#even if it's objectively better to throw him from a hundred of meters to the ground than all of that? seriously?

[coffeeworldsasaki]

In the first episode is implied that Lastat made Louis' brother kill himself and he went full stalker mode on him during Paul's funeral making terrible jokes and used that moment of vulnerability to turn Louis in a vampire and a physical fight is people's limit? For real?

[sugolara]

Safe in your arms

ft. K.B x S.T x I.M x fem! reader

Synopsis: After a deadly virus leaks all over the world, every country is forced to close down it's borders and airports to prevent anyone from coming in and out. Though, it's to late for some people. The dead has rose and is looking for revenge. Cw: gore, quirkless! au, apocalypse! au, zombie! au, weapons, death, angst, lots and lots of blood, cannibalism, suicidal thoughts, slow burn

previous || series m.list || next

A boring tiring day had gone by and Izuku refused to speak with Katsuki. It's probably one of the first arguments in which he chose not to speak to him since forever. He'd rather refuse to do so and wait for Katsuki to be the first to apologize, since he was the one to take things too far, like he always did. On the other hand, the blonde refused to apologize and when he did want to, he just wasn't sure on how to say it. It did feel childish and this did bring up many memories from his mother who would scold him for being mean to Izuku. At the time, the moment was annoying, but now it was something the blonde was fond of.

He wondered if his mother would make him apologize if she were here now.

"A day." Katsuki tiringly said, feet in an uncomfortable position due to how long they have been sitting in the vehicle.

"Any second and the gas will run out." Shoto said as he eyed the gas meter, "Too bad we're surrounded with cars everywhere."

The blonde flickered his eyes at Shoto who was driving, "Who decided to take the main roads. We should have used the backstreets, like I fucking said."

With that said, the car slowly came to a stop and they were left stranded, well not completely, but they stopped on the main roads with the hundred of abandoned cars stranded it was difficult to see if a rotter was coming their way. But on the bright side, the vehicles could contain something like nutrients.

"It's not like we can go back." The bi-colored male said, eyes glancing everywhere before he exited the vehicle, the others following, "We're already too far from any other street."

"Oh, well." F/n leaned on the car, "Walking it is."

"I'm so tired of walking." Izuku mumbled out as he approached a vehicle with the girl following behind. While they did so, Katsuki and Shoto grabbed their bags. Eying the male from the corner of his eyes, Shoto placed the bag of guns on his shoulder, "Are you ever going to apologize to izuku?"

"Are you ever going to mind your business?" Katuki scoffed out, walking away.

A roll of eyes was all Shoto responded with as he used one of the vehicles to get him higher, allowing him to see what was further ahead of them, "Nothing but more cars. I don't even see a town or city."

"Any dead?" Izuku asked, as he looked ahead, though unlike Shoto he couldn't see much.

From behind him, Katsuki scoffed, "Are you dumb? There's going to be dead everywhere."

Subtly, Izuku rolled his eyes as he moved closer to F/n who stood to the side, "I think the wind is getting heavier."

F/n let out a muffle chuckle that could be counted as a hum. "Now youre just being fucking childish."

"Yeah..." The freckled male drew out as he used the bottom of his palm to massage his ear, "It might rain soon."

A scoff let out from the blondes lip. Rolling his eyes for what seemed like the millionth time, he walked off to a vehicle, beginning to throw out useless items that did not help. The object clattered to the floor and it created some noise, but it was better to let his anger out on this rather than causing more chaos.

After a while, F/n had found a bag of stale nuts. She stood next to Izuku as he looked inside the vehicle, munching on the stale nuts, "You know...you're going to have to make up with Katsuki. Preferably sooner."

The male didn't say anything and it allowed for F/n to continue as she stayed as lookout, "I don't exactly know your whole history with him–"

"Then stay out of it–" She quickly interrupted him, "But in a world like this, turning on each other is the last thing that should be on your mind. We're all that we have left. We only made it this far because we rely on each other, and yes I said it, because it's true. Besides, aren't you two friends? Long friends? Do you really want to hold a grudge and forget how much he means to you all because he said some truth?"

At that he backed away from the backseat, standing to his height as he looked at her for a few seconds. Though with a quick breath he looked elsewhere, "...It's different."

"What is?" She let the nut package fly off with the wind, giving her attention to him.

Another few seconds of silence hit with Izuku looking at the top of the car. His lips pursed and he could see her from the corners of his eyes and as much as he wanted to tell her, he felt like she wouldn't understand and there was no point to get her to understand if she'd throw it away, "Nothing."

Her brows quirked, but before she could continue, he turned his focus on her with a slight glare, catching her mildly off guard, "By the way, I'm still upset with you."

"About?" Her brow raised, but it settled down with a sight of annoyance when he once again spoke, "You didn't have to kill him back there. And wipe that look of your face."

She didn't, "He was deadweight."

"Even if he was, you didn't have to do that. We could have still helped even if we had to go through the trouble." He closed the door, "It doest matter what happens to me so as long as someone gets to fully li–"

"He was bit." She stared at him. A part of her did not want him to finish that sentence, "What are you some kind of sacrifice? You really want to save someone who's infected and let them go through all that pain? How cherishable of you."

A bit of spite was heard, but he chose to ignore that. Instead rolling his eyes and leaving the place, though he didn't get the chance to as she grabbed his wrist, pulling him back to her. However, his eyes widened when she wrapped his arms around him, a dark blush spreading on his cheeks and he was very much grateful she couldn't see it.

"Alright, I'm...sorry." She disgustingly said, his hair tickling her cheeks. Despite it being dirty, it was also kind of soft. She hoped that this would cheer him up and have him and the blonde make amends quicker rather than later, "I won't do it next time."

"Liar." He whispered, eyes glancing at her sleeves. He did however feel better. Besides, he was the first one she ever hugged and among the males, it made him feel boastful, "...I think hunger is getting to you."

"Maybe."

Slowly looking away, Shoto placed the butterfly knife in his pocket. He'll give it to her later when she wasn't busy, as for now he'll go accompany the blonde who threw stacks letting the wind take it further, "You're littering."

"Like littering is the least of our problems." He rolled his eyes, "I don't see no damn cop out here giving me a ticket–and where the hell are the other two? We're wasting fucking daylight."

"I'm sure they'll be here any minute." He said as he leaned against the car.

"The hell are they doing? Smooching." A scoff left his lips, but his movement halted at the thought.

"Anyways..." Shoto looked at his nails, "I found an RV where we can spend the night. Izuku was right, it might rain later today. Better to stay hidden and dry if we want to make it to Sorston."

"Whatever." He mumbled out, furrowed eyes still glancing at the seat. 

[zbeez-outlet]

Part Three || Big Brother Diego

Five Hargreeves x OC | TUA Canon Universe | Slow Burn Relationship

Description || The story of how little Noa Lavigne went from dodging Diego's knives in target practice to sharing secret handshakes and spinning in the rain.

Content Warnings || allusions to Reginald Hargreeve's abuse, minor injuries, mentions of blood (If I missed anything, please let me know!)

<<< Part Two

Book Masterlist

Number 2 has a lot of feelings about being number 2. At the top of the list is the fact that being number 2 means he is not number 1, he will never be number 1, but he can be better than number 1 — well, maybe. Mom says he could be as long as he tries his hardest. So he does.

At the bottom of this so-called "Feelings About Being Number 2" list is the sentiment that at least he's not Number 7, who's small and powerless and left on the sidelines with a frown and a wish for more. Just above that is the even greater truth that being Number 8 would be worse. In many ways, Number 2 thinks Number 8 is more like a pet than a child or a sibling or a person.

Their official introduction happens thusly.

Dad hands him a knife and orders him to throw it at Number 8. The goal is to cut her. She stands ten meters away, small with her shoulders curved forward and her chin bent low, but for some reason he feels watched by her. Like behind the curtain of strawberry blonde curls is an eye that sees his every heartbeat and every impulse.

Part of him wants to cut her just to see if he can.

When Dad realized Number 2 needed an object to focus on to control his power and exceed his potential, early in the study of his abilities, he chose knives. Sharp, deadly, precise. He could use his manipulation of trajectory to maneuver the direction of the knives with unprecedented accuracy. Number 2 practiced on stationary targets until hitting a bullseye with his eyes closed became as easy as breathing. He graduated to the next step: moving targets.

The day Number 8 appeared on their doorstep, Number 2 didn't think much beyond the initial awe at her speed. There wasn't much more to think when you're only six and small and subject to the disciplines of everything bigger than you. They were all told to call her Number 8, so he does because he's Number 2 and clearly she's one of them now — except Dad makes her sleep in the attic and there's never a plate for her at the dinner table. He wonders about that now, thin slice of knife between his fingers and the orders of his father tensing between his shoulders. He wonders how she can be and not be one of them at the same time.

Disobeying is not an option.

It's actually fun, he realizes a few sessions of target practice later because catching Number 8 feels impossible and excitement simmers under his skin every time he gets close. The game changes from Number 2 chasing her around the room with blades and frustration to anticipating her next moves. To making plans and strategies and maneuvers he would never otherwise come up with. It's fun, it's new, it feels way more valuable than the thousands of pushups Number 1 must be doing. That thought keeps him proud.

The first time Number 2 cuts Number 8 is also the last.

It happens after he's been named Diego by Mom and Number 8 has become Noa to him in secret. It happens after hundreds and hundreds of hours of target practice. It happens because Dad wants to challenge her, not him.

She's being electrocuted the first time he cuts her. A tiny slice on the right side of her throat that bleeds and scars and haunts him every time he looks at it. Noa doesn't cry from the wound, but she does look at him differently afterwards, even if she doesn't mean to. Something like sadness, something like betrayal, something that tastes bitter every time he sees it flash in her eyes.

Diego never cuts her again because he never wants to. Not like he did at first, just to see if he could. Not even for Dad's approval.

Having a stutter makes Number 2 insecure in a way he's not prepared for — though, really, how does one prepare for insecurity at the age of seven? It forces him into a quiet that unsettles the person he wants to be, which is loud and proud and as confident in his words as every other part of himself. A leader.

He struggles with sharp consonants the most. The ones that are thin and shaped with steel, trapped aggressively behind his teeth and lips no matter how hard he pushes them with his tongue. It's the t's and the k's and the g's. It's the way r's struggle to ripple passed his throat and the vowels that draw on longer than he means for them to. Number 2 cannot control the flow of his words the same way he can control the trajectory of his knives.

Mom is patient. Mom is kind and sounds out the words for him, slow at first. They play games with letters and shapes, and she teaches him how to picture the words in his mind before saying them.

When he finds out Mom is teaching Number 8 English, his first thought is about how he can help. Because he knows what it means to silence yourself for fear of using the wrong words or ruining their sound or jumbling them up all over the place.

Number 2 likes the way French sounds the few times he's heard Number 8 speak, similar to the Spanish Dad has him practicing or the Italian Number 5 picks up with ease only with more floral notes and a sound that reminds him of Mom's perfume. It's round with vowels in a way English often isn't. It's lovely and soft and dances through the air with a warmth that isn't welcome within the walls of the Umbrella Academy. He wonders if she trips over the same consonants as him.

"Mom," he starts with a soft call, reaching for the billowy length of her skirt. He's nervous because sometimes acknowledging Number 8 feels blasphemous, like there's some unwritten rule of the house that her presence is as consequential as the paintings on the walls and to give her any more substance than that is punishable in their father's eye. "Can I help you teach Number 8 English? I can show her how to pic-pic-picture the words like you t-taught me."

Her palm rests on his head, gentle fingers running through the short cut of his hair and making him preen like a cat. She smiles with all of the softness he doesn't get in their world under the sunshine of a flashing monocle. "Of course, Number 2. I would love your help." She kneels down by his side, a thick leather book in her hand that she holds out to Number 2 like a special treasure. The leather is dark and latched with a metal clasp, a matching key attached to the pages by a string. "I got this for her so she can practice. Kind of like how you do in your head, but on paper. Would you like to give it to her for me?"

Number 2 nods so enthusiastically his neck hurts, and he follows behind Mom with an extra little skip to his step, the journal clutched to his chest. She leads him in a delicate stride up and up and up towards the attic, a bubble of anxiety threatening to pop in his throat. He's never been to the attic before.

Mom knocks with a rhythmic tap tap tap and calls for Number 8 with a tone so unlike the sweeping curve of breath she uses for his own number. None of the motherly affection he knows from her. It's not harsh or angry or berating, but stiff like metal. It leaves Number 2 confused and curious, wondering where all the warmth of the beating heart she doesn't have has gone. Number 8 peaks through the crack of the attic door, eyes flickering between him and Mom like she can't figure out how she's supposed to act, but she offers him a hesitant smile despite her wavering. He can't help but smile back, feeling crooked in his skin and fighting the impulse to pat her head like a puppy.

He holds out the leather journal like a peace offering, a treaty between two sides of the same coin. "To prac-practiccce..." he trails, frustrated with his words and his letters and his brain. "To practice! Your English."

The way Number 8 looks at the journal with a shine to her eyes makes him sad. She reaches forward like a frightened animal as if she's expecting him to retch the gift from her as soon as she touches it. Number 8 holds the journal like glass, waiting for it to shatter between her palms, and pride dances in Number 2's chest at being the one to put such a reverent look on her face.

"Numéro 2?" Her voice is small, and he wonders if it's impossible to put her in his pocket to keep her safe and happy and cozy at all times. "Voulez-vous me montrer, s'il vous plaît? Um..." she pauses, brow crinkling cutely as she tries to find the right words. Her feet shuffle and her shoulders curve further as insecurity presses onto her spine. Number 2 nods at her, encouraging her to pick and choose and ask him again. "Sh-show me? Please?"

When Number 2 smiles, it's with his entire face. All teeth and stretched cheeks and elation freckling his skin.

He grabs her hand, noticing but not commenting on the way she jumps at his touch, and drags her all the way to his room — the attic still scares him even if there's just a little girl behind the door. They settle on a blanket he tosses onto the floor, heads bent close together as he starts by talking her through the alphabet, which is largely the same and yet somehow totally different. He points to objects around his room and asks her to name them. If she gets it wrong, she writes it down with the corresponding French word so she knows to practice. If she gets it right, he gives into the urge of patting her head and beams at her answering smile.

When Number 8 smiles, really truly smiles with all the happiness she can muster, her cheeks dimple and her eyes scrunch and her tongue pokes from between her teeth.

He only sees that smile a handful of times throughout their childhood. The first time he sees it is also the first time he pats her head. Awe dances in his chest at the sight and suddenly all he wants is to protect that smile.

They are the exact same age, every child in the manor is, but he thinks this must be what it feels like to be a big brother. He rather likes it.

Diego comes up with the idea for a secret handshake on a whim of normalcy when they're barely eleven. His first attempt is with Klaus, unanimously dubbed the creative one among the children. It's an attempt that fails spectacularly with fumbled fingers and Klaus getting stuck in a roundabout interpretive dance, though Diego likely should have expected it to go that way what with his brother's recent discovery of weed.

He contemplates going to Ben next, as the only other sibling likely to indulge his newfound micro-obsession with handshakes and secrecy, but quickly decides to go to Noa instead when she simply walks by him in the hallway amidst his boredom. She's closer and most often compliant, and Diego prefers that over the tediousness of a few extra minutes of convincing Ben to do it with him. Besides, he rather likes her gentle company more than that of his uniquely deranged siblings.

Not to mention the silently massive 'fuck you!' it would be to Dad's rules piled between Noa and the rest of them. Another way to dig a little path of comradery to Noa, same as their English lessons and the stolen moments of head pats and tongue-in-teeth smiles.

She's following behind Five like she so often is these days, close enough that their linked pinkies go almost completely unnoticed but far enough so she can't be perceived as an equal beside him. It's cute in a weird complicated way he doesn't quite understand, not with the way Five's brutal demeaner clashes with Noa's jittery calmness, but they smile together and whisper and sometimes blush pink, so Diego decides not to dwell on it so much.

But it's been days since Diego's had some stolen time with Noa, so he decides pilfering her company for the early afternoon before she's relegated to the corner of the dining hall during dinner is his right.

"My turn with Noa, bye Five!" He gets out in a rush, the words smooth from practice and patience and Mom's smile. Snatching Noa's hand, the one decidedly not occupied by Five's pinky, Diego pulls her away in the wake of his brother's snarled curses with a devilish cackle.

Noa keeps up easily of course, her feet far more graceful than any other part of her, but she doesn't laugh like him because she doesn't know how — her smile is one in ten thousand jokes, her laugh is one in ten million tickles. Sometimes he wonders if he'll ever hear it. Sometimes he wonders if any of the others have. He knows she's not mad though, if the soft curve of her brow and gentle reciprocating clasp of his hand are anything to go by.

Diego drags her out to the courtyard. Dad rarely leaves his office when they're not training let alone ventures outside, so it's usually the safest spot to hang out with Noa without getting caught. He settles them under the cover of the largest tree in the yard, an aging oak that they're all convinced was there before the mansion was. Sitting cross-legged on the grass, he gestures for Noa to do the same with the kind of excited impatience only a child could have. She does, though she folds her legs delicately beneath her instead of crossing them because of the skirt of her uniform, and stares at him expectedly.

Her eyes swivel like she's checking for the weighty shine of a monocle before turning back to him with one of her more hesitant grins. "Hi Diego," she whispers like if she dares to speak any louder the world may crack beneath their feet. He has always loved the way their names slip from her accent in soft doting French sounds.

"Noa, I had a great idea!" He keeps his voice low despite the bubbles of anticipation dancing along his tongue, more for her comfort than any actual fear of reprimand he may have. "We should make a secret handshake!"

She tilts her head like the puppy he so often thinks of her as and furrows her brows. "A secret...what?"

"You know, a handshake. Like..." he trails, reaching for her hand. Even at eleven, his hands seem far larger than hers. He firmly grasps her fingers in his hold and shakes with a howdy-do nod of his head that leaves her cheeks pink and her green eyes shining. "Only, we'll make a special one that just the two of us know."

That very special tongue-in-teeth smile stretches her cheeks and when she nods, her curls bounce. Diego's chest puffs at the sight.

He doesn't count the minutes, but they stay out in the courtyard for a long time playing with their hands and coming up with different ways to link their fingers. They use their right hands even though Noa is left-handed. Eventually they come up with something simple enough to remember for a lifetime but complex enough that it takes a few tries to get it right. It goes like this.

Three taps to each other's palm and sliding back to clasp fingers in a claw-like gesture. Pressing thumbs together before unclasping their fingers and twisting clockwise to link their pinking, and then reversing that motion to smoothly clasp hands in a classic handshake form. They shake three more times before drawing back and forming small fists that they take turns tapping the tops and bottoms before ending in a classic bump of knuckles. With, of course, exaggerated explosive noises that Diego insisted on as the finisher.

Diego dissolves into giggles after every explosion, teetering in the grass and holding tight to his belly like he can trap the warmth of his mirth with his hands. He pats her head as a reward just like when she gets her English words right.

A water droplet splashes against his nose, startling him from their game. Diego looks up to the canopy of leaves beneath the shady oak tree and blinks, more droplets spattering across his cheeks and he grins.

It's raining.

Quickly pulling Noa to her feet, he dances them from under the cover of the tree and twirls her in the falling rain. He does their handshake again and goes spinning at the final explosion to dance in the growing puddles and dirty his shoes without a second thought. Noa stands more calmly on the edge of the rain, watching him with warm eyes but far less enthusiasm for the dancing, and that just won't do. He shimmies towards her, reaching and reaching and reaching as if he can pull the excitement and playfulness he knows hides beneath her skin from the tips of her fingers.

Her curls speckle with silver water and sparkle just like the day she found her way to their doorstep. He rocks Noa into his arms and shakes her to the rhythm of a song that's not playing and then sends her twirling with an encouraging thrust of his hands. And that's when he hears it, under the twinkling sound of rain.

Noa giggles. She giggles and laughs and spins without any care for the mud dirtying her stockings. It's breathy and soft, just like everything else about her, and sings with the same gentle harmony as her French and her lullabies. It wraps warm around his chest and pulls another laugh from the mirth hidden behind his ribs. It's a sound he wishes he could bottle and save for the darker days when none of them can find the strength to do more than blink.

A throat clears behind him. Noa's laughter stops. The world stills so suddenly even the rain seems to pause against the fight of gravity.

"Number 2," Dad's voice crawls along his spine and claws at his ears. "This behavior is unacceptable. Go change for supper, we'll discuss your punishment after."

Diego trembles, trying to meet Noa's eye, but she's already shut down. Now standing rigid with her hands clasped behind her back and her chin pressed painfully to her chest. He can see her shaking. If Diego were braver, he'd walk towards her and wrap her in his arms like the big brother he wants to be, whisper reassurances without stuttering and protect her, but instead his father's orders drag his feet back into the house, leaving her to his wrath. Dad doesn't follow him inside.

Mom is waiting with a towel and a clean uniform in her hands, smile bright and warm and everything he can't feel right now.

Dinner starts later than usual. Noa never takes her spot beside Mom and Pogo. Guilt floods his chest and his lungs and threatens to spill over his eyes. Her laugh echoes in his head until it sounds like a scream. Five asks where Noa is as the only one brave enough to do so. Dad reminds him that speaking is prohibited during dinner, leaving Five to simmer with a red rage and stab at his plate without eating any of it. He glares at Diego, at Dad, at his plate. He stares at the empty spot where Noa usually stands for a long long time.

It's three days before they see Noa again, quiet and small as she's always been. He can't see any marks of punishment, relief mingling with the guilt in his chest like oil.

He doesn't ask what happened to her the last three days. She doesn't tell him.

When Dad's not looking, Noa holds out her right hand. Diego's eyes go wide and with trembling motions, he taps against her palm three times. He almost cries when she whispers the quietest explosive noise to finish off the handshake.

When Noa and Five are gone, Diego grieves in the only way he knows how. Silently and with a weight hardening behind his ribs like a stone, a pressure that will never go away. His screams and cries are trapped under his skin, ready to burst as days without explosive handshakes or English lessons or impossible target practice turn into weeks, into months, into years.

Her journal is gone.

The attic is locked.

Dad hangs a painting of Five over the fireplace mantle. He wants to ask if Noa gets a painting, but knowing the answer keeps the question resting on his tongue, swallowed into the recesses of his throat.

The only proof that Noa existed at all is their memories. It's not enough, it'll never be enough. He turned out to be a pretty shitty big brother.

[issabangtanfic]

[Jungkook] The Windmill House (Chapter 11)

Synopsis: When your stereotypical Christian Grey meets his not so stereotypical Anna

Pairing: Jungkook x OC

A/N: Feel free to submit a cover! Tell me what you think in my inbox! Enjoy!

-

It's been years since I’ve been left with that much energy after a day at work. I have minimal oiliness on my face by the time I check my mirror in my car. I actually feel like I could run a mental marathon, which is good considering my next stop. Tonight, I’m seeing the flirtatious Mr.Jeon so he can finally give me the brief for the windmill house. I have to admit, I’ve kind of been looking forward to it, not only because the house is amazing, but also because I find some fun in declining his straightforward yet quite funny advances. I drive my Mini out of London, to the secluded green space where Mr.Jeon’s house is. I stifle a smile walking up the crackled stairs. I almost fell on it the first time I came here. I remember almost losing my shit when he caught me. I don’t think I’d be that phased if it were to happen today. I’ve had him way closer to me since then, and that has been something too.

I park my car at the end of the dirt road at the bottom of the hill, and hike up the stairs that lead to the house. When I get there, I notice a black wooden door with mouldings has been installed. It's better than the sad plank that was there before, and it actually kind of fits the architecture. I knock on the door, and a few moments later, Mr Jeon opens it.

“Miss Fair.” He greets, smiling at me, all grey suit and white shirt, his tie gone, three of his buttons undone. I stop my eyes from moving further down, not wanting to check him out too obviously.

“Good Evening, Mr.Jeon.” I murmur, returning the smile. He always looks so yummy.

“Good evening.” He replies, stepping aside to let me in. “Please, come in.”

Step into the house, the floorboards creaking under my heels as I make my way in, and he closes the door behind me. 

“How was your day?” He asks as I walk into the living room, myeyes immediately going to the immense, 3 to 4 meter high bookshelf  I saw last time. The house is as pretty as I remember it. 

“Busy.” I reply evasively, my eyes wandering up to the ceiling, and the dome where the roof opens up onto the sky.

“Have you eaten yet?” He asks, pulling my attention back to him. I turn to him, and he's leaning against the kitchen counter, hands shoved in his pockets. I narrow my eyes at him.

“Are you going to try and turn this into a date?” I ask warily. Of course he's trying to make this a dinner date. He chuckles ,taking a few steps towards me.

“I’m worried about your blood sugar.” He counters, and I roll my eyes to the heavens. My blood pressure is what is really worrying. 

“I am fine, thank you.” I decline politely. This is a business meeting, Maya. I turn back around, venturing further in the living space. The couches are still covered by white sheets, except for one old brown leather armchair that I will one hundred percent stay in the house.

“Where should we start?” He prompts as I set my bag down onto the pretty arm chair.

“We can go from room to room and you tell me whatever you want to be done." I explain, sliding my coat off of my shoulders. I set it down on the back rest of the chair and start gathering my equipment. "I can also give you my ideas. I’ll snap a few pictures so I can remember how everything looks.” I say, pulling my tablet, camera and notepad out of my bag. 

“Then, I’ll draw sketches and I’ll come back to you for your approval.”  I conclude.

“Okay.”

“I'll also need the blueprints of the house.” I add before I forget.

“I’ll send them to you.” 

“Okay.” I turn around , glancing at the stairs that lead up to the star-azing platform..

“I really want to start up there.” I informed him. I have been thinking about this part of the house ever sincethe first time I came here. The sun has set, and I'm not sure what I'll be able to see but I'm curious.

“Sure.” He concedes, walking me up to the stairs. He lets me go first while he stays down under the staircase to turn the crank that lifts the blinds from the roof.

On the platform there is what I'm guessing is a telescope covered by a white sheet pointed at the ceiling.

After he gets to work the panels slowly go up, unveiling a dark sky with a few sparkles, and an almost full moon clearly visible.

