#and this one is maybe not quite as lopsided as its reputation? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wincore · 4 years ago

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youngblood | lee donghyuck

pairing: haechan x reader

words: 9.1k

genre: ‘bad boy’!au, fluff, angst(?)

warnings: language, juvenile crimes (do NOT try shoplifting, speeding and vandalism, kids)

a/n: okay omg i finally got around to editing this and you guys should know by now this au doesn’t mean he’s bad and just.........annoying........... (also it follows troublemaker’s style but like............it might just be my fav troublemaker part aaaa)

The first day you meet Lee Donghyuck, he picks a fight with you. Or you pick a fight with him.

That’s not how the first day of high school should have gone.

It surprised you, just a little, to be toe-to-toe with someone so easily. Did he like picking fights for fun? You looked him up and down, the ink over his forearm meant to be shown and a strange friendliness in his eyes. Not exactly the bully type, you weren’t sure what to make of him. Movies spoil reality when it comes to things like this. Rumors are even worse. You took a slow gulp anyway, Donghyuck’s eyes on you unnerving.

He leaned in slightly to match your height. His tone was lilting and he phrased his words light-heartedly, a pretence you found funny. “I have no interest in you, kid. I’m going to keep it that way.”

“We’re the same age, you know?”

Your reply went unheard. It was just misunderstanding that got you there—you mistook his locker for yours and it’s not your fault you happen to have the same passcode (a little weird though, definitely). Lee Donghyuck said if you were allowed to take what’s his, he should have the same privilege, the word thief at the tip of his tongue. He was a little daunting, you suppose—taller than you were, in all black and several piercings and tattoos poking out on wrists. Maybe it was the undulating rage of being fourteen and at the stage of heavy regret in later years, maybe it was the wariness around strangers. You weren’t quite afraid of him; just that a fight on your first day didn’t seem like a very bright start in a new city. Although you assured him you didn’t touch his stuff, you handed him your bear-shaped keychain. (“You can have this if you want a gift so bad.”)

When Donghyuck laughed, giving it back almost immediately with a cheeky grin—you couldn’t decide whether to let the confusion show on your face.

“Don’t be a pushover, newbie.”

You frowned. “Who’re you calling a pushover?”

You don’t remember the rest of it but you found it very hard to not have mixed feelings about him. You’re trying to have a normal fun high school life for fuck’s sake. You didn’t think he was the awful sort of person—but it was almost as if he was trouble’s very own lovechild. There are better weapons against him than falling into pointless playfights.

Lee Donghyuck. Funny guy.

The school bully image was a lie, no doubt spread by someone more than annoyed with his antics. Of course, Lee Donghyuck either didn’t care or didn’t know, wits always about him like some sort of eccentric defence mechanism.

You admire him in a way, but you wouldn’t be caught dead telling him that.

Lee Donghyuck is popular, full of jokes and fun but a little rough on the edges all the same. But you have to assume he must have some demonic heritage. You could say you have a strange relationship—friends but not. You hate him but don’t. While you’re sure there’s at least a little bit of sunshine hidden beneath those black T-shirts and inked skin, there’s a bit more than hidden sides to young troublemakers—things that don’t involve misunderstanding.

Lee Donghyuck looks like danger. (And danger attracts attention of all kinds, you’d noticed in a few unfortunate heart-eyed classmates.) You’ve seen him in enough fights to have respect for him, making you wonder why he doesn’t join the debate team already. It might have something to do with how his victorious smile gets on everyone’s nerves, the way they groan at Donghyuck’s sudden affections afterward. They don’t hate him—mostly. He’s honest and he knows exactly how to press people. That doesn’t change the innocence in his arrogance or the clear distinction of his spirit.

Of course there are bad people; Donghyuck just isn’t one of them. He just tries too hard to look cool. (“Sunflower,” he’d called you, pulling a face. “I know you’re dense. But maybe start being afraid of me so you don’t ruin my reputation.”)

The sunlight falls against the web of your thumb, your fingers rapidly moving to match the pace of the game on your phone. Five minutes to class, you’ve got nothing better to do.

“What, trying to beat my high score again?” Donghyuck pulls the chair beside you to sit, his arms resting on the desk as he continues to stare at you.

“Believe me, Donghyuck, not everything I do is for you,” you chuckle, tapping on the play again button, catching the look on his face out of the corner of your eye.

Donghyuck looks visibly irked and you think maybe your decision to be so annoyingly passive has been the right one if it bothers him. Ah, but you won’t tell him that. You’re having the time of your life this way.

“Well,” Donghyuck begins but frowns instead. “Whatever.”

It’s not every day you get to win—Donghyuck does get under your skin. You just don’t have to show it. Sometimes his own friends decide they’ve had enough, the classroom shenanigans making you laugh. You don’t want to get started on the chaos that unfurls every time Donghyuck walks into class and straight up picks a fight with anyone in his eyesight—even Jaemin has his “Lee Donghyuck!” moments. Donghyuck is friends with everyone and that means he gets to get on everyone’s nerves.

You smile to yourself thinking of Donghyuck yawning deliberately at Renjun trying to make a point. Call him a demon, call him a disgrace; he knows how to make people laugh.

You pass Red’s diner on your way back home, as usual, the unusual red and white checkers replacing the normal concrete sidewalk by it. It’s always soothed you to see bright colours in this side of the city, the beige and coffee aesthetic far too dominating for its cause—something to keep up with the larger, fancier (more pretentious) metropolises. It’s also the oldest; your friends told you the number of baby pictures everyone has on the wine-coloured couches is, in more appropriate words, fucking astounding.

You wish you’d moved here earlier. The thing about little cities is just that—they’re not all that little. Something everyone seemingly loves to boast about, the romance of a small town and its delicate simplicities. It’s nothing alike. You’d know. You enjoy it more here. You like all the food outlets and stores lining the streets and further up, less congestion and more dog parks—all places you love breezing through in your free time. There’s an amusement park too, a forty-minute drive away into the middle of nowhere and if you’re not mistaken, the city centre has the best clubs and bars. Sunshine drips through every nook and cranny—it’s everything you’d expected a city to be.

You stop in your tracks at the sight of distinct brown curls in the alleyway between buildings. Donghyuck doesn’t seem to be in the best of situations, a tougher, much larger guy shoving him against the wall. They seem to be speaking, and something about Donghyuck’s smile doesn’t give you a good feeling about what’s going to happen.

Before the guy’s fist meets Donghyuck’s cheek, you yell, two pairs of eyes shifting focus to you. You feel your heartbeat quicken, Donghyuck raising his eyebrow and shooting you a confused look.

“Don’t- don’t hurt him,” you say, cursing at the meekness of your voice.

The larger man laughs, a sound like nails on a chalkboard and you cringe. Donghyuck mouths at you to get away but immediately shuts up when the man turns to him again.

“You got a little lover come here to protect you?” he says, looking at Donghyuck with amusement.

“No, that’s not—”

“I hate little brats like you,” he huffs, shoving Donghyuck once more, this time a little harder. He lets out a pained whine, eyes squeezing shut as he drops on his knees.

You take a hesitant step back when the man makes his way to you, blood rushing to your ears when he raises his hand. Your arms go up by instinct and you’re met with a hard push, falling to the ground with a whimper.

You’re picked up by the collar, struggling to not let fear show on your face.

“Tell your boyfriend to stop messing around my store, okay, sweetheart?” he threatens, voice lower.

With that, he drops you and leaves, the adrenaline in you not quite down yet.

“Donghyuck?” you call, worried as you spot him lying still in the alleyway. You’re about to get up and go to him when he responds, whimsical as ever.

“I’m okay!” He raises his hand with a peace sign and you sigh, annoyed.

“Really?! What were you even doing?”

“I ate some cookies for free, big deal,” he says before he suddenly raises his head with a lopsided grin. “Is sunflower worried about me?”

You groan, dusting yourself as you get up and walk over to him. You throw him a light kick at the side to which he whines overdramatically and scrunches his face into something pained. Lee Donghyuck could be hit by a bus and he’d play it off with fingers guns and eyebrow wiggling.

“Become a chainsaw-juggler or something if you want to do something dangerous,” you complain, “And get up!”

Donghyuck wrinkles his nose. “As always, you have such boring ideas.”

He does get up the next moment, although with a large show of holding his back and several whines about near-death experiences as if he’s not the one bringing it upon himself. You’re sure his back is bruised but he doesn’t acknowledge it as anything more than a joke. There’s also a gash on his cheek he must have received earlier. It’s no surprise he has a fresh batch of wounds—you think he spends more time in the nurse’s office than in actual classes.

“Why do you pick fights with people clearly stronger than you?” you grumble as he dusts himself off.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me,” Donghyuck says, straightening, “I would’ve got out of this pretty clean without you.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure thing.”

Donghyuck frowns, a huff leaving his mouth.

“I don’t mean to brag but that guy would have been running for his life if you hadn’t butt in,” he shrugs, trying to sound less ruffled.

You laugh at his expression, forgetting about your bruised arms for a moment.

“You should treat me,” you say, the thought passing your head. You don’t have change and you’re really craving some strawberry milk.

He scoffs. “For what?”

“For saving you.”

You expected a retort, at least. Donghyuck pauses for a moment before a worrying grin floats up on his face. “Sure. Come with me.”

You narrow your eyes at him but follow nonetheless, walking side by side. The sunlight makes his skin glow, the hue on his cheeks perfect were it not for the dried blood from the gash. His eyes shine when he smiles, mischief or not, when he’s telling you about how you should try vandalism and robbery sometimes, they’re pretty fun. It’s a Donghyuck trait—to be able to live like this and still call it fun. You look at his lips once and immediately look away. What a silly thought. They’re regrettably pretty, though, despite being busted often. The sun has been kind to Donghyuck, with the colour of his skin full and the confidence you’d only find in someone made of sun flares.

So that’s why.

You stare at the motorbike parked at a clearly No Parking area, the metallic red gleaming under the late afternoon sun. You’ve never been on one before but something tells you Donghyuck would traumatise you far too much to try again. You cannot agree to get on that.

“Hop on,” he instructs.

You hesitate. “Where are we going?”

“To the centre, of course.” He smiles brightly. “There’s a bunch of bakeries and eateries over there.”

“You can just buy me some strawberry milk from a vending machine around.”

“Well, I forgot my wallet,” he says, looking up to think, “I left it at my job.”

You furrow your eyebrows, not believing a word. It’s Lee Donghyuck after all, the opposite of predictable, and arguing with him will only cost you your breath.

“A motorbike and no leather jacket?” You smile, regaining your composure. “I mean, not everyone can pull off the leather jacket, of course.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes overstatedly. “I don’t expect you to be smarter but stereotypes? Wow.”

You do get on the bike, however, with some pushing on Donghyuck’s side. More importantly, you somehow don’t end up traumatised despite what you supposed. It felt good, wind in your hair and although your legs were stuck to the sides of the bike like glue, you found yourself enjoying the scene around you speeding by. The fact that Donghyuck can be careful was beyond your knowledge and understanding.

The buildings are a little taller here and while you’ve been here before, the sight never fails to make your heartbeat quicken. There’s something inevitably calling about this place. You’d love to explore when there are nightlights around each corner.

“Your wallet?” you remind Donghyuck.

Donghyuck feigns surprise, gasping. “Right! It was in my pocket. But I have no money.”

“What? We came all the way here for nothing?!”

“No. I have a plan.” Donghyuck grins, pointing towards the pretty glass door of the bakery across the street.

“Oh no,” you say quietly as the realization dawns, “We’re not stealing.”

“Then you came all the way here for nothing.”

You sigh heavily into your hands as Donghyuck tries to sweeten his grin, clearly trying to convince you.

“You really don’t have to be this annoying, you know that?”

“It’s a choice,” he says, pulling a face, “And I do it because I excel at it, thank you very much.”

You reluctantly follow Donghyuck into the bakery, people bustling in and out, mostly for their fix of evening coffee or tea. There are photo frames around pictures of coffee beans, tea leaves and pastries, all against a soft orange wallpaper. It’s not as small as it looked from outside, you realize, with its capacity for people quite enough. The smell of chocolate is predominant, hazelnut and coffee wafting in from the left side.

“Free samples!” Donghyuck gasps, before turning to whisper to you, “You know we can try one of each, right? That saves us some trouble.”

You’d be lying if his lips so close to your ears didn’t make you jump a little. You take short steps behind him as he eagerly walks to the counter.

“Ah, is this a new type?” Donghyuck asks, beaming at the woman behind the counter. She raises an eyebrow at the ear piercings and tattoos, gracing him with a smile nonetheless.

While he’s engaged in conversation, you stare at the two of them confused till you’re met with a light kick at your foot. You give Donghyuck a dirty look, who keeps pointing towards the samples with his hands under the counter.

“You’re supposed to shove some into your bag, you know?” he leans in to whisper, exasperated, when the lady leaves to enter the pantry.

“Well, how was I supposed to know, genius?” you shoot back, crossing your arms.

Donghyuck looks around nervously before taking a few of the tarts and carefully placing them in your bag.

“Don’t move too much or you’ll crush them,” he warns in a hush.

The woman returns again, with a warmer smile and Donghyuck goes back to his clever, silver-tongued words. He’s so awful, you think. But you can’t deny the exhilaration in your chest, a giddy feeling of doing the wrong thing in a way that feels right.

You end up having the free samples afterward, pretending to contemplate buying as the woman looks at the two of you expectantly. It’s delicious, sweet chocolate manipulating your taste buds to want another bite almost immediately after you’re done.

“We do offer couple discounts, too!” she says, beaming.

There it is again, the unsettling implications—accusations almost. Since when do the two of you look like a couple? You’re obviously too young to be looking the sort of way most lovers do and where the fuck do they see any love anyway?

“Uh,” Donghyuck begins but can’t seem to form a sentence.

Before either of you can say anything, the woman is called by another customer and you look at each other at the same time.

“We should go,” he says, quickly, “before they realize we’re not buying anything.”

You nod and sneak out of the shop as quickly as you walked in, Donghyuck suddenly picking up the pace till you’re at least a few blocks away.

“You’re so slow,” Donghyuck teases, laughing when you reach him, out of breath. He adjusts his shirt, dark as always, such that it doesn’t stick out of his pants awkwardly anymore. The tattoos on his left arm catch your eye, muscles beneath flexing as his moves his arm, a strange pattern of ink. You don’t think they’re real if you’re being honest—that field of sunflowers. They’re too pretty.

You’re so annoying, you think, despite the smile forming on your face as you follow him down the lane.

What a frustrating personality, the thought crosses you at night, as you kick away the blanket at your feet. He ended up paying for some ice cream at a nearby shop anyway, right after you’d finished having your stolen goods by the dog park. He said summer needs some ice and he’ll oblige just this once with whatever few notes he has left. (“Summer just ended, idiot.” “I can’t hear you.”) The first bite had immediately given him brain freeze, a whine escaping his lips as he held his head in an attempt to soothe it. You found it cute—yes, cute, a terrible choice of words for him. It doesn’t mean anything, you tell yourself. It’s almost within his personality to intrude upon your thoughts like this—gods, you hate even the letters of his name that form so easily in front of your eyes.

The buzz from your phone gives you a fright as you quickly open it to two texts from Donghyuck. You adjust the brightness before you read it, your heartbeat embarrassing you at its rate.

demon child, 11:36 PM

btw today wasn’t a treat you still have to pay me

food is expensive you know

You smile. A part of you warns you shouldn’t.

demon child, 11:37 PM

or you can pay for next time

Your smile drops. Next time? What is this, a date? You shake your head instinctively. Like you’d make it out alive of a date with Lee Donghyuck.

you, 11:37 PM

sure thing little stingy man

demon child, 11:38 PM

wow that was fast do you like me or something

You roll your eyes. You might have really decked Donghyuck in the jaw in another timeline, where you knew how to deck someone in the jaw.

You feel a certain static in your heart, hoping you’re mistaken as you respond to his texts for the rest of the night. Lee Donghyuck needs to have the last word all the time, and you lose count of how many times you huff, only giving in when the tiredness in your eyes seeps to the rest of your body.

You think you smile in your sleep that night but you can’t be sure.

The thing about bad days is that you notice nothing outside of them when you’re having them—but you forget you ever even had them when you’re not.

You end up at school with a lack of will to pay attention to classes. It’s well into the semester, and that means it’s time for you to get to some serious studying, except, well, you can’t. You’re decent at academics—or so you’d like to think. You’re average at best and there’s a nagging thought eating away at your brain at a painfully slow rate.

The college application deadlines are near.

It doesn’t help to be second and third best at almost everything. You nod along to everything Jihyun is saying; really, he aces every subject without trying. His words aren’t exactly…encouraging. You thought his notes would be your ticket to a dream college except he’s not quite the person you should be asking help from.

You’re suddenly not sure about all the friendly competitions you’re running.

You’re starting to feel too worked up these days, worry tugging at the back of your head every moment. It’s lonely when your friends are busy with their own struggles so you stay quiet. You’re a big kid, you tell yourself, you got this.

Except you really don’t.

“Woah,” Donghyuck interrupts you and Jihyun. “You look like you used the dryer on the wrong setting.”

Sometimes, it’s really not the best of situations to have your seat beside Donghyuck. You glare at him, keeping your notebook on the table with a loud ‘SLAM!’ You turn your head to find him smiling. Oh, he better not start now.

“Ah, (name),” he says, grinning, “what’s got you so upset today?”

“Nothing,” you insist, trying your best to control your scowl.

It’s been two weeks since you ‘hung out’ (committed minor crimes) at the bakery. Your friendly bickering since then has been not-so-friendly, you think with a grimace. He’s been getting under your skin—not a favourable thing when you’re against Lee Donghyuck.

“(name).”

You look up to see Jihyun, almost always devoid of any emotion behind the eyes—even if he’s smiling.

“The notes you asked for,” he says, keeping the notes on your table and turning around, almost as if he’s glad to be rid of conversation.

“Oh, and,” Jihyun turns back around. “If you’re hoping to get into any college at all, I hope you keep the right company.”

There’s contempt in his voice and your eyes trail to Donghyuck’s, a little confused if not bothered. You shouldn’t be surprised to find him grinning, laughing almost. You think Donghyuck’s confidence is a good substitute for a leather jacket.

“Hey, come on now.” Donghyuck leans back in his seat, smiling like a kid. You wonder where all that sunshine’s coming from. “Are you still mad about me beating you at that MUN thing?”

Jihyun smiles. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I wasn’t referring to you, of course. And there’s worse things you’ve done.”

Your teacher walks in, drawing everyone’s attention instead as they scurry back to their seats. Donghyuck’s eyes linger on you for a second longer, his face blanched before he turns away and rests his chin on his palm. You think you weren’t supposed to steal so many glances at him throughout the class.

The day somehow manages to draw energy out of you even further. Worries aside, Jihyun’s been strangely demanding—are you even that close? Should he be asking you to bring things this way? Should he be making you run errands? You’re so close to losing it before you realize you can’t. He’s helping you, sort of. You groan into your hands during break, ignoring Donghyuck’s eyebrow raise from beside you. It’s unfair and while you’re sure it’s all light-hearted, you have another name to curse when you run into a problem. Ah, the scorn of high school kids is truly incomparable.

You almost sigh in relief at the last ring of the bell for the day, getting up a little too enthusiastically. You get some admonishment from the teacher at that but you forget once you’ve reached the gates, almost running out faster than your friends. They let you go with a laugh, your desire to get home and take a nap triumphing every other thing on your mind. Some days are meant to be forgotten.

Cursed as you are, you bump into Donghyuck a few blocks from the bus stop. He adjusts the collar of his plaid shirt in a hurry, the black T-shirt underneath so worn out, you wonder how many years he’s been wearing that. The symbol on his baseball cap is probably related to a demon cult, you think. It being related to a metal band is also a possibility.

“(name),” he says, grinning. “What a coincidence.”

“Don’t pick a fight now, demon,” you huff before he can continue.

“I didn’t even say anything.” He raises his arms defensively. “Yet.”

You have the intense desire to punch him. When did the tables turn to this? Weren’t you supposed to be the calm one?

“You had fun running errands for President Snob?” he snickers.

