realm is also known as the 'ghost realm,' because some pretas are psychologically tortured by being forced to live in places their past selves have lived in. They are invisible to human beings living at that time, which pushes them to face the depths of despair and loneliness. Your typical horror movie, really.

The Human Realm: the only realm where one's actions determine their future. The status (social ranking, physical wellbeing, and so on) of a human being in this realm is determined by their past actions, but due to the fact that a person has their own conscience to differentiate good morals from bad, the actions they commit in this realm have the power to determine which realm they are sent to next.

Okay, so now that I've got that out of the way, let's shift our focus to the Book. Very little is known about the Book, but the basic fundamentals of how it works is that whatever is written in the book will come into existence only if its contents follow the rules of karma. In addition to that, only a few sentences can be written into a single page of the Book, and it must follow the current narrative of the story.

If I'm not wrong, the first time the Book was mentioned was by Fitzgerald, who wanted it to resurrect his deceased daughter in hopes of restoring his wife's mental health. The next time the Book is brought up is when Fyodor's intentions to possess it are divulged; his goal was to decimate the global population of ability-users. And now, the current arc has the Book as its central focus, with a single page in Fukuchi's possession.

[ BEAST!AU spoilers ]

The Book acts as the central point of multiverses, with each character's lives differing from universe to universe.

Dazai committing suicide in this alternate universe stands in sharp contrast with how he decided to start up a new life in the main universe.

Oda staying alive to act as a mentor to Akutagawa in the ADA differs from how Oda uses his death to prompt Dazai to "be on the side that saves people."

And of course, the way Atsushi and Akutagawa have their positions switched in the two universes depicts how different their lives would be if they were given the chance to be mentored by different people— these are just a few examples of how the Book houses an endless amount of possibilities.

[ end of BEAST!AU spoilers ]

Hypothetically speaking, this kind of reminds me of the differing realms I mentioned before, where suffering is promised in some realms, and better things are granted in the rest, depending on one's karma, or the deeds they've done in their past lives. In this scenario, perhaps one's past life can be understood as one's current life in a different universe. That's just a personal opinion though. Take it as you will.

side note: Keep in mind that the person who is more or less impervious to the Book's effect is Dazai, with his nullification ability. I wouldn't want to propose any theories in this aspect (I don't believe I'm fully fact-checked ;_;), but I could use Dazai as a raw example of how your choices affect your future. If Dazai had decided to stay in the Port Mafia after Oda's death, or if he even decided to go through with his suicidal fixations, life would've been different for him in the root universe (obviously, ryley) I mean, you could basically understand that from how he ended up in the BEAST au, but imagine if he really did slip up in his decision-making in any of the universes.

Many analysts have proposed that he went MIA (early in his life) from the main universe for a while to figure out how the BEAST universe worked, whilst having the Book to his advantage. Perhaps his actions were guided? I'm not saying he's all-knowing, but he's sure as hell smart. I'm not sure if Kafka was trying to highlight the concept of karma when it comes to Dazai, but if he is, then I suppose you could say that Dazai is pretty much unaffected by the rules of karma, existing as the centerpiece of all the multiverses. No Longer Human is the namesake of his ability, but the book talks about disqualification from societal norms and generally, the world. I was talking about it with a friend, and they reminded me that Yozo (the main protagonist) was pretty strong in his views against society. Like he didn't speak out of total defeat, he spoke out of defense. If there was anything Dazai actually lost to, it was his guilt— "Living itself is a source of sin."

Then again, that's my personal interpretation since everyone has their unique perspective of his writings. In terms of the actual adaptation, you could translate the word 'disqualification' to 'insusceptibilty' when if it came to the Book's effects on Dazai? This side note is becoming really long lmao anyways I'll link a few theories which afflicted me with brainrot down below.

Another thing before I wrap up, the name 'Decay of Angels' stemmed from Yukio Mishima's book entitled 'The Decay of An Angel.' This is the final novel to the author's tetralogy: 'The Sea of Fertility.' The main protagonist, Honda, meets a person he believes to be a reincarnation of his friend, Kiyoaki, who takes the form of a young teenage boy named Tōru. The last novel of this series enhances Mishima's dominant themes of the series as a whole:

the decay of courtly tradition in Japan

the essence and value of Buddhist philosophy and aesthetics

Mishima’s apocalyptic vision of the modern era

Again, this could be referred to what Fukuchi goes on to say:

Some people view the concept of samsara optimistically, justifying it by saying that perhaps each individual is given a second (third, fourth, fifth, who knows) chance to refine their actions in order to be birthed into a better realm, with their karma being the independent variable.

On the other hand, other people, specifically the Hindus, view the cycle of existence as some sort of plague. To them, the flow of life and being forced to endure the suffering of mere existence in any form was somewhat frowned down upon. Some Hindus viewed samsara as a trap. Besides, having one's soul being limited to a physical body for the rest of eternity was not very appealing, especially since where they ended up at depended on the karmic value their past actions surmounted.

Even so, particular types of Buddhists don't seek nirvana, but instead, like the Hindus, they make an effort to be good people of society, building up their good deeds to increase the likelihood of being reborn into one of the better realms.

As mentioned before, the Deva Realm was the home of angels, the most carefree, gratified beings to exist. Fukuchi describes these angels as the people who don't get their hands dirty, the people who act as the puppeteers of society: politicians.

In terms of parallels, angels were the most fortunate and powerful, but they didn't have anyone ruling over them. A lack of supervision would lead to the abuse of power, which is what I believe Fukuchi was referring to. Deeming himself the Decay of Angels, he sought to prove himself as the 'sign of death that falls on the nation's greed.'

A few fun facts (okay, not really) about Yukio Mishima: he committed seppuku (ritual suicide by disembowelment) on the day he held a speech to voice out his unpopular political beliefs to the public. Mishima deeply treasured traditions and opposed the modern mindset the nation was advancing forward to adapt eventually. In his last book, The Decay of an Angel, he spoke about the five signs which complete the death of an angel:

Here are the five greater signs: the once-immaculate robes are soiled, the flowers in the flowery crown fade and fall, sweat pours from the armpits, a fetid stench envelops the body, the angel is no longer happy in its proper place.

The Decay of an Angel, p.53

The reviews about this series I've read so far describe Mishima's works to be quite complex; his writings demanded a lot of time to deconstruct and understand. They were highly symbolic, and he was pretty obsessed with death and the 'spiritual barrenness of the modern world.' I think you could attach a few strings from here to the mindsets of the DOA members. Of course, this parallel is completely abstract, but I'll go on rambling anyway:

He should have armed them with the foreknowledge that would keep them from flinging themselves after their destinies, take away their wings, keep them from soaring, make them march in step with the crowd. The world does not approve of flying. Wings are dangerous weapons. They invite self-destruction before they can be used. If he had brought Isao to terms with the fools, then he could have pretended that he knew nothing of wings.

The Decay of an Angel, p.113

I suppose you could resonate Nikolai with that excerpt. As much as Fukuchi takes the lead in this whole murder association, I'd like to believe that each member of the DOA plays an equally interesting part in whatever movement they're trying to execute. Fyodor feels it is his god-sent purpose to cleanse the world of its sins, his motto being, "Let the hand of God guide you." Sigma doesn't know where he belongs, since his origination comes from a page in the Book, and is fueled by the desperation to find a reason to live. Bram holds one of the most powerful abilities which is counted to be one of the "Top Ten Calamities to Destroy the World."

What I mean to say is that the DOA members are incredibly powerful, and they're not your ordinary antagonists (or I'm just biased). It's not just overthrowing authorities, mass genocide, and world domination— you could say that each individual is trying to utilize their purposes to their fullest expenditures, and the way they're trying to assert their plan into action is a little more passive-aggressive (framing the Agency, having a convo with a suicidal dude in jail, etc). They're the gray area between evil and good. As they framed the good guys for their own crimes, they're trying to conquer the bad guys for exploiting the innocent as they please.

This post would definitely age well if all hell breaks loose in the current arc (as if it didn't) and Kafka doesn't give us a happy ending.

That's all I have to say for now I guess! Thank you for reading, and once again, if anyone else something they wanna share, feel free to do so <3

sources (tryna follow Q's example ^_^) :

the six realms

samsara

the decay of angels

beast!au

the book

the sea of fertility

yukio mishima

theory: dazai’s emotional/mental state in beast!au

q’s theory: dazai being the protector of the book

theory: beast!dazai and the book

216 notes · View notes

all-the-dabihawks · 2 years

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Hero DabixHawks au Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Here we go again with more Dabihawks brainrot XD it’s gonna be a long one folks - Hero au with Dabi and Hawks both in the rankings

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Chapters: lots >.>

Warnings: slow burn on the feelings, hurt comfort, if I say lemon does that give me away?, twabuse, twdrunkdabi, hawks being a shit to hero dabi, hero dabi being a shit to hawks, probably other stuff, rp format (alternating POV)

Summary: Hawks drops in on a nomu fight to give the number twenty-three hero a hand. Hero Dabi does not appreciate the support. What better way to show it than to embarrass the Wing Hero in front of the press?

🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶

There are like a thousand noodle places.

So there are. He’s about to clarify, but Hawks mutters something about his apartment and Dabi clamps his mouth shut. He’d much rather go there.

He can barely keep up with what’s happening, though, when Hawks…. Warns him? To hold on and to… Oh fuck. His arms come up to wrap tightly around Hawks’ shoulders, and he buries his face into the wing hero’s neck as he feels the earth suddenly get pulled out from underneath him. Everything hadn’t been spinning that badly until now.

“Don’t like this.” He practically whines. “Feels like you’re gonna drop me.” Will he drop him? No, that’s stupid. Why would he?

"Not gonna drop you, hot stuff." Hawks promises with a smile, eyes on the sky. "Do this all the time."

It's a nice night for a flight. Not too chilly even without his gear. Although he's not sure how Dabi will fare in his much lighter clothes. He'll be fine, the blond is sure. He can always use his quirk if he needs to.

He glances down at the man, who's head lolls dizzily. Fuck he hopes the hero doesn't throw up but he's not really convinced he won't. If he lands and he's not covered in vomit he'll be impressed. Although it wouldn't be the first time if he did to be fair.

"C'mon you've got this. Not much further. Focus on me cutie." Better than looking down, that's for sure.

Focus on me cutie.

Dabi pulls away from him slightly to blink him into focus. “Don’t hafta tell me twice. Fuck, you’re pretty.” He’s not sure he’s ever seen anyone more pretty than Keigo is right at this moment, hair windblown and eyes golden and bright as they catch reflections from the city lights below, backlit by a starry sky. His whole body warms at the visual. “Prettiest person I’ve ever seen in my whole life, I think.” He grins goofily. “You got cute lil’ freckles. Wanna kiss every single one of ‘em.” It was something he’s never noticed before this very moment. Something that never showed up on interviews or footage of him saving the public or in his modeling shoots. But right now, close enough to Hawks that they’re nearly sharing a breath, they’re plain as day.

Hawks smiles, keeping his eyes on the sky. "That's better. Much better, right? Don't gotta worry about the height when you're looking at me, right?" Fuck he's drunk. Babbling about how pretty Hawks is. At least he's an amusing drunk. Not like his dad. The Wing Hero has seen Endeavor drunk exactly twice. Both times the man had been downright sullen and broody. He grateful Dabi doesn't take after his father.

He beats his wings, curbing their descent onto his balcony, letting the two of them down as gently as possible. Somehow he's made it through this without being vomited on, and Hawks would like to keep it that way.

"Look at that. We're here already. Didn't even drop you." He shoots the man a cheeky grin, unwrapping his arms from Dabi's form and reaching into his pocket for the remote for the balcony door. "Let's get you inside and get some water into you." Maybe some food too if he can stomach it. He's pretty sure the man skipped the meal they served. He hadn't been paying that much attention, distracted by the table but he's pretty sure Dabi was gone for it.

Didn’t even drop you.

Dabi’s too gone to realize he’s messing with him and poking fun at his earlier comment about being dropped. He shakes his head, answering the sentiment far too earnestly. “Mm-mm. You wouldn’t. You’re one of the good heroes.” The ground is back underneath his feet, and without Hawks’ arms around him to stabilize him, he sways and nearly toppled over.

“M’drunk.” He announces, as if he’s just now realized and come to terms with his situation. “Really drunk. M’not gonna do a good job.” He frowns, reaching for the avian’s arm to latch onto. “You’re gonna think I’m bad at it but I’m not.”

"Drunk huh? I hadn't noticed." he teases good naturedly. Hawks hooks an arm around the man's waist and steers him inside. What even is he babbling about? Does he still think he's getting laid? Cute. He's not laying a finger on a drunk Todoroki. That's a one stop ticket to trouble.

"Come on. Inside you go. You're gonna do just fine hot stuff."

He steers the white haired man to the couch and plops him down. Safely. Where it's soft if he falls over. Hawks heads for the kitchen and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. He'd fill a glass but he never uses the kitchen, he's not really even sure where they are.

The blond presents said bottle to his guest after uncapping it. "Here. You need to hydrate. Think you can eat something?" He's gonna order KFC either way, probably Dabi can just eat what he eats.

The encouragement has him going along all too willingly, following all of his instructions without question. He sits on the couch and leans his weight on the arm of it. Up until Hawks returns with water, he’s preoccupied with taking his surroundings in, half out of habit and half out of intrigue. The nice furniture, the large windows, the door locations.

He takes the water that’s offered to it and he takes one long sip from it that nearly clears half of it in one go. Dabi knows the drill. He’s been through this before. At his question of food, Touya lifts his eyes to him, eyes wide and a little distressed. “Stay? Please.” He asked if he could eat. That meant he’d be right back, didn’t it? Was he going to get something, or making something? Either way, Dabi doesn’t like the idea of being abandoned here for any amount of time. His lip wobbles, vision going a bit blurry. “M’sorry, I’m being a pain in the ass and ruining your night. But don’t go.” He pats the couch beside himself.

A brow lifts at the way he guzzles his water and Hawks sighs. Clingy man. It's kind of cute though.

He takes a seat beside Dabi and pulls out his phone. "Ordering in hot stuff, not going anywhere." He reaches over to poke the bottle. "Finish that. You're gonna be feeling it in the morning if you don't get enough water into you." He flips up the food ordering app on his phone and hovers over the KFC tile. Bloody hell, all that grease will probably make him sick. With a sigh, he chooses something healthier and more dinner like. Vegetables and meat. It's still chicken at least. He chooses a couple of meals and hits order, closing the app and tucking his phone away.

"There. Food. Just give it half an hour." He eyes the other. "Think you can stay awake?"

Hawks reassures him, and he visibly relaxes before doing what he says and tipping back the bottle and downing the rest of it. Just the threat of tomorrow’s hangover has him grimacing.

Touya scoots closer to the avian, deciding on his own that he’d much rather lean against Hawks’ shoulder than the couch arm. “Maybe.” He’s starting to realize that he’s fucking starving. Had he eaten tonight? He can’t really remember. “Thanks for puttin’ up with me.”

"You're fine, hot stuff." Dabi leans heavily against him and the Wing Hero ruffles his hair. "Just drink the water. Food'll be here soon."

He gives the man a quick once over, taking in his flushed cheeks and windblown hair. He really is a hottie, no pun intended. All pale skin and pale hair and flashing blue eyes. And those fucking piercings. Hawks itches to put them in his mouth. Shiny things are always distracting and he's covered in them. His ears, brow, nose. But it's the one in his bottom lip driving Hawks crazy. It flashes and winks every time he opens his mouth to talk. He's itching to see how far the ink peering out of his shirt goes with his hands and mouth. Fuck.

He glances away, deliberately averting his eyes. He's drunk. Dabi's drunk. And Hawks doesn't touch drunk people as a rule. But the rule is feeling awfully brittle right now.

Dabi sighs softly, contentedly at the way he’s being treated. He’s so used to getting shit when he acts out. Hawks is kind of cool though. Chill, patient. Reassuring and kind, even. And they hardly know each other beyond occasional run-ins and brief, boring small talk or work discussions. The avian didn’t have to help him out at all, much less drag him to his place to basically babysit him.

The way he ruffles his hair is hardly anything suggestive. The contact has Dabi itching for more, though. He lifts his eyes to look right up into gold for a split second before Hawks is turning away from him. He decides he doesn’t like that very much.

Dabi tilts his head up and grazes his teeth against the wing hero’s neck. To make him squirm, or to make him turned on. It doesn’t matter, as long as he gets a reaction out of him. “Am I really your type?”

He's debating grabbing another bottle of water when Dabi decides to take the opportunity to set his mouth to Hawks' skin. It sends a shiver through him, wings twitching at the edges of teeth. Fucking hell the man's a firecracker.

Hawks is up and off the couch in an instant, headed for the fridge for another bottle of water. On second thoughts, he grabs two. When he returns he doesn't sit, just hands an uncapped bottle to Dabi.

"You're drunk. That's what type you are right now." He nods at the bottle. "C'mon. You've been drinking all night. You need more of that." What's he playing at? Did he actually forget his own address or is this a ploy? He's seen dirtier tricks pulled to try and get in his pants. At least Dabi isn't pretending to need saving.

Hawks' smile is easy but his gaze is sharp, watchful of the white haired man on his couch. Endeavor's son is nothing like the number one hero, that's for sure.

Dabi turns his whole body around to watch Hawks as he gets up and goes to the fridge. He folds his arms over the back of the couch, resting his cheek on top of them. He has to make sure Hawks isn’t leaving him here. He doesn’t want to be alone. Especially not in a strange place he’s never been.

He reaches for the bottle when it’s offered and slinks back into his previous position, leaned against the arm of the couch. “Yeah, guess I am.” He says simply before bringing the bottle to his mouth to sip at it.

“How come you brought me here?” Dabi questions out loud. “Woulda been easier t’leave me there.” Or to dump him on Endeavor, like he’d planned to originally. “M’not your problem, feathers.”

He can't decide if the man is distractable or just sobering up. Hawks stays watchful either way. At least he's not arguing over the water.

The Wing Hero shrugs, like the answer is completely obvious. "You're drunk. You're not yourself. Not gonna leave you there to make a fool of yourself and probably end up in the papers tomorrow or picked off by some villain while you're vulnerable." He folds his arms, expression darkening. "You're not top ten, but your name makes you a target Dabi. You need to think harder about your choices. Getting wasted at a hero gala-" He shrugs. "That's embarrassing but no biggie. Doing it without an exit plan, that's just stupid, y'know?"

Hawks’ kindness is overshadowed by calling him stupid, and Dabi shoots him a look. “Fuck off.” He pushes himself to his feet to… Well, he’s not sure what he’s about to do. Storm over and smack him in the head? Leave? Either way, the moment he gets up, the room starts spinning again, and he practically falls right back onto the couch. “Didn’t mean to.” He grumbles. “Overestimated how much I could take. S’been a while.”

He leans forward, dropping his head between his knees. “Fuck. You gotta bathroom? Don’t feel good.”

He knows the man didn't mean to. Dabi has a reputation for being hit headed and, he's learning, stubborn as hell. But he's a good hero. A smart hero. "That's exactly why you're here. You're not stupid Dabi. Whatever you were trying for tonight though, you've gotta get a handle on it. You put yourself in danger."

The other hero practically turns green in front of his eyes and Hawks sighs. "C'mon." He steps close to duck a shoulder under the taller man's arm. "Don't throw up on me okay?"

Hawks guides him to the bathroom and deposits him there, on his knees by the tub.

Dabi accepts the help without any fuss, slotting against Hawks’ side like he belongs there while said hero keeps him upright. “M’not in danger with you lookin’ out for me.” He teases.

The cool tile underneath him feels good, he notes, as he’s helped down onto his knees. His quirk is uncontrollable like this, his core hot with no way to expel it. He tears off his suit jacket like it’s some awful creature trying to suffocate him leaving himself in his button up underneath, rolled up just above his elbows where more tattoos are peeking out from underneath.

“Don’t look at me.” Dabi mumbles, on the cusp of a whine. His dignity is already gone and a part of him knows he’s going to hate himself tomorrow for making an ass out of himself in front of Hawks. He doesn’t need the visual of him hugging the toilet on top of it. He scoots closer to the porcelain throne, lifting the lid up and bracing himself for the puke fest that may or may not come.

Hawks grabs the suit jacket before he can throw it on the floor and folds it carefully, tucking it over his arm. He'd tried to give Dabi the tub but it looks like he'd rather have the toilet.

He tries not to let his gaze wander to the ink that shows on Dabi's arms. It's got an edge of rebellion that Hawks really, really enjoys. Fuck. He shouldn't be checking the man out while he's on his knees in the Wing Hero's bathroom. He's drunk as shit and probably won't even remember all this in the morning.

He puts the suit jacket up on the towel rail. "Better just to get it over with kid, quicker you start, quicker it's done."

“Stop callin’ me that.” Dabi growls in response to his, once again, completely unnecessary and very unwanted advice. He doesn’t have time to look up and see if Hawks turned away like he asked before he’s retching violently into the toilet. At least he made it here. If he had puked into the tub, Hawks would’ve had to clean it. Dabi had just enough sense to know that he didn’t want that. At least it wasn’t chunky. Maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t eaten yet.

By the time he’s done getting it all up and flushing, Dabi is sweating like a heroin addict. He presses his cheek pathetically to the toilet seat, whimpering about how he wants to die and he’s never drinking ever again.

Hawks tries to listen to the man's request, but he's always been shit at obeying. Taking orders from the HPSC sure, but listening to people, not so much.

He fills a glass of water from beside the sink and kneels down next to the flame hero. "Here. Wash out your mouth. Then try and drink some." His free hand is on Dabi's back, rubbing a circle against his suit shirt. The man is burning up, although Hawks makes an educated guess that that's just his quirk interacting with the alcohol.

Dabi lifts his head weakly, reaching for the water Hawks has offered him. He wants to get snippy and cuss the avian out for still being here—a little privacy in this moment of stupidity and vulnerability would be nice—but he’s rubbing his back and it feels…. Nice, to be the one looked after for once. He fills his mouth with water and sloshes it around before spitting it into the toilet obediently.

“M’sorry. I feel stupid. And shitty.” He admits, bringing an arm up to rest on the toilet seat so he can bury his face into the crook of his elbow. “M’not usually like this.” He doesn’t know why he feels the need to clarify that. He shouldn’t care what anyone thinks. Especially not a top ten hero. But it feels important to him that Hawks doesn’t think lowly of him. “Sorry.”

"Relax. I know that." Of course he's not usually like this. He wouldn't be top thirty if he was. And maybe Hawks actually keeps tabs on his idol's family members. Touya and young Shouto. He's well aware of what Dabi's like.

"You're a good hero, short tempered and stubborn but smart. You've got a chip on your shoulder the size of a bowling ball but you've got a good head on your shoulders and a strong track record on rescues." He keeps rubbing the man's back. "And you don't usually go to these events. Guessing behaving isn't really your scene." He quirks a smile. "So stop beating yourself up. Every hero needs an outlet sometimes. It's the nature of the job." He has his wings and the sky. That's enough for Hawks.

Dabi can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth at the reassurances. “You’d have a chip on your shoulder, too, if you had a dad like him.” He grumbles anyway, like he’s hellbent on being grumpy even when his heart feels fluttery and he’s just puked his guts out into the number two hero’s toilet.

“You’re really kind, huh?” He doesn’t know what possesses him to say that. “Stupid stories like cheating on me.” He scoffs at the memory of their new, fake as fuck “history” together. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly, would you? I always see it in interviews n’ stuff. You care a lot. It’s weird seein’ it up close, too.” Really, Hawks didn’t have to do all this. There aren’t any cameras around or fans to pay him on the back for being such a good person. Just asshole Dabi, who no one would even believe if he tried to out Hawks as a real piece of shit.

He snorts at the dig on Endeavor. The man is a brick wall with all the humor of one too. He can't imagine what growing up in the Todoroki house was like. Hawks is willing to bet Endeavor isn't like his dad though. He imagines the man is firm but fair. On the rare occassions that he compliments Hawks - and they are rare - and usually subtle, okay so maybe they're not compliments but Hawks takes them that way okay? Anyway, on the rare occassions he does, Hawks is grinning for days.

He blinks when Dabi does just that. Compliments him. Openly. Fuck, he really isn't much like his dad is he?

"I'll have you know I'm a dangerous hero." he scoffs. "A heartbreaker and a rule smasher. Ain't nothing about me that wouldn't hurt a fly." He flashes his signature grin. "You've been watching too many of my interviews. Gotta play it up for the public y'know?" Hawks snorts. "You been checking out my modelling spreads too? Did a real nice one on the history of hero costumes last month." He winks at Dabi, deflecting the conversation back onto the man. He almost feels bad. Almost.

Dabi grins and peers over his shoulder at Hawks. “Yeah, I saw. Can’t say it was my favorite, though.” Fuck. He would never admit that sober. Even drunk, he can feel himself burn up to the tips of his ears.

“M’serious, though. It’s not the the public thing you do. Hate that shit. Hated you because of it.” He waves his free hand dismissively, the other nearly tipping water out of the glass. “I’ve got a knack for reading people. I can tell, sometimes, when you get all passionate. It’s different than the shit you’re expected to say. You light up and you’ve got real, honest conviction when you talk about makin’ the world better.”

He rests his cheek on his arm again, slouched forward and lazy now that his stomach isn’t churning. “And right now. There’s nothing for you to gain by looking out for me. You know I’m not gonna be thankin’ you tomorrow. But you’re doing it anyway. You’re kind. That’s what I think.”

He reaches out to catch the glass before the man can topple it, steadying it carefully.

"You're drunk." He points out straightforwardly. "And you're not gonna remember any of this in the morning." Still, it's sort of strange hearing all this from a fellow hero and honestly, Dabi's about the last person he'd ever expect to hear it from. Does it make him an asshole that he was actually hoping for a thank you in the morning? Like maybe, I don't know, he wouldn't be on the Cremation Hero's shit list afterall. Like maybe they could hang out some time. Hawks doesn't have a whole lot of friends. Most people are put off by his jabs and attempts at playfulness. Annoyed when he goes too fast. Dabi seems like he could actually keep up.

"All heroes want to make the world better Dabi, that's why we do it." To varying degrees and success, sure. But heroes always want to save people.

Fuck. This is getting a little too close to the bone. Hawks grins. "You didn't like the hero costume spread huh? So which one's your favorite?"

“Endeavor doesn’t. A lot don’t. There’s a lotta bad heroes.” He answers simply, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “Jus’ cause I’m drunk doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” He scrunches his nose, confused by his own repetitive sentence. “I mean it, is what I’m trying to say. Fuck. Whatever. You hear it all the time, so I’ll shut up.”

He straightens up and takes a long sip from the glass, tipping it back to finish everything left in it with one go before setting it on the floor beside to him.

The topic change has him snorting, face feeling warm again almost as soon as it has stopped. “Lemme think….” He runs a hand through his hair, drunken mind working over time to try and pick out his favorite. “There was one. Fuckin’—Forever ago. I don’t remember when. But the shots had you looking down at the camera. You were sitting on the edge of a roof or something. And your hair was all windblown. In one of ‘em, you had this real pretty smile on your face. Looked like someone actually made you laugh at just the right moment. It was real cute.” He shrugs again, not really well versed enough in modeling lingo to be able to tell him what spread it was. Hell, he’s not even sure he remembers what he was modeling for. Only his face. And his wings. And his hair. Only him.

Endeavor doesn't? That's not true. Whatever beef Dabi has with his dad, he's letting it color his opinions.

But the man's drunk. There's no point pushing the issue.

He doesn't expect Dabi to take his question so seriously. Hawks makes room for him to turn around and finds himself sitting on the floor beside the Cremation Hero. The other thinks long and hard before answering, which is telling in and of itself. Just how many of Hawks' spreads has he seen?

"Oh yeah?" It takes a moment to remember the one he's talking about. It was just after he hit number two. Makes sense that Dabi started then. He'd been a nobody before that. Not that Hawks minded. Seems like ever since he hit number two, the commission hasn't eased up. "That one, huh?" He smiles a bit at the memory. "Well, they actually let me be outside in the open for it." Instead of being in a little studio with too many people and way more vibrations than his brain could process all at once. "And the camera girl was cute at fuck. Flirting with me like there was no tomorrow." His smile is genuine remembering it. He'd been so new and tickled pink that such a cute fan was into him. Nowadays, they all just blur together.

“Cute.” He doesn’t mean to mumble it out loud. It was a private thought when Hawks smiled just now. He lifts his eyes to the ceiling, hit for the first time with embarrassment over his loose lips in his inebriated state. The alcohol was starting to wear off a bit. That wasn’t good.

“Guess little birds need the open air, huh?” Saved. Probably. “Heh, you remember her? She must’ve been special.” He lowers his gaze, azure meeting gold, and waggles his eyebrows. “Or do you remember all of the people who make moves on you?”

Hawks resists the urge to roll his eyes. It's not Dabi's fault he's fallen straight for the playboy persona. In fact, the blond has done his damndest to reinforce it. Just once though he wonders what it would be like if someone didn't assume he fucks everything that moves.

"Sweet little thing like that, hard to forget." Hawks pastes on a grin. "Course I remember them." Like he could. The persona draws people in like moths to a flame, exactly as intended. "I value every one of my fans."

The answer Hawks gives him is so obviously rehearsed that Dabi can’t even mask the disgust that scrunches his face up. “Gonna make me puke again, ugh.” He shoves his feet straight out in front of him, stretching them as far as they’ll go without accidentally kicking Hawks or crowding into his space.

“Got any weird fan stories? Number two hero, you gotta have some terrible ones. Come on. What’s one of the worst fans you’ve ever had? Don’t try to tell me none of them are bad because that’s bullshit and we both know it.”

He actually does roll his eyes this time, choosing conspicuously not to comment on Dabi's accusation of being rehearsed.

"Can't say that I do." Oops. The flame hero is already calling bullshit and Hawks laughs, pushing a hand through his hair. "Okay, okay. Sure. Let's see?" He hums, thinking about it. "Well, there's the feather pullers. Those suck. They think they're not attached just cause I use them in fights." His mouth quirks. "Oh. The best one. Okay, so there was this one girl who walked into an active villain scene and went right up to the villain while we were fighting. Scared the shit out of her so bad! Got herself deliberately taken hostage and, get this, asks me out on a date while I'm saving her. Literally she's tied up in this weird quirk rope asking me if I'll come over to her place." He shakes his head. "People are nuts." He smirks. "What about you though?" He's curious what kind of fans Dabi attracts. His own are hardcore but he appeals across a broad spectrum. He can't imagine the niche personalities number twenty three draws in.

The story gets a laugh out of him, genuine and right from his chest before falling into a fit of tipsy giggles. He’s feeling a lot better. Well, better is a loose term. He’s feeling more conscious and more himself, at least.

“People are nuts.” He agrees, grinning wildly. “My takeaway is that if I wanna get on your nerves, yank your feathers. Saving that for the next time you try to drag me into a stupid fucking interview.”

His own stories? He leans back and hums thoughtfully. “I don’t get many people trying to touch or grab me all that much. Unlike you, I don’t try to pretend that it doesn’t bother me. Oh, but you know what I get constantly?” He pitches up his voice to imitate a fan. “I like your piercing. I wonder what you can do with it. Fuck, I’ve heard it so much that every time I hear it now, I have to physically restrain myself from rolling my eyes.” It’s not particularly weird. More repetitive and annoying than anything.