“Oh, wow.” I whisper. This isn't the starriest sky I've seen in my life, but it's pretty bright for something just 45 minutes away from London. I guess the light pollution doesn't hit as much here.

A few seconds later, Mr.Jeon climbs the stairs and comes up behind me. This  space has so much potential. It's so unique, I don't think I've ever seen anything like that before. 

“So your grandfather designed this?” I ask him, unable to detach my eyes from the spectacle in front of me.

“Yes. I’d like to keep it like this of course, but I want this space to have seats.” He explains, pulling my attention back to the platform I'm standing on. The stairs and floor are metal, which gives it a very industrial feel, but doesn't match the warmth we're trying to give the house. Imagine laying on a comfy fatboy and just staring up at the sky for hours.

“Like a star-gazing station?” I ask him.

“Exactly.” He concurs. “I think it’d be nice if you were able to lay down too.”

“I agree.” I nod. 

"I think," Mr.Jeon trails off, stepping in front of me and reading the calendar stuck on the wall right next to the covered telescope. "Venus should be visible tonight." He says as he checks the time on his watch. Venus?

"Really?" My eyes widen in excitement as he uncovers the telescope. It's dark green and kind of rusty, defenitely an old piece of equipement. I bet this belonged to his gandfather. It's not dusty though, meaning he probably uses it frequently. 

"I mean it is visible during the day too, it's one of the brightest objects in the sky." He explains, unscewing the lense cover and the eye piece. Oh, I'm about to see a planet for the first time! I'm still surprised a man like him has this kind of interest. It's really not common.

"But it might be too low now." He muses, and I watch as he twists and turns the telescope that is almost his height, following an integrated compass with coordnates. He looks into the telescope in silence, and I'm fascinated by how easy he makes it look. This businessman has hobbies that don't consist in golf. 

"There she is." He says once he's found his target, and steps back from the telescope. "Take a look." He invites me. I take his place and look  through the lense, to see white bright disc in the center of my vision.

"It's so bright." I observe. I'm only seeing a bright disc of light, I wonder what it would look from up close.

"It's atmosphere is mainly thick clouds which makes it really reflective." I hear him explain behind me. 

"You sound so nerdy." I remark, turning around to look at him. He crosses his arms.

"I wouldn't be building rockets if I wasn't a nerd." He retorts. True. I take another look at the planet thoufh the telescope. It's amazing to see, but I'm really curious about how it would look if I were on the surface. It's kinda sad that I'll probably never know. 

"This is a really cool place to have in a house." I muse, looking back at him. He has his very own small scale observatory. "I've never seen anything quite like this."

"It's pretty nice." He agrees. I pull out my camera and snap a few picturs of the space, and we move on with the rest of the tour. After coming back down into the livingroom, we both agree to keep the massive bookshelf. That was a given; this is another huge piece of the house that never in a million years I would have considered removing even if he asked me to.

He tells me his grandfather has read evey single one of the books in there, and has even written some of them. He throws some ideas for the arrangement of the space ,and I snap e few more pictures. Then we tour the rest of the house; the dinning room, the two bedrooms upstairs, the bathroom, and the backyard. It takes us almost an hour to complete, and we're back in the living room, where I put down all my tools and start to pack up.

“Wine?"

I turn around to find him behind the kitchen ocunter, holding an expensive-looking bottle of red wine. He's trying to make me drink again!  I give him a dissaproving stare.

“I bought this bottle for the occasion.” He tells me. 

“What occasion?”

"Any day I get to see you is worth celebrating to me.” He coos. Oh please!  “Considering how you’re always avoiding me.” He adds. Oh, I know where this is going. 

“I am not going to sleep with you tonight.” I articulate, trying to sound convinving despite my amused tone.

“I’m just offering you a drink.” 

“You’re trying to get me drunk.”

“Maya, you’re way smarter than this.” He tilts his head to the side.

“Excuse me?” I mimick him, crossing my arms under my chest.

“You wouldn’t be here if you really thought I was going to try to take advantage of you like that.” He points out. True. But still. 

“It’s Italian wine.” He adds when I don't answer. “I think you’ll love it.”

How does he know what I like already?! 

“Just one glass.” I give in. One tiny glass. I'm driving anyways so I'm not about to go crazy tonight.

“Okay.” He agrees before pulling two wine glasses from under the counter. He pours me half a glass, before serving himself.

I thim and we clink our glasses before taking a sip each. An boy this man knows his wine. I love sweet reds. Before I can even comment on the taste, there's a loud knock on the front door.

"Just in time." He comments, droping his class and walking over to the door. Who is he expecting? I hear the door open.

"Thank you Jimin." Mr Jeon says. Jimin? Isn't that his assistant? I remember his name from the time I went to the purple mansion. The door closes and Mr.Jeon reappears.

“I hope you like sushi." He announces, holding two plastic bags in his hands. Sushi?

"You ordered food?" I gasp, my face a mix of confusion and glee. "I figured you wouldn't have had time to eat." He answers, walking over to me. I watch, mesmerised as he drops the food on the counter. My eyes follow as he pulls out one, then a second, then a third plate of colorful sushi. There’s makis too, salmon, tuna, sea breaam sushi- a lot f very good stuff. I’m salivating, my eyes hugging the food close. "Hungry?" I look up and see him smirking at me. I love sushi, and I don’t know if I can refuse this offer. This is better than sex. "Well, I wouldn't want to waste." I shrug a shoulder, making him chuckle. He then pulls out the sauces, disposable chopsticks and napkins.  Little white makis catch my attention. "What are these?" I ask, pointing at my first preys. "Cheese makis.” "Cheese?" I repeat. Has there been a kind I haven’t tried yet? It’s time to update the sushi-pedia. "Have bite.” Mr.Jeon proposes, splitting a pair of chopsticks. He picks one of the cheese sushi and brings it over to my face. At this moment, I don’t even feel like pointing out how inappropriate it is, this man just won’t stop. I bite the sushi off, surprised by the creaminess of the cheese. I hum appreciatively. Sushi can never go wrong, even with cheese in it. This is amazing. "Right?" He concurs, smiling softly. "It's good." I agree once I’ve swallowed. Mr. Jeon hands me another pair of chopsticks, and I dive into the colorful maki rolls. "I'm going to be honest," I trail off after the first two bites. "You have found my weak spot." I mumble. "Sushi?" He says, amused. I nod vigorously. I would have declined any other type of food he would have proposed, but not sushi. He was spot on, and I'm not ashamed for giving in. "Any physical weak spot you want to tell me about?" When I look back at him, he’s turned his body so he’s facing me. Elbow propped onto the counter, he’s giving me all his attention. Oh you wish, Mr.Hotbuttocks. "I'll let you in on a secret." I announce, twisting so I’m facing him as well. "I'm all ears."  He murmurs. Feeling brave, I lean closer to him, prompting him to bend his neck and quite literally give me his ear. A distant, unused and forbidden part of my brain wants to bite his earlobe just to see his reaction. But I refrain. "I'm not having sex with you." I whisper, making him chuckle. He pulls back, shaking his head at me. I catch another sushi. "There was a time when you wouldn't say that." He says to me, eyes playful. "I was drunk." I retort. "Just tipsy." He counters. Ha! "There's not much difference." I mumble. "Let me put it another way.” He prompts, and I don’t like the smirk he’s giving me. I narrow my eyes at him. "Are you attracted to me?" He asks, but I’m not sure it’s a question. He’s looking at me dead in the eyes, probably watching my pupils dilate. I don’t think I can ever say no to that question, now that Iiterally have drunk-dialed him asking for sex. But I’m not going to admit it either. "Does it really matter?" Is the best I come up with, and he laughs at me in a short snort. I know he knows that was a lame attempt, but he ignores it. "Well, you know the feeling is mutual." He murmurs, and it makes my insides fuzzy. Such a handsome man being attracted to me physically is a confidence booster, but I also know the fact that I don’t take shit from him also plays a role in it. He likes that I'm not giving in. "You're only attracted to me because I resist you." I reply. He raises an eyebrow. "Is that why you're resisting me? So you can have me chasing you?” He asks, leaning closer to me and propping his chin on his fist. I am more phased by his words than his proximity. Am I enjoying the chase? I mean the only reason I’m not throwing myself at him is because I know when he finally gets me it’ll be over. Is that what's stopping me? Knowing there probably won't be a second time? Or is it the fact that I'll just be another rebelious woman he'd managed to tame?

“No.” I shake my head after thinking about it for too long. I mimic him, resting my head on the palm of my hand, my elbow right next to his. “Well, I’m not attracted to you because you resist me." He murmurs, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Sure.” “Let me get to my point." He prompts. Oh, whatever. 

"You're submissive, right?" He asks out of the blue, taking me by surprise. Excuse me? Rude!

 I immediately feel exposed, because I know he knows the answer to that question. I feel my face heat up. Where is he going with this? "Maybe." I reply, trying my hardest not to betray my panic. But I can’t bring myself to lie looking into his eyes, so I look away, earning another heartfelt chuckle. "Maybe, alright." He repeats. He sees right through me .To be fair, I am not putting the best act. I'm too easily read. I blush, I frown, I fidget, I play with my hair - I have the most telling body language and it hasn't helped me once in life. “What is your point, Mr.Jeon?” I ask, wanting to end the torture. "So when you find someone attractive, you tend to let them take control and bring you pleasure." He trails off. I nod in agreement, still unsure where this is going.  "But it doesn't mean you're weak or dependent. You chose to be in that position because that's what brings you the most pleasure. In fact outside the bedroom you're a very opinionated woman and you get your way quite often." He adds. I'm still following at this point, but I know he's trying to get me somewhere I don't want to be. I repeat his words in my head a second time. I feel like I’m about to get tricked. "True." I agree reluctantly, knowing I probably shouldn't.  “See, you think I'm all about the challenge and keeping women who challenge me submissive and obedient, but I work differently." He explains. Oh, I’m sure he does. "Just like you being submissive doesn't mean you're dependent and passive, me wanting to pin you against a wall and do things to you has nothing to do with my respect for you or women in general." He murmurs. Pin me against a wall and do things to me?! I take a discreet but deep breath, watching as the corner of his mouth turns into a smirk when he realises I’m already imagining things. "What I'm trying to say is," He trails off, and I think I catch his pupils dilating as our eyes meet. "When I find someone attractive, I tend to hold down..." He says, his tone lower, his voice so seductive it sounds like a purr. "And bite..." He adds, bringing the tip of his index finger just under my ear. "And kiss..." I hold his gaze while he slowly runs it down the side of my neck, barely brushing my skin but letting me feel plenty. "And lick..." He stops at the  spot where my neck and shoulder connect, my hairs standing alert in the wake of his touch. His eyes don’t leave mine, intense and blazing. My libido is through the roof. I want him to do that again. Biting and kissing and licking... I’m not learning anything new here. I’ve always known this man was dominant and kinky. I’m not surprised, but he’s just so sexy. He oozes sex, he smells like sex, he looks like sex, it’s intoxicating. "Because that's what gives me the most pleasure." He adds, his voice feeling like butter. "But I also always have my partner's pleasure in mind. Sometimes more than my own." He says, barely hiding the promise in his words. He leans back as if to mark the ending of his monologue, and that’s when I realise I had stopped breathing. 

I feel dizzy and my cheeks are burning. "Well,”I sigh, reaching for my wine. “Your next conquest should consider herself lucky." I say, raising my glass in his honor, before throwing the entire thing back. I feel thirsty, and hot and bothered. "Yeah, you should." He retorts, making me splutter and almost choke on my wine. He laughs at me, his laugh loud and boyish, while I try not to spit wine all over myself. “You have no shame.” I say in wonder, shaking my head at his mirth. "What should I be ashamed of? Being attracted to you?" He retorts. "Being inappropriate." I reply, narrowing my eyes at him. What a tease. "You're smiling." He counters.  "It's better than you running from me." He murmurs, his words heavier than what he wants me to think. I don't think I'm running away as much as I used to. I went to dinner with him, and I'm here today. I'm still aware of the majo red flags he waved at me when we first met though. "You give me reasons to run." I argue. This man smells like trouble, and I'm hovering over a dangerous line but I'm confident in my capacity to protect myself. His gaze turns to playful to a little bit more serious. He looks pensive. "I was hoping it wasn't the case anymore." He says quietly, and he almost sounds disappointed by my answer. "I wouldn't be here if it was." I say to reassure him a little bit. "I'm glad to hear that." He smiles softly. Part of me doesn't want to make him too happy, but I guess I'll give him that.

"There's something I wanted to talk to you about." He prompts, and I feel him getting even more serious than before.  

"We've never really talked about what happened with my brother." He trails off. Oh... 

Way to kill the mood. I feel myself stiffen instantly as the few memories I have of that night flash back to me.

"And again, I'm sorry for what happened." He says to me. He has told me before that his brother got the "wrong impression". And I would like, in order to start contemplating the idea of forgiving me, to know how in the hell he got that wrong impression. Because to me it is unjustifiable. Was it my dress? Nope. No matter how short it could have been, and it wasn't even short. My body language? Nah. The mere fact that we were drinking? Hell to the no.

"I have always wondered how he could possibly have thought I was going to have sex with him. That still doesn't sit right with me." I tell him honestly, because if he's asking me to forgive him for thinking anything I did led him on, I'll be gone before he even finishes his sentence. 

"He could tell I was attracted to you, and he knows I usually don't mind sharing." He explains to me. He doesn't mind sharing? Sharing women with his brother?!

 "And he was drunk." He adds while I try to precess this information. My face is a knot of confusion. He had threesomes with his brother? Why do I feel like there's something very incestuous about it? I'm effectively grossed out.

"You share your sexual partners with him?" I utter, unable to hide the judgment in my voice. He doesn't seem fazed by the horror on my face."If they both want each other I usually don't have a problem with it." He shurgs a shoulder. How is he so cool about this? Is it normal nowadays? Am I weird for finding it weird. I mean; obviously him and Eliott aren't blood brothers, and I don't think they have sex together per say, but they both participate in a sexual act at the same time! 

"So you-"

"Not threesomes, no." He cuts me off. Oh thank god! 

"Huh." I exhale.

Okay, so he just doesn't mind sleeping with the same woman as his brother. 

"So, hypothetically," I traill off. "If we were to sleep together- which we won't- you wouldn't -"

"I would be extremely possessive of you." He cuts me off, looking into my eyes with intent.

"Why?" I frown. He mimicks me, scrunching his eyebrows togetehr in a pensive manner. He's actually thinking about it.

"I'm not sure." He murmurs.  "I guess I just don't like the thought of anyone else bringing you pleasure." 

Okay? 

After processing this, a tiny part of my brain thinks this means something? That maybe I'm different? I shouldn't believe him that easily though, but if that's true, then I'm confused.

"Interesting..." I muse. I don't feel like elaborating on that. The implications are way too heavy for what I want this whole thing to be.

"But okay, let's say he thought you and I were having sex." I prompt, because his explaination isn't very satisfying yet. "What made him think I'd have sex with him?"

Mr.Jeon inhales deeply, visibly a little bit embarassed to speak. 

"His dumb ass thought bringing you over was what I meant by cheering him up after his breakup." He explains, and it dawns on me.

"He thought I was a bloody hooker." I conclude. He makes a face.

"Not quite. He did drink a lot before you came over too." He counters. Okay, his drunk ass thought I was a bloody hooker.

"Anyways. I hope you'll be able to forgive him one day. He's not a bad guy, just really dumb." He finishes. 

"Okay." I nod. I've heard him, but I don't knwo about forgiving his brother. Not because I'm still mad or anything, but because I can't this of an istance where I'll ever have too see him again. It's not liek he was about to become my brother-in-law.

"Thank you for explaining." I say before glancing at my wtach. I have been here for nearly two hours.

"But I do have to go now, Mr.Jeon." I declare. It's getting really late. “Oh, what a shame.” I hear him complain as I slide off my stool. "Thank you for the sushi." I murmur, looking up at him. "You're most welcome, Miss Fair." He replies, standing up I as well. I gather my stuff, putting my camera and sketchbook back in my bag and throwing my coat on. "I will make plans and sketches and get back to you to schedule another meeting." I explain to him once I'm ready to leave. "How long will that take?" "I think I'll be done in a week or two." "That's a long time without seeing each other." He mutters, scratching his chin in a pensive manner. I raise a curious eyebrow. "Now I'm thinking we're only doing this so you can talk me into sleeping with you." I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. "Miss Fair, I would never." He gasps dramatically. Yes you would. I narrow my eyes at him. "No, seriously. This house means a lot to me, and I don't share this part of my life with that many people." He says more seriously, but I still think he could be doing this to get his dick wet. "Would you mind if I made you sign a contract, then?" I propose. He's all about NDA's and shit, right? "A contract?" "Yes." I concur. "So I'm guaranteed to get my fifteen percent." I explain. I don't want to dive into this and then leave the project like last time. If he ever fucks up to the point where I don't want to see him, we can still do everything via e-mail. Hott buttocks aside, this project is really exciting. He frowns down at me for a second, but is quick to shrug a shoulder. "As you wish." He concedes. "I should make you sign it before I actually start putting in the work." I muse. "I'll be out of town for a few days, I leave on Wednesday." He warns. "I'll e-mail it to you." "Or we could meet up and read it through together." He proposes. Of course he'd want that. "You're funny." I chuckle. "I'm not signing anything via e-mail." He declares. "Why?" I frown. "Don't know how that technology works." He shrugs. Now he's playing the age card? "How old are you?" I ask, realizing I still don't know how old he is. "I'm 21." He says. He keeps adding a year every time I ask him!  "But you build rockets." I deadpan. He smirks- fucking smirks at me. He's so handsome it's angering. "Then I'm not designing anything for you." I retort. "Is seeing me that much of a torture?" He asks with feigned disappointment. I take a moment to think. "Not anymore." I reply. "Not anymore?" He repeats, eyebrows meeting his hairline. "But still." "But still?" He frowns, looking offended. I giggle at his reaction. "I can throw food in the mix, we can meet during our lunch break." He proposes. "Our offices are very close." Oh, god. "I'll see what I'll do tomorrow." I concede, feeling like a straight no would be too mean of me. And I actually don't know I want to say no or not. I enjoy his company. "Just remember you have the power to make a man's day by saying yes." He murmurs, stepping closer to me, hands in his pockets. He looks yummy. "I'll keep that in mind." I murmur, looking up at him. "Good." He says quietly, holding my gaze. The hairs on the back of my neck rise in alert. Why am I still wearing clothes again? "Let me walk you back." He proposes after a beat. I accept, and Mr. Jeon escorts me out of the house. "We'll have to fix these stairs as well." I mumble, looking out for any rogue piece of rock about to make me fall. "You have carte blanche for the outside. I trust you." He replies. I don't think the outside -or at least the pathway, needs a lot of work. Just some brand new steps and green grass.

"Can't wait to get to it." I reply. He walks me down the stairs and back to my car.

"Thank you for your time, Ms Fair." He says as I stand next to my Mini, ready to unlock it.

"It was a pleasure." I reply, smiling at him. I open my door and slide into my seat.

"I'll be waiting for your text." He says, leaning down to my window, eyes small and playful. I giggle.

"I'm sure you will." I tease. "Goodbye, Mr. Jeon." 

"Goodbye, Miss.Fair."

[personasintro]

either way | knj drabble

⏤𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴; it's just a matter of time before one of you snap

⏤𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨; namjoon x reader

⏤𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: fluff, smut, e2l

⏤𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 5.5k

⏤𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: fingering, strong language, penetrative & unprotected sex, creampie, biting kink

𝘢/𝘯: commissioned by the wonderful @falsemagic​ who was kind enough to let me share this with you!

Humans are difficult to deal with it, especially when you're surrounded by hundreds of them every day. The older you get, you always realize how hard it is to work with them. Although, you're not someone who gets irked by the littlest thing and your patience is set high, there is still one person that makes your blood boil just from hearing his voice.

Kim Namjoon is the definition of perfect employee, who's doing more than his job. Maybe that's why he irritates you so much to the point, you can't even stand his voice. From what you've heard, he graduated from one of the best colleges in South Korea which earned him to work in this firm just a few months after he graduated.

It took you four years to get here, something he managed to do in record time, just because your college isn't as prestigious as his is. Jealousy is an ugly quality a human being can have, you're aware of that. Yet, every inch of your body hates him for being so perfect.

When you first started, it took you some time to get used to things, especially to a new environment along with your position. You messed up couple of times, didn't prove yourself of being worthy to get a better position, and Kim Namjoon didn't help with that.

You can perfectly imagine him being that one annoying kid in high school, who'd always raise his hand at every chance he got. Because it felt the same way whenever he interrupted your presentation, coming with wiser opinions and ideas. It was your only way to prove yourself that you're perfectly capable of doing the same job like he does, even without all the diplomas and experiences he had.

He had it so easy, and still has. It irritates you how everyone always agree with him, he could literally tell them to jump out of the window and you're pretty sure they would. Everything he says or does is a pure gold, an automatic success for the company.

It was exactly three years of watching him swaying his way to every meeting, proposing ideas which always became real. You've never had that many opportunities to talk to him outside of the meeting, when he'd just interrupt your speech with a brief raise of hand, pointing your errors. It was boiling inside of you for so long, that one day you just let it out.

“Who does he think he is? Just because he has a perfect education, everything he says is right and perfect?” you snap, trashing your hands to prove your point. Just the thought of the meeting that ended five minutes ago, is making you furious.

It's the same old story. You came with perfect idea how to save more money, where the Mr. I Know Everything just cut you off once again. He has to make it on purpose, there's no way he's being like this with everyone.

“Well, he had a point.” Jungkook says, causing you to glare at him right away. Did he just agree with Namjoon?

“See? This is my point! Everyone just agrees with everything he says,” you blurt out, not being able to contain your anger anymore. Jungkook widens his eyes, surprised by your sudden outburst and he opens his mouth, probably trying to calm you down and not to raise too much attention in the middle of cafeteria. “Education is not the most important thing. People can be very good in what they're doing but they're never going to get a opportunity to bring something new, when there are people like him.”

Poor Jungkook, the only employee you can vent to about your hatred feelings about Namjoon's personality, just stares at you with worried eyes. It pisses you off even more, because Jungkook is one of those people who think of him as an inspiration for the company and to other colleagues. Everyone is fucking blind when it comes to Namjoon.

Yeah, that guy knows what he's doing and his ideas are great. But he keeps attacking you, not giving you enough space to become better.

“Okay, I think you should calm down. I know you hate him, but even you know he's really best in what he's doing.” Jungkook interferes, words carefully spilling out of his mouth as he waits for his coffee to be done.

His words dig into your heart even more, spilling more anger and you try really hard not to scream in desperation.

“Yeah, go suck his dick, Jungkook,” you roll your eyes, catching the way his brows shoot up in surprise before he frowns in hurt. You're being rude to your only friend here, but he's not exactly being a friend, does he? “He thinks he's so perfect, always helping everyone even when they don't ask him for it. He's so fucking annoying, I can't stand him. Does he think he owns it here?” you continue, spitting every word with so much anger that you miss Jungkook's widened eyes.

“Y/N, I think you should--”

“What? Now you want me to shut up because I'm telling you my opinion? I'm not going to shut up just because we're talking about Mr. Kim Perfect Namjoon. He's so fucking irritating, always in everyone's faces--”

“Seriously, Y/N--”

“What?!” you yell out of frustration, completely oblivious that the whole cafeteria turned silent and people stare at you.

Your cheeks flush, embarrassment washing over you over the fact they probably heard every word you just said. You stand by it, but the look they give you makes you want to hide. Of course, they would stare at you like that, they're up in Namjoon's ass probably ever since he started to work here.

You finally notice the way Jungkook coughs awkwardly, reaching for his coffee as his eyes look behind your shoulder. Huffing, you turn around to follow his vision of line but your breath is hitched in your throat when your eyes meet the one and only, Namjoon himself.

His face is unreadable, standing just a few meters away from you with a piece of cake in his hands, before a dark glare illuminates his warm eyes. You're fucked. He heard every word you said, with the rest of the staff. You can't even open your mouth before he turns around and leaves the room, leaving you with your red cheeks and guilt digging in your heart.

Since then, nothing much changed. He still interrupted you whenever you had your presentation going on, barely looking at you but if he did, he'd have this dark look in his eyes. That time you've realized he hates you the same way you hate him. Maybe he always did, but now he just finally had the guts to show it.

A single glimpse of him wearing a dark blue button up with black slacks, a thick lenses sitting on the bridge of his nose, is enough to make you clench your jaw in annoyance. That bastard is hot, and he probably knows it by the heart eyes he gets from almost every women in the conference room. He's holding a pen, clicking on the small controller as another slide fills the white wall. He speaks clearly and wisely, explaining everything that needs to be explained, before someone can even think about the question.

You're not in denial, you know he's very wise and attentive, probably works hard in his free time as well. You're jealous that he knows everything and can think of solution in minutes, you're jealous how every colleague of yours admires him. It's okay to acknowledge his work, but constantly talking about him, praising him for the smallest things he does, is just irritating. Everyone is so far up his ass that it's unbelievable.

The conference room is darkened with blinds, making sure everyone sees Namjoon's presentations projecting on the wall, and you take that time to fully observe him. He doesn't seem to be abashed by the amount of eyes set on him, not showing an ounce of nervousness on his face or mannerism. He looks relaxed, the complete opposite of you when you're in the same position as he is.

It's wrecking enough that the CEO of the building is sitting at the head of the table, listening to presentations every Friday, along with other employees. There are twenty of you, throwing ideas at the end of each presentation and showing your opinions, but the final word always comes from Mr. Jung.

“Thank you everyone.” Namjoon says, bowing slightly when it's the end of his presentation.

The same round of applause resounds in the room, causing you to mentally roll your eyes at them. They barely give anyone applause and if, it's weak and forced. You hate how everyone seems to be so enthusiastic by him and his stupid presentation. Luckily, you had time to take notes and weren't busy gawking at that dickhead.

Blinds are up, a bright light illuminating the whole room as Mr. Jung gives him the words of praise which causes Namjoon to smile at him, showing a gratitude with a brief bow. You sigh, clicking your pen against the glass table as you look up at him. He catches your eyes, staring at you behind the desk as he cancels his presentation. He has the audacity to raise his brow at you, tongue poking the inside of his cheek almost as if asking you 'what you are staring at?'.

