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to-star-lake · 3 years ago

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in the early days when you joined bonten as their new advisor, you spent a lot of time with koko; drawing up business plans, managing the books, overseeing construction on new clubs and buildings.

koko had the nicest office of all of the bonten leaders. it was on the top floor of a highrise in the middle of the shibuya business district. complete with high-end leather and mahogany furniture, and a gorgeous city view.

you'd spent time with each of the bonten executives when you joined and koko was probably your favorite to work with. you found takeomi too serious, kakucho boorish, mochi too macho, the haitani's were exhausting, and sanzu..well..

koko was like you; blunt and efficient with work, a little impatient, maybe a little condescending. you enjoyed your daily work with him in his office. it was always quiet, productive, and his assistants always served the best sencha.

except today.

today when you walked in through the mahogany double doors that led to his office, you were almost decked in the face by a toy rubber basketball.

"he shoots! he scores? no! he misses!" you heard a voice yell, followed by a maniacal cackling.

what...the hell is this? the floor of koko's office, which was normally clean, surgically clean, was littered with teddy bears, squeak toys, board games with their pieces strewn about haphazardly, a jump rope, a putting green, and a trash bin overflowing with crumpled candy wrappers.

the rubber basketball that almost hit your head rolled towards the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on one end of the room and you saw a kiddie basketball hoop attached to one of the shelves. and below that, sanzu, flopped on his stomach on the floor, a different flavored ring pop on each of his fingers.

"koko..i'm really bad at basketball," he grumbled, picking himself up and walked over to koko's desk, slamming his hands down on the surface, the sudden gust of wind almost blowing the stack of papers in front of koko away.

"oh no, well, why don't you go try the putt putt?" koko sighed, not even looking up from his work, waving his hand in the air like he was shooing away a fly. "ah, y/n! finally, someone sane. please, get over here, i need you to look at something," koko waved you over when he noticed you standing in the doorway.

you made your way across the minefield of toys on the floor and greeted sanzu as he walked past you. "good morning," you smiled cordially.

he sauntered past you, looking down at you through bloodshot, half-shut eyes, his usual sinister smile plastered wide across his face. he'd opened his mouth to say, "good morning, little prin-" but then stepped on a pile of toy soldiers and tripped, tumbling to the floor, his long limbs getting all tangled up in themselves.

"uh... hey, koko?" you took a seat in the armchair beside the desk, setting your laptop down on the tabletop. "what's going on here? where's mikey?"

koko let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes. "sometimes mikey goes off on his own, and when he does, the rest of us have to take turns...babysitting," he nodded at the gangly man with bubblegum colored hair with a plastic toy putter in his hands. "i pulled the short straw today," he sighed, pushing the large binder of documents he was looking at over to you.

"koko!!"

"jesus, what now?" koko looked up, so annoyed you could almost see the steam coming out his ears.

"there's no balls," sanzu pointed at the putting green on the floor.

"well, who decided to ambush people by pelting them with the balls outside the bathroom last time?"

sanzu stared back at koko blankly.

"ugh, nevermind. could you play with something else? y/n and i have work to do." koko scooted his seat closer to you, and began circling a few line items on the page in front of you. "got this today from the guys over at the club in akasaka. these totals look off to you?"

you glanced over the document, and flipped back a few pages and reviewed the itemized lists also included in the binder. "damn," you said, looking up at koko. "these assholes are skimming."

koko opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a sudden loud popping noise. both of you turned to see sanzu on the floor, pulling the heads off of a pile of barbie and ken dolls.

koko raised his hands to his temples, the frown lines between his eyebrows deepening by the second. "jesus christ, this psychotic clown, if he wasn't the number 2 I swear to god-” he muttered under his breath.

"hey, sanzu?" you called out and sanzu's head jerked up to look at you, his eyes suddenly bright and attentive, like a child amongst the sea of toys on the floor.

"yes, princess?" he called back.

"could you go on a coffee run for us?"

sanzu tilted his head a little, confused. "a coffee...run?"

"yeah...you know, to buy coffee?"

he blinked, still confused.

"to buy...starbucks?"

"ah! you want me to buy you starbucks," he suddenly shot up.

"yes! yes, please, for me and koko, that would be great," you smiled, thinking you were finally getting somewhere with him.

he walked over to the desk. "anything for you, princess. and you can call me haru," he hummed, taking a bright pink ring pop off his finger and sliding it onto your ring finger, and a blue one onto koko's ring finger. "be back in a flash."

he turned to walk out of the office, whistling and not bothering to avoid the toys scattered on the floor, simply stepping on them as he went.

the doors closed behind him and you turned to koko, "now we can get some work done."

"let's hope he takes his time," koko rolled his eyes, sliding the ring pop off his finger, holding onto only the plastic part as gingerly as possible, a disgusted look on his face because he could tell sanzu had definitely licked the candy already.

"is it always like this when mikey's away?"

"sanzu? yeah, pretty much. but mikey tolerates him cus he's been with him longer than any of us, he's his loyal mad dog," koko sighed. "but that bastard's insane. apparently back in the day he got moved back and forth between all of mikey's captains cus nobody could handle him."

"wow. yeah, i guess i can see that," you glanced over at all the toys scattered on the floor. "seems pretty tough for you too."

"oh, i've actually done the best with him," koko scoffed. "last time, he was the haitani brothers' responsibility, they decided to take him to a hostess club. thought it'd be a good distraction for him. crazy maniac decided to pay for all the women there."

"all of them? that's..that's a lot-"

"no, that's not the crazy part. he paid for all the women, and then made them line up against the wall with liquor bottles on top of their heads and he used them for target practice." koko ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "anyway, who knows when he's gonna be back so we should try to get as much done as possible while he's away."

you nodded. the two of you worked dilligently, reviewing the rest of the books collected from bonten's other clubs and businesses in town, making one stack for ones that pass, and one that required additional scrutiny.

after a while, you stretched your arms up over your head, noticing the sun hung high in the sky and glanced at the clock on the wall. it read 12:15.

"i wonder where he is," you said, realizing it'd been almost two and a half hours since he left.

"who knows what that lunatic gets up to," koko sighed, turning the page of the binder he was leafing through.

"i actually could've used some coffee though," you yawned.

"i can have my girls make some sencha-"

just then the doors to his office burst open, and sanzu staggered in, eyes blood red, a blue gift bag in one hand, the other dragging a giant 10-foot teddy bear behind him.

"and suddenly my headache's back," koko muttered and sanzu approached the two of you at the desk.

sanzu dragged the huge teddy bear over and plopped it beside you. "i got this for you, princess."

"hah..um...where'd you get this..giant thing?" you didn't even know where to begin.

"there's a carnival downtown. i got it playing a shooting game," he grinned from ear to ear. koko groaned, knowing sanzu, by 'shooting game' he probably meant he threatened to shoot the person manning the booth if he didn't give him the bear.

"hah..i see, thank you. but why is it missing its eyes?" you asked, looking at the bear's face and noticing the eyeballs had been ripped out, only some tattered threads remained in the sockets.

"they were ugly," sanzu shrugged. "koko, i got you something too," he dropped the gift bag down in front of koko.

"thanks.." koko reached into the bag and pulled out a tiny cross-stitched sweater which could've only been made for an infant. "uh...dude, what is this?"

"it's a sweater for your chihuahua," sanzu explained, yawning and plopping down onto a chair by the desk.

"i don't have a chihuahua?"

"i could've sworn you did," sanzu tilted his head, as though in deep thought. "oh, i guess it's just you that's always yapping. it's amazing y/n puts up with this every day," he laughed, but his tone was filled with hostility.

you saw koko's body tense in your periphery and you quickly spoke up to diffuse the sudden tension. "haru, did you get coffee?"

"coffee? oh! the starbucks. yes, i did."

you stared back at him. "that's great, uh...so where is it?"

"on the corner of harajuku square, by yoyogi station," he smiled.

"what?"

"oh my god," koko groaned, raising his palms to his eyes and rubbing them in circles.

you looked back and forth between koko and sanzu.

koko took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, turning to look at you. "he bought the starbucks."

#sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #bonten x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers x reader #sanzu fluff #sanzu x reader #despite being no.2 sanzu is bonten's baby you can't convince me otherwise #bontens murder baby #he just needs to be entertained ok #and he's just a *little* jealous of you and koko

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buck-yyyy · 2 years ago

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@spoopyscaryiguanadon HI HERE’S THE REST OF THE ESSAY I AM BEYOND HONORED