“Oh, one time a villain I was fighting turned out to be a fan. He ended up giving me this whole ass speech about picking the right side. I swear, I felt like I was in a fucking Star Wars movie. Come to the dark side, Luke. I had no fucking idea what to do with that. Like? Are we gonna fight or do you want an autograph? He even got his villain costume made to look like my hero costume. So weird.”

Ah fuck it's those giggles again. They go straight to Hawks' stomach. Cute as hell.

He frowns at the threat that follows them. "Please don't. If you want a feather for a souvenir, just ask." He hates feather pulling fans.

The wing hero snorts at the piercing bit. Ah fuck, he's guilty of thinking that himself. Oops. To be fair those piercings are hella distracting though. Flashing and shiny. He just wants to suck them into his mouth. If the other wasn't so drunk, he might well have tried.

"Wow." Hawks whistles when he talks about the villain. "Okay, you win the crazy fan game. That's something else." Why did they call him Luke though? "Did you end up giving him an autograph?"

Dabi grins at the memory. “Nah. But I did sit him down for a two hour pep talk. Fuck, it was right at the end of my shift and I remember being so fuckin’ hungry. I was on the verge of arresting him just so I could leave. In the end, I did have to arrest him, of course, but at least he came willingly by then.”

He’s starting to realize just how hot he is the longer they talk, the cold tile no longer very cold now that he’s been sitting on it. He chances the pause in conversation to try and get to his feet. “One sec.”

Okay, so he’s not exactly sober yet, if the swaying is anything to go by, but at least he’s not as gone as he was an hour ago. He squeezes past Hawks and turns on the sink. “So you’d give me a feather if I asked? Don’t you feel shit through them, though?” He fills his hands with cold water before splashing it on his face, the contrast in temperature causing steam to roll off of him.

Hawks gets to his feet as Dabi does, processing the information about the villain run in. He can honestly say he doesn't know a whole lot of heroes who would bother to try and talk one down. Especially at an inconvenient time. He regards the other with new interest. He hadn't expected that, a streak of compassion running under that impulsive asshole vibe.

He's ready to steady the Cremation Hero but it seems like he's got it. Probably cause he's just expelled most of the booze in his stomach. A little more water and he'll be right as rain in the morning. Which is good, cause Hawks has an early shift and he's not entirely sold on leaving the man alone in his apartment.

"Mm." he hums distractedly. "Well yeah. But I can cut them off. It's not like I feel every feather I ever grew right now." Although to be honest he wouldn't be so quick to cut one he gave to Dabi off. The guy is impulsive as hell and he doubts that nomu will be the last time he bites off more than he can chew. It might pay to keep an eye on him. Besides, he kind of likes the vibrations of the man's voice. Rough but nice. He could get used to them. "You asking?"

He can cut them off. That makes sense, he supposes. And convenient. He can only imagine what sort of weird things he’d feel if he had a connection with every feather he’d lost or given away.

Dabi wipes the water off his face with the back of his arm and peers over at Hawks. “Maybe. Yeah, I am.” What would he even do with one of Hawks’ feathers? He’s not sure. He’s not some damn fanboy. He’s definitely not some kinda hero memorabilia collector. Just the fact that it’s being offered, though, he kind of wants one. They’re pretty. “Do I get to pick which one?”

Blue isn't entirely stready when it stares back at him, a little bloodshot from the liquor. He's still pretty though. How can someone look ethereal under stark ass neon lights?

He's thinking with his dick.

"Sure." He's not sure why the man even wants one. He thought he was on Dabi's shit list. Hawks stretches out a wing. The bathroom's big enough for him to do that. He offers it to the hero. He'll probably want a primary, which is a pain. They take forever to regrow. Oh well. It's not like they're expecting anything big any time soon

Dabi holds a hand underneath the wing, holding it steady so he’s not just knocking it around while he rummages for a feather. If Hawks can feel through these things, it must get overwhelming to have people trying to touch them all the time. He tries to be quick, completely ruling out the flight feathers due to their size. Too flashy. Besides, he wouldn’t know what to do with it otherwise. If he picks one small enough, he can…

His fingers brush through crimson, and he marvels at how soft they are. He’d imagined them… Different. Hawks uses them as weapons, so he’d thought they’re be more rigid.

He takes a step closer, uttering a quick apology for feeling him up before finding the perfect size. Not quite at the base of his wings, but pretty close. The feathers there are about the size of his finger, and very pretty. “This one?”

Dabi's hands are warm as they sift through his feathers, strikingly so and Hawks has to suppress a shiver that wants to go through his wings. He doesn't go straight for the primaries like everyone else, no, he delves into the softer ones under the elbow of his wing. Hawks is used to people touching the shell of them, the strong glossy feathers on the outside, but the softer ones on the underside feel distinctly different. If he had to describe it it's like someone caressing his ribs and up under his arms. Sensitive and not often touched.

It occurs to him that this is a little dangerous. Or it would be if Dabi knew how he was touching him. Hawks thanks his stars he took the time to preen before the gala.

"Yeah. Sure." His voice might sound a little strained but the hero is certain it's not noticable as he looses the feather into Dabi's hand. It's soft and warm. Shouldn't it be calloused or something? Endeavor's hands are always calloused on the rare occassion they shake hands for the camera.

Dabi steps away, grinning down at his new treasure and turning it over in his hand. Maybe he’s a little more excited about it than he should be. He admires Hawks on a professional level, but he’s not a fan or anything. “Your feathers are softer than I thought they’d be.” He tucks the plume behind his ear for safe keeping. It feels wrong to stuff it into his pocket with whatever the fuck else he’s got in there.

“You always give your feathers away to people who ask?” He must get people asking a lot, with how popular he is. Touya flushes at the realization he is now also among the annoying people who ask for one.

Fuck he has a nice grin.

Hawks runs a hand through his hair. Geeze he needs to settle. He hasn't gotten laid in weeks and it's showing. Badly. But seriously, Dabi's cute as fuck and the hero's been all over him. So sue him for having some dirty thoughts. Like how pretty he'd look bent over the Wing Hero's all white couch.

Shit.

"Yeah." he replies distractedly, backing up a little and taking his wing back. "They're my signature piece. Like your gauntlets. It's sort of a habit." He shrugs." Makes the fans happy. Fans of all sizes and ages. Including heroes apparently.

“Must be a pain in the ass to give them away and regrow them.” Touya rubs the back of his neck, suddenly feeling a little awkward. “You could say no, y’know. You shouldn’t have to feel like you gotta please people all the time. Hell, if you want this one back, just say so. I’m not gonna be offended.”

He stuffs a hand into his pocket, leaving the other one to hang at his side in case Hawks actually takes him up on it and asks for the feather back.

"It's fine." He shrugs again, pushing a grin onto his face. "Got plenty of them." He shifts to lift his wings, demonstrating the amount of feathers as he flexes them. "Doesn't hurt to give a few away." Besides, they moult anyway. It's healthy to regrow them periodically.

He quirks a smile at the white haired man. "I gotta be worried about offending you now?" He leans back against the wall. As if he would say no to his fans? "Thought I was already on your shit list?"

With that answer, Dabi stuffs his other hand into his pocket. He’s a little relieved that Hawks is cool with letting him keep it. He didn’t want to give it back. It’s pretty and red and soft and it’s Hawks’.

Thought I was already on your shit list?

Dabi snorts at that. Why had he been so angry with him to begin with? Oh yeah. “The interview thing pissed me off. And I was a lil butthurt at the rejection. But no, you’re not on my shit list.” Not for now, anyway. “Have to be a real asshole to hate you after all this.” He shrugs his shoulders.

A brow cocks at that. The interview thing he gets, but "What rejection?" Hawks lazes back agains the wall, casual as you like. In body language at least, because golden as usual is sharp as he observes the other man. Those eyes miss nothing. Including the way Dabi pockets his hands. Like he needs somewhere to put them. Is he feeling awkward now. I mean, they are having a random conversation in his bathroom.

Hawks grins. "I thought being an asshole was part of your brand?"

What rejection?

Fuck, he feels dumb saying it out loud. It wasn’t like he confessed his undying love and Hawks had verbally told him no or anything. They’d just been flirting. It was on brand for Hawks. And a little on brand for Dabi, too. He’d just gotten carried away with it.

“I don’t know. At the gala, we were just—I was just—“ He groans and drags a hand down his face. “Forget it.” How is he gonna stand here and admit he’d been totally hoping for a chance to get railed by him? Can you picture me fucking you into a mattress? That stupid teasing had been fucking haunting him all night. And Hawks just stopped their little game as quickly as it started.

That lifted brow stays up, Hawks watching him like, well, his namesake. Dabi looks shy all of a sudden. Awkward. It's kind of cute the way he turns in on himself. He's learning that Dabi is one of the most outspoken heroes he's ever run across. And for him to go silent is out of character. He'd be concerned if he wasn't sure it was amusing.

"You were just what?" Golden warms on the man. Is he talking about their little game? Was Dabi taking that seriously? That's- interesting. He shouldn't find that exciting but hey, Dabi is cute. So shoot him for being human.

Hawks isn’t going to drop it. Dabi groans again at that realization. He’s probably getting some sick, sadistic joy out of watching him squirm. Well, he wouldn’t be outmatched by some feathered asshole.

He drops his hand and fixes Hawks with a scowl. “Horny as hell. That what you wanna hear?” His arms fold over his chest. “You made that mattress comment and got me all fuckin’ hot and bothered and maybe a little hopeful and then pretended like it didn’t even happen. So yeah, a little butthurt.”

Fuck he loves how straightforward Dabi is. No double talk, no messing around. The man has no filter. Just out his brain and off his tongue. It's so fucking refreshing.

Hawks smirks. "Didn't know I had such an effect on you, hot stuff." His mouth quirks. "Sure you aren't gonna regret telling me all this in the morning?" It's probably the alcohol. He can't actually be this transparent.

“There’s a lot I’m gonna regret in the morning.” Practically whining at the number two hero to bring him home with him. All the shit he might have said when he was even further gone that he already can’t remember. Puking right in front of him. “Telling you I wanna fuck you isn’t one of them.” Hawks gets it all the time, anyway. What’s one more person?

He stuffs his hands back in his pockets and turns on his heel, fully planning to walk out like the nonchalant badass he is, only to stumble into the doorframe. “Fuck—“

The Wing Hero chuckles, stepping forward to get a shoulder under his guest's arm.

"If it's any consolation hot stuff, you weren't the only one biting back a boner in the middle of the gala." He helps the white haired man back towards the couch, steadying him as they walk.

So Hawks had noticed his boner. He knew exactly what Dabi was gonna say, and he made him say it anyway. Fucking asshole. The scowl on his face doesn’t have too much edge to it, though. It can’t. Not after the avian’s confession.

“You sure that was my fault and not your charming date’s?” He teases as he’s plopped back onto the couch. “If we both wanted it, how come you didn’t fuck me? I would’ve let you. Hell, you coulda tried to fuck me in the bathroom at the gala and I probably would’ve let you.”

He lets the man down carefully on the couch, grabbing the other bottle of water from before and handing it to him.

"Drink this."

His date? That's a laugh. A random woman he'd picked up on the shoot. "Too much make up and way too much perfume just don't do it for me." Besides, her voice had been like a cheese grater on his feathers. He settles in beside the flame hero, kicking his feet up onto the coffeetable.

"Not gonna fuck you in the bathroom at a hero event." he offers simply, like it's obvious. "Not when you're drunk. Consent is cool, right?" He side eyes the man, watching to make sure he drinks.

Dabi grumbles and takes the bottle reluctantly. Too much water. He’ll have to force himself to piss before he inevitably crashes on Hawks’ couch. He doesn’t think he’d survive the humiliation otherwise.

The cremation here twists the cap off and takes a sip, smirking at the other man’s answers. “You sayin’ you would’ve fucked me in the bathroom if I wasn’t drunk?” He teases. “I wasn’t drunk. A little buzzed, but I knew what I was doing.” Now, maybe not so much. He takes another sip before holding the bottle in his lap and resting his head on Hawks’ shoulder again.

“So if too much makeup and perfume don’t do it for you, what does?”

Drunk. Buzzed. Hawks doesn't touch either. "It's a personal rule. If there's booze involved It's hands off."

Dabi rests against his side and Hawks pushes down on the impulse to wrap an arm around him. He's fantastically warm and the Wing Hero's bird bones crave it.

So if too much makeup and perfume don't do it for you, what does?

He hums. "I don't know. I like a pretty face as much as the next guy. Like someone that can keep up with me. Someone with a voice that doesn't grate on my feathers." He side eyes the Cremation Hero. "And maybe piercings." Definitely piercings. Fuck. Definitely definitely piercings.

He elbows the other. "What about you. You were on me in all of ten seconds in front of the press. What was that about?"

Pretty face? Well, he thinks he has one. He sure hears it enough. Someone who can keep up with him? Maybe not. A voice that isn’t grating? Fuck, definitely not. His voice is rough and not very pleasant, he’s sure. Piercings, though… He lifts his eyes, blue scrutinizing as he tries to get a read on him. Is he coming onto him or is that a genuine preference of his?

At the mention of their highly publicized kiss, Dabi snorts. “I told you, that was just to get back at you. Not that it worked at all. I didn’t expect you to play along. Thought I’d leave you there, stammering and trying to save face. Instead, you turned it around and I was the one stammering and trying to save face. Ass.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to Hawks, though. Fuck if he wasn’t attracted to Hawks. “You’re pretty, I’ll give you that. I’d like to think I’m not super shallow when it comes to looks, though. It wasn’t until we talked a little that I realized I wanted to fuck you.” He grins, fingers tapping on the side of his water bottle. “I like when people don’t take my bullying lying down. I like when people bite back. A sense of humor. I’m not about awkward pillow talk. Gotta be able to laugh a little, y’know? In your case, it’s your eyes, too. I realized for the first time what the hype over you is about when you had them locked onto me. Prettiest color I’ve ever seen and a little dangerous.”

That earns the man a raised brow. "So no angel fetishes then?" He flexes his wings, spreading the feathers. "That's all I ever hear. People who want to fuck an angel." It drives him crazy the way they fetishsize his wings. Like they're not literally limbs. He can appreciate something pretty as much as the next man, but c'mon, there's a whole ass person attached to these feathers.

"So leaving you to the press was a turn on?" He smirks. It's not really a question. Since he likes people that doesn't take his bullying lying down and all. He shuts up when Dabi starts talking about his eyes though. His eyes? Most people find them uncomfortably intense, not a turn on. He looks away. He's been working on the dangerous thing for years. It's a bitch that it's still noticable. His quirk is predatorial and he knows it's offputting. "You're drunk." he mumbles. "I asked you what you like, not what you like about me." He doesn't usually talk this much with his conquests. Hawks is beginning to remember why.

“Hah! No. No angel fetishes. I’m more of a demon fucker, personally.” It’s a joke. He hasn’t fucked any demons. Well, maybe some of the mean cunts he’s fucked came pretty close.

“We’ll at the time it wasn’t a turn-on. I was more pissed than horny. But yeah, okay, it made you a little more attractive, yeah.”

He dismisses his compliments on his eyes and he feels oddly defensive. “I wasn’t drunk when I thought it.” He counters. “They make me feel picked apart and seen. It’s hot as hell.”

Dabi lifts his head, straightening up to sip more water. “Why would you be askin’ me what I’m into if you weren’t asking for yourself, huh? I was asking what you were into cause I wanted to see what about me was doin’ it for you.”

He snorts at that. He hadn't looked pissed, he'd looked completely ruffled. But that's beside the point.

"Oooh I was supposed to be telling you what I like about you." Hawks teases. "Well you've gotta be more specific, hot stuff. I'm not psychic you know." Oh he knew exactly what the other had been getting at. He just wanted to fuck with Dabi.

"Let me be more specific then." Hawks turns a little to regard the man, to add a little weight to his words. "You're fucking cute." he smirks. "All white hair and pale skin and blue eyes. Like a little fucking rabbit." It arouses his predatory instinct. "But you act all tough. Quick tongue and foul mouthed. Makes me wanna fuck the sass outta you." He quirks a grin. "And yeah, those piercings are great. Shiny as hell." Oops, that's saying too much. "And you already know what I think of you as a hero. You're the whole package, kid."

Fuck. Dabi’s eyes flicker down towards the avian’s grin, catching just a hint of a pointed canine and it’s got him heat rushing straight to his cock. He’d done so good up until now, not taking any of the teasing seriously. Not since the gala. But now his head is swimming with how fucking badly he wants to get bitten by those teeth while Hawks grins at him like a cocky asshole and more or less insults him by calling him a rabbit, calling him kid.

Always quick to rise to a challenge, though, he bites back. “Bold of you to think you could fuck anything out of me. Something tells me you’re not as good as you think you are.” He readjusts slightly, hoping to hide his halfie before Hawks notices it. Fuck, how embarrassing. He leans in, eyes hooded and a smirk on his face. “I’m not one of your little fangirls, pretty bird. I’m not gonna fake it to boost your ego.”

Hawks laughs at that, deep and genuine. He can't help it, not when Dabi's showing his teeth at the same time he's trying to hide an erection.

"Fuck you're cute." He leans in close, not that Dabi's far away, to tilt his chin with one gloved hand. "Mouthing off at me while you've got a boner you can't control." He leans close, mouth to ear. "Again. You've gotta get a handle on that dick of your Dabs, it's a dead giveaway."

Hawks sits back, golden gone honey warm as he regards the other. "My fan girls don't need to fake it." His tone impies Dabi's do. "I know what I'm doing." He grins, showing teeth. Something he's not really supposed to do. But Dabi's got him all sorts of riled up and all he can picture right now is shoving the hero's head down with a hand around his nape. Ordering him to perk his creamy ass higher.

Hawks leans in, and Dabi can swear his heart skips a beat. He should feel embarrassed that the avian is poking fun at his boner that he of course noticed. He can’t dwell on it when there’s breath on his ear, when he can feel his voice against the shell of his ear.

Fuck, he’s not sure he’s ever wanted someone so badly in his life. “Prove it.” He challenges, letting the implications that he doesn’t know what he’s doing roll off his shoulders. One of these days, he’ll suck him off and he’ll know his lovers don’t have to fake anything with him. “Breaking the rules every once in a while is fun.” He leans forward, getting maybe a bit too bold as he places a hand on the avian’s thigh and heats his hand.

Hawks looks nonchalant, the heat in his gaze gone as quickly as it was there. He doesn't brush away Dabi's hand but he doesn't respond to it either. "I told you. I don't mix fucking and booze." Little shit is determined to try his patience, and on any other rule he'd probably be successful. But liquor and fun times aren't synonymous in Hawks' head, and no amount of flirting is going to bridge that gap.

That's a neat trick with his hand though. For the first time the thought occurs that Dabi might top too. Those hands heating up would definitely make for an interesting experience. "Come find me when you're sober. Maybe then we'll talk little rabbit." He's poking the man deliberately, completely unflustered by his blatant come on.

Dabi was so sure that sparks were flying just a second ago. But just like at the gala, Hawks is putting a lid on it and the cremation hero has to physically restraint himself from begging. He’s got some dignity left, even after everything else that’s happened tonight.

He pulls his hand away and slumps in his seat, muttering under his breath about Hawks being no fun and blue balling him. He brings the bottle up to his mouth and swallows the rest of it down to drown out his disappointment before making the mindful decision to lean on the couch arm instead of Hawks out of pettiness. “You fuck fangirls but not someone who’s a little drunk?”

His brows twitch in amusement at the little tantrum his house guest is having. No more warm body leaned up against him. He supposes it's inevitable. Hawks has been trained to say no without saying no. To the right people. If he's got to get this clear with another hero then there's bound to be a reaction.

Petty little shit.

He reaches up to ruffle the man's hair. "I'm gonna hit the showers. I'll bring you some bedding and stuff for the couch." Hawks stands, eyeing the Cremation Hero. "Unless you think you're gonna need to throw up again?"

Dabi swats at his hand lazily the moment Hawks’ hand is in his hair, scowling over his shoulder at him. “Not gonna throw up again, feathers. Pretty sure I got it all out the first time. Go do your thing.”

If Hawks has no plan to fuck him, he might as well just crash. His head feels heavy, and his quirk still feels uncomfortably hot from the alcohol, all of the heat trapped inside. He should’ve grabbed his gauntlets from his car, if only to expel some of the quirk induced fever.

He sits upright again briefly to toe his shoes off and start undoing the buttons on his shirt. “Just a pillow. Don’t sleep with blankets or anything.” Not usually. Fire quirk and all that. Besides, they’re restrictive. He shrugs out of the shirt once it’s completely unbuttoned and balls it up in his hand. Stupid fucking formal wear.

His elbows up to his shoulders are covered in tattoos, stretching across his chest and just underneath his collar bone on one side, as well as down his back. Pretty patterns and symbols painted all over his body, each its own story with plenty of blank canvas for more down the road. More piercings are revealed to wandering eyes: a barbel in each nipple and in his naval, marking the spot just above where his white happy trail starts.

If Hawks' eyes linger, it's not really his fault. Despite the way he's turned Dabi down, he's definitely feeling the effects of their flirting. The Cremation Hero is- well- he's something else. Creamy skin interrupted with intricate patterns that the avian itches to follow with his eyes. Something about them makes him want to investigate, like a puzzle that needs solving. There aren't many heroes with ink. And the HSPC wouldn't let him near a tattoo parlor to save his life.

He's just about to turn away, to give the other some privacy, when golden catches on winking silver. More fucking piercings. He almost groans. Dabi treats his body like a canvas and every inch of him is fucking art.

He's gonna be in trouble if he doesn't get a handle on himself.

"Right." Hawks clears his throat. "Sure. One pillow, coming right up." Better make that a cold shower.

Hawks emerges from the bathroom twenty minutes later in a cloud of steam with his sleep pants slung low on his hips. He grabs a pillow from the linen closet and reenters the living room to toss it towards the Cremation Hero. "Anything else you need?"

Hawks doesn’t get much of a response beyond a disgruntled sound and some incoherent grumbling. The arsonist has been drifting in and out of dozing already. He’s damn tired, and really feeling the effects of the booze weighing heavy on him now that he’s coming up from it. The pillow is promptly snatched and shoved under his head, and he readjusts into a more comfortable position.

“Thanks.” He mutters, plucking the feather from where it was behind his ear and getting crushed between his head and the pillow. The quill was stabbing into him uncomfortably. He closes his palm around it and tucks it underneath the pillow instead, safe and warm in his heated fist. “Night.”

Grumpy asshole.

Hawks finds himself smiling a little anyway. "Night little rabbit."

He leaves Dabi to it.

#bnha hotwings #dabi x hawks #dabihawks #hawks x dabi #toukei #my hero academia #hawks #mha hawks #dabi #bnha dabi #my hero academia fanfiction

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downtonabbeyrevisited · 3 years

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Season Two Episode Two

Following a typically chaotic opener, Episode Two of Season Two strikes a far more sombre tone. The arrival of Henry Lang as Robert’s valet brings the first of this episode’s three plot points that address the impact of WW1 on the mental health of its soldiers. There is nothing funny to say about either shell-shock or suicidal ideation both of which are vast, complex issues that, for my money, Downton Abbey isn’t the vehicle explore in (because they require more time and depth than the pace of the plot in Season Two affords) and it certainly isn’t my place to make light of them in this rather irreverent corner of the internet. So I’m going to have a go at treading a fine line here. Forgive me if I stumble.

Lang is clearly in the grips of something awful and yet in an attempt to avoid the indignity of having maids in the dining room, he is bumped up to footman duty. He struggles throughout, culminating in him depositing his cargo on Edith’s dress. Mrs O’Brein has firmly taken Lang under her wing, recognising that he is struggling and offers him assurance and comfort that she has never gifted to Thomas.

Across the Village, Lieutenant Edward Courtenay is in the hospital having been blinded by gas. The use of gas (both chlorine and mustard) had a devastating impact on soldiers in WW1 but was also the root of the development of Zyklon B. Frtiz Haber, a German Jewish chemist, enabled chlorine gas to be used a weapon in WW1 and his research was later developed into the Zyklon process which was used by the Nazis to murder millions, including his own family. This is only one of a dizzying number of appalling ironies to be found in the World Wars but as I said last episode, I’m not a military historian so I’m going to leave it there. Edward had plans to return to the country after his graduation from Oxford to pursue the simple life (although one gets the feeling that his idea of the pursuit of a simple life will still be one that is very well upholstered). Thomas has taken it upon himself to read Edward’s letters to him and together with Sybil is helping him to adjust to living life with a different set of parameters. But growing pressure on the hospital’s limited capacity means that he is to be transferred elsewhere. All three voice their dissent at varying volumes to Major Clarkson who falls back on the very real backlog of wounded men. After Edward has died, Major Clarkson, Isobel and Sybil talk about a renewed need for the Abbey to become a convalescent home, an idea that has been bubbling under the surface for a while now. Meanwhile, Thomas has been left on his own to process both Edward’s death and the implications of witnessing a lack of support given by his own physician to those with depression.

The usually reliably jovial Mrs Patmore also has a more somber episode with her pursuit for the truth about the death of her nephew Archie. Robert finds that he has been shot for cowardice. Not only does this mean that her family is in mourning but they will now have to navigate the stigma and undue shame that came with having a relative die in this way. So entrenched in British life was the derision levelled at those who were shot for cowardice or desertion that it was only in 2006 that pardons were offered by Britain for 309 of those that were executed by firing squad during WW1. I know I said I’d leave it there with the military history, but that felt like an important bit of context.

We are now in 1917 and Matthew is still in the same trench that he was in 1916 (a detail I hadn’t actually noticed until I got the screen cap for this) so it looks like his strategy of downing tools mid-fight and continuously popping back to Blighty for important plot developments isn’t really paying dividends. Perhaps the addition of William to the ranks will help him? William certainly seems to think so and if the speed at which he moves through the various stages of his ‘relationship’ with Daisy is any indication of his tactical prowess, the British Front will not only be well within Germany’s borders but will be breathing down Russia’s neck in a fortnight. In any other episode, this would certainly get the award for oddest relationship dynamic but Sir Richard Carlisle exists.

Sir Richard makes his debut at Downton, having been introduced in name only in the previous episode. He and Mary met at Cliveden which is a regular haunt of mine, giving me hope that one day I too will from a strategic alliance with a newspaper magnate. He may know how to talk his way around a boardroom but he is lacking in the sartorial department. Whilst Sir Richard manages to avoid catching fire in his tweed, Lavinia is not free from the heat as he threatens her with his connection to her uncle. He may not know much about navigating the niceties of Downton, but at least he has cottoned on to the fact that any major disagreement should occur under a specific tree. Whilst Mary’s signature move is weeping into her gloves, Sir Richard’s is grabbing women by the forearm. A female friend of mine told me that one of her favourite things about the pandemic and the compulsion to keep 2m away from anyone (and not just emotionally) is that she has not been ’steered’ by a male hand on her lower back since 2019. It turns out that she can enter and exit rooms just fine on her own and I get the impression that Lavinia could get the gist of Sir Richard’s rage without the vice like grip of a man probably about twice her age.

Twinned with the ’tree of emotional conflict’, the ‘platform of romantic uncertainty’ provides the backdrop for Sir Richard’s proposal of marriage to Mary which is a declaration that really feels like it should come with a series of well-formatted charts. Mary’s heart, however, is still very much with Cousin Matthew. After being counselled by Carson in a type of conversation I cannot imagine her ever having with her father, she is on the verge of coming clean with Matthew. But in the second round of Lavinia vs. Mary, Lavinia declares that she ‘could not go on living’ without Matthew and Mary winds her neck in.

Also having a romantic entanglement this episode is Edith. Drake, previously of dropsy fame, has lost his farm hands and Edith turns up to offer her help in a wildly unsuitable trouser and heeled boot combo. But she soon gets down to it by pulling up a tree stump and flirting in a barn whilst a rather lovely border collie looks on (I’m currently trying to talk myself out of getting a border collie and this incident has done nothing to help things). After showing Drake that she can drink from a bottle like literally every single other human on the planet, the two share a kiss and some highly awkward dialogue that only slightly resembles ‘Carry on Downton’.

Whilst Edith is more than happy to crack on in a barn, Mr Molesley is much more backwards about coming forwards. Apparently having predicted the creation of ‘The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society’, he figures that a book is the perfect kindling for romance when you exist in a glossy depiction of the past. Sadly neither Elizabeth nor her German garden can lure Anna from Bates who is fast shaping up to be schrodinger’s boyfriend. Anna proceeds to make some odd analogy where she compares Mr Bates to her moon-based child, revealing a rather unhealthy amount of codependency in that particular relationship.

Romantic declaration of the moment

Again, it feels like anyone but Sybil and Branson should get this but I am an agent of chaos and here we are. Branson defends Sybil’s will to work and has ample opportunity to see her shine in her chosen field. The admission that she will not be returning to her old life is a little chink of light that Branson basks in.

Expressive eyebrow of the week

I nominate Carson’s entire face when he realises that he has taken on too much and goes an impressive shade of red. As Carson frets about spoons, sauce, and something I can’t quite fathom, he starts to resemble a man who is re-arranging the deckchairs on the Titanic. Carson’s battle to get a cork out of a bottle and knocking into chairs is a warm up to his rather dramatic collapse which is accompanied by a pretty disturbing groan. Sybil springs to action and he is soon efficiently ensconced in his own quarters.

Wait, what?

“I got a lot done on the train” Clearly Richard was on a train that was unencumbered with the wifi issues that plague the Pendolino.

“It takes a good deal more than that to shock me.” Mary’s shock-o-meter is a pretty odd instrument. It is unresponsive to corpses of diplomats but goes into absolute meltdown at the notion that she might have to live in a cottage.

“Let's hope my reputation will survive it.” I’ve not checked (and I categorically never will) but I would put money on the fact that someone has created a rarepair out of this.

“How can Matthew have chosen that little blonde piece?” Is Lavinia blonde? Women’s hair is not really my forte but I would have thought she was more akin to Tim Minchin than 1998 Justin Timberlake.

“I believe in this war. I believe in what we are fighting for.” William seems to have a better grip on what all of this is about than I ever did in high school history. The ‘A’ that eluded me is heading his way.

“I thought he might've died for love of you.” How I love snipey Thomas. It’s good to have him back. To borrow a quote from Bottas (another man who is currently living a life in which his destiny is his own demise) ‘traditions’.

“Fold it in, don’t slap it” The more season two goes on, the more I think that Moira is just an amalgamation of some choice elements of Julian’s kingdom.

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hiro-gari · 3 years

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omggg I love your writing! could you write a garou x reader where garou realizes he has feelings for y/n and at first is in denial and is all like "romance no, hero hunting yes" but as he tries to distance himself from y/n, his mind always goes back to their good memories together, and so he ends up confessing but he's all awkward about it lol (we all know this poor boy is not good with words lmaooo)

HI, thank you so much!! 🥺💖 Of course, I love this poor, clueless guy T-T

Tongue Tied

Garou x reader

SFW, some cursing

It had only been three days. Somehow, it felt like ages.

But this was for the best. For himself, and for you. A clean break with no explanations, and no lingering attachments. With how smart you were, Garou was certain you’d be able to make a convincing argument against the violent path he’d devoted himself to. Your presence alone might even be enough to sway him. Or, maybe, you’d overwhelm him with your acceptance, as you had so many times, and you’d support him leaving, if it meant achieving his dream.