“Well, I didn’t want to,” you say, your shoulders dropping, annoyed as you are. It makes you a little upset for something to affect you that much. You wish you were like the kids who barely cared about things like college applications, enjoying life either way. You wish you didn’t have this strange pretence of a person you are. You wish you were like Donghyuck.

There’s a pause.

“Come on. Don’t let anyone push you around like that.” His voice comes off as exasperated. Donghyuck isn’t the kind of person to let worry show.

You look up, a little surprised. Before you can open your mouth, he cuts you off.

“There’s some festival going on at the centre,” he says with a shrug. “Lots of food trucks. Wanna come?”

You furrow your eyebrows, a frown taking shape over your lips.

“Stealing off others doesn’t exactly make me feel good about myself,” you say, hugging yourself. As fun as the adrenaline rush was, it’s better to stick to morals, whatever they may be.

“I’ll pay,” he says, his smile incredulous. “I promise.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, you got a credit card lying around somewhere?”

“Nope,” he responds, rolling his eyes. “No credit card. Don’t believe in money.”

“Then how do you plan on paying?” you ask, frustrated.

“Trust me,” he whispers, urging you to follow him.

It turns out Donghyuck happens to know every food outlet in the city and also happens to have been kicked out of half of them, which is oddly impressive. He’s also worked several jobs in local eateries, the old ladies more than fond of him. (“Who wouldn’t find my charming smile adorable?”)

“You hobgoblin,” you exclaim, huffing. His story about vandalism on the bleachers shouldn’t have been as amusing, or endearing, for that matter.

“According to our lovely folklore, hobgoblins can warm your heart,” he replies, as-a-matter-of-factly.

“That is definitely not true. You just have to respond with something, don’t you?”

“And what of it?”

A (surprisingly) within-speed-limits bike ride away, you end up in a flurry of colours and crowds—you gasp at the large line of food trucks lining the pathway leading to the people’s square. You’ve never seen this before, looking from place to place. A lot of them look like they’ve come from pretty far.

At the square, there are wooden stalls of food out for trial by the people, shopkeepers encouraging the few tourists there are to try the local food. You spot various fishcakes, dumplings and street toast with glimpses of strawberry and banana milk decorating the stands in between. There are old upbeat songs playing through the speakers attached to the electricity poles, faint enough to be drowned out by crowds but loud enough to enjoy a little dance to. You didn’t realize you were smiling till you turned around to see an amused look on Donghyuck’s face.

Time only seems to fly—like when you’re done with your favourite song and it just wasn’t long enough so you hit repeat. The truth is, a song is barely four minutes—and yet you feel like you saw a movie, a story in it; so very curious because you were so sure it was too short.

Donghyuck walks side by side with you to where his bike is parked. (You wonder if he ever travels without it. Gas isn’t exactly cheap.) There’s little distance between the two of you, something neither of you seems to notice. You bite into the sugar candy, the sudden crack sound in the quiet lane making the two of you laugh despite the surge of sugar on your tongue. You forget what you were talking about.

“Why do you even steal, Donghyuck?” You ask softly. You paid for some food today, some were free samples and mostly, there was nothing illegal involved. Donghyuck didn’t particularly want to cause trouble either. You don’t want to be a bad judge of character.

“Because I can.”

What an expected answer. Is there anything Donghyuck can’t do?

“Don’t you feel bad?” You raise an eyebrow. He’s always been so confusing, but when he starts to make sense, you feel like you should’ve seen it that way in the first place.

“Are you talking about our sweet bakery? You really think a company as big as theirs would notice some free samples are missing?” Donghyuck says, making a face. “In a city no one cares about?”

You don’t say anything, puffing your left cheek in contemplation.

“Look, I could spend the rest of my life looting as much as my arms could carry and I would never be able to make my crimes pose even the smallest threat to a single shitty millionaire.” Donghyuck waves his hands about in a gesture that implies indifference.

You suppose he’s right, walking up to him and continuing your journey up.

“I’m not justifying myself,” he says, voice softer, shoulders relaxed. “Stealing’s bad. Other people are affected. I know. It’s just that I like having more choices than they give us. We should try everything we can, you know?”

Is that why he’s always up to something? Flitting from club to club in school, running around the entire city like it’s his own?

He shakes himself immediately, cringing. “Ah. Ew. I can’t believe you’re getting to my head, sunflower. Yuck. You’re ruining me. Did I just monologue?”

“Oh, okay.” You cross your arms. “That’s my fault now. It’s a good thing to be honest, asshole.”

“La, la, la.” Donghyuck puts his fingers in his ears, sticking out his tongue. “Can’t lecture me if I can’t hear you.”

You punch his shoulders, his laugh accompanying the evening blooming in full colours above you as you forget you’re already on your journey back.

You reach Red’s before nightfall, a sort of pitstop for kids like you when it’s time to go home before the night soaks into you. Donghyuck feels lighter in his chest as he enters, the jingling pleasant and the smell of waffles even more so. He just can’t believe you’re the reason he’s here.

“Obviously, we’re going for chocolate waffles,” he says, crossing his arms.

The tables outside are better than the stuffy humid air inside. Donghyuck’s complaining didn’t let you take even a step inside.

“We just ate,�� you reason, your eyebrows furrowed. “And honey is always better!”

“Eh, what do you know?” he says, resting his elbow against the table. “I was raised in this diner, newbie.”

“Yeah, you and a million other rats.”

He presses his tongue against his cheek to stop the smile, although he reckons he’s doing a terrible job of it.

Get yourself together, one voice pipes up in his head.

Or say it. Ask them out. Yeah, the other voice is a piece of shit. That’s not going to work out.

Donghyuck didn’t realize he’d fallen silent, a daze over his eyes. He blinks a few time to regain focus, the peach hue across your cheeks coming to his attention. It’s adorable, if he could just reach out and place his palm against your cheek, just lean over the table and—

Fuck. No way.

“Stop staring at me like some sleaze,” you huff, eyes flickering between him and the table.

“Why would I stare at you?” he retorts, resisting the heat on his face. “You’re not that pretty.”

“Right,” you say, rolling your eyes as you hold your arm.

The lights lining the eaves flicker on almost at the same time, the sky still in transitionary lilac and you look up with your lips parted, something akin to curiosity in your eyes. Pretty. It could just be the reflection of the lights though—Donghyuck’s not exactly the poetic type. He wants to curl his lips at the notion, but it’s not very smart to have all his thoughts show up on his face.

“Can we stay here a little longer?” you say, eyes still on the lights, occasionally shifting to the sky.

“Your parents will worry.” Donghyuck thinks for a moment before mumbling, “It’s not safe.”

“Then drop me home,” you say, your eyes shifting to meet his, an unusual confidence in them.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the skip of his heartbeat.

Donghyuck thinks he should pat himself on the back for not speeding all the times you were with him on his bike. He loves the thing to death, although he’s had it for barely a year. The jolt of adrenaline and the freedom blooming in sprouts within his ribcage should be a dead giveaway to what he feels about speeding. Donghyuck’s never really cared about rules. Break them, bend them—it’s up to him and he loves that feeling of control. Whatever people think of him, they’re nowhere close to the truth. They’ll never know just how much he has everything under control.

Except you.

How annoying, he thinks to himself as he feels the speed picking up and your distant warmth behind him. He feels a little tingle in his chest, the way he always does when he gets the urge to do something reckless.

What if he were to speed up just a little? No, that would be childish. He should definitely not do that.

You wrap your arms around his waist with a squeak at the sudden jerk as he revs up the bike, a grin growing on his face despite his attempts to hold it back. You’re warm, compared to the sharp winds grazing him and he wants you to hold onto him like this a little longer. If he’s not childish now, when else will he be?

You hadn’t realized you’d fallen asleep, faint sunlight hiding behind the curtains ready to present the evening to you. A celebratory nap for the end of the deadlines that’s been haunting you overextended a little bit more than you’d anticipated. Just a few more weeks and it’s the finals and then, it’s all over. You stretch your hand out to switch on the lights, groaning when you can’t seem to reach it and reluctantly getting up.

You startle, a little yelp leaving your mouth at the knock on your window. What in hell? Either you haven’t slept enough or you slept too much.

You let out another yelp when you see Donghyuck’s face. There’s a band-aid over the line of his jaw starting to peel off and another one over the bridge of his nose. His hair looks recently washed, underneath the cap he’s wearing the right way for once, a pleasant smell wafting off him. You wonder what the occasion is for him to have cleaned up like this.

“Did you just climb up to my window?!”

There’s a pause.

“Yes.”

There’s another pause.

“Anyway,” he continues, “Since you’ve been enjoying my premium Haechan recommendations lately, I’ve got another plan for you.”

“Haechan?” You tilt your head. “Full sun? Is that why you call me sunflower?”

Donghyuck’s cheeks colour. “That’s- That’s not- We’re going to the club today!”

You find the sudden fluctuation in his voice cute. You suppress your smile, before giving in to his constant nagging for you to hurry up and follow him. (“Why would I get out through the window?” “Won’t your parents, like, kill me if they saw me at your front door?”)

There’s no bike today. In a way, you’re sad it isn’t there; the memory of your arms around Donghyuck making you feel hot in the cheeks for wanting it again.

“I finished my budget for fuel because of you,” he complains.

“No one asked you to be a show-off,” you retort.

He opens his mouth but says nothing, resorting to pull a face at you instead. Public transportation it is today. Even if there’s, what, nine subway stations in the city, Donghyuck seems to have already planned out the route. He walks with a bounce to his steps, turning around to walk backward facing you just to laugh and call you slow.

You run up the stairs to the station, another evening beginning something yet anew. The clouds disappear, replaced with the tiles of the station roof as Donghyuck eyes something in the distance.

“Oh no,” you say, your gaze traveling to wherever his is fixed. “We’re paying for the tickets. Hell, I’ll pay.”

Donghyuck grins at you and before he can make the stupid decision of jumping over the faregate, you grab the back of his collar, a choked sound leaving his mouth. You pull him by the sleeves of his hoodie to the ticket machines, relatively empty when the old folk use the ticket booths instead.

“You’ll go to jail if you murder me,” Donghyuck says, whining as he massages his neck. “It’s not pleasant, let me tell you that.”

“You’ve been?”

“Not yet.”

The club Donghyuck was talking about turns out to be more of a music joint, really. The letters ‘No Smoking’ spelled clearly beside the entrance, you eye the guard nervously. A rather skinny man who seems to be in his early twenties, you wonder how Donghyuck knows him as he lets the two of you in. You don’t have time to ask as you’re pulled in, a gasp barely leaving your mouth at the force.

It’s different inside. It’s not as dark as you’d expect, a rather mellow set of colours spread through the place. There’s a band playing songs from the 80s, the sound of indie rock pulsing through the place. Some people are dancing, some sitting at the round tables, looking as if they’re waiting for someone or, at the very least, a pretty stranger.

You look up at Donghyuck, a hum on his lips as he thinks.

“The song’s so boring,” he says finally. “Let’s change it.”

“It’s a live band, Donghyuck.” You deadpan. “You can’t press next here.”

“It’s called requesting, stupid.”

Donghyuck runs off before you can say anything, suddenly awkward about standing alone in a room full of people. You look around—the amount of people isn’t too much but at the same time it’s much more than you see in your average crowded room. Most of them are sitting, now that you see clearly, some with ramen on the tables, some with beer and chicken. There’s a bar at the other edge, people joking with each other over drinks.

You’re not sure how you’d describe it but it smells like people in here.

You look around further, curiously, at the beige wallpaper and vines decorating the edges—it’s larger than you thought a club would be. (But really, the only images you have are of purple and blue lighting on giant drunk crowds when you think of clubs.)

“Hey, pretty.”

You startle at the voice, an older man standing beside you. He seems to be a little old for a college kid, a rather impish look on his face with a very prominent grin.

“Uh, hi,” you say, unsure.

“You don’t come here often, do you?” He leans his left side against the wall.

“No, not really.” You’re a minor. Technically, you’re not even allowed in here.

Your nervousness seems to have shown up on your face because the guy straightens, a little smile on his face.

“Woah, don’t look so worried.” He laughs a little. There’s a scent of alcohol in his breath. “Will a friendly handshake make you feel better?”

You look on, a little unsure but definitely surprised. You go along with what he says, the movement of your hands in the childish pattern bringing a smile to your face till eventually, you’re laughing.

“I don’t mean to be too forward,” he says, “But you’re, like, a kid, right?”

You straighten, stammering out words of denial. You don’t want to be kicked out. You’ve never been kicked out of anything before.

“And that’s your boyfriend right there?” He asks, pointing over to Donghyuck having a conversation with the bass guitarist.

You think you turn pink, but you shake your head vehemently.

“Well, don’t worry, kid,” he says, laughing. “Enjoy it while you can. Not everyone gets to have a partner in crime.”

With that, he walks off to the bar after a wave of goodbye and a smile, making you wonder if adults really are the same as you. You smile a little to yourself.

You yelp when you’re grabbed by the arm, Donghyuck’s own arm linking through it.

“I’m gonna teach you how to dance,” he says, grinning. “Be prepared to thank me.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him and right when you open your mouth the next song starts with a drum solo. You look at the band, confused. They’re all grinning, however, and soon the song steadies into an upbeat sort of mood. You think you smile, but it’s probably just in the eyes.

“Eyes on me, loser,” Donghyuck says, smiling wide at you.

You turn back to him, an indescribable amount of emotions surging into you. Lee Donghyuck is a phenomenon of a person, you think, almost ready to voice it out loud.

More people join in with the dancing, the place seeming much fuller now that you see everyone up. You catch the man from earlier throwing you a wink and a finger gun in a friendly gesture. You laugh in response, Donghyuck complaining about your lack of focus. (If you’re being honest, you think he meant your lack of attention to him.)

You can’t count the minutes or hours—what’s the difference, really? Donghyuck smiles through his eyes, telling you you’re a terrible dancer (and that, of course, not everyone is born perfect like him). You learn to love the unknown songs, each note catching on to a new piece of your heart as Donghyuck shows you a move to copy, singing along gibberish lyrics to the songs he doesn’t know. It’s weird how you can mould into songs like this, songs you don’t even know—their beats pulling out different people and melodies making that person familiar.

There’s a soft halt when Donghyuck catches something through the corner of his eyes. He makes a face that spells out ‘yikes’ before leading you off the dance floor, snaking through the crowds till you’re back to the entrance.

“What’s wrong?” You say, eyes scanning his face.

“Oh, nothing, really,” he says, an unsure lilt to his voice.

Your question answers itself at the gruff voice barely audible over the music, a notch louder than when you’d entered.

“Hey, kid!”

Your heart jumps against your ribcage at the uniform of a police officer by the entrance, thinking whether everything really had to go wrong right now. Is underage dancing a crime? You didn’t drink and—oh, the entrance probably said 19+.

Donghyuck’s eyes flit from place to place looking for an escape when the officer confronts him, grabbing him by the shoulder.

“You’re the kid that’s been stealing around the shops, aren’t you?”

“Uh, no?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow, the expression on his face almost comedic. “You’ve got the wrong kid, officer.”

“And what might you be doing in a club? Where’s your ID?”

“About that…”

Donghyuck pushes the man with his elbow, leg extending to trip him, catching him off guard. You’d even be impressed if the loud crash didn’t make you yelp in surprise, looking at the two of them with terrified incredulity.

Donghyuck takes off running almost immediately after before backtracking and gesturing at you exasperatedly. “You know you’re supposed to run when I run, right?”

“What the fuck just happe—”

Donghyuck doesn’t wait to explain, gripping your hand in his and tugging you to match his insane pace as you exit through the entrance.

It takes a while to reach the subway station even at that speed and with the distant shouts of the police officer prompting you to move faster. The sky’s much darker now—you think it must be well into late evening before night gets ready to clutch the time. Donghyuck moves with careful calculation, taking turns in places you have no clue about and soon you’re running up the stairs with your breath barely caught in your throat.

The station lights are dim but you’re good as long as you don’t trip over something. You turn to the ticket machine in panic when you hear the officer’s voice by the gates.

“No time!” Donghyuck pulls you away, effortlessly jumping over the faregate and looking at you expectantly.

“I can’t do that, Donghyuck!” you complain, panic rising in your chest, adrenaline drowning the rest of it.

Before you can say anything more, Donghyuck reaches over the gate, pulling you up by the waist and grabbing your hand all over again to run down the stairs to the tunnels.

“Hey!”

You hear the shout of the lady behind the ticket counter, clearly having seen your misconduct as you pray for her to forget your face. You’d like to be able to use the subway for future travel.

The train’s about to shut its door when you reach. Donghyuck treads quickly on the stone before he jumps on, pulling you in just in time to avoid getting caught in between the sliding doors.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of heavy breathing and the movement of the train on its tracks, the burning in your throat drowning out other senses. You slide down to crouch on the floor, your face hot and sweat drenching your forehead and neck. Your shoelaces are undone, you notice, no energy left in you to reach out and tie them into your perfect knots.

There’s a few moments of silence as you regain your composure.

“What was that?!” You laugh, unable to control yourself as you clutch your stomach. “You almost got arrested!”

He joins in with his sunny laughter, crouching down beside you. “Man, I really thought I was done for.”

After a few moments, Donghyuck sits with his legs crossed atop the passenger seat, the coach mostly empty save for you and an old couple at the far corner. He animatedly recalls a story of another near-arrest he had, with you laughing beside him.

A thought passes you in between jokes and stories—what if everything was like this always? Just the two of you, in a room full of people, in a room without people. You think you’ve started looking at Donghyuck a bit too much. You’re not sure about regretting it.

Donghyuck’s been getting the strangest of impulses these days.

He tilts his head away from you to check the time on his watch, the gentle weight of your head on his shoulder reassuring, even if it’s hard to admit. It’s half-past ten and he’s been staring at you for a little over an hour now. Who falls asleep in the subway? Sure, there being not many stops, the journey between each is longer but Donghyuck wouldn’t be caught dead drooling on someone’s shoulder like this.

You shift, Donghyuck immediately moving to cradle your head with his hand so it just doesn’t drop off. Your lips are puffed even in sleep as if you’re still caught in an argument with him. He chuckles to himself. It’s so like you.

Cross the line. The voice in his head says. Just dip your head a little and…

Your head leans into the skin between his neck and shoulder, a shot of electricity pulsing through him at the contact. There’s a race of thoughts within him, thoughts he shouldn’t be having.

What is he so afraid of, really? What is he, Lee Donghyuck, so afraid of? Love? That’s the lamest thing he can think of.

It’s true, though.

Fucking voice of his conscience—loud thoughts are more a pain in the ass than anything else. Donghyuck will resort to cowardice if it be so. He’s not going to be reduced to something he’s not just because he’s head over heels in his own feelings for you.

Donghyuck pushes the hair from your face, craning his neck to be able to see you better. Wanting to love, wanting to be loved—what a stupid thing to fear. He sighs, closing his own eyes and checking the time once again. He’ll wake you up in a few minutes when your station’s near.

You stop at the medicine to store to buy antiseptic cream and some band-aids. Donghyuck says he doesn’t need it, he has some at home but you must be good at convincing. There’s a little garden of scratches on his palm even he’s not sure when he received.

You sit in the empty parking lot, under the only streetlight that seems to be working in the area. The convenience store beside you is there to provide its twenty-four-hour lights if not anything else. There are some people out on nightly walks, you notice when you look at the sidewalk. It surprises you a little to see shapes of people against midnight blue.

You’ve never been out so late. You text your mom to remind her you’re still alive before you can turn your attention to Donghyuck.

“Okay! Enough!” He retreats his hand, complaining. “My hand smells like a pharmacy at this point.”

You lean back against the streetlamp, sighing.

“I can’t believe we ran away from a police officer,” you say, a goofy smile on your face as you stretch your arms in front of you.

“There’s always a first.” Donghyuck grin. “You don’t have to thank me for that, by the way.”

You roll your eyes. “One of these days, you’ll regret it. How long do you plan on being reckless?”

“How long do you plan on pretending you don’t enjoy it?” He asks, face leaning in with a sly smile.

You think you feel heat on your cheeks, you can’t be sure, but you end up scoffing, a rather losing response to someone who’s used to winning.