also, note- the assignment was to just write the intro and first paragraph to a DBQ, so it’s not missing chunks or anything, i just only had to write part of it-

~~~

Throughout the course of the nineteenth century, social reform took hold of America in new and innovative ways. Community structures such as prisons and mental hospitals were built, school systems were created, the Abolitionists were growing in number, and the Temperance movement, the movement arguing for the criminalization of alcohol, began to spread across the nation. At the same time, the ideals of Christian Evangelism were popularized by preachers around the country, encouraging Christians, especially young men, to disseminate their religious ideas and opinions in order to further spread Christianity. This evangelism would significantly change the way that social reform was performed in the first half of the nineteenth, as developments like the Temperance movement and the standardization of schools were primarily fueled by those Christian ideals.

The Temperance movement was fundamentally centered around the Bible's moral code, with vocal advocates of the criminalization of alcohol frequently using religion as a tool to push for their beliefs and to create a sense of fear in people, therefore motivating them to join the movement and further engage in religion. In The Drunkard's Progress, a set of illustrations done by John Warner Barber in 1829, a caption under an image of men in a bar drinking and being generally disruptive reads, "Ridicule and Hatred of Religion. The Gate of Hell" (Document 2). Above the images are proverbs from various books of the Bible. These references to religion, specifically Christianity, specify that the author considers alcohol to be an un-Christian practice, and an opening to the gateways of Hell, tainting his opinion on the immorality of alcohol due to strong outside influences, rather than having an opinion based on observation and fact. Five years later, in 1834, Charles Grandison Finney would write to the New York Evangelist, a religious newspaper, saying, "The worst part of human society are softened and reclaimed, and made to appear as lovely specimens of the beauty of holiness" (Document 4). Finney claims that with the second coming of Christ, an event predicted to lead to the abrupt and eternal damnation of sinners and the praise of so-called "good Christians", that the act of repenting would cleanse sinners of their misdeeds and allow them to fall into the arms of Jesus. The rise of this mindset coinciding with the birth of the Temperance movement led to a great deal of religious interference in the discussion around the banning of alcohol, creating bias in the minds of religious zealots who felt that their religion was deserving of privilege and the confirmation of truth over other belief systems, whether they be religious or simply personal political ideals. This inherent bias asks the question, 'how much of a movement can be inspired by religion before it becomes an entirely religious movement altogether?' If the Temperance movement was so heavily run and influenced by evangelists- should it not be considered an evangelist movement altogether?

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nerdygaymormon · 3 years ago

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Im not LDS but Im fascinated by the idea of God the Father being born as mortal in another realm or galaxy & possibly being a redeemer like his Son is. In also fascinated by the idea of infinite regression of gods. I find Joseph Smith teachings in the King Follett discourse & the sermon on the grove interesting. My questions are Ive also read in LDS only teachings in his teachings that are in the standard works OT, NT, BOM, D&C, POGP are binding doctrines in the church to be Mormon. So does this mean only teachings related to being intelligence eternally existing with God, preexistence as spirits before birth are doctrine but God once being mortal & the other Divine beings is Joseph speculations & optional teachings & not binding to be in LDS church? These are ideas that make LDS fascinating to me. I probably will never convert because I am openly gay & a same sex married but I am Wiccan/Pagan. Im thinking of practicing Mormon spirituality but as a loner. Thank you of you answer my questions. I love yr blog

Thanks for the compliment! 😊

Most of the more unique and interesting aspects of Mormonism are not found in the scriptures, or if they are referenced it's not clear and has to be inferred.

The standard works (OT, NT, BOM, D&C, POGP) are canon, meaning they're accepted as authoritative. The D&C is open to new sections being added, but this rarely happens. There are many other documents which are not canon but carry a lot of weight, such as the Proclamation on the Family and the King Follet discourse.

King Follett discourse is one of the classics of Church literature and teaches the doctrine that humans can progress to exaltation and godliness. This used to be a much more prevalent teaching, but it seems that ever since Gordon B. Hinckley minimized this in Time magazine the LDS Church has shied away from teaching it.

Here's the quote: In an interview with TIME, President Hinckley seemed intent on downplaying his faith's distinctiveness. The church's message, he explained, "is a message of Christ. Our church is Christ-centered. He's our leader. He's our head. His name is the name of our church." At first, Hinckley seemed to qualify the idea that men could become gods, suggesting that "it's of course an ideal. It's a hope for a wishful thing," but later affirmed that "yes, of course they can." (He added that women could too, "as companions to their husbands. They can't conceive a king without a queen.") On whether his church still holds that God the Father was once a man, he sounded uncertain, "I don't know that we teach it. I don't know that we emphasize it... I understand the philosophical background behind it, but I don't know a lot about it, and I don't think others know a lot about it."

One thing President Hinckley did was downplay many of the unique aspects of LDS doctrine in order to make the church seem more palatable to other Americans and Christians. This has also meant we rarely talk about the King Follett discourse or if God the Father also was a Savior as Jesus was, and if God the Father has a Father, a regression of Gods as you put it. We want to be seen as monotheists even though we clearly have more than one godly being. Where I live, the leadership doesn't want us singing hymns that mentions Kolob or Heavenly Mother because that would be strange to any visitors in attendance.

While we don't talk about these things in Sunday School anymore, those ideas still are present in Mormonism, particularly in temple worship and in the motivation the church has against queer people.

In the temple becoming like God is the focal point of the ceremonies, that a man & woman can progress together to godhood.

Because queer people can't progress to godhead, that is a large motivator against queer rights, gay marriage, teachings about gender roles and how queer couples don't fit them.

All that being said, there's a growing number of church membership who are asking questions, such as where does it say gay couples can't marry? Why would God create queer people and then forbid them from these basic parts of life that bring happiness or ban queer people from progression to being like God? The Church leaders are having a hard time, they don't have answers how queer people fit into God's Plan or what their purpose is in life. Their response has been to erase queer people from pre-existence and from life after death. That still doesn't address what queer people are to do during this life, what our purpose is.

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bat-losers-inc · 3 years ago

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Song of Cassandra: Chapter 2

Warnings: Family Drama, Family Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Baggage, and Child Neglect

Summary: What is Batman without a Robin? Everyone in the family makes jokes about the ‘dead robins club’, but Dick and Jason really do have measures set in place for the day Bruce loses sight of what’s really important. They won’t let Bruce sacrifice another Robin for the cause, even if that means separating Robin from Batman for good.

Pairings: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, and Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

_____________________________________

Half a year later saw them performing a feat of brotherly bonding he’d never imagined possible: robbing Penguin together.

They’d left the Tricorner district behind in a streak of burnt rubber and a barrage of gunfire and ditched the getaway van in Chinatown at the first available 24-hour parking facility on the other side of the bridge. It was slower going on foot, but Chinatown’s busy night scene, combined with the heavy triad presence in this district, would make Penguin’s men hesitate before going in guns blazing. That was all the time they needed to slip away unseen.

Now, as they emerged from the darkness of the parking deck, Dick yanked the balaclava off his head. He grunted something unintelligible as he shouldered his way through the cluster of pedestrians that crowded the sidewalk.

“What?” asked Jason, pulling his own half-mask down from around his neck and jogging to catch up.

“I said, you’re a real bastard. You promised me this was would be easy!”

Jason glanced at him. He wanted to be sympathetic but he just couldn’t when Dick was glaring at him with that staticky mop of hair. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice when he replied, “You’re the one who said we shouldn’t leave a paper trail! This is about as easy as stealing from Penguin’s bagman gets.”

In truth, he thought they were complaining just for the sake of complaining. After six months they both knew that pulling off this heist was less a matter of choice and more a matter of necessity. Failure meant returning to the storage locker Dick had procured outside of Port Adams and staring down their measly little bat-trust-fund: six safehouses, fifteen rolls of Kevlar fabric, a small arsenal, twenty-seven contacts typed into a Word document, and $5,025 split five ways. But what use would kevlar suits be if their siblings couldn’t afford to keep a roof over their heads? No, without the cash it was worth fuck-all.

Dick looked like he wanted to argue the point further but at that moment a convoy of police vehicles shot past them, sirens wailing and horns blaring loud enough to deafen a person. No doubt by now Penguin’s men had informed their boss about the botched exchange and pinned the blame on their nearest rivals, the Ghost Dragons. If that was the case, then Chinatown was a powder keg ready to explode into a minor gang war at any moment.

A flash of light reflected off the windows of a nearby apartment building. Jason stepped in between two parked cars to get a better look and found himself staring up at the cloud-heavy night sky illuminated in the glow of the bat signal.

He gripped the heavy duffel bag full of stolen cash closer to his chest like he expected Gotham’s dark knight to swoop down at any moment and tear it from his shoulder.

“Hey,” Dick tugged at his arm. “time to go.”

Batman was on the way and like the best of Gotham’s criminals, Jason and Dick made themselves scarce.

It took nearly forty minutes and three subway lines to make their way back to the self-storage facility. By then a pale glow had crept up from the horizon and spread across the water. Around them, the street lights began to shut off one after another. In the distance, Jason could just make out a tugboat as it pushed a barge out towards the open ocean.

By the time Dick pulled the storage locker door down behind them, they were tired-eyed and footsore.

Jason threw the duffel bag onto a table and propped himself against it as he fished one-handed under his t-shirt to undo the straps of his protective vest. He sighed in relief as the weight lifted off his shoulders. “How the hell did you stand wearing these things when you were on the force? Even with the undershirt, the chaffing is god-awful.”

“You get used to it,” Dick replied, making quick work of removing his own gear.

Jason doubted it but he was too tired to argue his point further. Instead, he found the six-pack that he’d stashed under the table earlier that day and snapped off a can.

“Heads up,” he called, as he pitched a can underhand to Dick who caught it against his chest.

Dick held it up for inspection. “Warm beer. What I’ve always wanted.”

“Oh shut up and celebrate with me, you asshole.”

He extended his arm across the table. Dick knocked beer cans with him and completely failed at hiding the shy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, though god bless him he tried. “Cheers.”

Jason watched him crack open the top and chuckled as he hurriedly slurped at the foam that erupted over the rim. He knew that this morally gray lifestyle didn’t come easy to Dick but he couldn’t deny that he was happy he had stuck around with him for this long. He didn’t dare to say it out loud, but they actually made good partners.

He took a long drink from his own beer can before putting it aside. “Ok, come on. The faster we count this cash the sooner we can go to bed.”

Jason upturned the duffel bags, sending stacks of cash sliding out onto the metal tabletop while Dick pulled the banknote counter from the corner and lugged the machine up next to the pile. Together they started slipping the currency bands loose and feeding the stacks of cash into the machine, watching eagerly as the sum continued to tick upwards.

“Soo…” Jason drummed his thumbs on the table as the numbers continued to flash on the small screen, “How are things going with you and Babs?”

“What?” Dick’s eyebrows drew together. “Why?”

Jason shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m a little curious about what she thinks you do when you’re out late all the time… also, I’m bored.”

“You’re weird, is what you are.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Seriously? We’ve only spent the past six months together moonlighting as vigilante survivalists and I can’t ask one time how your love life is going.”

“No, no. Sorry, you’re right.” Dick held up a hand. “I told her I’ve been helping you out with an undercover case for a couple of months now. Said I owed you a favor.”

Jason grinned at him. “Well, that’s not a lie. Quite a few actually, but who’s counting.”

Dick punched him in the shoulder. “Actually, I should call her. Reassure her you didn’t get me killed before she calls in a search party.”

Jason chuckled and went back to the task of feeding bills into the machine as Dick rummaged through the backpack and fished out his phone.

“Hey, uhh...”

Jason glanced up and took in Dick’s furrowed expression as he stared down at his phone. He put down the stack of cash he was holding. “What’s the matter?”

“Something happened while we were out. I — shit I don’t know how to explain it but I’ve got like 15 missed messages from Barbara and Alfred. Did you bring your phone with you?”

Jason grabbed his backpack where his own phone was stashed and opened it to find a similar mass of missed calls and incoherently excited messages cluttering the screen. Some of the numbers he recognized, Steph, Barbara, and Alfred were all saved in his phone, but a few were from unknown senders. If he had to venture some guesses he’d say Cass, Duke… maybe Harper? Fuck, he never realized this many bat brats had his number. “I don’t get it… something about Tim? What about hell?”

“I’m calling Babs.”

Jason was aware of how uncomfortably loud their breathing sounded in the small storage locker as they stood around the table waiting for Dick’s call to connect.

“Dick?” Barbara’s voice asked loudly through the speaker. “Thank God! Where have you been? I’ve been calling and calling you.”

“Sorry, undercover mission, remember? What’s the big emergency? I didn’t get anything from Bruce.”

“You need to get back to the manor. Bruce found Tim!”

That didn’t make any sense. “What? You mean Bruce found Tim’s remains?”

Jason smacked his arm. “His remains? Are you fucking serious? What remains could Bruce possibly find after a death like that?”

“I don’t know, bone fragments—”

Dick’s argument sounded flimsy the moment it left his mouth and they both knew it. Jason just really hated to be the one who had to say it.

“If the heat from that explosion didn’t finish him off entirely then the pounding impact of like a hundred thousand missiles definitely did in whatever remains might have been left.”

“Guys—” called Babs.

“Oh, so you’re a forensic scientist now? You don’t know that—“

“Yes, I do!” He slammed a hand down on the table, his anger flaring. He really couldn’t do this backslide back into denial with Dick again. “There’s a reason we buried an empty box. Tim is literally dust in the wind.”

“Jesus Christ!” Barbara’s voice erupted loudly through the speakerphone. “Kill it with the broody back and forth already and actually listen to me, would you? I’m not talking about bone fragments or anything like that. I’m saying Bruce found Tim. Tim! He’s alive.”

Jason met Dick’s eyes over the phone, confusion written as starkly across Dick’s face as it must have been on his own. “What? I— What?”

“I really don’t understand it all myself. But Tim said he’s been held captive by Mr. Oz in another dimension for this whole time. Can you believe it? All this time we thought he was dead and...”

Jason didn’t catch that last bit. He was too busy bent over the table as all the blood rushed to his head.

He was gonna hurl. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

They’d all given up on the hope of Tim miraculously surviving a long time ago and this sudden news felt like he was experiencing emotional whiplash. This had to be some kind of sick joke or a trick... a doppelganger sent by the newest enemy on the rise against Batman.

Dick’s thoughts were apparently spiraling in the same direction as his own for he ran a hand roughly across his mouth and asked, “You saw him yourself? You’re sure it’s him, our Tim?”

But it wasn’t a big cosmic joke. As much as Jason couldn’t believe it, it wasn’t and that was made clear with every new piece of information Babs gave them.

“Yes, he was standing right in front of me only an hour ago — crying and hugging everyone.”

Dick turned to look at Jason, but he was already rounding the table and yanking Dick into a bruising hug.

“He’s alive,” Dick cried into the shoulder of his t-shirt. His voice overflowed with the most contagiously hysterical mixture of joy. Jason laughed through his own tears. “You bet your ass he is!”

He couldn’t explain what had come over him. He and Dick had never really been close — and they definitely weren’t huggers — but the last few months had been so full of this gnawing air of anxiety — their family continuing to fracture, the resources running dry — that the full realization was starting to hit them that this plan might have been formed too late to do any real good. They could feel the clock running out and they were both expecting the other shoe to drop any day now but then out of the blue… this.

Dick pushed away from him suddenly and wiped at his eyes.

“Uh…” he tried to clear his throat. “We, uh, we should get back to the cave and go see him for ourselves. Babs, he still there, right?”

“Yeah, Bruce is debriefing him.”

And just like that, Jason’s joy seized painfully in his chest. It hurt the way a seatbelt does in a car crash, knocking the air out of your lungs and bringing you up short. He watched Dick rush around him, grabbing up his belongings in a disorganized fashion.

“Dick, I can’t come with you.”

“What?” Dick asked, breathless. He turned back from the door. “Yes, you can. C’mon, get your stuff, the money can wait till tomorrow.”

Jason shook his head. Fuck, how the hell was he supposed to explain this to him without looking like the one asshole member of this family who didn’t want to visit his little brother recently brought back from the dead.

Dick paused, his hand dropping from the door handle. “What? Because of what happened between you and Bruce?”

I was a fool for ever believing in you. Even now Bruce’s words lingered at the back of his head. An invisible brand that still held its heat.

“Jason, I know what went down between you and Bruce was… heavy, to say the least, but you’re still family. You do know that, right? You’re still my family and if you want to see Tim, Bruce can do fuck-all to stop it. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jason could only huff a sad laugh at that because God did he want to believe that too, but he knew it wasn’t that simple. Tim would always be his family, but Bruce… he’d crossed a point of no return with Bruce on the night that the fortress was destroyed. The violence of his assault had done more than break a few bones— it had finally shattered that last shred of trust he’d stupidly harbored in him that when push came to shove Bruce would value the son over the soldier. I broke his rules for the last time and now he sees me as nothing more than an unredeemable criminal that escaped Batman’s justice. One of his little soldiers gone AWOL.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… I can’t face him yet— I—” he trailed off. He’d been laying low since his return to Gotham, but even still Jason thought the only reason he’d survived this long was because Bruce was too consumed with Tim’s death to spend a spare thought on him. He wasn’t ready to walk into that cave tonight and find out what would happen now that Tim was back in the picture and Bruce’s anger focused back on him.

It felt like a horrible selfish thing to think about saving his own skin when his little brother had come back from the dead, but as his eyes lingered at the collection of items piled around the storage locker he was reminded that no one was going to do it for him. After all, that was how this plan had all started right? Someone had to be the one to craft the safety net for the next Robin to fall of Batman’s mighty pedestal.

“You should go. Tell Tim I’m glad he inherited my cockroach-like ability to not stay dead.”

“Jason…” Dick twisted the jacket he held in his hands.

“Go.” It came out sharper than he’d intended, despite his best efforts to push his emotions down. He was quick to try to smooth it over with a tight smile that he knew fooled neither of them. “I’ll stop by his apartment tomorrow once all the hype has died down. Besides, someone needs to finish up here.”

He nodded at the banknote counter.

The one thing he’d always valued about Dick, more than his caring nature, was that he knew when to stop pushing an issue.

“Alright,” Dick shifted his grip on his jacket again. His phone was chiming once more in the back pocket of his jeans. No doubt another family member asking where he was. “I’ll call you tomorrow to check in.”

“Sure.”

After the door to the storage locker fell shut, Jason let his gaze travel around the room again. So Tim was back, alive and well as far as any of them were concerned. A nagging part of Jason’s mind wondered worriedly if gaining him back would slowly undo all the plans they had made together. Would Dick continue to worry about the next crisis to befall their little family or would Tim’s return renew his neverending faith in the impossible until he eventually forgot what it was that drove him to his breaking point?

Jason picked up another stack of banknotes and slid it into the machine. As the numbers continued to rise once more he did his best to prepare himself for the idea that he would be alone in this mission once more. Another bitter pill to swallow but he couldn’t do it. It lodged itself raw and unpleasant at the back of his throat.

18 notes · View notes

letswritebangtan · 4 years ago

Text

Let’s Get Tattoos Together

pairing: tattooartist!Jungkook x female!reader

prompt: Jungkook dreamed of opening his own tattoo parlour with his hyung, Yoongi, and when he finally did, you show up on his doorstep asking for a job and he’s not happy to give it to you. Lord knows how you two end up having sex in his studio. :)

warnings: mature content! 18+ read at your own risk.

ask box: open

masterlist

_________________________________________________________

You know those moments where you expect too much and then feel more pissed than let down because damn they fucked up bad? That moment was now. Jungkook and Yoongi stared up at the neon signboard in utter disgust and shame just thinking about how someone could screw up this bad.

“It’s not even black.” Jungkook muttered in disbelief.

“It’s neon.” Yoongi confirmed.

“They didn’t even get the spelling right.” Jungkook continued.

Yoongi huffed “. . . What’s ‘BONKED’ supposed to read as?”

“Sounds like a strip club.”

“Yup.” Yoongi said popping the ‘p’.

“We can’t afford a new one, hyung.” Jungkook whined.

“You don’t think I know that?” Yoongi said gruffly.

He was beyond irritated at this moment. Both him and Jungkook had poured their entire life savings into opening this tattoo parlor and he was one hundred percent sure that absolutely no one was ever going to walk into a painful neon green store called BONKED to get a tattoo or to get anything for that matter.

“We’ll just have to make do.”

“I feel like I’m gonna barf.” Jungkook mumbled.

“Well your barf on this building won’t make it look any worse.”

The weeks went by and the boys worked hard to start up this little business of theirs. Jungkook spent hours walking around handing out flyers to people to let them know that what they were standing in front of was indeed a tattoo parlor and not some front for a shady business. Meanwhile, Yoongi sat indoors and worked on how he could at least make the inside of the store look decent. It was a tough few months for them but they kept going. A few customers popped in once in a while and it was mostly Yoongi who worked on them because between him and Jungkook, he was more experienced and they wanted to leave a good first impression on their customers.

Jungkook spent his after-hours in the store working on sketches and practicing on himself. He was running out of space on his right arm so it was time for him to start thinking of where to go next. Even though Yoongi was more experienced, Jungkook was incredibly talented in his field. His attention to detail and the focus he had when working on a piece was flawless. Jungkook didn’t tattoo often, but when he did, his work always turned out to be perfect.

A few months into the business was when things started to get a lot more rocky.

“Did you clear out the register yesterday?” Yoongi asked.

“Yeah, they’re in the safe.”

“We need to start doing our accounts, Jungkook-ah. Let’s see if we have anything we can use to change this place up a little.”

Hours and hours into doing their accounts the two fell face-flat onto their desks.

“We have nothing. Zero.” Jungkook mumbled.

“Actually, it’s negative. We’re in a deficit.”

The two of them groaned and flipped through more receipts and bills in hopes of some good news but they couldn’t do it.

“I guess I’ll grab some dinner.” Jungkook said as he stood up and cleared the table.

“Make it quick, I’m starving.”