Either scenario sounded awful. So he avoided them both, and disappeared without a trace.

The problem was, you were everywhere. No matter which City or run down suburb he wandered into, he saw you; a silhouette amongst the crowd that would seem a bit too similar, a laugh that could have been yours, that song you mentioned you loved drifting from some shop. Though absent, Garou couldn’t escape you.

So he poured all of his energy into his goals, fighting until he was depleted, over and over. To hell with the class and rank of his opponents, any fight was better than letting his mind wander, right?

The Class B hero on the ground before him never stood a chance. It could barely even be considered a victory; he was only a tally to add on the list of heroes that Garou the Hero Hunter had put in the hospital.

Although this guy might have ended up there sooner rather than later, with the way he was panting after barely a few blows had been exchanged. He was on his knees, the contents of his pockets strewn across the street. It wasn’t the coins that caught Garou’s attention, though, he could do just fine without it.

However, in his hand now were two very intriguing pieces of paper. They were a pair of tickets to some horror flick he never would have paid any mind to, if it weren’t for you.

“You’ve never seen it? Really?! I thought you’d be all about it, being a monster guy and all.”

A softness came over him at the memory. Wouldn’t it be something, to sit next to you in a dark theater, watching some slasher film rife with Hollywood jump scares? It would be just the perfect opportunity to stretch his arm around your shoulder reassuringly, to take in your sweet smell as you relax into his chest. It was a late night showing too...

He crumpled them tightly in his fist, gritting his teeth.

Enough.

The man on the ground made a pitiful show of flailing at him meekly. It was puzzling, as he hardly had a scratch on him.

“H-Hero Hunter-... we will take you down...”

“Shut it. I’m not in the mood,” Garou growled back, swatting him away effortlessly, “you could’ve at least put up a fight.”

Ignoring the hero’s indignant spluttering, Garou sauntered off, taking his time, in hopes that backup might arrive. The distant voice over the loudspeaker, however, was making it seem less and less probable.

“-please evacuate immediately and seek shelter. This is a disaster level Demon.”

No doubt that’s got all their attention right now. Figures.

The large screens on the buildings nearby showed aerial footage of the destruction as the newscast announcers prattled on in a panic.

“We’re receiving reports of massive destruction to areas of City S! Dozens of businesses and residential areas have been flattened in a matter of minutes. The train station has been obliterated, cutting off transportation in and out of-”

He stuttered to a halt, straightening suddenly. The first time you met, hadn’t you said…

“I’m here every day of the week, Monster Boy. You’ll have to stop by again sometime, I’ve gotta catch the 6:00 train home.”

“Y/N.”

He took off at a full sprint.

The skyscraper sized monster, satisfied with the destruction he’d caused, was lumbering off towards the next town, trailing heroes behind them.

For the first time, Garou paid them no mind. The block was nearly unrecognizable with all the rubble strewn around. He felt somewhat relieved to see the café you worked at was still standing, though the front sign was nowhere in sight, and not a single intact window remained. It seemed the area had been evacuated before any casualties. However, it was becoming clear you certainly weren’t returning to work any time soon, and the realization hit him like a blow to the chest.

In the back of his mind had always been the comforting thought that you’d be here. Here with your smile, your harmless banter, your laugh; simple things he could always count on to come back to if things went awry.

Now they were gone, obliterated in an instant, and it pissed him off to no end. A new mission presented itself clearly, outshining all thoughts of hunting heroes and becoming a monster.

I’ll find Y/N again. I swear it.

The promises he made to himself were always the strongest.

It wouldn’t be an easy feat. He knew very little about where you lived, or the places you went outside of this, but he was already forming a plan in his mind. He could start with the list of all the stops the 6:00 train made from here, and thoroughly scour each of the residential areas until he found you.

And when I find Y/N, I’ll say everything. I’ll say-

The crunch of footsteps falling on broken glass snapped him out of his thoughts, his muscles tightening defensively.

“Garou?”

It couldn’t be, surely.

But there you were; a bag over your shoulder, a phone in your hand, slowly making your way toward him from the corner you’d be hunkered down in. The look on your face that told him you hadn’t forgotten how he’d disappeared without so much as a goodbye, and he felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt settling in his stomach.

“Y/N-”

You cocked a brow at him, relaxing slightly as you came closer. All the things Garou wanted to say fell flat as you eyed him, studying the countless new scars he’d acquired since the last time he’d seen you.

“What are you doing here?” You tried cautiously, unnerved by his uncharacteristic silence, “All the heroes have moved on, chasing down that big oaf,” you gestured toward the receding chaos behind him.

“I was getting to them,” he replied with a tilt of his chin, “what are you still doing here?” It came out sounding like an accusation, and he kicked himself internally.

You shrugged, undeterred by his sharpness as always,

“Waiting for someone to come pick me up. With the way things have been going, I’m sure I’d be taken out by a monster in no time,” you added with an awkward laugh.

He needed to say something, and he was painfully aware that this was his chance, here and now.

I’m your Monster Boy. You could let me take you out.

It didn’t seem quite right, and the way it came out sounded even worse.

“I can be the monster that takes you out.”

No. That’s a threat. Fuck.

You blinked at him, looking equally horrified.

“I meant-” He waved vaguely, shaking his head, “you know what I meant- are you laughing?” You were trying not to, practically doubling over with the effort, but this attempt of his was appalling, almost to the point of hilarity given the circumstances.

“Garou,” you said, shaking, “I have no idea what you’re trying to say here.”

Words. Words weren’t gonna work.

But in his palm, crushed and slightly damp with sweat at this point, remained some hope of salvation. He fumbled with the pieces of paper, trying to straighten them to the point of legibility. He held them between his thumb and forefinger, and leaned unnervingly close as he pointed at the title.

“This movie. You said you liked it, right?” You tilted your head in confusion, his stare making it all the more difficult to concentrate. If you squinted, you found you could barely make out the words, and you nodded slowly.

“Great!” He breathed a sigh of relief, grinning. “So we’re going.”

Your eyebrows shot up suspiciously at his sudden change of tone.

“It’s late,” you crossed your arms, looking up at him slyly, “and I’m here on the street alone with a monster. Do I have much of a choice?”

The edge in your voice was a challenge. He’d be damned if he backed down.

“Will you…” he pointed to you, for emphasis, “Go see this movie. With me.” He paused a moment, considering. “Please, Y/N.”

Your face changed completely, and for a moment, his heart sank. It almost seemed like you were about to cry, or maybe even try to swing at him. Had he said it wrong? But then you were flinging your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you buried your face into his shoulder, stretching up on your tip-toes.

“Of course I will,” you said quietly, letting him feel your words as you breathed against his skin. “Have me home at a decent hour though-”

Your words became a squeak of surprise as he wrapped his arms around you tightly, and hoisted you up with ease until he was carrying you.

“Better get going then,” he planted a kiss on your forehead apologetically, feeling your face blush red hot. You weren’t complaining though, and he took that as a green light to get moving. You were his tonight, and that thought alone was enough to make him giddy with excitement.

“Why- why did you come here, really?” You asked, repositioning yourself so you could study his face. His brow furrowed. Words always came so easily to him, so why did he always find himself so tongue-tied with you?

“Felt shitty. Didn’t see you for days. It sucked.” His concentration deepened with each pause, searching for the right words with seemingly immense difficulty. You kissed his cheek, nearly making him stumble, and he felt a small smile growing on your lips.

“I missed you too, Monster Boy~”

#awkward bb 😭😭#i almost felt bad making him mess up so tragically #lmfao #thank you for requesting #i hope you like it :’)#please let me know 💕#opm #garou x reader #garou #oneshot #scenario

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ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

constant craving 04 (final) | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: “drabble” series, best friends to lovers au, slight angst, FLUFF, bestfriend!au, unrequited love, smarter idiots but still idiots all the same

⇢ word count: 6.8k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol, excessive drinking (drink responsibly), pining, jungkook is an overdramatic baby, a surplus of feelings (i am disgusted with myself), one (1) fire hazard

⇢ summary: with the Friendiversary approaching quickly, both you and Jungkook have an array of trials to navigate through. and, as Seokjin gets caught in the crossfires, you must finally make a decision that will define how the rest of your life will unfold.

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: wow.... so bitches really call this a drabble series then write a 6 thousand word finale... its me im bitches... anywho, i really love the way this played out!! jungkook had to hit the bottom to start rising to the top and it shows. also, the ending is like....... hehe well ill just let you all see for yourselves. enjoy my lovely readers! this wrapped up such a heartfelt series that is so dear to my heart. thank you all for the support for this! and i might whip up a few drabbles simply because i think this relationship is really cute hehe ok... happy reading! <3

part four: i love you too

Carrying that music box in his pocket felt like a well-deserved and all too grim reminder of what went down a few days ago. Sitting drunk yet again, though one would best describe Jungkook’s posture as more of a sloven pile of flesh and bones withering away on a bar stool, he searched for the wallet which was in one of his four pockets.

He reached for the wrong one. Instead of the faux leather skimming his skin, it was a solid wood corner pricking the pad of his index finger. It stung more than it should have. Perhaps he'd gotten a splinter, or the top layer of his skin was simply too raw from all the wear and tear of your fight. Jungkook wasn’t one to jump at such negligible shocks, but it sank him back into that night. It wasn't the wooden corner at all.

You loved him. You still love him.

That's what you said. That's what nearly put him on the floor instead of in his chair, and what had been preying on his mind as if he were no different than a helpless animal drowning his regrets in whiskey. And he knew he should have said it back.

Jungkook theorized ways to defy the cruel restraints of time, and if the universe would be so kind as to allow him to travel back to that day in middle school when he happened upon a scared, flush-faced student running so fast and panicked that they bumped into each other, just to be the one who said 'I love you' first. Or those genies and shooting stars and blessed fountains that supposedly granted wishes; he would pay no hesitation to plead with whatever deity would listen and permit his most prioritized desire.

The retrospective bargaining remained a ghost haunting just about every waking moment of his life. Though, he had not been quite sure if said ghost was some cosmic sent presence or simply his own guilt. If regret took on physical ramifications, then Jungkook would have been convinced that was why he felt as if his legs wouldn't have been able to carry him even if he tried.

If I could just go back to that night with the knowledge I know now, I would have hauled my ass to your house instead of that club and told you that my choice was made for me the moment I met you. Every other person I ended up with these past twelve years was simply a buffer for loving you. I had to prepare myself, because loving you was something entirely too tremendous for a boy still grappling with his own faulty speech pattern to assume.

I wish you knew that. I wish I didn’t stand there like an idiot and let you leave, thinking me some hero for finally letting this new guy Seokjin take the place I had always imagined being in. I wish I had just said that I love you.

I love you.

I love you, ___.

Jungkook’s vision resembled that of a smudged lens. However, there were no fingerprints on his eyes. The world had turned blurry and colorless, the latter he knew was not due to the sixth order of whiskey he let soak into his heart’s open wound.

A life of color was one of the many things that left when you did.

He didn’t know it then, but Jungkook was being fervently dramatic since it had not been more than seventy-two hours the last time he spoke to you. Thought to him, it was akin to being just short of death and taking another breath would have been an expense he wasn’t sufficiently funded to pay.

Whatever happened in the interim of him paying his tab and walking out onto the sidewalk must have landed somewhere in the blacked out stretches of his inebriated memory, since he was now staring at your contact gleaming on his phone bearing the semblance of one guardian angel.

It was so ingrained into his routine. Opening the app with the phone icon, clicking the ‘recent’ tab, and finding your name no further than three contacts down the list because he called you as if he had important things to tell you, though normally it was just to hear your voice or to tell you about what he had for lunch. And it nestled into his muscle memory as natural as it was for him to breathe or blink. Even when alcohol debilitated his driving, walking, and thinking, his body was drawn to seek a haven such as yourself. And he nearly pressed ‘call’.

Before the comfort of your voice could ring through to his phone, reality descended upon that reflex. Right now, you were probably with Seokjin, attending some pretentious art gallery for one of his colleagues.

It was just Jungkook and the night sky and the moon that he hoped you were gazing at too; it would be the only connection to you as of now. The moon, a parcel for the most longing gazes.

There are stories where the two protagonists get it right. This was not that story. That reality stung more than the residual burn of whiskey clinging along his throat.

Both you and Jungkook made every wrong decision possible. From the moment you subjected yourself to exploiting the veneer of being a ‘good friend’ to disguise any true feelings that might have taken light, to the moment Jungkook was presented with all the excruciatingly obvious signs that you were in love with him, but was simply too inept to notice, to the both of you neglecting any urge threatening the bounds of platonic. Any path that would have steered to a destination where you two would get that happy ending was conveniently untaken.

And you had a long journey riddled with heartbreak after heartbreak to prove it.

He traded his phone with that wooden music box, scuffing the soles of his shoe as he walked back home, hoping he’d be able to give the gift to you on your Friendiversary.

-----

Your pain was still raw. In this way, you had not considered, or rather avoided the idea of tending to such delicate wounds. The days leading up to the infamous anniversary had been spent hoping you would organically heal enough to allow the presence of Jungkook while denying another reopening in your wound.

You had been juggling a not so thrilling number of conflicts the three days preceding that self-acclaimed national holiday.

One, Seokjin and his bottomless supply of invitations that you felt too obligated to refuse. He had such a life packed with plans which is more than you could have said for Jungkook. He, most likely, busied himself with promoting ranks in some obscenely violent video game. Two, a mutual friend of yours had told you Seokjin was fixing to make your relationship official this coming Friday, and you didn’t want to admit the lackluster reaction upon hearing the news was equivalent to receiving a C on a test. It wasn't the worst grade to receive, but you knew there would always be something better than adequacy. Not satisfying enough nor disappointing enough to be dealt with without bending a few expectations. And three, all you really wanted, the only agent of excitability (both good and bad) that diluted the festering numbness in your heart just a tad more, was thinking about seeing Jungkook on your Friendiversary.

But with that excitement, was its equally worrying constituent: whether or not you would be able see Jungkook that day without cracking under pressure.

Things weren’t exactly attuned between the two of you. Your emotional stature had never been more unsynchronized and offkey with Jungkook’s, so, forcing a celebratory movie or dinner would be no different than adding cornstarch to the already thick tension.

“___? Are you listening?” Everything Seokjin had just been droning on about filtered in and out without a single word being absorbed, and you could have pretended this wasn't the case but stress had apprehended caring enough to lie.

“Sorry… No, I wasn't. I’m just stressed is all.” Since that was only a half lie, self-admonition had not yet taken permanent residency whenever you would look at Seokjin’s eyes offering nothing but genuine tact.

“Oh, sorry to hear! Are you okay? Anything you wanna talk about?” That, and the soft press of his hand over yours had swallowed you into a perpetual, guilty cycle of comparing two incomparable people.

Seokjin was always like this. Serving a gentle smile and honest ears as a vessel of calmness during whatever calamity you were grappling. It was safe knowing if you fell, you’d have a comfortable cushion to soften the impact. He was mindful with his words and had the intelligence to articulate them with impressive eloquence. You were more likely to see pigs fly than to see him stutter. He had a diverse group of friends and walked a steady path to a financially secure life. And you started to wonder what else one would need in a partner? Any sensible person would do much more than you had to snag someone like Seokjin, as handsome as he was kind and respectful. He seemed to have everything Jungkook lacked, including mutual feelings for you.

It would have been entirely too easy to pick him, as if there was a ‘Seokjin’ button and a ‘Jungkook’ button and you could press Seokjin’s on a whim. If choosing him would have meant miraculous nullification of all your very real and very unremitting feelings for that idiot you called your best friend, then you would have done it in a heartbeat.

There wasn't a 'Seokjin' button or a 'Jungkook' button, nor was there a button that would wondrously redistribute your feelings towards Seokjin.

And then there was Jungkook. Always in the back of your mind when he wasn't tenanting the focus of it.

He was never predictable in the ways that mattered. It was just as difficult figuring out his next move as figuring out whether this trait was exciting or exhausting.

Though, this had not been to say you didn’t know him well; in fact, all his habits and preferences and pet peeves could be bound into a book, written by you, and it would be so accurate anyone who read it would think it was an autobiography. He knew you to the same caliber. Where Seokjin would ask what was wrong, Jungkook wouldn’t need to. He already learned your behavior to know to say something along the lines of ‘tell me what’s wrong when you're ready, we can watch your favorite movie or swing by that Chinese place with those great fried dumplings in the meantime’. And on more favorable occasions, he'd say nothing and simply wrap you in his arms and let his shirt become a delta for your tears.

To anyone else, that might sound entirely too frank and perhaps a bit dismissive to be comforting, but to you it was the exact cure for each affliction. To never need explanations that would validate your feelings because Jungkook saw to that right when he took notice; to never manufacture fake smiles through failed attempts at cheering you up since, of course, he knew exactly what to do to vegetate joy in your heart and earn a smile from years and years —and years— of practice. It had almost driven you mad, thinking about how he knew from a shift in your brow what you were feeling and yet, somehow, never realized how deeply in love you were.

All the while, the moment you were convinced you had been versed fluently in his every move, he would pawn another blindsight that would leave you breathless and amazed all the same. Jungkook always had concealed tricks up his sleeve, and life was anything but repetitive with him. You would more often than not find yourself struggling to relearn language and existing itself just to keep up with him. How exactly he managed to wield such diametric facets of being was an enigma beyond the reasoning of this universe.To feel like home, somewhere you belonged outside of your own body, and a daring voyage into a completely new world all at once must have meant he was some sort of Godsend. Only angels could have sculpted a soul so magnetizing, you assumed.

Seokjin was an umbrella, shielding you on some arcane journey under an unforgiving rainfall. Your shoes kept dry and your hair intact.

And if he was the umbrella, then Jungkook was the rain. Falling everywhere and all at once, so that you couldn't help but let yourself be saturated in his entire, vibrant being. And who’s to say letting such a water fall against your skin was a bad thing? Sometimes rain is cleaning, gentle even. They bear fruits as beautiful as rainbows that guide you to an unnamed treasure.

Your treasure, however, had a name.

Jungkook calling.

"___? Hello? You in there?" Seokjin waved his hand in front of your face mostly in a jesting manner, but part of him felt like your eyes were blinded by something held in your heart. If he hadn’t pulled you back into reality, you might have been lost forever.

“I'm just…” Your attention had abandoned this conversation the second his name gave light to your screen. “Sorry, um…”

“It's okay, you can take the call. I’ll be in the kitchen making us some coffee.”

If you were to thank him profusely, it would have been far too obvious how much you missed seeing his name among your notifications, and most likely expose how often you spent thinking of Jungkook while you were supposed to be enthralled with Seokjin. So, you just nodded and answered the phone.

Nodding and answering, as though that didn't feel like taking a breath of clean air after hours of swimming through muddied waters.

“Hello? ___?”

“Jungkook.” It took you longer than usual to form a response and what was assembled had been a half-baked utterance just to let him know you were on the other side of the phone, hearing his voice and feeling a surge of energy course through your veins like he was some delicious narcotic filling life into you after only a week without him.

“___.” Jungkook was in his own debt of words as well. The exchange halted for a few seconds, a jaded breathing cutting the cracked static.

“Look-”

“Hey so-”

Any hope that you had finally caught up to the same page as Jungkook was lost. Now, it seemed you two were reading entirely different books.

“You go.” You said after another dreadful pause. He was the one who called, so he should be the one carrying the burden of navigating through this deafening tension.

“Well, I- uh… I… Well, you see I was just, um, wondering…” Jungkook’s heart must have shut off. That would explain why even the most rudimentary of words felt closer to a foreign language. Or, why he was making conscious efforts to counteract the threat of his nearly dormant lisp.

His brain was drained dry of any blood, his inner mechanisms were shutting down. Even without the alcoholic filter catching words and common sense in its web, Jungkook felt himself fall into an overactive state of dumbfoundedness. Sobriety only a cataract for his emotional override.

“Our friendiversary?”

“I’m sorry, I did not understand literally anything you just said.”

“Me neither.”

The charming and familiar laugh that spilled through the speaker reminded you that Jungkook was in fact a real person. Not some figmented embodiment of every lost and unrequited and tortuous feeling you had been suppressing for twelve years. Jungkook was real, his laugh and everything else you loved about him were all so incredibly real. And more importantly, the pure joy you felt was real; a permanent serialization of his. Your smiles and his smiles had always surfaced in tandem.

Now, you both were laughing. Neither were warranted by his messy attempt at forming a coherent sentence. The weight of discomfort shedding from your shoulders had been partnered with a slew of relieved chuckles.

“Anyway, um. I- I still wanna see you on our Friendiversary. Or, at least give you your gift.” Admitting that was terrifying but the thought of breaking the consecutive streak of eleven years simply because he was too much of a coward to admit he wanted to see you dizzied him. However, the thought of spending your friendiversary alone terrified him beyond comprehension. So, he thought not about that as a possibility; he carved an opening to his heart in hope you wouldn’t send sharp thorns of rejection into it.

“Yeah, I, uh. I still wanna see you too. I mean, it is a national holiday. We gotta have holiday spirit, right?” You were forcing playful banter, it felt like lemon juice scouring cuts on your tongue, but you were so desperate to make things between you two feel normal.

“You’re right! So, um… You can come over tomorrow night. I’ll set up a surprise or whatever.” He seemed to have fallen back into stride with pre-confession Jungkook. Trying to keep up with him now would just exhaust you of all your means, so you chose to save the rest for tomorrow night. Even if that meant watching him walk away to some unforeseeable finish line; his back, the last part of him you’d see until you could finally collect your broken pieces and start walking as well.

“Sounds good! I’ll, um, see you then.”

“See you, ___.”

You had no idea, and how could you, that Jungkook was now wiping small clusters of wetness from the bed of his eyelids. Why he thought you, the one person that remained a constant in his life, would say no to him over one fight (of many) made for quite the spill of tears. But if you did know, you would have told him you felt like crying too.

"Hey! How did everything go?" You were so immersed in your virtual conversation with Jungkook you nearly forgot the person you were presently with. The train of guilt wouldn't stop for your pathetic attempts at disembarking.

"Oh! Thanks for the coffee." You sipped, and it had just been a stall to blink away the tears that were straying beyond your will of concealment. "It went good. We're still celebrating our Friendiversary."

"Friendiversary?" Seokjin's light chuckle veiled his tense concern.

"Yeah... Uh, it's just this thing we do to celebrate our friendship. The day we met."

"Oh... that's..." His eyes were scaling the rim of his mug.

"That's what, Seokjin?" You were stern, knowing well enough it was born of far more than platonic defensiveness. And you had no right to be the one prosecuting him since you clearly had more to hide than meets the eye.

"I mean, it's just interesting how dedicated you are to an anniversary with a friend." Seokjin wielded that soft-spoken voice which made it difficult to be anything but patient with him. And from the tone of it, he seemed to have no ill intentions with that statement, though it had not been an entirely innocent observation. To you, however, it felt like he might as well have set you on fire.

"Interesting? What is that supposed to even mean? I mean, we've been friends for twelve years. I- I don't know why people are always so judgmental." Your arms crossed over your chest, hoping he would take notice how much his comment slighted you. If asked, you would have insisted you would have been this worked up over any of your friends. Though you knew well enough this was untrue, and it made you feel even worse acting as though Seokjin was the one at fault here.

"I'm sorry. I'm not judging you, really. I just... I just have never heard of two friends doing something like that so religiously."

You sighed out all your anger, knowing the way you snapped at him was merely misdirected frustration. "No, I'm sorry. I know it's kinda weird."

"Look, I get it. You guys are close. But, ___, you talk about him so much that half, no, over half of your stories include him. We've been dating for, what, barely a week now, and I know more about this Jungkook guy than I know about you, and I haven't even met him."

Lips parted, ready to dispatch another slew of defenses to refute all the things he said. It was more disappointing than it was shocking to find nothing but a long sigh emerging. Because he was right. Jungkook has been interwoven so thoroughly in your last twelve years that if you only told the stories without him in it, then it would be the least accurate and nondescript retelling of your life. Fragments of an unfinished novel. It would miss the most crucial pieces, entire chapters, of your story.

You would have been presenting a shell of you, hollow and one dimensional. All the inner parts of you, the lungs and veins and tissue that gave you life and made you whole belonged solely with Jungkook.

That's why you sat there, blank faced, foolishly waiting for the words that wouldn't come to your aid because you had no place to contend with him.

"Seokjin... I'm with you..." It's all that would come up your throat, and it felt like acid. You were sure it burned his ears when he heard them more than it had your throat.

It hadn’t even been partially true. Physically you were with him, but in your head you were sitting on your couch with Jungkook, consuming a concerning amount of junk food while chatting through a movie used more as background noise than entertainment.

"Okay. Does that mean you don't have feelings for him?"

"Well..."

"Can you confidently say you could replace all the time you spend with him with time you would spend with me?" Seokjin must have noticed your returning tears because he loosened his verbal grip from your throat. To you, it sounded like he was pacifying you for some horrible sin, to anyone else it sounded as though he was simply trying to dredge up feelings that would disrupt the chance of a relationship between you and him. "___, I like you. I really do, but in all honesty, I'm looking for something serious. I think we would be great together, but only if you don't have any feelings left for him."

"Seokjin..." You regretted looking at him.

Sweetness was strewn in his eyes and gentle smile. Seokjin was softer than cotton, which made the real threat, the rough sandpaper wearing away skin and bones, you. It made it all the more painful to know you had been keeping everything you felt for Jungkook hidden from Seokjin. Though, if one would have presented an objective point of view, your feelings were far from secretive. And the most brutal honesty was that you knew feelings for Seokjin were never in your attainability. Not the way they always had been for Jungkook.

He was the wrong person who crossed paths with you at the right moment. A mere convenience. And you knew he deserved much more than what you had to offer.

"And maybe I'm being an idiot, but I like you too much to give you some ultimatum which would put you in such an unfair position. So, I'll let you think this over." His compassion felt more like a sharp blow to your chest. “No pressure.”

If he hadn’t smiled like he did, then you would have broken up with him right then and there. It was not possible to rip away such tender hope away from a smile so sweet.

"I'm sorry." You meant the remorse behind those words and it still hadn’t amounted to a proper consolation. "I'm sorry. I guess... I guess I'll go... Seokjin?”

“Yes?” He replied quickly, and you knew only a pace that rapid was one brought on by a sliver of faith that you might have made your decision right then.

“You’re a really great person. You deserve the world.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t give him what he wanted. And as bitter and unkind as that might have felt at the moment, it was the only bit of truth and relent you could have offered him.

-----

In your bed, sleep became somewhat of an abstract desire. You knew your rest was deprived from you when the digital clock on your bedside told you it was six hours past the time you'd normally fall asleep. It was because you really did have a choice to make now.

To choose Seokjin, and know you'd collapse in the safety of his reciprocated affection, though haunted by how you would never feel the fullest extent of content. And you would live with that until resentment and distance wedged irreversible damage in your relationship.

Or, to choose Jungkook, which would catapult you into a depth so dark and tenuous that you would have no idea whether you'd meet gentle snow or hard, deadly concrete when you landed. And maybe you'd never land at all; maybe you would be caught in a state of falling down and down forever, until your beating heart eventually stilled.

Which one was worth it? Which were you willing to risk? These were the questions that kept you awake.

The hours leading to your undisclosed celebration events with Jungkook ceased being actual points of your existence and merely obstructions that you had to plow through in order to arrive at some conclusive moment. Something that might give you an answer to all your questions. Something that might have released you from devotedly checking your phone for a Jungkook patented text or call.

You were turning into a half-being. Someone who could only inhale a full breath, laugh an intentional laugh, and sleep a soundless sleep when their other half was there.

If you thought being in love with Jungkook for your entire friendship was pathetic, then you couldn’t fathom what you had become now.

Standing in front of his door, the same one you lugged him to that night he was too drunk to balance on his feet, when you willingly carried all the weight he couldn’t, when your lips became acquainted and comfortable with his within half a beat, you felt as if this chunk of wood was mocking you. A partition barricading you from Jungkook. Your Jungkook. The man you always felt you were on the outskirts of, with only a window to peer into his unreadable mind. And that was enough for you ―until now.

Now you were going to knock on that door with your hand, make him open it for you, and walk into his home. You would be the one to step foot inside of the very structure that only solicited closed doors and immovable walls and fogged windows. And you would leave behind your timidity, every feeling and urge that left you with disappointing compromises for the sake of maintaining this friendship.

You would be selfish, and he would finally feel a mere glimpse of what you have always felt for the best and worst of your life.

Even when he opened the door, arming a smile that actively disarmed you, this home of his was yours to conquer. This was your time to act for you alone, despite how many smiles he sent your way. You had not any weapons or shields or an infantry for a clutch. You just had your heart and all the love it carried.

“Hey! ___, you look… You look great.” There was no real incentive for him to censor how he truly thought you looked. Immeasurably beautiful. It was simply his own nerves impeding on the feelings that were too intense to express without it being followed by an entire soliloquy of I love you’s.

“Thanks... You too...” You could almost feel the words brimming in your and Jungkook’s mouth, carrying such raw emotions and longing intentions.

"I'm really glad that- Jungkook..." Walking into his house punctuated what you were about to say.

His living room was strewn with enough candles to steal the last of your words and to consider his house a fire hazard. That didn't negate this lovely sea of lights to be anything but romantic and thoughtful. A bit cluttered, and not at all perfect, but it must have taken Jungkook hours to set up every wax column. The thoughtfulness of this gesture would have astonished you had it not been for the consistency of Jungkook snatching your breath and words away whenever he tried. It was antithetical, the way you expected his surprises. Yet, always surprised all the same.

Unpredictable, completely surrounding you just like the rain.

"I had to turn off my fire detector but... Worth it." Jungkook considered the number of mishaps that could have dampened any chance of this being romantic.

A candle could tip over and set his entire place ablaze, the wax could leak onto his carpet and tabletops, damaging his furniture and savings for replacements, you and he could have suffocated from all the fumes steaming from the wick. But if that look on your face didn't feel like the only bit of revival to keep his heart's steady beating, if your eyes didn’t look as though it was the only set of eyes that shed beauty into this world then he wouldn't have used up exactly three lighters to pull this stunt. But it did, and he felt warmth and color return to every inch of his body.

He would have used hundreds of lighters to ignite thousands of candles if that meant an ounce of happiness from you. He wanted to say that, but he knew the candles said it for him.

The spectacle almost made you forget why you were here in the first place. It almost made you forget the resolve you managed to gather before entering. And then he said your name.

"___."

The letters flowing from his lips as if they could only be pronounced by his tongue. It sounded so good. So good, that if anyone else were to say it then it wouldn't have been your name at all. It would have sounded wrong, sullied. And it wasn't supplied by neat articulation, this new belonging of your name in his mouth. The need for him to sculpt your name into this world was more than that. "I will never forgive myself if I don't get this out while I still can."

"Jungkook, what is all this?" You didn't know why you felt a collection of tears brimming along your eyes, but you didn't care to figure it out. Perhaps you felt an influx of feelings, an abundance too heavy for your body to seal within the confines of your emotional seams, so they overflowed in the form of tears. This certainly had not been the first time you cried over Jungkook, but you had never cried over him like this.