“You’re clearly into my devilishly handsome face,” he continues with an exaggerated shake of his head. “Does my recklessness turn you on? Don’t you think I look good? You can’t blame m—”

This brat.

You yank him by the cloth of his hoodie to get face to face, noses almost touching. Watching the confidence drain from his face, you’d laugh but it’d just give away the sudden adoration you feel. What a shame this demon was blessed to be so cute.

There’s a pause the length of a breath.

Donghyuck’s eyelids flutter close just as he presses his lips against yours, a soft sound escaping yours. He places a hand against your cheek as nimbly as possible, something pushing him to deepen what you have. You give in, humming into the kiss as you pull yourself closer.

For all the havoc he wreaks, Donghyuck isn’t necessarily a bad kisser. His lips are soft—his investment in lip balms improved since you first met him and the scent of whatever he used is delicious.

It’s a few moments of kissing when Donghyuck suddenly pulls back.

“I don’t deserve this,” he says, eyes flickering.

You look on, unsure. It’s not like him to falter. “What- What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he responds, looking at his hands, “that I’m really not good enough. I’m just- I’m not who people think I am. Hell, I don’t know who I am. It’s just- I don’t-”

You place your hand against his cheek, his rambling fading away as he looks into you.

“Even if you like me because you think I’m fun,” he continues, “I mess things up, you know? I mess things up really bad. If you get hurt- If- Ah, I don’t know what to say.”

“I really like you, Donghyuck,” you whisper, “but you’re making no sense right now.”

There’s a pause within the night air.

“I…I put a kid in the hospital,” he says, voice low and upset. “In middle school. I- I didn’t mean to! I can’t remember what happened but…we had to pay the bills and- and we’re still recovering.”

There’s a stifling silence. You lift his chin up so he faces you, the inability to see his expression troubling.

“I still feel guilty,” he whispers. “I do things for fun. And I fuck up the consequences.”

Donghyuck’s calculating and careful. You already know that.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, not finding any better words. “We’re big kids now.”

“But that doesn’t mean—”

“I’m not saying anything like that,” you interrupt. “We’ll still fuck up, you know? Adults fuck up. Doesn’t mean we don’t do things at all.”

“God, I hate you lecturing me,” he groans, looking away.

You crack a smile, still holding his face, the side without the band-aid. Donghyuck doesn’t say you’re right, a short chuckle on his lips instead before he leans in to peck you on the mouth, slowly turning into another kiss.

You think you hear the buzz of fireflies, spring’s darlings, although you didn’t know they’d be found here. Donghyuck looks pretty under the streetlight, as you connect mole to mole, an airy feeling in your chest, almost bubbling over.

You want to tell him he’s amazing, but you figure you’d tend to his ego some other day.

“Hey, you got that leather jacket!” you exclaim when you walk into class, Donghyuck’s head in Renjun’s chokehold.

He’s quick to defend himself, shaking Renjun off him and scoffing. “I didn’t get it because you said so, obviously.”

You shake your head with a laugh, sitting at your place. Donghyuck smiles to himself before dropping it to shoot some comments at Renjun.

“Nothing going on with our precious demon there?”

You look up to see Jaemin smiling at you, clearly onto something. You haven’t told anyone yet, every rendezvous a ridiculously honest secret.

You turn your head to see Donghyuck consuming a bag of hot Cheetos in what seems to be a competition with Zhong Chenle. You shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows at the scene. What’s even going on in their heads? If anything at all, that is.

Jaemin clears his throat, bringing your attention back to him. He has some sort of expectation in his eyes.

You laugh, more than enough to answer him. Really, being fond of Lee Donghyuck shouldn’t feel so much a crime as the city lights in his eyes do.

1K notes · View notes

migilini · 4 years ago

Text

What The Heart Wants - Charlie Gillespie

Request: The reader is madly in love with Charlie who is her best friend but he’s dating and in love with her sister yk? Make it angst and sadcharlie

a/n: Sorry it took me so long! I’m so stressed with school atm so i bearly had time to write at all. I still hope you like it and that I went into the right direction. Don’t know how angsty it is.

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: a little angst

MASTERLIST

-------------

As a teenager you spent a lot of your free time watching pretty much every rom-com that was out there, the thought of true love ignited a spark of hope in your heart. You loved the way that the characters on screen always were meant to be together, the way their love just seemed to be or else life isn't worth living.

Maybe your image of love was flawed and unrealistic. Maybe you always fell in love with the idea of a person rather than the person itself. Maybe your standards were too high and maybe that's why all your previous relationships didn't seem to work out.

And then you met him. Kinda ironic really, love, at first sight, was always your least favourite trope. But there he was, sitting alone at the table in the otherwise crowded cafeteria. His brown hair fell into his eyes while he played with the mashed potatoes on his plate, he was bopping his head to something. You took a big breath, collected all your courage that you didn't use growing up and sat down across from him.

The stranger looked up with furrowed eyebrows "S-sorry there isn't another free table." you stuttered and sent him a small, flustered smile. The boy took out an earbud "Sorry?" you started to blush, your eyes wide "Oh I- sorry I- was uhm... is it okay if I sit here?"

"Yeah yeah sure." the stranger answered and shot you a smile and gosh was that smile beautiful. If this was your way to die then so be it. "I'm Asher by the way."

"Y/N. Nice to meet you." you waved with three fingers.

After that Asher took you under his wings, introduced you to all his friends, took you to parties and most importantly helped to grow your self-confidence. You always knew who you were but with him, it was the first time where you could actually show off the real you, there wasn't a part of you that you had to hide to fit in.

Nevertheless, he wasn't your best friend. You two spent a lot of time together yes, but you didn't share a lot of secrets, your topics always being superficial. Yet, the crush on him only grew. The two of you were picture book perfect. Asher threw you into the water at the beach, screamed to lyrics in the car with you or even went shopping with you.

"Just this one party I promise," he whined one day, shoving more dresses in your chest. You huffed "Is this why you agreed to come thrifting with me? To get on my good side?" Asher smiled cheekily "Guilty. I know you don't know the people there but I really want you to go." he tried to persuade.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, trying to hide the smirk on your lips. You liked to see him throw a little tantrum. "Fine. But you'll pay for my dress."

The host of the party seemed nice enough and you hoped to god that the guests were the same. LED Lights illuminated the living room in a dark purple. The music blaring so loud, that you could feel the beat in your heart. "Y/N this is my good buddy Charlie. Charlie this is Y/N one of the baddest people I know." Asher screamed over the music, one of his arms draped over your figure. The party just getting started as more people walked through the front door.

You gave Charlie a hug and smiled up at him. "Hi!"

"Hello." he smiled back and your breath got stuck in your throat for a good second. Suddenly Asher had competition for the prettiest smile in the world. The boy with the mischievous spark in his eye really challenged your rankings.

You didn't intend to spend the night practically glued to Charlies hip. Asher was nowhere to be found, probably smoking somewhere with his buddies and the two of you were just naturally drawn to each other. He goes to get a new drink and a minute later, without discussing it beforehand, you do the exact same thing. Or you go on the small balcony to get some fresh air and Charlie joins you a couple of minutes later, casually leaning against the railing next to you.

"I figured that I would find you out here." he nearly whispered into the night. "Yeah it seems like you've been stalking me the whole night." you teased with raised eyebrows, a slight smirk playing on your lips. Charlie's hand immediately covered his heart. "I would never! And there I was, thinking I had the honour of you stalking me."

"Alright, Teds. If it makes you happy yes of course I was chasing after your pretty ass." you winked and he let out a heartful laugh.

"Teds?" he asked.

You shrugged your shoulders and slid down the railing, your front, facing the glass doors. The party inside was raging, with people dancing, kissing, talking and laughing. Only the faint noise of the newest pop song carried its way out to you.

"You're wearing a shirt with many teddy bears on it. It only made sense."

You and Charlie spent the rest of the night outside, the conversation flowing naturally and if there was a quick silence it wasn't awkward at all. Lucky for you, the party was in the middle of the summer so you didn't mind that much that you forgot to bring a jacket outside.

After the party you and Charlie spent a lot of time together, going to museums, road trips, camping or even just hanging out in one of your apartments. Inert weeks he was your best friend and over the years of friendship, you started to develop feelings for the Canadian.

He had helped you calm down right before your first date with Asher, who finally had the guts to ask you out and picked up the pieces after you got broken up with. Asher's last words before he left, never leaving your mind: "Truthfully I think you're in love with someone else Y/N. You just haven't figured it out yet but I know. I look at you the way you look at them."

Several months later, on a trip with your family and Charlie, you realised that Asher was indeed telling you the truth and you had been slowly falling for someone else.

It was late evening, the stars started to creep up on the sky, while the sun sank lower and lower behind the trees, illuminating the world in a pretty blend of oranges and pinks. The group sat around a small fire that cracked every now and then, filling the air with warmth. Everybody was exhausted from the big hike. Trees rustled somewhere in the background. A soft melody caught you off guard, completely ripping you out of your own thoughts.

Charlie sat a couple of feet away from you, across from your sister and mother. He was playing his guitar with no special song in mind. He settled on a melody that you didn't seem to recognize but you didn't care. Charlie looked beautiful.

Over the last year, he grew out his hair, which was now in a loose bun in the crook of his neck, some stray hairs falling in his face. The warm light from the fire highlighted his features in the exact right way. His eyes sparkled with joy. Before he started to sing the song, he looked over at you and smiled. It was the same smile that haunted you since then. The one that made your heart beat faster, the one that still took your breath away, the thing you couldn't shake off and also the one thing you couldn't live without.

While you stared at Charlie during the duration of the song, your heart swelling at the sight of him. He did the same to your sister. His eyes memorising every crook of her face from her arched eyebrows down to the roundness of her lips.

It didn't surprise you at all. Growing up everybody either wanted to be her or be with her. She was naturally gorgeous with long, luscious hair and an amazing body. She had decent grades and was always nice to everybody. The embodiment of the girl next door. It was hard to build a reputation that wasn't ‘Sam’s little sister’.

Looking back, that was probably why you liked Asher's attention so much. It was the first time someone saw you for yourself.

But what did shock you was that eventually, the two became a couple. Looks-wise they fit perfectly together that much was true but you couldn't wrap your head around them when it came to personality. From your romcoms, you knew that opposites attract yet Sam and Charlie are more than opposites. Not to say that you didn't love your sister, you really did, that was the main reason why the news shocked you so much. He liked to travel the world, not to be tied to one place for a long time. He was spontaneous and carefree, always down for a new adventure or a new adrenaline kick. Sam on the other hand wanted to take over dad's business in her hometown where she already went to school and college. Ever since she was little, she dreamed of a big family that was gonna grow up in the house she grew up in. Sam didn't like leaving her little bubble, her days always planned down to the second.

Neither of them noticed your heart breaking a little more every time they kissed right in front of you or the longing looks you gave Charlie. Both tried to include you in their adventures, taking you to the cinema with them, to IKEA and Disneyland. Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't quite meant for each other. However, you kept your mouth shut just, always smiling their way, not mentioning that Charlie never went on Road Trips anymore or that Sam seemed to smile less.

“I think I want to marry her.”

You nearly spat out your drink, the fist in front of your mouth only holding back a little. The water dripped down your arm and onto the couch.

“What now?” you coughed and turned to the other person chilling at your apartment.

“You heard me right. My acting career is taking off and all the travelling made me realise that she is the one.” he smiled with a lopsided grin.

You furrowed your eyebrows, desperately trying to hide the hurt that flashed in your eyes. After trying, again and again, to get over Charlie you lost all hope. No other man even slightly compared to him, you tried to forget about him you really did. However, your heart believes that he was the man for you.

“Don’t the two of you want completely different things?” you switched into the best-friend mode, locking the jealous side away.

Now it was Charlie's turn to be confused, “What do you mean? We’ve been together for nearly two years now.”

“I just mean that she never expressed the desire to travel the world. She wants to have a big family and be a mom. Is she gonna travel to your jobs with you? Are you giving up your career to be at home with her? I just think there are so many things the two of you need to discuss before you take this step.” you expressed your concern while playing with the hem of the blanket covering you.

He stared at you for moments. Neither of you was speaking, the gears in his brain working in overload.

“Look I’m not saying that you shouldn't ask her to marry you. If that's what makes you happy, be happy. It's what I care about. I’m just saying you have a completely different view of the world.” you rambled, your eyes not meeting his anymore.

Was he mad? He normally spoke his thoughts out loud.

He lets out a sigh as he rubbed his hands over his face “Yes I know that you're right...but my gut is telling me that she's the one...” your heart cracked “and I couldn't forgive myself if I didn't ask, even if it ends up not working and you were right with your concerns. But knowing us, we will make it work. Compromise a lot, build a worldview together as a married couple.”

He smiled at you and your heartbeat quickened “I also kinda need your blessing.” he sheepishly said, slightly biting his lip.

You tried to keep your thoughts clear. “My blessing?”

Charlie nodded excitedly “Yes! I figured since you’re my best friend and she's also your sister I would ask you if you would be okay with that… I know we never asked if you're comfortable with us dating in the first place.”

“Oh, Teds," you whined, using the old nickname you had for him. "No need to ask me! As I said your happiness is my priority.” you smiled so wide that it hurt your cheeks, blinking rapidly to dissolve the tears that formed in your eyes.

He tackled you in a bone-crushing hug, placing wet and sloppy kisses all over your forehead. “Thank you. thank you. thank you! You don't know how much this means to me!”

Growing up, watching the Notebook, About Time, 10 things to hate about you, PS: I love you and many others, love always seemed inevitable, somehow it would work out. You would've never thought that you would be jealous of your sister's engagement. Who would have predicted that both sisters were gonna fall for the same guy, that one sister was happy while the other hated herself for yearning for him as well?

The 25-year-old version of you despised the 15-year-old version for loving these goddamn rooms, for believing in a soulmate, one true love, love for everyone but mostly for believing in an own happy ending.

------------------------

Taglist: @alluringworld

#charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie fanfiction #charlie gillespie fic #charlie gillespie fanfic #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie x y/n #charlie gillespie angst #charlie gillespie x oc #charlie gillespie one shot

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cassiecasyl · 4 years ago

Text

don’t bother looking down (we’re not going that way)

My fic for Day 1 of @starrynightdeancas‘s 2k follower celebration! Congrats, Sophie!!!! <3

prompts: 2k follower celebration Day 1: Beach + Suptober 2020 Day 17 “Autumn Invading” ship: destiel read on ao3

Cold wind swirled through the trees’s crowns, ruffling their hair and taking some leaves. They rose in momentary cheer, dancing and spinning through the air, but eventually, they all fell down. Soon enough, grey feathers joined them on the dancefloor, adding a contrast to chaos of mostly red and orange.

Castiel rustled his wings to get more into the mix, hoping the wonder of their play would spark some emotion. A sad smile adorned his features, slowly dying. He didn’t feel it. Ever since he regained his grace, he missed those little things that made him him. It was numbed to humanity, trapped under the freezing power of his mojo.

A feather took a red leaf as its partner and they circled each other as they danced, always reaching out yet never quite touching. It would be heart-breaking to watch, if Castiel still needed his empty vessel’s heart. The plume was the first to fall, ashes from a fire, never to be the same again. The angel felt a tinge in his heart, still humanly beating. The leaf rose once more in an angry outcry before crumbling to the floor.

Castiel looked away, out onto the water that was nibbling at the little sliver of sand that’s barely a beach anymore. He had neglected to realize that this strange melancholy was a feeling in of itself, something to lead him home. His smile awoke a little.

Dean had taken the case in the nearby town because of its proximity to the coastline. They’d never been at the beach, he said in rare excitement. It was almost addicting to see Dean this happy. He deserved it. Cas looked up as the sun waved its goodbye in the background, painting the sky in blazing colors. He smiled as his eyes found a hunch of green in it. Dean.

The sun’s rays screamed wordlessly like the arms overblown by the most peculiar soul he’s ever encountered, and Castiel laced his fingers into theirs, pulling them away from hellfire, holding them tightly as they fled and flew, and he was filled with something new. The angel had screamed it out, the warmth too grand to be kept inside.

Dean Winchester is saved. The words still rang on his tongue after all these years. It was the one thing he would never regret. The warmth it had spawned within him melted the effects of his icy grace, burning him with something that was so inherently human. His eyes could’ve spilled warm sparks rather than light blue ones as the first stars greeted him.

Dean. The human to break through heavenly control and wreck his already cracked reputation. Dean. The righteous man filled with so much love, but it came out in anger, guilt, rejected sadness. Dean. Happiness crawled up Cas’s cheeks, an uncommon sight. Dean, he thought, unspoken words heavy on his tongue.

I love you.

Crash.

At the same time as the waves attacked a nearby bolder, a branch cracked behind him. Castiel turned around, muscles tense and blade ready to drop if needed. His eyes darkened as he checked the nearby trees. Only when he recognized a familiar silhouette did he relax.

“Cas?” Dean asked, stepping closer. “What are you doing here?”

Cas shrugged and gazed back at the sea. “Watching the sunset,” he replied. The sky’s last flames caught in Dean’s eyes, and the angel couldn’t help but stare and admire how much more beautiful the firmament would be if it were green instead of blue.

“You just up and disappeared, man.” A nervous chuckle failed at concealing his concern. “I was worried,” Dean admitted.

“I…,” Cas started, “I just needed some time to think.”

Dean measured him in a glare that only softened as their eyes met. “Are you alright?”

Cas returned his stare and considered his answer. The sun had risen again in front of him, and he bathed in his warmth, letting hesitant emotion be his guiding light. Wanting to take it all in, he stepped closer, almost reaching out to touch him - Cas, we’ve talked about this - and Dean remained still throughout all of it. Then, in a heartbeat, he looked down, the lively green suddenly hidden. The fire latched out at him, burning and scorching the angel with unbelievably human wounds.

“I’m okay,” he confirmed, ignoring the way Dean had left countless scars all over him. Here, standing next to the human who was his downfall, he felt complete. I love you.

“Good,” Dean answered with a lopsided grin and took off his shoes. Castiel questioned him by tilting his head. “Because now that we’re here, we’re not gonna leave without feeling the sand between our toes. Come on!” He ran the short distance to what was more of a sorry excuse for a beach and Cas followed, entranced.

They buried their feet in the sand, leaving Castiel to wonder. The tiny rocks scraped at his skin, carrying dead cells away to their graves. Maybe, they’d begin a journey through the wide sea now that they were done serving his vessel.

Next to him, Dean bowed down towards the water only to be surprised by an oncoming wave. He almost jumped away but was caught by the sand. Cas raised his eyebrows. “Cold?” he teased. Dean retaliated by splashing water his way.

“Icy.”

Cas slowly let his hand wander to Dean, who was shivering, hoping to provide some warmth. “We should go back,” he said. “You’re gonna catch a cold.”

Dean shook his head without looking at him. “I’ve got you. Let’s stay just a little longer.” He pleaded with a hopeful smile and Cas knew he was smitten.

They sat under the stars, looking up at heroes, beasts and lovers long gone, but none of them were quite as star-crossed as they were. Cas carefully wrapped his arm around Dean, followed by his wings. Grace sparked on his fingertips, swirling out into the air to keep his love warm. For a while, all was well.

Then, Dean shook Cas’s arm off his shoulder and it followed gravity, hanging down uselessly. Cold hurt washed off into numbness and Cas glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eyes. He was looking down, slightly shaking his head, forcefully leaning away from him. Castiel looked the opposite way as a flaming dagger twisted in his heart. He was back to being a star orbiting its sun, never quite sure whether it returned the favor, but doomed to one day collide. Whether it would leave them in dust or together as one, it was the way they were bound to take.

tag list (let me know if you wanna be added or removed!)

@aniridescentdreamer @gnbrules @nightmare-in-plaid @luciferstempest

#destiel #dailydestieldelights #it's not much beach but i tried #deancas #fanfiction #my fic #suptober20

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soukokuwu · 4 years ago

Note

"requests are closed??" that cannot stop me because i cant read!! ** URGENT ** power couple comfort needed asap chuuya is the diplomat for the inheritor of a newly departed yokohama media moguls empire who agrees to fold the power of the company to moricorp so long as chuuya agrees to a date yah i need this like stat plz

THE OTHER HALF.