“Okay, grandpa.” Jungkook mocked and Yoongi sent him a glare, making the youngest snicker.

The bell chimed and their attention moved immediately to the door. They watched you in surprise as you entered the store around 5 minutes before closing time. Looking around, you got slightly startled when you saw two guys gawking at you, but you cleared your throat and stepped forward slightly.

“Uh hi, you guys aren’t closed yet are you?”

There was a small silence for a while. Jungkook couldn’t find it in himself to speak so Yoongi took over.

“We aren’t, but if you’re looking to get a job done you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Oh,” you smiled nervously, “Actually I’m not here for any of that. I noticed that you guys are relatively new in the area and I was wondering if you needed any help around here?”

Yoongi looked confused, “As in, you’re looking for a job?”

You nodded.

Jungkook spoke up, “As a tattoo artist?” he said skeptically. His tone sounded offended and it struck you as quite rude.

You frowned at him, “No actually, not as a tattoo artist but as anything else.”

“Sorry, we don’t need anybody.” Jungkook dismissed you gruffly.

God, why was he being so rude?

“Really? I couldn’t help but notice that you guys aren’t doing too well here.” you spoke back.

Jungkook eyed you up and down. “Excuse me? What makes you say that? We’re doing great and business is booming. Isn’t that right, hyung?” he looked at the older man.

“Um, well it hasn’t-”

“See? Just fine.” Jungkook retorted.

“That’s a lie. I can tell if businesses are doing well or if they aren’t.” you crossed your arms smirking.

“Can you now? What makes you think ours isn’t?” Jungkook scoffed.

“Well for starters, I don’t see anybody in here-”

“We’re about to close.” Jungkook defended.

“I didn’t finish.” you said raising your eyebrows. “I don’t see anybody in here ever.”

Jungkook scowled, he was annoyed at the audacity of this random stranger to be entering his store and criticising his business.

“Secondly, no one around here knows what this store does. I spoke with the lady from the bakery across the street and she claimed that this was some kind of gay bar?”

Yoongi and Jungkook looked perplexed and their expressions had you holding in your laughter.

“It wasn’t until my friend came in the other day for a tat, that he told me this place was actually just another tattoo parlor.”

“Jesus Christ.” Yoongi huffed.

“Oh and also, the sign-”

“Don’t even.” Jungkook huffed and looked away.

You felt proud of yourself, but at the same time looking at these young, passionate boys’ faces you knew they must have put in a shit ton of effort to get this place up and running, and you had no right to just come in here and point out their flaws like that. What they needed was a solution.

“With all that being said,” you paused momentarily. “I can help you guys fix it.”

“I told you that we don’t need-”

“Jungkook, shut up for a moment will you? Go on.” Yoongi urged you.

“I majored in Accounts and Finance, I also have knowledge and experience on marketing, plus I’ve got a decent eye for things and that being said, that signboard has got to go.”

“Accounts? Wait, take a look at these.” Yoongi called you over to the table and Jungkook just watched in disbelief. The betrayal he felt from his hyung was unbelievable.

You stood over the table which looked like a mess, by the way. Papers strewn everywhere, random documents, some cash pile in the corner and a half-full mug of coffee.

“Sorry, it’s a little gross.” Yoongi apologised.

You chuckled, “It’s no big deal. Could I have a look at those receipts?”

The two guys watched you as you silently picked up different sheets of paper and scanned it thoroughly, mumbling numbers to yourself in the process. Well, these guys weren’t doing too bad but you knew they could do better. You glanced at the pile of cash at the corner of the desk and looked over to Yoongi.

“What’s that?”

“Hyung, she’s after our money.” Jungkook said quickly.

You glared at him and he shot you one back. Why was he out to get you? Despite his annoying traits, you couldn’t deny the fact that he was extremely good-looking. Well, the both of them were. But there was something about Jungkook that had you drooling in that small secret compartment of your head. He was well-built, his pecs pushing out through his t-shirt, his sleeves clinging to his biceps and his defined collarbones on full view. His hair was like a black mop, it looked soft and silky and it framed his face nicely. He had a really cute nose and the softest looking eyes but his expression was harsh towards you and you had no idea why.

“It’s what we owe. We’re running in a bit of a loss right now.” Yoongi said ignoring Jungkook.

“A loss?” you asked confused. “That shouldn’t be right, look.” you moved to sit next to Yoongi and showed him the contents on the paper. After explaining to him in detail you moved the pile of cash from the end of the table towards them.

“This is all yours, you guys. You’ve been looking at it wrong. This shop isn’t doing too bad, but it isn’t great either. If this keeps up, you’ll probably start making losses in the next 3 months or so. But you might not, if you’ll let me help.” you persuaded.

“And I’m not here to steal your money.” you said pointedly to Jungkook. “In fact, I won’t ask for anything for the first few months. When I’ve proven that I’ve improved this store and when you can afford it, you can pay me then. What do you guys say?”

Yoongi looked convinced, and he turned to the youngest to ask for his approval.

“Looks like we need her after all, Jungkook.”

Jungkook squinted his eyes at you and took a deep breath, letting out a loud huff. “Fine, so be it.” he said grumpily.

You beamed and thanked them, Yoongi even shook hands with you.

“Hold on, you didn’t even tell us your name.” Yoongi asked.

“Oh shit, right. I’m sorry that was rude of me, I’m y/n.” you apologised.

“I’m Min Yoongi, and this is Jeon Jungkook. We’ve been friends since kindergarten, so we’re pretty close. It’s been a dream of ours to open this place.” Yoongi said smiling softly.

“That’s amazing, you guys should be proud that you’ve gotten here.” you said genuinely.

Jungkook glanced at you then and you made eye contact with him. He awkwardly picked up his car keys and phone whilst looking away from you.

“I’ll go grab dinner before they close.” he spoke to Yoongi.

“Oh no, did I hold you guys back? I’m sorry, you should really have your dinner. I’ll leave now.” you stood up.

“That’s alright, oh and Jungkook will walk you to your car, won’t you Jungkook?” Yoongi asked smirking.

Jungkook looked startled and had that same look of betrayal on his face, this time there was a shade of pink.

“What? But she can- ugh fine.” Jungkook grumbled. “Hurry up.” he snapped at you and you rolled your eyes at him.

“You’ll have to excuse him, don’t take it personally.” Yoongi said to you once Jungkook was outside.

“Well that’s gonna be tough.” you replied playfully. “See you tomorrow! Good night.” you said cheerily and followed Jungkook outside.

____________________________________________________

Your first week at the job went by pretty quickly. Yoongi showed you around so you’d get used to the place. He showed you to your working space which wasn’t the best but it was the best that he could afford. There was that desk you used when you first entered, and there were some cute little plants on the table. They even gave you new pens, pencils and a calculator. There was a desk fan attached to your table and its wires were heavily tangled everywhere but it was all they had. It was obvious that they did their best to welcome you, and you felt touched about it.

Most of your time was spent doing the accounts of course, and you were really efficient with them. It was a really relaxed work environment, sometimes Yoongi showed up with coffee or some snacks which you appreciated. Jungkook would ask to borrow a pencil from time to time, and as much as you were mad at him you couldn’t say no because they probably gave you everything they had to make a good first impression and the thought that they couldn’t afford to buy more pencils saddened you. During your breaks you’d lounge around and maybe check up on Jungkook to see what he was drawing. Whenever you’d ask him he’d always reply with an annoyed grunt or he’ll shoo you away.

One day, you really tried to find that goodness in your heart to do something nice for Jungkook so that maybe he wouldn’t be so pissy towards you, so you bought him a carton of banana milk and a pack of oreos. When you handed it to him, he looked at you so weirdly and you became so uncomfortable that you never wanted to be in situations with him like that ever again. So the acts of kindness stopped. There was also another thing you made yourself be in charge of: weekly meetings. Yoongi always told you that you didn’t have to make it so official since it was just the three of you working just like how three friends worked on a group project but you insisted.

“Do I really have to write all this down?” Jungkook complained.

“Aren’t you secretary?” you scolded.

“Well yeah, but I didn’t have a choice.”

“So you better do your job before I fire you.”

Jungkook gaped at you and turned to Yoongi. “Hyung are you hearing this?!”

“Don’t make her fire you, Jungkook.”

It was about 10 weeks later and you were close to hitting the target set for the store. It was important that you proved to them that you were good at your job and that you deserved a place here. You didn’t want to leave, because it was really nice working with them. You felt secure and they were like your friends, or at least Yoongi was. That night, you stayed after closing time to continue working on statements. Something just wasn’t working, and you had to figure out what. After hours of staring at the same numbers over and over again you felt like you needed a break. Just then, Jungkook entered the corner of your workspace.

“You’re still here?” he asked surprised.

You nodded, “Well I’m not finished so yes. I don’t think I’m leaving anytime soon.”

“Well don’t stay up too late.”

Surprised, you looked up at him so fast that you startled him slightly.

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” you laughed softly as you stretched your body in your chair.

He scoffed, “I only said that because I’m the one who has to close up after you so if you don’t leave neither can I.”

“Thanks for ruining the moment.”

“My pleasure.” he replied with a smug smile.

Rolling your eyes, you stood up from your chair and grabbed your phone and purse. “I’m going to get some coffee, want anything?” you asked.

“Coffee at 10 p.m.?” he asked while judging you.

“Well, I guess that’s a no.” you mumbled and headed to the door.

“Wait.” he called out. Turning around abruptly you didn’t expect him to be that close behind you that you ended up crashing into his chest. You stumbled but he caught you by your shoulders to steady you. He was looking right at you and this was physically the closest the two of you had ever been.

“Easy there, if you’re hurt Yoongi will literally rip me apart.” he mumbled.

Trying to ignore the redness in your cheeks you smiled awkwardly and stood upright as Jungkook let go of you. “I don’t blame him.” you shrugged and laughed when you saw Jungkook’s annoyed expression.

“Wait, I forgot why we ended up here. What was it you asked me?” you said.

“Right, I was uh- just you know thinking of maybe asking if you’d like me to drive you...to the coffee shop...” he said nervously.

“Wow.” was all that you replied, and Jungkook looked even more embarrassed.

“Forget it.” he said moving away.

“No! Sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-just, yeah. Drive me, I’d like you to drive me there, please?” you asked quickly.

Surprised by your sudden reaction he felt his heart relax a little when you didn’t reject his offer.

“Okay cool.” he said clearing his throat awkwardly.

It was really quiet in the car, and also really awkward. There was so much tension with that embarrassing encounter the two of you had just five minutes ago. You tried to take your mind off it, and your thoughts aimlessly wandered to how handsome Jungkook looked while he was driving. His hair covered his eyes a little, and you could see all the piercings on his left ear. That’s hot, you thought to yourself. His tattoos on his right arm were visible as he gripped the wheel with that hand and at this point you were shamelessly staring at him.

“Enjoying the view?”

You hummed, and then snapped out of your daydreaming only to see Jungkook chuckling at you.

“I mean, no! I was just- I was looking out the window and I wasn’t really looking anyway I was thinking and your biceps were distracting so I-wait! No no no, shit what’s wrong with me?” you freaked.

Jungkook only laughed even more at this and then turned to look at you.

“Does y/n have a crush?” he teased.

You looked at him with a deadpanned expression, “Are you seriously teasing me about a guy when that guy is you?”

“So you are crushing on me. Interesting...”

“Oh my god, shut up! I am absolutely not, in no way attracted to you.”

“Ouch.” he winced playfully.

“You heard me.” you grumbled as you turned to look the other way so he couldn’t see the blush on your cheeks. You thanked god that it was dark and he couldn’t see you red all over.

He snickered and pulled up in front of the coffee shop.

“I’ll wait here, could you grab something for me too? Surely you’d do anything for me since you know, you like me and all...” he continued to tease.

You grabbed your phone and purse and stormed out of the car. “I ain’t getting shit for you, asshole!” you yelled as you walked away which had Jungkook dying of laughter since literally everyone around was staring at you.

Back at the store, you sipped on your coffee as you worked out more numbers. Jungkook sat on the beanbag across from you sketching by himself. Yoongi had already left a while ago so it was just the two of you.

As you were writing something down Jungkook spoke up.

“How’d you know that this was my usual?” he asked holding up the coffee cup.

You looked up from the paper and looked back down, pushing your work glasses up your nose. “One time, Yoongi accidentally handed me your drink instead of mine and when I took a sip it tasted like garbage so followed my intuition and I ordered the worst thing in there.” you said plainly.

“My drink is not garbage.” Jungkook retorted.

“Yes it is, it’s not even coffee. It’s all milk and sugar.”

“Well I’m a milk and sugar person, what’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong is your offending the real coffee-drinkers out there.”

“There’s nothing wrong with adding milk and sugar to your drinks.” Jungkook whined and you couldn’t help but to smile at him being effortlessly cute.

“Okay, whatever you say.”

But Jungkook wasn’t too happy with that response. “Say it like you mean it.” he ordered.

“Excuse me what?” you looked at him confused.

“Say that there’s nothing wrong with my drink.” he demanded.

You scoffed, “What are you, eight?”

“Well if you’re not gonna say it...” he shrugged.

You ignored him and went back to work. A few seconds later you nearly had a heart attack because Jungkook was pouring some of his coffee into yours.

“What the hell!” you yelled and tried to grab the cup from him and both your coffee’s ended up spilling all over the accounts sheets.

You just stood there in shock and disappointment as you stared at the soaking wet paper that could not be saved. You pinched the bridge of your nose and took in a sharp breath. “Jungkook.” you muttered lowly.

The poor boy was also in shock, knowing he fucked up badly and now he was going to have to pay for it.

“I- it was an accident I didn’t intend to-”

“Why are you such a brat?! You couldn’t just leave it could you?! I spend day after day rotting my ass off here trying to crunch these numbers and when I’m so close to finding something you had to shove your annoying ass into my work-do you know how much time has been wasted now that all these are gone and Yoongi is going to kill me if I don’t get this done in time even though it was your fault! And no, I will never admit that there’s anything fine with your drink, you or your stupid!-mmpfh”

It came to you as a shock when you realised you had a pair of lips pressed against yours. They were soft and they molded against yours perfectly making you weak in the knees. A hand cupped your face and brought you closer, your waist pressing against the table in front of you. Your hands rested below you on the desk as Jungkook kissed you, capturing your lips with his over and over again until you pulled away breathless. You couldn’t think with your mind in a haze. Jungkook looked at you in silence, waiting for you to say something, but all you could do was fall back to the chair behind you.

“y/n?” Jungkook said concernedly.

You cleared your throat and stood up quickly again. “I-I’ll get the mop and bucket.” you said softly before running out of there into the storage closet and shutting the door behind you.

You cursed yourself for reacting so stupidly. Jungkook must think that you hate him, but obviously you don’t. You really, really, like him, especially after having the feeling of his lips on yours - oh god, you fucked up. You remembered his scared and hurt expression when you scurried away like that. The worst part was that you had to go back out there. When you returned with the mop and bucket, Jungkook was gone, but so was the mess. He had cleaned up all by himself, wait, how long were you in there? You sighed and saw that he had left the store key for you to lock up, which means he had probably gone home. You had no idea how it had escalated to arguing about coffee, to this. But you knew that you’d rather be buried alive than to ever have to face Jungkook again.

_____________________________________________________

Yoongi had asked if you could pick up breakfast that morning since both him and Jungkook had an appointment and of course, you agreed. Business was picking up recently because let’s face it, you’re great at this job. Even though you lost those numbers since they got soaked in coffee, you managed to work your way around it and pulled up some income statements and cash book entries which clearly showed how well the store was profiting. You and Jungkook have not spoken since the incident and that was more than a week ago, and it was killing you. You wanted to talk to him and explain yourself but you were too scared. Plus he has been extra mean to you ever since, which made you not want to apologise even more. The only time he ever said something to you was when you were in the way and he practically snapped at you to move. That’s gotta hurt.

Most of the time you’ve been coming up with ways to avoid him, but today was not that day since you had to hand him his breakfast. You entered the main room where Yoongi was working and dropped his off. He thanked you and immediately went back to work. You were kinda disappointed, you had hoped Yoongi would give Jungkook’s breakfast to him but that was unrealistic so you guessed that now you would have to face a painful and awkward situation. After taking a deep breath you knocked on the door. You heard a muffled ‘come in’ and you stepped into the room. To say you felt awkward was an understatement. You wanted nothing more to crawl into a hole and die.

There was a female customer on the tattoo chair with the top half of her body completely bare and sitting in only her panties. Jungkook was leaned over her tattooing her breast and stopped to look at you. There was a warmth rising to your face as you just stood there and stared at them for a moment.

“What do you want?” Jungkook asked annoyed.

That snapped you out of your thoughts as you held up the bag shakily. “U-uh breakfast!” you might have said a little to loudly and then cursed yourself for it.

“I-I’ll just leave it here.” you mumbled quickly and put the bag of food down on the desk.

“Would you like anything?” you heard Jungkook ask the lady.

She giggled, “If you don’t mind sharing.”

Your face twinged in disgust, luckily you had your back facing them.

“Sure.” Jungkook replied shortly.

“Could you go a little higher, like over here?” you heard the lady ask and when you turned around to leave you saw her guiding Jungkook’s hand across her bare body and something inside you just made you feel so hurt and so shitty.

Jungkook’s eyes locked with yours. You immediately looked away and left the room. You couldn’t describe how you felt. This was Jungkook’s job, it was what he was passionate about, but you couldn’t stand to see people take advantage of that. He had just kissed you so passionately a week ago and of all days it was today that you had to bring him breakfast, and it was today that he had to have an appointment for a fucking breast tattoo. You groaned and muttered a string of curses as you walked back to your desk to eat your own breakfast. You chomped down on your egg McMuffin and got to work, hoping it would distract you from what you just saw.

An hour later Jungkook emerged from his room with the lady and readied her bill. The cash register was just opposite from where you sat so you watched them closely. Jungkook smiled and thanked the lady and obviously she enjoyed that attention but you were relieved when she finally left. Jungkook turned around to walk back into the room when he saw you watching him and his demeanor somersaulted upon looking at you.

“What?” he snapped coldly and you jumped in your seat a little.

You shook your head and looked back to the papers would were scribbling on, “N-Nothing.” you whispered.

He went back to his studio as Yoongi came out of his to get more plastic wrap.

“What’s up with you two?” he asked concerned.

“It’s complicated.” you huffed.

“I’ve never seen him that mad before.”

Hearing that was like having an arrow shot into your heart. You were right, he really did hate you.

“I-I..” you said with your voice breaking.

Yoongi looked alarmed, shit, what should someone do if a girl cries?

“It’s all my fault.” you sniffled as tiny droplets fell across your cheeks.

“Okay, no, nope. None of that. You are not crying, missy, you hear me? You are strong, and bold, and confident, and you aren’t crying over some stupid guy. Got that?”

You sniffled and wiped your tears away quickly and straightened up.

“That’s it. y/n you walked into this store on your first day like a boss and you criticised us left and right and you put this place into shape. You’re freaking superwoman, okay? You shouldn’t be crying.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s unprofessional.” you mumbled.

Yoongi sighed and sat down next to you. “Don’t be sorry. And we’re friends, there’s no need to be professional around me.”

“We are?” you asked smiling slightly through your watery eyes and puffy cheeks.

“Of course we are. And as your friend, I really suggest you talk to Jungkook.”

You shook your head, “But he’s scary.”

“Jungkook puts on a tough demeanor but he’s a kid at heart. He’d never do anything to harm you, you can count on that.”

You nodded and smiled softly at him, “Thanks, Yoongi.”

“What are friends for, hm?”

________________________________________________________

Now you had a task at hand. Talk to Jungkook. You just had to talk to him. No big deal, it’s just talking. To Jungkook. Fuck, you had to talk to Jungkook. Slamming your pen down you ran your fingers through your hair and whined. It was about time you grew a pair but it wasn’t that easy. Time flew as you sat at your desk and pondered about what to say and when to say it. It drove you crazy. Until one fine moment, all your courage rose from the pit of your stomach and you stood up determined to talk to the guy. Just as you maneuvered around your table to go to him the bell chimed. Hot damn, who was that?

This guy had a face sculpted by god himself. He was tall with brown hair, his wrists adorned with multiple strings and bracelets. His silver piercings shining under the store lights. The way he dressed really stood out to you, a beret on his head, sunglasses and patterned clothes, he really reminded you of a gucci model. He smiled at you as you walked over to him and you smiled back waving at him.

“Hi, do you have an appointment?” you asked.

He removed his sunglasses and wow he looked even better.

“Oh no, I don’t. I’m actually here for the job? My name’s Kim Taehyung, I saw the sign outside.”

You had convinced Yoongi and Jungkook to finally place a “We are hiring” sign on the window because they could now afford it, plus, it would attract more attention.

“Oh I see! So you’re a tattoo artist?” you asked interested.

“Well, I’m hoping to be.” he said making the two of you giggle.

“Well are you good?” you inquired.

“Hmm, I would say I have a few things up my sleeve.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Really? Well let’s hope you impress us.”

“I hope that I shall.”

The two of you laughed together again, man you really liked this guy.

“What’s going on here?” you heard a deep voice. Jungkook appeared from his room and scowled at the two of you laughing together.

“Oh, t-this is is Kim Taehyung, he’s here for the job.”

Taehyung reached out to shake Jungkook’s hand but he left him hanging.

“Another case of y/n, hm? That’s not too good.”

You gaped at him and you were about to retort when Yoongi joined in.

“Ah, you must be Taehyung.” Yoongi said smiling.

Taehyung finally felt comfortable seeing a familiar face. “Yes, and you must be Yoongi hyung. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Pleasure’s mine. A friend of mine knew Taehyung in art school and he recommended him to me. Let’s see if you’re as good as Seokjin claims you are.” Yoongi said.

Taehyung laughed, “I promise to do my best.”

So that led to the current situation. The three of you huddled around Taehyung watching him work on a piece. He had gotten one of his friends to demonstrate the piece for him who’s name you learned was Jung Hoseok who was also pretty cute. You were questioning the odds of you being surrounded by attractive men all at one time wondering if the universe had something planned for you. But you ignored it to watch Taehyung working. One thing you’ve noticed since working here is that every tattoo artist has their own unique style. They were all different, yet all so incredible. Taehyung had the same amount of focus and concentration Jungkook always had when he was working. Yoongi was always more relaxed, his talent flowing from him naturally. However, Taehyung could perfect designs neither Yoongi or Jungkook had ever done before.

The buzzing stopped and Taehyung stepped back to review his work. Everyone was in awe, he did a really great job and Yoongi loved it so much that he asked Taehyung if he could post it on their shop’s Instagram.

“That depends,” Taehyung said, “Are you going to hire me?”

Yoongi chuckled, “Need I say any more? y/n, what do you think?”

You smiled, “I think he’s great.”

“What do you know about tattoos?” Jungkook snapped.

You looked at him angrily and he ignored your stare.

“For a tattoo artist it’s surprising you don’t have any tattoos.” Jungkook questioned.

Taehyung frowned, “Do I need to have them?”

Jungkook looked slightly dumbfounded with everyone staring at him. “No-I mean, it’s just surprising-”

“Yeah it is.” Taehyung ended the conversation abruptly.

Jungkook rolled his eyes and looked away.