You can't hide your roll of eyes this time, quickly looking away from his. It's embarrassing enough that your eyes met in another hateful stare.

“Does anyone have any objections?” Mr. Jung asks, but it's a simple formality he always does, just to show that everyone can speak up. He knows no one will have any objections, not when it comes to Namjoon. Even the round of applause is the same as every time he speaks up in front of everyone.

Although, you haven't had that many opportunities to say something, because yes, it's hard to object against Namjoon. His ideas are wise and makes sense, that's why you always listen to his every word even if he and his stupid voice irritates you so much.

But now, it's a great opportunity to say something, and you raise your hand with a silent cough.

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N?” Mr. Jung speaks, hiding the look of surprise behind his glasses, as he acknowledges you.

The whole room is silent, surprised that you've decided to speak and since everyone knows about the hatred you feel to each other, it causes a weird tension in the room. Luckily, you've learned your lesson and you're professional. You won't let him interfere with your work and make you seem like a bad guy. It happened a year ago, and you haven't said anything close as explicit as you should've.

“Well, Namjoon wants BADA to be expanded Gwanagku district, which would be a great idea since streets are busy all the time. But,” you speak, eyes glancing at Namjoon who can't stop himself from frowning and you almost smirk at that sight. “Seoul National University is only about ten minutes away from the new building that's on sale.”

“I see, although, I'm not quite sure where you're heading with this.” Mr. Jung speaks, a mere confusion crossing over his wrinkled features.

“It means a lot of students would visit the place after their classes. BADA is known as one high-end bar that holds a specific reputation among Koreans, I think having and expanding the business there would create a different reputation. A lot of young students spend their time drinking with their friends after classes, not only on Fridays but every day. If the bar is going to be packed with students, it's presumable it'll lost it's elegance and seriousness between our permanent customers.” you explain, making sure you've read all your points that you've taken while Namjoon was speaking.

Mr. Jung nods, before he gives Namjoon the space to speak and explain himself. Good, now it's between you and this dickhead.

“I don't think it necessarily has to be a bad decision. It'd mean BADA would always be full of customers. Plus, young students are adults. They're free to drink alcohol, it's not like they're illegal.” he says, staring right back at you with coldness in his eyes.

From the corner of your eyes, you see some of your colleagues nodding along Namjoon's words, agreeing with him. Idiots.

His words or tone isn't necessarily rude, not giving a hint of irritation that's aimed at you, but you can see it. The look in his eyes, the same one he had when he heard you bad-mouthing him in front of Jungkook. But you're quick to react, Namjoon can't catch you off guard.

“They're adults, but look at others bars that are filled with students drinking and being loud, causing a lot of fights. BADA is full with or without student customers and is financially stable enough, actually better than that. The incomes have been raised by ten percent just this month, BADA is doing very good, even best since its inception.”

“I must say, that's interesting point of view, Ms. Y/L/N.” Mr. Jung says, your eyes brightening at his small praise as you smile with gratefulness.

“Thank you,” you tell him, your cold facade breaking as you glance at your boss. “I think the reputation and image of BADA is more important than money. Especially when it's doing great on its own, with or without student customers.” you explain yourself, your heart beating wildly in your chest as you try to read his face.

He scratches his chin in thought, before he straightens himself. “I think Ms. Y/L/N might be right. It's important to realize what we're trying to achieve here. The point of expanding BADA isn't money, but it's bringing it to people from that district. The bar has currently three locations, Busan, Daegu and Seoul and I think Namjoon's idea is great. It'd bring a new audience, however, our reputation and image is more important just like Ms. Y/L/N said.” he explains, a triumph feeling bursting in your chest as you can't help but proudly smile.

Jungkook gives you a thumbs up, a very brief one, but you see it and silently giggle at him. To be acknowledged by Mr. Jung and him saying he agrees with you, barely happens. He always praises Namjoon, barely pointing any errors to him, if any. It feels fresh to hear and say him something that's not just a pure agreement and astonishment.

“Our meeting is over. Thank you everyone for being a part of this, I'll see you next Friday. It's your turn, Mr. Jeon, right?” he asks, already standing up as he looks at your friend.

“Yes, sir.” he says him, bowing at him before Mr. Jung nods and leaves the room.

It's silent in the room, everyone scurrying away for their lunch break. Not even Jungkook waits for you, too busy thinking about his turn next week. You know how stressed he has been about it.

As you're packing your own stuff, which only consists of your notepad and pen, you glance at Namjoon who's sporting a frown as he packs his own stuff. You kind of feel bad, seeing displeasure written on his usually soft features, but it's all gone when he looks up and glares at you.

“Good presentation.” you speak, mentally cursing at yourself when it sounds like an attack, rather than a provocative comment. Either way, you're acting like an asshole right now, but thinking about all those times he did the same thing to you, this is nothing compared of what he has done to you.

This is the first time your facts are valid, Mr. Jung himself agreed with you, but this is the first time he's not on Namjoon's side. It should feel triumphal, but rather than to feel that, you don't feel anything. Yes, you're happy Mr. Jung finally acknowledged you and listened to your explanation with interest, but that's all. You thought you'd feel phenomenal once you see the look of displeasure on Namjoon's face, but you feel empty instead.

“Weren't you waiting for this? Listening to me so attentively, so you could do the thing you just did.” he chuckles, but it's dark and accusative, and it makes you feel attacked for some reason.

You've never heard him speaking to you this way, it was always just cold hatred glances. But you won't let him get to you.

“Nah, I just knew you're going to fuck up some day.” you tell him lightly, a little bit of edge and attitude behind your words as you innocently smile at him. You're just being bitch, you know that, but you won't let him affect you.

“You know what? Fuck you.” he spits, closing his laptop with a loud thud as you stare at him dumbfounded before you frown.

Did he just tell you 'fuck you'?

“No, fuck you,” you spit back. “You should put up with the fact that you're not perfect, and you can make mistakes. Or the fact that everyone is so far up your ass, and not everyone has to agree with whatever bullshit you're spitting out.” you bark, gripping your notepad tightly to your chest as you see his frown deepening with each word.

“I've never said I'm perfect, just because you're not capable of doing your job right and I was here cleaning up your mess, doesn't mean I'm perfect. I'm simply doing my job, you should learn to do that.” he barks back, his tone filled with venom as he furiously brushes his long fingers through his blond locks.

“Cleaning up my mess?” you exclaim, on the edge of yelling as you widen your eyes in fury. “Interrupting my presentations isn't cleaning up my mess! It's fucking rude of you to do that every time! At least, I've waited for you to finish. Maybe you should learn to do that, you prick.” you throw your notepad and pen back onto the desk.

“It's not my fault you don't know what fucking help means,” he spits, “You do the same fucking mistake every time and instead of asking for an advice to someone, you're just too confident. You're attacking me for doing a good job while you're fucking up!” he suddenly yells, your mouth falling onto the floor as you walk towards him.

“Oh, so what? Should I go to you and ask for an advice?” you mock him, laughing at that idea.

“You could, I'd help you.” he says simply, catching you off guard before you shake it off and scoff.

“Yeah, of course you would.”

“It's not my fault you're just fucking jealous of my success. Using my education as a reason for my success is just plain dumb.” he says through his clenched teeth, looking at you with so much intensity that it makes you shiver underneath his gaze.

He's talking about that time he overheard your outburst that was only meant for Jungkook's ears. You're sure of it, because you've never brought it up again. It was only that time when you spoke it out loud and he heard it.

“It happened a year ago, and you weren't supposed to hear that.” you mumble, embarrassed by the fact he brought it up.

“It doesn't mean it didn't hurt hearing you saying that.” he scoffs, causing you to open your mouth in shock.

“Stop playing the victim!” you snap, hating how guilty he makes you feel. “You might've wrapped everyone around your finger, but I'm not one of them.”

“I don't have anyone wrapped around my finger. That's just how people treat you when you're a decent human being and not a bitch.” he remarks, causing you to gasp in disbelief.

“Did you just call me--”

“Bitch? Yeah, I did.” he cuts you off, pissing you off even more since he likes to do that.

This fucking motherfucker--

You're launching yourself at him, hands trying to hit his firm chest, but before you can even make a contact with him, he's grabbing your wrists stopping you. You're trashing in his hold, cursing falling out of your mouth as he grunts at you.

“Calm the fuck down, you freak.” he scolds you, shaking with you once you start to kick his leg.

“How dare you to call me--”

He pushes you against the edge of the desk, your ass digging into the glass as you stare into his dark eyes. He's holding you, his fingers securely wrapped around your thin wrists, not too tightly to hurt but enough to stop your attack.

Your chests heaves with each breath you take, the fire in your eyes slowly dying once you calm down. You're reminded by your close proximity, enough to notice how soft his skin looks up this close or the small mole underneath his bottom lip. There's no denying he holds such a charisma, not just in his looks but the way he talks professionally. You envy that and you hate him for that. Even his stupid cologne smells so nice, another great quality you appreciate in men.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” he chuckles, smirking at your quiet state but it lasts only for a few seconds, before you're trying to pry your hands off his grip.

“You fucking asshole!” you trash again, hating how close he is.

You need some space, he's distracting you from your fury.

“I'm done with you acting like a bitch.” he spits, his breath hitting your face as he comes near your face.

“What are you going to do about it?” you speak up before you can think it through, mentally cursing from the way it sounded.

You sound desperate, cunning and provocative – enough for him to chuckle when he notices the glint in your eyes.

“Is that a challenge?” he frowns, studying your features to make sure you're hinting at the same thing.

He lets go off your hands, his fingers slowly sliding off as he stares right into your eyes, mirroring the fire in yours. But he doesn't move, about to take a step back when you scoff at him. That's all it takes for him to growl, before he grabs your face and kisses you roughly. You're surprised, your fingers wrapping around his wrists as you hold him. His lips are surprisingly soft, despite of the way he moves them, before he bites onto your lower lip.

“Ow!” you exclaim, voice muffled by his lips as he chuckles.

“That's what you get for that big mouth of yours.” he comments, before he starts kissing you all over again.

It's fast and rough, but you don't move away. You sit on the desk, legs wrapped around his thighs before you pull him closer.

You can't believe you're kissing him, the man that's been irritating you for so many years and become your enemy of your daily life, but you can't stop. So much anger has been built up inside of you and now it bursts again.

“I hate. You.” you tell him between the kisses, making sure to tag his hair which causes him to growl.

“Why are you kissing me then?” he smirks, causing you to roll your eyes.

His fingers trace your leg, making you to give him more space as he raises a brow at you. Before you can react with another roll of your eyes, your fingers fumble with his belt and zip. He does the same, hiking your skirt up before you glance at the clock on the wall. You've got thirty minutes before everyone's back.

Most of your colleagues go out for a lunch, so there's not a high possibility of you getting caught, but there is still some. However, you can't bring yourself to dwell on that simple fact, not when Namjoon's fingers caresses your clothed pussy with a light hum.

You moan, embarrassed how quick of a reaction he got from you. By the smug smirk, he thinks the exact same thing but it's all washed up when you touch him the same way through his black boxer briefs. You pull it down with his help, pulling out his hardened cock and feeling it for the first time. It feels heavy in your hands, the soft velvety skin takes you by surprise as you give him a few testing pumps. He clenches his jaw, biting onto his lower lip as he denies to give you a reaction. His fingers work at the same time, sliding away your lace panties before he starts to play with your clit.

Your head bumps into his shoulder, insides clenching at the simple feeling of his finger that's coated with your wetness. He doesn't comment on it, inserting his finger inside of you in quick movement, causing you to gasp.

“Fuck.” you curse, smearing his pre-cum over his head before you pump him again.

He adds another finger, fucking you with his two long digits with his rings cold against your walls. “Namjoon.” you gasp when he scissors his fingers, slightly penetrating your hole.

“Hmm, not being a bitch now, huh?” he comments, enjoying the way you squirm against him in pure ecstasy, trying to reach your high.

It feels so fucking good, yet it's not enough to make you cum. He knows it, judging by the way you meet his thrusts, desperately pleading for more.

“I-I hate you so much.” you breathe into his neck, inhaling his scent as you squeeze his cock harder to prove your point, but he only chuckles.

“I hate you too,” he says simply, slapping your hand off his cock as he pulls out his fingers out of you.

You watch him wrapping them around his cock, his fingers coated with your arousal as you take the time to admire his cock. It's long, curved in the right direction with red head that pleads for attention. Gulping at the hot sight, you feel yourself clenching around nothing.

With his free hand, he goes under your skirt, hand disappearing underneath the plain white material before he's sliding your panties off. A cold air hits your exposed pussy, a new rush of lust washing over your body as you stare into his dark eyes. He doesn't budge, looking at you with the same intensity. This is the longest time you've ever stared at each other, and it's only now that you realize that he's even hotter and more handsome than you previously thought so. Just thinking about him standing behind desk with firm look on his face and clenched jaw in concentration is making you all hot.

“Now be a good girl and spread those nice legs for me. I'm gonna show you what you're doing to me.” he commands, and embarrassingly, you're quick to follow his order as you expose your wet and swollen pussy for him.

His eyes drop down between your legs, taking a glance at your pussy before you're being pulled to the edge of the desk, standing closer now.

“Show me.” you breathe out, not caring how pathetic you must look and sound right now.

His eyes flicker to yours, his features relaxing before he's frowning again. “Are you taking pills?” he asks, pumping his cock.

You're greedy, you want him inside of you so much that you quickly nod, telling him that indeed, you're taking a birth control. He nods before he doesn't waste a second, guiding himself to your hole before he slowly enters you. The both of you gasp at the feeling, your heels digging into his plump ass as he bottoms out.

He doesn't give you a second to adjust, pulling out before he slams back into you. Your eyes roll at the back of your head, back arching at the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls in quick and rough way. He holds your hips, making sure you're not sliding away from him as he fucks into you with so much aggression that makes your breath hitch. Wanting to be closer to him you pull up yourself, hands disappearing under his dark blue button up, before you grab his back for support. The feeling of his naked skin makes you clench around him, causing him to growl for the first time. You messily kiss him, groaning when he bites your lower lip before he moves to your neck. He sucks your skin there while fucking you, his balls meeting your ass with each thrust. The shameless sounds of skin hitting skin fills the conference room.

You should be embarrassed that you're having sex in here, but it drives you crazy and closer to the edge.

The desk starts to shake underneath your body, caused by Namjoon's rigid thrusts as you gasp into his ear, moaning his name over and over again. You're yelping when you feel a sting pain in the crook of your neck from Namjoon's teeth, before he licks his mark.

“Ow! That hurts!” you complain, pain long forgotten when you feel his lips pecking you there.

You've never experienced someone being so rough, yet affectionate during sex and you can't believe it's Namjoon of all people.

“You feel it? That's how you make me feel.” he growls into your ear, before he tears off your blouse, some of the buttons hitting the floor with soft clicks.

He pulls down your bra cup, exposing your perky breast as he dives down, taking your nipple into his mouth. The feeling is incredible, your walls clenching even tighter around his cock. The sting pain comes back when he softly bites your nipple, more careful than he was with your neck before he starts sucking it again.

“Fuck, I hate you.” you spit, hating him for how good he makes you feel.

He pulls away, crashing your lips together and it's the final step for you, taking you over the edge as you cum around him. He fucks you through it, a deep growls leaving his plump lips as he tries to chase his own orgasm.

“Fuck me, Namjoon,” you tell him, ignoring the feeling of oversensitiveness as you scratch his back with your nails. “Fill me up.” you moan when you hear your name leaving his lips.

It takes him a few more thrusts before he's spilling into you, halting his thrusts as he comes off his high. You feel him filling you up, causing you to clench around him at the incredible feeling of being full, and it makes him hiss. He leans his forehead against yours, the sheer coat of sweat decorating your skin as he slowly pulls out. You feel his cum already dripping out of you, but he catches it with his fingers before he's stuffing it back.

Gasping, he silences you with his lips, this time softly meeting yours before he pulls away. To your disappointment, he's taking a step back as you watch him tucking his soft cock back into his slacks, buckling his belt and tucking his crinkled button up into it. He picks up your panties off floor, sliding them up your legs as you sheepishly put them on, material catching his cum right away, dampening it.

Just when you're about to leave and hide yourself for the rest of the day, he turns to you with unreadable eyes before he licks his lips. “Are you up for lunch?” he asks, his tone light a complete opposite from just minutes ago.

It's not just the fact he fucked you, that your heart jumps at his offer, but the realization from his words hits you. You've hurt him and you were both at wrong. You both said some hurtful things to each other, probably things you didn't even mean. He nervously lifts up the corners of his lips, a cute small dimple popping out of his cheek that makes your heart warm and features relax even more.

Either way, you both have tons to say to each other, including an apology.

“Yeah, lunch sounds cool.” you tell him, smiling down at floor, too shy to meet his eyes that are filled with hidden adoration and amusement.

[lilbabycee]

sundown // steve rogers 🌇

↳ summary: steve’s little ray of sunshine isn’t shining so bright.

↳ relationship: steve rogers x reader

↳ word count: 2.5k

↳ warnings: angst angst angst (i was in my feelings with this one), hurt/comfort and some fluff 

↳ author’s note: hi! i wrote a kind of sequel to daybreak today! i’ve been stuck in a writing rut for like two weeks but then @pinksdaydream​ inspired me to write some more for this! 🥰

READ DAYBREAK

A year later and Steve still hasn’t learned his lesson. Every day, he stares for hours at the brightest light that he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing in his many years of life. He can’t believe how close he is, how easily he’s able to touch and feel something- someone so precious. It’s a wonder that he hasn’t been burned yet, but he knows that it’s because this light doesn’t pose a physical threat to him - emotionally, perhaps, but rather, it’s much more the contrary. He basks it in, soaks in its warmth and revels in its brilliance all because he’s allowed to. He’s allowed to because this light is his. 

It’s you.

You’re not perfect - you tripped on the fluffy white rug in the living room and subsequently ran into the sharp marble corner of the kitchen island this morning alone - but you’re still his. However, this time you’re awake and standing in the kitchen - too far away from him. One of his grey Henley’s shields your entire upper half from his eager gaze and he silently curses himself for throwing you that shirt when you’d asked for one - if he was smarter, he would’ve just insisted that you walk around naked. He knows that your legs are completely bare, but his vivid imagination has to be the one to conjure up the image of those miles of exposed skin because his view is obstructed by the kitchen counter. For now, he’s stuck admiring you from the waist up. He bets that he could rip the counter right out of the tiled floor if he tried hard enough, but he knows that as of right now, he has more restraint than that. 

No matter what time of the day, not once in any of those twenty-four hours for the past one-thousand-one-hundred-and-eighteen days has he failed to be amazed by how you can make him feel like the asthmatic man he was all of those years ago by simply walking into a room, no matter whether or not you even know that he’s there. You’ve been quieter than usual lately, running endless back-to-back sprints as opposed to marathons inside your brain that wear you out because you refuse to take a water break. He knows what this is - he’s seen it before, watched you run so far only to drop the baton in the relay race at the most critical moment. And as much as he can coach you to not push so hard and pace your running, in the end, you’re the only one who can really make those decisions for yourself. 

Of course, you always take his advice in stride, using it to propel yourself those last few meters to the finish line. But time and time again, he’s watched you fall short, letting all the different facets of your overactive and often noisy brain speed past you to snap that finish line tape in half much like the way that they break your soul. Your aura dims considerably in moments like these, despite the glow of the late afternoon sun swallowing the white walls of your apartment and spitting out rays of golden light. One shines right on your face and Steve almost laughs - it’s as if the sun itself knows how deserving you are of the limelight - a star in his eyes having taken center stage in the production of his life. 

He’d let you take all of the attention any day. But you’re not like that - as much as you can be his little social butterfly, the taste of pink lemonade and cherry lollipops in your speech, there are still those days when he can both physically and emotionally see you sink in on yourself, the words you speak stinging him in a way that makes his entire body shudder just thinking about it. They always taste like copper to him.

He knows that you don’t mean it. It’s the way you’ve always been and who is he to think that he’s entitled to make you change it? But the way that you deal with what goes on inside your head isn’t healthy. He knows that. You know it, too. And you’re trying. That’s all he can ask for. 

And so here he sits on the floor of your living room, large body wedged in the sizable space between the coffee table and the couch that his back rests against. You’re directly in his line of sight - still too far away - but that’s okay because even though you haven’t spared him a glance or uttered a word to him in the past hour, at least you’re together. 

Sometimes he regrets the mantle that he carries around - Captain America. True, it is such an integral part of him but he can’t help but resent it some days. It keeps him away from you all too often. Time and time again, people have chased him just to meet the man in red, white, and blue. They’re not interested in the man behind the shield and honestly, he doesn’t know if he is either. There have been plenty of times where he’s spiraled into an identity crisis, unable to separate Steve Rogers from his superhero persona. 

But every single time, you’ve been there to work through it right alongside him. You’ve dealt with him at his very lowest - when he was in a hole deeper than rock bottom and couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed in the morning. So there has not been even one moment when Steve has thought about leaving you alone when you get like this. He now knows not to pry just as well as he knows that you don’t want to be by yourself in times like these. You may not explicitly vocalize it, but in the seconds when you do meet his stare across the dinner table or right before you fall asleep, he can see the love housed in the depths of your eyes and that’s more than enough for him.

His own eyes haven’t left you for the better part of the hour. His favorite black leather-bound sketchbook is open to what was once a blank page at the beginning of the day but is now an almost complete sketch of the angel in front of him. The luminosity of the sun on your body reveals your halo, usually hidden during the day but in rare moments like these, he’s able to appreciate your otherworldly presence casually standing in the middle of his kitchen with a hand propped against the edge of the counter. A notebook is set in front of you and Steve never thought that he could be so jealous of an inanimate object before - it’s held your undivided attention for hours. 

His eyes widen as you shift, leaning forwards to rest both of your elbows on the counter top to type something on your open laptop and giving him a clear view of your breasts through the gap in the front of your shirt. Your lips have been wrapped around a ballpoint pen for virtually the whole day which is how he knows you’ve been working hard because sucking on the ends of pens always helps you focus. He, on the other hand, can’t seem to focus at all as soon as you whip out one of those godforsaken pens. Steve swallows hard - almost immediately regretting wearing grey sweatpants as he adjusts the crotch as subtly as he can - and tears his eyes away from you to flip to a new page, sketching profusely so as to immortalize this moment in his sketchbook before his mind can even dare to forget it. 

In his haste, he doesn’t even realize when the silence is broken by the chime of your voice. 

“Steve. Steve.”

His hand moves fast and he’s squinting at the page in concentration, willing his brain to hold onto the picture of you bent over the kitchen counter as if he doesn’t have the real thing standing right in front of him-

“Stevie,” you call out, your brow furrowing slightly in concern. This makes his head snap up - finally - and you can’t help but notice how blown his pupils are and how strategic the placement of his sketchbook seems to be. You can pinpoint the exact moment that he starts to panic. For someone who is usually so stoic, he wears his heart proudly on his sleeve. Realization quite literally dawns on his face but it does nothing to alleviate the dusting of light pink across his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” his unused voice is raspy but he doesn’t bother clearing his throat, as if he knows exactly how it makes you clench your thighs together where he can’t see them. “I was just really invested in- uh,” he hesitates, gesturing vaguely at the page that you can’t see, “the sketch. What’s goin’ on, doll?”

And the flower of your heart blooms at the look in those eyes that remind you so much of April showers, those eyes that are filled to the brim with the rain that has watered all of the dead and decaying blossoms that line your stomach, crawl up to your ribs and up your throat, their vines climbing up through your skull to wrap around your brain. That look alone, framed by those insanely long eyelashes, has extended a helping hand to your beaten-down spirit, telling it to dust itself off and keep going. 

“You’re staring, sweetheart,” Steve’s sinfully pink lips quirk up into a demure smile as he teases you, his thick beard shielding the brief flash of white teeth. You decided a long time ago that the beard has been the best thing to happen to you, as is the long hair that he’s currently running his hands through. 

“Sorry,” you say but continue to stare unabashedly at his beautiful face because you don’t mean it. You can’t help the way that your eyes trail down his chest that has woefully been covered by one of his too-tight black t-shirts, though you don’t miss the way that it strains against his bulging biceps, nor the way that it’s slightly rucked up at the bottom which gives you an eyeful of the dark blonde wisps of hair that travel downwards towards one of your favorite parts of his body. 

Steve, always so perceptive, doesn’t miss where your gaze has traveled, and he can’t help the self-satisfied smirk that grows on his face. It’s easy to forget that you’ve been down for these past few days when you have seconds like these in between those tired hours when you oversleep and he hasn’t slept at all because he’s too busy watching you.

“See somethin’ you like, baby?” he hums, continuing his sketch absent-mindedly because he knows that the image of you standing in front of him like a dream will forever be ingrained into his memory. 

Heat ignites your veins and blooms in your cheeks; you can’t help it when you look away, smiling shyly to the side. Steve has resigned himself to the fact that you won’t answer, going back to tracing careful lines with the point of his pencil. 

“In fact, I do,” you murmur, knowing that if it was anybody else, they wouldn’t have heard you. Steve’s eyes meet yours and you can almost taste the saltiness of the ocean on your tongue as he drowns you in their depths. He stands abruptly, casting his book to the side carelessly and taking long strides to get to where you are. 

Once his hand lands on your hip, the warmth seeps in through the cotton of your shirt and melts your entire body; it catalyzes the small eruption of the volcano in your chest, causing the burning lava of the breath that you didn’t know you were holding to spill over and out of your mouth in an audible sigh. His other hand soon joins the first, framing your body and pulling you back into him. You stare down at the dusting of hair on his forearms when he slips them around your waist and you squeal when he turns you around in his hold, meeting your eyes with a softness that you weren’t expecting.

“Do you wanna talk about what’s goin’ on with you, sweetheart?” he probes lightly in that same low voice, recognizing your deflection and not wanting to cause that volcano to explode. You bite the inside of your cheek, avoiding eye contact because you don’t want him to worry (you don’t know that he worries about you every second of every day because you’re almost his entire heart) but he grasps your jaw in his right hand. He ducks his head down a little, trying to catch your darting eyes. When they finally rest on him, he thinks that he’s dying because your stare is glassy and your lip is trembling. 