✢ genre. fluff ✢ pairing. chuuya x reader ✢ synopsis. you’re going to inherit your father’s media empire, and mori wants in. his ticket? chuuya. ✢ author notes. an urgent request? you got it! in 2 days ehehe i just hope you like this <3

He stares at the pristine white on the walls of the lavishly decorated office corridors. It suits their reputation. Nothing fits the reigning media mogul of Yokohama like grandeur. He would normally express some sort of distaste for how much of these… beautifications are unnecessary, but Mori had already warned him: it is imperative to get on their good side. Political reasons, he added. As if the mafia doesn’t have enough political influence already.

Although why, of all people, he chose to send NAKAHARA CHUUYA as Port Mafia’s representative to head the meeting, Chuuya himself doesn’t know. A cold-blooded, hot-headed vessel of destruction.

Yes, very plausible, very sensible, he thinks.

Sarcasm. That was sarcasm.

Mori always had his reasons for every decision he made. Some are possibly very fucked up, but even Chuuya admits his manipulation tactics and puzzle-piecing skills rival that of Dazai’s. So he never questions his boss’s decisions. At least, not to his face. He just wonders what is hiding behind this certain choice (of making Chuuya go to the meeting, alone) and how twisted it could be.

Cruising through the halls makes him realise just how much he’d hate it if he was a normal human with a normal, boring desk job. The rooms he passes by, with their glass windows and deceiving transparency, are all full of people either typing away on their keyboards or speaking into phones with some sort of urgency. Yikes. No thanks, he would much rather work with violence and be on the frontlines than man a desk at a mediocre job with less-than-satisfactory pay.

The redhead guesses that they’re going to take him to the boardroom (which incidentally, he thinks, is quite an appropriate name for a meeting room — rigid, stiff, flat — full of smiles that are painted on and the chatter of mindless opinions crafted only to cater to the ones who matter. If that’s an indication of anything to come, Chuuya is already dreading it.) After all, they had scheduled a meeting for discussions with the director on future possibilities of working with the mafia.

Chuuya does admit though, it would be very useful to have the media on their side. Not only digital, but print as well. The possibility to spread propaganda and cover up crimes. This company has it, and Mori is hungry, eager to take over. (Or at least, to establish dominance over them.) Maybe that’s why he chose the gravity manipulator. To make them comply with the threat of crushing them with his brute force should they refuse. It’s harsh. Not that he would mind if it comes to that. There’s a certain satisfaction, a certain kick, he gets out of seeing everyone before him cower in fear.

Because it means he’s in control.

And Chuuya loves being in control. After all, he controls the very things that holds everyone in its grip — gravity.

Ironically, though. What he doesn’t have control over is his own feelings. Mostly unpleasant. A temper so fiery and an impulse so unexpected. Today, though, there is a turn of events. Because as he turns the corner to enter the boardroom, he spots a pair of eyes on him, observing him shrewdly.

No, it isn’t yours. But your father’s.

Wrinkled face wrinkles up even more as they eye him from head to toe, expressing obvious displeasure in the form of tuts and a deepening frown. Chuuya can just tell from how the man wears an expensive tailored suit — probably from a high end luxury brand that Chuuya can’t even pronounce properly — and how his tie is tightened so firmly against his neck that he probably always has a stick up his ass.

But a whiff of something… refreshing skips pass his nostrils and all the hostility from seeing the director disintegrates into — what is this? Chuuya can’t even tell, another irritating reminder he doesn’t understand his own emotions all that well.

And that, that is when he first lays eyes on you.

If you’re wondering, no, it’s not that cinematic moment where you walk in and he’s immediately blinded by the light you bring with you thanks to that invisible halo you carry on your head. Chuuya sees the world through anything but rose-tinted glasses. He is captivated by you though, somehow. Maybe it’s the way you stride in so confidently, with your blazer fitted against your body tightly — not too tight — you don’t want to give off ‘sexy’ vibes, do you? Not in the office. No, you just radiate some show of ‘proper’ and ‘togetherness’ that other ladies must be envious of. Or so it seems to him, at least. Then he wonders again, maybe it’s the way you so nonchalantly brush past him, your shoulder nudging against his, not a care in the world for who he is.

He thinks he’s got his reasoning, a feasible enough reason of why he’s intrigued — you’re young, you’re sexily sophisticated (he just knows you are), and to be a part of this meeting, you must have a sort of… power, so to say.

And then you just have to, don’t you? You just have to take a seat on that chair (in an angle that seems to cater perfectly to Chuuya), cross your legs just enough so your skirt rides up your thigh high enough to leave him wanting to see more, but not enough to be considered as a bold move of seduction. The kicker? That smirk you wear when you realise that he’s staring. He always hated that expression; the one that other people wear out of the satisfaction of their triumph. Especially when it’s against him. But then why does he think he can look at yours forever?

Not even five minutes into the ‘discussion’ and Chuuya already finds out you’re the director’s daughter, the one who would inherit the company very soon. (He fails to properly listen to the reason why because his focus starts to fixate on you, the surrounding all melding into one — the sights, the sounds.) To which you respond with batting your eyelashes at the redhead and wearing an innocent smile yet at the same time being shrouded in an air of… mystery.

The debate on just how much of the empire that Port Mafia would control in the future is not quite a negotiation. If they want to, then they can just force the director’s hand, maybe kidnap his daughter — Chuuya glances briefly toward you before focusing back on your father and the tablet (apparently the company made a sort of presentation that Chuuya can say he frankly doesn’t give a shit about) — but no. Even now, he thinks, he doesn’t want anyone to lay a hand on you. Besides, if your current behaviour is any indication, even if the mafia does come after you, you won’t be scared. You look just like the kind of person who always has something up her sleeve. You must take after your father.

“On that note, I will be leaving the final decision up to my wonderful young lady here.”

That manages to bring Chuuya back to his senses.

What? The old man is leaving such an important decision in his daughter’s hands?

Chuuya breathes in deeply. Stay level-headed. He’s got this, he tries to convince himself. Notwithstanding that he has made it this far only because of the training Kouyou’s given him on the art of appeasing old uncles and kissing their ass so that they give him what he wants.

Guess Mori isn’t as thorough as Chuuya thinks he is.

“Now, you can focus on me.”

Right on cue. As soon as the director leaves.

Look at that, he was right. You are confident. You are smug. You are observant. And annoyingly enough, you are in control. Because to do his job properly, he has to act like he’s wrapped around your finger. (He fails to realise he already is.)

Chuuya clenches his jaw, his brain failing to function in this pivotal moment, failing to filter any kind of acceptable responses. So he stays silent, mind going a thousand miles an hour just trying to form words, sentences, yet drawing a blank. And any normal person in your position would have spoken up by now, but you? You’re reeling in his inexplicability, silently. Observing him as though he’s an animal trapped in a glass cage for all to admire.

You lean back against your chair, the padded back bending backwards to support your weight. Your arms are crossed over your chest and the smirk has not left your face. If anything, it gets wider. Neither of you give in. You both keep your gaze locked on each other, and the silence grows on him. The comfort sneaks up on him. It’s weird. Is he dreaming it? Is he being delusional? Why is that he feels that with you, more is said through your silence than words? If so, being under your carefully appraising eye would be an honour.

Chuuya thinks, no no, he knows, he hears you muttering under your breath. He wants to retort, but words don’t find him. Only silence and stillness.

But it doesn’t last any second longer because you scoff in amusement and grab the paperwork regarding the partnership off the spot your father has left behind. Your eyes don’t leave his cerulean ones though. It’s almost as though you’re hyper-focused on him. Or is it the other way around? Maybe it’s mutual?

You do eventually break the stare though, to turn your back and walk out the door, but not before you stop at the edge, bidding goodbye with a lopsided smile and a “Park Hotel, 8pm, seventieth floor.”

Four hours seemed like a lot of time to prepare.

Seemed.

It isn’t.

Because now, at 7.56pm, Chuuya is still staring nervously at himself in the mirror of the hotel bathroom. A flurry of thoughts occupy his state of mind.

Is my tie okay? It’s not lopsided, is it? He thinks about your lopsided smile as he adjusts the black tie set against his red dress shirt. His black coat is replaced by a black fitted blazer. Then he wonders if you’re still in your work outfit.

Damn it, why can’t he get you out of his mind?

You’re a necessary ally, he thinks. That’s why, he convinces himself. Although, not really. If you are just another job, another person the Port Mafia needs to brainwash, then why is he so nervous about this date? His hands freeze in their motions as he questions himself.

Is this what it is? A date?

By 7.59pm he’s up on the seventieth floor, and the moment he steps out of the elevator, an usher tells him to follow. Wow. Having an already established media empire the moment you were born must have been a big bonus for you, hasn’t it? Chuuya imagines you’re spoiled; you’ve lived your whole life with the lavish luxury you currently stand to inherit now. But he gives you due credit. For your father to entrust the dealings of the Port Mafia to you, you must be very capable. Not that he has ever thought otherwise.

In the short hour that he had interacted with you earlier, he knows you’re anything but a bimbo. But you must have thought he was similar to one, huh? What with him being speechless over nothing.

Once he reaches the private room, he’s greeted by you already seated, right leg crossed over your left, fingers flipping through the menu, unfazed by his arrival. The door shuts behind him, and it’s back to this air of oppressed silence. Chuuya slowly glides over to his seat across from you, eating you up from your head down to your little tippy toes. You are less covered up now, your office suit giving way to a remarkably eye-catching black maxi, although he does admit, what catches his eye is that slit that runs up your thigh.

Now, now, you look sexy.

When he settles down, he notices the agreement from this afternoon sitting by the edge of the glass table, all complete save for his and your signatures. The numbers 70 and 30 briefly register in his head. The former, of course, rightfully belonging under you. He furrows his brows. That’s twenty percent lower than what Mori is expecting. How can he negotiate with you, then? What more can he bargain with?

But as he looks up from the document to you, you’re already observing him, wearing a flirty (with a side of smug, as he expects) smile on those lips of yours.

“There’s always a price to pay, Mr. Nakahara.”

Chuuya is slightly baffled. The other workers in your office are boring and own a one-track mind. But evidently you don’t belong in the same group as them.

Is this a game to you?

“Name it.” He does want to know what you’re seeking from him, and he knows he’s not nearly as witty enough to figure it out on his own.

You never give anything away easily though. Chuuya learned that much. Instead of giving answers you lean back on your seat, just as you did earlier, and revert your attention back to the menu.

“So, you are capable of speaking to women after all, huh?”

The rest of the dinner is filled with conversations that don’t pertain to what it should. Instead of discussing the deal, he gets sidetracked, oddly intrigued by what you personally find fascinating. Chuuya remembers that first wave of pleasant surprise wash across your face when he asks about what you like, what you do outside of work. You know, the common exchange. But it must slip his mind that you aren’t used to ‘clients’ taking an interest in you, as a person.

Neither of you realise the abrupt change in the tone of the evening. You both kind of just ease into it.

Chuuya memorises what you tell him; how you actually like what little time you have outside of work; how you talk about books as your escape, the way your favourite author’s name rolls off your tongue so easily even though it’s a foreign name. He notes how your eyes sparkle when he pays you a compliment about how your brain works instead of the usual comments you receive on your appearance. He also loves how you talk just that little bit faster when you’re excited about a topic.

But he also learns how your smile is forced when you talk about your family, or anything remotely related to your work. He notices how you bite your lip when you talk about barely having time to enjoy anything outside of work. And how until now you’ve been a slave to the company, having to learn and grind on knowledge about anything and everything that you need to know to run it. A shut-in with a twist, if he might label it.

Chuuya was wrong then, he realises. Your life has not been one of free rides; easy passes. It didn’t get easier because of who you are. It was the reverse. It got harder because more was expected out of you. Your life at home wasn’t any easier. Turns out your father was, and is still, a tyrant. You’ve never known to enjoy yourself.

“Until tonight.”

Only now does it dawn on Chuuya why you set this whole thing up in the first place. This way you get to have some time to enjoy yourself at a ‘date’ disguised as a business meeting, because then dear daddy won’t get mad at you now, will he? You’ve probably never experienced romance, have you? Given your tight schedules and overbearing parents. Chuuya must be your first.

He gets just slightly giddy thinking of that possibility.

And by the time your plates are cleared and the bill is paid (by your father, apparently, because you grinned and charged it to his credit card; Chuuya thinks it’s acceptable because from what he hears, the director doesn’t seem to be a very good man at all, why not charge it to the man?), he makes his mind up to really help you make full use of your night.

That’s how he finds himself ten minutes later with you standing on the edge of the neighbouring skyscraper, your fingers intertwined tightly with his. Your first exposure to his ability. ‘Holy shit’ were your exact words. Despite how you carry yourself in the office, it’s almost unbelievable how childlike you look now, admiring the sight before you. Losing all your childhood because of who you’re expected to be… Chuuya knows all too well what that feels like. Minus the bond that is family, of course. Although now, he guesses he can call the Port Mafia such.

“Forty.”

Chuuya arches a brow. “Forty?”

You press your lips together to suppress a grin, nodding at him. “Highest I can go for you, Mr. Nakahara.”

“My boss wants a half, though,” Chuuya grimaces in faux sheepishness. Of course Mori would be fine with a forty, but it’s fun having a back-and-forth with you. Or maybe this is his way of convincing himself this is nothing more than continuing a pleasant conversation.

There’s something in your reaction that gets him so curious. It’s how you grin yourself silly and can’t even manage to look him in the eye. Or the way you try to untangle your fingers, only to find Chuuya has gripped them even tighter. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to know what he’s thinking of.

“Fifty is for family only, sorry.”

He waltzes through the narrow corridors and carpeted floors like it’s home. It might as well be, he’s been here about as many times as he’s been to the Port Mafia headquarters in the same duration. It doesn’t look as tacky as it used to. Or is it just because he’s used to it? Or maybe the gradual changes all seem like nothing to him because he visits this place every single day.

Chuuya sighs. No matter, he’s got other things to worry about.

“No, forget about making your own notes. Negotiate. I want exclusivity on this.”

There it is. Your bossy, domineering voice.

He leans by the doorframe. Your subordinates all dub you the ‘boss from hell’. Personally he can’t see why. But then again, you’re an absolute angel to him. (He never gets tired of seeing the shock register on everyone’s faces when they see you be all lovey-dovey with him.)

Feels good. Being the exception.

When the conversation ends, you hang up the phone and turn over, finally noticing your boyfriend by the door. It’s like a switch turns in you; your hostility melts away and those deep downturned lines rotate into a smile. Even now, five years later, you still have a childlike innocence to you; he sees this right now by how you skip towards him like an elated dog seeing its owner is home.

Did he just compare you to a dog…? Out of all the things he likes, why did he — he mentally facepalms himself but shrugs it off. Like he’s said before, he has more pressing matters to think about.

It’s amazing to think how far you both have gotten. From being strictly business to unspoken feelings in a matter of hours, to where you guys are now. Frankly, he didn’t think it was possible for someone like him. He gravitates away and thinks back to the first time he stepped foot in here.

Huh, maybe Mori did know what he was doing after all. That man ended up being your matchmaker. Chuuya inwardly grimaces and shudders and the thought.

But you pull him back to earth.

Your arms snake around his neck and you hook your legs around his waist. Lucky you’re wearing a pantsuit today, because the last time you did that, i.e. yesterday, you were wearing a skirt and it rode up your thigh a little too high. Yeah, Chuuya wasn’t too happy when some of your male coworkers got to see a glimpse of your ass. But he can’t blame you, you were just that excited to see him. Something he finds remarkable given you’ve been together for four years.

“Didn’t think you’d come here this early,” you comment as you get down, your hands still round his neck. “What brings you by, Chuu? Or should I say, future boss of the Port Mafia?”

He gives you a peck on the lips. His nickname falling from your lips just sound so right. You’re right, he usually comes by after you both are done with work. That usually means 8pm onwards. (You both are pretty invested in your companies. Especially now so for Chuuya that he’s been announced a few days ago as the one to take over the mafia in the future.)

“Today I’m here for professional reasons, princess, to offer you a proposal,” Chuuya coos, a gloved thumb grazing over your cheek.

“Hmm?” You look up at him quizzically. “Okay, shoot.”

Chuuya grins at you, his eyes closing and forming into crescents. He opens them slowly as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I think it’s time for that fifty-fifty.”

✢ tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

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noncommited-writer · 5 years ago

Note

what about tony has been flirting with peter ever since he became his intern

Tony is... distracted.

But he would explain to Pepper that it's because of the endless stream of lawyers coming in and out of his lab, people who speak jargon about problems he really shouldn’t be in charge of.

Not because of his barely legal intern who is too ripped for his own good and too innocent for Tony’s raunchier whims. Which poses a tricky problem because one wrong move, and those lawyers will be coming in for the wrong reasons.

Tony should be smart about this. He really should; the kid doesn’t know better and Tony has too much of a dirty mind to really keep their shared lab a safe space for teenagers.

He also knows he should keep his mouth shut sometimes.

...Maybe not ‘sometimes’—all the time. At least when Peter Parker is in the room.

“Kid, anyone ever told you you’re cute when you ramble?”

Peter, flushed pink and startled, stutters, his long-winded tangent about his new web formula caught stuck in his throat. The poor boy blinks like someone’s just slapped him, glancing away to laugh over the sudden silence.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Stark. And no, no one has.”

At least the kid is enough of a good sport to not point out how creepy Tony knows he’s being to his face.

But those honey-glazed eyes and babbling lips bring Tony down to his knees, incapable to resist blurting his honest thoughts. And that laugh—God.

Tony really is just a weak, weak man.

—

Peter is a good sport in... well, everything.

He’s kind and generous, but he’s able to not make anyone feel awkward for taking his kindness for granted.

He’s brave and committed to the hero-shtick, but it’s not grating in the way Rogers portrays himself to be—self-righteousness on legs.

He’s a genius and a dork, and it’s possibly Tony’s greatest weakness.

“C’mon, you can’t be serious. You cannot think that Star Trek is better than Star Wars.”

Tony loves Star Wars, but not more than he loves seeing Peter so riled up about his favorite series.

“It’s an opinion, Parker, and you should know that.”

Tony aims and throws his blueberry, the fruit bouncing off of Peter’s forehead. And, of course, the kid has to catch it perfectly (damn you, enhanced senses) to pop it into his mouth—

But not before rounding his pink lips around the berry, sucking on it so it braces between his teeth, a flash of a pink muscle licking up the juice.

Tony is just able to hide his groan with a cough.

Well... maybe Peter isn’t a good sport in playing innocent because Tony is sure he saw a glint of something much darker in those eyes. Then again, it could just be a trick of the soft light from Tony’s housing unit.

—

“I’m really, really sorry , Mr. Stark, I promise I’ll fix it.” Those pleads said in that sweet voice should be a crime. It’s unfair, really. Peter should not have the combined powers of an endearing voice and goddamn puppy eyes.

It ruins Tony’s reputation as a hardened hero. Everyone will think they can butter up Iron Man and he’ll bow to everyone’s wish.

Although, he’s pretty sure everyone on the compound is already aware who is his favorite.

“Kid, it’s fine. It’s barely a hole. I’ll fix it. If I let you play with a broken suit, next thing you’ll know it explodes in your face.”

“But—”

“No buts, kid. Let me take care of it.” Tony traces a finger down the tear on the bicep of the suit, baring the thin wires and shattered circuitry behind the red fabric. He briefly frowns.

“How’d you tear this anyway?”

Peter looks sheepish, a shy grin marking his face. “The suit has become a little too small on me. I was lifting a car someone was trapped under and it just... tore. Like that.”

Tony’s brows are high as he glances between the suit in his hands and Peter’s biceps which are—

Tony is pretty sure he just lost some air.

He swallows, averting his lingering gaze. “Guess I’ll have to adjust for a bigger size, huh?”

“I guess so,” Peter says quietly, husky and sweet, words shivering down Tony’s back like warm butter and—

The genius turns away from his intern, blinking away the haze of arousal.

“Alright, kid, it’s pretty late, you should be getting home to May.”