“It’ll be great if you could start today. We have a customer coming in anytime now.” Yoongi said.

“But he’s scheduled for me.” Jungkook spoke up unhappy.

“You can take the 3 o’ clock, Jungkook.” Yoongi dismissed.

Jungkook licked his lips, obviously irritated by Yoongi’s decision.

“I never got your name?” Taehyung turned to ask you.

“Oh, it’s y/n!” you smiled.

“It’s great to meet you. I have a feeling we’ll be getting along pretty well.” Taehyung grinned.

You blushed slightly because how could you not when this insanely attractive man was outright flirting with you.

“Your 3 o’ clock is here, get to work.” Jungkook snapped at him.

“Right, I’m on it.” Taehyung cleared his throat.

_____________________________________________________

Taehyung blended in pretty well. He was no doubt good at his job, a lot of customers end up super happy with what they get and so Taehyung was really good for the store. The two of you also got along great, he was like your new best friend. He would come over and talk to you between breaks and he’d send you a lot of memes which kept you happy and entertained throughout the day. One time he brought a pack of cards to work and once you guys were done for the day you played Snap while eating dinner, which was a terrible idea because Taehyung kept hitting your hand real hard and one time he spilled his entire bowl of soup and himself and started to yell because it was hot and man did you laugh until you couldn’t breathe. Obviously, Yoongi and Jungkook were there to witness all this because you guys always spent meal times together. Yoongi would usually ignore the two of you and go on his phone, and you’d call him a grandpa for not wanting to play card games. Jungkook was reserved, also on his phone but he would glance over to the two of you from time to time.

It was another night at the shop and it was nearly opening time so you were at your desk drafting statements and also counting the money from yesterday’s earnings. Jungkook was on his beanbag sipping some banana milk and sketching on his notepad as usual and Taehyung was next to you helping you separate the bills.

“I’m really curious as to how you got a job here.” he asked you.

You scoffed, “Why, can’t a woman get a job in a tattoo parlor? Just because it’s a sausage fest in here, I can’t be a part of it because I don’t have my own sausage?”

Taehyung laughed heartily and you smiled, giggling to yourself.

“You know what I mean.” he urged.

“I just came in one day and asked. At first they said no, and then I made them a deal they couldn’t refuse.”

“Why would they say no? You’re great at what you do.”

You smiled, “Thanks, Tae. But the shop wasn’t like this back then, they couldn’t afford me.”

“Hmm, but you did so well at university. You could have had many other options, why here?”

“Well, I saw two guys desperately trying to make their dreams come true and you know, I just wanted to help them.” you said smiling softly. You remembered all the fond memories you hard building up this place with them. They were priceless.

Jungkook could hear everything the two of you were saying, he felt a pang in his heart when he heard how all you wanted to do was help them, and he had been nothing but mean and rude to you from the very beginning.

“That and, well, I needed to start earning something. My parents have gotten pretty old. Mum is really sick and dad spends all his time taking care of her. Before that, they used to own that bakery across the street.”

“Wait, you mean Rosie’s bakery? Like...the pretty fucking amazing one?”

You laughed, “I guess you can say that.”

“I used to go there when I was a kid, it’s been around for so long. It’s such a shame it got closed down. I’m really sorry about your mother too, by the way,” he said sympathetically.

“No that’s okay. She’s still around, I thank the heavens that I get to see her for just one more day. They wanted me to take over, but I could never do all that by myself.”

“Why not? I’m sure you could.”

You shook your head, “I never want to let them down, you know? That bakery was like their baby, I didn’t want to step in and ruin it. Some things just eventually come to an end.”

“I understand.” he nodded, “But you’re here now though, things worked out, right? Look at how lucky you got, you now have a Taehyung in your life!”

You grabbed a book and smacked him across the shoulder with it and he yelped, but laughed along with you after. The bells chimed and the first customer came in, Taehyung left to work on them so it was just you and Jungkook in the room. As you picked up your pen to work again a voice made you halt.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him in shock and confusion. Why was he talking to you all of a sudden?

“What?” you asked confused.

He sighed and put his sketchbook down and walked over to you. He sat on the chair next to you and all you could do was watch him.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick to you since day one. There’s really no excuse for that, I’m really sorry.” he said looking at you.

“Jungkook...” you trailed off.

“Yoongi and I worked really hard to get here, like really, really hard. There were days we never got to eat, nor did we have a roof over our heads. Despite all that we always had each other, and we had each other’s backs. When we finally opened our shop, I was beyond excited. Even with that shitty sign outside that we got rid of, this shop was still a great achievement. When you showed up, I just...felt threatened? It was stupid, I don’t know what I was thinking. I just felt like someone might screw this up for us or that all of this might go away and that was so terrifying for me. I realise now that you genuinely wanted to help us even though I was an asshole, and I just owe you the biggest thanks ever y/n because you played a huge part in making my dream come true. Instead of thanking you and showing you my appreciation all I did was yell at you and piss you off and I just, god, I hate myself for it. I’m really sorry. I just want you to know that I appreciate you, and so does Yoongi. We owe it all to you.”

For the past month Jungkook never said more than two words to you, but now he was giving you a whole ass speech? Man, here comes the waterworks.

“Shit, y/n, are you-oh god please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” you cried out. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I’ll stop I just,” you inhaled, “I can’t stop.” you sobbed.

Jungkook pulled you to his chest and you immediately wrapped your arms around him. He murmured reassuring words, telling you that it was okay while he rubbed your back softly. You pulled away embarrassed and tried to hide your face as you wiped off tears messily and sniffled. God, you must look so horrible right now.

“Sorry I-” you sniffled, “I’m fine now. I’m fine.” you heaved.

“You sure?” he asked.

You nodded and smiled at him, making him smile back.

“I uh-” you started, “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for making you feel insecure, and no it’s not stupid, your feelings are absolutely valid, Jungkook. I just had no idea I made you feel that way, it must have been bad for you, I’m so sorry. And I forgive you, thank you for saying all that but, it’s not me who made all this happen. It’s you, and Yoongi. The both of you are so talented, I’ve seen how you work too. Jungkook you’re incredible, okay? Like, yeah I don’t know anything about tattoos but I know a pretty thing when I see it and your work just blows me away and you should be so proud of that. That’s what brought you here, not me.” you said.

Jungkook nodded and looked at you fondly, “Thank you for saying that.”

“And uh...when you walked in that day-”

“It’s fine.” you cut him off feeling embarrassed and not wanting to talk about it.

“No y/n, it didn’t mean anything, okay? I saw how hurt you looked and I felt really bad.”

You shook your head, “Jungkook you have nothing to feel bad about. It’s your job, I was wrong to be upset anyway.”

“You don’t have to be jealous.” he chuckled.

You groaned, “She was blatantly flirting with you!”

“And I ignored her. Plus, I didn’t share my food with her.”

“You didn’t?” you asked hopefully.

“No, I didn’t.” he chuckled, making you grin.

You bit your lip and nodded back at him. “And, you know, what happened that day...”

His eyes widened and he took your hands in his, “I’m really sorry. I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have done that, I made you feel uncomfortable and I still hate myself for doing that to you until this day...” he said apologetically.

“No it’s fine, I shouldn’t have ran off like that, it was so stupid of me.” you shook your head.

“I thought I scared you.” he said with so much guilt in his tone.

“Jungkook,” you whispered. You laced your hands with his firmly, “You didn’t. Not at all, I was just surprised and I didn’t know how to react. I must have hurt you, I’m sorry. I just want you to know that I really like you and...yeah.” you said shyly.

Jungkook had a small smile on his lips, “You do?”

“Mhm.” you said looking away.

That smile turned into a smirk, “So I was right, y/n did have a crush.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “It’s gonna fade if you keep at it.”

“Alright alright, I’ll stop teasing. I like you a lot too, y/n.” he said looking right into your eyes. His confidence was admirable.

“You could have been nicer you know? You wouldn’t stop sending me daggers through your stares and I even got you banana milk so you’d warm up to me but that was just weird, so then I didn’t know what to-mmpmh.”

And there it was again. Those soft lips against yours, his hands cupping your cheeks. Your hands moved to his hair to bring him closer as he pressed his lips against yours, occasionally pulling away only to dive back in again. His hands moved to your waist and pulled you on top of him. You finally felt all that muscle on him through his shirt, he really was as ripped as you imagined him to be. He poked his tongue softly past your lips and you let him in.

“Always...wanna...kiss you.” he said in between kisses.

You sighed and let out small noises of pleasure, grasping on his locks.

“So pretty.” he mumbled as he pulled away and moved to your neck, planting wet kisses there.

You moaned when he bit down on the flesh of your neck, which made him sigh heavily.

“You sound exactly like I pictured you would. So needy.” he growled.

“Jungkook.” you said breathlessly.

“Hmm?” he hummed as he continued to mark you.

“W-we really shouldn’t-ah-be doing this here.” you squeaked.

Just then his lips met your sweet spot and you could help but let that loud moan ripple through you, catching Jungkook by surprise.

“Fuck, you even sound pretty.” He continued to abuse the skin of your neck with his teeth and tongue until he finally pulled away to look at you.

Your face was flushed, eyes hazy and lips swollen. Jungkook tucked your hair behind your ears and rested his forehead on yours. He placed another soft kiss on your lips, making you smile. Your hands remained around his neck and you fidgeted for a bit before asking him.

“Jungkook?”

“Yes, princess?”

“I said that we shouldn’t be doing this here.” you said biting your lip.

He looked taken back at your sudden boldness and smirked at you.

“Are you saying you want me to have you over my chair in my studio?”

“Yes that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

_______________________________________________________

“Yoongi hyung?” Taehyung asked with his lips pressed together.

“Yeah?”

“Are they-”

“Yeah.”

_______________________________________________________

Business was picking up yet again, and to celebrate the anniversary of the shop’s opening, Yoongi decided to throw a small party at his and Jungkook’s shared apartment. Taehyung promised to get the alcohol and dragged Jungkook with him. Yoongi was spending the day cleaning the apartment and grumbling about how Jungkook is gross and never keeps the place clean. Yoongi was also inviting his other friends Seokjin, Namjoon, Jimin and Hoseok. They apparently graduated art school together and were some of his best buds. Jungkook knew them too, and he had introduced you to all of them. You were pretty close to Seokjin since he just has an incredibly friendly nature and he’s always cracking lame jokes which you can’t help but find funny. So it was your job to get the food for the party and Seokjin was told to go with you.

“y/n there’s soju!” he called loudly in the supermarket where literally everyone can hear him.

“I told you, Taehyung’s in charge of the booze, he probably already got some!”

“But he doesn’t know the good kind, like I do! Pleaseee, look there’s like 8 different flavours.”

“Seokjin.” you huffed.

“Okay fine, but if this party’s lame I blame you.”

“Why am I even friends with you, dork.” you grumbled.

Seokjin helped you reach the foods on the higher shelves and you were grateful for that. He also paid, another reason you became extra nice to him. It was already late in the evening and you guys had to get back and get ready for the party. You lugged the huge bags of snacks through the corridors, these guys really did eat a lot. Seokjin rang the bell and after a while Jungkook answered the door.

“You guys eat like pigs.” Seokjin huffed as he carried the huge bags of food.

“Hyung’s the one who goes through all the chips!” Jungkook retorted.

“Do you hear how he speaks to me?” Seokjin complained to Namjoon.

You giggled at them and moved to enter when Jungkook blocked your way.��

“Nu-uh.” he said smirking.

“Move your fat ass out of the way, these are heavy.” you huffed.

“Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, kiss first.” he demanded puckering his lips.

“Gross, who would wanna kiss you?” you said fake disgusted.

“y/n!” he cried like a child.

You laughed and dropped the bags on the floor and stood on your tippy-toes to kiss him. He smiled into the kiss and wrapped an arm around your torso keeping you pressed against him. You pulled away and nuzzled your nose against his.

“Can I come in now?”

He caught your lips with his again and bit on your bottom lip. You moaned softly making him inhale sharply.

“Guys, can you not do it at the damn doorstep?!” you heard Seokjin yell.

Jungkook and you laughed and he moved to carry the bags in being the strong man that he is. Later that night all of you huddled in front of the TV with blankets and more snacks. Most of them were passed out due to the high consumption of alcohol. You and Jungkook were still awake, and he was playing with the hem of your shirt while placing soft kisses on your collarbone. You ran your fingers through his hair and sighed at the feeling of his lips on your skin.

“You smell good.” he mumbled, pressing more kisses on your neck.

You only smiled and let him continue.

“Wonder if you taste good too.” he said casually.

Heat rushed to your cheeks and you smacked his arm softly.

“You would already know that.” you played along.

“Hm, yeah I do.” he smirked making you look away embarrassed.

He turned your head to face him by cupping your cheek.

“y/n” he murmured against your lips.

“Yeah?” you whispered.

“Wanna taste you.” was all he said before his lips touched yours again and your mind went into a frenzy.

I’m just gonna say that the guys were lucky to have been knocked out that night. There were some pretty scandalous things happening in Jungkook’s bedroom.

_______________________________________________________

the end! wow this took me the entire day to write but it was totally worth it. who else is whipped for kook? :”)

also stream dynamite! love u guys <3

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celosiaa · 4 years ago

Text

avoidance

From a wonderful prompt I received! “A cold going around the season 1 archival staff and them just actively avoiding Jon because they don't want him to get sick because they know it'll be worst for him with his asthma. What they don't know is Jon's already caught it and is getting the wrong idea and just thinks he's being avoided because they don't want to catch it from him.”

Hope you enjoy this short little sickfic! Featuring hard of hearing Tim, especially for @haunted-by-catholic-guilt :)

“Oh, there he comes, Sash.”

“How does he look?” she replies, being sure to speak louder while Tim has his face turned away.

“Can’t tell yet.”

Tim cranes his neck and squints to better catch a glimpse of Martin, who walks toward their office from the lift, bundled up against the unseasonably cold weather in a knit scarf and hat.

“God, I need to get new prescriptions,” he says, rubbing his eyes against the blurriness. “He’s got a hat and scarf on, though.”

“Ooh, things are looking promising!”

Turning back to her, jaw hanging open in mock-indigence, Tim places a shocked hand against his chest.

“Miss James, I’m horrified! You would wish illness on our poor poet, Martin Blackwood, Esquire?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she says, sniffling a bit as she punches lightly at his arm.

“Morning, everyone,” Martin croaks as he steps in—though it must sound rather congested, judging by Sasha’s satisfied smirk, and she holds out her outstretched palm to him.

“Morning, Martin,” Tim replies at once, not willing to hand over his fiver just yet. “How are you today? Just peachy, I’ll bet?”

Throwing him a glare from where he’s sat down at his desk, Martin’s face suddenly goes hazy, his eyes unfocused as he pulls his scarf quickly over his nose—before sneezing thrice, harsh and miserable, breaking off into painful coughs to finish.

“Aw, Martin, I’m sorry,” Sasha coos in sympathy, patting his back with one hand while reaching out to accept Tim’s begrudging fiver with the other.

“Don’t you apologize, Sasha,” Martin croaks after he recovers himself, rubbing a tissue against his dreadfully pink nose. “We all know this is Tim’s fault.”

“Excuse me???” Tim bursts, throwing his arms wide in a gesture of disbelief.

“Shut it, you know it’s true,” Sasha concurs, unwrapping a spare tissue box to donate to Martin’s desk. “You’re the one who fraternized with Research, knowing they’ve had this bug going around for weeks.”

“Why are you both attacking me?” Tim shouts, breaking off to cough for a moment, his own illness not yet entirely abated. “This is homophobic.”

“Not if we’re all queer, you arse!”

He returns to clutching at his chest, taking a dramatic inhale.

“Martin, she’s slinging me with the cruelest of insults! Are you really going to sit there and do nothing?”

“Basically, yeah,” Martin replies, voice whittled down to a hoarse whisper—he makes sure to speak slowly, such that Tim can read his lips. “Because she’s right, and you deserve it.”

“I’ll have you know, sir—“

Tim’s scolding is interrupted by the opening of the heavy door to document storage, from which Jon emerges—looking unkempt as ever, carrying a stack of files tucked beneath his left arm. Nodding briefly at them in greeting, he hastens across the room to his office, and Tim just barely manages a glimpse of him pulling his inhaler out of his pocket before the door shuts.

“Is he coughing?” Tim asks, turning to gauge their reactions.

“Yeah. God, he sounds absolutely horrendous,” Martin croaks, wincing at the dreadful wheezing coughs, ineffectively muffled behind the door.

“It’s his own fault,” Tim mutters, earning him looks from both Martin and Sasha. “What? He could ask one of us to root through the dusty shelves for him, you know, like a normal boss. But he won’t, because he’s too damn stubborn.”

Knowing he’s at least a little bit right, Sasha and Martin say nothing, only continuing to listen with concern as Jon pulls twice from his inhaler, before finally seeming to get his breath back.

“We should all try to keep our distance from him,” Martin says at last, giving them both a significant look. “I don’t want him to get this—not when he’s coughing like that. Don’t want to put him at risk.”

Grin dropping from his face, Tim nods solemnly back at Martin, and Sasha follows suit.

“You’re right, mate. We’ll do our best.”

“Yeah, it’s a deal, Martin.”

“Thanks,” Martin replies, flashing them a sunny, if not stuffed-up, smile. “Right then, anything specific to work on today?”

—

For what feels like the hundredth time that day, Jon slams the pause button on the tape recorder, snatching up a tissue as fast as he can—near-silently stifling two into it. It makes his head pound every time, tears at his already-battered throat, but he’d rather not spread whatever miserable illness he’s managed to catch all around the office.

Though it seems that they’d all been avoiding him well enough as it is.

He’s not a fool—he knows he’s got a fever, knows that he’s contagious and really ought to be avoided—but when Martin had neglected to bring him his afternoon tea that day, well…he was more than happy to blame the lump in his throat on the fever. For all he tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he ought to take care of himself, it does nothing to settle the ache in his chest. The one that his inhaler can no longer take the edge off.

Sighing in frustration, Jon does his best to turn his focus back to his work—rising unsteadily to his feet to search for the next file.

What was the number again?

God, I’m dizzy.

He stretches out a hand to brace himself against the filing cabinet, blinking away the stars sparkling across his vision as he adjusts to standing.

Right. 01319…0…8? 9?

Wait, did I—did I finish the last statement?

He muffles a cough into his elbow, bracing even heavier on the cabinet.

Doesn’t matter, I’ll just get this one anyway.

Won’t need to get up again, at least.

“Looking for something, boss?”

Tim calls from his office door, which he’s propped open—perhaps in the subconscious effort to tempt Martin into bringing him tea.

Pathetic.

“Jon? You alright?”

“Oh—err, of course,” he says at once, lifting his head toward him. “Can I help you?”

“I was the one asking,” Tim chuckles, stepping forward into his office—before immediately retreating again.

Oh.

“Sorry, I would help you, it’s just—you know, with this cold going around, better not.”

“R-right.”

Jon buries his hurt as quickly as possible, refusing to let it show on his face.

“Right, of course. Then, err, just—carry on then, I suppose, Tim.”

Turning back to the cabinets, Jon tries to leave the conversation there, feeling his chest beginning to tighten with every passing moment. He doesn’t want to get Tim ill, not when they’re all so clearly worried about catching it—

“Jon? You’re—you look shaky, are you alright?”

Don’t cough don’t cough don’t cough

“Fine,” he croaks, even as he brings a hand up to press against his fluttering chest.

“What was that?” Tim asks, stepping just a bit closer, tilting his head to better read Jon’s lips.

Don’t don’t don’t

He can’t hold it back anymore.

At once, Jon doubles over with coughing, shallow wheezing accented by the rumbling of congestion deep within his lungs—all of it nearly sending him to the ground with the force of it.

“Jesus, Jon—just sit down, alright? Christ,” Tim urges, at last entering the room to grab him by the shoulders, lowering him to sitting with his back against the filing cabinet.

Every thought of hiding or sparing Tim from contagion flies from his head, replaced only with the gasping need for air, his body screaming at him to breathe—

“What’s going on?” Martin asks from the door, scanning across the scene quickly, alarm rising at once.

“Get his inhaler,” Tim orders, tipping Jon’s head forward between his knees.

“Oh god. Right—right, h-here, I’ve got it—Jon?”

He taps gently on Jon’s upper arm as he crouches.

“I’ve got it here, can you look up?”

It takes every shred of focus he has left to his power, but he does—reaching out to cover Martin’s hands with his own as he guides the inhaler to his lips, pressing down on the button and drawing as deeply as he can from it.

“Good, good, that’s—that’s good, Jon,” Martin stammers, still holding the inhaler within his reach.

“Take another,” Tim demands, voice leaving no room for argument. “When you can.”

After a few more labored breaths, Jon complies—chest expanding a little more now, though he can still feel the crackling wetness at the edges of it.

“Here, Jon, I’ve got you some water,” Sasha says as she enters the room, undoubtedly having heard the commotion from outside. “You alright?”

“Shouldn’t be here,” Jon rasps, seeing Martin’s hands in his periphery, reaching up to sign for Tim’s understanding.

“I know—we didn’t want to get you ill, Jon, but—“ Tim cuts off momentarily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I mean, it sort of seemed like you needed help, right?”

Wait.

“You didn’t…you didn’t want…to get me ill?” Jon asks through panting breaths, finally feeling steady enough to lift his head.

“Well, no, we—“ Martin suddenly breaks off, scooting a little ways back from Jon as he realizes their proximity. “Of course we didn’t want you to get ill, your asthma’s been so terrible the past few days.”

Jon shakes his head in confusion, brows furrowing as he glances between the three of them.

“I...I don’t—“

Oh.

“You didn’t…know I was ill?” he asks, and Tim’s eyebrows shoot into his hair, turning back to share a glance with both Sasha and Martin.

“Oh no, Jon, I’m so sorry,” Martin laments at last, sniffling a bit into his sleeve. “We didn’t—we thought that, well…we thought we were protecting you from getting it.”

The relief Jon feels at this is astonishing—certainly inordinate for the situation, but…he finds he does not care much altogether. Even if just a bit, the knot in his chest seems to loosen—his breathing made easier just for a moment.

“Woah—you alright?” Tim asks with renewed concern, the cause uncertain to him, before—

He feels a tear beginning to slip down his face.

“Oh,” he says, hurriedly scrubbing it away. “Oh, I—I’m sorry, I—I-I’m fine, it’s alright, I don’t know why—“

“It’s alright, Jon,” Sasha says from above him, leaning down to press a warm hand on his shoulder. “Look, if you feel like you can stand, I’ll drive you home, okay? You need to rest. I’m serious.”

The look she gives him now, that they all give him—it’s nearly enough to bring a smile to his face, his mouth barely quirking up at one corner.

“Y-yes, I—thank you, Sasha,” he says, allowing Tim and Martin to lift him slowly to his feet, leaning against them momentarily as he sways just a bit.

“You’re calling your doctor on the way,” Sasha continues, leading them out of his office and toward the lift. “I’m not leaving you alone until you do.”

“R-right,” he pants against the exertion of their slow-paced walking. “I—thank you. I suppose.”

“Don’t mention it Jon,” Martin says softly as they bundle him into the lift. “Just get well, okay?”

Something warm and lovely floods through Jon’s chest at this, and he cannot help but nod—a half-smile flickering across his face as the lift doors close.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma sickfic #hurt/comfort #sickfic #my writing

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fijiangecko · 4 years ago

Text

Maintaining a New Life

Chapter 1: Ripple on Still Water

Read it on AO3 here

Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Rating: Teen and Up for Violence and Language

A/N: Hey guys! I’ll be uploading biweekly, on Wednesdays around 6pm MST. A taglist is a lot for me to handle but check it out on AO3 if you wanna keep up with it!