"___, I love you!" Jungkook said loudly. It was just you and him who could hear, but it felt as though he wanted the entire world to know.

"What? I- You- What?" Your lack of verbal poise was indicative of your love for him once again taking the reins of your mind and heart. Words were a luxury you couldn't afford as of now. You just had to feel everything you were feeling until the rainstorm settled. The hope that he would spare you some remnants of fluency was far along, and you weren't too sure if what Jungkook was about to say would be gentle enough to leave you with any words at all.

"I love you. I don't know why I didn't know it sooner. Or maybe, I- Maybe I did know?" Jungkook sighed at his own ineloquence. "I'm stupid! That's it. That's my only excuse. I'm so stupid. The way I felt about you, the way I still feel about you, is something I thought all best friends had. I thought everyone felt like the moments they weren't spending with their best friends just felt like filler moments. Like, every day I spent without you was just a span of time I had to wait out until I see you again. Like every damn moment of my life is spent waiting for you. And if I don't end up with you then... then I'll never stop waiting."

"Jungkook, I-" He prevailed in surprising you, taking words and breath and thoughts all at once.

"And, I'm that stupid! I really thought all best friends had those moments when they stare at you, and- and-" Now, you weren't the only one with wet eyes and cheeks. "And I just feel like looking at you and being with you just makes me better. It makes me a better person, or something, and it makes me feel like... Like I'll never get hurt again. And even if I do get hurt, I know it's you I want to be there. I know that whenever something bad happens to you, or when you feel like crying or when you're happy or angry or anything that I want to be the one who gets to be by your side. When I look at you, all I want is to love you. To love all your pain away."

"You really mean that?"

"Yes! God, I love you." You didn't notice how it happened, but Jungkook's arms became a shield around you. Inside his arms you were indestructible. Your hands pressed against his cheeks, memorizing the plush, smooth skin. The world could hurl all the fire and ice it had, but it wouldn’t matter. "___, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out. I'm sorry that in that period, I hurt you. Please, forgive me. I love you, and I want to be with you."

"Of course, I forgive you. I... I can't believe this." Hearing everything you always wanted from him was drastically different when it was actually unfolding. It was a million times more than any hope or dream you used as a salve for your longing. It was everything.

"Maybe it took so long because I was afraid. Because the idea of loving you was something I wasn't ready for. Even though I did love you, God, who was I to take on something as fragile and crucial as loving you. I know I probably would have messed it up. And, fuck, maybe I'm messing it up right now. But I just needed it to be perfect. I needed loving you to be perfect because I don't want to give you anything less than that."

"You were always enough for me, Jungkook. More than enough. You were and are everything to me" His arms that pressed you further into him expressed how happy that made him.

"But I'm not perfect yet. I might mess up... A lot. No, I'll definitely mess up. I don't know if I can offer you perfect yet. But I do know that through everything I have never stopped loving you and I will never stop loving you."

"Jungkook... I don't know what to say." Your thumb grazed a falling tear from his face. Jungkook had not cried often in front of you; and you could tally up the amount of times he had on your fingers alone. But when he did, it was still as beautiful as when he was smiling or laughing or even scowling.

"You could say you love me back." You did. You loved him, his smile that was currently on a mission to melt your heart, his arms that carried both the good and bad parts of you, his wit that you always relished in. All the reasons to love him were an endless flowing river. If you were lucky enough, you would catch a glimpse of each beautiful current and be able to give name to the gravity that pulled you into him.

"I love you too, you idiot." The last word caught in your throat because your lips were being kissed instead.

His lips. Warm and exciting, allotting your being with an infinite devotion of his. And it was more than you could have ever hoped for.

It felt like fire. Like a grove of candles encapsulating the origin of heat. You and Jungkook, holding each other so close, you could have become one. Hot and all-consuming of anything in its path. If one stood too close, they would suffer scorching embers that stray from the orange pyres. Seokjin, Irene, and any other unassuming casualty that had the misfortune of stepping between the two of you, harboring the burn scars to remind them of what fumed from their interference.

Every element concocting between you and him was that of a bright flame, cremating pure metals and wet woods and thick forests alike.

You were in his home. His arms and lips and hands told you it was your home as well. All that time spent wondering why you could never slip inside before was never because he didn't want to let you in. And the thing is, you never thought to knock until now. You sat outside in a silenced hope that he would voluntarily open that door for you. But unknown to you, Jungkook seemed to be waiting as well. Waiting in a large room with empty spaces where you belonged and where he kept reserved for your residence alone.

He waited even when he wasn't quite sure of who he was waiting for, or if you would ever actually spill your warmth into his home. He waited until his fingers turned to ice and his eyes fell to exhaustion, for you to walk inside.

"So, you're like my boyfriend now?" Your voice brushed against his smiling lips.

"Yeah, your boyfriend, or whatever."

"You know this means you have to top next year's friendiversary. And I mean, all these candles? That's gonna be tough." It could have counted as sensory overload, the feeling of his palms flush against your back, the tip of his nose grazing yours, the bright array of candles illuminating the room. But you were so, incredibly cold without him that this felt like solace to you.

"When have I ever disappointed you?" Jungkook regretted what came out of his mouth too late to stop himself from saying it.

"Oh, I couldn't count the amount of times on my fingers alone! What about that time you forgot our chains for the tires on our trip to the mountains? We almost died." His eye roll only encouraged you to continue. Maybe, if you were lucky, he'd equip that cute pout whenever he wanted his way. "Or what about when you swore you brought water, but three miles in on our hike you had that look on your face. You know I reminded you to get water and you swore you did. Or what about-"

"Okay! I get it! I fuck up, jeez." He scrunched his nose, his eyes waning into crescents courtesy of that grin of his. You counted the number of wrinkles along the bridge of his nose as you always did, though you had acquired an expertise in the geography of his face. Each line and angle and ridge were now and eternally yours to restudy and marvel. "Hey, uh, almost forgot."

He reached into his front left pocket. "I, um, kept carrying it around thinking I'd see you somewhere. Kinda dumb right?"

"Not dumb." You opened the tiny box, wound the handle until the spring felt tight and you could see the throngs prick the textured wheel, and it was one of those moments where you didn't see a gift in your hand. You simply saw his thought and sentiment manifested as a box of wood that sung a tune.

All the things Jungkook wanted to give you, the sun and the moon and the entire universe were not his to give. So for now, he settled for this music box and there would be a day when he would collect each celestial being and place them right into your hands. Maybe then, he would feel less of a debt for possessing such a love like yours.

"This is... I love it. Thank you, Jungkook." You smiled, but it was motivated in the hopes he would smile back. You thought he deserved that much, at least. And he did.

"Sooooo... Can I tell Seokjin that you're actually in love with me and that he sucks ba-"

"Um, absolutely not!" As always, his crudeness and slight inability to remain mature for too long only wedged you deeper in love.

So, terribly in love. Your state of constant craving for Jeon Jungkook had been left barren. That desolate, solitary province was no longer yours to take residence in.

You had a home now. And you had no need to crave Jungkook anymore. He was right here, holding you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

a/n: okay, cry with me.... these two.... such hopeless saps for each other i'm here for it. final destination is simp city... also (spoiler) it is completely canon that irene and seokjin bond over their mutual heartbreaks and get to smitten hehehe. anyway, my loves i hope you enjoyed this finale as much as i enjoyed writing it!!! it was a short but heartfelt journey with these two and i will miss their idiocy sm. thank u for your endless support i love u all!!! <3

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #bts writing #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook bestfriend!au #jungkook angst #bts series #jungkook bestfriendstolovers!au #jungkook series #constant craving #rubycoast

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vodkassassin · 3 years

Note

You've been bullying SQH too much, he needs a break! Maybe some cuddles? A vacation? An emotional support animal? All of the above?

Two of the above, as a treat. Other options to be considered at a later date, perhaps... ;3 @dancibayo

Warnings for injury and near drowning >.>

—

There is a reason that, way in the beginning of all this peak lord business — before then, in fact, when they were all still just head disciples, brand new to the job and still figuring things out— there is a reason that Shang Qinghua signed the paperwork making Mu Qingfang his mission partner. And only Mu Qingfang.

It wasn’t because Mu Qingfang was the only one out of all of his martial family that Shang Qinghua liked, or could actually deal with… though it was kind of for that reason, but not entirely! The main reason, here, is that Shang Qinghua was not at the time entirely sure how to work with his martial siblings, and when he had tried, it… didn’t really work out.

There are a lot of examples in which missions with a martial sibling other than Mu Qingfang have not worked out, but the paragon amongst them all was that first mission with his fellow head disciple, Liu Qingge. Whenever Shang Qinghua thinks about why Mu Qingfang is his preferred mission partner, that one clusterfuck with Liu-shidi always comes to the forefront of his mind no matter how he wishes he could just forget about it.

A lot of the reason that mission had been such a total failure, in hindsight, really doesn’t have anything to do with Shang Qinghua at all, and a lot to do with the fact that Liu Qingge had, at the time, held such a low opinion of Shang Qinghua that it made working with the man an absolute trial.

In Liu Qingge’s defense, he’s much better nowadays. Like, a lot better. He barely glares at him anymore, even! Well, Liu-shidi glares at everyone, that’s sort of his default expression, but the glare is much less scary when pointed in Shang Qinghua’s direction than it had been even just a year ago! Progress!

Shang Qinghua ducks under the heavy swipe of one colossal, furry paw, complete with wickedly sharp claws that peak out just above the oversized toe-beans, and resists the urge to wail. He yanks out his sword and hops onto it like it’s a snowboard, and directs it into the air with a monumental push of his qi. The claws miss the edge of his robes by mere inches, and Shang Qinghua starts to daydream, a little bit, about what kind of headstone he wants for his memorial.

There’s another big reason, which he’s being reminded of right now, why Shang Qinghua would actually rather be partnered on a mission with anyone other than Liu Qingge.

The man loves monster fighting.

Now, listen. Listen! Shang Qinghua, he is a big fan of the monsters of this world. Mainly because he created most of them himself. They are just as much his beautiful (and sometimes incredibly less-so) babies as the characters he’d spent hours crafting with his words. Seeing them in full-form, brought to very real life in this world that is fashioned after his story is so fucking cool, but also! Actually mainly! Very, very fucking terrifying. Because those things, most of them, can, will, and have certainly tried, many a time in the past, to kill him.

And Liu Qingge’s absolute, favorite pastime is hunting these creatures down and facing off against them, for fun.

So like, sue Shang Qinghua if he can’t really see the appeal.

He’d rather be stuck in his office surrounded by stacks of unfinished paperwork with a deadline, than be dragged out by his martial brother to face another monster. At least then, he would be safe, and not have to deal with nearly being shredded by giant titan tiger claws, thanks!

Unfortunately for Shang Qinghua, ever since Liu Qingge had decided, for some reason that he still couldn’t figure out, that they are friends, he’s been coming to An Ding to regularly kidnap Shang Qinghua and force him out on what the man probably thinks is fun, bonding time between martial brothers or something.

It’s not. It’s not fun. It’s certainly bonding time, perhaps, if only because of the many times Liu Qingge has been forced to come over and save Shang Qinghua’s skin. Then again, Shang Qinghua has also been forced to save Liu Qingge’s skin, through vastly different means than Liu Qingge has saved his, so maybe it is some type of bonding? Experiencing life-threatening situations together is a sure-fire way to form close ties with someone. Like, that’s a legitimate trope. Shang Qinghua has used that one in his own stories many a time before.

So, Liu Qingge might be onto something here. But Shang Qinghua wishes he’d choose some other way to level up their apparent friendship than monster hunting. Can’t they just stay home and have tea? Play some go? Not potentially die?!

“Qinghua!” Liu Qingge calls. He sounds a little exasperated. He’s exasperated, huh? Shang Qinghua is exasperated with this entire trip! “Pay attention!”

Shang Qinghua ducks again, aiming his sword down sharply as his shidi’s sword shrieks by overhead in the spot he’d just been, to parry the monster’s attack with a serious OP swing of the same blade.

It’s really unfair, sometimes, watching how easily powerful his martial family can be. And then there’s Shang Qinghua, who… isn't, really? Just, nowhere near as powerful as the likes of Liu Qingge, or Yue Qingyuan.

Then again, maybe that’s trying to compare 5G internet to dial up? They’re simply in entirely different leagues.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes water as he rockets toward the ground, to where there huddles a cluster of disciples that stare with wide-eyes and awed faces as Liu-shidi does his thing. Their expressions are practically meme-worthy. God, he misses the internet so, so much. He might cry.

Wait, no, he can’t cry right now, the Bai Zhan disciples are right there, and they will make fun of him for it. Absolutely no respect with these kids. Liu-shidi, please teach your peak disciples some manners!

“Shang-shibo,” one of them complains, sword unsheathed entirely and obviously rearing for some action. “Does Shizun — does he want —?”

Shang Qinghua holds up a hand. The disciple falls silent, and the entire group of them watch him like over-eager hawks waiting for their prey to make a mistake. He takes a moment to catch his breath.

“No,” he eventually says, sending a brief glance over his shoulder to where the Bai Zhan peak lord is going head to head with a flying tiger the size of a dragon. “Shizhi, does your Shizun look like he wants help? Does your Shizun ever want help?”

One of the other disciples, a girl this time, bearing biceps that might be bigger than melons, grumbles. “He doesn’t. But why can’t we fight, too? It’s not fair, Shibo!”

“What wouldn’t be fair, is having both your arms ripped off before you can even graduate Jiedan.” Shang Qinghua refutes, and begins to herd the lot of them back toward the tree line so that they are at least out of sight. “This beast is a third-rank Flying Thunder Deity, it is so far out of your league in terms of strength that I’m currently questioning whether we should have brought you all with us on this mission in the first place.”

The disciples look disgruntled.

“But, Shibo—!”

“Nope!” Shang Qinghua holds up a finger and gives them all a stern look. Liu Qingge may not give a fuck whether his disciples remain unscathed or not — honestly, the man likely assumed them to all have fled like smart disciples of their level would, but he obviously greatly underestimated their enthusiasm for a good fight. Which is just incredibly fucking ironic of him. Anyway, no disciple of Cang Qiong sect is going to be in harm's way, if Shang Qinghua has any say about it. “I don’t want to hear it. All of you stay here, if I see a single limb out of these trees, I’ll assign the lot of you as aids to my paper-pushers for three months.”

At their adequately horrified looks, Shang Qinghua decides that his job here is as done as it can be, and so he turns around to peer back out at the currently thunderous (as the name of the beast might suggest) battle currently being waged. If any of the disciples decide to actually take their chances — both at potentially becoming paste on the ground and being stuck helping his disciples with copying out fresh requisition forms, then that’s not exactly his problem, is it? Shang Qinghua tried his best!

He rises up on his sword to where his shidi is fighting the Flying Thunder Deity several hundred feet up in the sky.

Aerial combat has never been Shang Qinghua’s strong suit, and quite honestly it’s neither the strong suit of any other cultivator, strong in battle as Liu-shidi or not. There’s just something about attempting to juggle needing to balance on your soul sword to stay in the air and also needing that same weapon to fight with, that is just altogether difficult.

It’s fifteen minutes of ducking and weaving and praying that he can move just fast as to be an irritating enough pest to the Deity that it turns it’s attention onto Shang Qinghua and consequently gives Liu Qingge the opening he needs, when Shang Qinghua’s hopes come true a little too well.

The thunderous (ha-ha) expression that graces Liu Qingge’s face when the Flying Thunder Deity snaps it’s huge, hulk of heard forward and encloses him in its massive jaws would have been gratifying in literally any other circumstance. Shidi! You do care! Or are you pissed at Shang Qinghua, for being so slow and requiring rescuing yet again? He’s sorry, Liu-shidi, he really is! Next time he would move faster! Or better yet, not come at all! Just as he’d originally begged you, shidi!

Shang Qinghua wishes that people would listen to him more. It would make his life so much less stressful than it is.

“Qinghua!” Liu Qingge shouts, with a tone to it that makes Shang Qinghua’s heart stutter oddly. Or maybe that’s because he’s, you know, currently trapped in the mouth of a vicious monster that probably won’t hesitate to swallow him whole? But, could it be, that Liu-shidi really does care?

Such ponderous thoughts will have to be shelved for now, to be ruminated upon later when he’s safe. For now, Shang Qinghua curls up into a ball, shaking like a leaf, his elbow bouncing off a curving incisor that’s nearly the length of his entire body, and he can’t help but let out a terrified cry.

This is it, isn’t it? Nearly a century of surviving against all odds, making it through perilous situation with no hope after perilous situation, avoiding death flag after death flag, to be eaten by this hungry, flying tiger the size of a small mountain.

Truly, he’s so blessed to be going out with such a bang.

System! Shang Qinghua wails miserably inside his head, a series of loud whimpers bursting from his mouth without his permission. Be useful for once and lend me a scenario pusher!

The cheerful ding that rings throughout his mind is incredibly ignorant of the current circumstances. [Request acknowledged! Please contact customer support to undergo an eligibility survey.]

There is no such thing as customer support, Shang Qinghua knows. He’s neither a customer, nor is he sure that the System actually has any higher power that it answers to. It clearly loves fucking with him, though, and he clenches his jaw and screams through his teeth in frustration as the sharp point of one of those too-close teeth digs viciously into his side.

I don’t have time for that! Fuck! System, please! I don’t want to die! Be nice to me for once in your miserable existence! I deserve it, dammit!

There’s a brief pause, and during it Shang Qinghua thinks he can hear his shidi yelling amongst the sounds of battle.

[... Host’s complaint has been posted and reviewed.] Oh, wow. That’s a first! [Due to Hosts exemplary services rendered, compensation has been rewarded. Would host like to exchange for a scenario pusher?]

Just save me already! Shang Qinghua demands, curling into an even tighter ball. The tooth digs into his flesh painfully, and he bites back a sob.

[Compensation loading…]

The tiger is growling, now. Shang Qinghua can feel the coalescing vibrations of the sound as it emanates from behind him, from deep within the beats chest, rippling sound waves that travel up it’s throat and make him tremble from the force of them alone. His skull is split by a resounding headache, and his vision doubles. It’s like being trapped inside a subwoofer box, and it hurts.

Shang Qinghua is struck rather suddenly by a massive fit of vertigo, as the tiger seems to shake its head in response to whatever attack Liu Qingge is throwing at it. Being inside its mouth, the motion sends the An Ding peak lord sprawling, and he nearly impales himself on one of it’s incisors. Thankfully, being covered in its saliva, though disgusting, seems to be a silver lining of some sort, because he’s by now slippery enough with it that the tooth only deals him a glancing blow. Despite not being as fatal as it could have been otherwise, it still hurts enough, sharply enough, that Shang Qinghua can’t hold back the cry of pain and surprise that escapes him.

The deep vibrations of the growl come to an abrupt halt. Shang Qinghua only has time to hear Liu Qingge make a distant sound of confusion and anger, before he’s unceremoniously spat out into the open air.

It’s a relief! Truly, it is, to be freed of the tight, damp space that was a beast’s hungry maw at long last. However, there’s still a problem! A big one!

Shang Qinghua doesn’t have his sword, and they’re all still hanging out several hundred feet up in the air! By the laws of physics, he has only a brief millisecond to feel any sort of relief before he goes plummeting to his death. He brings up his arms to shield his face from the turbulent air, robes flapping in its vicious currents.

“Qinghua!”

He peeks open eyes that he doesn’t recall closing to find his amazing, beautiful, talented shidi diving down beside him, sword under his feet and hand held outstretched toward him. Shang Qinghua doesn’t have enough air in his life to breath out a sigh of relief as he reaches out for him, ready to cry, because within the very next second he’s ripped away from the help by a big, furry blur that knocks him out of the sky entirely.

He continues to fall for a few long, terrifying seconds, and then he’s fighting to breathe not because the air is moving past him too fast to catch, but because he’s been submerged in water.

He panics, kicking his legs uselessly against the heavy weight of the tide that wraps around him and shoves him roughly to and fro. He’s not entirely certain which way is up and which way is down. His lungs are tight and painful with their pleas for air, and Shang Qinghua can see spots begin to dance before his vision.

Something grabs onto the very back of his robes, then, and he’s dragged out of the water and lands heavily on a patch of what he’s able to eventually identify as grass, once his mind has enough ragged gasps of sweet, sweet oxygen to get itself into working order again.

He rolls himself over and onto his knees, fisting his hands in the grass as he spits out mouthful after mouthful of water. His eyes sting with tears, but thankfully he’s so soaked he doesn’t think they will be all that apparent to anyone who thinks to look at him now. He brings up a hand, to press the back of his fist into his mouth and smother the sob that wants to burst free. He doesn’t really succeed.

There’s an odd sound from nearby, almost like an engine of some sort, which is incredibly confusing because Shang Qinghua hasn’t heard anything of the like since his last life, where the world was much more industrially advanced. There’s a brief moment of confusion, where his mind races in trying to correlate the sound with something that makes more sense, before something big and warm presses against his side and nuzzles heavily into his neck.

Shang Qinghua blinks, dumbly, vision still swimming in such a way that it makes his aching, pounding head revolt in nausea, but after a moment he’s able to turn his head to the side and get a mouthful of fur instead of a visual.

He splutters, reeling back, which of course gives the Flying Thunder Deity, which is no longer flying nor deity-sized, to press forward even more. It knocks the befuddled Shang Qinghua into the grass and clambers over him, purring loudly and aggressively all the while as it nuzzles him and butts it’s head into his again and again.

“Um,” someone says, and Shang Qinghua blearily looks up from the now normal-sized tiger to find a group of disciples staring down at him, looking just as confused as he feels. “Shang-shibo?”

He blinks, head canting toward the side as the Flying Thunder Deity shoves at it with it’s leathery nose. It’s purring so loudly he can feel it in his jaw. “Yes?”

“Would you, uh…” The disciple speaking gestures at him and the tiger. “Would you like help?”

“Hm,” Shang Qinghua considers the offer, laid flat out on the ground as he is while being aggressively cuddled by a suddenly, oddly, terrifyingly over-affectionate tiger that had literally, just a few moments ago, tried to eat him. “.... Hmm.”

“Mwrrrr,” the tiger echoes, long whiskers tickling Shang Qinghua’s face.

“...Shang-shibo?”

“Qinghua!” Ah, look who finally decides to join them!

Liu Qingge barrels to a landing in the grass right beside him and barely has time to yank his sword up from under himself when the newly enamoured tiger jumps to its feet, bristling and hissing like a house cat facing an annoying, yapping dog that’s intruded into their home.

Liu Qingge is very visibly confused at the newest course of events, but there’s still a level of rage that thrums underneath it, and he readies his sword against the Thunder Deity, muscles twitching in anticipation that far exceeds his usual excitement for a fight. For some reason, that Shang Qinghua is currently too dazed to even guess at, it has become personal.

The tiger’s tail flicks, it’s sharp teeth bared as a growl erupts from its throat, and Shang Qinghua apparently had lost all common sense during his fall into the lake, because he props himself up on one elbow and reaches out his hand to curls it into the damp, wet fur around the tiger’s neck.

Immediately, the beast stops growling. It even turns its back to Liu Qingge! In order to plop down into Shang Qinghua’s lap and nuzzle it’s face into his neck, purring once again at full blast. The Bai Zhan disciples that are gathered a few hundred feet away make a series of quietly alarmed sounds. What the fuck! Liu Qingge looks just as confused.

“Qinghua?”

“I don’t know, shidi,” Shang Qinghua says, shrugging. It sends a ripple of pain that spikes in his lower abdomen and winds up his side, and he winces. “Ow.”

“You’re injured,” now Liu Qingge is frowning at him, but he doesn’t move to come any closer. His hand is whit knuckling the hilt of his sword, and he glances between Shang Qinghua and the tiger in open puzzlement.

“Yeah, kinda got impaled on its teeth,” Shang Qinghua replies, and makes a face. “When they were, uh, you know, bigger. Before...”

“It shrunk.” Liu Qingge states, scowling.

As if on cue, there’s a bright flash of light that momentarily blinds him, and the weight in Shang Qinghua’s lap shifts. Once his vision clears, he glances down to find a small, fuzzy little tiger cub gazing up at him with big, round, glistening eyes.

Shang Qinghua stares at it. The cub purrs, much softer than it had in its adolescent form, and gently butts it’s head against his chest, mewling quietly.

Shang Qinghua tears up. He can’t help it. He struggles to sit up, gathering the cub into his arms as he goes, and holds it against his chest. It’s fuzzy little ears perk up, tickling against his collar bone, and Shang Qinghua swallows.

Liu Qingge stares, as well, about as absolutely befuddled as the rest of them. After a moment, though, his face clears of its confusion, as if he’s decided to simply discard it, and he gives a shrug, hefting his sword arm up a bit and taking a step forward.

Shang Qinghua startles, scooting back a bit even though it pulls at his injury. “Shidi?!”

“It will be easier to kill, like this.” Liu Qingge says, nonchalant.

Shang Qinghua clutched the tiny, purring little tiger to his chest, aghast. “Shidi, no! It’s a baby!”

“It’s not,” Liu Qingge frowns at him. He points at the cub, who continues in its mission to aggressively cuddle the An Ding lord. “It’s a fully grown adult Flying Thunder Deity. It can just change its size.”

Shang Qinghua pauses. He pulls the still-purring cub away from his chest and holds it up to his eye-level.

“You tried to eat me,” he accuses.

The tiger cub blinks once, slowly, and lets out a tiny mewl in response.

“....” Shang Qinghua wraps his arms around the tiny thing and cuddles it to his chest. “I forgive you!”

“Shang Qinghua,” Liu Qingge exclaims, exasperated. Which! Not fair! Shang Qinghua wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him! So really, this is all Liu-shidi’s fault to begin with!

He tells him as such, and Liu Qingge scowls grumpily one response.

Shang Qinghua stands to his feet. And immediately tilts to the side. Liu Qingge steps forward, sword sheathed, to catch him around the waist, and the tiger gives a startled meow as it’s suddenly squished between the two of them.

Both men stare down at it. It blinks up at them for a moment, before turning to nuzzle it’s face into the dampened collar of Shang Qinghua’s robes, closing its eyes as if it's decided to take a nap then and there.

“You can’t tell me you’re going to kill it,” Shang Qinghua says. His words are beginning to slur together. “It’s too cute, Qingge!”

Liu Qingge tenses slightly at his given name, as he always seems to do when Shang Qinghua uses it. If he didn’t want him saying it, he shouldn’t have given him permission in the first place! After a moment, the man relaxes, and something about his face is… not as fierce, somehow.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t know what that means.

“You’re soaked,” Liu Qingge says. “... And injured.”

“Impaled,” Shang Qinghua reminds him, blinking his eyes slowly. They feel a little heavy. Maybe the tiger had the right idea of a nap. “Almost drowned.”

Liu Qingge frowns at the reminder. He stoops down after a moment and scoops up Shang Qinghua’s legs. Normally, he would protest being bridal carried like some maiden, but right now he’s way too tired. He rests his head against Liu Qingge’s shoulder, the tiger purring sleepily on his stomach, and closes his eyes.

There’s a quiet cough. “Shizun.” One of the disciples speaks. They sound embarrassed, for some reason?

“We’re heading back to the sect.” Liu Qingge announces.

“The, ah… the tiger?”

There’s a long moment of thoughtful silence. Then, “It’s your Shibo’s.”

“Ah…. okay….”

Shang Qinghua turns his face into his shidi’s collar and falls into a doze.

#svsss prompts #shang qinghua #liu qingge #liushang #scumbag villain self saving system #vodka answers #vodkassassin fanfiction #dancibayo #monster hunting

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beatles-slash-fiction · 3 years

Text

Before they walk into the offices of the record label, Brian gives them all a stern look and tells them to be on their best behaviour.

“I mean it, boys,” he pleads with them. “No messing about. I don’t want to give them any excuse to do anything that might be damaging for you.”

It’s the same speech he gives them every time they come here for a meeting, and they dutifully tell him they’ll behave themselves.

Sometimes it’s just so hard though.

John finds it particularly difficult to hold his tongue and act like the perfect little obedient artist while Ludgate and half a dozen other executives eye him and the boys up like they’re meat, and it always just makes him so angry every time they’re in this building. It only serves to remind him of how cruel this industry is and the hopeless situation they’re trapped in.

John’s frustration gets the better of him today, because he ends up rolling his eyes and sighing one too many times while Ludgate is talking them through the terms of their next promotional tour.

“Am I boring you, Lennon?” Ludgate asks, his voice cold. “Or have you something to say?”

Brian shoots John a pleading look from the other end of the conference room.

John would never want to deliberately embarrass Brian, but there are some battles worth fighting.

John clears his throat. “Well, I was just wondering if we’re to have any time off during this tour.”

The executives look at John as if he’s just suggested he wants a first class ticket to the moon, but he can see Paul, George and Ringo giving him an encouraging look. They clearly feel the same as him.

“Time off?” Ludgate parrots. “You can rest when you return. Each day you’re away you cost us money. You’ll work every hour we tell you to.”

John is hoping Brian might intervene, but Brian simply sits there silently, still begging John with his eyes not to make trouble.

“Hang on a minute,” John says, trying not to sound too defiant. “This tour is scheduled to last nearly four months. On every single day we have either a performance or travel. That’s not taking into account rehearsals, sound checks, and all the bloody press conferences you want us to do.”

“Watch your tongue, boy,” Ludgate says, his voice dangerous.

“If you want us playing our best, we need time to rest,” John continues firmly. “We’ll be exhausted after just a few weeks.”

“We’re paying you, so you’ll do as you’re told. Epstein, you’d better sort out your whores before they go on this tour or-“

“Oh, fuck you!” John spits, and the room goes deadly silent.

Paul, George and Ringo stare at him wide-eyed, as if they can’t believe what he’s just done. The executives look at him with shock and disgust, clearly not used to being spoken to like that by an artist.

And Brian looks conflicted, clearly trying to work out how he can both support John while at the same time not make this worse.

“John, that was uncalled for,” Brian says in his most authoritative voice. “Apologise.”

John knows Brian is only playing his part here; he’s trying to diffuse the situation.

“I’m sorry,” John sighs. “But you must see my point. Brian, tell them-“

“Enough,” Ludgate interrupts firmly. “Epstein, have you no shame? You are these boys’ manager, are you not? Because it would seem they don’t respect your authority at all. It’s almost as if you don’t discipline them.”

John feels annoyed on Brian’s behalf. Brian doesn’t deserve to be spoken to like this.

“I assure you I will deal with this when I speak to them later,” Brian says, but it’s clear the executives in the room have little confidence in him.

“No,” Ludgate says. “I will deal with this now. Your boy was rude to me and so I have the right to punish him.”

John can feel his face go pale. None of them have ever actually been punished by any of the record executives, but theoretically they’ve known it was always possible. Insolent behaviour towards an executive doesn’t require a manager’s consent for punishment.

“I can punish him,” Brian says quickly. “I can punish him right now. Please-“

“I will punish him,” Ludgate says. “Or else I will assign these boys a new manager, as it’s clear that you’re not doing your job, Epstein.”

Brian sinks back into his chair.

Getting a new manager would be a far worse alternative.

John decides he can deal with this. He’s had punishments from Brian and he knows Ludgate can’t fuck him while he’s assigned to Brian, so that rules out the worst of it.