There’s a footstep, then another. In one of his screens, Tony sees the faint reflection of Peter’s hand reaching out to nearly graze his back and—Jesus, what he’d do for those strong, capable hands to press and roam over Tony’s body—

The kid drops his hand, turns and walks out of the lab.

—

Tony found himself toeing the line of banter-partner and someone who finds Peter Parker extremely attractive. Often times, he brushes his hand over Peter's back, grazing his fingers when he passes something to Peter, playfully messing the kid's soft, soft hair.

It's an affectionate sign of friendship. It should be.

But now, everytime he does it, Peter always ends up staring a second too long, a parsing expression on his face.

Peter doesn't hesitate in returning the affection, somehow finding ways to make it feel less platonic, more intimate.

It seems to Tony that as often as he can, Peter would give any excuse to be as close to his mentor as possible. It's not the best form of subtlety Tony has seen, but it veers his thought process off the railroads countless times.

Being with Peter is like an equation of a subject he hasn't quite studied yet. Tony knows he can figure the kid out if the effort is put in, if he takes his time to study and crack everything down to its basic schematics.

With the smell of cheap shampoo and the air of the city clinging to his skin, hair windswept and lips lopsided, Tony feels like he's on a balance beam that's threatening to tip over in an unbecoming moment.

That moment comes too fast for Tony.

He's leaning into Peter's space, as he usually does with people he's close to, when the kid becomes equally casual, slick words slipping out without an ounce of self-consciousness, "If only you can tie me up and gag me, then I'll allow you to touch my original suit. I won't let you keep it as a memorabilia."

Like a hot circuit, his brain trips and jolts, mouth floundering in a weak attempt to form words. His hands are bundles of nerves all of a sudden, his fingers coming to the nape of his neck to scratch away the sudden heat to his face.

Peter doesn't miss a second of his reaction. He, in fact, revels in it.

He's beaming, smile so familiarly innocent and wide, but the context of his expression sends another uncertain heated shock through the older man.

"Mr. Stark? I hope I'm being clear with what I'm implying here."

"You're not exactly subtle, Pete," Tony finally musters the words, laden with husky confusion.

Peter rolls his eyes, tapping the opposite end of his screwdriver on Tony's shoulder. "And you're not the sneaky genius you think you are. Hey, I may be young, but I'm not blind to the staring at my ass."

Tony flushes, something akin to smothered shame simmering between his ribs.

"I notice it in the reflection of my screen. Don't deny it."

"I'm not," Tony says, leaning in a little closer to stare at Peter. Deep chocolate browns are exasperated, affectionate.

"Ever since I became your official intern—or actually, when I turned eighteen—you've been so... So... Just so out of reach but still interested. I have no idea how you pull that off."

Tony's lips quirk to the side, a self deprecating glint in his eyes. "I won't have a chance with you, so what's the harm with staring a little?"

"If I didn't find you so attractive, I would have found that line sort of creepy," the teen deadpans.

Tony shrugs a shoulder, trying not to let his heart leap to his throat when he feels a steady weight of a hand on his bicep. "Good thing you're one of the few people I only ever flirt with."

"That's both endearing and wildly shocking."

"Don't believe all the tabloids, kid."

"Oh no, I'm not taking about your playboy status, I'm more shocked that I'm included in the roster."

Peter's fingers dance across his chest, and Tony takes them into his hands to press little kisses. A little too sappy for this taste but it satisfies the kid.

"You're surprised? Kid, I'd be more surprised if I didn't hit on you. That's how attracted I am to you."

Peter tilts his head. "Should this be counted in my portfolio? Achievements: helping Iron Man with his suits, making out with Iron Man, fucking Iron Ma—"

"So, it's a guarantee, huh?"

A flash of reluctance, a darkened glimmer of regret passes through Peter's face, and Tony can feel the most subtle of twitches when he edges away from him.

Huh, not so confident, then.

Tony turns on the charm, letting his teeth flash when he crowds himself into Peter's space, watching in delight as those seeds of doubt are thrown away almost immediately.

The side of his nose bumps gently against Peter's, lips hovering delicately over the kid's.

"I'll kiss you if you don't include it in your portfolio."

Tony feels rather than sees the delicious grin on the Spiderling's face, Peter's next word uttered so hotly against his own mouth. "Done."

#Starker #Starker prompt #Tony x peter #Ironspider #Tony stark x peter parker #Starker fic

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writtenbyjenn · 5 years ago

Text

Homework

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader Warnings: None Squicks: None Genre: Fluff Word Count: 2280

If there are any spelling or pronoun errors, please tell me! All of my fics are gender neutral. _________________

Draco slammed his forehead on his book. His homework was just not turning out right, no matter how many times he wrote, rewrote, or reread his textbook. He crumpled the parchment that sat in front of him and tore it into shreds. When he threw it back onto the table, it knocked over his bottle of ink, spilling it all over. Draco groaned. With a wave of his wand, the ink and the paper were cleared.

He picked up his books and started heading away from the common room, intending to go to the library. Maybe a change of scenery would help loosen his mind and allow him to finally understand the assignment. He was not looking forward to it, having an intense fear that someone would realize just how stupid he felt.

Draco walked alone through the corridors- he sent Crabbe and Goyle away long ago, not wanting his underlings to see him in such a sorry state. Eventually, he came upon the library. Opening the doors, he saw small groups of students dotted among the tables, each either completely absorbed in their homework or not all, gazing off into space and desperately willing their homework to complete itself. He saw the one person he was most excited to see- a lone Ravenclaw he was sure he could convince to help him. Draco walked over to them.

“You’re a Ravenclaw.” The student in question flicked their obviously blue scarf over their neck without looking up, their eyes still glued to the paper their quill was dancing across.

“Yeah,” they said, still scribbling furiously. Their writing was intense- whatever homework they had (if it even was homework, Draco had never seen that textbook before) they were determined to get it done. Their writing was so small he couldn’t make it out from across the table, and the parchment looked almost totally black with the amount of ink covering it.

“So, you’re smart,” Draco said simply. The Ravenclaw let out a dry chuckle.

“You would be surprised,” the student motioned to another group of Ravenclaws in the corner of the library who were currently trying very hard to blow a portion of their homework up without alerting Pince, the caretaker of the library.

There was a slight pause as Draco stood there before the Ravenclaw continued.

“…. Yes, I’m smart. At least compared to most.”

Draco sighed and smiled, “Just what I needed!”

The Ravenclaw looked up confused as their quill stopped. They saw Draco Malfoy, holding his textbooks and parchment in front of him excitedly. Their face steeled as they looked back down, quill resuming its frantic scribbling.

“No matter how much you threaten me, I’m not doing your homework for you.” Draco’s face fell.

“Nonono, that’s not what I meant!” His face turned pink. Did he really have that much of a reputation of threatening people? He knew was a bit wand happy with hexes and jinxes in the halls….

“I just wanted help with my homework,” he said shyly, a pale hand moving up to ruffle his hair and hide his embarrassment.

For the first time, the Ravenclaw in front of him looked up and met his eyes, trying to see if he was being honest. Draco gulped. He knew the student well from the hallways and a few double classes they shared- they were Y/N, not the absolute smartest student at Hogwarts (that went to Hermoine), but one of the best Ravenclaws there were. Draco knew that they would be able to help him without letting the whole world know he needed the help- they seemed like a drama repellant. Pansy and Parvati tried teasing them many times, but no matter the insults they hurled or rumors they spread, Y/N just shrugged and walked away unaffected. It drove the girls insane. They eventually stopped, more so for their own sanity rather than getting bored.

Y/N looked up at Draco. For a long moment they held eye contact. Draco gulped again. His throat felt dry. Why was he so nervous? His thoughts were interrupted by the movement in front of him. Y/N had looked back down at their paper, but their other hand was motioning to the seat beside them. Draco let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and sat down next to them, spreading his books out and readying his quill and parchment. Y/N looked over at his excited expression and their lips curved into a small smile. Draco’s heart flipped. He had never been so excited to do homework before.

Soon enough, the pair settled into a rhythm. Draco would write, Y/N would correct or make comments.

“Your handwriting is so messy. Also, that is wrong,” Y/N said, pointing to a specific line that Draco hastily scribbled out. There was a slight moment of silence- no words were exchanged, and Draco’s quill stopped for a brief second. He looked over at his tutor. Y/N was leaning on the table, their head resting on one hand. They had a gentle smile on their face.

“…What is it?” Draco broke the silence.

“Nothing,” they said, looking back at the parchment in front of them. A moment passed where Draco looked at them before they continued.

“Most people get angry when I correct them, because I don’t bother sugar coating things,” Y/N looked a little embarrassed as they scratched the back of their neck.

Draco didn’t respond, as he knew he was the same way. He simply smiled, and Y/N understood. He had quite the reputation, after all, for speaking his mind without thinking (or waving his wand as soon as the urge struck, without regard as to who or why). The two continued in amicable silence, only stopped by the occasional blunt correction by Y/N.

Soon enough, his homework sat in front of him, finished. Draco let a content sigh slip from his lips as he leaned back.

“All done, then?” Y/N said.

“Yes, and I’m quite glad. I couldn’t have done it on my own. I appreciate the help,” Draco said, putting his things away. He looked over to his companion, who was grabbing their own work once again, eyes trained back on the parchment they were scribbling on before Draco came over.

“You’re welcome, Draco,” Y/N said simply. Draco frowned. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to pull them out of their shell. He wanted to see their eyes again, not trained on their paper like it was the only thing that mattered. He wanted their sparkling, mischievous eyes trained on him and him alone. He wanted to see their face again, their expressive face, reacting to the stupid things he said and the stories he told when he didn’t feel like answering the questions he was assigned. A plan sparked in his mind.

The week passed quickly, and it was time to put his plan into action, if Y/N would be willing to endure his presence again. He hoped so, Draco thought as he pushed open the door to the library once more. As he suspected, Y/N was sitting at the same table as before, scribbling in the very same frantic manner. He walked up to them again.

Y/N looked up, saw him, and gave a slight smile. Draco’s heart leaped. As Draco approached, Y/N pushed their books and papers to the side.

“Need help again?” Y/N said, a smile on their face and hands folded in front of them.

“Yes, please,” Draco said, a lopsided smile on his face.

Their routine became clear quickly. Every few days, Draco would come to the library to spend time with Y/N get help with his homework from Y/N. Y/N would push aside their work every time and help him with his homework, often interrupted with anecdotes or jokes from both students. A few weeks passed in this manner.

“Draco,” Y/N asked, looking towards him with an unreadable expression on their face. “Why are you here? I know you don’t need help with this. It’s your best subject. You do just fine in class.”

Draco paled. He scratched his neck absent mindedly, eyes trained on a peculiar stain on the floor.

“I, ah, I know,” He paused for a second. He could feel Y/N’s eyes trained on his face, which was rapidly heating up, “I just like spending time with you,” he said, eyes not rising from the floor. He was so embarrassed. He couldn’t believe the words that came out of his mouth. Why did he say that? He wanted to hide under his scarf or apparate away.

Y/N sighed before speaking. “… I like spending time with you too,” Y/N said. Draco looked up hopefully. Y/N was in the same position as him, face flushed and looking away. Draco grinned from ear to ear.

“Well, then we should spend some more time together,” he said, growing more confident with each word and the blush on Y/N’s face, “How about we go to Hogsmeade together next weekend?”

“… As a date?” Y/N said.

Draco paled once more, but pushed forwards, with a resolved “Yes.”

“Okay,” Y/N’s hand lifted to brush a stray hair behind their ear, smile on their blushing face.

Draco couldn’t wait for the next Hogsmeade trip, but until that time came, he still went to the library to spend time with Y/N. He invited them to many things, most of which Y/N politely declined when they saw the group of Slytherins behind him, most of which held a disapproving glare. Y/N always made sure to come to his quidditch matches though, and Draco could never resist showing off.

Draco entered the library, and for the first time, Y/N wasn’t there. On their table (which many students now avoided sitting at, for fear of Draco’s wrath) was a note. He recognized the scratched, near-illegible writing instantly. He picked up the note.

Draco,

Don’t you think the grounds are very nice this time of year? I’m underneath the tree by the lake.

See you soon,

Y/N

He left the library and headed outside. The sun was shining, and he had to admit, it was very nice out. It did not take him long to find Y/N, situated under a shaded tree. They had their eyes closed, drifting off while the shadows from the leaves danced over them. Draco was entranced. Books and parchment were spread on the ground all around them, it was clear they had been there most of the day. He stepped towards them, and they stirred, wiping their eyes with the back of their hand.

“Don’t let me interrupt your nap,” Draco said quietly. Y/N hummed in response.

“Why don’t you join me?” They said sleepily. Draco’s face turned pink and his eyes opened wide, but he didn’t decline. He moved closer and sat next to them, back leaning against the rough bark of the tree. Y/N scooted closer and laid their head on his shoulder. Draco tentatively wrapped his arm around their shoulder.

“…Is this okay?” Draco asked. Y/N just let out a soft mhm before closing their eyes again. In a near instant, they were asleep. Draco felt their weight slump against him. He didn’t know what to do, where to put his hands. After a panicked moment of looking down at their peaceful face, he relaxed. Draco laid his head down on top of theirs and let out a soft sigh. In a few moments, he too was drifting off to sleep.

He awoke some time later. He didn’t know how long it had been, only that the noonday sun was now creeping near the horizon. Y/N was still stationed next to him, but they were no longer asleep. Their head still rested on his shoulder and his head atop theirs, but their eyes were trained on the book in their hand. He watched as they ever so carefully flipped the page with a smooth movement and not a lick of sound.

Draco’s heart leapt when he realized they were so gentle and quiet because they didn’t want to wake him.

He didn’t hesitate to move, wrapping his arms completely around their waist and pulling them lower onto the soft grass. Y/N dropped their book and cursed but let out a soft giggle when Draco nuzzled into their neck.

“Feeling bold, aren’t you?” Y/N mumbled, hand brushing through his blonde hair.

“Yes,” Draco replied simply. He pulled back, letting his arms pin Y/N to the grass.

“I must still be sleepy,” he continued, looking down at them. The evening light danced between the leaves and cast jumping shadows across their adoring face.

“Or maybe you just do that to me,” Y/N was looking up at him and their eyes locked. He could see their chest moving with each breath, the leaves and grass bits in their hair, feel their warmth, see those adoring eyes, and he leaned forward with no hesitation.

The kiss was soft and sweet and seemed to last a lifetime. He never wanted this moment to end, but he had to come up for air. He opened his eyes, and Y/N lay beneath him, a perfect gentle smile upon their lips. He leaned down once more. ________________________

Draco walked to the library, like he did every day. He glared at first years that passed him by and sneered at the Gryffindors that passed, but as soon as the library doors closed behind him, he relaxed. He let out a sigh and a soft smile appeared.

Draco held his books in front of him, lopsided smile on his face as he walked up to the familiar table they used every day, and asked the same question that brought them together,

“Help me with my homework?”

#draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #hp x reader #Harry Potter x reader #hp #x reader

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hamliet · 5 years ago

Text

On Privilege and Parallels: MianMian and SiSi, Wei WuXian and Jin GuangYao

Aka two minor characters who happen to be some of the only female characters who survive MDZS. Granted a lot of characters don’t survive MDZS, but it’s definitely lopsided gender-wise. However, no story is perfect.

(brb crying forever)

Anyways, what struck me while rereading certain parts of MDZS after watching The Untamed was how these seemingly very minor characters actually have quite important thematic roles. On the surface, both MianMian and SiSi appear to be plot devices as neither really has a character arc and yet both play important roles in two of the novel’s turning points: Wei WuXian, Jin ZiXuan, and Lan WangJi saving MianMian essentially kicks off the Sunshot Campaign, and SiSi and BiCao’s stories turn the tides against Jin GuangYao. But these characters have a lot of similarities, and these similarities reflect on their respective foilings with the main protagonist and final antagonist (Wei WuXian for MianMian and Jin GuangYao for SiSi).

In the cave, MianMian is targeted by JiaoJiao purely because JiaoJiao is jealous. After she survives the attempt to tie her up and use her as bait, she is then captured and JiaoJiao tries to burn her face off. Wei WuXian intervenes, getting his flesh branded in the process.

And what’s worth noting is that we see this precise situation later on through SiSi. A merchant’s wife was jealous and had her face cut seven or eight times, leaving her scarred and unable to work.

What’s thematic about this is that it relates to what Wei WuXian observes: society is always going to find a villain.

Instead of JiaoJiao taking her anger out on Wen Chao, or the merchant’s wife on the merchant, they target the objects of their respective partners’ affections. (It’s also worth noting that JiaoJiao is actually a mistress anyways, not Wen Chao’s wife.) In these situations, MianMian and SiSi have considerably less power than JiaoJiao or the merchant’s wife; regarding MianMian, she’s noted to be “the daughter of a servant,” regarding SiSi, obviously, she was a prostitute and we’ve seen how society treats a well-known and educated prostitute like Meng Shi. We can only imagine how they’d treat SiSi.

Along these lines, Wei WuXian empathizes with Jin GuangYao towards the end of the novel, and observes much the same:

These stories and rumors were indeed familiar. Wei WuXian recalled how back then countless people told stories of him kidnapping a thousand virgins to his demonic cave at Burial Mound, ravishing them day and night to cultivate the dark path. He found it somewhat funny, Fine. No matter what, the things they said about me were definitely better than what they’re saying about Jin GuangYao.

Jin GuangYao was not the villain society claims he is; he did not build a temple to himself as they observe, but for his mother: a scorned prostitute who lived a life of sacrifice to give him a chance:

As one sect leader saw the features of the Guanyin statue, he first paused in surprise, then pointed at it for others to see as though he found something new and interesting, “Look at its face! Doesn’t it look like Jin GuangYao?”

Everyone mused after they looked, “It’s his face indeed! Why would Jin GuangYao make such a thing?”

Sect Leader Yao, “To declare himself a god with wild arrogance, of course.”

“Arrogant indeed, then, hahaha.”

Wei WuXian thought to himself, No, not necessarily.

Jin GuangYao’s mother was seen as the lowest prostitutes, so he decided to carve a Guanyin statue with his mother’s appearance, receiving the worship of tens of thousands.

But there was no use in saying all that. Nobody knew with more clarity than Wei WuXian that nobody would care and nobody would believe him. Anything related to Jin GuangYao would be given the most malicious conjectures and passed through the mouths of the crowd.

And that’s another parallel between MianMian, Wei WuXian, SiSi, and to a lesser extent Jin GuangYao as well (I’ll get into where he differs later). MianMian, Wei WuXian, and SiSi will stand up for what they believe is right, for the people they care for, no matter who stands against them. MianMian narrowly avoided the social implications of getting her face ruined, as Wei WuXian observes:

Wei WuXian, “It’s not like I had any other choice, right?... MianMian is a girl, and quite a pretty girl, at that. If she was blind in an eye or such a thing gets onto her face, it wouldn’t be able to come off for the rest of her life. How bad would that be?”

Lan WangJi spoke in a thin voice, “The thing on your body right now will not be able to come off for the rest of your life either.”

Wei WuXian, “That’s different. It’s not on the face. And I’m a man—what am I scared of?”

These are implicitly gendered as well. Yet she chooses to throw her reputation away anyways to shame her sect for their treatment of Wei WuXian. Nie MingJue even observes "The woman has much more backbone than the mob of her sect” after they again judge her on the basis of her gender:

“There’s no need for me to say anything. You know, deep down, and we know too. You fell for him back in the cave of the Xuanwu just because he flirted with you? You’re still arguing for him, calling white black no matter how irrational it is. Ha, women will always be women.”

SiSi too stood up for Meng Shi when all the other prostitutes were badmouthing her, when she was humiliated, and challenged the men who were gawking at the humiliation:

[they were] chuckling as they told the story of the poor old woman to their clients just like AnXin did. Only one of the ladies squeezed through the doors. She took off the gauze robe that was so flimsy to begin with, revealing half of her full, snowy breasts enwrapped by a crimson slip, her waist was exceptionally thin as well. She was more than eye-catching and everyone hurried to take a look at her.