~~~~~~~~

The Armed Detective Agency (ADA): a business meant to help the police and citizens solve cases that might require extra help. Looking in from the outside, the residents might seem normal and like every other private investigation agency on television, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Each member possesses a special ability - a gift, some might say - that makes them stand out from the rest. Each member is unique in their own right, but this group of people combined in one place creates something truly terrifying. There are currently twelve employees at the agency that work full time, and the rest are assistants and part time college students. The two presidents, Keishin Ukai and Ittetsu Takeda, started the agency roughly four years ago, and their workload has only grown since then. Everyday, new cases fly through the doors and members are tasked with helping where they can.

Currently four of the agency members are walking through the streets, searching for an address marked on a manila folder. A small breeze drifts through the streets as you look around. Winter is coming to a close, and of course you’re not wearing a sweater, choosing the fit over functionality. Gazing around once more, you spot the numbers on the files you’re carrying and corral the three men in the direction of the doors, shoving the one with jet black hair slightly harder then the others.

“No need to get all pushy, Y/N.” Kuroo slightly smirks, turning to face you as they both make their ways across the street.

“Wouldn’t need to if you just paid attention, right?” Giving him an innocent smile you can’t see the two others roll their eyes at the light banter. The cold air nips at their skins as Akaashi watches with curious eyes while Bokuto knocks on the door.

“Hello? We’re with the Detective Agency! You called us about a case?!” The silver haired brute waits a second or two before he starts to pound on the door, growing impatient as there hasn’t been an answer. A small look is shared between the crew as nothing happens.

Akaashi glances at Kuroo and yourself before shoving Bokuto out of the way. Sighing softly,you take a step forward and grab Bokuto’s bicep, guiding him back to where Kuroo stands and missing the cocked brow that Kuroo offers to Bokuto at the physical contact. In retort, he wiggles his eyebrows and laughs under his breath.

Ignoring whatever was happening between them, you approach Akaashi. He whispers something to himself as a faint blue aura builds around him exponentially, until it bursts like broken glass. Scope - Akaashi’s gift. His eyes dilate as he looks around the house through the windows. Everything is crystal clear to him, and nothing seems to be out of order in the front of the house. He circles the side with you close behind, and peers through the glass panes at different angles until his eyes twitch.

“The back door is kicked in,” Akaashi points through the window, directing your view. Upon seeing the broken wood and glass scattered around the floor, you cuss under your breath. “Fuck.”

Quickly making your way back around to the front, the two friends stop what seems to be a serious conversation as you and Akaashi have an air of urgency around yourselves. You don't bother filling them in as Akaashi is alreading explaining what he saw as you jiggle the door knob. Much to your dismay, it’s locked.

“Looks like they already got to him,” you announce, turning to scan their faces. Kuroo can see the stress starting to build on your brow and changes his stance, grabbing the handgun tucked under the back of his waistband. After almost three years of knowing you, he’s grown to tell with just one look what goes through your head.

You fold the file and pass them to Bokuto. “Hold on to these, please. Kuroo and I are gonna go in and check to see if anyone is still around. I need you and Akaashi to stay put just in case they try and make their way out.” The two nod their heads.

“So how are we gonna go about this chibi-chan?” Kuroo cocks the gun and looks through the window, peeking around what corners he can see.

“First off, ew, don’t call me that, I told you to call me Y/N.” He chuckles softly as you take out your own pistol. “And two, we’ll use my portals to get in without ruining the front door. I’ll take upstairs and you can sweep downstairs and the basement.” Pressing the safety off, you turn with intense eye contact towards him. “Sound good?” He can sense the shift in tone and nods.

Looking through the glass panels on the door, you take a deep breath in. The same blue aura builds around you at a much quicker pace then Akaashi’s. It combusts and your gift is revealed - portals. A two and a half meter tall rift opens up before the door, revealing the inside of the residence. Kuroo fixes his stance and enters first, swinging around his gun as he searches. He jerks his head back and motions for you to follow.

The air in the house is warmer as the AC gently rumbles in the background. Kuroo heads right as you slowly ascend to the left. The stairs creak softly as your footsteps reach the second floor, and cautiously you search around. An older woman had contacted the agency about this case, informing them that she’s been worried about her son and the kinds of people he’s been meddling with. This was the only address she could give the agency. Even Bokuto with his superior deductive skills wasn’t exactly sure what to make of it.

Stalking towards the left, you peeks into an office room and checks the corners before approaching the single desk by the windows. There are papers scattered around, mostly tax and budgeting forms.

“Well he isn’t in financial distress, that’s for sure,” you softly speak to yourself, shuffling the papers around, hoping to find more info about either the man or his compatriots. Underneath all the papers, the letters “ANZEN TECH CORP” on the top of a document catches your eyes. Pulling it out, the header reads “HUMAN DRUG TRIALS”.

Panic slowly builds in your throat as you reach into the desk drawers, quickly sorting through them to find anything relevant. The cabinet filled with other lab reports and drug details, how each participant reacted and how eventually all 23 test subjects passed away. Your heart rate picks up, telling you to fetch the others before something bad happens. This case is way bigger than we thought, you think to yourself.

Against your better judgment, you decide to search all of the bookshelves and filing cabinets in the room, looking for other company documents. None of the guys have given a signal, so I have time. You clear the desk in one foul swoop, the trinkets breaking and clanking as they hit the ground. Throwing all information on the desk, you take a breath to focus and start to filter through the collection of data. You’ve always had an eye for patterns, one of the quickest intelligence officers in the office, and with baited breath, it doesn’t take long to realize what’s going on.

“2020, 2014, 2008, 2002, 1994… jesus christ.” You run a hand through her hair and lean back against the chair. “How-” A loud crashing sound takes your train of thought, as well as shouting from downstairs. Shoving the papers onto the desk, you grab the gun and rush down the steps. Searching quickly, Kuroo is getting up from the ground by the basement door and he’s yelling at something towards the back.

“GET BACK HERE BASTARD!” Your body moves before fully realizing what’s going on, and you’re already out of the back door, hopping over Kuroo in the process. For a split second you see a figure hop over a fence on the right, gun in hand you bolt towards the figure. Almost with grace, you hop over and catch the strange figure making their way to the next fence. They look behind, and you catch sight of the person’s black hair and glasses. It’s got to be our guy, you think while pressing harder to catch up.

Kuroo runs up next to you easily, as his height doesn’t hinder his ability to leap over the fences. “I go left, you go right?” He pants while slowing to match his pace with yours, but only slightly.

“Yeah,” you huff harder, going beyond (plus ultra) as your thighs tense and hurl yourself up, grabbing the ledge of the fence and using the momentum to hoist up and over the wall in one fluid motion. Kuroo watches your movements, close to being fully distracted, but does the same as he breaks off.

The man is slowing down, so he’s probably not used to this much physical exercise, you think while panting and avoiding the slight burn in your thighs. Kuroo advances, his height helping a little too much as he runs close to him. Right as he places a hand on the man's shoulder, Kuroo is blasted back, the remnants of a blue aura evident on the man’s palm.

“Kuroo!” You veer in his direction, slowing your pace to assess the damage. As you approach, he flips onto his knees, waving her off.