“Baby,” he coos, tugging you into his chest. You relent, releasing your hold on his forearms to throw your arms around his middle. It’s hard to hold back the tears anymore: Steve’s concern has kicked down the fragile floodgates of your emotional control. Pressing your head into his chest, he says nothing while your body shakes but it’s better this way. You know that you’d only cry even more if he started speaking. Instead, you inhale gasping breaths between babbling as you try to explain why you haven’t been yourself recently. He listens attentively, rubbing circles into your back and dropping frequent kisses on your forehead. 

The room is more orange than yellow by the time you can finally speak coherently. 

“M’sorry,” you sniffle into his shirt, fists clenching the material tightly. He pushes you away from him so there’s just enough space for him to lift his hands to your face. Slowly, he wipes any residual tears from your cheeks and underneath your eyes with this thumbs. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, baby,” he speaks softly, your face still in his hands when he presses a kiss to your nose, both of your now mostly dry cheeks, and then right on top of your lips. It’s chaste, only lasting about a second but it makes your soul sing nonetheless. 

You stand in silence for a beat longer, merely staring into each other’s eyes before something flashes in Steve’s eyes. You squish your face to his body again, feeling his chest rise slightly, signifying that he’s about to speak. 

“What did you need before, sweetheart?”

You’re confused. 

“What do you mean?

“When you were calling me before - what did you need?”

Now you get it. 

“Oh- I was just going to ask what you wanted for dinner...”

Your voice falters at the end because - and you have no clue why - this makes Steve throw his head back as he barks out a surprised laugh. You frown, narrowing your eyes at him slightly. 

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing - I just love you, that’s all,” he clarifies, casually throwing the sentiment out there because it’s so easy with you. It’s always easy, even when it’s not.

“I love you, too,” you place a lingering kiss on his jaw before pulling back to stare in his eyes with a grave expression on your face. Now it’s his turn to frown in confusion. “But seriously, what do you want for dinner?”

[mythiica]

amber astrolabe | ikevam | leonardo

title |  amber astrolabe fandom | ikemen vampire character | leonardo da vinci  genre | angst, bittersweet warnings | well i dont kill anyone, but i dont make any promises for your feels intended gender audience | neutral audience  word count | 2.1k pov | second person  check out the others in this collection | comte, mozart other comments | reuploading! i decided to edit it a bit before doing so, sorry for the wait

The museum looms in front of you, practically swallowing you with its grand glory as it reaches for the sky. Sunlight sparkles in the new windows, yet to be touched by peoples’ hands as they stare into the street. Even from the outside, you can see the top of the arched glass roof letting natural light pour in.

          You remember it when it was the train station and how you would sneak past the guards to climb the stairs hidden behind the walls. Tipping your head back, you squint hard against the bright sun to spot the window of your old room on the top floor. 

         It’s a bad idea to return to the museum– this beautiful building hosts so many memories that are not as wonderful. Still, against your better judgement, you pay your admission ticket like any other tourist that clamours through the doors of the Musée d'Orsay before melting into the crowd. 

         In honor of the museum's grand opening, more people have gathered to see the new displays for themselves. You were specifically interested in the exhibit that you had read about in the newspaper a few days prior. After nearly five decades, the lost works of a famous artist have resurfaced. A trove of sketches – namely hundreds of half-finished drawings of an unknown woman. Pieces of her face were scattered across blueprints, hidden on the backs of oil paintings, and even etched into the lacquer of strange wooden contraptions. 

         You walk past the main exhibit, not really having an interest in seeing the Mona Lisa again. Still, the painting smiles at you from over the churning sea of heads, as if she knows something you do not. 

         Now in the traveling exhibit, you take your time, pacing around to admire the art. You marvel at the broken wing of a plane that did not survive a test run, awe at the elaborate blueprint of a flying machine with gold sails, and even laugh at the obligatory comedic comment that this mystery artist must have had an obsession with someone. 

         However, from the corner of your eye, you notice something glinting in the spotlight just a few meters away. As you approach it, you can’t help but be a tad bit sad to see that it has lost its original shine over the years – in fact, you had held the astrolabe when it was brand new. The hands of the device point towards the end of the exhibit just beyond the corner, but you don’t pay it much attention. Instead, you search your memory, thinking hard to collect the pieces of the past before you can fall against the events that transpired nearly a lifetime ago. 

“Cara mia, close your eyes. I have a gift for you.” 

         “If you drop a screw in my hand again and say you found it behind my ear, I’m going to throw it at you!” 

         His laugh rumbles deep in his chest, but you close your eyes to humor him. Without wasting a moment, he takes your hand and presses a cold, circular object into your palm. “You can look now.” 

         Your eyes flutter open, but you don’t know what to say. “A pocket watch? Did you steal this from Arthur?!” 

         “No.” He pulls the lid back to reveal a much more complicated interior. You take a moment to admire the fine engravings around the edge of the disk before your eyes graze over the centre of the object: an oblong piece of metal resembling the hands of a clock stretch across the diameter, overlapping the intricate second layer that sits atop what looks like a miniature map of the world. It is a deep copper color, and you immediately think of his eyes. They are nearly the same shade of amber, so deep and intoxicating that you wonder if he made it like this on purpose. “It is an astrolabe.” 

         “Well, it looks like you took a watch and a compass and made some… strange hybrid. What does it do?” 

         When he cups his hand over yours, your breath catches in the back of your throat. His hands are so large and warm. “It’s used to calculate the position of the Sun and other stars in the sky. Here, I’ll show you.” Now, his fingers lace with yours, the astrolabe pressed between your palms. It fits there perfectly, as if it were made to be held by your hand and his. 

         The two of you step over the incredible mess that has accumulated over the past week. No matter how hard you try, this place always remains a mess. It is no use to scold him for it now, for he has something set in his mind – nothing you say or do will be able to draw his attention away from showing you what this strange device is capable of doing. 

         He allows you to climb up the winding staircase first. 

         What a gentleman. 

         Then again, it’s the perfect opportunity for him to place his free hand on your waist. To ensure you don’t fall, he explains with the slyest of smirks. 

         Upon reaching the roof of the building, he leads you to the large telescope pointing towards the night sky. A breeze ruffles through your clothes, so he pushes you between the device and his body.  Warmth radiates from his chest, so you lean against him slightly as he explains what he is doing. 

         “This telescope is completely uncalibrated, alright? Cara mia, are you paying attention? Look inside. You’ll see that it is not pointing at anything memorable.” 

         You smile to yourself. He always is so passionate about his work. To humor him, you take a peek through the lense. There is only darkness. 

         “I see.” 

         “Now, if you’ll give me a moment…” Lifting the astrolabe to the sky, he fiddles with it, mutters to himself, and then changes a few settings on the telescope. It swings around to point at a seemingly equal void in the sky – you cannot see anything of importance against the night sky, but he nudges you slightly, prompting you to look through the lense once more. 

         “Is… is that Venus?” 

         “It is!” 

         You lean back and squint, trying hard to see a flicker of green against the black. However, your eyes are too weak to spot anything. “That’s very impressive.” 

         “Oh, but that’s not all!” He side steps around an open box of art supplies and turns over a large piece of paper. It is obviously a flying contraption, but it looks so strange… like it is straight out of a steampunk novel. And is that gold on the sails? How is this thing supposed to fly? 

         Raising an eyebrow, you take a seat on the small stool next to the lamp resting on the ground. “What is it for?” 

         A grin captures his lips. “I’m taking you to the stars. No more sitting around on Earth. I’m tired of this place. When we wed, I promised you a life of adventure. We left the mansion, and now we’re living in the closet of a train station. This isn’t the glamorous life you should have.” 

         “I think it’s pretty fancy, actually–”

         He shakes his head with a laugh, and his dark brown hair falls over his forehead. “We’re going to fly amidst the galaxies that make up the vast universe. How tiny we are, compared to them.” He whips around. “Imagine, reaching your hand out and catching a handful of dust from the time of creation. How amazing that would be…” 

         You laugh, but don’t correct him. Instead, you take his hands between yours again and kiss his calloused knuckles. “Where would you like to go first?” 

         He leans his head against yours and points at the horizon. “Sirius. It is one of the brightest stars in the night sky.” Turning to meet your gaze, he brushes his thumb against your cold cheek. “There is only one star that rivals its beauty. Would you like to know which one?” 

         “Of course.” 

         “A moment, if you please.” 

         Taking a dramatic step backwards, he plays around with the astrolabe until it clicks into place. The long hand is pointing directly at you. 

         “I don’t understand,” you tell him. 

         “Cara mia, you are the brightest star here tonight. You will always be the most beautiful star as well. Trust in that.” 

         You flush at his words, and it is hard to contain your smile. “You’re such a smooth talker, why can’t you put some of that effort into cleaning your room! I swear, it looks worse than it did when I first arrived here. Remember that time I found a mouse amongst your things?!” 

         “Don’t bring Lorenzo into this, he’s done nothing wrong!” 

         The two of you break into a fit of laughter, and that’s when he puts the astrolabe in your palm once more. “This is yours though.” He’s looking at you again with those pools of ochre mischief. “In the case that we are separated before we can reach the stars, use this to find me. Go towards Sirius, and I will meet you there. I’ll wait for you.” 

The white noise of the museum filters into your mind as your eyes flutter open, and you ease back into reality. Tears roll down your cheeks, but you do not move to wipe them. 

         Looking at the astrolabe again, you see the tender scratches against the metal: his initials coupled with yours. An impressive layer of grime dulls the shine of the device, making it less impressive than how it looks in its natural state. 

         A week after he showed you his plans, a tank of a train exploded, plunging the east side of the station in flames. As the fire grew, it stretched to the opposite side, where the hotel was. You had begged him to escape before the roof collapsed, but he insisted on returning for the astrolabe and his telescope, because he had been using it to calculate stars the night before. 

         As you had expected, the wooden beams were not strong enough to withstand the fire but, by some stroke of luck, he managed to thrust you to safety before everything collapsed. 

         Neither him nor the damned astrolabe made it through. 

         A painful hatred for the device burns in your lungs, so you turn away from it and nearly run into someone. Tossing an apology into the air, you hurry forward and move past the rest of the salvaged artworks without paying them much attention. Guilt tugs at your heartstrings and weighs your feet down, retarding your motions. 

         Despite the tears blurring your vision, you throw your head back and glances back at the astrolabe. You don’t know if it is taunting you or trying to tell you something. And yet, your eyes follow the long hand forward, just beyond where you’re standing, until you realize that it is pointing directly at the final, most impressive display of them all. 

         It towers over your head, stretching up the entire length of the wall. Pieces of blueprints, canvases, loose papers, wood, and more are all arranged to create a larger than life depiction of– you. 

         The eyes.. Her nose.. That beauty spot on her cheek that you hate… it is all there. He had to have reproduced it all from memory because you don’t remember him taking any photographs or sketches of her. 

         In the bottom corner, you see a plaque: 

         Believed to be a portrait of his lover, our favourite artist would have had to spend years creating this piece: in fact, our experts needed months to put the pieces together in order to reveal a face! In the left margin of the paper with her eye, the phrase ‘my star’ is written, so we have named her ‘Étoile’ for reference. Who was this woman? It was thought that this was lost to a massive fire in the nearly five decades ago, but the recent excavation proved fruitful in its treasures among the basement of the Gare d'Orsay when preparations for the museum began...

         You hear his voice loud and clear in your mind. 

         Cara mia, I am waiting for you, but do not rush. When you are ready, join me, so that we may explore the world beyond this one together. 

         Unable to contain your emotions anymore, you break into sobs. The sadness ebs from your broken heart and stretches through your body, making your legs click in place. You lose your balance and fall to the polished tiles, clutching your chest in an attempt to relieve the pressure. Other guests swarm to your side, offering you help or to call for someone, but you ignore them all. 

         Even overwhelmed with memories, you can feel the warmth of his promise, just as if he were standing beside her. 

         I’ll meet you again, Leonardo. 

         I’ll meet you at Sirius. 

[sainadazai]

Chapter 2

There was a certain essence of security in the fact that one kid would be sent home today, still there was a horrible feeling inside you that you'd be the one leaving.

There was no reason for you to fail, Mr.Aizawa didn't seem to be singling anyone out, though.

That alone made you nervous, if he didn't have someone specific in mind, then it was free reign whoever would be booted at the end of the day.

Bakugou threw a softball more than seven hundred meters, you were sure your primary school record was less than 30 meters. With your quirk you didn't need dense muscle, it required lean muscle and mostly on your back.

Manipulating the state of matter in metal wasn't really difficult, but lifting it with your mind was.

Even more, it was especially hard to keep it in its semi-liquid state while you manipulate it. Cause many people have conjuring quirks, hell probably somebody in this class had a quirk that could make things, yours was just also limited to one specific material.

It took a long time to perfect your own unique fighting style. You didn't wanna be like cementoss, or Best jeanist, although they were great heroes.

Being a carbon copy of a hero that already has existed served no joy to you, you were y/n, and that's who the world oughta know.

Was that really gonna help you now, though? What were these eight tests he was talking about?

test one: 50 meter dash

Should be easy enough, why use your quirk on something you already excelled in during school. Y/n L/n - 100 meter dash - 12.67 seconds. It couldn't be hard to half that at least, maybe even quarter it, you wouldn't use your quirk here.

You really need to stop underestimating people, in your heat, the first at that, were Tenya Iida and Tsuyu Asui. The boy was well built, muscular, tall and his legs seemed to have engines in them. He was sure not a good match to make you seem strong or fast.

The girl had long, green hair and beautiful round eyes, she seemed to have some sort of frog hybrid quirk. Probably much faster than you as well. Not really the best time to second guess yourself, you already assessed this test. No quirk. Don't waste your energy.

Ugh, but shouldn't heroes go a hundred percent all the time? God this was infuriating.

"Go"

Well, there you have it, first day and you're already overthinking. Without letting your worry get to you, you sprinted towards the speedometer hoping you wouldn't get discouraged by the fast boy in front of you. The air flowed against you, pushing your hair back. You had forgotten about the tension air creates when you run against it, but it didn't matter. As quickly as it started you heard Iida's score, the Asui's, but you knew 50 meters was easy. You knew you were fast even without your quirk, you would prove it.

"6 seconds"

"Without a quirk?"

"What even is her quirk?"

"I don't know, she wasn't in my exam."

The others after you seemed to be faster than you too, even if by seconds. However, it was helpful to learn exactly what their quirks were.

Uraraka- zero gravity

Iida- engine

Bakugou-explosion

Knowing all this made you unique compared to them, because now, you know their quirks and how they work for the most part, but only a few even can guess yours. Maybe it won't help you too much now, but in the future this knowledge will.

Test two: Grip strength

Easy, this can be done without even touching that little machine, but sure, you'd give me a show.

"Woah, you hit 500 kilograms?! You're such a beast"

The boy with extra arms seemed to do well on this, you could obviously guess why. Still, you had no fear at all in this test. What were they thinking putting an object entirely made of metal and wires in your hand? Rigged in your favor to be honest.

You took the contraption in your hand, avoiding the eyes of the few watching you to see what your quirk was. Jokes on them, cause with this test, it'd take a genius to tell. Applying a decent amount of pressure from your hand, you began to feel all of the particles in the tiny machine, moving them closer and closer together. Pushing them down with each breath out. Until the machine beeped.

12,000kg

You almost smirked at that, you technically didn't have that much plain grip strength, but the teacher said use your quirk, anything goes.

"Twelve thousand!? No way!" the yellow haired boy spoke with astonishment, not anger, but the words felt accusing,

"sorry.."

The students were left dumbfounded. However, at the mention of such a high number, todoroki began to seek out your face, he recognised the girl who had tried to speak with him earlier. Looking at the floor and avoiding the quite obvious compliments, he couldn't help but feel it wasn't out of modesty.

Test three: Standing long jump

The ring on your finger would serve well enough for this one, removing it, you liquified the metal ring until it was a non-Newtonian liquid- or a liquid that is solid under pressure. It soon multiplied until it was around a foot high line of liquid metal, then you curled it into a spring shape. Jumping straight up you landed both feet on the outer edge of the spring and flew into the air launching it with you and quickly turning it back into a tiny ring around your pinky finger.

Then apologizing again as more questions floated in.

Next was repeated side steps, then ball throws. By then, the other students had acknowledged the uncomfort you seemed to have around them, and only admired from afar.

To others the ball throw seemed like the most important test, but it didn't really feel like that to you. Despite having some restraint, you wanted to be the best in every test. Well, maybe not this one, after the gravity girl sent a ball to infinity.

Still, you held the softball, all eyes on you, not feeling so shy, considering you knew these were supposed to be your friends, you wanted them to like you, more than anything. So you would just have to woman up soon.

You tossed the ball to yourself a couple times, feeling for any metal particles, baseballs were usually full of string on the inside, maybe that would work? No, too risky for now.

Feeling pressure to hurry, you took a quick glance around, locking eyes with the boy who sits by you. He still was stone faced, but looked a little intrigued to see what you would do. Was he curious about you? He was so strong though, you'd seen it earlier. Well, best live up to expectations.

No luck with metal in the ball, but there was plenty all around you: iron in your blood. Taking your pointer fingernail, you scratched a quick cut on your opposite palm, maintaining eye contact with the boy. His stiffness faltered for a second, confused and maybe worried at your actions.

Quickly you dragged your blood out of the cut in a thin, rope-like flow, wrapped it around the ball, and took a deep breath. Then you closed your eyes, just how you taught yourself to, and imagined the blood pulling the ball into the air. Arm swung back and ready you released the image along with a throw high into the air.

Continuing to focus on where your blood would take it, you imagine not a place, but a number, and a force. Applying that force to the blood and ball, long lost in the sky, you finally sighed out and looked around, waiting for a score.

Your peers seemed confused about what had just happened, all except for the red and white haired boy, he seemed to have caught on to some extent.

"1,609 meters"

"A mile, exactly? How?"

"Your blood? That doesn't match up with everything else you've done today!" A girl with recognizably large breasts and thighs spoke, she was gorgeous. Hair tied up in a black ponytail, and even her voice sounded sophisticated.

"Uhm-"

"If you say sorry one more time i'm gonna blast you to space, ya hear me!?"

The fire boy, Bakugou screamed at you, and you would have been scared, but it actually made you feel comforted. The realization that people here were not asking for your apologies.

"Yes sir." you winked.

Why did you wink? Did you forget you weren't talking to mochi? A yellow haired boy, whose name you thought was denki turned red and fainted. You felt incredibly stupid, and flustered, and mad at yourself for slipping like that.

"AAAaaa im so sorry, pleaseforgivmeidontknowwhatiwasthinkingwinkingayoulikehatwhenyoubarelyknowmeohnopleasedonthatemenowimsorryimsorrymochiwillyellatmelater!" you screeched out, falling subject to your now loose personality.

Then you went to hide among the crowd of them, slowly shrinking in on yourself.

The next one up was the green haired boy, Deku? That's what bakugou called him, right? You didn't know you were standing next to shouto todoroki, but he sure knew he was standing next to you.

He wanted to confirm his suspicions about your quirk, and also he subconsciously wanted to know what a conversation with you would be like. You didn't seem too eccentric, or obnoxious like some of the kids here. Plus for some reason you were flustered at any and everything,and well, it was stupidly adorable.

Todoroki shouldn't be thinking these things, but he is. On the first day of school no less.

It seems, though, you weren't the star of the show today. He tore his eyes from you at the sound of your gasp. The boy who hasn't used a quirk all day had thrown the softball barely a few meters. So how did he get in? He seemed nice enough, but it sparked the question, how would someone quirkless make it to the hero course?

Or maybe he wasn't, it seemed, the teacher had nullified whatever quirk he tried to use. They were talking for quite some time, until Mr.Aizawa removed his restraint on the kids quirk and he was left to throw.

His lips pursed, deep in thought. Deku really had to get this one right. There may not be a better place to apply his gifted quirk. He really didnt wanna go home, either, so this was it.

Blinking, he thrust his hand back and before you could process what was happening an incredible force of wind flew back on you. The ball launched high into the air, a trail of pure power following it. You didn't take your eyes off that ball until it dropped. A puff of dirt flying up around it.

705.3

So you looked back to the boy, eyes wide just like everyone else, and your eyes found a bloodied purple finger. Broken in every sense of the word. Deku, though, was smiling, the brightest smile you'd ever seen. Proud. He was proud of himself. What could you be but proud of him, too?

You'd known him less than a day, spoken to him all but once, but his smile was pure. You used to smile like that when you were working out your quirk in the forest behind school. It was beautiful.

"Awesome.." you whispered through a smile clad lips.

Teeth white and shining under the sun, and todoroki heard you. Even looked down(or up) at you. He wanted to see that smile again from you, and for the love of god he couldn't tell himself why....

A/n this isn't a deku fic but I love him, and it IS his show, so- don't be surprised if i write about him like he is the most precious gorgeous blessing on earth.

[jimlingss]

Jungle Park [13]

Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 13.5 OR Chapter 14

➜ Words: 4k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Light Humour (?), Slice of Life, Workplace Romance!AU

➜ Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

➜ Warning: Implied smut

“You look so good tonight.”   “Yeah, right.” She scoffs, looking straight into his brown eyes and ignoring the way his hand fiddle with the cotton hem of her floral skirt. “Your little games won’t work on me, Chen.”   “And why not?”   “Because I know you.”   “Do you now?” He cocks a brow upwards, intrigued at her confidence.   “I know the minute you have your fun with me, you’d go onto your next target,” she whispers in a breath, sounding more sultry than angered or accusational. “And let me tell you something...I’m not that easy.”   “I think you’ve misunderstood,” he says and removes his hand back to his own lap. “I don’t care about my job. I don’t give a shit about any other girl. I just want you.”   It’s quiet for a moment as she rolls her eyes and looks out the window. But there’s nothing to see when the surroundings are blanketed in darkness. “You’re a good liar. I almost believed you for a second there.”   “That’s because I’m not lying.” He slides and leans closer to her, murmuring and letting his hot breath skim over the shell of his ear. His rough hand returns to her thigh, slowly moving upwards, skin brushing on skin. “There’s nothing I would rather do than to pin you to my bed and fuck you deep until you can’t walk straight.”   She swallows hard, rapid breaths leaving parted lips and the woman decides to dance with temptation. “...What else?”   “I’d bend you over my lap and spank you for all the times you misbehaved.” His lips nip at her jaw and down her neck, tongue peeking out to lap at her flesh and relishing in the way she visibly shivers and seems to melt in his touch and shivers. “I know you try to act like you’re bad. But you’re a good girl who would take my entire cock. You’d cream all over me and when I’m done, I’d push my cum right back inside of you. You would like that….wouldn’t you? For me to fuck my cum inside your tight, pink pussy?”   The female’s breathing becomes laboured and she locks her gaze with his. “What if I told you I wasn’t wearing any underwear…”   “Then I’d take you right here, right now.”   It’s instantaneous. The two of them tug each other until their lips are smacking. They pull one another close, moaning as their kiss deepens and a soft groan leaves his chest at her taste. His hand comes up to tease her upper thigh and she gasps when he nibbles on her bottom lip.   It’s hot and heavy, full of obscene sounds and gasps that echo in the small space.   When they part, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects their swollen lips. She’s hyperventilating, the strap of her dress falling off her shoulder. “Th-this…...this isn’t right. What about your fiancée?”   “It doesn’t matter.” He’s eager, taking off his seat belt and holding her again. “I want you. I only want you.”   They kiss each other again, more intense this time, and he’s ready to pull her to straddle his lap, over the bulge forming in his pants….but then there’s a noisy clearing of the throat.   It’s obnoxious, sounding like you’re coughing up a chicken bone lodged in your esophagus.   You’re tightly gripping the steering wheel, sweating from your hairline, and glancing into the rear-view mirror every other second. You really, really don’t appreciate how they act like you’re an inanimate object, like you’re not less than a meter away from them and you can hear everything. You can see everything. And at this rate, you’re about to go blind.   It’s a massive distraction. You can’t even imagine what would happen if your mom found out you died after crashing your cab because your passengers were having sex and you couldn’t keep your eyes on the road — you’re sure that’s a new level of patheticness.   “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you can’t do that here!”   He parts away from her in annoyance and shouts at you, “Just get us to the destination, lady!”   The man is adamant about continuing and you slam on the brakes, jolting the entire vehicle forward as the tires shriek against the asphalt, causing them both to scream, and you park at the curb.   The couple cuss up a storm, and you rip off your seat belt to turn around. “No.”   This is where you draw the line. You’ve put up with a lot before, but you can’t allow stains on your seats or the horrible smell that would linger once they’re long gone. “I am not going to let you have sex in the backseat of my taxi! I’m trying to drive! I’m sorry! But no!”   He’s frustrated, leaning back and running a hand through his hair. The guy is desperate for a good dicking, you understand that, but he needs to understand your situation too.   Before you can get another word in, he digs into his pants, pulling out a wallet in his pocket. The male throws a few crumpled bills at your face and they land in your palms that you brought out on pure reflex. It’s three hundred dollars in cash.   “There. Is that enough?”   They become impatient at your extended silence, but there’s an entire debate going inside your mind. Are you really going to throw your dignity away? The answer is — “Make it quick.”   Yes…   Yes, you are.   You end up outside at two in the morning in the freezing cold. Every time you exhale, you can see your breath, a cloud of condensation created and floating up to the real clouds. There’s a faint light from a lamppost a few meters away, but it’s effort of providing luminescence is weak. You’re left at the side of the empty road, surrounded in darkness.   You pull out your phone to play a game until your hands begin to crack and shake from the frigid temperature, and you’re forced to bury them in your pockets. Your lips splinter, chapped at the corners, cheeks made numb, nose dripping, and frost nips at your skin. If you had known you’d be standing outside, you would’ve brought a warmer coat. But alas, you accept your situation, kicking rocks underneath your foot, shivering and trying to think of other things aside from how dark and cold it is.   Behind you, the car begins to shake and rattle like there’s an earthquake happening inside. You can hear the throaty moans and groans, causing you to hum loudly to yourself to block it out. It lasts for thirty minutes since they take their good old time enjoying themselves. And by the time you’re able to enter again, you sneeze for the fifth time.