The lady spat, cursing, “Keep on looking, you bastards! Do you have the right to look at someone like me? With each look you gotta pay—where’s the money?! Come, where’s the money?!”

As she cursed, she reached out and asked the bystanders for money. The crowd dispersed somewhat, and she threw the robe she took off onto the woman, the two of them staggering into the main hall...

She challenges society thereby, pointing out that if they’re going to gawk at a woman’s fate, they might as well pay up, because they’re the ones who employ the women in the brothel, they’re the reason they resort to this fate. Society is to be blamed more than anything or anyone else.

But their fates differ. MianMian is able to marry a man who supports her in night hunts despite her lack of sect belonging; she finds belonging and happiness outside society (which is a theme).

Luo QingYang gazed at her husband, smiling, “My husband isn’t of the cultivating world. He used to be a merchant. But, he’s willing to go night-hunting with me…”

It was both rare and admirable that an ordinary person, and a man at that, would be willing to give up his originally stable life and dare travel the world with his wife, unafraid of danger and wander. Wei WuXian couldn’t help feeling respect for him.

We’re not given a clear answer to SiSi’s fate, and I’m not going to assume it’s negative, but it’s worth noting that SiSi is literally saved by and yet locked up by Jin GuangYao, which is symbolic of both Jin GuangYao’s choices and how society treats women like her: they are forever categorized by a life they quite possibly didn’t choose. Their scars repulse people.

The woman spoke with no shame in her voice, not at all trying to beat around the bush. Many of the female cultivators covered their lips with their sleeves, while the men frowned. Sisi, “After my face became like this, my days were different from before. Nobody wanted to spare me a single glance, let alone do my business. My original brothel kicked me out. I didn’t know how to do anything else, but I couldn’t take in any business at all, so I joined up with the older sisters. Their customers didn’t have high demands. If a job is up, I’d tag along with them. I could manage with my face covered up.”

At this point, some of the people couldn’t take it any longer. They let the contempt in their eyes pour out without any intent to cover it.

But Jin GuangYao, to whatever extent it matters--and Wei WuXian remarks that he thinks it does matter--saved Sisi even though he had to know not killing her would likely come back to bite him. He doesn’t stand up for people against society, but he does surreptitiously find ways to protect those who were kind to him.

“Speaking of it, that SiSi used to be quite the well-known prostitute back in the days. With how old she is, I couldn’t even recognize her. What a fucking hag. It was quite the torturous death for Jin GuangShan too, hahahahaha…”

“Props to Jin GuangYao for thinking of such a way to kill his dad. A perfect match. Absolutely perfect!”

“It’s quite a mystery—why didn’t Jin GuangYao kill that old prostitute? Witnesses should be silenced. Is he an idiot?”

“Why should he be an idiot? He’s the seed of Jin GuangShan, after all. Maybe he’s a lover of affairs too. Maybe he’s got special tastes and has… haha, an unspeakable relationship with SiSi?”

“Hah, I think so too, but don’t the stories say? Because he engaged in incest with his sister-by-blood, Jin GuangYao was so shocked he somehow fell ill in an unspeakable way, so even if he wanted to, he couldn’t, hahaha…

This is exactly what doomed Jin GuangYao insofar as his choices are concerned: he both hated society that treated his mother terribly, knew it left him with little choice, and yet still chose to be a part of it. He chose to keep himself locked up instead of seeking a more meaningful life outside of society’s approval.

The symbolism of SiSi being locked up for so long is what happens to Jin GuangYao as well. We see both him and Wei WuXian categorized by their parents: Wei WuXian is disparaged as a “son of a servant” and Jin GuangYao as the “son of a whore.”

Wei WuXian, however, was given a chance, a chance that enables him to save MianMian from being forever categorized by her scars: he was found on the streets by Jiang FengMian. However horrible Madame Yu was to him (and she was), however he was rumored to be the illegitimate son of Jiang FengMian (which while it’s unlikely, the novel never directly gives an answer to), he had support and love growing up. He had cultivation taught to him, and he thinks this:

if Jiang FengMiang hadn’t take him back to Lotus Pier, perhaps he wouldn’t cross paths with cultivation his whole life. Then he would have never known that such a magnificent path existed in this world. He’d only be a head beggar who roamed the streets, fleeing at first sight of a dog, or maybe looking after cows and stealing other people’s crops in the countryside, playing his flute to pass his time. He wouldn’t have known to cultivate, and he definitely wouldn’t have had the chance to form a core. With such thoughts, he’d felt much better.

Take it as repayment, or take it as redemption. Take it as he’d never received the golden core to begin with.

Jin GuangYao did not have this. He grew up as a poor child in YunMeng just like Wei WuXian, but no one stood up for him save his mother and SiSi. When he found his way to his father’s house, as the actual illegitimate son, Jin GuangShan had him kicked down the stairs of Koi Tower instead of welcoming him. Madame Jin abused him physically as well as emotionally (Madame Yu’s, to our knowledge, was primarily verbal/emotional):

Blood streamed down from [Jin GuangYao’s] forehead, but aside from the wound from the fall, there was also an old wound from before, wrapped in bandages. It had been hidden only because he was wearing the black gauze cap. Now, both wounds gaped open...

Lan XiChen walked as he spoke, “Brother, I am afraid that you do not know. Our third brother really is in a terrible situation as of the moment... His mother never liked him to begin with. After ZiXuan-xiong passed away, she often hit him and scolded him.

Wei WuXian never fully fit in with society, and no one tried to integrate Jin GuangYao with it without removing the labels and boxes they put him in . He only achieved a place in society via lies and deception that just turned out to be another box, leaving him to be trapped in a literal locked coffin for at least a hundred years. He’s fully responsible for his choices that led to his tragedy, but it’s foolish to say that his circumstances did not contribute to them as well; take Wei WuXian’s word for it, not mine. Society is a monstrous, toxic creation in MDZS, and Jin GuangYao’s focus on its approval instead of on the people who loved him’s approval (Lan XiChen, even Nie MingJue) led to him doing monstrous things to vulnerable people who had no choice in their circumstances either (namely, A-Song and SiSi’s shunned prostitute friends).

It’s still remarkable to me how often I see takes arguing that Jin GuangYao=bad and Wei WuXian=good, when, while everyone’s entitled to their opinion, the story’s themes directly contradict this. Both of them messed up, and Wei WuXian made better choices than Jin GuangYao did ultimately. However, Wei WuXian also was had support from a young age in ways Jin GuangYao never did, and the novel goes out of its way to point this out. It’s hard for servants, prostitutes, the disabled (Xiao XingChen), the disfigured, women, to find a place in a society that scorns them. It’s directly criticizing privilege beyond sociopolitical boundaries and points to the privilege in people’s experiences as well, emphasizing the importance of empathy in solving problems.

Wei WuXian is warned numerous times that empathy is dangerous, yet he uses it more than once in the novel. Jin GuangYao asked Nie MingJue for empathy several times, and was rebuffed (though Lan XiChen did give him empathy to an extent... but there’s more to that which is a topic for another meta). Ironically, the one who empathizes with Jin GuangYao in the end, who understands him most, is Wei WuXian, because they were not that different in the end.

#wei wuxian #mdzs #mdzs meta #jin guangyao #mao dao zu shi #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #founder of diabolism #gdc meta #the untamed #chen qing ling #sisi #mianmian #luo qingyang

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melodiesofblueroses · 4 years ago

Text

Star Boy (Yoosung x Reader) Pt.3

★ ━ 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 4.4k

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Bonus: Alternative Ending

It was on the front page of every newspaper in the human world. It made headlines on television screens: the night that the sky had lost the stars. Yoosung had made such a grave mistake, neglecting his duties. It was such a simple job too, really. Yoosung just had to put the stars up, it didn’t really require much thought. Yet he brushed that job aside, for (MC) was more important than any duty or expectation society has placed on him. Yes, Yoosung will be shunned forever, and his reputation will never rise above that of a lowlife, but it was all for (MC). Isn’t that worth it, risking everything for one who might not reciprocate your feelings? For our dear star boy, the answer was yes. Yoosung was a fool blinded by love.

Of course, this accident was no incident to sweep under the rug. No, Yoosung would have to confront the higher up, which had called for him the following day. Jihyun, the sun of the solar system, dealt with all ordeals that occurred within and outside of his solar system. He was quite a force to be reckoned with. A meeting with him basically meant that your reputation as a celestial being was gone, vanished into the vast sky. There was no recovering when the leader called you in to discuss a clumsy mistake.

“Ah, Yoosung was it?” Jihyun started off calmly, smiling as Yoosung took a seat before him. Our doomed star boy was called exactly an hour after the sun had risen. Nothing was able to escape JIhyun as long as the sun was in the sky. Yet, from Yoosung’s perspective, Jihyun seemed like quite a tired being. He wasn’t sure if it was the lopsided smile or the disheveled hair, but Jihyun looked exhausted. Maybe this wasn’t the first time such an incident happened, although he highly doubted that thought. If such a grave mistake were to occur, it would be taught in training courses, used as an example of what not to follow.

“Now, I’m sure you know why I’ve called you in.” He had such a soft voice, not one fit for such a high position. Although he seemed like a gentle guy, Yoosung didn’t want to take any chances and refused to meet Jihyun’s eyes. He was the sun after all, the grand all be all of the solar system. “No need to be so stiff,” Jihyun chuckled.

“I-I’m sorry,” he meekly mumbled, flushed from head to toe. What it was like to be called out by the most important figure for your mannerisms. It was too embarrassing.

“I see you’re still quite new to all this.” Jihyun sighed and combed a hand through his hair. “You know, the stars are what humans are the most familiar with. Without them, our identity will be in danger of being exposed. Humans, since the start of time, have always made up legends about the sky and its stars. Yet, our identity remains a secret. It’s how balance is accomplished.”

Yoosung wasn’t quite sure at what Jihyun was getting at. He was the sun after all, the brightest in the solar system. He must have ways of thinking beyond what Yoosung could comprehend, much to the poor boy’s dismay. It didn’t really help his confidence that he didn’t know what was going on. Rather, it frightened him, and Jihyun clearly picked up on that.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not quite sure where you’re getting at.” Yoosung was bothered now since Jihyun kept stalling. He knew of his mistake and sitting in this rather small office agonizing over the consequences that awaited didn’t help settle the growing anxiety in Yoosung’s gut. He wanted to get this meeting over with already. Yoosung was just waiting for Jihyun to rip away his badge of honor and have him shamelessly wander the night sky for the rest of eternity or whatever else the punishment was. Was Jihyun just torturing him by having him sit there and listen to the clock’s rhythmic ticking? Maybe this was the punishment.

But he wouldn’t dare show his true feelings to the leader of the solar system. If need be, Jihyun could have Yoosung’s very existence decimated within a few seconds, whether literally or metamorphically was the question. I mean, Yoosung’s career was practically over, but he didn’t necessarily want to die.

He heard a rather loud sigh from Jihyun. Well now that was just a tad bit rude. “I see you’re as naive as the reports say.” Woah there, did everyone really see him as a naive little boy? Gah, that stupid flirt’s nickname was sticking. “All right, I’ll give you a second chance.”

Wait, what. Did Yoosung hear that correctly? The sun of the solar system, the ever-powerful all-knowing, the Jihyun Kim, was giving naive little Yoosung another chance? Was the sun going to rise in the west and set in the east now too? What in the world was Jihyun thinking?

“E-Excuse me?” Yoosung stuttered out, still quite taken aback by the sudden turn of events. Here he was, all prepared for the consequences that would befall him. Hell, Yoosung was prepared to face expulsion from the celestial realm. He wasn’t quite sure what Jihyun’s true motives were, but it was best to not ask. After all, he was given a second chance, why blow it?

“You seem to still be quite new at your job, and I understand it can be quite nerve-wracking. You don’t seem quite used to it yet.” Yoosung slowly nodded, paying close attention to Jihyun’s explanation. “Yoosung, I’m trusting that you won’t make the same mistake twice, am I clear?”

“Y-Yes sir! Thank you for this second chance.”

“Mm, of course. But you do know the consequences that await if you neglect your duties again, right?”

“Why did you not hang the stars?” (MC) asked that night, a bit concerned as to what was in the future for poor Yoosung. It was cloudy, and the stars hid behind the soft cotton-like structures while the moon shone through. It was quite a fitting metaphor for what was occurring, Yoosung hiding behind his feelings while (MC) was miles ahead and shining with such brilliance. The sky always seemed to uncover the depths of Yoosung’s heart.

Yoosung saw how her face was of mixed emotions: anguish, worry, and disappointment, all rather negative emotions. He did feel a bit bad that it was because of him that (MC) was worrying. But he knew the consequences of his actions, and he was ready to accept them. He might as well be shunned from being a celestial being, forever wandering the vast night sky and wondering how his life came to be. Yoosung would never regret his decision, however. This small star was going to shine through all the clouds and the moon, so as to be noticed and make a name for itself. Yoosung might have taken that concept a bit too far though.

“The stars are nothing in comparison to you,” he responds confidently, (MC) quite taken aback. Yoosung could see it on her face. He didn’t know if she felt uncomfortable or if it was just the blush on her face making her seem so, but he decided to continue. After all, this was an important moment in his life. “Your light outshines them all, today moreso than ever. You are my one true star, and you have encompassed my being so much so that I forget about the mudane ones my duty is tied to.”

(MC) was, needless to say, shocked at how mature Yoosung had seemingly become. I mean, just a few months ago he seemed rather timid (although that could be thrown around rather loosely) and a bit childish. But here he was, holding her hands against his chest to feel his rapidly beating heart, proof of his undying love. She was happy, over the moon even. Yoosung’s confession was heartfelt, one truly born out of pure love, and (MC) felt that she could take comfort in his words. But she was also very concerned. “But if you are to forget about the stars, who will guide all the children on the Earth to their parents?”

“They will follow your radiance, for in the night sky you are the most eyecatching of them all.” Yoosung then proceeded to take out his gift, the perfect one for someone sweet like (MC). It was a small star, one defective and not large enough to dot the night sky, but it still radiated a tiny light. “Please, take this star. Think of it as a piece of me that will always be watching over you, even if we are lightyears apart. I may not be the brightest star in the night sky nor the most beautiful, but I’m still able to carry out my duty of watching over the beautiful princess of the moon.”

Breathless. (MC) felt her heart stop for a brief moment or rather it skipped a beat. Oh God, what was this warm fuzzy feeling that was spreading through her chest? It must be embarrassment, or maybe it was happiness. She couldn’t quite process what was going on in those good few seconds, any words she wanted to speak becoming nothing but a breath of air. Was this a dream? It felt like a scene out of a shoujo manga, so warm and heartfelt. Her cheeks were flushed from the confession, face a bit hot from all the blood circulating through, and now in her hands, nestled a glowing star. The star itself was so dazzling, definitely standing out from the thousands of others that nestled in the midnight blue sky. To others, however, it was merely a small star, nothing more nothing less. But to (MC), this lone star was so much more beautiful than all the stardust or star bits she had collected over the years. It carried a certain essence, one that reminded (MC) a lot of Yoosung. And that itself carried so much more weight than anything she had.

“Yoosung,�� she muttered to herself, still unable to process that this truly was reality. Her mind was still in a murky haze, or her head in the clouds if you will, but she was a bit more composed. “I feel the same way, truly I do.” (MC) seemed to still have a bit of trouble coming up with words as she tried her hardest to not fumble over them. “But you musn’t forget about your duties. The stars are such an integral part of the nighttime sky, and without them, we would all be lost. The sky needs its star boy, and I can’t have you risking your position-your future-all for me.”

Her response left Yoosung feeling confused, not at her answer but at his own emotions. On one hand, he was ecstatic that she felt the same way. (MC), the moon girl who had a much higher status than him in the celestial realm, reciprocated his feelings of love. It was love, right? Not some mere crush that would disappear in a few months...right? That little seed of doubt grew when he heard (MC) mention how she couldn’t pursue a relationship with him, not at this time at least. Were their duties really so much more important than his feelings? Yes, the humans that lie below depend on the stars and the moon and the sun and all the other celestial objects, but at this moment, couldn’t (MC) forget about their tiresome duties and focus on the confession?

“I am willing to risk anything if it means that I could have a future with you.” He took her hands in his, immediately softening up the moment he felt her warmth. (MC) looked at him with curious and sorrowful eyes, as if expecting him to plead to change her mind. Yoosung was, needless to say, a bit hurt by this, but that was exactly what he was going to do. “You may think that I’m still a child, but I’ve grown. Over these past few months I shared with you, I’ve matured, no longer the naive little boy that first met you.” Taking a deep breath, he placed her hands on his chest, right above where his beating heart lay. “I promise I won’t forget about my duties again. I promise you with all my heart. But for now, focus on this moment. You’re the only one that can make my heart beat this way, and for a moment, I want you to forget about your duties and focus on your feelings.”

Her feelings? (MC) blinked, a small blush flushing her cheeks once more as she stared at her hands which were curled up on Yoosung’s chest. Yoosung was right. All this time, (MC) had been worried that if the two of them were to pursue a relationship, then Yoosung would repeat his mistake, and he would forever be taken away from her. But Yoosung had matured, and it was a bit offensive that she wouldn’t acknowledge his growth. The least she could do now was give Yoosung a concrete answer and forget about the world for the next few moments. Her breath hitched in her throat, but (MC) tried to calm her nerves and beating heart before the words left her lips. “I...I love you Yoosung, and those are my true feelings.”

The second that sentence registered within Yoosung’s mind, he broke out into a wide, goofy smile. “I’m so happy,” he breathlessly muttered, quickly pulling (MC) into a tight hug. This time, (MC)’s response felt so much more genuine and full of love, not that the first one wasn’t, but she had finally accepted the fact that he had matured. He couldn’t hold himself back, and in a few swift movements, he connected his lips with (MC)’s, a moment that Yoosung had dreamed about for so long. (MC) didn’t seem to mind and happily accepted the kiss, much to Yoosung’s relief since it practically came outta nowhere. The current situation was something that Yoosung couldn’t register for a few moments. He couldn’t believe that this was real, that his life was finally looking up. Not only had he finally grown, but he also found a girlfriend, one that he loved so much with all his heart. If only Yoosung could live in this moment forever.

“Hey, Yoosung was it?” It was a voice that our dear star boy thought he would never hear again. It took a few seconds for it to register, but once it did, Yoosung automatically recognized the voice belonging to a certain flirtatious silver-head. So he had finally remembered his name this time around huh. Yoosung turned to face Hyun who seemed to have a rather displeased look, as if he came bearing bad news. This greatly upset Yoosung. He had a gut feeling that he knew what this was all about, and quite frankly Yoosung was over that incident. Sure, he made a grave mistake that endangered the very existence of the Celestial Realm, but accidents happen (maybe not on that scale but still). He was already lectured by both Jihyun and (MC), not to mention he had to deal with the gossip and rumors that tarnished his very name.

“Yes?” Yoosung tried his best not to let his annoyance show. He had no actual reason to be mad at Hyun. The poor man just wanted to talk with him, yet Yoosung was already jumping to conclusions. “You’re Hyun, the shooting star guy from back then.”

“Ah, I’m flattered that you remember.” His chuckle was a bit deep, but what struck out to Yoosung was that it sounded rather manly, unlike his laugh that he thought sounded that of a grade-schooler. There were those intrusive thoughts that appeared in his mind for a split second, the ones that made him very conscious about his appearance. Yoosung quickly shook off those thoughts when he saw Hyun’s serious face. “I actually have something to ask you.”

“Hm?”

“Are you and (MC) dating?” Well, that question certainly came as a shock to our dear star boy. Were they dating? Well, the two of them did share a kiss, and they did go on a lot of outings that could be classified as dates. So yeah, Yoosung and (MC) were a couple, but why would Hyun know anything about this? Yoosung’s mind wandered back to the conversation where (MC) had stated that she was very close friends with Hyun and immediately came to the conclusion that (MC) had told him of their status. Even then, why would it matter to Hyun? He couldn’t possibly have feelings for (MC), not when Yoosung’s life was finally starting to look up.