“Go! Get the guy!” He coughs, gripping his side and you regain focus and begin to run. Getting close to him isn’t an option at this point…. Think Y/N! Then it hits you, right as your feet touch ground over the next wall. Body tired, but mind determined, you push even harder. I got a plan, just got to get closer!

The man's pace is getting slower by the second, and once you know for sure he’s within range, you build an aura. The area flashes a bright blue, and before he can realize what’s happening, he’s colliding into someone. You had opened a portal right in front of him, the receiving one right in front of you. Like a trained soldier, you grab his forearm and twist hard, making the man spin around. Some pressure on the backs of his knees causes him to fall over. You force his chest onto the ground, and hold his arms in a lock, making sure to avoid the palms of his hands.

Lungs burn slightly, you focus on your breath not realizing that Kuroo walked up until he placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Thanks,” he speaks softly, and uses his eyes to silently ask if you’re okay. Nodding to assure him, you move off of the man, Kuroo quickly replacing your position. Pulling out your phone, you dial Akaashi.

“Dr. Takahashi, is it?” you speak as the phone begins to ring. He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes is all the confirmation you need. The phone beeps for another moment before the voice on the other line goes through.

“You guys alright?”

“Yeah, winded but fine. Takahashi must’ve been hiding in the basement and tried to make a break for it.” Turning to Kuroo, he nods to verify the story. “Where are you guys?”

“We’re back at the house still. We heard the ruckus, but by the time we looked in both of you were gone. Bokuto deducted that it was a chase so we decided to stay put for the time being.” Humming in affirmation, you spin around, putting a hand on your hip and breathing in the fresh air.

“Well, we’ll make our way back to you. I found some stuff I think everyone should see.”

“Okay, sounds good. We’ll contact Takeda-sensei and fill him in quickly.” The line beeps, and you glance at the scientist before looking to your partner.

“You’ve given your mother quite the heart attack Dr. Takahashi.” Kuroo gets up off of his back but keeps his arms in a tight grip.You have done this many times with Kuroo, and secures his arms before yanking him onto his feet. The three begin to walk as Kuroo pulls out a pair of handcuffs and is careful to put them on, avoiding the palms of his hands.

“What did you find at the house?” The cuffs click into place as he trudges along.

“I think it’s better if we all talked about it,” he hums in acknowledgment of your answer and walks back to meet with the other agency members. You take the moment of ease to prop her hands atop her head, taking deep breaths and sweating in the cold air.

“Struggling?” Kuroo chuckles at your stance, taking in the sights. A small cloud of air passes your lips, the sunlight hitting your cheekbones and the annoyed look etched into her lips.

“Piss off.” This causes him to laugh harder right before entering the house. The sound is not foreign to you, but your stomach does a small flip every time you hear it.

Bokuto rushes up, checking them both over. “You guys okay? Y/N looks run down,” Kuroo howls at the comment, turning his body to face away from the group with a full body laugh, clutching his sides.

Huffing, you grab Dr. Takahashi’s shoulder, directing him to the living space and has him sit down. “I’m fine Bo.” He purses his lips as he curiously looks between the two.

“So,” Akaashi breaks the silence, “What did you want to show us, Y/N?”

“Right.” Blicking back into focus, you brush past Bokuto and Kuroo. Reaching the room, you take all the documents you can grab before triple checking they are all within your grasp.

Downstairs, Bokuto sits across from Dr. Takahashi, making intense eye contact as Akaashi asks him some basic questions.

“Dr. Takahashi, born in 1975 and has worked for Anzen Tech Corporation for the past 20 years as a chemist, correct?” Cold eyes stare into the tea table, no words are spoken. “Well, that’s the information your mother has given us, so I’m going to say that it is correct.” Pulling a pen out of his pocket, Akaashi takes the files from Bo and begins to mark bits of information.

“A chemist, huh?” Kuroo leans over the table to stare, but once again he is unresponsive. “I also have my degree in chemistry, but I’m curious to know why you’re working at a tech corporation.” His golden eyes burn holes into Takahashi’s forehead, but he simply looks dead.

The interaction is halted as you march into the room, stacks of papers practically falling from your arms. Softly, you bump your hip into Kuroo’s side, telling him to move as you set the piles down in full view of Dr. Takahashi. Gauging his reaction, you catch the way his shoulders tense and eyes dilate.

“Where did you-” he starts, startled, but you are quick to cut him off.

“You’re not very good at hiding things, doctor.” The manila folder on top of the stack makes its way into your hands. With parted her lips you begin to read from the first page:

“Anzen Tech Corp. Human Drug Trials

Test Subject No. 23 - Watanabe Amida

Age: 21

Gender: F

Blood Type: O-

Notes: No history of drug or alcohol abuse. In good health. Family history of colon and skin cancer, but no major complications. No major visits to hospitals for injury or illness.

Cycle 1: Injected with 15ml of treatment. Skin around the puncture started to rash and the subject threw up within 3 hours. Subject will be returning home for the night before observation and dosage tomorrow.

Cycle 2: Subject stated they only received four hours of sleep, as they had to keep returning to the bathroom. Skin is no longer raised, but it is a deeper shade of pink. Received another 15ml, will be uping to 20ml if skin remains the same color tomorrow. No rash after injection, and the subject seems much more drowsy. Keeping overnight for observation.

Cycle 3: Subject sat up and stared at the wall all night saying “Not here”. They received several pills from staff to help sleep, but their eyes were constantly open. The rash appeared on different parts of the body (upper back, injection site and calf muscles) before returning to normal. The skin continues to be a darker shade. Staying at 15ml. Subject immediately began dry heaving and scratching at the skin. Force was needed to strap her down to finish dosage. Eventually required tranquilization to observe bodily functions. Spots that had rashes before began to bleed, and new rash spots had appeared. Blood was found in the corner of the left eye. Upon further inspection, we determined it came from the eyelid and not the eyeball. Keeping overnight.

Cycle 4: Subject never woke from tranquilization. Old rashes bleed throughout the night, but the whole body was covered in them. All orifices had small amounts of blood coming from them. Subject passed early morning before injection.”

A scowl adorns your features as you pass the file to Akaashi. The room is still as all eyes are on the trembling doctor. His head shakes slightly as the cuffs audibly shake behind him.

“We didn’t…. We…” His voice is soft, softer than a pin dropping.

“Didn’t what.” Venom spills out of your mouth, eyes pinpointed on the monster in front of her. Kuroo’s fists are clenched, knuckles turning white, but the way you speak makes him realize that you could cause a lot of damage if the doctor says one wrong thing. He’d only witnessed you in this state a handful of times, but only once did he see you lose it. Never again, he looks at your figure, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N,” Kuroo speaks with concern laced into his words. “Let’s take a step back.” His hand pulls on your shoulder ever so softly before you give in and takes a few steps back to be in line with him. Kuroo’s hand remains on your shoulder, rubbing small circles with his thumb to help soothe you. He’s furious, but right now he needs to prevent a disaster.

Silence continues to fill the room, slowly drowning the hustle and bustle of the city right outside the window. “We didn’t know that this is what they wanted.” Voice cracking, Takahashi speaks through silent tears. “They told us it was for medical purposes.” Kuroo’s thumb stops its movements. “They said that it was to help…”

A cold chill runs down everyone’s bodies. More fuel is added to the fire. “But these people were dying under your care. Did that not trigger any red flags doctor? You might not be a medical professional, but continuously injecting people with a substance that causes them to break out doesn’t seem ethical to me at all.” You brutally torture the doctor with your words.

“They told us they were willing-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your words boom over the quiet hum of the A/C. Even the boys flinch at your tone, Bokuto and Akaashi looking at Kuroo. His lips are pressed together, resuming his circles into your shoulder. You are beyond tense, but he isn’t sure how to reel you back in. A blanket of silence settles over the room once more.

Bokuto takes files based off of the patients, looking for patterns among the records. Akaashi takes out his own device, texting reports back to headquarters about the case, noting your hostile position to Takeda and Ukai as he awaits a response on how to deal with the situation. Kuroo looks at you once more, racking his brain of what to do, but comes up short. He squeezes your shoulder before approaching the table. Silently, he sifts through the documents, until a file with chemical symbols catches his eyes. Dr. Takahashi goes rigid once again as he realizes what Kuroo is looking at and panics.

“You said you’re a chemist! You have to understand!” He stands suddenly from his seat, attempting to reach out to Kuroo. Hands moving faster than bullets, you grab Takahashi by the collar and slam him back onto the couch as he screams. “YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND!”

Akaashi stands and situated himself between her and the doctor, Kuroo gripping your bicep to prevent any further movements. “We can’t have him harmed, Y/N.” Akaashi presses his phone into your hands, a silent signal to look. Taking it, a message from Ukai and Takeda states that they have already made contact with the police and agency members will hold off until Takahashi is taken into custody.

“Whatever,” you place the device back in his hands and easily yank your arm back from Kuroo’s hold. Walking to the front yard, you know everyone is uncomfortable with you being in the room. A great feeling, my own teammates are scared of me.

Kuroo can’t help but sigh, already knowing what’s going on in your head. Quietly, he exchanges glances with Akaashi and resumes looking at the files in his hands. Bokuto stops his own research as he catches Kuroo’s expression change. “What is it?” He stands and meets the other man in the center of the room. Smart as he may be, he is no chemist and doesn’t know what to make of all of the lines.

Grinding his teeth, Kuroo runs a hand over his eyebrows, exasperated. “They are making a steroid - trying too, at least. I’m no geneticist, but it looks like they want something to permanently enhance a person's physique. Which has never been done…” His cat-like eyes narrow in Dr. Takahashi’s direction.

“That would explain why they only looked at candidates who were physically fit and had no previous signs of injury or illness.” Bokuto chirps in, taking the file from Kuroo’s hands.

“The police are five minutes out. I would suggest we put everything back in order and have Kuroo and Y/N wait outside for them.” Akaashi, always observant and cautious, speaks as he arranges the mangle of papers on the table.

Bokuto nudges Kuroo in the arm, wiggling his eyebrows and Kuroo scoffs and walks outside. You have your arms crossed, weight shifted onto one leg as the other bounces. You can see him observing you in your peripheral, but chooses not to comment. You can feel your face heat up a tad bit. Although you've been partners for years, you don't exactly like feeling like you’re being observed.

The past three years had meant a lot to both you and Kuroo. You’re one of the founding members of the agency, alongside Takeda-sensei, Ukai-sensei and three others. Kuroo had joined with Kenma, Bokuto and Akaashi just a year later. The agency was so small back then, but finding a whole group of gifted people was a blessing for the business. The group of men seemed genuine in their gestures, quickly fitting in. Kenma was quiet, a stark contrast to Bokuto who could be boisterous at any given moment. Akaashi and Kuroo were observant, scarily so, but they learned their strengths from the group. His jokes didn’t always land, but Kuroo found himself listening to your laugh anytime he told one. You always tried to welcome new people in like they were long lost relatives, making the transition as easy as possible. He appreciated the gesture and found himself drawn to you.

Mystery shrouded you, no one knew your past, and anytime someone asked it was brushed off with a simple “it’s a long story” and a giggle. The first year, he would let it slide, just satisfied in hearing you talk, but the longer he stuck around, the more Kuroo found himself wondering just how much he didn’t know about you. Yeah, you’re one of the smartest and combat effective members of the agency, but he couldn’t tell you your birthday, your favorite color or what college you went to. It drove him crazy, really. Kuroo consoled Bokuto, who quickly laughed at him, teasing him for his crush on a coworker. He blushed, but didn’t deny it. Over the next year, he asked questions whenever he got the opportunity. Some, you would answer, but most you would shut down.

After months of pestering, they got drunk at Kenma’s apartment and you told them all that it was frustrating. “I just want to be straight forward, what’s my business is my business. If I want to tell you, I’ll fucking say it.” You shrugged, placing the beer bottle on the counter. Kuroo didn’t press as much after that, even if you did tell him that you talk a lot of shit when you are drunk. You both had a straight to the point kind of relationship full of trust and understanding. Both of you are grateful to one another for many reasons, but being excellent partners on the field is somewhere in their top tens.

“You know, you could just ask if I’m upset?” You walk up the yard, looking down both sides of the road to look for the cops.

“I know, but I can tell.” He watches from his spot, concentrating on your body language.

“Then stop looking at me like I’m a lab rat.” you don't turn as you speak, instead slightly bent over on the sidewalk looking down the street. He sighs, knowing that this is just the manifestation of your frustration, but that means it just doesn’t affect him.

“Y/N. It’s not like that and you know it.” Physical contact would upset you more, or that’s what he’s led to believe from past encounters, so he stays put. The conversation dies just as quickly as it had started.

You know he cares about you. The slight sting of regret prods the back of your mind before you finally make your way back to Kuroo’s side. Mumbling, you whisper out a quiet apology. He acknowledges the statement with a small laugh.

“It’s okay. I know how you can get.” He places his hand back on your shoulder and starts rubbing circles “And I also know that you were about to rip that guy’s head off in there.” He motions with his other hand to the house, a smile adorning his lips.

“Yeah, and? He probably deserves it. At this point, he’s either gonna be killed or put in jail for the rest of his life. Might as well make the process easier and less paperwork intensive on everyone.” you hiss lightly, rolling your eyes. Kuroo’s hand rubs harder circles into your shoulder when he feels you tense.

“And all I’m saying, is that the agency would kill you if you murdered someone. Then I would get punished for letting you.”

“But you’d let me.” He laughs, watching the police cars round the corner and park in front of the house.

The next 30 minutes are a blur as Akaashi and Kuroo handle the police and have statements taken. You and Bokuto take the back seat and just stand around on the lawn, making small talk until you’re all permitted to leave.

“So how about dinner? We got the job done and Y/N found some great info that’ll get the agency some more cash, so why not celebrate? Huh?” Bokuto wiggles his eyebrows vigorously at the group as they step into a subway car.

“I think I’m good Bo, I’m just gonna finish up the paperwork for today since you guys took care of everything.” you quickly find a seat, letting the boys fend for themselves on a workday afternoon train. They squeeze in, trying to get close enough to you to continue the conversation.

“You don’t have too you know. We’re perfectly capable of doing our own paperwork,” Akaashi, honest as ever, speaks over the crowd.

“Plus, you did use your gift to save our asses, so you shouldn’t do extra shit if you don’t have too.” Kuroo pipes in, trying to get closer to the group.

“No it’s okay guys, you’re probably gonna drink and I got all riled up. It’s not a big deal, so drop it.” You’re stern with your words, and both Akaashi and Kuroo get the memo.

“But you never go drinking with us. It’s kinda ridiculous.” Bokuto holds the band above your seat, staring straight into your eyes. His eyes plead, and his lips hold a frown.

“How about when the payment goes in from the court cases? Then I’ll go out with the whole agency for happy hour.” You know that he will not stop asking until they compromise or you agree, so you settle for what you can get.

“Fine. But if you bail on us I’m gonna have you buy me cases of beer for the next month.” The words cause a scowl to form on your face, knowing that the ladder would be much more costly than a single night out.

“Deal.” You come to an agreement and quietly take the rest of the train ride to talk about menial tasks around the office.

The agency was slow when the group entered its doorway. Kenma doesn’t bother looking up from the small device in his hands. A large group of workers turn their heads, looking at who opened the front door.

“Y/N-chan!” Oikawa is sitting on Iwa’s desk as he waves to his second favorite detective. The other boys say their hellos, Lev and Hinata practically have a screaming match as they greet the crew, and normal office chatter resumes. You walk to your desk, which is situated across from Kuroo’s and in a group with Akaashi and Bokutos, then plop down into the wheely chair, letting a sigh escape your lips.

“Welcome back guys.” Ukai and Takeda come out of their private office to check in on everyone. “Everything go okay with the police?” Ukai takes a huff from his cigarette, and blows the smoke upwards.

“It was fine.” Kuroo takes a seat at his desk. “They seemed grumpy that we touched the evidence, but it was all just paperwork so they’ll clear it.” A reassuring smile takes its place on his lips, and you roll your eyes.

“That’s good. I’m glad you guys were able to grab him in time.” Takeda walks over to their desks and smiles at the group, placing a hand on your shoulder. “And I’m glad nothing happened.”

Well that was a blow to my self confidence, you think while smiling to assure Takeda-sensei that it was okay. You boot up the computer and pull out some papers from the desk and begin the paperwork, already very tired from the day's events. Takeda takes the hint and walks to Akaashi’s desk, starting a brief conversation.

Kuroo eyes you from across the desks, trying to get a good look at your eyes. Usually your body language is pretty telling, but in an office scenario it becomes a thousand times harder to know what you’re thinking. Your eyes are always a good tell, but you're avoiding looking at him in order to focus. He huffs, leaning back into his chair and spins to take a view of the agency.