“Mr Epstein is a good manager,” John says softly. “I...didn’t mean to make trouble for him. I’m sorry. I’ll take the punishment.”

It’s probably the first bit of humility he’s ever shown in these offices. John knows which battles to fight, and he’s not willing to lose Brian as a manager. This is just something he will have to endure.

He braces himself to be told to take off his clothes or prepare for a spanking or some equally humiliating alternative, but Ludgate just fixes him with a cool gaze.

“Very well, Lennon. We’ll keep it simple then, as I can see this is a minor discourtesy and I don’t want to waste much time on you.” Ludgate gestures towards Paul, George and Ringo. “Rank them from most to least beautiful.”

John blinks, not quite sure he’s heard correctly. “Beg your pardon?”

Ludgate sighs, as if explaining something very simple to a child. “I want you to rank your bandmates in terms of attractiveness. For you personally. Start with the most beautiful and end with the least beautiful. Simple. You need only say three words and the punishment is complete.”

John feels sick. He can’t do this. He’d rather just be bent over this table and spanked than this. He looks over at the boys, whose faces are difficult to read. They look more concerned for John than anything else.

“Strawberry,” John says, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

The executives all look at him with confusion.

“What the hell does that mean?” Ludgate demands.

“It’s his safe word,” Brian says quietly.

And that’s when Ludgate starts to laugh.

John can feel himself turning red as all the executives follow, laughing at him for using a safe word for a punishment like this.

“Safe word?” Ludgate chuckles. “My my. You really do spoil and pamper your boys, don’t you, Epstein? Safe word. How ridiculous. How are you supposed to maintain your authority with something like that.”

“It maintains my trust with them,” Brian replies, clearly agitated.

“Well it’s nonsense, and no wonder they act the way they do. Lennon, don’t be ridiculous. There will be no safe words. It’s an easy enough task and will take you a few seconds. Now come along or I really will start to think about assigning you a new manager.”

John’s gaze shifts to the others. He silently begs them to forgive him. Somehow he doesn’t think that saying they’re all equally beautiful to me is going to cut it.

He needs to think about this tactically. He needs to give an order that Ludgate will think he hasn’t just made up and is actually believable, while thinking about how he can preserve his boyfriends’ feelings. This is going to be a fucking nightmare.

“I haven’t got all day. The most beautiful?” Ludgate prompts.

John stares at a spot on the wall so he won’t have to look at anyone.

“Paul.”

“Good. And the next?”

John hesitates a moment. “George.”

“And the least?”

John hates himself. He hates himself so much.

“Can’t you work it out?” John says, his frustration from earlier returning.

“Yes, but I want you to say his name. That’s part of the punishment. Say it right now, here in front of him. Say his name and confirm you think he’s the least beautiful of your lovers. Or I’ll burn your contract with Epstein right now.”

John squeezes his eyes shut to stop the tears from falling. “Ringo.”

It’s a lie. It’s not true. But John knows that nothing else would be an acceptable answer.

He opens his eyes to look at Ringo, silently trying to tell him that he’s just as beautiful as Paul and George; John loves them all the same and he’s just doing this for the stupid punishment.

The worst thing is that Ringo looks so understanding. His eyes are wet with sadness and his cheeks are red with humiliation, but he’s giving John a small, reassuring smile to let him know he understands.

That’s not how I feel, John wants to say. I made it up for the punishment.

“There,” Ludgate says. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it? And we didn’t have to bother with that safe word rubbish. Now, let’s get back to business.”

John doesn’t say another word throughout the entire meeting. He doesn’t ever want to speak up again if this is what will happen.

He desperately wishes he were sitting next to Ringo so that he could hold his hand or do something.

But instead John just sits there for forty-five minutes thinking about how he’s probably just ruined the best relationship he’s ever been in.

#beatles ot5

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bansheeoftheforest · 3 years

Note

Well, my wifi is not back, and wont be anytime soon. The very earliest luckiest would be getting it back by Tuesday (unlikely). The very worst my house burns down so theres that /lh /hj

This sucks so much because I really cannot read asks I dont see in real time, I have the same amount of reading comprehension for them as I do Frankenstein XD

Dm me links to any important syndicate asks I miss while I'm gone 👍

Bannnnnn I tried to draw the Jekyll brothers but Kent? Is inconsistent? The database (what I use) showd him as a clean shaven guy with a bit messy hair but google is showing Kent as a completely different model? Neat hair, Brokenshire beard. Like it's the ingame "identify" zoom in and I cant check whats right before I already killed himmmm

Anyway here art <3. I know I said I'd draw the DTIYS first but art inspiration is stored in the Syndicate au <3

Also I've been thimking about Henry wearing a mask +plus ponytail to hide his identity like for the past two days. Yknow those theater masks? The weeping and laughing? He wears the sad one while in the Blighters and Templars and the happy one while in the Rooks because hes a dramatic theater nerd. Also! I like to think that if Jekyll has to be a templar he'd still wear the Blighter uniform when he could and pretend hes not high ranking. He gets away with it because Crawford doesn't care about him and Roth lives for chaos

I also drew Henry in a mask and ponytail but it's not done yet 😔

Also I did the math the the twins are 3 years older than Jekyll. Like thank goodness first of all because I fully went into ship entirely unaware on if there were canon ages or a scary difference. But also Jacob being 3 years older than Henry is kinda funny to me

All of Evie's outfits (besides her default) are bad and I'm gonna fist fight the designers because the secrets of london (where I only searched the locations of 3) is so bad, especially with the effort needed. How did they do Jacob so good, but utterly fail with Evie /lh

NOOOOOOO D: Man, I really hope you will get it back asap, and also that your house don't burn down!!

Man, if I don't know your struggle rn. However I shall do my best to link you to every syndicate ask that I will get from here on out bc I don't tend to get small asks for that au so <3

Huh-- oh wow you're right. I wonder if it is a set design or just a bit on random depending on the save file... I killed him a long ass time ago so I have absolutely no idea how he looked like <3

EITHER WAY OH MY GOD IT LOOKS AAMZING. I love??? How you gave all three individual personalities in just a single picture??? Kent looks like he is seconds away from murder and I LOVE Henry in the templar outfit, it fits him so well??? Man I really want to start thinking more of this branch. Would the entire Jekyll family be Templars so the trio got that role inherited? Are Raphael and Kent unidentical twins and Henry is the odd-one-out because he is the youngest? Were the three of them really close in Scotland, but left as soon as possible bc their family was abusive, only for Kent and Raphael to find refuge in the Templar Order while Henry goes to university? Would they still have that brotherly love if they were close as kids even when they are in the Order, or would they have a falling out and start despising each other (or Jekyll @ the older brothers at least)? Would Raphael and Kent secretly be protective of Henry and manage to keep him out of Starrick's line-of-sight so that Henry won't get in trouble for defying orders/ignoring them? Would they force Henry to join the Templars with threats or would Henry mostly feel obligated to join them? Since the Templar Order isn't illegal in London, would other people know that Jekyll is a Templar, or would he keep it hidden from the public? Would his brothers help hide his identity?? SO many questions and I'm so sad I won't be able to discuss them with you :'c

(also can I just say I love the poetic differences between their clothing. Raphael is just wearing a waistcoat/basic clothes and he is a brute and more open, Kent is wearing more clothes/layering up and he is the "brains" out of the two of them, Jekyll is wearing the most layers and is almost trying to hide himself and I just... *chief's kiss*)

Henry being a dramatic theater nerd and stealing Roth's costume supplies to hide his identity bc he is so ashamed of it and doesn't want people he knows to know about it my beloved <3 Plus the blighter uniforms doesn't look too far off of what he normally wears so he could probably use that as an excuse whenever some other Templar gets up his ass about not wearing the right clothes, yet it still doesn't make Henry feel any better knowing he has to bear the knowledge that he is actively wearing discreet blighter clothes to keep the Order happy and the public oblivious, knowing what cause he is reluctantly supporting. (him joining the rooks and suddenly coming into the Society all dressed in green lol)

Anyways I have now also decided that Maxwell and Henry are friends bc they both hate the Templars and Crawford and Henry gets to star in many of the plays he sets up. Plus they are both slightly insane so they match each other good.

YKNOW WHAT I WAS DAYDREAMING ABOUT WHILE BRUSHING MY TEETH RIGHT AFTER THIS ASK? Jekyll being forced to be the one to murder his brothers and the twins trying to track the murderer down just to know who tf are killing their targets, conveniently at the same time Maxwell starts meeting Jacob. Henry watching Jacob from afar getting smitten by him but keeping a distance bc he knows Maxwell is possessive, Jacob being the first to befriend Henry after Maxwell explains that both of them are against the Templars and Crawford, Jacob saving Henry during the fire of the theater? Yes pls <3

Thank god bc here I was imagining an age gap of like idk 15 years bc of the differences in the timeline but! I'm just going to keep the canonical age difference while also shoot the timeline up a lil so that the events of Syndicate and TGS takes place at the same time but they are the right age and stuff, just bc I do not like Evie's and Jacob's older designs and I do not want to imagine them meeting during the Ripper dlc <3 Also the thought of Jacob being older than Henry is funny. I think Henry has a type /j

They are so fucking bad and I'm going to scourage the Nexus to see if I can find any good redesign mods because they are so fucking bad. But to be fair, all female main characters' outfits are bad. Pearl? Lucy Thorne? Mfs looks like vampires. Even more reasons for why I only play Jacob, bc all other outfits on Evie are bad <3

#ask #darling-dolly-darlene #syndicate crossover au #banshees au #banshees faves

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

handmaid - 08

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, mentions of violence

A/N: hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

The weather was chilly as they landed in mid French night. Y/N was the first one out the plane, feeling the wind hit her naked arms due to the short sleeved dress. Sebastian, on the other hand, was the first one out of the airport, excusing himself due to business which Gwen gave little care to. In all honesty, Y/N thought she was particularly fine with the idea of the only person powerful enough to order her around being as far as possible. After all, Paris is the city of love, endless possibilities in Gwen’s mindset.

They were driven to the hotel, the landscape from the nightly Paris making Y/N want to rush out the moving car and just sit down in the grass looking at the night sky. However, Gwen was tired and Y/N knew better not to argue. She would never win in an argument with Gwen, besides, she knew exactly how the heiress acted whenever she got her way. Thinking about it, maybe only once in their whole life had Y/N won an argument with her and that had been when she was 5 and not really understanding of her role in the family. Y/N was a handmaid, the literal definition of handmaid is a female servant so why should she put in danger her own survival? If Gwen really got mad at her and disposed of her or fired her, Y/N wasn’t entirely sure how to begin a new life. Sure, she had a degree, a perfect CV but other than working as a handmaid for the mob, she had never worked before and only know was she getting paid for it. She’d rather be silent about it than put her own stability at risk.

They arrived at the hotel at around 2 AM and were quickly checked into their bedrooms. As per usual, Y/N’s bedroom was always next to Gwen’s and normally on the top floor for safety reasons. Y/N rolled her suitcase into her bedroom, bidding Gwen goodnight as she went to sleep. She threw her bag onto the bed and rushed over to the window, opening it so the night air come could in.

She huffed, leaning against the railing of the balcony, looking up to the full moon that light the dark night sky. Her mind flew to Sebastian and his teasing comments at the plane. In any other occasion, maybe one where he wasn’t that angry at his associates, she would’ve fought him on her idea of dreaming. Dreaming. What did he even have to dream about? Like Gwen, he was filthy rich, heck even more than her. He had power, control ... if he had a dream, he could probably have it in a snap of his fingers. She guessed that at least she was in Paris and that was good, that was fantastic.

Frankly, her mind was just wandering around the Sebastian Stan subject because, well, it didn’t want to leave the subject. The casual and messy styles she had caught him on both in sweatpants and with his dress shirt unbuttoned had glued to a psyche. Half her brain was telling her stop thinking about your friend’s future husband and the other half was telling her to go right ahead, not like Gwen would worry about it.

Meanwhile, Sebastian was trying to handle a deal gone wrong. The most he could do was scream at them and threaten to have their head on a plate. Even with that, his associates would rather cry about spilled milk than go and try to fix it. His father was a great man but giving leadership of his French sector to Thompson Williams had been and would forever be the worse thing ever. It wasn’t like Sebastian could just demote him, it would make most of his supporters go against him and if he just killed everyone, who would do the dirty work after?

- It’s the second time this year. - Sebastian poured himself a glass of whiskey, trying to whisk away the fact that he’d much rather be in his hotel room, or probably Y/N’s, than dealing with a minor man’s mistake. - I’m starting to think Mr. Williams that we might have an issue here.

- The shipment was faulty, it is not my f ...

- I told you the shipment was much too cheap for its value. I remember fucking telling you not to buy it and you still bought it behind my back and lost me over three million. I will have your fucking head on a stick if this isn’t solved by you, by tomorrow. - he spat at the much lower ranked mobster who was sat down on his guest office chair, except on his own office chair. - And not a single cut of the deal will fly your way.

- It was a good bet, I had to take it.

- My fucking family is not fucking based on bets, it’s based on organised deals with serious fucking people who give a damn they’re part of it. - he slammed the glass hard enough against the desk to give way to a crack. - Fix it or I’ll cut your fucking hand off.

He grabbed his jacket’s from the hanger, slung it over his shoulder and walked outside the lesser man’s office followed by his swarms of bodyguards. Did he need the bodyguards? No, it was mostly a show of power and someone who could do the dirty job if it was necessary. However, at this point, his brain was still processing at Upper East Side times and not Paris. In simpler words, he could feel his lids heavy and his temples hurt but his mind was going haywire. He should’ve fired him, god all he wanted to do was diminish him to serving drinks at his engagements.

He reached the Hotel Montaigne closer to 4 AM and took off to his normally reserved suite. The hotel was his, or at least in the paperworks, his father’s therefore he had certain privileges such as being able to have his own room free from pesky guests, with the best view. A view of the Tower Eiffel. A view Y/N would probably enjoy.

- Sebastian? - his head swiftly turned to the source of the noise. He noticed Y/N standing there with sleep filled eyes in a white set of pyjamas. - You banged the door a bit too loud.

- Did I wake you up? - he tried to soften up his tone but, sadly, the business troubles were still very much present on his mind therefore his angry facade was still very much present too.

- I’m a light sleeper. Besides, you looked worried and I thought you might want to talk about it. - she leaned against the door frame.

- Is that what you do when Gwen’s upset? - he pulled on the knot of his tie, successfully loosening it up and throwing it to the side.

- No, when Gwen’s upset I lock myself in a bunker and hope she doesn’t come find me for stress relief. - Y/N closed the door behind her, trudging up to him who had now thrown his tie and jacket to the side, unbuttoning the top first buttons of his dress shirt. - I’m guessing the meeting didn’t go well.

- Catastrophic would be underrated.

- You did all you could. - she gave him a soft smile, the type of smile a partner would give you when you came back from a long day. The type of smile that wrapped you in the false idea of a comfortable home life, at least, to him. Nevertheless, Y/N seemed to embody that warmth specially when she gave him that traditional signature smile of hers. His hand, mindlessly, laid upon her elbow as to which her gaze immediately lingered upon. Once again, that typical heat that made itself present when she was around him made itself known and she shifted from side to side, teeth coming to pull at the skin of her own bottom lip. - I feel like you’re upset because have an issue relinquishing control.

Sebastian took a step back at her sentence, lips slightly open at her statement as he found it hard to reply to her. He wondered if there was something more to her ingenue environment or if that same ingenue atmosphere had given her the unknown courage of telling that to a mob boss. Of course he had to constantly have control, that was his job.

- You can’t control everything in your life, Sebastian. - she sat on top of his much comfortable looking duvet. Unlike her room which was decorated in shades of white, his bedroom was decorated in dark rich shades of scarlet red and light beiges. - It goes against the laws of nature itself doesn’t it?

- Well ... - he took to sitting by her side, leaving not much of two inches between the beginning of both their hips. - I believe that humans are really good at controlling even the laws of nature. We decide when plants bloom, when and how animals should procreate and even their genetics ... why shouldn’t I believe I can control everything?

- Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. If you worry about every single time you lose control over your business, it’s more like punishing yourself than punishing the ones you’re meant to.

- I’m really grateful for your concern, Y/N, but you’re not my handmaid, you don’t have to worry about me.

- Don’t tell me you even wish to control who worries about you and who doesn’t. - she crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at him but he merely chuckled at her.

Y/N gaze moved from his inspections one to the window, eyes agape as she came in contact with the most beautiful view she could ever picture. Mindlessly, the young woman rushed over to the balcony, only stopping once the rails hit her stomach. The night air and the look at the Tower Eiffel looked exactly like what one of her very good dreams would entail. Her eye sparkle and wondrous look did not go unnoticed by the mob boss who paced over to her side, gaze fixed on her soft complexion and how the smallest things just seemed to have the largest effect on her. Maybe owning the hotel had made him forgot how breathtaking the view really was or maybe it was because she was over there in white pyjama shorts and shirt with the most striking look in her eyes.

- Woah, angel. - he put his hand on her abdomen, slightly pushing her back before she could cross over the railing. - We don’t want you to fall, do we?

- It’s just marvellous. How can you even sleep with a view like this? - well, he would very much enjoy to fall asleep in that balcony if she were by his side.

- I’ve been seeing this since I was a kid, Y/N. It loses its charm.

- No, I don’t believe that. You just have no taste.

- I have no taste? - he furrowed his eyebrows at her. - Angel, I’ve had people’s head for less.

- Oh ... I’m sorry. - she took a step backward, playing with her hair.

- I was just playing. - his hand rested on her forearm, caressing the skin with the pad of his thumb. - Look, if you wa...

- Mr. Stan? - the bodyguard knocked on the suite’s door, making Y/N take a few steps back becoming void of his touch.

- WHAT?! - Sebastian barked at the man, turning around, hand on top of his silver revolver just in case. Not that he was gonna shot the man in front of Y/N, he would probably traumatise her and Gwen would sue him. The man cowered in front of him, eyes settled on the young woman by his side knowing she was the only reason he wasn’t dodging a bullet.

- There’s a call for you from Mr. Williams.

- You should go. - Y/N smiled, tired. - I should probably return to bed.

- Wait, angel, will you join me for breakfast tomorrow morning? I can get some room service, have it by the balcony.

- I’m sorry, Sebastian. I already promised Gwen I would go shopping with her in the early morning. - sure, she’d rather be having breakfast with the Tower Eiffel in sight than having to go to the Champs-Élysées with Gwen for some high spending shopping. Yet, on the other hand, it felt odd to have breakfast with her friend’s fiancé. She shouldn’t.

Without giving too much of a look to Sebastian whose traits probably included persuasion, she returned to her bedroom, locked the door behind her and tucked herself into the comfortable sheets. Her eyes were set in the darkness of the bedroom, heart beating like a drum as his touch seemed to linger on her skin, almost like a ghost feeling.

Y/N didn’t remember falling asleep, however it felt like she didn’t slept for long once her alarm went off. With a tiring motion, she lifted from her torso from the bed, rubbing the sleep off her eyes. She placed her feet on the floor and meandered around her room, hoping the cardio-like walk would wake her up a bit more. After sleep disappeared from her eyes she grabbed her clothing and walked off her bedroom, knocking on Gwen’s door. Much to her surprise, she was already prepared to go, sunglasses on and a dark velvet green dress on matched with brown boots.

- Aren’t you excited? Paris shopping. - Gwen pushed her handmaid by the arm, followed by the bodyguards onto the lift. However, all Y/N could think of was Sebastian. She felt bad for denying his request, mostly because she really did enjoy the request but being on his company all the time would probably hurt his image or even worse hurt Gwen’s feelings.

Maybe it had been her willingness to overthink a simple suggestion, but once her brain took her back to reality she was standing at the very long Champs-Élysées where Gwen was rushing around like a mad-men. Y/N always found the Champs-Élysées rather more accessible than the Upper East Side, mostly due to the existence of more low end shops and known banks than the New York district, yet, the overwhelming amount of high class shops like Marcs Jacobs and Channel made it look like a rich person’s playground. It definitely was that, but Y/N was most interested in the stores’ architecture and Paris’ landscape. However, she was not immune to some materialistic stuff, specially once the two stopped by the brilliantly built Ladurée. The shades of light turquoise like green made it look like something straight off a fairytale book and the sweets on the window display made everyone crave sugar.

- You look very lost today. - Gwen commented, entering the shop along with her handmaid. - I haven’t seen you look this lost since you finished reading Gone Girl.

- I’m just tired. - Y/N smiled tightly, dismissing her friend’s concerns, however, Gwen was much too curious to just let it go. - Couldn’t really sleep.

- Alexander told me you were in Sebastian’s room last night. Is there something happening that you haven’t told me? Is it about me?

- He just wanted to know how to get closer to you, Gwen. You know I wouldn’t tell him anything you didn’t want me to.

- I don’t know, Y/N ... - she pointed at a pink box of what looked like macaroons on the display, handing the cashier her card. - You are very ... righteous sometimes. Pretty sure you can’t lie even without a gun to your head.

- You know I’m loyal to the Forrest family, I wouldn’t tell Mr. Stan anything that you didn’t allow me to.

- Good. I heard he was pissed about Thompson. I don’t know why he wasn’t placed a bullet in the middle of his eyes, I would. - the cashier handed her the pink box and the two women followed by the bodyguards walked back outside onto the street.

- You can’t just shot everyone you hate, Gwen. Who would you rule over then?

- Newer, smarter people.

They were out on the street until late afternoon when Gwen decided it was time to return to the hotel, which Y/N’s feet were eternally grateful for. As per usual, she had ended up carrying her fair share of bags along with the bodyguards and the weight plus all the walking had left her wanting nothing but to lay down and perish for a few seconds.

After all the bags were in the heiress’ room and she had sneakingly, yet not that unnoticeably to Y/N, walked to the hotel bar with one of the bodyguards she was particularly found of, Y/N was finally free to return to her bedroom. Happily. she tapped her card against the bedroom door, a click indicating the door was ready to be open. Pushing her door open, her heart skipped a beat as a very familiar figure stood in the middle of her room. She let out a gasp, holding onto the handle of the door, ready to bolt off.

- Please don’t be scared, Miss Y/N. - Mr. Williams prowled to her, a bit to close for comfort. - I just needed to have a word with you.

- Mr. Stan and Ms. Forrest are not available, right now. Please leave my bedroom. - her knuckles held forcefully onto the handle of the door, hoping a bodyguard would notice the slightly creaked door.

- I wish to speak for you, please Miss. You must speak with Mr. Stan about me, try to get me in his good graces please.

- I think you should speak with Ms. Forrest about that not me. - well good luck, she liked him even less than Sebastian and unlike the mob boss was rather reckless in her decisions.

- I don’t think she is as influential as you are, Miss. With all due respect, I believe you’re the only one who can help me and maybe gain me some forgiveness. - his voice was honeyed, yet his words registered like nails on chalkboards on her brain. - Please, Miss Y/N, I’m sure if you ask him he won’t be as harsh.

- I think you misjudged my relationship towards Mr. Stan. I’m his employee, I would love to help but I don’t think he would care much for my opinion.

- You certainly have noticed you’re highly in his favour, Miss Y/N. Please, I’ll make it worth your while. - he grinned at her almost as if he was mocking her words, but that wasn’t what really was bothering Y/N. His presence bothered her, specially once his hand went over hers to pull the handle completely. - I would be grateful.

He opened the door completely, walking off and shutting it on the young woman. Almost out of memory, she locked the door and rushed over to her balcony to do the same thing. Y/N didn’t want to think about how he’d gotten in her bedroom, he clearly wasn’t in any of Sebastian’s favourite books and definitely not in Gwen’s.

- M’am? - her body trembled at the knock of the door but the voice soothed her. Thankfully, it was her bodyguard - It’s me, m’am. We can’t have the doors locked with you inside the room for safety measures.

- I’m sorry. - Y/N’s hands shivered as she unlocked the door, opening it slightly to stare at the bodyguard. - I’m sorry, Elias. I was just not feeling very well.

- Oh, would you like me to notice Mr. Stan or Ms. Forrest?

- No, it’s fine. It’s fine. - she gave him an understanding smile before closing the door again. Without much thought, she stripped off her clothes and jumped into the shower allowing the hot water to drip down her body. In his favour, she wasn’t in his favour. She was just his employee and his fiancée’s handmaid, meaning he shouldn’t really be rude to her.

It wasn’t like Y/N could just go on and tell him to go easy on one of his associates, she just couldn’t unless she wanted to be screamed at. Being screamed at is not something she really wanted but on the other hand, she didn’t want Gwen or Sebastian to shot him for no reason or for at least an unreasonable one. Besides, Mr. Williams looked scared. With that in her mind, she walked off the shower, putting on one of her sweater-like fabric dresses.

- Y/N? - she hunched her shoulders, hand on top of her chest as the knocks reverberated within her room. God, why does everyone want to speak with her today?

- Come in. - Sebastian came into the bedroom, back in his very business formal which somehow disappointed her. She definitely preferred the more relaxed style, at least on him. - Gwen is at the bar right now, if you’re looking for her.

- I own this hotel, angel. I know exactly where everyone is. I’m here because Elias told me you weren’t feeling well. - that little back stabber. - Was the shopping trip that bad?

- I’m just a bit ... I think overwhelmed fits.

- Too overwhelmed for a surprise?

- I think I’ve had my fair share of surprises today, but I wouldn’t mind seeing what you have in store.

- Well, c’mon then. - we checked his watch. - We have a few minutes.

She shrugged, getting up from the bed and following him into his bedroom, looking around to make sure Gwen wasn’t around to ask many questions. Her major issue was that her friend thought that she was feeding Sebastian information about her love life and maybe she would, if she remembered the last guy she was with.

Sebastian pulled her until his balcony, setting her so that her sight laid on the sunset landscape and the Tower Eiffel.

- What am I looking at? - not that she didn’t love the sunset, she absolutely did, she just thought it wouldn’t be something Sebastian would be particular excited to show her. Not that he should be excited to show her anything.

- Just wait. - he checked his watch once again, ensuring her gaze didn’t leave the iron lady. As Y/N readied herself to ask him what he wanted her to see, the Tower Eiffel lit up and like the building so did her eyes as she gasped at the sight in front of her. If she thought the view from last night was stunning, she did absolutely thought this thing was merely out of this world. - It lights up at sunset.

- This is just beautiful. Thank you so much. - she wrapped her arms around him for a few seconds before returning to look at the lit up building. - Ugh, I could just live here forever.

- You’re certainly easy to please. - he leaned against the railings, looking at her with the look of utter most adoration. How could someone in her field still enjoy the little things was always interesting.

- I ... I need to speak you. - she played with her nails, looking up to his eyes.

- Should I be concerned?

- It’s about Mr. Williams.

tag list: @sideeffectsofyou @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan au #mob!sebastian stan #mob boss!sebastian stan #mafia!sebastian stan #mob boss AU

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shijiujun · 4 years

Text

the only one (on my mind)

Lu Yao chases away four blind dates set by his sister in the same restaurant. Chusheng is the owner of said restaurant and decides to rescue Lu Yao from his fifth one after witnessing all of them.

@sarah-yyy for your chuyao fix hopefully? XD

“Chusheng-ge,” says the waiter at the door, who comes forward to take his jacket.

It’s still early yet at Qing Ling Tian, a traditional Hu cuisine restaurant and bar set in one of the tallest skyscrapers in the city in the middle of downtown Shanghai. Chusheng walks in, and immediately is greeted with the bustle of a packed hall tonight as well.

Qing Ling Tian is not one of the best restaurants in Shanghai for no reason — with the grand decor that is the retro style inspired from Republican-era Shanghai fused with contemporary elements, and having hired some of the best chefs in the region, Chusheng is proud to say that they’ve had full-packed reservations for three years running now, be it usual dinners or even wedding banquets.

While patrons go about their meals on the first floor, immersed in the warmth and liveliness of it all, the second floor features a much more sedate vibe. There’s a main space where the bar counter is, and the private dining rooms can also be found on this floor. Customers who wish to have a more romantic and quiet dining experience are usually found here.

As he approaches the bar where Liu Zi, his star bartender, is working behind the counter tonight, Chusheng’s eyes fall on a familiar figure seated in the corner of the room, and he doesn’t know whether to feel exasperated or fond.

He settles for something between both, and Chusheng doesn’t even know the man.

“He’s here again?” Chusheng asks, sitting down at the counter and gesturing towards the tall, handsome man with his date, comfortably settled around a two-person table not too far away from the bar counter. “Who is it today?”

“Another young, rich heiress forced to meet him for a blind date,” Liu Zi rolls his eyes, placing a glass of whiskey on the table before Chusheng. “Your boy is trying his best in chasing her away this time too.”

“He’s not my boy,” Chusheng raises an eyebrow, taking a whiff of his whiskey. “I don’t even know who he is.”

Well, that’s not quite accurate. Chusheng knows of the man — Lu Yao, the youngest son in the well-known Lu family that has managed to produce powerful politicians and army commanders with every generation — because this isn’t the first time he has brought a blind date to this restaurant.

Lu Yao is a bit of an oddball, according to those who mill about in the higher echelons of society, so to speak. Despite being a rich young master, he ran away from home after he finished high school and managed to flee all the way to the UK and Cambridge for university, where he supported himself without taking a dime from his family until he graduated with no less than three degrees under his belt.

Lu Zifu, Lu Yao’s father, then forcibly dragged him back to Shanghai, whereupon he began finding matches for his youngest son.

It seems that with his two older brothers, Lu Sen and Lu Yan, so successful and working in the army and his older sister, Lu Miao, a high-ranking government official in the incumbent party, Lu Zifu doesn’t have much high hopes for his youngest son except to have him enter a beneficial matrimonial partnership with another woman. Of course, the old man isn’t quite as cruel to have his son marry someone he doesn’t like, and thus, why continuous blind dates are being strangely and repeatedly held at Chusheng’s restaurant.

In fact, this is the fifth one, if memory serves Chusheng correctly. It was pure coincidence, the first time Chusheng witnessed Lu Yao and his blind date of the evening at the same table, a few weeks ago.

It wasn’t anything to cry home about — matchmaking and blind dates are still incredibly common and Chusheng has heard his fair share of blind dates gone wrong happening in his restaurant. On two occasions even, the disastrous date even escalated into fights, so it’s not as if he’s a stranger to the farce of terrible blind dates.

Lu Yao, however, is unabashedly a piece of shit, a spoilt brat, a vainpot and a greedy little thing — and the man has no qualms flaunting any of these qualities.

He’s a smart piece of shit though, and while he’s shameless, every time Lu Yao does something ridiculous, Chusheng can’t help but want to indulge him.

—

First Date

“How about we get to know each other first, Lu-xiansheng?”

“Sure,” Lu Yao nodded, setting his drink aside. “Firstly, I don’t have a car, or any property to my name. I probably won’t get a huge cut out of my dad’s inheritance when he dies. I’m a poor academic, and my dad doesn’t think very highly of me. If you want to get some money out of this arrangement, you’re out of luck. I don’t intend to find a well-paying job either, because I’m happy pursuing an academic career. In fact, you will have to give me an allowance to support me-“

Chusheng watched then, a little flabbergasted at the sheer audacity of this young, able-bodied and obviously capable man, and with no shame at all, how he tried to badger his way into a marriage that would keep him in the most comfortable of conditions, without consideration for the lady at all!