“Yeah but why?” Yoosung desperately wanted to add on to that, wanting to ask why it concerned Hyun anyway, but alas the words got caught in his throat. Hyun’s tone hadn’t been a pleasant one. In fact, it was very similar to the tone that came with “we need to talk,” and we all know that those kinds of statements cause deep anxiety within one’s stomach. Yoosung felt his throat go dry, and his heart hammered against his chest, anxiously awaiting what Hyun was going to say.

He heard Hyun heavily sigh. Well now, that was a bit rude, don’t you think Hyun? Yoosung pouted at this and crossed his arms, similar to back then during their first encounter. Seems like Hyun hadn’t changed in the slightest since then. “I mean this in the nicest way, I truly do, but do you think you’re ready to be in a relationship?”

Oh ho ho, Yoosung should’ve expected such a snide remark coming from this narcissist. First, he insults his intelligence by calling him naive (well that was back then but the nickname still stuck), and now Hyun thought that he wasn’t mature enough to be in a relationship? The audacity of this man! The question didn’t go over well with Yoosung, and he felt his blood boil with each passing second. He tried his best to remain calm, but his patience was wearing thin. Who was Hyun to question him like this?

“Of course I do,” Yoosung retorted, a bit of his anger evident in his tone of voice. It was offensive, really. “I don’t know why you’d think this matter concerns you but-”

“Listen, Yoosung,” Hyun cut in, trying his best to alleviate the tension between the two. “I just have (MC)’s best interests in mind. I’m sure she’s told you all about me. Hell, she never stops talking about you when I hang out with her.” That comment left Yoosung a blushing mess, briefly forgetting about his anger from moments ago. Ah, the thought of (MC) praising him and talking of nothing but good things when he wasn’t around made him fall for her harder. She truly was an angel in disguise, a pure and angelic being that deserved all the stars in the sky in order to illuminate her beauty. But enough of that and back to the matter at hand.

“I do too. I want nothing more than to make (MC) happy.” Yoosung bit the bottom of his lip, trying his best not to get too emotional. Truth be told, he was still young when it came to being a celestial being, and thus still quite sensitive over the little things, especially when it came to (MC) since she is his first girlfriend.

“I’m glad we both want to protect (MC), but Yoosung, do you think you’re mature enough to handle a relationship? Just a few weeks ago you had forgotten-”

“Oh, so that’s what this is all about.” Yoosung had a gut feeling that it all led up to that incident from a couple of weeks ago, but now that it was confirmed, he couldn’t help but feel angry. Hyun just felt so insulting, as if he somehow thought that he was better than Yoosung himself. Yoosung was so sick and tired of everyone bringing up that incident, especially since he’s matured quite a bit since then and learned of his mistakes. When he opened his mouth to respond this time, Yoosung couldn’t hide the anger and spite that filled his voice. “I should’ve known. You’re probably just jealous of me and (MC).” Emotions got the best of him, and Yoosung’s face was burning a bright red as he spat out remarks he would regret once he calmed down.

“What? Dude no. (MC) and I are just friends-”

“Then why would you ask if I think I’m ready to be in a relationship?”

“Yoosung, I just want to make sure you wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. I don’t want anyone to hurt (MC)-”

“Of course I wouldn’t! I’ve grown since then, and it’s a bit offensive that you’re bringing up old events. Why are you trying to interfere with our relationship?” Yoosung was feeling riled up and couldn’t stop. It may have been the immature thing to do, but Yoosung kept going on, being carried by his emotions that swayed his judgment at the moment. “For the first time in my life, I like someone, and I feel motivated. I don’t get why you’re being so negative even when we don’t know each other that well!” With those final words said, Yoosung made a small ‘hmph’ and turned around, already moving away from Hyun who tried to call out to him to mend their now strained relationship. He wasn’t exactly sure what Hyun was getting at, but what Yoosung did know was that a seed of doubt had been planted in his heart at that exact moment.

“Don’t think too much about what Hyun said,” (MC) softly spoke, stroking Yoosung’s soft locks as he lay in her lap that night. “He’s just trying to look out for us. I promise you he means well.” The night sky around them was still and blank, similar to a canvas waiting to be painted on by its owner. Yoosung had been feeling a bit pouty tonight and went straight to (MC) to be comforted before doing his duty. Hyun’s remarks from earlier on in the day had stuck with Yoosung, and he couldn’t shake off the doubt that lingered in his heart. Was he really still that immature, naive boy from back then? Did (MC) deserve someone better than him, someone who’s mature and could easily deal with these intrusive thoughts?

“But I can’t help but think what he said may be true,” Yoosung muttered, burying his face in the soft cotton cloth of (MC)’s plaid yellow dress. Mm, her touch was just so soft and comforting. It always relaxed him after a stressful day. “Maybe I really am still an immature boy.”

“Don’t say that. You and I both know that you’ve grown so much. It’s natural to have doubt you know, but don’t let it get to your head.” She continued to play with his hair, ruffling it here and there to which Yoosung sighed contentedly. Maybe (MC) was right after all. He was mature in his own way. Even if he went back to his immature tendencies every once in a while, growing up was a long process, and there were setbacks here and there. But that didn’t mean that Yoosung wasn’t mature! Slowly but surely, that seed of doubt was bound to get smaller until its whispers could be heard no more, and Yoosung was going to be a bright, confident, young star one day!

“Heh, thanks (MC),” he mumbled bashfully, sitting up so that he could act like the big spoon and cuddle her. She responded with a simple “of course” and immediately laid her head on Yoosung’s chest, drifting off to sleep in a few short moments. Guess (MC) had a long day as well, yet here she was comforting Yoosung when he felt at his lowest. Had he really matured?

The next few hours, Yoosung was lost deep in thought as (MC) lay on his chest, sleeping the night away ever so soundly. Ah, she looked so peaceful and pretty drowned in the moon’s light that was illuminating beneath them. The sight of (MC) sleeping put Yoosung at ease as he reflected back on today.

Hyun may have been right, but (MC) did have a point. Hyun was simply looking after the two of them, cautious so as the two could live a happy life together with no setbacks. He may not have been the best with words, but his heart was in the right place, and that’s what matters most. Damn, now Yoosung felt bad for going off on him. He would have to apologize to the silver-head soon, maybe when the two met again at a later time.

Sighing, Yoosung looked at (MC) yet again and smiled. Ah, he was just so happy to have someone so pure and precious as his girlfriend. It truly was a blessing. When he looked at her, Yoosung felt that seedling of doubt diminish ever so slightly. Yes, Yoosung may not be the perfect star boy nor the perfect boyfriend, but Yoosung was maturing, what he had wanted to do all his life. He knew that the doubt wouldn’t leave anytime soon, but Yoosung knew that he had to have confidence in himself. At that moment, while he lovingly gazed at (MC), Yoosung came to a conclusion.

He, Yoosung Kim, current star boy of the Celestial Realm, was going to do what it takes to stay with (MC) and make her happy. And that was his resolution, what made him a true man. Yoosung would listen to his heart and never regret any of his decisions from now on. At last, finding true comfort, Yoosung felt himself doze off in the arms of his lover. Yes, he had neglected to put the stars up in the sky yet again this night, but it was worth it, for (MC) was more valuable than any of the planets and stars and galaxies that would align the universe and paint the night sky. (MC) was his one true love, and he would take being shunned and banished over a hundred times if it meant (MC) would be happy. With that, he drifted off, smiling and pushing the thought that he had forgotten his duties yet again to the back of his mind. For now, in this moment, he would savor being in (MC)’s warmth.

#star boy #yoosung kim #mystic messenger #yoosung x reader #yoosung x mc #romance #short story

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itsclydebitches · 5 years ago

Link

The call came at 1:08 on an August afternoon.

“Package for Aziraphale, Principality, angel of the Flaming Sword, Guardian of the Eastern Gate?”

All activity in the bookshop ceased. Though there wasn’t much of it to begin with. One young woman using an outlet to charge her cell and an even younger boy who’d ditched his mother three stores down. The dusty—potentially cursed?—tomes in Aziraphale’s shop were a whole lot more interesting than makeup and she wouldn’t notice his absence for some time yet. It was the boy who scrunched up his nose and demanded,

“Who?”

The man settled against the door-jamb. Package in one hand, clipboard in the other. “Aziraphale. Principality. Angel of the—”

“Yes, yes, that would be me. Thank you!”

A mess of white curls popped out from behind a tower of books, followed by a pudgy body and wringing hands. Aziraphale only released his own fingers to grab hold of the boy and the woman, gently (but insistently) urging them out of the shop. The woman was only just able to grab her phone before she was unceremoniously tossed across the threshold. The boy protested. Both stared as the postman gave a jaunty wave.

The door shut with a distinct click.

“Was that really necessary?”

Aziraphale liked to consider himself a dignified, level-headed sort of fellow. Had Crowley been in the room he would have announced that he was just pouting, plain and simple. Luckily, the postman didn’t put any more stock into that faux glare than a demon would have.

He shrugged. “Part of the job I’m afraid. Names are important. You know that.”

“...Yes. I suppose I do.”

Not just important. Names were arguably the greatest vessels for divine power currently in existence. Next to the Almighty herself, of course. Before Aziraphale had been given anything else—his orders, his sword, even the knowledge that he loved his siblings—he’d been given his name. Four syllables spoken in Enochian by Her, reverberating through all of Heaven, letting the rest of existence know that another angel had just come into the world. Names were lost when one Fell. They could be broken or warped or even, on the rare occasion, healed into something new. Yes, Aziraphale knew the power of names. Which was why the first thing he did after reprimanding the postman was to ask him his own.

The postman spoke it, letting it settle among the books and onto an angel’s ears. Aziraphale smiled.

“Very nice,” he commented, pouring cocoa from a kettle that hadn’t been there before. The weather was just ghastly and if anyone deserved a hot drink it was the civil servant running about in two feet of snow. “Marshmallows?”

“Of course.”

“Whipped cream?”

“Why not.”

“Sprinkles?”

“Well if we’ve gone this far...”

As the sweets piled high the postman observed that this was what he loved most about his job: the human interaction. Funny then that he should only get that today with someone who was, undoubtably, not human. It wasn’t just the order slip arriving in a circle of fire over his eggs that had cued him in. There was something about the density of air in this shop. A hum that was only just audible; how the light seemed to follow Aziraphale wherever he went, bending in accordance to him, not physics. Yes, the postman had grown quite adept at spotting the occult and the ethereal—the in-between too. Summoning up the Four Horsemen, dying, and coming back thanks to the antichrist would do that to a man.

It seemed his reputation preceded him. Aziraphale handed over the cocoa with a wariness not normally attributed to package deliveries. In the postman’s experience they usually generated quite the opposite effect.

He took the drink and traded it for the clipboard. “No worries. Just a normal delivery. Sign there please.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrow disappeared into his hair. “Is there such a thing when it comes to us? A normal delivery?”

“Sure! I’d like to think so, anyway.”

“My apologies then. You’re not the only visitor I’ve had recently so I suppose I’m a little... on edge.”

“Right,” the postman said. “Understandable. Ah—! Full name please.”

With a wince Aziraphale set down the pen he’d picked up, wiping his sweating palm down the side of his vest. He then twisted his fingers, not unlike a magician summoning up a coin. A holy light appeared between his thumb and pointer and the postman looked away as it burned into the paper.

The cocoa was, of course, extravagantly delicious. None of that powdered stuff in hot water. He could taste real chocolate melted down into the milk, just bitter enough to offset all the sweets on top. The postman took a slurp that left whipped cream across his nose as Aziraphale bent to inspect the box.

Nothing extravagant there. All browns and beige. Squishy edges.

“Other visitors?” he asked, bending close to inspect the letter opener Aziraphale had pulled from between the pages of The Sickness Unto Death. There were a pair of wings that arched up and seemed to hover over the blade. “Don’t tell me your superiors are still mad about that Armageddon business?”

Aziraphale paused. Blinked. “It was less than a month ago.”

“Yes, well.” The postman shrugged, giving a lopsided smile. “Habit from the missus, I guess. No arguments allowed to go on longer than a day. Past that it’s just time to stew, not think.”

“Oh. I quite like that,” and Aziraphale sliced through the tape with practiced ease. “Not sure I’d ever get my—er, that side to agree to such a thing though. I’m sure they’re still plenty mad. But no, it wasn’t them.”

The postman nodded, satisfied with that. There were only so many ‘them’s that might have stopped by in the aftermath of the world not ending. The postman could think of four groups, of which he was one. Not terribly hard to figure out then, but also not the sort of thing you wanted to say aloud. Not if it wasn’t necessary. As established, names held power.

“Not sure I’d want to invoke one of them without a package to deliver,” he muttered. Aziraphale hummed in the back of his throat.

On the small table before them the tape continued to part, easy as butter. Beneath that were the mounds of bubblewrap and tissue employed for the most fragile of objects. Aziraphale took a fortifying sip of his cocoa before setting to parting each one, taking his time, wary of creases. Anyone who had tried to pop into the shop right then—and a quick miracle assured they did not—would have thought the two were bent over a bomb, so tense were the lines of their shoulders. Aziraphale in particular had to stop halfway through and mop his forehead with a handkerchief.

After all, the package was addressed to him.

Quite obviously, in fact. Once he’d reached the bottom.

“Too small a box for your sword,” the postman said, clearly fishing. Aziraphale obediently lifted the object over the wrappings so he could see.

It was a medal.

“Very nice!” he said. “...isn’t it?”

“I’ve seen this before,” Aziraphale said, speaking each word slowly. Tasting them. He suddenly snapped his fingers, nearly dropping the medal in the process. “I have seen this before! 1800. The opening of my shop.” He gestured, as if the postman might not believe that there was, in fact, a bookshop in existence around them, right this very moment. “A, uh... family member tried to give it to me when I thought I was being recalled home. Oh good lord.” Aziraphale sucked in a breath. “He didn’t send it, did he?”

“No. Box would have a return address if he had. Even for them.”

“Well, then who doesn’t generate an address?”

They knew the answer. As one Aziraphale and the postman lifted their gaze towards the shop’s ceiling. There was only one person it could have been.

Neither spoke the name though.

***

“Sorry,” Crowley said, later that night after the postman had left with his forms and Aziraphale had invited him to the next gathering at Anathema’s. “But what’s it supposed to mean?”

“You guess is as good as mine, dear boy.”

Crowley’s finger shot out to point accusingly between Aziraphale’s eyes. He was six glasses into the merlot though and, truth be told, it was more of a listless point towards Aziraphale’s shoulder. “My guess is not as good. They’re your lot—”

“Not anymore.”

“—were your lot for a long, long, looooong, long time, so you know their, you know,” Crowley made a series of complicated gestures with his glass. “Ways.”

Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure he did. Slouched in his favorite armchair, watching Crowley waver around the room, he tried to conjure up some heavily things that might make sense of the little package seated between them. He was eight glasses in though—having started while Crowley drove over—so all his brain could manage was a jaunty little jingle he’d heard over the radio yesterday. Something for insurance.

“Maybe,” he finally managed. “Maybe, yes. But not Her ways.”

Crowley conceded that with a grunt.

The medal rested in a velvet box, the same one Gabriel had opened over two-hundred years ago under the erroneous assumption that such a display would please him. The box remained untouched by time despite its age, as did the medal itself. That’s what the craftsmanship of heaven would get you. The only thing that had changed was a new layer of divinity lingering about the edges, seeped into the metal like something more powerful than even an archangel had handled it. Which of course, She had. The traces had sent Crowley scuttering back the first time he’d tried to touch it. Now he circled the box, wary.

“Ugly thing,” he said, hissing the words. “You’d th—thi—think that heaven would have better taste but nope! Nuh uh. Should give them some tips sometime. Interior decorating.” Crowley considered, downing more wine. “Their fashion isn't bad though. Just a little blah.”

Aziraphale’s fuzzy thoughts conjured up a picture of Crowley’s apartment and he resolutely decided against commenting. “Focus, dear. Perhaps this is a good thing.” He tipped his own glass towards the medal. “Gab—he tried to give me that horrid thing when heaven still thought I was doing a good job. So maybe,” Aziraphale gave a massive shrug, upending some of his wine. “Maybe She’s saying the same thing.”

Crowley blinked. “Wha? That She approves?”

“Mmm.” A staggering, hopeful thought.

“Or, or, it’s the opposite like. Said it yourself, angel. Heaven thought you were doing nothin’ but heavily things down here and you got the medal for doing them. The things you weren’t really doing. Payment for services not rendered. Maybe now that’s the message, huh? Get back on the right trickity-track. Or somethin’.”

Aziraphale spent a good two minutes trying to decide if any of that made sense. He eventually decided it did. “It’s a warning to be the angel they thought they were giving the medal to.”

“Right.”

“Isn’t that a bit convoluted?” Aziraphale squinted up at Crowley, now trying to figure out if it was him or the room that had tilted. His living room shrugged.

“Maybe,” Crowley admitted. “Or maybe this is it. Make us wonder and worry and talk in circles until it all comes bubbling out our ears.” He finally collapsed next to Aziraphale on the couch, both of them staring at the heavy bit of metal.

Aziraphale swallowed. “I wouldn’t put it past Her.”

“Exactly. ...Can we send it back, do you think?”

“No return address.”

“Oh. Chuck it into the Thames?”

“Absolutely not.”

What they did end up doing was placing the medal on one of Aziraphale’s shelves, still on display, but far enough back that they could ignore it if they wanted. It never lost the light of Her touch, so Crowley generally kept his distance. For the same reason customers were often drawn to the medal, commenting on it with a curiosity that never ceased to surprise them.

“An antique?” one woman questioned, a week after they’d begun their dance of giving the thing confused and frustrated glances. “What was it for?” She peered a little closer, knowing instinctively not to touch. “It doesn’t say.”

Aziraphale dithered. “Ah...not sure really. Records were lost somewhere along the way. No one knows anymore.”

“That’s too bad. Though I suppose the specifics don’t really matter. The point is it was important enough for someone to save and hand down to you, right?”

The woman smiled, inclining her head and apologizing for taking up so much of his time. Behind her Crowley had paused in surprise, casting the medal a glance. It shone bright, prominent despite their best efforts.

“So She’s thinking of us,” Aziraphale whispered, soft enough that his words were nearly lost among the stacks. “She cares. Which is not quite the same thing as approval, but...”

“Jury’s still out on whether Her caring is a good thing, angel.” But some of the tension had left Crowley’s shoulders. He ambled forward with a liquid grace that let him brush his hand 'accidentally' against Aziraphale’s. Their fingers intertwined.

A defiance, doing that in the circle of the medal’s holy light. Neither pulled away though and when Aziraphale tightened his grip he thought he saw an answering glint in the surface of the metal.

Perhaps that was just their own reflections though. Perhaps it was only what remained of his faith.

Time would tell.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #air conditioning #good omens fic #brief callback to the first fic in this collection #but nothing you really need to read to understand

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lookbluesoup · 5 years ago

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16. Piper/Nate ...lazily

(asked by @shadow-mockingbird ) Nothing explicit but there’s some implicative banter and nudity in this one! 😱

A hot bath. One thing you never took for granted in the wasteland. After days on the road getting by with soapy rags and a saucepan of boiled water every night, Piper was more than ready to kick back, relax, and soak away the grime.

Blue had insisted on preparing it. He intended to spoil her. The ache in her bones left little incentive to protest, especially after he leaned in close and whispered tempting promises. Let it never be said her lover lacked imagination. Magnanimous overture was his favorite way to speak of desire.

Tonight was no exception. Heating the water would’ve been plenty. But he’d gone the extra mile. Steam rising from its surface glowed against dim lantern-light, a radio hummed Billie Holiday’s “Blue Moon” just quietly enough to fade into the background, and Nate had even scattered hubflower petals around the ceramic tub. Piper smiled fondly at the display.

Sometimes it made her feel guilty. So many others lacked even the most rudimentary amenities. She didn’t deserve this. Not Blue’s confidence. Not his doting. Certainly not his love. Admittedly though, that guilt plagued her less each passing day. Hardly at all tonight. Whatever she’d done to find herself in his heart, it was a place she was happy to be.

The adulations weren’t the only reason. He smiled so often now. She’d give most anything to see that lopsided grin. Being the one to bring it to Blue’s face was reward enough for most trials. Some days he would sing for her, too. Those days were her favorites.