Oikawa and Iwa are still talking, or rather Oikawa is talking while Iwa works. Lev, Kageyama and Hinata aren’t focusing on their work at all, instead they’re trying to get Kenma’s attention, who is still engrossed in his game. Tanaka and Nishinoya whisper amongst themselves about God knows what as they giggle. A good majority of the agency members had called it a day and went home or out, leaving this last case before their doors shut for the afternoon.

Takeda and Ukai share small conversation at the back of the room before sending the younger ones home, including Tanaka and Nishinoya seeing as they weren’t working. They try to send Iwaizumi and Oikawa home, but both refuse as they tend to walk you home at the end of every night. The three of you got along very well, and tended to take cases together pretty frequently, but lately you've been spending more time with Kuroo and his little gang.

No one in the agency knew what was up with Iwa, Oikawa and yourself. You three were glued at the hips from the moment the two boys stepped into the agency, almost like you knew each other in past lives. The fluidity in your teamwork was seamless as you took charge a majority of the time, another thing Kuroo could admire about you. A small portion of the agency believed that you knew each other before working with the ADA, but if they had nothing has ever slipped. No red flags have ever been set off and everyone just let it slide. By some cosmic power you three had found each other and would die for one another (not that any of you would admit it).

“It’s okay Takeda-Sensei,” Oikawa hopped off of Iwa’s desk and waved a hand in the air, “We’ll lock up. I still have some paperwork to finish anyways.” Always a sweet talker, Oikawa spoke with a honeyed tone as the presidents took his word, leaving the office to just six members.

Quietly, Akaashi and Bokuto finish what little they have left to do and wait for Kuroo. The chemist took his sweet time, seeing Bokuto’s eyebrows furrow as he typed slower and slower.

“Sorry, you guys waiting on me?” He turns, giving them an innocent look and laughs when Bokuto’s scowl etches itself deeper on his face.

“Kuroo, please hurry. I don’t want him to turn emo before we go out,” Akaashi leans and whispers. “If he drinks when he’s emo I’ll just have to carry him home while he’s crying.” The imaginary scenario made Kuroo chuckle, but he finishes his work swiftly before looking up at you. Still hyper focused on the screen, your keyboard firing off like a gatling gun. Your r.b.f. was showing, but he didn’t mind; instead he was admiring the soft glow from the computer on your cheekbones.

“Ready, bro?” Bokuto slaps him rather hard on the back with a large, toothy smile. It snaps him out of his thoughts, but he scoffs playfully before getting up.

“You sure you’re going to be okay, Y/N?” The sound of your name derails a train of thought, eyes flickering between the work laid before you and the raven haired male stretching on the other side of the desk.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Tooru and Hajime are gonna walk me home, and I’ll be done here within the next hour or so.” Flashing a reassuring smile, you return to the files without waiting for an answer. Kuroo looks over at the aforementioned males, Oikawa flashing his signature smirk.

“Okay, be safe guys.” He waves at the three before turning to Akaashi and Bokuto, who are waiting at the entrance. With one last glance at you, he follows his companions out the door.

Oikawa and Iwa share a few words while they work, leaving you to your own devices, knowing that once you’re “in the zone” you won’t be stopped anytime soon. The sky starts to shift from a light baby blue to soft peach and oranges as the day drags on, the air cooling further as the night starts to settle in.

The pair listen to the hum of the city streets as you finish your last page of work. It ends up being much later in the night than they had anticipated, but none of them had anything going on. As the keyboard clicks and clacks come to a halt, you speak with an air of caution.

“The Port Mafia’s getting closer.”

35 notes · View notes

yikesharringrove · 5 years ago

Note

so i just read Flowers for Yikes and i really love what you guys are doing! If you're taking requests, I'd love to see a college/university au with lines 4. “I… think I love you.” + 17. “I’ve gone through some real shit in my life, but… you make my present and future seem so much more brighter.” you know i love you!

@xgardensinspace we’re famous omg.

Thank you for your request! I am always taking requests, I love doing them so much. You’re so sweet! ily!

4. “I… think I love you.”

7. “I’ve gone through some real shit in my life, but… you make my present and future seem so much more brighter.”

I love a good college/university au. This is also modern au 😊 (feat. dyslexic Steve bc of course it does, it’s me)

Read on AO3

Prompts!

Flowers for Yikes can be found here! Written for me by @xgardensinspace

Steve was gnawing on a pen.

He was sitting in the chair outside of the tutoring rooms in the library. He had a standing appointment with Billy, easily the smartest undergraduate tutor in the joint, but also easily the most gorgeous man Steve had ever seen.

He was totally jacked, thick in the most delicious way with long curly blonde hair he made a show of sweeping into a bun with one of the many different colored scrunchies he owned. He had these eyes that made Steve melt, blue and kind and sharp in a way that made Steve go hot every time they were trained on him.

Billy also had a reputation, horror stories of people going to him for help and winding up in tears as he told them their papers were shitty, that they were idiots for doing their math homework incorrectly, that they should drop out now, save their parents the money.

But he was always so gentle with Steve, softly explaining where he went wrong, how he good make his arguments stronger, giving him tools like an online citation generator when Steve was too confused and down on himself for not remembering how to create an MLA 8 citation.

Maybe it was because Steve had cried and called himself stupid the first time they met. Steve hoped it had something to do with the tightness in his gut whenever Billy’s eyes met his and his face lit up with a smile.

The door to their regular room swept open and a freshman came out, face beet red, clutching papers covered in Billy’s red scrawl. Steve shot up, gathering himself and heading into the room.

“Jesus Christ, Pretty Boy, it’s good to fuckin’ see you. Some people on this campus are idiots.” Billy was leaning back in his chair, rubbing his hands down his face in a long-suffering way. “So what have you got for me today?”

“Well, I, um. This one is kinda, kinda different. It’s for that stupid seminar I have to take for my core credits, and its-we had to write about what makes us the most insecure, so I need you, I mean, just read it and don’t focus on, on what it says.” Steve hadn’t wanted to show Billy this work, but they met up at 8:30 every Tuesday, and this paper had been so emotionally draining on Steve, he needed to see Billy and for once in his life, didn’t have any confusing assignments to try and work out.

“Okay, I’ll be real gentle with ya.” Billy smiled at him, the softest one Steve had ever seen from him.

Steve handed over the stack of papers and plopped into the chair adjacent to Billy’s, each sitting on either side of one corner.

Billy scanned through the document quickly, his eyes sliding from side to side.

“Shit, Stevie. This is really good.” He looked up at him. “I’m not blowin’ sunshine up your ass, this is genuinely really good.” Steve was beaming. Billy was definitely nicer to him than anyone else he tutored, but he had never actually called Steve’s work good before. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re dyslexic?” Steve’s face fell.

“It’s fucking embarrassing, man. I can’t read for shit.”

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s something that makes you really fucking strong. I see the way you bust your ass in school. I feel like I coulda helped you better if I had known.”

“My dad was always, really pissed off about it. He never let me get tested for it, just said I was lazy, or said I was just stupid. I only got tested when I came to college and could do it without him knowing.”

Billy’s brow was furrowed.

“FUCK your dad. Fuck him. You’re not stupid. You literally have a learning disability. You are not stupid. Do you understand me?” Billy was looking into Steve’s eyes like he could crawl inside his brain and MAKE him understand.

“I-yeah. I understand. Thanks, Billy.” Steve smiled at him, just a little one.

“Okay, so, let’s make this paper really kick ass. So you begin by explaining what it’s like in your brain when you read or write. I think for this introduction, leave any typos there are, really solidify what it is like for you before things like me or spellcheck get in there to fix it. It’ll really send the point home. And I think you should add what you told me about your dad. It’ll make a better transition from that into how stupid you have always felt you are, even though THAT’S not fuckin’ true.”

Billy continued on, making a few marks on the paper, explaining his ideas to Steve and making comments debunking anything Steve had said about himself in the paper.

“Okay, I think that’s all I got for ya. When’s she due?”

“Friday.” BIlly’s left eyebrow went up. “I know, I’m usually such a procrastinator. This one was really easy. Probably because I have a lot I’m insecure about. Hardest part was to pick one.” Billy’s face scrunched up again. The timer on Billy’s watch went off, signaling the end of their hour. “Thank you for your help though, man. I really appreciate it.” Steve packed up his documents, touching Billy’s arm before he turned to leave.

“Steve, you’re not stupid. It’s really important to me that you know that.”

Steve turned.

“Thank you, Billy. I’ll see you next week.”

Steve got an A and a smiley face that read “Great Work!” on the paper. He was ECSTATIC to show Billy his good work, what he had helped Steve achieve. At 8:30 the following Tuesday Steve bounded into the room and flopped his smiley essay down.

“I got an A! Billy this is the first time I’ve gotten an A on a writing assignment! The professor said showing how hard my dyslexia makes it for me was really smart! That was your idea! Thank you!” Billy stood up with STeve, bringing him into a bearhug.

“Fuck, Stevie. I’m so proud of you.” H released him and they both sat. “This really was all you though, I gave very little input into this piece for you. You got this A for us.” Steve beamed.

“Billy, I really wanna thank you for all your help this semester. I’ve gone through some real shit in my life, but… you make my present and future seem so much more brighter.”

Billy gawked at him.

“I… think I love you.”

“Sorry, what?”

Billy’s face went bright red.

“I’m sorry, this is probably really fuckin’ weird, but I’ve had a stupid huge crush on you since we started tutoring, like, six months ago, and after I read this paper last week, and you let me in more, I just. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, and I would like to, if it’s okay, maybe like, take you on a date?”

This is the first time Steve has ever seen Billy look unsure of himself.

“I, sorry. You want to go on a date? With me?”

“Yeah. Sorry, did I just make it weird? You’re just so happy and it was really cute, and I’m sorry if I misread or if you’re not into guys or-”

“I WANNA GO ON A DATE WITH YOU.” Steve had never been the most articulate. He felt like he was gonna explode from his skin. “I’ve actually had a crush on you too. I wanna, I wanna go out with you.” Billy lit up. It was beautiful.

“Okay! Okay, you uh, you have my phone number. I’ll call you this week? Maybe we can, what are you doing on Saturday?”

“I’m free all day! Whatever you have in mind is, I’m down for whatever.”

“Okay! I’ll give you a call. It’s, um, it’s a date.” They smiled at each other. “Can I kiss you, or is that like, is that too forward.” Steve melted at Billy asking permission.

“No, that’s-fuckin’ kiss me.” Billy launched across space, connecting them together. His hands cupped Steve’s face as he smiled into their kiss. Steve’s hands trailed u Billy’s muscular back to his neck. Both boys were grinning as they pulled back for air.

“If you don’t get outta here, Pretty Boy, I’m gonna jump your bones right here, right now.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Here I am, tryna be a gentleman and shit, and here you are, making me want to throw all that right out the window.”

“Well, maybe if Saturday goes alright, you’ll get to. I am a classy broad though, you gotta wine and dine me first.” Steve winked, pulling his backpack onto one shoulder. “I’ll see you Saturday then, Bill.”

“See you then, Sweet Thing.” Steve melted at the nickname.

It was gonna be the beginning of something, real nice.

#yikes writes #harringrove #harringrove au #harringrove college au #harringrove modern au #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove prompt fill #harringrove prompt list #harringrove prompts #prompt fill #prompt fic #harringrove prompt fic

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 5 years ago

Text

Too much said

A/N: This was requested by an anon, I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! If anyone has any requests please let me now!

Summary; After a long and terrible day for Richie, he gets into a fight with Eddie, worsening his day.

Warnings: a lot of curse words.

The fight happened so fast and unexpected that Richie was left blindsided. Sure, Eddie and him have their arguments from time to time, but never have they been so cruel and vile before.

It’s honestly Richie’s fault, both for starting the fight and pursuing it, and there’s no excuse that he can give obtaining why he did that.

See, Eddie has this gift where he sees straight through Richie, past all the layers of defense and deflection until he comes across the real, raw Richie, and most of the time Richie loves that about him. But at times, it unnerves him too. The amount of layers he manages to surpass baffles Richie, no number of walls stopping him from getting to the truth. He scratches and tears to uncover everything about him, leaving him torn open for the world to witness. That’s how it feels at least, and Richie can’t help but want to scurry away from it sometimes.

No one has ever cared about him enough to do something like that, most noticed his overload of jokes and his overly outgoing personality and walked, no ran, away as fast they could. Richie was fine with that, as he was only able to see his negatives anyway and figured they were all right for doing so, but Eddie proves to him everyday that he is worth it. The anxiety in his mind and Eddie fight each other every day, thankfully with Eddie victorious, but the days Richie does succumb to his fears, give way to bad moods and even worse decisions.

The fight started with a simple question on Eddie’s part, an innocent inquiry that had no business leading up to the brawl it did.

‘Hey Richie, you okay? I haven’t heard you spout a joke all day.’ He says with a teasing smile, yet the corners of his lips a tad too low to genuine, a strong indicator that he’s faking the chaff, and worry is hidden behind it.

And that’s the loaded question isn’t it? A question that so many answers can be given too, either truth or lie, and a query that no is able to verify anyway. Today sucked for Richie, from waking up late to blowing his interview with the board directors and spilling water over his computer causing it to crash and delete all the documents on which he wrote his new material.

During the day Eddie texted to ask if he wanted to go out shopping for new suits that are required for Ben and Bev’s wedding. ‘You can’t wear a Hawaiian shirt to my wedding Richie. I’m a fashion designer.’

Richie agreed, not that he was jumping on the opportunity to go in and out of stores, but solely for spending time with Eddie, but then he got the text message. That god-for-saken text message highlighted the terrible day. He refused to mull over that now though, so while he adjust his smile to appear naturally, he nodded to Eddie.

‘I’m fine Eds, why wouldn’t I be?’

Eddie’s brow twitches, then stills and smooths out again. He’s suppressing his telltale of wary that Richie points out time and time again to taunt him.

‘Are you sure? Cause I have never heard you in my life say no to fast-food,’ he pushes.

Richie sighs inaudible, and walks over their liquor cabinet in the living room, pulling out a bottle of red wine, the only kind of alcoholic drink Eddie likes.

‘Like I said Spaghetti, I’m fine, tired but good.’

Grabbing two wine glasses by the stem, per Eddie’s requests, he uncorks the bottle and pours plenty of the drink into it and offers one to Eddie.

Eddie takes it with a small ‘thank you’, and shuffles over to their couch, patting the seat next to him to invite Richie over.

Too obvious, Richie’s mind hisses at him, use a joke, do anything to distract him from your mood so he doesn’t asks questions.

‘We’re not eating McDonalds’ right now because I wanted to cook you spaghetti, Spaghetti’, Richie explains with a grin, watching as Eddie works himself up again. During a party where he was highly intoxicated, Eddie entrusted Richie that he cherishes the nickname ‘Eds’, but he still absolutely despises the nickname Spaghetti.

‘Fuck you’, he responds with so much conviction that Richie blanches for a second, a stab of sadness straight to the heart, until he sees Eddie’s own teasing smile.

‘And anyway, you’re going to cook? I would love to be able to have a kitchen. Remember how you burned an oven pizza when we were kids?’ He adds dryly.

‘Oh Eds, you wound me. I was ten.’

‘Old enough to read a clock then.’ While chuckling, they both take a sip of their drink.

They fall back into their old pattern of ribbing and mocking, and Richie believes for a moment that he got away with his behavior. He’s not that lucky.

When the chuckling subsides, Eddie fixes Richie with a stern look, his hand falling on top of Richie’s knee.

‘Rich, you hate cooking. Tell me what’s going on so I can help you.’

He knock the glass of wine back completely to the last drop, gulping it down in an effort to get drunk. ‘Will you get off my back already?’

That was a mistake, Richie never talks to Eddie that way, especially not for something so insignificant.

Eddie’s face hardens, not angry or upset, but determined, and that tells Richie that he’s not backing down now, it’s not in his nature.

‘Now I’m sure somethings wrong. Was it Steve, did he push you again to go on tour? You declined that once before, he needs to accept it.’

Richie slams the glass on the coffee table a little too harshly, while knocking Eddie’s hand of his knee and scrambling up from the sofa to pace up and down.

‘It’s not Steve, drop it Eddie I mean it. I don’t wanna talk about it.’

The lack of jabs is disturbing, so Eddie is not giving up, following Richie and attempting to hug him. Richie rejects the hug, and huffs as he storm through the backdoor into the yard to cool himself off.

The last thing he wants is to upset Eddie, but he has to be alone to get his mind in order, and maybe to wallow in self-pity.

Eddie trudges on the patio behind him, not allowing him to gain a second of peace. All traces of teasing disappeared and any underlying worry is now visible on the surface. Richie lights a cigarette, something he distanced himself from as soon as Eddie returned in his life, his fingers trembling harshly making it hard to light it.

A scowl is omnipresent on Eddie’s face, his lips tilted in distain, waving away the smoke with his hand despite Richie not having even lit it yet. Tears tingle to escape but Richie stubbornly fights then, but even he can tell that Eddie notices them. He loathes crying in front of others, Eddie not being an exception, and now it’s even worse because he’s striving to pretend that he’s good.