Jung Hoseok isn’t sure what’s wrong with him.   Every morning is a routine for him. The moment he wakes up, he finds himself walking into work a mere hour later. He’s always in a fresh, crisp suit, wearing dark loafers and carrying a briefcase. It’s the same day in and day out, the daily grind of working that brings purpose to his life. But for some godforsaken reason, today, there’s a bouquet of limp baby’s breath in his other hand.   They were on sale.   It was too good of a deal to let go. And sure, it looks like he grabbed a fistful of weeds from someone’s lawn, but they were pretty up close. Though he honestly doesn’t know what to do with them. He’s certain that he shouldn’t just waltz up into the office with a bouquet like this. Or maybe he can put it in his office, maybe he can give them to Lisa and tell her to find a vase or—   You.   You’re walking ahead of him, cutting through the lobby towards the elevators. If he calls out your name, you would stop to turn around. If he picked up his pace, he could make it on time….   Quickly, he turns to the nearest person beside him. “Here.”   Hoseok shoves the baby breaths to the lady security guard at the front door instead of trashing them. The older woman is taken off guard and she glances down, before staring at his face, and then she takes them. “T-Thank you?”   She’s in complete shock that the infamous Jung, known for being brutal and an asshole, has given her flowers. In the next seconds, the surprise morphs into awe and she’s touched, putting a hand over her chest, mouth still wide open. But Hoseok doesn’t pay any attention and only gives a firm nod, eyes diverted off to you. “Keep up the good work.”   When the compliment that acts as an explanation is said and done, he takes off, quick steps and wide strides until he’s practically running. Everyone turns around to gawk, moving out of the way and absolutely bewildered at how the usually composed lawyer is sprinting in the lobby. “Y/N! Y/N!”   You hear his voice, automatically pressing the button to keep the elevator doors open. Hoseok appears with a grin on his face and you stare at him, blinking once. “What’s wrong?”   “No, nothing.” He catches his breath, stepping into the elevator and watching as the door shuts. Hoseok steals a glance at you. “Good morning.”   “Morning.” You hold back a laugh, but it still bubbles out. “Why are you so energetic today?”   “What do you mean?”   Your finger lifts to point to his head. “You’re sweating.”   “No, I’m not.” The lawyer sulks and then tries to fix his hair that he feels is flopping onto his forehead. He tries to look into the polished silver of the metal walls, but the reflection is too blurred.   You sigh. “Here, let me.” And reaching up, you comb his bangs back into place. “There we go.”   The doors part when the elevator stops at the correct level and you walk out. Hoseok is left lingering in a delayed moment, caught off guard, and he scrambles out before the elevator can start moving again. “Your voice sounds kind of hoarse,” he comments.   “Really?” You forcibly clear your throat several times, ignoring how it aches. “Better?”   “A bit. Did you catch a cold?”   “I don’t know...” The pair of you slow down once you enter the office floor, making your way down the hallway towards your personal offices, past reception where Lisa and Dahyun are already answering calls.   “You should take medicine if you are,” he takes a peek at you and then looks away. “Wouldn’t want you to infect anyone else in the firm.”   “Don’t worry, you won’t catch whatever I have,” you tease, even when he mutters something along the lines of ‘that’s not what I mean’. For some reason, Hoseok seems tense and he stops right in front of your closet of an office like he’s dropping you off at your front door. There’s an awkward silence. “I’m going in now.” You turn your body slightly, hitching your thumb over your shoulder.   “Right,” he nods. “I’ll see you later then.”   Hoseok walks the way he came from, going straight into the office and shutting the door.   As a violent sneeze leaves you, making your head ache, you wonder if he’s really the sick one and not you.   //   The clock is slower than it should be. Perhaps it’s broken and he should call someone up to fix it again. But then it doesn’t explain why his computer and phone have the same exact time on it. Hoseok feels as if the seconds are being drawn out, five minutes turned into fifty, an hour is a whole day. The universe warps around him and it’s not because work is especially boring.   “I’m going downstairs.” Yoongi pokes his head through the door. “Want anything?”   “Why are you sucking up to me?” Hoseok flips the page, trying to get the documents in order for a court hearing tomorrow. “Are you trying to get that additional vacation day?”   The lawyer smirks. “Maybe.”   “I don’t need anything.” Suddenly, a thought crosses his mind and he pauses, movements stopping. Jung Hoseok lifts his head and stands up, chair pushed back haphazardly. “Wait. I’ll come with you.”   “Sounds good.”   They walk down the hallway together and Hoseok’s eyes stray off to the end. “What’s Y/N doing?”   “I don’t know.” Yoongi’s steps slow, still retaining his impassive expression despite being thrown the odd question. “Want me to go ask?”   “No, no, it’s fine.” They continue forward, entering the elevator as he buries his hands in his dress pants pockets. “She has a cold, that’s all.”   “If you cared about your employees spreading their colds, maybe you should be more lenient with those sick days,” he mutters from the corner of his mouth passive aggressively, making Hoseok smile while he watches the numbers of the elevator decrease.   “You’re not getting that extra vacation day, Yoongi. I’m not paying you to sleep at home.”   The corner coffee shop in the downstairs lobby isn’t too busy at this time of day, between the morning bustle and lunchtime. The two men join the line-up with Yoongi ahead, ordering a blueberry muffin with his drink and a strudel that Sunyi ordered. When it comes to Hoseok’s turn, he only takes a mere glance at the menu.   “I’ll take two regular coffees please.”   He taps his card on the machine, moving to the other counter to wait for his drinks. Yoongi’s chewing on his muffin, cheek puffed out, and brow lifted. “You’re drinking two?”   “Mhm…” He hums, not giving a direct answer.   Three minutes later and some small talk made, the hot drinks come out. Yoongi moves to the station to pour in his preferred creams and sugars while the other male is left staring motionlessly at the two cups in his hands. A worker stares at him, wondering if he’s a statue.   Hoseok stays completely still, staring, not blinking, like he’s transfixed or daydreaming about something else and no longer a part of reality.   His friend finally turns, confused at his bizarre behaviour. “Hoseok?”   “Why would she want coffee if she’s sick?” He mutters to himself and trashes the coffee in his left hand, letting it fall to the bottom of the garbage can.   “Hey.” Yoongi catches up with him as he walks off and whines, “That was perfectly good coffee. Why did you throw it? You could’ve given it to me.”   “No.”   “Are you okay?”   “I’m fine,” he brushes him off.   Except, he’s not. Jung Hoseok is going absolutely insane and at this rate, he might have to admit himself into the hospital to figure out what’s going on. He can’t concentrate on work at all. It’s like something is bothering him. He’s constantly looking up and out of his office like a hyperactive child or a criminal who’s fearful of the police. And it’s all because of you.   He stares every time you walk past his office towards the kitchen and it’s to the point where you have to ask if he’s okay, to which he tells you it’s nothing. A lot of people have been asking that lately — if he’s alright or not. Hoseok doesn’t know what the truthful answer is anymore.   Every little action you do, he has an overwhelming urge to watch. Every little word you say, he’s hanging onto every syllable. He frowns at how many times you sneeze, overhears you ask Inyoung where the tissue boxes are, and as your voice becomes more and more nasally as the day goes by, Hoseok gets driven more and more mad.   He feels like one massive creep. He feels absolutely pathetic. But he can’t stop and he’s going insane because of it. You’re like a fly circling around his head that he just can’t swat away or get rid of. The funny thing is….it’s not even you. It’s just thoughts of you.   “Hoseok!”   He jumps at the shout of his name, startled. His eyes stray off to the brunette man standing at his doorway with his arms crossed. “What? You scared me!”   “I called you five times. Are we going out to lunch or what?”   “Y-yeah...sorry.”   “Are you working on a difficult case?” Jimin tips his head to the side. “You seem so out of it.”   “I’m fine,” he repeats as if he’s trying to convince no one but himself.   The two men eat together in a quaint restaurant that serves lunch. Jimin insists that bonding time is necessary to maintain their relationship since they’re the foundation of the firm. Hoseok thinks that his partner is higher maintenance than an actual significant other.   Jimin orders his lunch and Hoseok makes his order as well, but before the waitress can skedaddle off to the kitchen, he stops her. “Could I actually get soup too? The chicken noodle. To go?”   “Certainly.”   “Soup?” Jimin asks him after she’s left and looks doubtful. “I thought you told me soup was watered down baby food.”   “It is,” the lawyer states confidently, masking his true intentions with an air of nonchalance.   Yet, Jimin is stubborn in nature and doesn’t give up so easily, especially when his curiosity is piqued. “Is it for you or someone else?”   “....None of your business.”   He’s amused at how childish his partner is being. The brunette lawyer threads his fingers together and props his hands under his chin, elbows to the table as he stares at the person across from him with mischief glimmering in his brown orbs. “Really? I think it is.”   “Me ordering soup is your business?”   “Your business is my business.” Jimin grins. “Since we run a business together.”   Hoseok sighs, leaning back in his seat. “Sometimes, I wonder why I chose you as my partner.”   “I chose you,” he reminds with a soft giggle. “And you love me.”   “Yeah, you’re right,” Hoseok admits with only a small ounce of sarcasm. “I love you and maybe we should just get married.”   “In your dreams.” His smile widens. “I’m expensive, you know. You won’t be able to keep up with me. My ass is out of your league.”   There’s bubbling laughter that leaves his chest. “You can’t say you’re expensive when you were part of a hugging club and wore a sign to hug random people on the street. I don’t even want to know what kind of diseases you contracted.”   He giggles too, eyes crinkling as he defends himself, “It’s not as bad as you. You used to kiss everyone!”   “On the top of their heads and on their foreheads.” Hoseok pouts, lips cutely downturning and jutting out. The two of them don’t care about the heads that turn to stare at them.   “Doesn’t make it any better!”   “Don’t you love my affection, Minnie? I love you, remember?”   “Please stop,” Jimin begs. The roles have completely reversed, tables have turned, and once more someone’s at Hoseok’s mercy. “Go back to being serious and weird, okay? Don’t act cute. It creeps me out.”   Hoseok quirks his head to the side and bats his lashes. “I thought you were the one who wanted to get married to me.”   “I never said that,” he points out. “No offence, but I can’t be with someone so nitpicky and naggy and overly organized.”   “So, you admit you live in a dump?”   “An expensive dump.”   They banter back and forth as usual until the food arrives. Halfway through the meal, the waitress comes back with his warm soup in a styrofoam container, plastic spoon and a napkin all prepared in the plastic bag. Jimin continues to talk about what’s been going on with his life, but Hoseok becomes distracted. He’s quiet, eyes staring at the object on the table beside him.   “No…” He shakes his head, muttering underneath his breath, barely being coherent. “No..it’s too weird.”   “What’s weird? Wait.” Jimin watches as his partner tears off the top of the container and begins chugging the soup. “You’re eating it? Right now?”   Hoseok doesn’t say a single thing, brooding to himself, ingesting it all while Park Jimin remains absolutely bewildered. When it’s empty, he wonders what the hell he just did. He’s an idiot. And now he’s too full to move.   12:46pm. Hoseok: Have you eaten yet?   12:46pm. Y/N: just finished 12:46pm. Y/N: why?   The lawyer lets out a sigh of relief, thankful that he didn’t end up giving it to you. It would’ve been unbearably awkward. He can imagine holding the bag out to you or leaving it on your desk, only for you to bring it back to him and tell him that you already had lunch.   12:47pm. Hoseok: nothing 12:48 pm. Hoseok: are you feeling better?   12:48pm. Y/N: im ok   12:48 pm. Hoseok: you can go home early 12:49 pm. Hoseok: if you need to   He sits on the edge of his seat, resisting the urge to nibble on his fingernails. He waits for a response and waits and waits. Hoseok can see the dots appearing on his screen signaling that you’re texting him back, but he wonders why it’s taking so long, and the anticipation grows and grows.   12:52 pm. Y/N: you’re not getting rid of me so easily   “Why are you smiling to yourself?” Jimin asks before sipping on his water and letting his narrow eyes pin onto the man past the rim of the glass. “And who are you texting?”   “No one.” Hoseok clears his throat, setting his phone down. He makes eye contact with the waitress who is preparing the bill.   “Uh-huh. Doesn’t seem like no one.”   “You’re acting like we’re really married.”   “If we are, I want a divorce.” They laugh, both divorce lawyers pretending to argue about the settlement and how to divide their assets while the waitress can’t conceal her mortified expression, believing that it’s legitimate.   Back at the firm, Hoseok beelines straight into his office when Lisa informs him there’s a client on the line. But Jimin hangs back and his eyes meet Yoongi’s who’s happens to be strolling around.   “Don’t you think he’s acting weird these days?”   “He’s always been weird.” Yoongi is at the copier, deciding to give Seulgi a break from having to make copies from him every five minutes. He fiddles with the buttons until the machine is whirring to life and spitting out the correct pages.   “But like...especially.”   “You don’t seem that concerned.”   And he isn’t. Jimin’s entertained. “No, I’m not.”   “He seems more panicked and anxious these days,” Yoongi insightful comments. “But happier.”   “I agree.” The lawyer nods and pats his employee on the back before leaving, eyeing your office as he makes his way to his own.   You and Jimin share a lot in common, but one of those things are that you two are the few that remember Hoseok as being very hyper and outgoing. It’s only work that turns his bright nature ten notches down and makes him serious. Jimin muses that his partner has been quite calm these past few years, but it seems like only you can get under his skin.   //   “Y/N? I..uh..stopped by—”   There’s no one in your office.   Hoseok waits in the small room for a second as an exhausted exhale leaves the seams of his lips. The work day is over. It’s five o’clock. But your belongings are still here, so you haven’t left yet. You’re not gone, but his timing wasn’t right — his timing is never right.   Reluctantly, he places the new tissue box that he bought on your desk, right in front of the keyboard. And the man lingers a few moments before walking out. A part of him feels uncomfortable. Hoseok wished he could’ve seen you one last time before leaving for the day.

[antihero-writings]

No Where Else I’d Rather Be—Pandora Hearts fic for Phmonth19 Day 5: Remembrance

Notes: This was written for the Phmonth19 prompt “Remembrance” in addition to the first verse + chorus of the song “For Forever” from Dear Evan Hansen (I’ll put a link to the song in the replies). 

This fic was originally supposed to be much longer (I would have gone through the whole song), and it would have fit the remembrance prompt much better... I may still finish it at some point, but this was all I had time to write for Golden Trio week this year. I rather enjoyed what I had, though, so I decided to post it anyways! But it was written pretty fast, so please forgive any silly mistakes XD

Oh, also, this is supposed to take place in the 80s! I decided to pick a decade other than our current one for fun!

Fic:

“I don’t believe in absolutes.”

“I know. But wouldn’t it be great if at least one thing was?”

Forever. Such a simple, too-big concept. You can throw the word around with ease in conversation, but feel like your head might explode if you try to wrap your thoughts around it’s true meaning for a mere moment. It’s hard to comprehend, no matter just how many centuries you’ve been alive. How much you’ve lived. How much you’ve forgotten.

But a moment, that’s easy. A moment is now. Now and gone. A moment is tomorrow. A moment is yesterday. A moment is today.

It’s easy to forget that…that’s all forever is; just a series of moments. A string of todays on a necklace of tomorrows. But in the end, when the number of moments gets too high, they become jumbled, they fuse together, they get pulled and taut, the fall off the chain.

But then there are others, pendants that shine amongst all the bland links… moments you’ll never forget.

It’s the tiny moments that make forever count.

*****

“Oz! Oz! Listen to me when I’m talking to you!”

“What?! What?!” Oz ripped out his headphones, spinning to the driver, “You said I could listen to music!”

“I said you could listen to music, that doesn’t mean you can stop paying attention entirely!”

“Well if you’d let me play it in the car I wouldn’t have to ignore you to listen to it!”

“That’s because what you call ‘music’ hurts my head!”  

“What, quality music hurts your head?”

“Ooh, what’s that?!” Alice poked her head in between them from the back seat—(she had never been quite satisfied about being forced to sit in the back, but Oz had called shotgun)—pointing to an animal in a pasture beside the road. “It looks like it would be good to eat!”

“You don’t know what a cow is, stupid rabbit?!”

“That’s a steak?!” She blinked. “Lemme eat it! Lemme eat it!”

“Not now, Alice!” Oz had to pull her down, keeping her from jumping out the car to attack the innocent livestock. When Oz had sufficiently talked her down from the edge, he turned back to his friend,

“What did you want to talk to me about, Gil?”

“Nevermind, it…doesn’t matter now.”

Oz glared at him as he put his earbuds back in, sighing, watching the greenery go by.

A simple trip to go get ice cream was proving more trouble than it was worth.

A lot of things proved more trouble than they were worth when it came to Oz and Alice nowadays. Alice had always been known to find the simplest of things strange and fascinating, but this was another level; they could barely walk two feet without one of the two stopping to admire a newspaper stand, or pointing at a parking meter and asking what that was, or picking up a candy wrapper in a sewage grate and asking what this strange object was, or even pulling at his coattails to ask about a particularly funny looking bird (that last one was Alice).

Still, even if it was annoying, he couldn’t fault them too much; returning to the world after a hundred-year absence was bound to do that to you.

Gilbert had wanted to introduce them to another, particularly yummy modern thing; ice cream. But, only a few miles out from the house and he already had half a mind to turn around.          

But only half.

The wind brushed through their hair, picking up the empty sleeve of Gil’s jacket as they drove down the road, winding in and out of evergreens.

Gilbert owned a much safer, less cool car, but when his two best friends saw the other car in his possession there was no turning back. It was a recent acquisition, as it was Vincent’s old car, which he wouldn’t trust to anyone else (…and he didn’t completely trust Gil with either), and Gilbert had done everything in his power to hide it from them, knowing how they would react. They had finally begun to grasp the concept of cars, and so peeked under the tarp, then proceeded to gasp and throw it off at the sight of a shiny, red, convertible mustang. All they had to do then was hug Gilbert’s ankles, and beg in the highest of voices for him to take them for a ride in it.

So here they were, sometime in early June, driving down a country road, bickering about music and cows.

A picture perfect afternoon.

Gilbert looked over at his best friend in his sweatshirt and ripped jeans, tapping his leg—to what could be anything from Michael Jackson, to Journey, to Black Sabbath—his golden hair flickering in the afternoon light, and felt his lips curve into a slight smile.

They arrived at the ice cream parlor half hour past when he originally thought they’d arrive, due to this and other distractions, (such as Alice stopping to intimidate a squirrel who “looked like it was askin’ for trouble.”)

The bell on the door jangled as they walked in, the brightness of the turquoise walls matched only by the assortment of hues of the frozen treats themselves, as well as the other candy toppings on the counter.

Oz’s green eyes glittered with stars as they fell upon the list of flavors, and the physical manifestation of this thing he’d only heard stories of. “Wow, there’s so many! How do you choose?”

Gilbert shrugged. He had explained what it was before they arrived, but they often still had trouble understanding until they arrived.

Alice was…less impressed.

“Where’s the meat?” She looked around a finger to her chin.

“There is no meat, Alice,” Oz put his arm around her, “It’s sweet!”

“What kind of lame ass food-shop doesn’t have meat?!”

“Not so loud Alice.” Oz murmured, glancing around and smiling awkwardly at the people sitting the little tables around, who had turned to stare. “Why don’t you just try it? You might like it!”

Alice grumbled…so did her stomach.

“If you hate it, Gilbert will take you for the biggest piece of meat we can find.”

“I’ll what now?”

“Now we’re talkin’!” Alice marched happily up to the counter.

Three cones later—one vanilla, one strawberry (because it looked the most like meat), and the last with three scoops, the first peanut butter, the second chocolate, the third banana, all covered in extra fudge and sprinkles (Gilbert warned Oz it would make him sick, but he got it always)—and they headed off to the park nearby, licking—(they had to stop Alice from biting hers at first)—their treats as they strolled along the sidewalk, chatting about trivial things.

“This is… nice,” Oz said softly as they sat in the grass, gazing up at the endless blue sky, glancing every once and a while to check on Alice as she ran at ducks in the pond nearby.

Gilbert nodded. “Mmm. I told you you’d like it, didn’t I?”

“No I mean…this.” He picked at the grass, “Being here, with you two…” He looked up into the sky, as if his gaze found a place far from what was actually there, “It’s just…” he turned to Gilbert, and his eyes set, “There’s no where else I’d rather be.”

Gilbert remembered him say those words a long time ago, and felt a smile tug at his lips, in addition to tears at his eyes.

Oz had no idea. No idea how long Gilbert had waited for him to come back. Just how long he had waited, with nothing but a memory of those words to keep him going. How long a hundred years felt without moments like this. That the hours dragged on without any perfect afternoons—because even the most beautiful of afternoons could never be perfect without his best friends in it. Oz had no idea just how deeply he felt the next words,

“Yeah. Me too.”

[mikauzoran]

Adrienette Drabble: Daisy Chapter Thirty-Three: Unequal

There’s a Daisy Chapter Thirty-Three: Unequal

“I have to go,�� Adrien realized, mind spinning, trying to come up with a plausible excuse to run out on his friends in his own home.

“Go where?” Chloé snorted.

“We need to get to shelter,” Elise took charge. “That thing is right outside the mansion, and it’s huge. It could easily crush us.”

“Maybe head for the basements?” Kagami suggested, taking Chloé by the arm and tugging her away from the window.

“Dad, I’m going to need my ring back.” Adrien held out his hand.

Gabriel blinked. “What? Why?”

“The timer,” Adrien explained as he gestured emphatically for the ring. “It’s not exactly five minutes anymore, so I can’t count it in my head. Ring. Please.”

Gabriel’s face drained of all colour. “Adrien, you’re not going out there. It’s too dangerous.”

“He’s right,” Chloé laughed, breaking away from Kagami to grab Adrien’s arm. “What are you even talking about? Now’s not the time to accessorize. You’re coming to the basement with us.”

“I need to call your mother,” Gabriel muttered, pulling out his phone with a shaking hand and beginning to walk away.

“Plagg, transform me!” Adrien called, and in a flash of green light, Chat Noir stood before them, hand outstretched for his ring.

Kagami and Elise gasped. Chloé shrieked. Nino groaned. Gabriel stared.

“Sorry, but I have to go,” Chat informed gently yet firmly, entreating with his eyes. “People trust me with their lives. I don’t have the luxury of sitting this out because I’m not at the top of my game. Ring, please, Dad.”

Gabriel handed over the ring.

“Thank you,” Chat breathed with a smile and then turned to his friends. “Sorry for springing this on you and running. Obviously, it’s a secret, so please don’t tell anyone.” He looked at Nino. “Please make sure everyone gets to shelter. This looks like a nasty one.”

“Dude, I’m coming with you,” Nino snorted. “Do you seriously think you and Ladybug will be able to work as a cohesive team with everything going on between you? Plus, there’s no telling how long it will take her to show up. You’ve been lying in bed not eating for a week. How long do you realistically think you’ll last?”

Chat winced. “You’re right…on all counts…. Let’s go.”

“Thank you,” Nino sighed in relief. “Wayzz, transform me!”

Elise, Chloé, Kagami, and Gabriel’s mouths dropped open.

Chat turned to Gabriel. “Dad, take everyone down to one of the basement levels, okay? Don’t worry about Nathalie; I’ll keep an eye out for her. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Without another word, Chat Noir and Carapace jumped up to the windowpane Adrien kept unlocked for just such an emergency and were on their way.

 “Do we have a plan?” Carapace wondered as they landed in a crouch on the edge of a rooftop overlooking where the sentimonster was stomping and waving its arms, throwing a fit and creating havoc but not really seeming to desire anything more than to draw attention.

“Normally, my plan is to wail on the monster and keep it distracted until Ladybug figures out where the amok is. I’m thinking we might want to try something different today,” Chat chuckled sheepishly.

“Yeah. Different sounds good. I’m worried about you getting hurt. Don’t push yourself, Mec,” Carapace sighed as he tried to size up the sentimonster.

“Look,” Chat whispered, pointing to a nearby roof. “Behind that gable. Mayura.”

Carapace nodded. “Wanna try to sneak up and capture her?”

Chat bit his lip. “Could be a trap. She’s being sort of obvious, not really hiding well. The sentimonster is kind of acting like it’s trying to draw us out too. I don’t think we should both go in there.”

“I don’t know why you’re always so down on yourself with your ‘Ladybug is the brains of the operation; I’m just the distraction’,” Carapace laughed, bumping Chat’s shoulder with his own. “Look at you thinking strategically, making the plays.”

Chat chuckled sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well…necessity is the mother of… What’s that saying?”

“Dude, I think she’s spotted us,” Carapace gulped, putting out an arm in front of Chat, as if to protect him from Mayura.

Chat smiled wryly, manually lowering Carapace’s arm. “Okay. Here’s the plan. I’m going in there. If it starts looking bad, call Ladybug…and maybe…I don’t know. If it looks like it’ll help, try to cover me or something, but don’t engage her if it doesn’t look like you can take her. I know that’s not as elegant or convoluted as a Ladybug plan, but…something like that, okay?” He shot a sideways glance at Carapace.

“I don’t necessarily like it, but I’ve got it. If it looks bad I’ll ping Ladybug, and if it comes to it…don’t worry, my friend. I will be your shield.”

Chat cracked up as he clapped Carapace on the shoulder. “Thanks man. Wish me luck because all of mine is bad.”

Carapace groaned, watching Chat pole vault to land on the gable overlooking Mayura.

“What have we here?” Chat purred, looming over her.

Mayura carefully stepped back along the edge of the roof, fanning herself lackadaisically, as if she wasn’t cornered. “You arrived faster than I expected.”

“You came back sooner than I would have liked,” Chat countered dryly.

“Good afternoon, Chat Noir,” she greeted, at ease.

“Is this a social call? I thought you and your boyfriend were retired,” Chat snorted. “Or did the old man have to take a medical leave of absence or something? Papillon is getting on in years, isn’t he?”

Mayura gave a snort of amused laughter. “That’s actually what I lured you out to talk about today.”

“So this is a social call.” Chat’s eyes narrowed, not trusting Mayura as far as the next rooftop.

“Papillon is retired,” she announced.

Chat scoffed. “May I ask the reason for this happy occasion? The creep terrorizes a city for half a decade only to suddenly give up?”