With a hum of pleasure, Piper eased into the bath. Heat hugged her sore muscles. The protest of each bruise and scrape surrendered to a massage of warm, clean water. Yeah, he’d really outdone himself. It was the perfect temperature. Wriggling like an eel, she submerged herself almost entirely to enjoy the soak.

Some minutes later, rhythmic knocking sounded on the divider. “Mind some company?” Teased a welcome voice.

She smirked. “Oh I dunno, Blue. I’ve got my reputation to think about.”

“I can be discreet.” Owly cornflower eyes peeked sideways around the corner.

Sitting up with a giggle, Piper waved an inviting hand. It glistened against lantern light. “Come on, y’rascal.”

The newness of their intimacy had yet to wear off. Even in her eagerness, she flushed bashfully to be so exposed. Blue drank in the sight of her. Like he’d never seen a woman bare before. As if they hadn’t made love tangled in soft blankets, here in this very Castle.

He’d already cleaned up. A testament to his military background, he could be in and out of the barracks’ showers in two minutes flat. Though it looked as if he’d taken a little longer to make himself presentable this evening. She took a moment to admire that clean shaven jaw, chiseled in the image of some prewar statue. Nate’s damp hair was sleek and blueish against the dim atmosphere, practically begging be ruffled. He was absolutely, without a doubt, in a perfect state to be kissed. And maybe a few other things, too.

Nate took a seat on the floor beside the bath, one arm on a knee, the other draped lazily over the rim of the tub. He swirled the water with a finger, then reached to scatter petals across its surface.

Piper splashed at him in mock offense, “What am I, soup?”

An ember sparked to life behind his gaze, “Well, you do look quite tasty.”

Their eyes locked. Stayed that way. Far too long to be considered proper. A jolt ran down her core, curling her toes. Blue noticed. His hand dipped below the water and caressed meaningfully down her thigh, hovering on the inside just above her knee. Maybe she’d just been soaking too long, but suddenly Piper felt exceptionally hot.

“Pfa, shoo-” She shrilled out with a playful wriggle, prying his hand off clumsily. Another surge of overeager nerves shot out from where they touched, “I’m trying to get clean here.”

“Alright, alright.” He snickered, leaning back to admire the view.

She reached for the soap, only to wince as the motion aggravated a particularly large bruise. It spread in vivid maroon across her shoulder down toward the lowest ribs. A token left by falling rubble. Echoes of that first painful impact rippled beneath her skin. Even the soothing heat of the bath couldn’t expunge it.

Blue’s lips drooped with soft concern. “Here, let me.”

“I’m okay-”

“I want to.” He’d already shifted to kneel behind her, but waited to reach out, “Please?”

As his lips brushed persuasively against her unbruised shoulder, she realized the false bravado had been silly. Old habits died hard. But this was her Blue. They took care of each other. “Thanks, Dollface.”

Eagerly he set about the task. His fingers weaved against her scalp, lathering soap in. Nate remained thorough and methodical in his doting, every strand received careful attention. You’d think some priceless artifact lay in his palms. She was sure all traces of grime had been expunged, but he seemed to be enjoying the task too much to notice. A sleepy contentment flowed beneath her lover’s captivation. Being pampered wasn’t so bad.

“Remind me to let you do this more often.” She hummed, closing her eyes.

“I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Nate took a pitcher from the floor, filling it from the tub and rinsing her clean. With his other hand he continued running through her hair. It was almost playful - how he brushed out each weightless ebony lock. At this length, her style was a hassle to maintain, and more than once she’d considered cutting it all off for sheer frustration. Under the attentions of Blue, no sense of similar agitation showed. “I love your hair.” He murmured, kissing the top of her head. “You know that? Even in a tangled mess.”

“You tryin’ to woo me?” She leaned back.

“Of course. Always.” Nate pressed into the touch and breathed deeply. For a moment they rested together, content to merely be close.

Then his mouth began drifting down the side of her neck. “I say I’ll go through fire. And I’ll go through fire.” He sang quietly, just for her, “As she wants it, so it will be… Cra-zy she calls me.”

She shuddered, reaching out, “C’mere.”

“Yeah, I’m crazy-” He grinned dreamily as she planted a lazy kiss on his lips. “Crazy in love with you…”

______

(Ask for a Kiss!) | (AO3 Archive)

#write a kiss #fanfic #my fanfic #implicative #nate ronan #piper wright #pipan #fallout #fallout 4 #text #personal fav

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psychogirlfriendandsupervillain · 6 years ago

Text

Our Show

One shot

The Greatest Showman!AU

Warnings: None I think

Characters: Pietro Maximoff, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Steve Rogers, Reader.

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader (kinda Tony Stark x Pietro Maximoff not gonna lie)

Pietro’s Pov

A/N: I’ve had this one for a few weeks, now I finally wrote it down. As I wrote it I realized the very much exsisting tension between Stark and Maximoff that happened, and you know what? I'm not mad at it. I think The Greatest Showman should be an AU of its own so here goes.

-----------------

Ah, Mr Stark. The man who rose from nothing to have a pretty successful little show. Nothing the high class went to of course, but the working class seemed to like it. On every street corner Pietro passed on the days he could get himself outside there was a whispering gathering who praised the spectacle.

He stumbled out of the concert hall, the cold getting to him and he rubbed his hands, cursing that his coat was in the coat room by the main entrance. Snow started falling softly, but in his intoxicated state Pietro couldn’t think it beautiful. It was cold, and annoying.

Maybe he had had a bit too much.

He patted down his jacket, trying to find his cigarettes.

“Mr Maximoff.” Pietro blinked in the direction of the voice. It was dark but he could see the contours of a person. The shadow moved forward into the soft warm light falling from the windows of the concert hall.

If it wasn’t the man himself.

“Quite the play. The house was packed.” Mr Stark looked just like they had described him. Slightly tan, dark hair and beard, black top hat, and a ridiculous red jacket. If Pietro hadn’t been so drunk he would have laughed. “I’m Antony Stark, friends call me Tony.”

Pietro took the held out hand, relying a bit too much on it to keep his balance.

“Pietro Maximoff.” His eyes met the dark ones of the man opposite him. Maybe it was just the light, but he swore there was a glint in Stark’s eyes.

“So I’ve heard.” Mr Stark pulled back his hand and Pietro fought to stand up right. “You really know how to charm the audience.” Pietro snorted, it wasn’t dignified or even decent, he just couldn’t help himself.

“Well, so do you, if word on the street has it right.” Pietro gestured outwards with his arms.

Mr Stark positively beamed.

“Well, I only have the workers. But you” The flattering tone buttered up his voice even more. “you have the aristocracy, the high class.”

He paused.

“The money.” A smile split across his face, nothing malicious or ominous, just a laugh at his own admission.

“Well, bread and circus.” Pietro started patting his pockets again. He came up with a packet of cigarettes, but no lighter. He put one of the cigarettes in his mouth and continued his search, pushing his hands in his trouser pockets.

The sound of a match striking had his hands stopping in their tracks. He raised his gaze. Mr Stark was holding out a lit match in front of him. He met Pietro’s eyes and nodded towards the match.

Pietro covered the flame from the sudden gust of wind and bent his head down to light his cigarette. Gratefully he dragged in the smoke in his lungs. Mr Stark shook the match in the air to extinguish the flame before letting it fall to his feet.

“Do you ever get tired?” Pietro’s eyes shot open at Mr Stark’s words, not expecting them. Mr Stark wasn’t even looking at him, his eyes were lost in the snow riddled darkness. “The discipline, the suits.”

Pietro pulled smoke in, held his breath for a second and then let it flow back out as he responded.

“Does a man tire of his lover, a moth of the flame? We do what we know, Mr Stark. I know the tastes of the high class, and they pay me for it, weather it’s rubbish or not.” He flicked his cigarette to the ground, his voice laced in annoyance, the amber cooling in the snow.

Mr Stark turned to him with a smile.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr Maximoff. I’d love to speak more to you, but I believe the audience wants to thank their tragedian.” Mr Stark motions to the door where a man in suit is looking at them. Pietro looks back to Mr Stark, who touches the brim of his hat and disappears into the night.

The conversation with Stark might have gotten to him a bit more than Pietro would like to admit.

Perhaps that was why when he bumped into him on the street one night on his way home from the theatre he agreed to having a drink with the man. He knew very well the cost of consorting with the wrong kind of people.

So how he ended up in an empty bar at an hour the gods turn a blind eye to he would blame on the promise of alcohol and the amount already consumed to anyone who asked.

“To successful lives, Mr Maximoff.” Mr Stark had removed his coat and hat, his jacket laid slung over the bar disk. He raised his shot glass to Pietro, pushing the other towards Pietro without any effort.

“To successful lives, Mr Stark.” Pietro’s voice sounded sadder than he meant it to.

They both took the shot and the second the glasses hit the bar the bartender filled their glasses.

“I had an offer for you last time we talked, but I didn’t wanna pull you from your duties.” Mr Stark turned on his chair, getting familiar.

Pietro leaned his head in his hand with his elbow on the disk and turned to look at Mr Stark.

“With your knowledge in the tastes of the rich, as you so handsomely put it, and my, if I may flatter myself, quite popular show with the working class...” Mr Stark raised his glass, prompting Pietro to take his as well.

The glasses scraped against the wood.

“To put it bluntly, I think you need a change of air. I need help to reach a wider market.” How could he speak so smoothly when Pietro’s own throat was on fire? “I’d like to have you come work for me. With me.”

Pietro let out a short laugh.

“Do you know the cost of socialising outside one’s social circles?” He rubbed his hand over his face, messing up his blond hair. “For you? Maybe a few odd looks. For me? My reputation in rubble, being turned the back to by friends, my inheritance.” He sat up looking seriously at Stark, all humour departed from his voice.

“Friends who know you are miserable but watch you continue?” Stark’s gaze was stuck to the mirror behind the bar. His voice was barely above normal conversation volume. “A reputation that is merged with the walls of your jail cell?”

Pietro growled.

“It’s not like you’d get it.”

“No, it’s not. I haven’t lived the life of the rich, but what I have done is lived the life I wasn’t happy in.” Stark’s eyes snapped to Pietro’s, and despite their darkness he could swear there was fire in them. “I have fought to be where I am. The people in my circus have suffered their entire life, and for once they have a place where they are accepted.”

The room went quiet, except for the sound of dish towel against glass as the bartender wiped a glass. Mr Stark stood up and Pietro caught himself fearing he’d leave. He met eyes with the bartender and motioned towards Pietro.

The bartender nodded and put the glass down, picking another up and turning his back towards them. Pietro could hear the sound of a tap running.

The bartender turned back around and put the glass down and passed it down the bar to stop in from of Pietro. He lifted it, smelling it as discreetly as he could before putting his lips to the cold rim. Water.

“Suits, parties and plays you don’t enjoy writing. Fearing what others think of you. Is that a life?” Stark’s voice sounded again, he hadn’t moved. Pietro hung his head, fingers dancing on the outside of his glass. “What I offer is change, a bit of colour in your so bizarrely dull life. Most people don’t understand how stuck they are in routine before they die of the boredom.”

The air hung thickly warm and Pietro wanted to unbutton the top buttons in his shirt.

The floorboards creaked next to him. Stark motioned to the glass in Pietro’s hand.

“I’m not trying to trick you. I’m giving you a life line. Take it or leave it.” He turned to retrieve his hat from one of the tables behind them.

“What you make in a week I can make in a night” Pietro croaked out, his voice betraying him. He turned on his chair to face Stark who had put his hat on, leaning back against the bar on his elbows as it to crumble. “Why should I go with you?”

Stark’s face spilt in a grin.

“Does ten precent sound good?” His eyes glittered again, Pietro could even see it from where he sat.

“Thirty.” Pietro licked his lips, even though his tongue felt just as dry.

Stark took a slow step closer to him.

“Thirteen.” His movements reminded Pietro of a cobra, neck elongated and head tilting.

“Twenty eight.”

“Fifteen.” Another step. Pietro shook his head.

“Twenty five.”

“Twenty.”

There was a moment of silence. Stark stood still, two steps in font of Pietro’s knees. Pietro pushed himself up, saving himself from falling when his feet caught on the chair before Stark saw it, and stood in front of him, holding out his hand.

“Deal?” Stark asked.

“Deal.” Pietro let out a silent breath he had been holding.

Stark took his hand and shook it, a new kind of smile forming on his face. A lopsided smirk without the smugness.

“Welcome aboard, Mr Maximoff.”

He couldn’t sleep that night. Worry and excitement ran around his brain like bunnies on a field, jumbling up his thoughts. When the sunlight filtered in through the window he cursed its existence, dragging the covers over his head.

He couldn’t decide if he hated himself or not.

When he finally flung the covers off himself, blowing annoyed the strands of hair that fell into his face at the action, the sun had moved to fully shine into his room. He pulled his watch off the nightstand, the chain dragging down an ashtray filled with loose change and rings that crashed to the floor.

Meticulously he got dressed, for once wishing he had a hungover to blame for how awful he felt. His stomach making flips as he went downstairs, fearing they could read on him what he was about to do.

After getting barely half a slice of toast down he put on his hat, and wished them goodbye. He stepped out on the street and headed towards the circus.

“Mr Maximoff.” Stark held his hands out in a welcoming gesture as Pietro approached him. He patted him on the back as they headed for the big doors.

Mr Stark let go off him to grab the handle of the door.

“Welcome” He smiled at Pietro. “To the show.” He flung the doors open at the last word.

Even though it was in the middle of the day it took Pietro’s breath away.

He felt Stark ushering him forward in to the dim room. The middle of the floor lit from the balcony with spotlights, dust masking the scene in a thin veil.

A black horse ran in circles around the others, on its back a woman in a black jumpsuit with fiery red hair leaned back to settle her hands on its back and lift her legs in a split in the air.

To the left a man in a purple shiny vest and matching trousers put an arrow to his bow and shot. The arrow flew through the air, nailing a playing card another man threw up to the wooden pillar on the balcony.

The man who threw the card grinned and turned to look at the archer. The right half of his face under his bowler was burnt, the surface uneven and red, but Pietro was surprised to see that his eye still looked to be normal. He wondered how much more of the man was burned under the white shirt and black vest he wore.

A blonde man in the mid back lifted a woman of the floor, raising her so she was at shoulder height, and lifted her to the front. The movement seemed almost effortless on the man’s behalf, his bare arms flexing as he put her down.

Pietro felt himself gasp. The woman was wearing a gold sparkling ballerina style dress, the skirt puffing out around her waist before falling towards the ground. She lifted her left leg and made a pirouette on her right wooden leg.

She landed it flawlessly and bowed down as she moved back to make place for the horse, that the blond who had lifted her just pulled to a stop in front of them all, the redhead bolting off it to land behind it. The man led the horse to the side and they all bowed and curtsied towards the would be audience.

Mr Stark applauded next to Pietro, making him flinch at the sudden noise.

“Well done, you guys don’t need to practice one bit. Sorry to still make you do it.” He approach them, Pietro following hesitantly behind.

The blond in blue trouser los and tank top reached them first, taking Mr Stark’s hand and shaking it.

“Where have you been?” His voice grumbled deep. Mr Stark smiled and took a step back to look out over them.

“Everyone, I have an acquaintance I want you all to meet.” The group shifted, everyone trying to stand so they could see. “This is Mr Maximoff, the famous playwright. He has agreed to help us.”

Pietro shifted uncomfortable in his stance, moving his fingers up and down his cuff. He could feel the eyes on him, even though he didn’t look up to meet them.

“Everyone line up, I want to introduce you to him.”

The group obediently lined up in front of them, their eyes still curiously on the newcomer. Mr Stark put his arm around Pietro’s back and moved him towards the first member.

“Mr Maximoff, this is Bruce Banner.” The man in front of them grinned, his teeth shining in the spotlight. “He’s our magician. Likes to scare the kids.”

“Never, sir.” Banner smiled at Stark, before his eyes shifted over to Pietro. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr Maximoff.”

“Pietro.” Pietro almost blurted it out. Banner’s face shone up even more. “If you don’t mind me asking, Mr Banner, how..”

“Gas explosion.” The question didn’t seem to trouble him the least, because he was still grinning. “Burned half my face and my arm.”

Pietro nodded, trying his best to look sympathetic.

“I know you’re itching to ask, don’t worry, it doesn’t bother me.” Banner motioned towards his left eye. “This eye is not real, I had it replaced. The optician at the hospital was really nice, said taking what’s left of the old one could cause an infection but it might happen anyway with the condition it was in. Kids get fascinated by it.”

His smile grew a little at the last bit.

“No one would hire me though, not with the way I looked. I was really down in the dumps for a while. Then I saw Mr Stark’s advertisement and thought ‘what’s the worst that can happen?’ He gave me a job and a place where no one cares what I look like.”

Mr Stark patted him on the back.

“Alright, that’s enough of your sob story.” He said in a joking tone and Banner grinned, bowing and then left towards the door in the far back.

The next they moved on to was the red head.

“Natasha Romanoff.” She held out her hand, a Russian accent lacing her introduction. “I got kicked out from my post as a maid and Stark helped me in a sticky situation.” Her eyes shifted to Mr Stark.

“Don’t thank me, Nat. Without you I wouldn’t have been able to fill out the program with an additional twenty minutes.”

The jargon made Pietro’s head spin, the joking confusing him.

The red head bowed her head towards him.

“It will be interesting working with you, I’m sure.” Then she turned to head the same way Banner did.

Stark ushered him onwards, stopping in front of the archer.

“This is Clint Barton. His hearing is a bit off, but as long as he can see what you are saying it’s mostly fine.” Mr Stark explained, keeping his face in full view of the man in front of him.

The archer turned to Pietro.

“If you hear Nat call me Hawkeye, please don’t join her.” He held out his hand. “It’s her way of getting at me for having better eyesight than her, even though that’s not the case.” Pietro took his hand and nodded, although he did find it a fitting nickname.

They moved on to the blue dressed man. He pulled his hand through his hair before wiping both on his trousers and holding one out to Pietro.

“Steve Rogers, our strong man.” Mr Stark didn’t look at Pietro. “Don’t know what his mama fed him but whatever it was it’s good for our show.”

“Welcome to our show, Mr Maximoff.” Mr Rogers shook his hand. “It’s very kind of you to help us.”

“Mr Stark hardly gave me a choice.” Pietro hoped the statement sounded light and jokingly, but he caught a frown on the blond’s face before it quickly disappeared.

“Where’s Thor?” Mr Stark asked. Rogers turned to him.

“He’s in the back.” He motioned with his head towards the door the others had left through. “He felt faint.”

“Well, then you’ll have to meet him later.” Mr Stark turned to Pietro. “Mr Odinson is a master of languages, the audience makes a bet that he can’t speak a language and he surprises them every time.”

Finally they stood in front of the woman that had caught Pietro’s attention during the rehearsal.

“Mr Maximoff, this is Y/n Y/l/n.” Mr Stark held her hand out to her. She took it without breaking her wary eye contact with Pietro, and curtsied gracefully, her gaze falling to the ground and coming back up to meet his again.

“Nice to meet you.” She took her hand from Stark’s and held it out towards him.

He took it and kissed the back of it, seemingly to her quiet surprise, a minuscule change in her expression.

“Pleasure’s mine.” He straightened and let go off her hand.

“Y/n could match the ballerinas of the Russian ballet.” Mr Stark’s voice sounded boastfully from beside Pietro. “She doesn’t miss a step.”

Y/n dropped her gaze in a way that could be read as bashful if it wasn’t for the flat of her voice.

“You are too kind, Mr Stark.” She lifted her gaze back up. “I am just glad you don’t expect me to perform alongside the Russians.”

“In time, my dear.” He smiled warmly at her. “Now, excuse me, I have to go see that Thor hasn’t gotten in a fight and is holding it from me.” He turned to Mr Rogers who was standing waiting. They walked away together, discussing something Pietro didn’t hear.

“Well, seeing as you are part of the family” Y/n’s voice startled him, and he turned back to see her offering her arm to him. “Would you like to see behind the magic?”

He nodded, his throat feeling dry again. He took her arm, and she lead him towards the big door in to the depths of the circus.

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