Understandably, when Lu Yao entered his second spiel without allowing the woman to interject even in the slightest, she got to her feet and stomped out of there.

“Useless asshole!” she spat as a parting gift.

Once she was gone, Chusheng noted with some interest that Lu Yao’s haughtiness seemed to fade away as he deflated entirely into the seat, pressing his fingers to his temple and downing his entire drink in one shot.

His phone rang then, and Chusheng could hear a woman’s sharp voice berating the man on the other end of the line, no doubt to yell at him for fucking up the date so badly.

“Aiya, Da-jie, I didn’t do it on purpose! If she cannot accept me for who I am, it is not true love!” the man whined, obviously trying to play the fool.

Chusheng remembers turning away at that moment, trying to hide his smile in his drink.

—

Second Date

“I think we both know we’re here at the behest of our parents,” the blind date of the week said coolly. “How about we make do with each other to get our parents off our backs? You can continue living your life and I continue living mine.”

Lu Yao nodded, “Sounds good to me.”

“Well, the only condition my parents have is the dowry. Given your family’s status and wealth, I think this,” and the woman holds up three fingers. “Shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Thirty thousand?” asked Lu Yao.

The woman’s face whitened almost immediately, but she continued, “You must be joking. The Xiao family is also considered one of the wealthiest families in the city. My parents will accept no less than three hundred thousand for my marriage into the Lu family.”

Lu Yao pretended to consider this, before he replied, “Think about this! You’re the CEO of the Xiao family’s banking empire, and in comparison, I’m just a student who’s looking to complete his PhD. I have nothing to my name, not even a single property! Don’t you think you should be paying my dad the dowry instead? I feel more like the one who's marrying out of my own family and into yours.”

Chusheng watched as Lu Yao got a cup of iced water to his face then.

The woman was as vicious as the first one when she said, “Shameless!”

—

Third Date

“So I hear that you want a dowry and an allowance,” Blind Date Number Three said, flopping into the seat opposite Lu Yao’s an hour late.

“Of course,” Lu Yao said matter-of-factly. “I’ve never had to serve someone else. I’m the youngest in the family, if I’m not doted on then who should you dote on?”

Chusheng could tell that Lu Yao was feeling rather pleased about this meeting because from what the woman said, it seemed he was gaining a reputation for himself, one that would hopefully ensure women stayed far, far away from him.

“You’re honestly starting to get a reputation,” the woman said as much, but she didn’t seem all too put out by Lu Yao’s demeanour. “If that’s what you wanted, congratulations. What’s good to eat here, I’m hungry.”

Lu Yao blinked, his interest piqued slightly.

“Well, I’m fond of the Ba Bao La Jiang, but… I’m not-“ he began, and the woman cut him off, “Yeah, yeah, you won’t pay. Geez, my treat, since I’m late. I was dragged here by my older brother while I was at an e-sports gaming competition, and I just want to eat.”

They didn’t talk much after that, busy stuffing their faces with food. It was then that Chusheng found himself staring at Lu Yao’s blissful face as he almost cleaned out half the plate and three bowls of rice on his own.

—

Fourth Date

It was Lu Yao’s turn to be late for this one, and Chusheng noted that he was in a bad mood today, for he wasn’t even turning on the i-am-so-innocent look with his blind date.

The moment he sat down, Lu Yao began, “Yes I want a dowry and a comfortable allowance. I’m kind of useless and entirely shameless, but I still want both of those things. If I want a baguette in the middle of the night, you have to get it for me. If I see an expensive Armani suit in the windows while I’m walking on the streets and want it, you should get it for me. If I’m hungry and want to have dumplings bright early in the morning before I wake up, I want you to get it for me. If I see something that scares me, you have to protect me.”

“And lastly, if I want you to give me your wallet, you should just give it to me,” Lu Yao finished, leaning into the back of his seat. “If you can do all of that, I’ll go to the Marriage Registration Office today with our hukou ben.”

The woman didn’t seem surprised at his outburst, and with a sigh, she commented, “I’m only here out of a favour for Lu Miao, we work together. I’ve obviously heard of your penchant for being incredibly demanding, and wanted to see it for myself. Doing this though… don’t you think you’re bringing shame to the Lu family?”

“Every single one of your siblings is successful in their own right, I don’t know how they ended up with you,” she said. “At the very least, you should be mindful of keeping the reputation and honour your family has painstakingly built over the years intact.”

“I’ll settle the bill for this one.”

That evening, Lu Yao got so drunk that Chusheng took it upon himself to send him home, not that the man remembers it.

—

And so here they are, two weeks after that sad blind date that probably hit a little too close to home for Lu Yao, on his fifth date.

This time, however, it seems that this woman isn’t as easy to dismiss as any of the previous ones. Chusheng suspects that there’s something wrong with her, to be honest.

“Lu Yao,” the woman says seriously, “I’ve been in love with you since I saw you at a family’s gathering when I was eight. I’ll treat you well, I promise! I’ve heard of all the conditions that you want, and I can fulfil all of them.”

Well, that is something none of them are expecting, least of all Lu Yao. Looking slightly stunned, Lu Yao sits up in his seat, and goes, “Everything? You’ll give me your wallet? How much dowry?”

“All of it! It’s not like I can’t afford it,” she nods enthusiastically. “I’ll do anything for you, Yao-gege.”

Lu Yao almost flinches when the woman reaches over, her hand tightly gripping his.

“Don’t you remember? It was dinner at the Feng mansion, you surely remember Feng-bo, right? I fell down the stairs when one of the other kids shoved me to the side while he was running, and you were the one who came over and helped me find my mother. You protected me, Yao-gege. I’ve always remembered that, and then when I heard you were looking for a match-“

“-I’m not, my sister and my father are looking for a match for me-“

“-I knew I couldn’t let this pass up. It’s okay if you don’t love me right now, you’ll see how much I am willing to do for you, and given time, I’m sure you’ll start to love me.”

Oh dear, Chusheng thinks as he sets his glass down.

—

“I can’t,” Lu Yao blurts out, snatching his hand back, properly spooked. “I’m… Chen Xue, you’re… I cannot marry you.”

“Why not? You said that as long as someone agrees to all your demands, you’ll marry them immediately! Is it because I’m not good enough?”

“I- I’m… No, of course not, you’re great, Chen Xue. I’m just… I cannot-“

What a time for his wilfulness to come back and bite him in the fucking ass, Lu Yao thinks, about to panic for real.

“If I’m great, then there should be no issue,” Chen Xue concludes, reaching over to grab Lu Yao’s hand again. “Yao-gege, let’s go now. We can get married today, and deal with the huge wedding and banquets later.”

He’s done for, Lu Yao knows that, and damn Lu Miao for finding him an obsessive match!

Just as he’s desperately thinking of something to say, a shadow falls over them both, and Lu Yao finds himself with another hand over his wrist.

Looking up, his throat goes entirely dry.

“He can’t marry you,” the tall, dark and handsome man says. “Because he’s going to marry me instead.”

Then smiling almost roguishly at him, the man continues, “Isn’t that right, baobei?”

Lu Yao feels shivers running down his skin at the sound of that, and despite himself, his breath catches in his throat when he tries to speak.

He remembers this man, sitting at the counter quietly every single time Lu Yao is here, nursing a glass of whiskey. And just two weeks ago, Lu Yao remembers someone buckling his seatbelt for him in the car, remembers the scent of a specific aftershave as the man leaned in close, and his voice when he told the driver to send Lu Yao home.

“Who the hell are you?!” Chen Xue asks, her eyes going wide. “What nonsense are you saying-“

“Yes,” Lu Yao interrupts, getting to his feet and plastering himself to the man’s side. “Yes, that’s right. I can’t marry you because I’m going to marry him instead. I’m sorry, Chen Xue.”

Chen Xue is silent for a whole minute, looking entirely betrayed. It’s a look that Lu Yao is familiar with, and so he prepares himself for the glass of water or wine that’s going to be splashed in his face in anger, but the moment Chen Xue reaches for the wine glass, the man next to him pulls Lu Yao behind him.

“Chen-xiaojie, wasn’t it? Qing Ling Tian welcomes any and all paying customers, including yourself, but I will not allow you to cause a scene here,” he says. “Please put that down.”

Shaking angrily, Chen Xue scowls, “I want to see your manager! Who the hell are you to talk to me like that, do you know who I am?”

Lu Yao’s hand unconsciously reaches for the man’s jacket sleeve, tugging in fear of the trouble this woman obviously is. While he’s grateful that the man has given him a way out, Chen Xue is indeed the daughter of one of the ministers sitting in the cabinet right now, and even Lu Zifu has to play nice with the old man. Lu Yao doesn’t want to get this nice man into real trouble either.

He opens his mouth to appease Chen Xue somehow, but the man beats him to it.

“Of course I do,” he says, cocking his head to the side. “Chen Xue, Chen Fu Man, Minister Chen’s only daughter. Lao ye-zi has a standing monthly appointment with Chen-shu for mahjong if I recall correctly. As for speaking to the manager, I’ll do you one better. I’m the owner of Qing Ling Tian. Is there something I can help you with?”

At this, both Chen Xue and Lu Yao stare at him, eyes wide and mouths open.

“You’re… you’re…” Chen Xue swallows, and finally putting the wine glass down. “You’re Qiao… Chusheng? Bai-shushu’s…”

“Indeed,” Chusheng nods. “If there’s nothing else, Chen-xiaojie, I’d like to have a nice dinner with my fiancé. Let me have Ah Dou escort you out. Ah Dou!”

“Chusheng-ge,” another man comes over from where he was standing at the entrance of the room.

“Escort Chen-xiaojie out and get Xiao Yun to send her home,” Chusheng orders.

So stunned at the turn of events and what he’s just found out, that Lu Yao doesn’t even move or blink after Chen Xue is forcibly guided out of the room for a good few moments.

It’s only when he hears a breathy chuckle close to his ear that Lu Yao realizes where his fingers are, still pinching Chusheng’s jacket sleeve. As if burnt, Lu Yao steps away, absolutely mortified. Chusheng, Qiao Chusheng, just saw him make an absolute fool of himself.

“I- I…”

“Sit down before you keel over,” Chusheng says, guiding him back into his seat and then to the waiter standing near them, “Da Ding, clear this table and have a fresh course brought up. The Fo Tiao Qiang soup that Lu-xiansheng likes to eat as well, and some of Man-jie’s best dumplings.”

Lu Yao looks up in surprise. He’s speechless still, until Chusheng pushes a glass of warm water over to him.

“Thank you, for helping me out earlier,” he mumbles, embarrassed. “I… I must have caused a scene.”

“No worries,” Chusheng smiles, and damn if Lu Yao’s heart doesn’t skip a beat at that. “Glad that I could help. Lu Yao, is that correct?”

“Mnn,” Lu Yao nods, taking a sip of the water nervously.

“Will you consider going out with me?” Chusheng asks sudddenly.

Lu Yao chokes on his water.

It’s Chusheng who pats him on the back, who presses a napkin to his mouth and looks at him a little fondly while he’s having a coughing fit. When Lu Yao surfaces again, he croaks, “What?”

“I won’t make you go to the Marriage Registration Office with me immediately of course,” Chusheng continues as if this conversation is normal. “We should probably date first, and then if we still like each other after a few, we could set up a meeting between our families and see how it goes. I’m certain your sister would like to take a look at me first, and the same goes for my sister. She’d like to meet you first after.”

“Wait, wait,” Lu Yao tries to breathe. “Hold on a second. You’re saying, like date me?”

“Mnn. Do you think I jest? I’m all for showing my sincerity,” Chusheng smirks almost. “I have a few cars and properties, and I can put your name on any of the ones you like next time, so you don’t have to buy your own. I earn enough, so you can happily pursue your doctorate if that’s what you want. If you don’t, there are a number of open finance-related positions in my company for you to do what you do best.”

“How did you know I have a finance degree?!”

Chusheng raises an eyebrow pointedly and goes, “Blind Date Number Three asked you what your hobbies were and you said ‘making money’ because ‘that’s what I got my degree for’.”

Lu Yao flushes red immediately.

“If you’re marrying me,” Chusheng continues, “Of course the Bai family will give you a dowry and an allowance, just take any of my cards, that should be enough.”

“Who said… who said I was marrying you?!” Lu Yao splutters. “And you’ve been listening in on my dates!”

“It’s a little hard not to listen in when you’re going on so righteously about how you want someone to give you all their assets and pamper you to death,” Chusheng rolls his eyes a little.

“And that night, it was you?”

“Which night?” he teases, and then taking pity on a Lu Yao whose face is entirely red now, he nods, “You were very drunk that night and thought that you called for a ride. You showed your Didi Chuxing app to me yourself with your address on it, I didn’t steal information from you.”

Finally, finally, after so many blind dates, Lu Yao is quiet.

Wondering if he’s scared Lu Yao off for real, Chusheng opens his mouth, ready to try a softer approach and apologize when Lu Yao asks, “… so if I really want a baguette in the middle of the night you’ll get it for me?”

“… I hope we’ll already have a baguette in the house for you seeing how much you like them,” Chusheng answers carefully, “But yes.”

“And if I want dumplings in the morning for breakfast?”

“I’ll call Ah Dou and have it brought in from the restaurant.”

“I don’t like Armani suits, but if I wanted something expensive…”

Chusheng takes out his wallet, and slides three credit cards over the table.

With wide eyes, Lu Yao asks again, “And if I asked you to give me your wallet-“

The wallet lands on the table in between them.

“As for the last one,” Chusheng smiles and leans forward, “I think I demonstrated earlier that I’m more than capable of protecting you whenever you’re scared. Don’t you think? So do I pass?”

The food comes then, interrupting their conversation. Chusheng doesn’t press either, instead scooping out a bowl of soup for Lu Yao and insisting that he eats, knowing that he couldn’t stomach any of his meal earlier with Chen Xue.

At the end of the meal, Lu Yao finally says, “… I want to go to the movies next week.”

“Mnn,” Chusuheng makes a noise of assent. “I’ll buy you dinner before that.”

“I’ll buy the movie tickets and popcorn,” Lu Yao adds, almost a little shyly.

When they leave the restaurant later, Chusheng is holding onto Lu Yao’s hand as he leads him out.

The warmth he feels from that touch alone makes everything right suddenly, and not even his phone continually vibrating in his pocket from his sister’s calls can dampen his mood.

===

*Qing Ling Tian 青玲天 - I guess it's a way for Chusheng to pay homage to the Green Dragon gang 青龙帮 not that he's in a gang right now (he's totally a legitimate businessman)

*Shanghai's cuisine is called Shanghai Cai (shanghai dishes literally), but also can be called Hu Cai (hu cuisine)

*Didi Chuxing - This is China's version of Uber/Lyft/Grab

*hukou ben - In brief, all Chinese citizens need to belong to a family register and have a 'hukou', it's almost like a proof of citizenship I think. Anyway, you need these 'hukou' booklets (like a birth cert) to get married, you bring the booklets down to the office, and take a photo against a red wall, and they print the photos and paste them in the booklets.

*-jie/-shushu/-gege/-bo - older sister/uncle/older brother/uncle

*baobei - darling or baby

#民国奇探 #mriad #my roommate is a detective #chuyao #qiao chusheng #lu yao #mriad fic

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theuniversitychallengereview · 3 years

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UC 51.03 - London Business School vs Hertford, Oxford

Since it was introduced at the 1988 Olympics, every single Gold Medal in the Women’s Team event in the Archery has gone to South Korea. Including yesterday’s win that’s nine straight victories, and their period of unparalleled dominance continues. The men’s team have also won six of the nine they have contested, and a mixed team won the first staging of that event in Tokyo too. Adding their success in the individual events, South Korea have won 26 gold medals, and 42 in total, in the 43 archery events which have been thus far staged at the Olympic Games.

As Twitter’s own @tarequelaskar pointed out in the brilliant article which alerted me to this story, this is a perfect example of specialisation, an economic concept whereby countries or companies focus intensely on one particular aspect of a given industry and come to serve that niche in such a specialised fashion that they become the ultimate experts and nigh-on irreplaceable. This is done in government and business by providing companies with incentives to specialise, and supporting those who succeed at it.

With respect to Korean archery, similar forces are at play. There are a bunch of professional teams and leagues in the country, giving archers financial stability while they focus on their training, something not as common across the world. Said training involves such things as practicing in live baseball stadiums and replicas of the Olympic venues, to mimic first the atmosphere and then the conditions that will be present on the day of the actual tournament.

This philosophy of marginal gains - the same system used by Team Sky and Chris Froome to win multiple Tour De Frances on the trot - puts their preparation miles ahead of the competition, which goes some way to explaining their dominance. It is not the only reason. Before the fine-tuning of the elite shooters comes the discovery of the promising young ones, and the inspiring nature of past success (along with a historic national love of the sport) helps to create a virtuous cycle which give Korea a far larger number of archers to choose from than any other country. This greater choice means that there is a greater chance of finding the next Gold medallists.

Making the argument that professional footballers are at a higher level than other elite sportspeople, Michael Cox used this same argument in a recent article for The Athletic. To summarise, he stated that because there are a far higher number of people who wish to become professional footballers, that must mean that the ones who do make it are at a higher standard than those who make it in other sports. Initially, I was drawn in by the pure maths of this point, but having thought about it some more I’m no longer sure to what extent I agree.

Now, the fact that hundreds of millions more people play football than rugby, or basketball, will certainly confer some level of “eliteness”, but only up to a certain point. Because football has been so popular for so long, the general standard of the play, relative to what it used to be, has had longer to improve. In the same way that if you transplanted a 100m runner from the Olympic final in the early 20th century to now they probably wouldn’t even qualify for the games, a footballer from the 80s would stand less of a chance of making it were they playing today. Many other sports don’t have that level of natural progression, afforded by decades of technical and tactical advancement - at least not globally.

But the numbers argument only goes so far, as can be demonstrated by the Korean archers. Yes, there are more archers in Korea than anywhere else, relatively, giving them a higher chance of uncovering those with a natural aptitude, but the reason behind their bow and arrow dynasty is the specialisation. The hyper-detailed level of training and focus which allows them to be the best they can possible be.

Now, archery is unique in that there is a theoretical maximum score (I understand that this is to some extent arbitrary, and related to the rules of the game as defined by some human being, semi-randomly, but it works in terms of this argument, because it gives a percentage score of how good the archers are based on the agreed-upon parameters of the sport), which, at the Olympics, is 720. The Olympic record is 700 (held by Korean Kim Woo-jin, giving an implied “eliteness level” of 97.2%.

The best player in the history of football (don’t @ me) is Lionel Messi, and few would doubt that he operates at or above that level of perfection in his sport. But I also don’t think you could doubt that Novak Djokovic, or Serena Williams in her pomp, were similarly magnificent at tennis. Cyclists on the Tour De France put their bodies through more in three weeks than most people endure in a decade, and have every aspect of their training and diet strictly controlled so as to bring them as close to perfection as possible. There will certainly be a higher number of these elite performers in football, because there are a higher number of paying jobs for said elite performers, and because more people attempt to become elite performers, but I don’t think that it follows on from that that they are better at their sport than other elite athletes, all of whom have undergone years and years of specialised training to get them where they are.

Does any of this matter, in terms of how each sport should be enjoyed? Probably not, but its interesting to think about, and kind of awe-inspiring to try and appreciate just how good those at the top of their respective games are. And if there is some discrepancy in the level of eliteness between the different sports it doesn’t detract from the fact that they would handily dispatch any civilian challengers without breaking a sweat. The joy comes from watching people who are good at stuff doing that stuff - and, as evidenced by the crowds which gather for non-league football, it doesn’t matter whether or not they are at the absolute pinnacle of said stuff. They’re still going to be much better than the rest of us.

Competitive quizzing is different from the activities previously mentioned in that any normal person can have a guess at pretty much any question, with a chance that they’ll get it right. What sets the contestants apart on shows like University Challenge is the speed of their recall under pressure - the quickness of their knowledge as well as the knowledge itself. But there are plenty of armchair quizzers who think they could wipe the floor on the show, so just how good are the actual contestants? (Compared to an elite footballer or archer on an imaginary scale that accounts for relative skill in all disciplines?). I don’t know (and in case you hadn’t noticed by now I’m just fascinated by people who are really good at anything, and wanted to share some of that fascination with you all), but I’ll try and have a go at answering it anyway.

So, the World Quizzing Championships have been dominated by British and Irish quizzers since its inception in 2003, with 16 of the 18 winners coming from either Britain or the Republic of Ireland (who have four wins courtesy of The Egghead Pat Gibson). This, in my mind, makes this neck of the woods comparable to South Korean archery. It is a hotbed of talent, and the infrastructure is in place to encourage and aid talent maximalisation. Indeed, if you scroll down the list of highest ranking players at the WQC in any given year you can see a significant cohort of UC alums, so clearly there are a number of elite quizzers who have passed through the show.

This specialisation can be seen in microcosm with the preponderance of top-level quizzers produced by Oxford and Cambridge, who both have a long-standing culture of competitive quizzing far beyond other Universities. The debate is there to be had on the fairness of each institution having so many teams, but clearly they produce enough elite players to compete with far bigger Unis when entering as (sometimes tiny) colleges.

In conclusion, I think it is pretty obvious that UC is a breeding ground for world-class quizzers, and though no one has won a World title straight off the bat after appearing on the show, there are top-50 and top 100 finishes abound, which is still greatly impressive, and helps to give an idea of just how good these students really are.

Hoping to justify the 1000 words I’ve just written about their exceptional talents are two teams from the London Business School and Hertford College, Oxford. The Oxford side have never made it beyond the second round, but LBS reached the semi-finals in 2006, their only previous appearance on the show. Anyway, there is quite literally no time for me to recite the rules; here’s your first starter for ten...

Paxman mentions that LBS were in the show in 2006, but doesn’t mention that they reached the semi final, which is lazy imo. A bunch of them are studying for MBAs, which makes sense. He doesn’t mention Hertford’s previous appearances either, but that’s more understandable.

Hertford’s Hitchens takes the first starter with Kennedy, and the Oxonians added a full set of bonuses on words made up by authors - including a couple of educated guesses. LBS hit back with the next question, but can only manage one bonus on famous scientists. One of the two they miss is Rosalind Franklin, and Paxman teases them for not spotting an apparently obvious clue within the question.

The first picture round is on national emblems, and LBS are first to recognise that of Vietnam for the starter. They don’t know Laos or Belarus, but do know that Mozambique has a machine gun on its one. Butterworth then jumps the gun with argon on the next starter, giving his answer just as Paxman says it in the question. Butterworth makes up for it with the music starter, recognising Fat Boy Slim before anyone else, and LBS know Primal Scream and Wu Tang Clan too. They’re still fifty points behind though, and will need a big second half to turn things around.

This task gets more difficult for them, as Hitchens takes another starter. Lloyd adds a second in a row for Oxford and they are nearly one hundred points clear. LBS really need to get some points on the board, and Ruess duly obliges, knowing that there is a massive sculpture of a spider called Maman, which sounds needlessly scary, to the extent that I’m not even going to google it.

The comeback is ended before its even begun as Oswald takes a starter for Hertford, which gives them the picture bonuses - the starter having been dropped by both teams. Lloyd produces another excellent guess of Reuben, demonstrating how useful it is to have vague knowledge as well as specific knowledge. This is one of probably five questions he has answered in a throwaway manner, but which turned out to be correct.

By this point LBS seem to have accepted defeat. Ruess takes another starter, but there is little to no urgency on the bonus questions. They’re right, granted, to have none, they have no chance of winning, but if they gave it a go they might scrape a high scoring loser spot. Ruess is the only one who seems bothered, and bags himself ten more points. They have an amusing discussion about methods of poisoning in Agatha Christie novels (’it was used as a curry ingredient?’, Ruess wondered aloud, trying to figure out which spices could be poisonous, before Butterworth pointed out that it wasn’t something commonly used as a curry ingredient, prompting respectful mirth from the audience) on the bonuses, but still languish miles behind.

Lloyd grabs the last starter of the night for Hertford, who win by eighty at the gong.

Final Score: London Business School 100 - 180 Hertford, Oxford

At the end, Paxman mentions Hertford’s stellar guesswork, which means I wasn’t chatting nonsense (at least on that front, the jury is out on the rest of it), and says that they’ve done a really good job. Incredibly effusive praise for a score of 180. He really is going soft in his old age.

Phew, that was a long one. If you made it through the intro you deserve a prize. And that prize is that you get to come back next week for the next episode of this blog!! Woop woop!

And if this wasn’t quite enough UC content for you then you can subscribe for extra blogs on my Patreon, which features Retro Reviews from the 2015/16 series of the show. Ta x

#london business school #hertford #oxford #bbc2 #quizzy mondays #jeremy paxman

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sankyeom · 3 years

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belle’s 2020 tumblr wrap up

i almost didn’t make one of these because i lost my laptop charger on my flight home to california and i didn’t want to type this out on my phone but after being tagged in so many people’s wonderful end-of-year messages (thank you @sunlightwoo @heartyyjeno @atbzkingdom @chaoticdeobi @xfirebenderx @fairyoftbz and for including me thus far 💗) i decided i had to join this beautiful love fest and end the year on a good note!

m i l e s t o n e s (personal and for the blog) ✨

◇ on february 17th 2020 i started stanning (and eventually ulting) the boyz! ↳ this is important because i had been listening to the boyz’s music since no air era, but never watched their videos or learned the members’ names. after stanning the boyz, i was introduced to my beautiful deobiblr, which is such a warm and welcoming community. i met most of treasured mutuals through this community and honestly don’t know what i’d do without it!

◇ on april 23rd 2020 i reached 1,000 followers on my blog! ↳ this was very special to me because i have previously reached 1k followers on many different platforms (quotev.com, wattpad, a different tumblr blog, etc.) but after not writing for a long time i was worried people wouldn’t like my writing anymore or that i wouldn’t be good at it after taking a break. reaching this number was surreal for me and it made me realise that i wanted to study creative writing in university, which i am now doing!

◇ on may 30th 2020 i graduated high school! ↳ i graduated with honours and a 4.0 along with a lot of life-long friends that i had made in the two years i spent at my competitive, college-prep private school. i faced a lot of hardships but eventually got through it and i am a better person for it. congratulations to all the graduates who didn’t get the graduation they all dreamed of, you did something spectacular this year!

◇ on august 24th 2020 i started university as a creative writing major! ↳ 2020 was a crazy year for everyone and it made picking which uni to go to really hard, but there was one uni in particular that loved my admissions essay and wrote to me personally saying they would love to have me in their creative writing program, which really touched me and interested me in this uni. i’ve always been someone who finds academics really important so i had gotten multiple scholarship offers from different “higher ranking” universities, but i was able to learn what was important to me in picking a school that would both foster my learning and make me feel at home.

◇ on september 21st 2020 i got my first ever B on a test! ↳ and i was really happy about it. in high school i strived to get 100% on every test and would have panic attacks when i got even a single point off. i wish i was joking, but that’s the truth. i’ve always been a perfectionist and i wanted to have a more healthy relationship with my personal expectations in university. being in uni helped me to pace myself academically and learn to juggle doing fun things – like this lovely blog – alongside studying. i still managed to get all As in my final grades for this semester, but i really loved letting myself get Bs and take breaks.

◇ on october 18th 2020 i reached 2,000 followers on my blog! ↳ if you read how important reaching 1k to me was, you can probably guess how amazing and emotional this was for me. not only did i have enough followers to fill three of my high schools, but i had made a lot of friends at this point, and that was so special to me. i had also never done a special series to celebrate a milestone, and as i stand here on december 31st with 2,457 followers, i have yet to finish my 2k celebration due to taking a short break from writing. don’t worry though, it’s all coming very soon!

◇ on november 29th 2020 i reached 1,000 notes on a masterlist! ↳ facade? was my first social media au masterlist to reach 1,000 notes and when that happened, it truly blew my mind. i have no words to describe how special that moment was for me. a lot of people loved it because they resonated with the main character or because they found all the plot twists fun, and i really love that so many people enjoyed it and gave it a chance, despite the general plot being quite common.