Mayura shifted ever so slightly, studying Chat before giving her response, “His priorities have changed…. He’s decided to focus on being a father.”

Chat’s eyes widened. “O-Oh? Um…congratulations? When are you due?”

The blue skin of Mayura’s face turned mauve as she looked away, a reflexive hand going to her stomach.

With some sympathy for Mayura’s flustered state, Chat cleared his throat and challenged, “So, why should I believe you? It feels like you’re telling me this to lull me off my guard. Sorry, but you two are notoriously tricky. Your MO is using other people. I have no reason to take your word for it that Papillon’s gone. I mean, he could change his mind at any time, and then where would I be?”

Mayura nodded, regaining her composure. “Right. It’s as you say. That is the primary reason why I lured you here today. I intend to put your mind at ease and ensure that he can’t go back, even if he wanted to.”

The sentimonster in the plaza below disappeared, turning back into a transforming robot toy as a white feather gently floated away on the breeze.

Mayura lifted a hand, warning, “Please don’t drop this. It’s old and priceless.”

Chat frowned in confusion. He opened his mouth to seek clarification, but she cut him off.

“Catch.”

His instincts kicked in, and he reached for the brooch, snatching it out of the air and then staring at it in the center of his palm in bafflement, not at first registering what it was.

He looked up to ask Mayura, but she was gone.

He blinked down at the lavender gemstone. A spark of recognition flickered in his chest, and he sucked in a deep breath.

“…Noo…roo…was it? Can you hear me?” he whispered.

The brooch seemed to pulse in response.

“Dude! What did she give you?” Carapace called as he landed on the roof two meters off.

Chat’s fingers clenched around the Butterfly Miraculous. He spun to face Carapace, his hand going behind his back. “N-Nothing.”

Carapace frowned, arching an eyebrow skeptically. “Chat Noir, I saw her toss you something. Why so jumpy?”

Chat bit his lip, grip tightening around the brooch. He could feel the edges of it cutting into his palm through the glove.

“Mec,” Carapace chided, hands going to his hips. “What did she say to you? You look spooked.”

Chat swallowed hard and slowly brought his hand around in front between them, cautiously loosening his fingers one at a time.

Carapace stared down uncomprehendingly. “What is it? A cabochon?”

Chat unzipped his left pocket and stowed the Miraculous inside so that nothing else could happen to it. He cleared his throat. “It’s Papillon’s Miraculous. Mayura said he was retiring to be a father.”

Carapace’s eyes flew wide, a gobsmacked look on his face as he exhaled an explosive, “What?! Wait. Dude. What?!” He reached for Chat’s pocket, but Chat dodged.

“Whoa! Hey!” Chat protested, leaping back.

“Mec, we gotta get that back to Fu. Like, yesterday. Like, last week. Like, two hundred years ago,” Carapace insisted.

“Dude, where’s the fire?” Chat demanded, taking another step back. “It’s not like you have to take it right this second.”

“Chat Noir, that thing is dangerous,” Carapace reminded, voice on edge.

Chat shook his head. “No. This thing is dangerous.” He held up his right hand, emphasizing the ring. “Period. I’ve got the apocalypse on my finger. I know a thing or two about dangerous. The Butterfly Miraculous is only dangerous if misused, and I don’t plan on akumatizing anyone with it. It can hang out with me for a few days.”

Carapace gnawed on his lip nervously. “What if you lose it?”

Chat stared at Carapace, expression utterly deadpan.

Carapace sighed. “Okay. Yeah. Sorry. It’s just…that thing has been wreaking havoc on Paris for five years. I’ll sleep better once it’s back in its box where it belongs. Dude, you know I’m right.”

Chat made a disgruntled noise. “Objectively, but…”

“But?” Carapace prompted.

Chat shifted restlessly, playing with his ring, spinning it on his finger like Adrien did when he was agitated.

“Chat Noir,” Carapace called gently.

Chat shook his head. “It’s going to sound stupid.”

“No it’s not,” Carapace assured. “Come on, Kitten. Talk to me.”

Chat Noir remained mute, looking down at the tiles of the roof, contemplating how overly sensitive he was being.

“All right,” Carapace sighed after enough time had passed to be certain Chat wasn’t answering. “But we have to tell Ladybug.” He activated the phone function in his shield.

“No!” Chat cried, leaping forward to press the call end button.

“Dude,” Carapace snorted, mildly put out.

“You can’t tell her yet. She’ll make me send him back,” Chat tried to reason.

Carapace frowned. “The Miraculous has a gender now? I know you get attached to things easily, Chat Noir, but—”

“—The kwami,” Chat corrected. “Nooroo.”

Carapace’s eyes widened. He lowered his arm, momentarily tabling the idea of informing Ladybug. “The kwami,” he repeated, beginning to nod.

“Hear me out,” Chat sighed, hand going to grip Carapace’s upper arm. “Nooroo’s been missing for nearly two centuries, right?”

Carapace nodded.

“And for the past five years, he’s been with Papillon. We know the creep’s a vicious nutjob. I don’t imagine he’s been taking very good care of his kwami. We don’t know where Nooroo’s been sleeping or what he’s been given to eat, how he’s been treated,” Chat listed, painting the worst-case scenario picture he had in his mind for his friend. “What if Papillon’s been starving Nooroo or pulling on his wings or-or…I don’t know what. But what if Nooroo is traumatized? Shouldn’t we make sure he’s okay before we lock him up in a box for who knows how long?”

Carapace bit his lip, seeing Chat’s argument.

“What if Papillon’s been keeping him confined? Shouldn’t we let Nooroo stretch his wings a bit? Shouldn’t we give him a good meal and let him sleep on a nice pillow? What if he’s not ready to go back in the box with the others? What if he’s ashamed of what happened, being used like that? What if he blames himself? What if the other kwamis are mean to him? What if he needs some time to process what happened and come to terms with it and learn how to love himself? Shouldn’t we let Nooroo decide what he wants?” Chat reasoned, a begging tone to his voice.

Carapace sighed, reaching out to pat Chat on the arm. “Okay. I think you’re projecting onto the kwami a little bit—”

“—I knew it would sound stupid,” Chat sighed, looking away.

“—but,” Carapace stressed, “I think your concerns are legitimate. You can take Nooroo home with you and make sure he’s okay.”

Chat gave a little hop and punched the air in triumph. “Yes!”

“We have to tell Ladybug and Fu, though,” Carapace informed. “This isn’t the type of thing we can keep them in the dark about. We have to let them know. Wayzz is going to tell Fu anyway as soon as I take him back this evening.”

Chat deflated. “Oh, fine. Go ahead and tell them but tell them too that I’m not giving Nooroo back until he’s ready and willing to go. We can at least respect his wishes that much.”

“All right,” Carapace acquiesced easily. “I’ll tell them. I can’t control what they do in response, but I’ll tell them. Ready to head back?”

Reluctantly, Chat nodded.

 When they made it back to the Mansion, the boys spent a good thirty minutes under interrogation by Chloé, Elise, and, to a lesser extent, Kagami.

Nathalie, who had arrived at the Mansion only a fraction of a minute before Chat Noir and Carapace, spent the Inquisition pointedly avoiding Gabriel’s comical, “what the hell?!” gaze and deflecting each “Nathalie, can I talk to you?” and “Nathalie, if we could just step into the next room for a minute?” and “Nathalie, there’s something I urgently need to speak with you about.” with assurances that they would talk later once they’d finished their discussion with Adrien and his friends.

“I’m very interested in Adrien’s answers to Miss Bourgeois’s questions,” she explained as Chloé quizzed Adrien on everything from why the bell to if he knew who Ladybug was. “We’ll talk later, Gabriel.”

Gabriel, put out at being kept in the dark, tried several times to cut in on Chloé and ask what had happened with the sentimonster, but Chloé was having none of it.

“They obviously defeated it, if they’re here,” Chloé scoffed. “My Adri-chou has been running around Paris as a cat-boy for five years. There are more pressing issues than that ridiculous sentimonster to be dealt with!”

These “pressing issues” ranged from critique of sartorial choices to jumping down Adrien’s throat for reckless behavior as a superhero to what Chat Noir’s favourite spot around Paris to take in the view was.

Nino did not get questioned so thoroughly about his own part-time superheroing stint. Oddly enough, he was more than okay with that.

A literal half hour into the scene, Chloé finally asked about the fight with the sentimonster.

Gabriel and Nathalie tensed.

“Mayura was actually just luring us out to tell us Papillon was retiring,” Adrien explained, careful to leave out all mention of the Butterfly Miraculous.

Kagami snorted as if insulted. “She expects us to believe her?”

“Don’t trust those people, Adrien,” Chloé cautioned heatedly. “They’re tricky.”

Kagami nodded vehemently. “They subsist on using and manipulating people. I believe this is what they call an obvious trap.”

“Maybe so,” Adrien agreed, “but I think there might be something to it…at least in the short term. Mayura and Papillon are having a baby.”

“What?!” Gabriel exclaimed, staring at his son for a moment before whipping his head to the left to gawk at Nathalie who was putting a hand to her temple and rubbing, trying to fight off a migraine.

Adrien shrugged. “Don’t be so surprised, Dad. I mean it’s obvious they’re an item, and they’re not that old, so it’s not unthinkable.”

“Adrien, what exactly did Mayura tell you?” Nathalie prompted.

“She said that Papillon was retiring to focus on being a father,” he reported.

“Oh.” Gabriel’s heartrate and breathing went back to normal. “I see. That’s…good.”

“They’ll probably come back in a year or so,” Chloé reasoned. “Once the baby is a little older and they can leave it with a nanny.”

“Maybe.” Nino shrugged. “…Okay. I think that’s enough excitement for one day. Gang, what do you say we head out and let Adrien rest?”

Reluctantly, the girls all agreed, giving Adrien bear-like hugs and kisses on the cheeks as they said their goodbyes.

Afterward, Adrien headed for his room while Gabriel took Nathalie by the hand and gently marched her into his upstairs office for an interrogation of her own.

 Adrien took the Butterfly Miraculous from his pocket and studied it for a moment as Plagg floated nearby.

The kwami seemed agitated, flitting high and low, peering down at the Miraculous with a worried expression on his face. “What you said to Hat-Boy was really nice, about making sure Nooroo is okay, but maybe we should leave that to Maître Fu,” Plagg suggested. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea. I mean, what if Nooroo’s gone totally insane, cracked under the pressure of torture? That’s not something you can deal with.”

“Maybe not,” Adrien admitted softly. “But I’m going to try. I don’t know, Plagg, but I just kept thinking…what if it were you?”

Plagg stopped fidgeting and really looked at his chosen.

“What if you had been the one lost and held prisoner? What if you were alone and being mistreated? I’d want someone to make sure you were okay too,” Adrien reasoned. “I mean, Nooroo has had plenty of other holders before Papillon, right? Surely there have been people who have felt about him the same way I feel about you.”

Plagg floated in to nuzzle Adrien’s cheek. “You’re such a sap, Kitten.”

“I love you too, Plagg,” Adrien chuckled, pinning the brooch to his shirt.

In a little pop of light, a terrified-looking lavender butterfly appeared, eyes shifting this way and that as he shivered and tried to make himself look even smaller than he already was, wings folding in on himself.

His eyes trained on Adrien and then slid over to Plagg. “Chat Noir,” Nooroo whispered. “You are indeed Adrien Agreste.”

“You can just call me ‘Adrien’. It’s nice to meet you Nooroo.” Adrien tentatively held out a hand, palm up, for Nooroo to perch on.

Nooroo stared at Adrien, bewildered. “Where…? The Maître and the Maîtresse…they…?”

“You’re safe now,” Adrien coaxed, indicating the brooch pinned to his shirt. “They can’t get you anymore. You’re with me.”

Nooroo’s eyes widened. “You…are my new master?”

“I’m your new friend,” Adrien corrected. “For as long as you want. You can stay here with me until you’re ready to go back to the Guardian and the other kwamis. Unless you want to go back right now,” Adrien hastily added. “You don’t have to stay with me if you don’t want to. I just thought that you’d want a little vacation maybe, but you can go home any time you want. Just say the word and I’ll drop you off with my friend who knows where the Guardian lives, and he’ll take you home.”

Nooroo blinked uncomprehendingly. “My home is there.” He pointed to the Miraculous. “You mean to return me to the Miracle Box? I do not understand…‘vacation’.”

Adrien returned Nooroo’s blink with interest. “You know, I’ve never been on vacation either, but it’s supposed to be when you don’t have to work and you get to go fun places and eat food that you like and get dessert every day. I was thinking…since you’ve had a rough last two hundred years…that you deserved a vacation before you go back to the Miracle Box with the other kwamis.”

Nooroo nodded slowly. “A vacation…I think that I would very much like a vacation, Master.” Tentatively he alighted on Adrien’s palm and bowed. “I am Nooroo. I am at your service, Master.”

“Uh, thanks, Nooroo, but you don’t have to call me ‘Master’. Just ‘Adrien’ is fine,” Adrien assured, wanting to nip this in the bud before it became a habit. He wasn’t really comfortable being anyone’s master.

Nooroo blinked innocently. “But…that’s disrespectful. You are my master. I should show my respect and obedience.”

Adrien shook his head, carefully reaching out a finger to stroke Nooroo from the top of his head down his back between the wings. “Nooroo, I don’t know what kind of relationship you had with Papillon, but things aren’t going to be like that anymore. I’m your friend. You don’t serve me. Plagg doesn’t serve me. We’re partners…and I want to be your partner too. You can just call me by my name…or, if you like, you can use a nickname. Plagg calls me ‘Kid’ or ‘Kitten’ a lot. If there’s something like that that you want to call me, that’s fine too. Okay?”

Nooroo bit his lip, looking troubled even as he leaned into Adrien’s finger. “I do not know…. It does not feel right to refer to an owner by name. I am not comfortable simply using your name like an equal.”

“Then how about you call him ‘Adrien-bocchama’?” Plagg, who had been unusually silent as he tensely watched the scene unfolding, suggested.

Adrien groaned. “Plagg.”

Nooroo looked back and forth between the two. “‘Bocchama’?” he tested the word on his tongue.

“It means ‘young master’ in Japanese,” Plagg snickered. “This guy is a total dork. He’s always reading Japanese manga and watching Japanese anime. ‘Bocchama’ is what they use to refer to rich young men. Try it. He’ll love.”

“Plagg,” Adrien whined.

Nooroo looked up at Adrien and smiled. “Adrien-bocchama,” he sang as he bowed.

Adrien’s cheeks turned peppermint red.

“See?” Plagg laughed. “He loves it!”

“Adrien-bocchama,” Nooroo repeated, wings giving a pleased flutter. “I like it. It has a nice sound.”

“Oh, all right,” Adrien sighed, not nearly as bothered as he was pretending to be. “I can live with that if it makes you comfortable. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get you settled in. You must be hungry. What would you like to eat, Nooroo?”

Nooroo’s eyes went wide. “Eat? But I haven’t transformed you. I do not need to eat.”

Adrien frowned quizzically. “Okay. Yeah, but…that doesn’t mean that you’re not hungry, does it? Plagg is always hungry. Do you want to eat?”

Nooroo stared at Adrien uncomprehendingly. “I’m not allowed to eat unless I need to.”

Adrien returned the kwami’s confused gaze for a minute and then took a deep breath to keep from futilely getting angry at Nooroo’s kwami-abusing former owner. “Okay. New rule. You’re with me now, and I say you can eat whenever you want. If you really feel weird about it, we can transform later, okay? But, for now, what can I get you to eat, Nooroo?”

Nooroo’s eyes started to mist over as tears of gratitude and joy filled them. “I can have whatever I want? Not just apple juice?”

“You never have to drink apple juice again if you don’t want,” Adrien assured, giving the kwami a few more gentle strokes from his head down his back. “What do you like to eat, Nooroo?”

Nooroo’s amethyst eyes became large and round as he hesitantly replied, “I like…fruit. Particularly bananas, but any fruit is good if it’s cut up. You wouldn’t happen to have any bananas…would you?” He looked up at Adrien with hopeful eyes.

It was kind of painful to watch. It made Adrien really want to track Papillon down and make him pay for what he’d done. For a moment, the thought of asking Nooroo to reveal Papillon’s identity and lead him and the rest of the team to Papillon’s hideout to bring him to justice flitted through Adrien’s mind, but he quickly dismissed the idea. He didn’t want to put Nooroo in that position. He didn’t want to drag the kwami back through all his trauma. He wanted Nooroo to put Papillon behind him and move forward. There would likely be no proof tying civilian Papillon to the supervillain. It would just be Nooroo’s word. Adrien didn’t want to put Nooroo through the ordeal of making police statements and testifying. It probably wasn’t even a good idea for regular people to find out about kwamis. There were all kinds of complications to taking down Papillon now that he’d given up his Miraculous and retired. As much as Adrien believed that a man like that needed to be punished for what he had done…if it were true that Papillon had retired to devote himself to his family…how could Adrien take a father from his child? Adrien has grateful every day for his own father’s change of heart and presence in his life. How could Adrien rob another child of that second chance? …Even if the kid’s dad was scum.

All Adrien could do was hope that Papillon really had turned his life around and wouldn’t stray again.

“I can definitely get you some bananas, Nooroo,” Adrien promised with a wide grin. “I’m going to run to the kitchen, but I’ll be back in just a minute, okay? You and Plagg stay here.” He looked to his kwami. “Plagg, could you please show Nooroo around and teach him the rules while I’m gone?”

“On it,” Plagg promised as Adrien set Nooroo down on his bed and started towards the door.

Adrien paused when a thought occurred to him. “Uh…actually…this brooch is kind of…conspicuous. I don’t know if I can wear this in public.”

“Do you have a cravat or a scarf you could hide it under?” Nooroo suggested.

Plagg stiffened.

Adrien shrugged. “Cravats are more of my dad’s thing. Um…I mean…I guess I could keep it in my pocket or…” A vision of the Miraculous falling out of his pocket flashed through his mind accompanied by Nino’s concerns about Adrien losing the Miraculous.

“You could redesign it,” Plagg weighed in, looking at Nooroo. “It doesn’t have to be a brooch, does it? That’s just what it typically is?”

Nooroo nodded. “Just concentrate on what you want it to look like. It should respond to your thoughts.”

“Like when I’m focusing on changing something about my Chat Noir costume?” Adrien inquired, tipping his head to the side, gazing back at the kwamis.

Plagg gave an encouraging nod. “Try it.”

Adrien took off the brooch and held it out in the palm of his hand, closing his eyes and visualizing what he wanted.

The Miraculous shifted, and when Adrien opened his eyes once more, he was holding a single lavender bead on a black chord.

“What is it, Adrien-bocchama?” Nooroo wondered curiously.

“An ankle bracelet,” Adrien explained, slipping off his left shoe and sliding the bracelet around his ankle, adjusting it so that it wasn’t too loose or too snug.

“Huh,” Plagg remarked. “Interesting choice.”

Adrien shrugged, resuming his quest for bananas. “I think they look cool, and people won’t be able to see it, so it should be safe.”

“Reasonable,” Nooroo agreed.

Adrien gave a wave over his shoulder and disappeared out into the foyer.

Plagg turned on Nooroo, brandishing his claws at the other kwami. “Don’t you dare say a word about his father. To him, to anyone,” Plagg hissed.

Nooroo backed away in alarm, hands up in submission.

Plagg advanced. “Maybe you’ve noticed, but that is a good kid. He’s going through some stuff right now, and finding out his father was a domestic terrorist and that stuff about his mother in the basement—that—would absolutely devastate him. Do you hear me?”

Nooroo nodded vigorously, completely taken aback at this sudden confrontation.

“So keep your mouth shut. Not a word about Papillon and Mayura. Adrien is probably going to tell his parents about you eventually. He’s probably going to introduce you. When that happens, you can pretend to be shy and scared of people, but don’t you dare let on that you know them. You understand? You have never met them before in your life.”

Nooroo, trembling, continued to nod.

“If Adrien found out, it would wreck him,” Plagg spat, “and I am not letting my kid’s kindness in taking you in come back to bite him like that. Nobody hurts my kitten.”

Plagg finally took a deep breath and lowered his claws, studying Nooroo. “…Sorry. Are you okay?”

Nooroo’s vehement nod turned timid. “I won’t say a word. I would never betray a master like that.”

The response gave Plagg pause. “Not even Gabriel? Not even after how he treated you?”

Nooroo’s wings gave a nervous flutter. “The Maître is complicated. I know you do not sense emotions like I do, Plagg, so I don’t expect you can tell, but there has been much pain in the Maître’s life. He suffers greatly, and his suffering makes him desperate. That’s why he behaves the way he does. I pity him. He was a hard master, but he was my master all the same.”

Plagg bit his lip. “He’s been getting better these past two months. He’s working really hard to repair things with Adrien…. That’s helped me forgive him for a lot of things.”

“I’m glad. He could use some forgiveness in his life. It would help to thaw his heart. He’s become so hardened. He is in sore need of grace,” Nooroo sighed.

“…I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Plagg mumbled shamefacedly. “I’m a little protective of my kid, and your presence here… You’re a threat, Nooroo.”

Nooroo nodded. “I can understand that. From what I have seen over the years, Adrien-bocchama is a very sweet boy. He’s very loving and easy to hurt. It is a shame that he finds himself in the circumstances he is in. He has a very warm smile…. I think I would like to protect that smile too.”

Plagg gave Nooroo a weary but appreciative grin. “I’m glad to hear it…. So. I’m supposed to be showing you around and laying down the rules. Let’s start simple. This is my pillow. This is my sock drawer,” Plagg began the tour, flitting around to each object and showing it off with a grand gesture. “This is the cabinet where I keep some of my cheeses. This is the minifridge where I keep the rest of my cheeses. Do not touch my things. This is important, so I’m going to say it again: touch my things, and we will have a problem.”

Nooroo nodded, committing the rules to memory.

When Adrien returned with a dish of chopped fruit, he had to clarify that he’d meant for Plagg to explain about internet and TV usage.

[nevergiveupneverrun]

Bodyguard- Chapter Six “Arouse” Part Two

Hello, I hope you’re all doing great. Here is chapter six of my Story Bodyguard.  I’m sorry in advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link to the previous chapter: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

- Ok, Amelia, everything’s good, we continue? Carina’s voice before me comes out of my reverie and my internal questions - Yes, I’m fine… - Ok, we already have beautiful shots, but I would like to try something else… your guitar against you.. from the front… we use your hair to cover you… Amelia puts her head back against the wall in front of her, remaining silent for a few moments before we see an « ok » escape from her. She turns directly in front of us and my blood is a trick, my heart pounding as I discover her chest in front of me… completely discovered… But this image only appears for a few moments as she hastens to replace her guitar in front of her and let her hair fall on both sides. - Hold your guitar well… for your hair, it’s good like that. The strap of her guitar covers part of her chest while her hair is placed in front of her and protect her… but my eyes scrutinize that part of her body where only the points of her hair conceal her, and I guess the sensual curve that I had just discovered…

My heartbeat is racing and I recognize the effects that come alive in my body like the bubbling that is born deep within me. A part of my body only needs to react, remembering violently to me, and referring me to my own weaknesses. I breathe as deeply as possible to control these reactions of a man who was clearly forbidden to me… when the person who triggers them is none other than the one I must protect. - Okay, look at me… I try to detach myself from the scene to focus only on the sounds: Carina’s words, the clicks escaping from the camera. I don’t know how much time passes while I kept my eyes down, slightly hidden behind Carina, avoiding Amelia in front of me… until the photographer calls me. - Owen, do you want to get up and put yourself here? I raise my head, surprised that she’s talking to me and she’s asking me something. - Excuse me? She turns to me, pointing to the direction of her hand. - If you could put yourself here, it would give Amelia a benchmark. My legs move without my brain making my move and I find myself standing, at the place indicated by Carina. - Thank you… Amelia: you will place your left hand against the neck of your guitar… and the other on your guitar case without touching the strings, keep a part of your chest just hidden by your hair…however, you don’t fix the objective, but you look at Owen, all right? Amelia nods and her gaze suddenly finds mine. My eyes don’t wander but remain immersed in these two blue eyes that fix me… I detect after a few seconds a spark to dazzle and sparkle, fascinating me literally. - Keep this look, honey, it’s superb … I feel quickly react under the intensity of this look. A heat invades me. But this time it’s not what I guess of her shape that overwhelms me but a piercing look sending me a veil of mystery that I would have liked to surround. A few flashes g off and surround Amelia with a brief intermittent light. I guess a slight smile on her face as she watches me. - Beautiful, Amelia… Carina’s remark echoes in my head… as if reading in my thoughts. My gaze wanders suddenly in the sweeping as a whole in front of me, before finding her face and her eyes that send me an amused glow… as if she saw clearly in my inner struggle and those few seconds of weakness she had just observed. - Ok, I think we have beautiful material.. we can stop! Do you get dressed and look at the rushes together? - It works… Amelia answers by smiling at me and I quickly look down and join my stool a few steps. When I turn around, Amelia has already disappeared behind the screen and Carina connects her camera to her laptop to load the shots. Amelia soon reappears dressed again in the outfit she had on arriving. She goes straight to Carina, concentrated on her laptop. - So what does it give? Hastens to ask Amelia. - Judge for yourself… Amelia is placed in front of her screen and I guess the scrolling shots take place under her eyes. - You are a magician, Carina… - The model has a big role in the success of a photo you know… Amelia just smiles at her remark. - I made color and black and white versions but the black and white really returns something special and I think it will be perfect for your poster… I love this one, you have a look… I don’t know what you thought but this glint in your eyes is really beautiful… - You did an incredible job Carina, thank you… I’m not disappointed with the result. - Thank you for trusting me, I send you the prints as soon as I can and you can make your choice okay? - Okay… Amelia picks up her guitar and walks over to Carina to give her a kiss. - Thank you again, Carina, you do wonder each time. - It’s a pleasure to work with you, you know it. I leave my stool feeling that the moment to take off has arrived. I get closer to the front door, opening it to let out Amelia. She finally joins me while her friend photographer makes me a hand sign.

We find the hallway of the building and quickly enter the elevator. The silence settles in this confined place and our looks are looked for but are avoided quickly as if we were both embarrassed by what had happened during these two hours. The doors of the elevator open in front of us and we leave in a few moments of the building. Amelia holds her guitar in her case in her hand and I guide her, one hand behind her back, to the car waiting for us. - Relieved? I finally ask her while we have several hundred meters to go. - Yes, that went well… I’m not used to doing this kind of shooting. - You could have warned me… - To do what? - If you were uncomfortable, I would have understood: I could have left you and waited at the door. - You didn’t seem really ready to leave your place… and besides, you proved useful… Her first remark leaves me pensive and I take a look in her direction: would she have perceived my disorder? I should not, in any case, let her show that I was weak for a few minutes, to the point of forgetting almost all my duty… I don’t reply as we arrive at the car and let her settle, joining my place. Jackson already has a hand on the wheel, while addressing us. - So this shoot? - It should give something nice, but Owen is a better judge than me as a spectator… Jackson starts and we quickly leave the Capital Hill area towards Amelia’s house. - Owen… so? I didn’t respond to the remark made by Amelia, but Jackson didn’t miss an opportunity to tickle me… he was always as teasing as when we were teammates on missions. He looks at me sideways until I give my opinion… which turned out to be rather complicated. This one question is enough to remind me of the photoshoot: the images scroll in my head… and I try to chase them as soon as possible. - I’m not sure of being a good judge as you say… your fans will do it better than me… - Do you have an opinion O’? I throw a look at Jackson as to make him understand not to insist… - If I wasn’t to my advantage, tell me Owen because I would not like to ridicule myself with this poster. She seemed to doubt… to believe that she didn’t finally suspect how much I had bubbled from the inside. - Completely to your advantage and even more than that… I finish by answering her, ending in a whisper. I meet Amelia’s surprised look through the rearview mirror when the ringing of her phone interrupts our exchange. She takes the call and engages in a conversation that will take place during the ten minutes necessary to reach her home… a call with Richard where she reviewed with him several details about this upcoming concert that seemed so anxious. She ends the call while Jackson parks to let us down. - You remain available if we need you. - No problem O’. See you soon Amelia. - Thank you, Jackson. I quickly get out of the car and guide Amelia back to the house, taking care to go in first as it became customary.

Footsteps quickly down the stairs and I discover April all smiles and visibly delighted to see us again. - Ha, here you are, so this photoshoot? Do you have shots to show me? - No, not yet, Carina must sort and send me the ones she has selected for me to make my choice. - Shame, I would have liked to see that. How did you find Owen? Knowing Carina, she must have wanted to try different poses, one that you liked more than others perhaps? One that pleased me more than another? A glance… Unveiled forms… Curves that I caught myself redrawing… I feel suddenly relive the sensations that struck me earlier in the day… and only one wants to escape. - Owen? - Yes… Amelia did very well… excuse me, I will run a little, I didn’t have time to do my jogging this morning. I disappear as quickly as I can, not giving them time to react, to change me in a hurry. I go down after a few minutes: I hear their voice in the living room but I go straight without stopping. I find the outside air, the feeling of space, and freedom around me. My strides are set up gradually and I run without any specific goal, but allowing the tensions to escape… I run faster than I should… but the need to let off steam is stronger than anything. All these images of this morning parade in my head and I feel nervousness dawn… a nervousness direct towards myself and towards those reactions that I had had the weakness to feel. In front of this woman who has revealed herself, in front of these forms that I have more than guessed, these desires that I have manifested themselves. Just thinking about it makes me react again… I arrive at the edge of the lake and I go down the stairs at full speed. Once I arrived down, I attack the rise of this long series of stairs to exhaust me and block me from all these prohibited reactions. I arrive so at the top of this climb, the breath almost cut, the T-shirt sticking to my chest under the effect of the sweat that appeared during my effort. I don’t stop so long, not giving me time to find normal breathing and I unconsciously resume the path of Amelia’s house. I recognize the surroundings of her house after several minutes and end my stride once at the top of the steps. I stay a few moments behind the door to gradually regain my breath and a “normal” heart rate. My body left forces in this race that I had just imposed... to exhaust myself and stop all those memories that I had to forget.

After a minute, I decided to go back… The silence greets me, I notice the silhouette of April in the living room, a book in hand but I continue my way without lingering. I join the bathroom and take a quick shower to clean the traces of this effort that I had inflected myself as a punishment. A punishment that I conclude with a cold shower to get rid of this experience that should not be repeated. I get out of the shower and surround myself with a towel tied at the waist, another around my neck after drying my hair quickly: I realize then that I didn’t take any spare clothes in my haste; and in any case, I could not put back the clothes I had just left. I sigh in front of my own negligence and go out of the bathroom with the hope of reaching my room as soon as possible. I close the bathroom door, one hand propped against my waist to hold the towel. When I turn around, I discover with surprise Amelia a few meters in front of me, leaving her room the guitar in her hand. She continues to advance after seeing me, but her steps are not so big… less assured. I stay for my part, root to the spot, my hand against the towel wriggling a little more. I watch her progress almost shyly, her eyes avoiding mine… but I notice that her eyes are looking something other than my face as I feel drops of my hair dripping down my chest. She stops suddenly a few steps from me… her gaze seems stuck on a specific part of my body and I quickly understand that she is watching my scars… especially those running along my ribs. My free arm sticks against my side to cover these marks of another life while two blue eyes find my eyes… - Amelia, tell me, can I borrow a dress for tonight? The voice of April rises suddenly. Amelia turns around and discovers her friend, arriving at the top of the stairs and seeing us in the middle of the hallway. - I am disturbing? - No, not at all, I was going to join my composition room and… I perceive April advance in the back of Amelia and discover me a little more in turn. - And you have been glued on discovering what is hidden under these pants. I feel even worse with this piercing look from April. - Muscular just right, where it has to… My free hand place reflexively on my stomach… as if to protect me from indiscreet eyes. - Excuse me, you allow that… - April, come on we’ll go downstairs have tea… Amelia takes her friend by the hand and leads her down the stair again, allowing me to join my room, without having to endure this unpleasant situation for me any longer.

I quickly close the door of my room and let my head fall against… eyes close a few seconds. And the image that greets me is color. This intense and mysterious blue. This glow that radiates a face. And that troubles me already more than it should. Because this trouble just did not reach me. I had to protect myself from the strength of the sparks that hit me today. To become… insensitive.

Untouchable.

Thank you for reading! Please give me your opinion 💛

[heartslogos]

seas who could sing so deep and strong [147]

“He’s like you,” Kore says softly. It sounds almost menacing.

Judge shudders.

“He will literally run off in the opposite direction of me when I’m not looking,” Kore continues, reaching out and grabbing the MOA by its head and physically dragging it back to her side. It lets out a series of confused and disappointed chirps and whirs. “And then. And then. Once the fool is…three hundred or so meters from me. He dies. He just goes and dies and it’s a mad race to get to him while not losing my mission objective.”

“Let him die,” Chic calls out.

“Please do not let me die,” Punk says in a fake robot voice. “I am new and a baby. Let me live.”

“He’s not like me, I don’t die on you,” Judge says. And then grimaces. “Any more…”

Kore picks the Moa up, folds its long legs and tucks it back against her side. The machine lets out another disappointed chirp and proceeds to sulk.

“He’s learning,” Judge says in defense of the mechanical ally that’s apparently taken his place in Kore’s mind. “He needs to explore and learn new things. He’s curious. That’s how he’s going to get strong, through experience.”

“He was just born,” Kore repeats skeptically, “And his first instinct is to chase his own death? Did you build me a suicidal machine?”

“Perish,” Chic says

“He’s investigating a mystery!” Punk says. “He’s a curious little ‘bot.”

“Yeah, investigating his own murder,” Kore sneers. “Hades, I cannot let this robot out of my sight. It is a constant, twenty four hour cycle intensive defense mission in which my defense objective is prone to running as fast as it can towards trouble that I can’t see or perceive before dying. Alternatively, standing completely still before sitting down and entering rest mode so that some enemy can trip on him and proceed to beat the shit out of him.”

“He’s tired, let him rest.”

“Punk, shut up.”

“Shutting up.”

“But do you like him?” Judge asks.

Kore’s Nidus makes a very low, warped hissing sound that sounds like if white noise and static were tangible objects that had nails and were dragging said nails down glass.

“She loves him,” Chic says. “Because he’s exactly like you. Down to the way he pokes at security panels.”

Kore doesn’t answer, just continues to attempt to wrangle the MOA under her arm until it stops struggling to be free and investigate something new and dangerous.

“I’m not going to scrap it,” Kore says once she’s reasonably sure the MOA isn’t about to lunge away from her and run off towards gunfire.

“You love it,” Judge says.

“Of course I love it,” Kore snaps, “Look at its stupid beaky face. The dumbass was built to be loved and coddled. It’s a cosmetic.”

Judge gasps, “I would never build you a cosmetic item.”

“And yet,” Kore says as the MOA breaks from her hold and starts running towards the sound of Grineer gunfire, “Look at it go.”

The MOA abruptly crumples, screeching as its legs flail in the air.

“I’ll…go revive it,” Judge says.

Kore clicks her tongue. Her Nidus lets out a low groaning, like a ship that’s hull has been breeched with a swarm of Infested.

“I don’t think it even knows I gave it a gun,” Kore says. “I’ve never seen it shoot anything. Just stare at things and sometimes peck at them before whatever it pecks punches back and it dies.”

“It’ll get stronger eventually, Hades did.”

“I did, Persephone. You have to admit I did get stronger.”

“When?” Kore bemoans. “When will it get stronger? When will it stop getting destroyed by a single bullet to the gyro? Does it ever?”

“Ask the Empress,” Chic says.

“She has a MOA?” Judge asks.

“I mean…I don’t see why she wouldn’t,” Chic replies uncertain. “If Tenno use it to fight the Empress has tried it at least once.”

That makes sense.

“I’ll patch in a line to her,” Punk says, “While I bleed out over here.”

“I’m not going to help you,” Chic says. “You made your grave so lie in it. Dumbass. Bringing an unranked warframe to a relic run.”

“It’s just a lith fissure!” Punk says. “I didn’t know Percy was going to be letting her MOA run loose and wouldn’t have time for me!”

“I never have time for you.”

“Is this important?” The Empress says. “All I hear is chatter. Lith fissures? Are you honestly struggling with lith fissures? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t disconnect right now. No, Alpha. You stay there. You simply cannot just assist them every time they face a challenge. Don’t give me that look.”

Judge has no idea what look the Empress means because he’s never seen the Alpha’s face have any look.

“Persephone’s working on her MOA, the one Hades built her,” Chic says. “And it’s…getting downed a lot. We were wondering if you had any tips. Since you’re…you.”

“Leave it on your ship,” the Empress replies instantly. “It’s a cosmetic item and anything it can do you can do faster, better, and more reliably.”

“Ouch.”

“You’ve used MOA’s right?”

“Of course I’ve used them. But they simply cannot keep up with me at the speed and quality I require,” the Empress says. “My kavat is the superior option. Why meddle with inferior results when I can ascertain a consistent pay out? Besides. I don’t trust them.”

Judge blinks. “You don’t trust them? You build them yourself.”

The Empress’ words become very testy, “Sometimes certain machines…are unruly.”

The Alpha’s voice patches in, “Cephalon. She means her Cephalon.”

There’s a brief pause where Judge can only assume that the Empress and Alpha are talking privately.

“I am not going to rely on a machine which either your or my Cephalon is prone to taking control of,” the Empress says. “Especially not when the things are so easily influenced by them. Your Cephalon told my MOA to jump through a magnetic field. The thing was scrambled. Instantly scrambled. Just because your Cephalon thought it would be interesting. I am not throwing away my resources on this. Absolutely preposterous. If nothing else is needed I am cutting this connection, best of luck with the lith fissure and the MOA. Good day.”

[ciathyzareposts]

Game 334: Bokosuka Wars (1983)

           Bokosuka Wars

Japan

ASCII (developer and publisher)

Released in 1983 for Sharp X1; 1984 for MSX and PC-88; 1985 for FM-7, PC-6001, PC-98, and NES 

Date Started: 25 June 2019

Date Finished: 28 June 2019

Total Hours: 6 Difficulty: Hard (4/5), but would probably go down to 3/5 with more experience Final Rating: (to come later) Ranking at time of posting: (to come later)

Well, I did it. I downloaded a Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) emulator–Nestopia–and I gave it a shot. It was easier than I expected. I was the thinking that the NES had a directional pad and an analog stick, but I guess that came with later consoles. The original NES controller is little more than a joystick (albeit one that made it harder to move diagonally) with two buttons. Easy to emulate, easy to remember.

Bokosuka Wars was on no one’s list of “must play” console RPGs, but I figured I’d give it a try anyway. It’s the earliest Japanese game on my list that had a western release and the earliest Japanese console game, beating several 1986 titles by a month or so. That it’s not actually an RPG by my definitions (no inventory) shouldn’t bother us too much. It was an easy step into this sub-genre.             

A common screen, probably responsible for a lot of the hate the game receives.

          The game is an “afternoon RPG,” as any console must be until saving was possible. The setup is simple. You are King Suren, and your country has been overthrown by the evil King Ogreth of the Basam Empire (Ogreth is called “Dragonet” in the original Japanese versions). Ogreth has used his magic to turn all your knights and soldiers into rocks and trees and cacti. You embark on a mission to reclaim your throne. You start 600 meters to the east of King Ogreth’s throne room and slowly make your way left down the battlefield, fighting his forces as you go.           

The king starts alone, with 595 steps to his evil counterpart.

            You’re not alone in this endeavor. Along the way, you can rescue many of your knights and soldiers. (In the Japanese PC versions, Suren starts with many of his warriors already activated, but in the NES version, he starts alone.) Some are inanimate objects, but they’re revived if you touch them. Others are kept in stockades and must be rescued. Either way, you slowly build (and, just as fast, lose) an army. Eventually, if you survive, you reach Ogreth’s throne room and throw your remaining forces at him, including King Suren if necessary. If any of your units defeat Ogreth, you win the game.          

King Suren turns a tree into a knight.

           The problem is that you can revive and rescue only 50 warriors (about 15 knights and 35 soldiers), and opposing you are 180 enemies: guards, mages, warriors, and pages. Some of them can be avoided, but most must be fought. Characters move around the battlefield in real-time, but this is in no way an “action RPG.” As frenzied as the game looks, no part of your success depends on your speed with the controller, particularly since enemies cannot attack you and combats are resolved statistically.

The game’s strategy lies in who fights what enemies, and in what circumstances. Your one huge advantage is that enemies can never initiate combat. They can block your way, but combat only begins when you decide to move Suren or one of his warriors to the enemy’s square. Thus, you can almost always choose who fights.

Combat is a probability test that pits your character’s power against the enemy’s, but with a heavy random component. If the die rolls go in your favor, you win; if not, you die. If the character fighting on your side was King Suren, and he dies, the game is over. Winning and losing is completely binary; there are no hit points in the game, so one character can’t “weaken” an enemy for the next character.            

My king battles a “summoner” in the middle of his spirits. Since my king has 320 power and the summoner only has 50, I’m relatively confident. During battle , the tile flashes between crossed swords and “B.” I’m not sure what the “B” means, but it doesn’t have anything to do with the “B” button on the controller. Maybe it means “Bokosuka.”

        If you win, the winning unit gets an increase in power–sometimes substantial. For instance, soldiers start at a power of 30 and rise to 40 and 50 with their first two victories. But if they achieve a third victory, they change color and rise to 140. Knights do the same thing, with the progression going 150, 160, 170 and then jumping to 260 on the third victory.           

Note that one of my knights and one soldier have “gone gold,” making them more powerful than their counterparts. A knight is needed to bust through the shield around the stockade.

          King Suren himself starts at 220 and maxes at 320; soldiers and knights max at 310. Throughout the game, you have to keep making the decision about whether to throw your more powerful figures into combat, thus risking them, or try to build up weaker units. There’s no easy answer. And occasionally even the most disproportionate combats can go wrong. I saw plenty of knights at 310 power killed by enemies at 10 power.         

Enemy and ally unit powers. This is from the Sharp X1 version. NES players had to read the manual.

                      There are a few other tactical considerations. Regular soldiers (for some reason) knock enemy guards from 100 power to 10 power when they engage in combat. Knights are the only units that can break the walls of stockades, so you want to keep at least one around. You need soldiers to disarm traps (which don’t appear until after your first victory). Only the king can trigger special squares that remove the walls blocking “summoners,” who then summon a bunch of spirits (which don’t count against the enemy’s total) until you kill the summoners.            

Every once in a while, the king runs out of soldiers and stands alone.

           I suspect the game would be “easy” for those with a lot of patience. One key problem is the movement of your forces. By default everyone moves together when you press the directional pad; if they’re up against an obstacle, they just stay in place. You can toggle so that you’re only selecting one type of unit at a time (i.e., the king, all soldiers, or all knights), but it’s still tough to move them in unison, and I probably left more allies stuck on obstacles behind me than I lost in combat. This problem is the source of a lot of modern complaints about the game, I later found, but I think it added somewhat to the game’s strategy. When you have a lot of units in your army, you have to be careful about every move, noting who is going to end up in what square, and thus what units will find themselves in combat. A player who develops a huge army is handicapped by having to more carefully manage its movement. I can’t claim that I exactly “enjoyed” such a gameplay element, but that doesn’t make it inherently bad.           

Moving through terrain like this is easier when you only control one unit “type” at a time.

           You don’t have to fight every battle. In fact, there’s a good argument to be made in fighting as few as possible, thus reaching the end of the game with as many forces as possible. On the other hand, it helps if those forces have gained a lot of experience along the way, so you don’t want to eschew every combat. It’s a tough call.

            Having broken a bunch of soldiers out of a stockade, now approaching a phalanx of guards. To get the soldiers out of their building, I’m going to have to move everybody back and up a few spaces.

          You eventually reach a point where you have to thread a narrow hallway to get to the throne room, which features a number of unavoidable battles with “killers” with 250 power. Even though you might have more than 300 power at this point, the killers seem to win more than half the time. The same is true for King Ogreth himself, who only has 250 power but seems to beat 300+-power allies at least three-quarters of the time. So whether you win or lose upon reaching the end is largely a matter of whether you have enough allies to overwhelm the probabilities of losing individual combats. You definitely don’t want it to come down to King Ogreth vs. King Suren.

Reaching the final throne room. Looks like I’ll have to take out a summoner before engaging the king. I only have three (promoted) units with me, but there are 10 more somewhere behind me if I didn’t want to risk Suren in the final battle.

A good opening strategy is to have Suren fight all the combats until he gets to his maximum power of 320. If he’s going to die, better it happens in the opening few minutes than hundreds of meters down the battlefield. After that, I tended to prioritize building weaker units than risking more experienced ones. That had the effect of keeping my numbers small but my individual units powerful. However, I’m sure there are several strategies that would work. I’m sure it’s possible to have King Suren charge down the battlefield alone, fighting only the necessary combats (i.e., when an enemy is blocking you and there’s nowhere to go), and make it all the way to the end. I tried it and made it to about the 300-yard line–halfway through the game–before I was overwhelmed by a group of knights and ultimately killed. Some other player makes that strategy work in this video, winning the game in just under 5 minutes, but there’s a note that the session somehow “manipulates luck,” so I’m not sure if it’s an honest win.

A winning game takes about an hour, taking modest care, and perhaps two hours being extra careful. If you win you get a nice screen and then an invitation to try again. Small squares in the upper-right corner keep track of your victories. The only thing different about subsequent loops is that they feature traps that kill you instantly unless a soldier walks over them. Apparently, you face more traps the more previous victories you have under your belt.           

An angry King Suren chases his enemies off screen.

             The game scores poorly as an RPG, getting only 15 points on the GIMLET, nothing rating higher than a 2, with 0s in economy and equipment. Nonetheless, it was enjoyable for a few hours as I tried to figure out the right strategies, watched the odometer count down my distance to Ogreth, and held my breath every time Suren entered combat. I lost 8 times–twice in the last 100 meters–and I suppose I would feel differently about the game if that had continued much longer.            

The box captures the somewhat linear nature of the game.

            Given my generally positive feelings, I was surprised when I started doing my post-game research and saw Bokosuka Wars repeatedly referred to as the worst game ever made for the NES, with multiple sites calling it completely impossible. Granted, PC games were significantly ahead of the experience that Bokosuka Wars could provide, but even console-only players seem to love to trash this title. I suspect what’s happening here is that RPG-oriented players want their success determined by statistics that they can manage, and arcade-oriented players want their fate decided by their own dexterity. A game that’s so heavily based on random probability serves neither group. Nonetheless, I had fun with it. It showed me an approach to gameplay I haven’t experienced before. I wouldn’t want every game to take its mechanics from Bokosuka Wars, but as a one time experience, it was fine.

(Believe me, I appreciate the irony of me, who never heard of this game two weeks ago, who resisted the console sub-genre for a decade, suddenly mounting an impassioned defense of the first console RPG that I played.)                 

The Sharp XI version starts the king with a large army.

            As poorly as the game was apparently received, it is credited in many sources in laying the foundations for the tactical RPG genre in Japan. I’ll reserve judgement on that until I actual play more tactical RPGs. In a funny footnote, Bokosuka Wars II was released for the PlayStation 4 in 2017. (There’s a so-called sequel called New Bokosuka Wars for the Sharp X1 alone in 1984, but I really think it’s just another version of the original game.) That gap of 33 years must be one of the longest between an original game and its sequel in gaming history, although Bethesda seems determined to beat it.

I’m disappointed that the game didn’t explain what bokosuka meant. Does anyone know? Googling provides mostly this game and a VR game called Bokosuka Girls. I’m trying to think what adjective could apply to both wars and buxom women and I’m coming up short.

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/game-334-bokosuka-wars-1983/

[zydrateacademy]

Review - The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

I never cared much for Zelda. My gaming life began with the likes of Unreal and Quake, later exploring the more intriguing worlds of Morrowind and Final Fantasy X. I was late to the nostalgic craze of Mario, Metroid, Pokemon and the likes of Zelda itself, though my brother would always gush about them as the years went on, while I delved into the Elder Scrolls and Assassin’s Creed franchises as my typical “favorite games” listing. Yet on a fateful evening outing with the family, I found myself with a brief demo of Breath of the Wild. Having a controller in my hand for the first time in probably a decade, I fell in love with the brief ten minutes I had with Link and his new world. It became an immediate Christmas wish, which was immediately fulfilled by my family within weeks of this request. My family was very excited that I wanted to try a Zelda game at all. So let’s get to it.

Link immediately awakes as much of a blank slate as I am, with nothing but amnesia and a female voice (quickly revealed to be Zelda herself) to guide him. We’re given something called a Sheikah Slate which looks like the lore’s own version of a Switch or iPad, and it basically serves as the game’s major MacGuffin that powers most of your abilities, map systems, and everything else. Apparently it’s an important device, as every major character and city leader immediately recognize it. From what I can understand in context, the device was in the possession of a team of champions that apparently died a hundred years prior. They fought against “Calamity Ganon”, the game’s major antagonist. You’re shown the castle off in the distance, but in the beginning Link is stuck on a massive plateau, and you need a wind glider to make it off alive. The old man helping you trades one after you learn the game’s four basic abilities, and the whole plateau serves as the tutorial. We get a stasis ability (for locking objects in a time field, of which you can manipulate its momentum), two different bomb types (one that rolls and a square for better control depending on terrain), a cryogenic that allows you to create ice blocks over water (which I often use to cross rivers) and a magnet (which does exactly what you’d expect it to). Other than the open world Dark Souls-esque combat, they serve as the game’s primary mechanics and they’ll each be used to solve every puzzle and find every chest throughout the game.  Sadly the game neglects to teach you how to cook, and I had to resort to google for that. Seems like it’s an oversight, but it’s one of the more fun mechanics, throwing a bunch of your gatherings in a pot to eventually see what might happen. It encourages experimentation which I enjoy, but if all else fails, throwing five durians or bananas in a pot will go a long way in of itself. The world opens up very quickly, as is usually advertised and mentioned in reviews. You can, in theory, immediately haul towards Calamity Ganon itself if you’re sneaky enough. I’m sure some YouTubers have already cleared it (quick research tells me it can be done in around 40-50 minutes), but more casual players would likely be crushed instantly. Instead you’re given several tasks, such as taming four Divine Beasts, massive mechanical creatures that roam Hyrule. They’re currently controlled by Ganon but you can retake them and they’ll all help during the final fight.

Beyond that, the world is ours. I admit I was feeling a bit dry of this genre after having around a thousand hours on Skyrim and a few hundred on the various Fallout’s, it’s a literal breath of fresh air as I found myself with a very simple goal: nab all the towers. In typical fashion more expected from the likes of Ubisoft, there are several towers to climb that unlock the maps of entire regions. I don’t mind this so much as it helps me get the lay of the land as well as a clear goal on the outset. I’d be very lost without them.

I have never been used to Zelda’s style of gaming but I have taken full advantage of the tools the game has given me. Chief of which being the open world itself. A vast majority of my gameplay has mostly been collecting different armor sets so that I can better face a variety of situations and weather conditions, and there’s a ton of gameplay to be had with that goal alone. In the first town that you are directed towards, there was a fairly expensive (for a starting player) stealth suit. I farmed some enemies which helped a lot in learning how to use a controller again, and the stealth bonus helped me nab some DLC armor which I used for a majority of the early to mid game, dozens of hours due to their helpful bonuses. While looking to afford that initial outfit, I ended up running into a shrine or two, and found a little tree pixie (called Koroks), which help to expand my inventory. The simple goal turned into its own micro-adventure and that’s something I very much appreciate about this game, though that does have a problem attached to it, which I’ll mention later. If my readers know me, then you know I’m a stealth player. Hilariously there is a stealth mechanic on this game with a little noise meter next to the minimap but the game wasn’t really built for it. You can sneak in enemy camps while they sleep and steal their weapons but it’s not always an ideal tactic. There’s no clear indication of detection ranges so if you alert an enemy, all you’ll see is a question mark on their head and you have very little to do with that information. A bush does not conceal me, for example, for the simple fact that it’s not considered a ‘solid object’ by the game’s standards.