◇ on december 7th 2020 i reached 1,000 notes on a fic! ↳ he loves me, he loves me not was my first one shot/fic to reach 1,000 notes and my second fic ever to reach 1k notes, which was literally crazy. so many people have reached out to me about that fic and how much it resonated with them and their experiences, and i just loved that this was the first written fic i ever had reach 1k notes because of the emotional implications.

m u t u a l s 💛

i have so much love and appreciation for you all, it’s unreal. i’m a very shy, often times insecure, and quiet person so i have a hard time reaching out to people. this means that minimal interactions actually mean a lot to me, so please never think that i don’t love or support you guys just because i’m a little quiet. that being said, here are some mutuals who i have gotten to know better in 2020 and a little love letter for you each 💌

@xfirebenderx

💌 nani, you were one of my very first mutuals here on tumblr back when i ulted seventeen and literally never spoke to anyone or interacted with people other than the few anons in my inbox. you made me feel comfortable and welcome here on tumblr, and i’ve always seen you like an older sister figure because of that. your enthusiasm and support are often times unparalleled because you never hold back anything and i am in awe of how lovely you are. thank you for having my back this year and making me feel so supported! 🌟

@chaoticdeobi

💌 bea, you’re such a ray of sunshine and brightness in my life and on my dash, i’m in awe of how much of a social butterfly you are! you were one of the reasons i started writing for the boyz because i felt excited when i read your fics and i was extremely impressed with how immersive your writing was (and still is!). aside from your amazing writing abilities, you’re truly someone who i feel comfortable with even though we haven’t spoken that much privately, and you have an amazing gift of making people feel accepted and at home. thank you for being a wonderful brightness in my life this year! 🌼

@heartyyjeno

💌 alesha, i’ve said this to you many times before but i truly treasure you as a person and as a friend. you are without a doubt one of the most supportive and uplifting people that i’ve met on tumblr, and i can always rely on you to make me feel like i’m loved and a good writer, especially on days where i feel like i’m neither. i know that 2020 has been a struggle for you and i wish i could have done more to support you, so i hope you take this love letter as evidence of how loved you are and how much i cherish you as a person and as a friend. thank you for being my rock this year! 🌷

@httpsohnpouts

💌 rosie, you are someone who is very dear to me and i always feel so lucky to be your friend! we’ve spoken quite a bit this year and i loved getting to know you and finding out we stan/ult so many of the same groups! i loved gushing over dark haired eric, seunghoon from cix, and blackpink’s comebacks with you this year so much because it made me feel much closer to you! you’re always one of the first people i send love chains to on tumblr and i just really appreciate your lovely energy every time we interact. thank you for being a caring friend for me this year! 🌹

@stealerz

💌 qiu, first of all your url change is absolutely adorable and i’m a huge fan. second of all, your writing is so stunning and it was also another reason why i wanted to start writing for the boyz this year! you’re somebody who i often see on my dash and try to interact with, and it always feels a little surreal when you gush over my writing because i look up to you in that sense. you are such a lovely friend who i don’t talk to very often because i’m shy, but i feel like you’re always around to remind me that you support me and just make me feel loved here on tumblr. thank you for being an inspiration to me and sending me so many cheerful love chains on tumblr this year! 🌻

@neoskidz (i wasn’t sure which of your blogs to tag so i’ll add @chocolattees just in case)

💌 elsie, i always feel undeserving of your hype and excitement when you comment on my fics or leave me lovely asks in my inbox to sing my (absolutely undeserving) praises. you’re someone who seems very bright and warm-hearted so i always feel comfortable around you, and i only wish i could have praised you and given you as much love as you did for me in 2020. i love when you randomly pop up in my inbox and i love to hear about how you’re doing because i feel like it’s the least i can do to show you that i support you and am always interested to hear what you’re up to! thank you for reminding me that friends can come from anywhere and for always being so compassionate this year! 💐

@deobienthusiast

💌 k, i always look forward to when you reach the latest chapter of my social media fics because i’m always living to hear your reactions to them! i always feel so lucky that you interact with me and reach out so much because i’m shy and it makes it a lot easier for me to talk to you and actually get to know you. i love that we stan so many of the same groups and can always gush about cix and the boyz together, especially when we tag each other under any posts that have to do with blond baejin. you are honestly someone who i feel very relaxed with because we talk so often and have so many of the same interests, i really appreciate your presence in my life. thank you for being someone who i can talk to about my fics and all of our bias wreckers this year! 🌈

@atbzkingdom

💌 dee, i’ve said this before but you’re a literal ray of sunshine to me and you warm me up like the sun with all of our interactions. i always love to hear your comments about my fics because you never hold back and always unleash so much excitement onto me that i can’t help but reciprocate and allow myself to get super hype and happy. you have an ability to make me open up and actually feel excited about my friendships here on tumblr and my own writing, which can be really hard for me sometimes. i’m blessed that you look up to me and i have to say that i absolutely look up to you as well, in more ways than just your writing! thank you for being my personal hype-man and helping me come out of my shell this year! ✨

@lsangyeons

💌 yu, i think you are seriously so damn talented it’s actually unbelievable. not only are you an amazing writer but your designs, sketches and other amazing works of art are just so inspiring and i find it incredible that you’re so multifaceted. you’re always someone who i think very genuinely wants to know how i’m doing and is always ready to catch up and share what you’re working on with me, and i find that really illuminating and fun because you’re so talented. thank you for reaching out to me so often and making me feel comforted this year! ❄️

@fairyoftbz

💌 rosy, i am totally kicking myself right now for not reaching out as often as i wanted to because i feel like we get along well and we could be really close if i wasn’t so shy and bad at keeping up with my asks/mentions. i think you’re a lovely person and i’ve felt so fortunate to have gotten to know you better this year. as i mentioned before, you’re a very thoughtful person and i look forward to getting to know you better in 2021! thank you for being a supportive friend to me this year! 🪐

@sunlightwoo

💌 gina, i adore you, and that’s the absolute truth. i’ve been so happy that we were able to connect this year and become friends because you are a fiercely supportive and lovely mutual to have. i have to thank the kpop gods for getting you to start standing the boyz so we could meet and be friends after all this time. i love how you yell and gush about my fics because it makes me feel like i’m actually writing something people like and not just rubbish that i come up with in my head, and you make me feel grounded and supported, which i can only hope to reciprocate just as enthusiastically to you! thank you for being a fiercly kind and supportive friend to me this year! 🌠

here are some people who i haven’t interacted with much (because, like i’ve said, i’m terribly shy and don’t interact with people much in general (feel free to reach out though i would love to chat 🥺)) but still wanted to mention! i love and appreciate you all for replying to my posts, recommending my fics or just posting really amazing content here on tumblr for us all to enjoy, and that i’d love to get to know you better in 2021!! @1ovejisung @jenoleeaesthetic @thepixelelf @honeycobie @tbzwurld @meltingjukyu @mae-gi-writes if i’ve forgotten everyone i’m terribly sorry but also very jetlagged and bad at keeping track of my friends xx

a n o n s 🦋

i’m grateful to everyone who joined my anon list this year and i’ve genuinely enjoyed all of our interactions so much! i wanted to give a short thank you to a few specific anons but i also love my other anons, 🐝 anon, 🧸 anon, 💫 anon, 🦋 anon, 🥯 anon, 🍇 anon, 🌜 anon, 💒 anon, and 🦕 anon a lot and appreciate you all! thank you for joining my anon list and i hope we can continue to get to know each other in 2021!

🤍 anon 💌 you always check on me and ask me how i’m doing, and i feel so comfortable around you it’s like talking to a friend. we always talk about anything and everything and i appreciate that you’ve been such a constant in my life this year!

🌱 anon 💌 my sweet deobi 🌱 anon! i love gushing about the boyz and my social media fics with you, it’s always so fun to see how passionate you are and it’s honestly everything to me.

🐹 anon 💌 you really feel like a sibling or a friend to me because you’re always telling me to take care of myself and encouraging me to take breaks and be happy. i want everything that you encouraged me to do for you as well and i hope that you take care of yourself and stay healthy/safe!

🐱 anon 💌 literally the absolutely king/queen of getting involved in my fics and gushing to me about how every chapter made you feel. i love seeing your responses and i’m always so touched when you leave me simple messages telling me to have a good weekend or asking me to be your friend. we are absolutely, 100% friends my love!

🔮 anon 💌 you’re my most recent anon but i feel like we’ve known each other forever now! we talk quite often and i always love it when i see the little 🔮 emoji in my inbox because i love how enthusiastic and understanding you are. thank you for deciding to join my anon list so we could become closer!

f o l l o w e r s a n d r e a d e r s 💘

i doubt that all 2,457 of my followers are going to see this, but i’m going to write this as if you all will anyway. thank you for being here and for caring about my content enough to hit the follow button. numbers don’t mean much and are quite arbitrary, but i still think that it’s amazing that there are 2,457 of you cuties who put up with me. to those of you who don’t follow me but read my fics/like and reblog my posts, thank you. i personally see those things as small praises and/or appreciations for my efforts and i wish i could tag you all here to tell you that i love and appreciate you, but tumblr won’t let me and i think most of you wouldn’t want that either. i couldn’t make a love letter to the people that shaped my 2020 without addressing all of you, so i hope that some of you decided to give this a read. i appreciate you and i want you here, healthy, and safe on this planet. please take care of yourselves as i would love to take care of you. x

#babbles #belle's babbles #magical mutuals ✨#wrap up #2020 wrap up

36 notes · View notes

deniigi · 4 years

Text

anyways the discord has fucked me up 6 ways to hell.

Have some Sam/Ned/Peter/Johnny/MJ

Because we couldn’t pick a ship and we discovered Sam/Ned, and now we’re all devastated by it.

Title: Anenome’s an Enemy

Summary: The polycule welcomes Sam into its ranks.

Notes: So the polycule consists of Ned, Peter and MJ who are all romantically involved and established. Peter is also in an on/off relationship with Johnny, but Johnny is just friends with Ned and MJ. Oh. And these are Inimitable Verse characters.

It started with Ned and MJ reading the texts from the groupchat in order to psychoanalyze Peter’s teammates.

This was not new.

Peter let them read the bullshit fairly regularly. It was only fair that they got to see what he was giggling about.

What was new was Ned asking who BT was.

Peter had thought that they’d met at Matt and Foggy’s wedding, but Ned couldn’t remember Sam being there, and, to be fair, Peter had noticed that Sam had an extraordinary ability to blend himself into the background when there were multiple people having a conversation.

MJ barely remembered Sam, too, for that reason precisely, so Peter asked Sam if he could send a selfie ‘for the home team to admire.’

Sam said that he wasn’t comfortable with that.

It was super surprising.

Peter apologized for asking and Sam waved it off, saying that he just didn’t know how to take selfies for anyone besides his sister and friends and he just didn’t want to screw it up. Which was code for ‘I am actually really fucking uncomfortable with this whole thing; please don’t ask me why I’m saying no.’

Peter dropped it.

MJ didn’t forget about it, though, and so he had to explain that Blindspot was a little camera shy.

Ha.

Get it?

Because Blindspot?

Ned told him that it was kind of weird that Sam didn’t want to take a picture for him when he was cool taking them for his other friends; MJ said that it was probably because he didn’t want her and Ned to see his face and Ned relented a little bit.

“We’ve already met him, though?” he pointed out. “Surely that was worse in this scenario?”

Well. In Sam’s world, it was probably better, actually, Peter thought. In real life, he could smile and duck out of sight and stay out of range. A picture was forever.

“He’s probably got a reason,” MJ continued. “Or his folks were probably those ‘put it on the internet and it never goes away’ types.”

Uh.

Probably?

“I think,” Peter said quietly, because he didn’t actually know—because Sam never actually said the words out loud—“That he might be undocumented?”

He got two sets of eyes his way immediately.

“Oh,” Ned said. “That’s completely understandable then.”

“Yikes,” MJ said. “Does he need help? I’ve got some stuff saved if he needs legal stuff.”

No. No, Peter thought that Sam probably knew more about his situation than any of them did. He knew what kind of help he needed and he might take offense at links or brochures passed his way, so he shrugged and told the others that Sam probably had the situation under control.

The other two dropped the subject after saying that the next time Sam was in the area, they should all get dinner or something.

Peter extended this invite to Sam and got back a simple ‘thanks 🙂’.

Sam didn’t talk to him for the rest of the week.

At about week two of radio silence in the chat and in personal texts, Peter asked Matt if he’d overstepped.

Matt didn’t answer the question. What he said was that, as far as he could tell, Sam was okay at work and in their training. He noted that Sam went through cycles of being very open and chatty and then withdrawing into himself for days and weeks at a time. He left it at that.

He didn’t say ‘he has been violently reminded about all the shit he can’t do and is protecting himself from you and your ilk.’

He didn’t say that.

But Peter still felt it.

SM: hey BT, hope you’re okay. Didn’t mean to overstep the other day. Sorry about that. Let me know if you need anything.

BT: I’m okay

BT: I’ll let you know.

BT: ❤

MJ told Peter that he was blowing things out of proportion.

“If Matt says he goes through cycles, then he goes through cycles, Peter,” She scolded. “Matt can’t lie for shit. Not about people he cares about.”

…Right.

But what if—

What if—

“I just feel like shit because I don’t know how to make him feel better,” Peter admitted. “I feel like I broke his trust or something.”

“He’s not not talking to you,” MJ said. “He’s just not info-dumping. And you don’t know his life, it might not have been you making him feel bad. The world doesn’t revolve around you and your mistakes, you know.”

Right, right.

Yeah, he knew.

PP: hey matt did I fuck up?

MM: ?

PP: I think I fucked up. can you tell Sam I’m really really sorry?

MM: Sammy’s fine?

MM: He’s discovered jalapeño Cheetos and he and foggy are making my life hell.

MM: they’re both very cheerful right now.

MM: did something happen?

PP: I think so? I asked him for a picture a while ago for Ned and MJ and he hasn’t spoken to me in 2 weeks. I mean like really spoken. I said sorry but I’m not getting back more than 5 word responses

MM: ah

MM: he’s okay Peter

PP: is he really tho??

MM: lol

MM: yeah buddy he’s okay

PP: what is ‘lol???’

MM: lol

PP: Matt.

MM: I’m a confidante I cannot say. But it is very cute.

PP: ????

PP: Matt I’m spiraling

PP: can you just like tell me I haven’t single handedly ruined our friendship?

MM: HA

PP: MATT

MM: no can do. You’ll have to ask him, friend.

PP: god when did you turn into such a dad?

MM: when I got all these fuckin kids I didn’t ask for. Fuck off squirt

PP: I hate you too

MM: ❤

Johnny held Peter’s face between two palms and told him he was being a dramatic piece of shit and it was Johnny’s turn this month.

Johnny was offended.

Peter made sad sounds at him until he relented and agreed to come sit at the table with MJ to psychoanalyze all Peter’s Bad Friend behaviors.

Johnny did not like to sit at the table with MJ, mostly because MJ kept stabbing him with her eyes, but he came along and gave Ned a big hug in the doorway.

MJ stabbed him with her eyes for that, too.

Johnny paged through the texts Peter had screenshotted and printed out and tossed on the table with a collection of pens and after a while, blinked once and jerked his head up suddenly to stare into MJ’s eyes.

MJ glared at him languidly.

Peter sat on his hands, all highlighters and pen privileges having been revoked after the second guilt spiral two minutes ago, and looked between them, back and forth.

They said nothing to him.

They spoke only in narrowing eyes and squirming eyebrows.

Peter hated when they did shit like this.

“Peter,” MJ finally said after a good three minutes of awkward silence. “When you went back west to stay with Matt and Fogs, where did you stay?”

Where?

Well, their house?

“Where in their house?” MJ asked like she already knew the answer. She tangled a hand into her hair in exasperation. Johnny brought both hands up to his face to hide a huge smile.

Wh—

Where?

In the house?

Well, Angel and Louis had taken the couch and Ellie and Wade had been in the guest bedroom, so he’d stayed in Sam’s room with him.

Ned sighed loudly from the couch. His typing slowed down as he slouched lower and lower into the cushions.

Peter didn’t get it.

Why was everyone staring at him?

“Buddy,” Johnny said kindly. “You’re so fucking stupid, you make me look smart.”

“You are smart,” Peter said. “Why am I stupid?”

MJ held out her hand for his phone. He gave it to her without question.

PP: hey matt its MJ.

PP: does Sam have a crush on Peter?

MM: I don’t know MJ, does he?

MJ held the phone up to Peter’s face while Johnny shriek-giggled into his palms.

Peter felt a little like jelly.

All wobbly and shit.

“He likes me?” he blurted out.

MJ blinked slowly. Johnny pounded a fist against the table, wheezing.

“He thinks you want a picture for your friends,” he said. “He thinks you’ve friendzoned him. Oh my god. Peter.”

WHAT WHAT WHAT

“Give me that,” Peter said, snatching his phone.

PP: matt this is peter this is not a drill

PP: he likes me??? Like likes-likes? Or just likes?

MM: why do you children keep asking me stupid questions?

MM: ask each other stupid questions

No.

“What do I do?” Peter asked the other two.

Johnny hummed and poked at his chin. MJ leaned over towards the couch with an outstretched hand. Ned took it in a show of moral support.

Once she’d powered back up, MJ turned back to Peter with infinite patience.

“Do you like him too?” she asked.

Did he—did he like Sam?

Well, obviously he liked Sam. Sam was funny and brilliant and always down to get in a bit of trouble. He was sensitive to others and he picked himself back up every time shit hit him.

He was warm.

His energy was warm. And welcoming. And he seemed to constantly be fighting that.

But he was Matt’s. Not in that way.

Like, he was Matt’s apprentice. Functionally, he was Matt’s apprentice, but actually, even back when Peter had just met him, he’d known that Sam was more than that to Matt.

Sam denied it. Matt denied it. But they were very, very close. Closer than Peter had been allowed to be with Matt.

Matt would fight to the death for Peter, Peter knew this; there had been a few close calls over the years. But Matt gave off this weird vibe with Sam.

It was a buzz. Peter felt it low in his neck. Humming.

The Spidey Sense didn’t like Matt being behind him when Peter was with Sam. It thought he was a threat.

And that? That was not normal. Matt had stood behind Peter for more than a decade and never, not once, had the Spidey Sense reacted that way to him.

Peter had told Wade about it and Wade’s eyes had softened. He’d clasped Peter’s shoulder and said that he was ‘touched as hell,’ which Peter didn’t understand at first.

He kind of got it more now.

Sam was Matt’s. What he was exactly wasn’t super clear. But Matt was willing and ready not just to die, but potentially to torture, for Sam and he didn’t fucking like anyone being too close to him—especially not another vigilante.

Sam was off limits.

Touch him and suffer the consequences.

That message was loud and clear.

So even if Peter thought that Sam was warm and brilliant and so easy to sink into, it didn’t matter.

Johnny and MJ and Ned considered this by drumming fingers on noses and chins and making humming sounds.

“Red seems okay with BT having a crush on you, though?” Johnny said. “He’s joking about it, after all. Maybe he just doesn’t want you to make the first move? You do kind of have a track record, Peter.”

That made a lot of sense actually.

“So what, I have to wait for Sam to say something or to get over me?” Peter asked.

“Pretty much,” MJ said. “Unless anyone else has a better idea?”

No one did.

Man, bummer.

Sam came back into contact a few days later like nothing had happened. He was concerned about definitions of seals. He needed people to help him work through them. Evidently, Matt, Foggy, and Kirsten hadn’t done the job.

Matt said nothing about no one, which was infuriating as always.

And so it went.

BT: heyyyyyyyyyyyyy peter

SM: lol hey you what’s up?

BT: m drunk

SM: oh word?

BT: Leilani told me no to taext no one butttttt I hate meself so here we are

SM: Leilani?

BT: fremd

SM: dude red said you finish all your girlfriends drinks?

BT: is my scared duty

BT: scared

BT: sacred

SM: sam you’re like 140 pounds

BT: 😘

SM: okay sure I’m proud of you. how many did you chug

BT: hey teach says that you’re a people eater is that true?

SM: people eater? No. I am spider

BT: hello spider I am dog

SM: ASDF:SAfasFDf

BT: no like he says that you go through people a lot

SM: I have a lot of exes

BT: oh neat

BT: I have none exes

SM: what?? Really??

BT: rly

SM: have you ever dated someone?

BT: I don’t date

BT: fuck em and leave em

SM: oh

SM: does that work for you?

BT: easy

SM: wow okay

BT: I don’t want to be your ex. Can we just fuck and say notging about it?

BT: nothing

BT: like it doesn’t have to matter

BT: donst have to go anwhere

SM: yeah. I’m down with that, I guess?

BT: !!!!

SM: I mean if you are. Next time we’re in the same area we can do smth

BT: nice

BT: I think Imma puke

SM: uh?? Don’t puke in bed

SM: BT?

SM: Sam?

BT: did not we’re good hey thanks

BT: that’s cool of you.

BT: I promise Ima a good lay ❤

SM: you could be more than that too, you know?

BT: Good night!!!

MJ held her face as Peter straddled her hips with his phone two inches from her nose.

Ned snickered.

“Help me,” MJ begged of him.

He shook his head. Peter shook his phone.

“Friend,” he said.

“Fuckbuddy,” MJ told him. “Don’t fall in love with him, Peter.”

Too fuckin’ late, babe.

Ned started shaking with laughter.

Once.

It happened once.

Kirsten was in New York for reasons. She brought backup in the form of Sam and some of his coworkers. They were on a 3 day mission, then Sam was catching a train to go help Clint out with a case down in Florida on Matt’s request.

Three days was plenty of time to get up to some shenanigans.

And Sam’s sides were tight. Strong.

Weirdly flexible?

“You’re great,” Sam told him immediately after their ‘shenanigans.’ “I’m leaving.”

Woah, woah, woah, there cowboy.

What’s the rush?

Sam, already back in his black hoodie, blinked owlishly and then squinted.

“Is this not how this works?” he asked.

Uuuuuuuh.

No?

“Stay,” Peter told him, pulling at his sweater. “Have dinner with me and my partners. They want to meet you.”

Sam smiled at him.

It was a bitter one.

“I’ve gotta jet, Pete,” he said. “For real. Thanks, though. Tell them I said hi.”

When he left Peter felt a little like slamming his hand against the bedside table. But that would shatter the bedside table, so he laid back and let the self-loathing begin.

Johnny thought that Sam was maybe a little insecure and so Peter should chill the fuck out.

“He’s probably never been with a polyamorous person,” he told Peter. “He might be trying to respect MJ and Ned.”

That made sense.

Too much sense.

“And anyways, your agreement was ‘fuck and leave,’” Johnny said. “If you want more than that you’re gonna have to—”

Don’t say it.

“You’re gonna have to—”

Stop singing.

“You’re gonna have to communicate, boo-bear.”

Fuck off.

No words. Only unrequited feelings and misery.

Johnny laughed.

“You’re a mess,” he said.

Whatever.

Okay, but once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern, no?

Matt sent a text to Peter that said simply ‘I will end you.’

That was basically proof, right?

That was Matt’s shovel talk, right??

MJ and Ned stared at him in horror.

“I think, Peter,” MJ said, “This is a warning.”

Yeah, a shovel talk. Peter had been through infinite shovel talks.

“Maybe you should talk to BT,” MJ said.

“Rephrasing that,” Ned said. “You should definitely talk to BT.”

Okay, fine.

SM: hey sam

SM: what are we doing, man?

SM: Matt’s threatening to end me

BT: ignore him he’s got zero right

SM: are you sure?

BT: I thought we weren’t talking about this

SM: I kinda want to talk about it?

BT: 🙂 I don’t

SM: oh

SM: sorry

SM: I thought that maybe there was just something more there?

BT: there isn’t. Sorry Peter.

SM: …are you sure?

BT: yes

SM: you’re kind of not giving me confidence that you’re sure, sam. Not enough emojis.

BT: I don’t want to talk

BT: thanks for trying tho!

BT: it means a lot ❤

SM: is it okay if I talk then?

BT: I will not stop you

SM: okay great because I’m kinda? Falling? For you?

SM: like you’re really cute? And funny? And insanely smart and really nice and super good at everything you do? And you have your ideals and you don’t waver?

SM: and idk if you know anything about me or my people that that’s uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh

SM: how to say

SM: my type

BT: I’m not a type 🙂

SM: no, obviously you’re a person. And I just.

SM: I’ve got love disease

BT: don’t say that word

SM: okay?

SM: are you uncomfortable?

BT: yes

BT: profoundly

SM: okay sorry I’ll stop

BT: peter I like you but I can’t be anything more to you

SM: ?? Why not??

BT: why not????

BT: because DD is my teacher, okay?? And you’re his mentee/brother/teammate whatever.

BT: and I’m not ruining what I have with him because I can’t control my fucking emotions.

BT: this is my shot.

BT: I only have one.

BT: and you’re great. You’re amazing. But I can’t throw it away.

SM: oh

SM: no yeah. That’s fair.

SM: sorry I didn’t mean to push

BT: its fine

SM: is that why you don’t date?

BT: I don’t date because no one cares.

SM: sam that’s not true

BT: can we just? Not?

SM: no? On this thing? No? People care about you? And they would be lucky to have you if you wanted them?

BT: I don’t want them

SM: are you aro?

BT: idk what that means

SM: Aromantic? You don’t feel romantic attraction?

BT: I still don’t know what that means

SM: okay well if you are, then that’s totally cool just so you know.

BT: I’m sorry

SM: don’t be sorry, you’re fine. I was the one pushing.

BT: no this is how it always goes. I’m sorry. I’m just gonna step back if that’s okay

SM: ? you don’t have to. Lol. If you think a rejection is the kind of thing to put a dent in my relationships with people, you got another thing coming pal.

BT: I didn’t mean it like that

SM: it’s okay if you did

SM: but sam you also know that it’s okay to be known a little bit, right?

BT: its not.

Hhhhhhhhhhng.

“Peter,” Ned said. “Bud, look at me.”

Peter did--with maximum misery.

“I love you,” Ned said. “You are cornering this guy.”

FFFFFFFFfffffffffffffffffuck.

“I’m never texting again,” Peter said.

“Bro, chill,” Ned said. “He likes you, okay? He literally said that. And he also said that he doesn’t want to fuck things up with his teacher. We know that Matt’s polyamorous. We know that he gets it. But does BT know that? Have they actually talked about this kind of thing? Hell no. Matt won’t talk to Foggy about romantic shit, why would he talk to BT about it?”

Fffffffffffffffffffffair point.

“Dramatic,” Ned scolded. “Here, let me try.”

Beg your pardon, sir?

“I just want to calm him down,” Ned said. “You know, apologize for my idiot’s pressure.”

Ah.

Right.

Phone’s all yours then.

PP: hi BT, this is Ned. I’m peter’s bf.

PP: listen man I just want to say that you’re completely fine. Don’t worry about this stuff too much. Me and MJ don’t mind you two hanging out and doing stuff. We’ve already talked through a lot of this for another guy.

PP: but also like, if you like Peter, that’s okay? He’s infuriatingly likeable. I know, I’ve been here since 3rd grade. If that feels weird to you, though, it might help if you talked to Matt about Kirsten and how they came to be.

PP: it’s okay

PP: whatever you decide, I promise: it’s okay. And you seem super nice and you make my partner really happy (fuckin dopey tbh) so if you ever just want to come and chill, that’s totally good. We’d like to meet you at some point, but no pressure if that makes you uncomfortable.

PP: I’ll be honest, BT, I don’t know much about you.

PP: MJ’s started following you on twitter tho and she says youre funny af. So if you want to join the nerdcrowd over here (unless you’re startrek trash) you’ll always be welcome to our place.

PP: anyways sorry that Peter’s Like That™

PP: he never learned how to quit

PP: hope you get a moment to chill and process dude. –Ned

Read 12:24

BT: are you sure?

PP: oh hey. About what?

BT: all of it?

PP: yeah man I’m sure. MJ is too, she’s just on Peter-beating duty rn so she can’t come to the phone

BT: ok

PP: hey are you shy?

BT: what? No. why do you ask?

PP: no reason. you just seem a little shy.

BT: ☹

PP: lol

PP: you okay?

BT: yes

PP: you want to process?

BT: no

PP: have you already processed?

BT: how do you know that?

PP: because you’re shy and I used to be more shy so you probably either talked it out to yourself or you called your mom or bff or something

BT: I don’t have

BT: sry yeah I talked it out with foggy

PP: you don’t have a mom?

BT: …or a bff. But there is foggy. He’s been helpful.

PP: dude how do you not have a bff? You need a bff

BT: I have plenty of friends ☹

PP: but no bff

BT: AND a sister

PP: but no bff

BT: I COULD have a bff. I just choose not to. For style.

PP: lolololol

PP: peter’s right you’re cute. Okay I’ve gotta give him back his phone before he implodes. Nice talking to you.

BT: okay byeee

Peter straddled Ned and held the phone two inches from his face.

This was witchcraft.

Dark magic.

The least he could do was share.

“I literally just took the pressure off, dude, I don’t know what’s hard about this,” Ned said while MJ watched them over the back of the couch like a cat.

“Teach me your ways, sorcerer,” Peter said.

Ned grabbed his elbow.

“You will never attain my power,” he said.

Peter dropped his full weight on top of him.

Sam came around eventually.

Peter’s heart fucking stopped. Johnny clapped for him when the text came in that said, ‘DD says he doesn’t mind and he’s already doled out threats. So? Do you maybe want to start over?’

Peter screamed.

Johnny took his phone from him and let him scream better.

“I want to seeeee,” Johnny hummed. “Give us a picture, Blindspot. Are you a little hottie?”

“Shortie,” Peter whimpered.

The phone went down and Johnny’s head came up.

“That’s deadly,” he said.

“I know,” Peter told him.

Sam was…how to say.

Light touch.

Skittish.

Not good with even the slightest bit of pressure.

Peter hadn’t realized how much of a front he put up in front of other people until he tried to get him talking about shit that mattered and only then did he fully realize the extent to which Sam was exactly like Matt.

Trying to steer him towards emotions and negotiation and heartfelt discussion was like telling a fish that it could only swim one direction.

Sam’s reaction in every case was ‘okay that’s fine, let’s never mention this again--also I’m not going to do that; you just do what you want to me and I’ll figure everything else out on my own.’

Mind boggling.

Zero skills in that department.

Ned thought it was absolutely adorable.

MJ thought it was funny as fuck.

“Matt is useless,” Peter told them. “Absolutely useless. He’s done this shit for twenty fucking years and he’s just letting Sam work it out on his own?”

“Maybe that’s his teaching method?” Ned pointed out.

No, it absolutely was his teaching method. But that was the problem.

Fuck.

“Sam,” Peter said on the phone a while later, “Listen, buddy. I recognize that you are allergic to feelings, but this is what we have to do to get what we want.”

Sam hung up.

Dude.

“Threatened,” Ned said. “Come on. Gimme.”

Ned accused Peter of not telling him that Sam was Chinese. Peter told him that Sam’s twitter was literally half-written in Chinese.

Ned accused MJ of not telling him that Sam was Chinese and MJ said simply ‘my bad’ and got away with that shit, like she always did.

Unbelievable.

Johnny asked if Sam was interested in a superhero-sandwich and Peter got to take his aggression out on his pressure points.

Still, though, Peter was kind of glad that Ned was leading the charge on this. Firstly, because Ned so rarely stepped into these things with authority and it was really warming and lovely to see him so interested in bringing another person into their polycule. And secondly because Ned had the lightest touch of them all.

Peter, MJ, and Johnny were all helmet heads wielding hammers. The only thing keeping them from self-destruction were all the YIELD signs they’d set around their circle.

Ned typically just waded in between them all to tug Peter and MJ out of the battlezone and into a semblance of humanity.

So it was nice—no, it was cute that Ned was developing a little crush on Sam.

MJ thought so, too.

“I do love fresh meat to tenderize,” she said.

Peter stared.

“That is not the vibe we’re going for,” he reminded her.

MJ waved him off.

“Peter.”

What’d he do now?

Ned held the phone seriously out to him.

“Tell Sam I want a picture of him to put on the wall next to my mirror,” he said.

Peter blinked.

“That’s creepy, dude,” he said.

“It will make him laugh and he’s still not comfortable sharing yet,” Ned said. “But he trusts you more than me.”

Ah.

Right.

Okay sure.

Peter texted.

Sam sent back only eye emojis.

Ah.

“So,” Peter said while Ned tapped a foot impatiently on the kitchen linoleum. “There’s something you should know.”

Ned cocked his head at him.

“Dude,” MJ said. “That’s wild.”

Sam’s eyes were, uh, how to say.

Inhuman.

Johnny shrieked, took the phone and climbed into Peter’s lap.

“He’s so cute, Peter, bring him home, I’ll be so nice,” he pleaded.

Johnny was not the one who was going to need reminders to be nice.

“How does he see?” Ned asked.

Uhhhhhhh.

Oh, you know…

Not well.

Johnny lowered the phone.

“He’s blind?” he asked.

“Not blind,” Peter said. “But low vision.”

The room seemed to go quiet for a minute.

“Is Matt his—”

“No,” Peter sighed.

“Are you sure?” MJ asked. “These coincidences are stacking.”

“No,” Peter repeated. “His dad’s Chinese. He was born in Fuzhou, I think.”

“Oh,” MJ said.

“So he can’t see very well,” Ned repeated.

“He does okay in daytime,” Peter said. “And he does best with high contrast. But like, pictures can be hard sometimes if they’re too light or too dark. He doesn’t really ask for much help, but he and Matt kinda puzzle over stuff if you’re not careful. And if you’re extra not careful, they’ll make their own memes and they’ll be full of blind jokes.”

The room held still for another moment.

“Okay, so what do we need to do?” Ned asked.

The first time the others met Sam, Peter had to chase him down the hall and even then, it was only via Matt’s aid that he was placed back in Peter’s apartment.

Matt pointed a finger at Sam’s eye and told him that he was to stay ‘right fuckin here’ until he was done at the courthouse.

“Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars,” Matt said as Sam tried and failed to bite that finger. “I want an intact paralegal by the end of this trip, and I will not have an intact paralegal if you go around gettin’ noticed by the fuckin’ Irish, yes?”

“I can take ‘em,” Sam said.

Matt sneered.

“I don’t know why I bother,” he said. “Stay. Those are orders.”

“Fuck your orders,” Sam shot back at him, to the horror of everyone else in the room.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘fuck your orders,’ whatever,” Matt said. “Stay put.”

Sam bared his teeth after him.

Only when the door closed, did he finally give notice that other people were in the room. Johnny lit up.

“You’re short and angry,” he said.

Sam rounded on him.

MJ loved Sam now.

MJ told everyone else to get out, Sam was the only person who mattered.

Johnny thought that Matt needed to come back and take his rabid dog with him. Sam told him to stay out of his face and they wouldn’t have any more problems, but, seeing as Johnny was incapable of not adding fuel to fire, Peter kept him behind himself for the time being.

Ned was probably the person in the most shock of Sam, however.

Peter forgot how Sam came off to other people.

Very unassuming. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. His prosthetics hid his black sclera, and even if he did tend to lift his face towards the light more often than other people, he did it so subtly, you’d think he was nodding along to a tune in his head.

Sam looked like your friend.

Your neighbor. Your classmate. The one with the baby face, you know.

His hair was getting longer, Peter noticed. He pointed it out and Sam softened enough to tell him that he was going for something a little more hipster.

“If I let it keep going, it’ll start swooping,” he told Peter. “The swoop is very in right now, Peter.”

Peter believed him.

He had no idea what that meant. But he believed him.

“You know what’s not in?” Johnny asked. “Friendly fire.”

Sad sneered at him.

“I ain’t know you from Adam,” he snapped.

Ned lifted a fist to his face in a sign that Peter recognized well and it took everything in him not to smirk and start teasing.

“Okay, let’s start over,” Peter said. “Sam, these are my friends, or, uh. Our polycule, if you will.”

He had Sam’s attention now.

“Polycule?” he asked.

Indeed.

“’Cause it’s shaped like a molecule,” MJ said. “And everyone here is also a nerd.”

Sam looked at her.

“You’re MJ,” he said.

“You’re Blindspot,” MJ said. “What makes you blind?”

“The trauma,” Sam said without missing a beat.

Peter waved Johnny off and set his hands on Sam’s shoulders.

“Sam’s made an invisibility suit,” he said.

He had everyone’s attention now.

“You did what?” Ned said.

Sam blinked and then shrugged a shoulder.

“What, like it’s hard?” he asked.

Oh yeah.

He was gonna fit in fine.

#samuel chung #peter parker #ned leeds #michelle jones #johnny storm #fic #ficlet #inimitable verse #the discord is going to destroy me truly #I love everyone in this bar #Matt is old and grumpy

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currentfandomkick · 4 years

Text

Marinette did not sign up for this part 8

first part here previous part here ao3 here

update at last!

Marinette almost screamed when she saw the knitting needles on her balcony. It wasn’t even her birthday yet. Was he around? Taunting her?

School wasn’t helping. She kept her eyes on the windows.

It didn’t help her team was scanning the area constantly… and she was certain that Kagami somehow got out of school as she could spot Ryuuko before school even started, and her shadow had’t moved often.

Alya, Nino and Adrien weren’t leaving her side. Kim had taken to joining them (and with him, Max and Alix) with Kim determined to get Marinette to wear one of his hoodies since “you look cold.”

She knew that was code. ‘Let me help.’ She wasn’t sure this was something safe for them to help with.

“Thanks but I’m good!” was highly ineffective.

Before lunch Kim had his hoodie on her. It made it harder to find her with the change from her usual outfits once Adrien and Alix stole her hairbands.

They were doing a plain sight disguise. She knew it.

Going to Alix’s after school helped a bit with that.

She still felt eyes on her. She couldn’t tell who’s.

Alix was the one to break out the guardian translations with her dad. The Kubdels knew more than most of her team—time travel side effects after all. It was a big part of why she could trust them in the first place: Alix wanted to help and her father knew there would be a Ladybug in Paris before giving Alix the family heirloom. When Marinette saw it after studying the miraculous for a bit and asking Fu if there could be two rabbit miraculouses… it lead to Fu merging the two (from two separate timelines).

In the one Mr. Kubdel was from, a girl named Bridgette took up the role of Ladybug and was followed around by a questionable Black Cat. Mr. Kubdel’s grandfather prevented that timeline from happening—changing key events and all—but was prepared for the chances another rabbit would be needed. His son was not a good fit… (poor research, questionable retention, and overall bad at delicate work) meanwhile Alix had street art done quickly and intricately, fast reflexes, and adored learning history to the point some topics had been re-written in the curriculum for “the complete BS this hack is pushing” and “obvious refusal to stick to the facts” among other objections with heavily cited and sourced works to back up her claims. To a truly terrifying degree.

Its also why once they were out of sight, Alix and Mr. Kubdel and her escaped to one of the secret passaged kept off the current schematics for Miraculous related reasons (escape without being seen leaving) and Alix brought them into her burrow sans ‘time windows’ for her peace of mind.

“What do you want us to do Ladybug?” Bunnix asked.

That was the question…

They tracked that the issue began with what let Robin identify her in the first place. The most likely culprit was the flaming akuma… if Alix went as Bunnix and helped Ladybug catch the butterfly or got it someone else, then Robin would never have identified her, and their current situation wouldn’t be happening.

She wouldn’t be hunted by the Ghosts of Gotham.

But then… her team wouldn’t exist, not as it does.

Chat wouldn’t know who she is.

She wouldn’t exist.

She… she wasn’t willing to give that up.

“We’re not undoing the past.”

Bunnix nodded, gliding around the empty space.

Mr. Kubdel opened and closed his mouth before finally offering his own suggestion. “Perhaps, we could capture them.”

Marinette ran over that option. It wasn’t bad. Not by a long shot… but the capture would deprive Gotham of its vigilantes…

“We only keep Robin, any others captured are cut loose as soon as possible and removed.”

“But Robin is the one that knows your identity,” Bunnix reminded her.

“The others probably figured it out already. But that’s not why we’re keeping him.”

Mr. Kubdel gestured for her to clue them in.

“Remember what the Aesir and Vanir did to end their dispute?”

Mr. Kubdel searched his memories until it hit him. “Ah. That.”

Marinette nodded. “Add in a game of chase, move to the home turf, and we have our plan.”

“And you’re bait?” Bunnix checked, no longer moving about as she absorbed the plan.

If you were a civilian in Paris, you might catch sight of what must be someone’s idea of a joke. As not only were there Big Justice Members running around with your local heroes—who up until this point had only worked with one other group (Quantics) who were Europe-based.

But seeing some guy in black with a bluebird on his chest go head to head with Rena, Miss Sting and a very pissed off Monkey King and Pegasus (since when does he get mad like that? Kid looks like he’s going to end Bluebird) was not a sight you were able to process at the moment. Wonder Woman joining the group was the cherry on top. and Carapace was moving civilians out of the way and sometimes caging them all in Shelter.

You also catch an enraged Chat Noir and Ryuuko tearing after some fashion disaster in a cape down the street. A cape for godsake. In broad daylight. Green Lantern was flying after them, and since when does Chat’s suit… move? Like, you’re pretty sure that’s not normal… at all.

Ryuuko and Fashion Disaster (FD for short) are sword fighting. Chat is attacking FD at any opening. Viperion is with them, sometimes shouting directions. Green Lantern seems to be keeping the fight from spilling over.

A check on the Miraculous News App shows pics of Fashion Disaster trying to get too close to the baker’s daughter. You know, the one that kind of slips the heroes snacks and is seen with Chat randomly at her balcony? The one you’re 30% sure he’s crushing on and in some war with Ryuuko for the heart of. Why else would the two be seen so often around it?—Akuma school is across the street.

You blink a few times when you realize that baker’s daughter is visibly scared of FD (and you’d be too if a random Mask with a sword showed up) and apparently had Bunnix with her at the time to help move faster.

That meant whatever happened in another time had to be bad…

Bunnix mentioned that in the world where she went Princess Justice there wasn’t much to stop her…

You can see why the team is a tad… okay, really overzealous. You’re pretty sure Chat tried to cataclysm FD after Ryuuko sent him flying with the air attack.

You manage to get a better view (For the People! and not to mock the villain later—no siree!) of the Bluebird fight. Dude gets taken down by a combination of things in short sucession—Monkey King landing a hit with his power, Wonder Woman’s lasso (through a portal—good on you Pegasus!) that he got pulled through, a flute to the head by Best Girl Rena, and paralyzed by your favorite striped heroine.

The take down shocked FD and Green Lantern caged the guy (teen? Kid? They look small.) and moved them over by Wonder Woman and her group, some of whom dispersed to recharge.

Never claim Bruce is not a dedicated parent. The best? He hopes not. The worst? He has met Stephanie’s parents, and he is far from them. And Cas’s. And he knows he’s not as bad as Rah’s. He is dedicated (and a serial adopters, but shhh). How does he know this?

He managed to reactivate his kid’s trackers and noted where they intersected and looked into properties, deeds, and children in the school across from the bakery Stephanie and Cass had taken to camping out in when not at their hotel rooms. So far, he narrowed down his daughter to three possible candidates—Mireille Caquet, Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Laura Pretre. The only three girls in the age range he suspects Ladybug is in (he paid attention to the early videos and crossed her references, videogames and knowledge of the teens’ involved (re: knowing their names before the class became an akuma gold mine). They are also the only three from his candidate pool who were adopted or single mother of the right age to have caught his younger self’s attention—a few interviews of the heroes let slip that Ladybug’s parents and her team’s parents are unaware of what they do, and her vicious support for child support and adoptive parents in a few akuma instances gave credit to her belonging to one of those two groups.

It was between Marinette and Laura in his opinion—they both ran a fashion boutique online. Mireille was a model the two shared, but still a possibility.

Jason was helped him narrow it down—a consolation for being stuck in bed and not allowed on patrol for the night. Apparently he was also trying to call off the identity search in-person to prevent any accidental identity reveals and prevent further stressing of “Lady Bat”.

Bruce may have smiled at the nickname. He doubted his daughter would appreciate it, but nicknames had a strange habit of sticking if Jason gave it… for better or worse in Tim’s case. (He was glad that Replacement was replaced with Tiny Tim, Timbo and Timmy).

He also noted that the girls were intent on Gabriel Agreste being Hawkmoth… and had a strange obsession with his relationship to Mayura given their search histories. Tim was still deciding between designers, and he did note that Marinette ranked highly on there… which was both a relief and terrifying.

That meant everyone but his daughter’s “business conduct supervisor” (Adrien Agreste, only son of Gabriel Agreste, primary candidate as Hawkmoth) had been akumatized and someone she had to personally fight while they hurled who knew what at her. He doubted it was good for her mental health. (Not that he has much room to talk, but still.)

Damian and Dick were refusing to respond to his messages, and likely engaged in something.

Until Green Lantern lit up his screen with a pained look. “Bats, this is not what I meant by get your house in order.”

The view panned to Nightwing and Robin currently held by a very pissed off Wonder Woman. With Chat Noir glaring at Robin, something off with his suit.

Batman sighed deeply. “I told you those two weren’t responding since Robin returned with Red Hood last night.”

Green Lantern looked at someone off screen, clearly taking commands from them.

“Uh, yeah… We’re having Supergirl get the other three back Stateside. Miss Sting and Chat want to interrogate these two since Robin was caught around a civilian they keep an eye on.”

Batman could hear what wasn’t being said. Robin went to talk to Ladybug’s civilian identity and it blew up in his face.

“… are any of you allowed to be present to monitor the interrogation?”

He doubted the teens would get violent. (he hoped) but there were too many unknowns.

A hiss from Chat Noir ended his ‘not likely to get violent’ train of thought. His one of his sons was caught stalking their leader, who he has previously tried to kill, and another aimed a gun at a member of their team. Violence was on the table.

And he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“Ladybug will choose who comes.”

Robin looked up at him from the background. “Permission to ask Father a question?”

There was a moment when everyone turned to the figure off screen, likely Miss Sting given Ladybug’s refusal to be in the Justice League’s presence.

Robin turned back to the screen, Hal moving closer to give him a better view of Robin. HE was largely unbruised on his face and his breathing was even. Positive indicators.

“Am I allowed to unmask?”

Batman froze. Jason looked up from his spot. He could feel Babs choking on something in shock.

Hal and Diana reacted somehow, but they weren’t in screen.

He meant to do this far later. When she adjusted. To her alone, and later let her team know. ease them into it—there was no knowing one of their identities without knowing the rest. Not with how Ladybug’s mind worked. And he doubted she kept many secrets from her team.

“…I am not opposed to it. Preferably keep it to those you trust with that knowledge alone.”

Robin nodded. “Understood Father.”

When Ladybug showed up, she could feel everyone’s eyes on her. She ignored it as best she could, especially the silent Nightwing and Robin… possible assassins. Sent by her biological father who never even met her. it was going to be a long plan execution (and gods, she still needed to double check on the Hawkmoth as Gabriel theory and work out how to remove him from the company without screwing over a decent chunk of the fashion industry workers from design, store front to manufacturers and suppliers. And emotional whiplash of Hawkmoth trying to kill his own son twice. And the times he tried to manipulate her into Princess Justice and have it Stick in the timeline).

All it took was one look at Pegasus. One look and she blocked all the other issues swimming in her mind.

“Ah, we’re going there then… It’s a good thing Cowboy is resting for the moment…” Pegasus shook his head. “Voyage!”

Ladybug looked them over.

“Chat, Miss Sting, Rena, and Pegasus, I need you with me. The rest of you, patrol or return to civilian life until I return. If you come across an akuma, jar them. Contact us if you need a fix only.”

Carapace nodded, looking over at Kim and Alix. “We won’t let you down.”

Ladybug nodded, her eyes narrowing at the two League members present. She was still debating contacting the ‘only in an emergency do you contact this rogue branch’ group… they were once lead by a Chat Noir candidate, or still were… she wasn’t clear on that detail. What she did know is they went by League of Shadows in the book, but it was noted they favored violent forms of destruction, and she wasn’t sure if they needed that method… didn’t want them to need it either.

But the book stated the Amazons were loyal to Ladybugs. “Wonder Woman, please ensure the Bats are out of my city before we return.”

“Of course Ladybug.”

She turned to the Green Lantern. A shakier alliance with the lanterns historically, but also known to tell the Ghosts of Gotham off, and so far he’s shown a high favor of her team’s stance over his technical ally’s. Perhaps a personal grudge, or maybe the Justice League operated more like Gabriel’s company—a chain of command, specific roles somewhat dependent on each other, and no one had to like one another…

Wonder Woman was better to ensure the Bats left.

Green Lantern was the one holding Robin in his ring. And his “Core” as the book said, was most responsive to Ladybug who didn’t hesitate to protect others and themselves at once. That they showed a level of comradery during times when the Order followed philosophies that could be linked the idea of “personal and individual impact upon others with one’s actions and choice” was the exact wording.

She hoped she was doing this right.

“Green Lantern, if you would be so kind as to come with us and bring Murder Robin? You are free to roam once we get there, but don’t try to locate where on earth we are then. It’s the one place Hawkmoth hasn’t been able to reach, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Green Lantern and Robin both agreed readily.

Nightwing looked like he really wanted to argue. A lot.

Wonder Woman somehow kept him from speaking as they left.

Marinette could finally breath when they entered the Temple. She wasn’t able to bring back the Guardians. She could bring back their scrolls, the library, the training rooms. It also meant they were far from Paris, from Hawkmoth’s reach, and that now the real plan had to be put in action… how to keep the bats out of Paris and her secret identity a secret. (Hawkmoth could wait. She needed time to work that out, and once she was sure, once the nagging doubt and what ifs stopped plaguing her… then she’d look for that solution… maybe Adrien could inherit early or they could arrange for his father to be caught committing tax fraud or something after getting Nooroo and Duusuu? Anything to ensure he was punished for his actions and that Adrien isn’t caught in the crossfire. She can’t lose the literal other half of her soul. She just. Can’t.)

Ladybug paused when she looked over Chat. His suit was… moving. Shadows were moving on his suit. That. That can’t be good.

“Chat, bring Murder Robin somewhere he can’t find a weapon, Miss Sting, make sure no one attacks anyone in any way, am I clear?”

Miss Sting gave a curt Nod while Chat hissed, but relented easily enough.

Green Lantern put a hand on her shoulder while Pegasus ran off to the library, likely to check up on his own additions to the place… bringing it into the twenty-first century was not easy.

“Going to check-in with what’s going on with your Cat?”

Ladybug glanced at him. “He’s my partner.”

“Pretty sure that’s what a Black cat is for a Ladybug,” Green Lantern said.

Ladybug didn’t respond, moving away from him and Rena to message Alix to find out what shadows have to do with the Black Cat… and if she needs to worry about a second Atlantis event.

------------

so things are happening because Mari is Smart Strategist, Protect Mari Squad is a force to be reckoned with (teen superheros love local baker daughter that gives them food and lets them hang out), Kubdels Know Their Timelines (Sort of) and Wonder Woman and Hal know better than pissing of a Ladybug while Bruce is off Suffering and Putting Shit Together.

and yeah, Damian is both the one who started this, and the one that Marinette wants to confront, (plus respects her secret ID rights unlike Certain Bats who made it a competition) so he gets First Meet rights in the way None Of Them Wanted.

anyone who wants to add to the madness, feel free to comment possible things and i'll see what sticks and doesn't.

fight scenes are Not My Best so i tried where I could (Sorry to batfam fans who wanted Dick to be Badass. he's up against Diana and four miraculous members directly PLUS carapace 'i am locking you into this space now' shelter? he's good but its Wonder Woman and five demi-god level heroes raised on adapt and overcome heroing. long battle but he was going to lose.) Damian's fight is left up to interpretation but Team-Work makes the Dream Work for this story.

@heldtogetherbysafetypins @laurcad123 @raisuke06 @chaosace@jeminiikrystal @toodaloo-kangaroo @kris-pines04 @bisha43rbs @izang

#maribat #bio!dad bruce #marinette did not sign up for this #part 8 #long post #how does one tag?#ml au #my writing #my fic

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occasionalfics · 4 years

Text

touch every star (1)

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ao3 | next

Pairing: Thor X Cinderella!Reader AU

A/N: So for whatever reason, I kind of finished this fic and then never ever shared it? Apparently I started writing this in November and never did anything with it, which is a shame because I actually really like it? So now I’m just going through, rereading to edit, and I’m giving y’all a treat since I can’t really remember the last time I actually posted a fic. Hope everyone likes it!

And seeing as how this is the first fic I’ve posted in a LONG time, I’m still not keeping up a taglist. I believe there’s a way for you to get notified when I post, should you want to do that.

Warnings: Lots of angst, a really, really shitty boss, but overall this is probably the most pure fic I’ve ever written?

Words: 2,960

She couldn’t believe she’d done it. After a full day of itemized lists of tasks way out of her paygrade, she’d finally finished them all. The blisters on her heels from her uncomfortable but required shoes would serve as a reminder that, for once, she’d managed to meet her boss’s ridiculous standards to a T.

Mr. Sitwell, the head of Accounting, was a ruthless, selfish man that everyone had warned Y/N about before she’d taken the job, but it paid more than the entry level HR job she’d taken when she’d first started. Four months later and, for the first time, she’d finally finished a list Sitwell had given her during work hours.

Only, when she looked at the clock on her desk, she realized that it definitely was not work hours. Well past 8pm. The office was dark and deserted except for her and the rustling of paperwork on her desk - her secretarial desk - was the only noise now that she stood still.

“Fuck,” she muttered, shutting her eyes. “God- Fuck that guy.”

When she opened her eyes, she looked up at Sitwell’s office. The door was closed, the lights shut off, even his computer was off for the night. Y/N was the last one in the office and she hadn’t even noticed. Three hours had gone by since she’d spoken to a human. Three hours of time she was sure Sitwell was going to dock her for.

She’d started working at Stark Industries because she’d heard Mr. Stark offered great benefits to his employees, and while she was technically one of them, Jasper Sitwell was directly above her. He was the worst kind of middleman, and to add insult to injury, he was the worst kind of boss.

His words echoed in her head as she thought about going higher, letting someone from her old department about his mistreatment.

I might not be Stark rich, but I have money. I have power. I have more here than you’ll ever have. I’d watch who you speak to if I were you.

Maybe she didn’t have an amazing job or a high position, but she had money she needed to support herself. She couldn’t do anything, at that moment, to risk the job and lose her income.

She was not going to move back home.

And rent was so god damn expensive.

Pursing her lips, she sighed to herself before gathering the papers on her desk into one pile. None of it was going home with her, now that she’d finished it all. She’d divy it up in the morning and give it to the right people when she could think straight again.

She pulled the strap of her purse up onto her shoulder and left the office, making sure to put in Sitwell’s code to lock it up.

The building was eerily silent around her. There were hundreds of offices from lobby to penthouse, and yet, the loudest sounds Y/N picked up on all came from outside. She was left with the horns of cars on the crowded New York streets and not much else as she waited for the elevator.

It wasn’t the first time she’d stayed this late. Just the first time she’d finished the whole list. Hopefully that would mean Sitwell would leave her alone first thing tomorrow morning, or at least acknowledge that she’d done every little thing he’d asked. Not likely, but she could hope anyway.

Somewhere down the hallway, someone moved. Their shadow followed them under the LED lights lining the hallway. Stark Tower wasn’t like most other office buildings she’d been in - instead of harsh fluorescents, every room was lit with either natural light during the day or LED bulbs after the sun went down. Normally, most people were gone before the lights went on.

Not Y/N. Not tonight.

And, apparently, not the person approaching her from down the hall.

They stopped beside her just before the elevator made it to their floor. She looked at them through the corner of her vision.

He was tall. Taller than she was, even in her heels. Taller than Sitwell for sure. And where her boss was bald and wore glasses, this man had perfectly styled dirty blonde hair and small but expressive eyes. She couldn’t see their hue from her position.

“Late night?” she heard herself asking the man. She hadn’t even known she’d had it in her to talk to a stranger after work hours, but apparently, him working on the same floor as her was enough to bridge whatever gap was between them.

He nodded as the elevator doors opened, then he held out an arm to signal he wanted her to go in before him. “Unfortunately, yes,” he said.

His voice was deep, a little tired, but not impolite. He sounded as attractive as he looked, and now that he was coming toward her, she got a better idea of just how handsome he was.

He was...like a God. Gorgeous. Sculpted. In a tan suit just a few shades darker than his golden skin. Eyes as blue as lightning, offset by a crisp white t-shirt under the blazer.

“Me too,” she whispered when he turned to stand next to her. The doors shut and the elevator descended.

They’d gone down a few floors before he turned to face her and asked, “If it’s alright, why’re you here so late?”

She hesitated, mostly because she couldn’t think of a reason as to why it wouldn’t be okay for him to ask. Other than him being a total stranger, of course.

But he was a Stark employee. A high ranking one if she was guessing based on his suit and shoes. He had to be safe, right? At least for a brief elevator ride?

“My boss left me a list of things he needed done today or else,” she said. Anything more might be...too much for tonight. “He’s very particular.”

The man nodded. “Sounds to me like he’s got a stick up his arse.”

She couldn’t not laugh at that, the sound reverberating around the elevator. He smiled, too, as if in reaction to her.

“You’re not wrong,” she told him, fighting not to roll her eyes. When she shifted her bag a bit, she stood taller and said, “It’s only fair that if you got to ask, I do too.”

The dinging of the passing floors was only a mild distraction while the man rolled his neck, stretching his arms up so they didn’t collide with her. “My boss is also a stickler for finishing tasks, it seems. But he, at least, still hasn’t left the building.” He chuckled at that, like she was supposed to be in on some kind of joke at his boss’s expense.

All she did was smile, since she didn’t know who his boss was.

“Bosses suck,” she offered.

He nodded again. “That they do.”

Neither of them thought of anything else to say, apparently. The elevator counted down each floor, and they both stared ahead at the doors, as if they were both suddenly desperate to get out.

She couldn’t say what had shifted between them, but now she felt it was too late to start up another conversation. She could have asked him his name or what office he actually worked in, but something in her head stopped her.

Something like the voice of the narrator on one of those late night crime shows her roommate Nat liked to watch. Some irrational fear that, suddenly, this man would hurt her because the sun was down and she was a lone woman in the great, big world. The voice in her head made her clutch her purse tighter, even though she’d only just been talking to that man like they’d known one another already.

When the elevator came to the lobby, she hurried off first, not even stopping to see if he’d made the same motion he’d made when they’d gotten on. Out of nowhere, her mind was on a single track: to get to the subway and make it home in one piece. The closer she got to the front of the building, the more fidgety she became, which totally prevented her from hearing the man call out to her however he could.

She hadn’t even given him her name. He hadn’t given his, either. And now she was leaving, and sure, maybe they worked on the same floor but he could be anyone. He could work in one of at least fifteen different offices on her floor, and with how much work Sitwell gave her every single day, the chances of finding him again were slim to none.

It didn’t matter, and she knew that. She was no one. She was a secretary, some girl from upstate who’d run away from home and stumbled into something so much bigger than herself. And she was alone that night, so her one-track mind was focused on preservation and survival. The map in her head led to one place: home.

---

Thor had never seen that woman before. He was sure of it. All the balls and galas and S.I. events he’d been to and he had never seen her before. He would’ve remembered her face if he had.

He watched the doors as she scurried out, immediate regret sitting heavy in his stomach. He hadn’t gotten her name, didn’t know who her boss was, hadn’t even seen which office she’d come out of.

He knew what his brother would say: She’s just a girl you met on an elevator. Don’t be a fool.

But Loki wasn’t here. And he wasn’t a fool. There was just...something about this girl. Their conversation had been brief, to say the least, but he liked what he’d gotten. And he wanted more.

He made to follow her out the door, but when he stepped onto the still busy street, she was gone. Gone home on a random Wednesday night, no doubt. It was the normal thing to do.

He headed for the subway, taking the stairs slowly into the belly of the city. The early fall air was cool but not cold - not yet - and down here, it was muggy still. Thor pulled his phone and headphones out of his pocket, tuning into a podcast about old dead Pantheons just because he found it interesting. This was one of Loki’s recommendations, and the reminder always made him smile.

Maybe he and his brother didn’t always get along, but when they did, it was usually over shared knowledge.

His train ride lasted only a few minutes, and he was grateful there were no stops tonight. He’d had a 13 hour workday; one “emergency” went off after another. As the director of Stark security, Thor had to be present for every one of them, despite most of them not being actual emergencies. But he’d handled them all, paperwork and the like included, with as much patience and strength as he could.

Up until the clock had struck a certain time and he’d realized he’d been working for way too long, was way too hungry, and just happened to be the last person in the office. It had been at that exact moment that the weight of the day had fallen on his shoulders, nearly smothering him against his desk in surprise.

So he’d cleaned up and left and...run into that woman. Stunning, she was. A little easy to spook, maybe, which was only confirmed when she’d stopped talking to him and nearly sprinted out of the building; but otherwise, she was lovely and nice. He could hear his mother’s voice in his head, badgering him because he hadn’t even gotten her name, let alone her contact information.

He trudged up the steps to his street with the thought that he might actually never see that girl again. Stark had way too many employees to go off her physical appearance alone, even if she did work on his floor.

As if she knew she’d been thought of at some point that night, his mother rang him the second he walked through his apartment door. Thor couldn’t help but roll his eyes lightly as he answered the call.

“Hello Mother,” he said, turning on a lamp beside his couch. He went right into the kitchen and opened the fridge, leaning down to glance inside.

“Hello my love,” Frigga said back, just like she always did. “It’s been too long since you last called so I figured I’d check in with you.”

Thor nodded, despite being physically alone. He picked up a package of Havarti cheese that was almost empty and said, “I’m sorry, Mom. Work’s been hectic and-”

“That’s what you always say,” she sighed. “I’d say you’re chock full of excuses but you’ve only got the one. At least your brother gets creative from time to time.”

He could hear the smile in her voice, the teasing she usually laid on him coming on thicker than normal. But he knew Loki was closer to their mother than their father, so he knew the dynamic was different and that Frigga would always comment on that, no matter what. It was her duty and her right, she’d say.

“How is Loki, by the way?” Thor asked her, attempting a subject change.

But he knew, as well as anyone that knew Frigga Odinson, that she would not stand for that.

He pulled out a baggie full of whatever leftover cold cuts he had. Knowing he had to use them soon, before they went bad, he put the cheese and meat on the counter, shut the fridge, and got to work on a basic sandwich.

“Absent at the moment,” she answered shortly. “But I called to talk about you. If you want to know more about your brother, call him.”

Again, he chuckled to himself. Her stern but sticky-sweet tone was to be expected.

“Are you just getting home now, dear?” she asked.

“Yes, unfortunately. You called at the perfect time.”

He could hear the smirk in her voice as she said, “Good. As always.” And then he imagined the smirk falling, because her tone took a sharp turn. “You need to take better care of yourself. How do you ever expect to find a wife if you’re so busy at work all the time?”

“Well, the thing is, Mom-”

“Don’t go giving me the ‘I’m not ready’ speech, dear. You tried that already. Seven years ago. Didn’t work then, won’t work now. You’re the director of that office, you should hire a deputy to take some of the load off of your shoulders!”

He’d love to say he was surprised at her interjecting, but he truly, truly wasn’t. Frigga had practically run a part of her husband’s own company, before he’d sold it and gone into retirement, neither of his sons having been deemed worthy to pass it down to.

Not that Loki or Thor were complaining about that. Thor quite liked the job he’d chosen, thank you very much.

He took a bite out of the hastily made sandwich before saying, “I’d have to have time to go through applications and interviews for that, Mom.”

“Oh, nonsense. Tony Stark hired you and he can hire a deputy to work with you even if you’re unable to attend the interviews.”

Thor sighed. This wasn’t a normal conversation with his mother, but she wasn’t aware of every detail on how he’d gotten his position, and he was too tired to get into it. But he did tell her, “Tony and I are old friends. He had an opening for a position I was qualified for - I barely interviewed because he was aware of my credentials. That doesn’t just happen for everyone.”

“You’d be surprised by how aware of that I am, dear,” his mother said, passive aggressive sarcasm dripping from every syllable. She was growing tired of waiting for grandchildren, and even more so as the seconds of this conversation ticked by. “I’m sure there’s someone that could help you, directly or otherwise. You need some time for yourself, or you’re going to end up alone, unhappy, and unfulfilled like your aunt Freyja.”

On a good day, Frigga wasn’t judgmental like that. Apparently, this was not a good day.

“I’d hardly say Freyja’s unfulfilled, Mom. She owns her own company-”

“She makes lingerie for her Instagram store. I wouldn’t call that fabulously successful.”

Thor had nothing else to say. He wasn’t about to get into an argument with his mother, especially not when she was being rather unreasonable. Maybe she was just having an off night, or perhaps she was feeling a particularly nasty bout of Empty Nesters Syndrome - even after more than a decade of living in a house without her children. Either way, he was not about to let her blame him for whatever it was, but he also wasn’t going to tell her off.

He sighed, finishing off his sandwich easily. “I’m sorry, Mom, but I’m really exhausted. If I promise to revisit the deputy idea in the near future, could I possibly say goodnight and talk to you later?”

She hrumphed, but ultimately ceded. “Yes, of course dear. I love you very much.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

She hung up first, as she always did. Thor locked his phone, put what was left of his sandwich supplies away, and headed for his bedroom.

He stripped down, brushed his teeth, and set an alarm for the morning, ignoring the reminder in his head that he didn’t even get that girl’s name before she’d disappeared into New York City. He was in bed before he knew it, and when he shut his eyes, all he saw was her.

#thor fanfic #thor x reader #thor odinson x reader

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