That does lead to another problem. The stealth mechanic is part of the alleged “play your way” that doesn’t always work. In terms of exploration, it might. There’s a lot you can do, like plugging balloons on bombs to make them float around, or throw metal weapons at enemies during a lightning storm. There’s so much to do with the world itself, but I found very little purpose in doing any of that except for water cooler conversations of “stuff I managed to do”. You CAN use a leaf weapon to blow the enemy off the cliff, but why bother if you can two-shot them or even use one of your infinite bombs to accomplish the same goal? So why would you want to waste to much time and potential health and food items finagling with the controls which you could just press Y a couple times and make the problem go away? Not that I mind the combat over much. It has the usual fare of dodge, parry, block, flurry and a variety of charge attacks that can be kind of fun to use. I like how enemies often have their own large variety of weapons and that will change how they fight. A lizard with a bow will very often try to keep at a range from me, doing a backflip which causes me to sprint to close the gap, only for them to do it again when I try to take a swing. The same enemy type with a spear however, can be quite aggressive poking me at a range, but staying at just the right distance to piss me off. It’s a lot of fun, though. I was rather afraid of puzzles upon my initial interest of this game, and has been a large part in keeping me away from the franchise. They tend to make me feel stupid if I take too long to solve them, but there is an extra level of “hurrah!” when I manage to figure out exactly what I need to do. There is another complaint attached to this however. As I completed a few dozen shrines (there’s something to the effect of 120 total) I noticed the rest usually require some gimmick to find or unlock. There’s one I’ve yet to discover because I need to be on a platform during a blood moon, the game’s respawn mechanic. The problem is, you can’t force those and they show up roughly every three hours of game time. So I imagine one of my last shrines will be me standing on that damn platform while I watch Youtube or play something else.

There’s also a few puzzles that demand use of the motion controls, which can be incredibly fickle and frustrating. Some are better than others but I found it to be more annoying than anything and I hope they minimize that mechanic in the future. I’ve still had to resort to video guides. The Divine Beasts act as the game’s “major” dungeons preceding a boss fight, and to get to the boss, their entire body acts as a mobile puzzle. One of them has three cylinders in its midsection that can turn four times and there was far too much going on for my brain to handle. I managed to do the flying beast and water elephant on my own (with some pointers from my brother but not to a full on guide’s extent) but some of their innards are just a bit too complex to me. The other complaint that I alluded to earlier, is world density. Yes, there’s a lot of nooks and crannies that will often hide a shrine, treasure, and a variety of weapons and upgrades. It can be profitable at times to simply pick a direction and start running, but this only works to a point. Between my position and my current goal (a tower, an armor piece, a town) there might be a single shrine, maybe two, on my way to find. There was however, a lot of pointless running. I heard a Let’s Player mention that they suspected the world was built first and was just filled it in with things later. Frankly, it shows. Yes it’s cute to find a stump or pile of leaves just slightly out of place, hiding a Korok creature but once you get back to running there’s a lot of open plains, fields, and vertical mountains to climb with very little to do in between and nothing to show for it except a padded hour count.  There was some controversy over the durability of weapons. I barely had much of a problem with it. Jim Sterling infamously bashed it which earned a fair amount of ire (which is not foreign to him) and even tried to negate the common compliment of “It forces you to adjust your strategy!” Still, I’m inclined to agree with that defense. Relying on a single type of weapon could make the combat stale pretty quickly, but there’s still some high level weapons I wish stuck around for longer. I did manage to acquire the Master Sword which is a permanent weapon that can run out of ‘energy’ and gives itself a ten minute cooldown but that’s very much a late-game item to acquire. Before that you’re basically stuck with a horde of guardian axes and knight’s claymores. I have run into the odd situation of having two or three weapons left but I discovered that shrines respawn during blood moons, so I simply found myself in those “Major Test of Strength” shrines which give you a single enemy with predictable attack pattern, serving as a miniature boss fight to help you get used to the combat mechanics. They drop two or three fairly decent weapons and a lot can be done with them. It’s just another thing to do in a fairly enjoyable game.

I also wanted to compliment the game’s way of leveling itself up. It’s essentially tied to story progress and Divine Beast slaying. Each mob has a few different variations, color coded for your convenience. Usually starting brown and going up to blue, then black and others. Each harder than the last, usually just wielding more powerful weapons and having a fair amount of hitpoints. Since a lot of my gameplay was exploring, getting towers and collecting armor, the game never advanced too quickly for me. I’d have a few scattered harrowing fights but the game did a good job of making sure I could take my time with it. The early game throws a few blue Moblins at you which are fully capable of one-shotting your measly four hearts, but I feel that was a sort of observation test for a player to absorb. It forces you to think about what your facing, change weapons and strategy. In practice, it just made me terrified of the color blue for a while. The game only starts throwing the tougher enemies at you once you defeat the bosses accompanying the four Divine Beasts. As the game’s major dungeons, completing them is often a test of everything you’ve learned and is as good a marker as any for “this player is ready for tougher enemies”. I am very pleased with this kind of development, as my first ten hours was spent killing jello blobs and bats for their parts so I could sell them and afford more arrows. The game never really went “Okay, time for the tough stuff” when I’m still using a wooden goblin spear. I don’t expect I would get much out of the game’s Master Mode, serving as a sort of New Game Plus except without anything you’ve earned, and is basically just a Hard Mode. The DLC has plenty more to offer which I will explore eventually but it sounds difficult, and I’ve never been any kind of Hard Mode player. Still, I was afraid of this game and I’ve been doing just fine in it so the DLC may not be as intimidating as I think. In conclusion, I’m having a lot of fun in it. It may not have lasting replayability (though I can think of a few ‘corrections’ to my early game to help things along) and after so long, I find there’s very little to actually find as I climb snowy mountains and angrily wait for a thunderstorm to pass. I’m far from done with it though, not while I still have goals in mind. I do have my sights on beating this one, and for a newer-aged millennial gamer, finding a Zelda game that I actually enjoy is an accomplishment on their part. I understand BOTW is a major genre shift for the franchise, and I hope they continue the trend if they want me as a returning customer. Until then, this game is very, very good.

[lesbian-yaoyorozu]

Atoms and Circuits, Hand in Hand

Summary: Yaoyorozu insists to herself and to Hatsume that all this "making Hatsume rare metals and materials when she needs them" business is not going to become a regular thing. 

It becomes a regular thing.

Pairing: Yaoyorozu x Mei Hatsume (Momomei)

AO3 link

I’m reposting this because I kind of messed up the tags the first time around so it didn’t show up in searches very well. Hope you guys enjoy!

With her Quirk as centered around knowing the exact structure of objects as it is, Yaoyorozu doesn’t think it’s anything exceptional that she’s interested in how things are built. Learning how to create a new object usually takes a period of days to weeks- learning or refreshing her knowledge on the required molecular structures, memorizing the layout of the object inside and out, creating several beginning, undetailed versions of the object to get a general feel for it (rough drafts, she calls them) as well as making every material individually, and finally, after much practiced visualization, making her first attempt at the finished product. She’s gotten better at the beginning stages over the years as her experience with different molecular structures and materials grew, sometimes shortening it to a day or less, but working out the kinks and then learning how to produce the object consistently on the fly with little preparation always took a long time.

Maybe that’s why she’s interested in the support course girl, Mei Hatsume. Yaoyorozu sees the way she painstakingly designs and builds her inventions and feels a small degree of familiarity; putting parts together feels exactly like putting molecules together, just on a larger scale. She’s fascinated by engineering and the thought that must be put into building something new, instead of learning how to memorize a blueprint and recreate it.

It’s obvious that Mei Hatsume is a genius. Her plan was audacious and bold, hinging on her inventions being good enough to run circles around Iida without even focusing on beating him as the objective. And it paid off- Yaoyorozu has heard that out of the fifty support companies in attendance, not one of them didn’t express interest in Mei Hatsume. This girl is going to grow up to be one of the smartest engineers and support item designers of her time, and Yaoyorozu can see it.

Despite her curiosity, however, Yaoyorozu has never found a good enough reason to spend the time to go down and meet her. Her first chance is after they start training for the Provisional License Exam, when she goes to see if her costume could possibly be improved. She can’t think of any real changes that could be made, but then again she’s not in the support course. She decides to go just in case there’s some perspective she’s missing.

She opens the door and there’s a bang, something’s rocketing at her face, too fast to react, and she throws up her hands-

It stops at the last moment. A pink head pops around it, and Yaoyorozu suddenly notices the hands clamped on either side of the object that must have caught it at the last second.

“That got away from me for a second there! ” Mei Hatsume says breezily, and swiftly yanks the device back and tucks it under her arm. Yaoyorozu blinks owlishly and slowly lowers her hands, still half-convinced she’s about to be hit in the face, as Hatsume pushes up her goggles. “Propellant devices, so hard to control sometimes- oh, you’re another one from the hero course aren’t you, looking for support items?”

In a flash, she’s back at her workbench, shoving aside a mix of papers and unidentifiable bits of metal to slam down the device with a thunk loud enough to make Yaoyorozu wince.

“What’s your Quirk, because I have a new baby- oh, never mind, it’ll work for you no matter what your Quirk is!” She whips around, a new device in her hands. “An omni-directional kickback inducer! Put it on the soles of your shoes to get just a little bit more spring in your step, and you’ll jump a whole couple of meters higher-” Hatsume’s rushing at her with an eager look in her eyes looking ready to slap it onto Yaoyorozu if that’s what it takes, and Yaoyorozu panickedly shoots a barrier out of her arm to cut her off.

“Oof-” She slams into it, and all of Yaoyorozu’s sense of shame returns at once.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” She steps forward to help, but Hatsume pops back up quickly. While she's distracted, the misshapen object finishes sliding out of Yaoyorozu’s arm and clatters to the ground.

“Neat, what kind of Quirk is that?” Hatsume says cheerfully without missing a beat. Yaoyorozu opens her mouth to answer but Hatsume beats her to the punch. “You’re creating something out through your skin, aren’t you, huh?” Hatsume grabs her arm and yanks it up to her eyes, studying it. Yaoyorozu realizes abruptly that seeing a girl fighting from hundreds of feet away doesn’t translate to knowing her personality.

“Er- yes,” Yaoyorozu stutters, attempting to take back some control in the conversation as Hatsume lets go of her arm, having evidently concluded that there’s nothing special to be found there. “I can create any object I want as long as I know the molecular structure of what I’m making.” Yaoyorozu suddenly remembers that she came down here for possible advice in the first place and rushes to keep talking. “My body breaks down fat cells and turns them into atoms that then are shaped into what I create. So, um, I need to eat much more in order to fuel that, and because they come out of my skin the objects I can create are ultimately limited in size.”

Yaoyorozu has been talking with Hatsume for barely a minute, but for the first time, Yaoyorozu sees her pause. Hatsume’s eyes flicker back down to Yaoyorozu’s arm for a second again before locking on hers. Her eyes are unexpectedly focused. “So, you don’t have the space for bulky support items because you need as much skin open as possible.”

Yaoyorozu nods.

They stay in place for a fraction of a second longer before something clicks in Hatsume’s eyes and she whips around, sweeping her arm across the workbench to clear space again. “Small, then? Tricky, I’ve never made something like that before. Anything on your hands, arms, and legs, anything too large on your torso, out of the question…correct?” Hatsume snaps her head around to meet Yaoyorozu’s eyes again.

Yaoyorozu nods quickly. “Yes.”

“Alright!” Hatsume barely pauses before grabbing a piece of paper and starting to write or sketch.

Yaoyorozu stands there watching, finally having a moment to think as Hatsume scribbles. That look in Hatsume’s eyes- it’s the moment of being presented with a problem, and the moment the ideas start rushing in of how to solve it.

A sense of familiarity washes over her again and Yaoyorozu smiles. Maybe she and Mei Hatsume aren’t so different after all.

But still, not too similar, Yaoyorozu thinks a little later as Hatsume yanks her back over with her usual bubbly attitude, ready to show Yaoyorozu what she’s come up with in a minute or less.

They talk for nearly thirty minutes as Hatsume comes up with a fair few ideas and makes many suggestions, half of which are unfortunately ridiculous and which Yaoyorozu has to shoot down immediately. Hatsume usually has a wide variety of support items she pushes on whoever asks, but Yaoyorozu needs items so radically different than most of what she’s designed that she has to start from scratch.

Yaoyorozu apologizes for the trouble but Hatsume cheerfully waves it off, saying she likes a challenge and that it’s never good to get too used to one way of doing things, anyway.

Near the end of her visit, they’ve mostly wound down from fast-paced discussion and transitioned into Hatsume standing there building some of the items that can be built quickly while Yaoyorozu sits quietly, chatting sometimes about random topics. They wander around, and at some point branch into discussing the curriculum at UA.

“I don’t know how it works in the Hero Course, but in Support they give you a lot of free reign,” Hatsume says, wiggling in a minute screw that Yaoyorozu can’t even see.

“Really? The lesson plan is very structured for us,” Yaoyorozu says.

“I think it’s like that because in Support it all really comes down to your own ideas,” Hatsume grunts, pulling over something Yaoyorozu can’t even identify. “Can you hold this for a second?” she says, handing Yaoyorozu the wrench she was using.

Yaoyorozu takes it, glancing down at it for a second. She does a double take- it’s the wrench she makes, the exact same one down to model and brand that she studied and learned to make back when she was learning to make tools. That’s a coincidence, but it is a common wrench.

“Yeah, anyway, it’s all about what you can create, what you can come up with specifically. But heroing has more strict guidelines on what’s the best thing to do in any given situation.” Hatsume finishes using the...whatever, and holds out her hand. Yaoyorozu gives back the wrench.

Yaoyorozu tilts her head. “That’s interesting.”

“Yeah.” Hatsume pushes at something with the wrench. “I also think that-” Something abruptly gives way and the wrench shoots forward, out the open window. Yaoyorozu jumps.

Hatsume runs over and peers down. “Oh wow, that went really far. I can’t even see it.” She turns and starts to walk toward the door. “Okay, I’m going to have to go find that, if you want to stay here-”

“Wait.” Hatsume stops and looks at her curiously as Yaoyorozu casts her mind back. “That was the Dremel brand, right, the size five wrench?”

Hatsume blinks. “Yeah.”

Yaoyorozu considers for a moment, then closes her eyes and focuses. It’s been a while since she’s practiced making any tools, but she thinks she can do it. She raises her hand up, and a size five Dremel wrench pops out of her palm, easy. “Ah, will this be alright?” sfhe says, holding it out.

Hatsume takes it and flips it over a few times, studying it, as if checking that it’s actually real and the same as the other wrench. She's had that reaction before when she makes objects for other people. "I just didn't want to have to make you spend any more time, since you're doing so much for me already..." Yaoyorozu says awkwardly, slightly regretting the impulsiveness. After a moment, Hatsume’s eyes rise up to study her.

“Yeah, this is perfect,” Hatsume says, and seemingly walks back over to her invention to keep working on it without a second thought. However, Yaoyorozu catches Hatsume looking at her thoughtfully a few times for the rest of the meeting.

---------

Yaoyorozu doesn’t think about Hatsume for the next few days as she builds some of the support items they both agreed on, except when Hatsume chases her down in the halls to make another suggestion.

She doesn’t wonder why Hatsume seemed so thoughtful when Yaoyorozu made the wrench for her; maybe it was just gratitude. Hatsume is bright and bubbly but she also seems to be something of a loner, who only talks to people when she goes over and talks to them first, usually about support items.

It��s the first time she comes back to pick up and test out what Hatsume’s finished that Yaoyorozu realizes (at least partly) the real reason.

“Right, so, I finished the headset!” Hatsume says, practically shoving it toward Yaoyorozu again.

“Really? I thought that would be one of the longest things to make,” Yaoyorozu says in surprise, taking it and flicking it on with the switch on the side. Hatsume looked borderline insulted when Yaoyorozu had told her she carried a physical dictionary in her hero costume and insisted on making a rudimentary headset for her to wear with a tiny screen and a matching computer holding all the information in her dictionary. Yaoyorozu wasn’t quite ready to switch to it immediately after it only having been built a few days ago, but the fact that it removed the largest weight in her hero costume as well as hopefully made the information more accessible was a good idea. And it would be on her face, one of the only places Yaoyorozu would almost never create something out of.

The screen flickers on with a fluorescent blue to a homepage listing all the materials and blueprints from her dictionary by group. Yaoyorozu is impressed at the depth of what Hatsume can build in such a short time.

“It was one of the more methodically difficult things to make, but a lot of the other babies need materials I don’t have, so they still need time to order and deliver,” Hatsume says casually.

Yaoyorozu blinks. “Oh, like what?”

Hatsume shrugs, fiddling with something on her workbench. “Some magnesium citrate, mostly. UA has a very wide stock but even they can’t have everything.”

Yaoyorozu turns the headset off and on again and swipes through a few of the categories to see if there are any obvious bugs in Hatsume’s coding. There aren’t. She takes another moment to marvel at Hatsume’s ability. “How long does that take to deliver?”

Hatsume hums, still fiddling. “Well, it only takes a few days to deliver. The main problem is that I could only find one person who was selling it who seemed legit, and with them it’s really expensive, so I have to spend some time saving up the money.”

Yaoyorozu instantly rockets off the table she’d been leaning on in shock. “What? You don’t need to do that!” She was already antsy about making Hatsume create whole new designs just for her, but the fact that Hatsume was spending money on this, for her, money she didn’t even have on hand, was downright distressing.

Hatsume waves a hand breezily. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Just the experience I can get from building it is good enough.”

“But-!” Yaoyorozu says, distressed.

Now, Yaoyorozu is a rational person. She believes wholeheartedly in the fact that she can’t just go around making anything for herself any time she wants. She knows that it’s virtually impossible for her to actually affect the economy on a mass scale, but it’s the principle of the thing, and the principle is to be a law-abiding citizen. She can’t just make things willy-nilly and skate by by making everything for herself without having to pay for it (especially since she already has money to spare). She makes as much of a point of it as she can to only use her Quirk in situations that really call for it.

But Mei Hatsume probably doesn’t have that kind of money to spare, and she said she actually had to spend time saving it up. For the materials to build something for Yaoyorozu, that she doesn’t even really need (it would be very nice to get it, but it’s nothing that’s going to compromise her training if she doesn’t have it) either. And Hatsume’s stubborn. She’s not going to be talked out of this.

Yaoyorozu is distressed.

Okay- just this once.

“Erm- how much do you- need?” Yaoyorozu says haltingly.

Hatsume sets down whatever she was fiddling with instantly. She’s unusually quiet and Yaoyorozu feels uncomfortably like Hatsume’s watching to see what she does. Hatsume slides off the table she was sitting on to look at her. “Four grams or so.”

Yaoyorozu grabs a nearby empty container and places her hand over it. She recalls the molecular structure (it’s simple enough) and magnesium citrate comes pouring out of her palm with a clatter into the jar. She smiles and holds it out to Hatsume, feeling deja vu to when she made the wrench. “Is this enough?”

Hatsume doesn’t even waste a second before grinning and grabbing it. “Oh yes, this is good!” She turns and sets it down easily on the table. Yaoyorozu blinks.

“You planned that, didn’t you?” she says, putting the pieces together. Yaoyorozu can’t really say she didn’t expect it- Hatsume is one of the most audacious people she knows. If she saw an opportunity, she’d go for it. Yaoyorozu sighs internally. “You were waiting for me to make it for you,” she says, crossing her arms, ready to make a show of polite and official disapproval.

“Yes and no. I wanted to see if you would,” Hatsume says cheerfully, doing something on her desk again (always something else to fiddle or work with, Yaoyorozu muses). “I wasn’t lying, it was super expensive. You can look that up if you want, where to buy magnesium citrate online, the only person selling it is way overpriced. But,” Hatsume shrugs, “you’re a nice person and all, and I knew you’d be able to make it. So I brought it up, and wow you are a nice person.”

Yaoyorozu huffs, but at the same time smiles. She’s not that frustrated for some reason. Maybe because this is just Hatsume Mei, and her absolute audacity is one of the reasons Yaoyorozu likes her in the first place. “Okay but, this can’t become a regular thing,” she says, shaking her head fondly but attempting to be serious. “There are moral and economical reasons why I shouldn’t just use my Quirk like that all the time, you know that right?”

“Of course!” Hatsume chirps, before snatching up the headset from where Yaoyorozu had temporarily set it down to make the magnesium citrate and handing it to her again. “Now, how’s that working? It’s only a prototype so I just made it a touchscreen but we’d obviously need to work on that because you might not have your hands free during battle, so maybe I could work a system where you can navigate based on coded blinks or winks- and of course the battery life is currently terrible, only about fifty minutes…”

Yaoyorozu quickly gets tugged into another discussion of support item options, and forgets about getting her point through to Hatsume about the responsibilities of her Quirk. Hopefully, it won’t become a regular occurrence, even without that.

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

It becomes a regular occurrence.

“Hey, Yaoyorozu? About that glove I was working on, I think I might need something extra to make it work-”

“No.” Yaoyorozu is in the hallway between classes, and she tries to keep walking without missing a beat, the way Hatsume does things. Unfortunately, Hatsume starts walking backwards to keep talking to her without missing a beat either.

“But come on!” Hatsume gestures wildly with both hands. It reminds Yaoyorozu faintly of Iida, but more free and unrestrained. “I’m so close. It just needs something to hold it together a teensy bit better and I know exactly where to get it!”

A moment later Yaoyorozu is forced to stop as Hastume shoves a laptop- where did she pull that out from?- in her face. She has barely a moment to focus her eyes on what’s on the screen before Hatsume starts talking. “One supplier online who’s willing to ship to Japan, and he’s in Brazil. Brazil! The shipping fee is through the roof, and he’s overcharging in the first place. Look at this!” Hatsume starts shaking the laptop up and down, which actually makes it harder to look at it.

“I get it, I get it-” Yaoyorozu grabs the laptop to still it, and sees, frankly, the sketchiest website she has ever seen. “Hatsume, I think this is a scam.”

“Yeah, that’s a possibility,” Hatsume says as Yaoyorozu hands back the laptop and starts walking again in an effort to get to class. This time, Hatsume trails slightly behind her instead of walking in front. “But Kendou seemed like she really wanted the gloves.”

Yaoyorozu stops. Inside, she’s already berating herself. “...They’re for Kendou?”

“Yeah, she wanted some gloves that would stretch with her hands but also protect them at the same time. You know, because right now she has to punch things basically with her bare fists? It seemed important.” Hatsume is looking at her oh-so-innocently.

Yaoyorozu chews her lip for a few seconds as she thinks. “Okay, just this one time, okay? I’ll come by later.”

“You’ve actually already done this for me twice now,” Hatsume says cheerfully.

“Well! That ends here,” Yaoyorozu says officially, reminding herself that she is a hero-in-training as well as class vice president. “This is the last time.”

----------

Yaoyorozu is at lunch when Hatsume drops down into the seat next to her as casual as anything, startling her. That’s a first. They’ve only ever talked in Hatsume’s workshop or in the halls before. “Oh, Hatsume, what are you doing here, how are you-” Yaoyorozu says, trying to exchange pleasantries before Hatsume jumps to whatever she came over here to say. A few of her classmates (Midoriya, Uraraka) turn to look curiously at them.

“Soooo, there’s something I’ve been tinkering on, you know, casually…” Hatsume pulls a paper out of her pocket and stuffs it into Yaoyorozu’s hand. “And it’s even worse than the other ones, it’s not that it’s overpriced, it’s that it’s nowhere online period, and-”

Yaoyorozu unfolds (uncrumples?) the paper and has only scanned it for a few seconds before something clicks in her head and her eyes widen. She quickly glances around while grabbing at and refolding the paper.

“Hatsume, can I talk to you for a second?” Yaoyorozu says with a fake laugh before grabbing Hatsume’s arm and tugging her a good distance away from the table.

“Hatsume, this isn’t legal,” Yaoyorozu hisses, shaking the paper, which she had hurriedly (but neatly) folded seven times.

Hatsume looks completely nonplussed, completely undeterred. She opens her mouth to say something-

“I mean, I actually don’t think this is a legal substance for you to have,” Yaoyorozu cuts across her desperately, ignoring the small ping that says that’s rude. “Not think- I know! You have to get a permit to get access to this stuff!” Hatsume pouts, like she’d been expecting this, as Yaoyorozu shakes the paper again for emphasis.

"How are you so calm?" Yaoyorozu demands. "Il-le-gal. Shouldn't that word mean something to you?"

Hatsume stares at her for a second. "There's a cartel on campus and I'm a part of it," she says with a completely straight face.

A beat passes.

"I-what? Hatsume- Hatsume this is serious!" A giggle starts to float up at the ridiculousness of it, but Yaoyorozu pushes down on it. "Right! Right. This is serious." She takes a small breath. "A permit. A permit! You'd need a permit!"

“Those are for people who don’t know how to use it properly,” Hatsume says, as if explaining something to a first grader. “I do.”

Yaoyorozu is scandalized. “That’s something that’s supposed to be determined by the government, Hatsume, not you, how could you-”

Suddenly, Mina pops up behind her, out of nowhere.“Oh, Hatsume, hi!” she says cheerfully. “What are you doing here?”

Two girls with pink hair and a decidedly casual regard for the rules, as well as a tendency to get overexcited. It’s a bad combination. Yaoyorozu scrambles to fix it.

“Ah, just getting some materials-” Hatsume says brightly, steamrollering all over Yaoyorozu’s plans.

“-discussing some support items she’s making for me!” Yaoyorozu cuts across her hurriedly.

Hatsume looks at her entreatingly. “As long as I use it up fast, no one will ever know-” she wheedles.

“Use what up fast?” Mina says, looking interested. Oh no.

“She just wanted me to help her on some support items she was building,” Yaoyorozu says, then turns to look at Hatsume directly. “Sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’d also at least advise you to try building something else,” Yaoyorozu says, hoping that will be that.

Hatsume tilts her head back and looks at Yaoyorozu consideringly. Then she rolls her eyes and sticks her hands in her pockets before leaning forward, yellow eyes eager. “Okay, so, yeah, I knew that was illegal before I came over-”

“ILLEGAL!? ”

Mina’s shriek is exceptionally louder than Yaoyorozu ever expected, loud enough to be definitely heard by their entire table. Yaoyorozu grabs both their hands and starts running.

“Okay, we’re going now-”