‘Come on Rich. What’s wrong with you today?’ Eddie questions, itching to grab the cigarette from Richie and disposing of it.

‘There’s nothing wrong with me. What’s wrong with you?’ Richie begins hysterically. He wishes Eddie would let him be, so that he’s blind to all of the bad things that make Richie Richie. His mind is firing solutions to the situation, and way that he can change the subject.

‘Jesus fucking Christ, you’re acting like your mother, following me around all the time, demanding to know what’s wrong with me, I can have some free time of my own you know?’

The moment the words fly out of his mouth, Richie aches to swallow them back in. He hankers to beat them to dust, set them on fire and then bury them so deep that no one ever lays eyes on them again.

Eddie’s face turns, the scowl evaporating and leaving a defeated face in it’s wake. The tears that were building a minute ago dry up too, and the cigarette falls uselessly to the ground. ‘Eds, I’m so so sorry’, Richie tries, his nails digging in his palm at his self-hatred, his trash-mouth once again getting him in trouble.

Not looking at him, Eddie stares at a far away spot near the back of their garden, silent and still. Richie briefly considers begging on his knees for forgiveness, and spout out a one-liner, or explaining what got him so bothered, but none of that comes close to the apology Eddie deserves.

‘Fine, fuck off then’, Eddie mutters, turning on his heels and disappearing in the house, banging the patio door shut in rage.

Richie sniffles, feeling stupider than he has ever felt in his life. He inhales deeply to stop the tears, having no right to cry himself now, and scurry’s to catch up to his boyfriend.

The house is silent, no Eddie anywhere in sight, and his shoes are missing too. When Richie checks the cabinet where all their keys reside, he observes that the front-, and car-keys are missing. Eddie left, and Richie is clueless as to where he is.

‘Shit’, he says, the panic building and building until every pore of his being is filled with a negative energy.

The urge to hit himself over the head is astounding, but he resists it in favor of grabbing his phone and calling Eddie.

Ironic, considering the reason Richie got pissed off was because Eddie gave him no space. The phone rings three times before Richie realizes that the ringing is coming from inside the house, placed on the kitchen counter top, odd since Eddie never travels without it.

Most likely Eddie put it there to show Richie there’s no point in calling him, and Richie nearly screams in frustration. He’s so fucking stupid.

He decides to try Bill instead, scrolling trough every contact until he finds it, and then stops. Bill might be Eddie’s best friend, but there’s no way Eddie would pay him a visit or discus this with him. He’s an a grade idiot about relationship, and anyway, Eddie only has conversations about his mom with one person.

Richie clicks out of Bill’s contact and seeks out Bev’s, the picture of her smiling face with sunglasses on greeting him. He’s in for an earful with Bev he knows, but if it helps him find Eddie, Richie is willing to endure it.

She answers the phone after the second dial, her breathing heavy yet she’s laughing too.

‘Ben hold on one second, it’s Richie.’

‘Hey Bev’, Richie maffles, leaning his back against the wall and tilting his head upwards. If only the day would start over.

‘No Nicknames? Okay what did you do?’ Bev asks him straight to the point, no beating around the bush.

‘I messed up.’ Richie confesses, holding his breath to wait for Bev’s answer. She halts for a second, then says; ‘Honey, you’re kind of an idiot, I’m going to need more information than that.’

‘Badly. I told Eddie that he was acting just like his mother.’ Repeating the words only hammer in Richie’s head how much he fucked up, how asshole of him it was to say such a thing.

‘Oh Richie. Why did you do that?’

‘I was upset, and I don’t know. There’s no excuse. But he ran off and took the car and I don’t know where he is, has he called you?’, he begs, a mantra in his sounding ‘please, please.’ He will never forgive himself if something happened to Eddie and it was his fault.

‘No he hasn’t’, Bev groans. ‘Make this right Richie, you know how sensitive a subject this is.’

‘Yeah I know, thanks Bev. I’ll talk to you later.’

‘Oh hey Richie, maybe you can check out the lake? I think he jogs there.’ Without thanking her, Richie abruptly ends the call, rushing for their other car. Of course the lake, how did he not think of that?

Barely bothering to close the car door, Richie is already speeding away, until he drives on the main road. Traffic is jammed in L.A, moving an inch in 15 minutes, as it often it, unconcerning about the hurry Richie is under.

He bangs his hands against the steering wheel, and allows himself one yell in the confinements of his car, to let all the frustrated energy out, the scream galloping in the vehicle. A woman’s head whirls his way from the car beside him, a perfectly trimmed eyebrow raising.

Richie laughs awkwardly, gesturing his hands in front of him. ‘Traffic, what can you do huh?’ He mouths, The woman merely breathes through her nose and returns her attention to the cars in front of her, ignoring his antics as best she can.

It remains embarrassing between them up to the intersection where they split up, Richie taking a U-turn. The five minute drive from there to home took him twenty minutes today.

The lake-park in question is one that Richie only tagged along for once, back when he promised Eddie to jog along side him every so often, but after that first time and Richie not being able to move for a day, he gave up that idea.

Still, he locates it fairly easy, a small lake surrounded by trees and walking trails with a huge parking lot attached to it. Seriously, Richie bets that the parking lot is bigger than the actual park.

Richie misses the car Eddie occupied, but since it’s such a large space, that means nothing, and so he parks, and sets out to find him.

A cold breeze washes over, causing him to shiver and clench his jacket tighter over himself. He hopes Eddie took a jacket as well.

After an intensive search, Richie finally descries Eddie, sitting on the park bench that he covered in his overalls. Forgetting the situation for an instant, Richie chuckles, the whole thing so Eddie that his heart soars and sings.

The grass crunches under his feet as he approaches, loud enough apparently that Eddie is alerted and glances Richie’s way. He doesn’t smile or states anything, he just monitors Richie and what he does.

On the way here, Richie’s mind was so occupied that he forgot to think of what to say when he saw Eddie again, and now he’s coming up blank, the only words that mull in his head are related to an apology, and proving to Eddie that he knows he fucked up.

‘Eds, I’m so, so sorry.’ Richie tries, still two steps away from where Eddie is seated, unsure if he’s allowed to come any closer. He balances himself from the tip of his toes to the ball of his foot, rocking back and forth. He would love to humor Eddie, but that might not go down well, and another fight, no matter how mundane, is the last thing they need right now.

‘It’s not enough of an apology and I know that I’m just so sorry and I wish I would have never said it.’

‘She didn’t care about me you know?’ Eddie interrupts him, starting a whole new conversation that Richie did not expect they we’re going to have.

‘Sure, she loomed over my shoulder at every turn and asked how I felt every fucking day, but she didn’t care. What she cared about was being portrayed as this godsend and a way to do that was by making me ill, but if I died she would have been fine with that, that’s another to way to gain attention.’

Richie inches closer, dropping down next to Eddie but refraining himself from touching him, because he uncertainty loomed in the back of his mind.

‘I love you Richie, even when you’re a fucking asshole, and I’d rather you didn’t die, even though right now I’d really like to yell at you. I’m not her.’

With a startle chortle, Richie nods his head in agreement. ‘I’d let you, I deserve it. ’ Eddie rolled his eyes, pushing Richie lightly, not enough to hurt or push him off the bench, no more like a friend type of punch.

‘No you don’t. You’re a dumb ass sometimes and can be absolutely infuriating, but I shouldn’t have pushed you so much in the first place.’

‘I cherish that you care so much about me Eds, I wasn’t ready to talk, but that gave me no right to say such a thing You’re nothing like her, you don’t even resemble her at all, not even if you tried. I was bottling shit up again and I avoided the subject, but really I needed to be honest with you. I hope you can forgive me.’ Eddie merely shrugs, the small smile playing on his features when he looks up at Richie again giving him away.

Tentatively, Richie adds; ‘I guess I’m usually that pushes I you know what I mean, both in our relationship and me and your mother’s.’

The joke strikes the jackpot, Eddie snorting a hearty laugh, shaking his head in disbelieve. ‘And I assumed your jokes couldn’t get any worse than those you performed when you started.’

‘Rude.’

‘You know what’s rude? Your boyfriend turning you into a laughing stock at Saturday night live, I know your moves bitch, and I’m onto you.’ Eddie jabs back, his bite and fiery spirit back on board.

Their lips connect, Richie pouring all his feelings and emotions into, conveying the many apologies he hadn’t spoken out loud. Eddie reciprocates enthusiastically, his hands sliding up in Richie’s hair, winding around a curl and tugging until they separate.

‘You ever say something like that again and you won’t get away with it that easily okay dumb ass?’ Eddie baits, waiting for Richie’s agreement.

‘Oh, and also, I get tv privileges, I want to decide what we’re going to watch, when we’re going to watch it.’

‘Agreed’, Richie relents, so happy that they’re well on their way to making up, that he would say yes to anything.

‘Now lets go home, my ass has been sitting here for way to long and it’s freezing off.’ Eddie states, standing up and seizing a hold of his cardigan.

‘Oh no, not my Spaghetti’s ass, what ever would I do without it?’

Entering the house again when they make it home, Eddie clasps his phone in his hands, frowning at the missed calls Bev left him.

‘Hey, why is Beverly calling me?’

‘Yeah, I don’t think we’ll be able to go visit for a while, I may or may not have ended the call without saying goodbye.’

#reddie #reddie fight #hurt comfort #making up #My writing #richie tozier #richie tozier imagine #Richie x Eddie #eddie kaspbrack #eddie kaspbrak imagine #it chapter two imagine #it chapter 2 #mentioned Beverly Marsh

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eli-kittim · 4 years ago

Text

The Quran: Revelation or Forgery?

By Goodreads Author Eli Kittim

——-

Did Muhammad Exist?

Before we embark on a brief criticism of the Quran, it’s important to note that there is “very little biographical information” (Wiki) concerning the historicity of its founder, Muhammad:

Attempts to distinguish between the

historical elements and the unhistorical

elements of many of the reports of

Muhammad have not been very successful

(Wiki).

(see: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Historicity_of_Muhammad#Views_of_secular_historians).

Of course, this opens up the possibility of whether or not the unknown author of the Quran invented the Muhammad tradition to bolster his credibility. In order to determine the answer to this question, it is crucial to consider the evidence of *intertextuality* in the Quran, that is to say, the literary dependence of the Quran on earlier texts and sources.

——-

How historically reliable is the Quran?

Firstly, with regard to source criticism——that is, the sources that the Quran’s message is derived from——there are some very serious issues involved. For example, there are well-known parallelisms between the Quran and the extra-biblical, non-inspired book of Talmud (e.g. Surah 5:32; cf. Sanhedrin 37a) as well as borrowing from Christian apocryphal works that were written hundreds of years after the purported events and which claim to be legitimate Christian gospels but are not. Case in point, The Infancy Gospel of Thomas:

The Infancy Gospel of Thomas is thought to

be Gnostic in origin. . . . Early Christians

regarded the Infancy Gospel of Thomas as

inauthentic and heretical. Hippolytus

identified it as a fake and a heresy in his

Refutation of All Heresies, and his

contemporary Origen referred to it in a

similar way in a homily written in the early

third century. Eusebius rejected it as a

heretical ‘fiction’ in the third book of his

fourth-century Church History, and Pope

Gelasius I included it in his list of heretical

books in the fifth century. While non-

canonical in Christianity, the Infancy Gospel

of Thomas contains many miracles and

stories of Jesus referenced in the Qur'an,

such as Jesus giving life to clay birds (Wiki).

So, the Quran clearly employs Jewish and Christian apocryphal works that were never accepted as canonical or as “inspired” either by Jews or Christians. Thus, at least some of the sources of the Quran are highly dubious.

Secondly, in 632 CE, following Muhammad’s death, the Battle of Yamama ensued where a great number of those who had supposedly retained the Quran in their memory (hafiz) actually died. How then can Muslims claim the preservation of the Quran through memory and oral transmission?

Thirdly, the New Testament is the best attested book from the ancient world as well as the most scrutinized book in history, and one which has a critical edition. By contrast, the Quran has not been critically scrutinized rigorously in the same manner, nor does it have a critical edition, nor is the manuscript evidence made available to scholars for serious study. There’s a secrecy surrounding it that seems to prevent scholarly investigations. For example, because it lacks a critical edition, there are no footnotes in the Quran to notify the reader about manuscript evidence or textual discrepancies or omissions, such that “(some verses eaten by a goat; Ibn Majah, Book of Nikah, p.39) or that (Umar records the missing verses; Bukhari 8.82.816 & 817).

Fourthly, Orientalists have often questioned the historical authenticity of the Quran by charging Uthman ibn Affan (the 3rd Caliph of Islam) of consigning variant copies of the Quran to the flames during his reign.

Fifthly, the controlled transmission of the Quran makes it impossible to know what was the original. Hence its textual integrity is seriously compromised. By contrast, in the case of the New Testament, for example, since no one person controlled all the manuscripts, it would be impossible to uniformly corrupt all the documents. In the case of the Quran, however, the text was in fact controlled by one person, the khalifa, as attested by Uthman's authority to recall and uniformly revise all the manuscripts. Therefore, it would have been extremely easy for the Quran to have been uniformly corrupted in a textually undetectable manner. For example, the “Sanaa manuscript,” which contains earlier developments of the Quran, demonstrates textual variances that diverge from the Uthman copy.

In conclusion, the Quran doesn’t allow us to come any closer to the original text than the Uthmanic Revised Standard Version 20 years removed from Muhammad. Any errors which found their way into the URSV would be permanent and uncorrectable. And, unfortunately, historical accounts from early Islam tell us that such errors existed!

——-

The Quran is Based on Dubious Sources

Besides the numerous and traceable Judeo-Christian apocryphal works that the author used within the Quran itself, he also got a lot of his ideas from a group that was an offshoot of the Ebionites called the “Sabians,” variously known as Mandaeans or Elcesaites. The Sabians followed Hermeticism and adored John the Baptizer:

Occasionally,

Mandaeans are called

‘Christians of Saint

John’ . . . the ‘Sabians’

are described several

times in the Quran as

People of the Book,

alongside Jews and

Christians (Wiki).

According to Origen and Eusebius, the Sabians used an extra-biblical book that they claimed was given by an Angel (maybe another idea adopted by Muhammad?) to deny portions of Scripture as well as the writings of Paul! So, this idea of challenging Christianity and claiming to have received a new revelation from an angel is quite common in ancient times. It is not unique to Islam. Others had made similar claims. Thus, without completely rejecting the possibility of *revelation* in at least some portions of the Quran, the majority of its theological narratives are largely based on dubious and questionable sources, derived from spurious texts that were under the radar of heresiologists across the ancient world!

——-

Two Apocryphal Works Employed by the Quran to Deny the Crucifixion of Jesus

//Second Treatise of the Great Seth is an apocryphal Gnostic writing discovered in the Codex VII of the Nag Hammadi codices and dates to around the third century. The author is unknown, and the Seth referenced in the title appears nowhere in the text. Instead Seth is thought to reference the third son of Adam and Eve to whom gnosis was first revealed, according to some gnostics. The author appears to belong to a group of gnostics who maintain that Jesus Christ was not crucified on the cross. Instead the text says that Simon of Cyrene was mistaken for Jesus and crucified in his place. Jesus is described as standing by and "laughing at their ignorance”// (Wiki).

//The Gnostic Apocalypse of Peter is a text found amongst the Nag Hammadi library, and part of the New Testament apocrypha. Like the vast majority of texts in the Nag Hammadi collection, it is heavily gnostic. It was probably written around 100-200 AD. Since the only known copy is written in Coptic, it is also known as the Coptic Apocalypse of Peter.

The text takes gnostic interpretations of the crucifixion to the extreme, picturing Jesus as laughing and warning against people who cleave to the name of a dead man, thinking they shall become pure. Like some of the rarer Gnostic writings, this one also doubts the established Crucifixion story which places Jesus on the cross. Instead, according to this text, there was a substitute:

He whom you saw on the

tree, glad and laughing,

this is the living Jesus.

But this one into whose

hands and feet they

drive the nails is his

fleshly part, which is the

substitute being put to

shame, the one who

came into being in his

likeness. But look at him

and me// (Wiki).

This is attested in the Quran:

That they said (in boast), ‘We killed Christ

Jesus the son of Mary, the Messenger of

Allah’—but they killed him not, nor crucified

him, but so it was made to appear to them,

and those who differ therein are full of

doubts, with no [certain] knowledge, but

only conjecture to follow, for of a surety they

killed him not—nay, Allah raised him up unto

Himself; and Allah is Exalted in Power,

Wise (Sura 4:157-158, Yusuf Ali).

——-

A Possible Forgery: Is Muhammad Copying Augustine?

Muhammad (570 – 632 CE) seems to have modelled his conversion on Augustine of Hippo (354 – 430 CE), who was without a doubt the greatest theologian and philosopher of his day! Case in point, in 386 CE, Augustine converted to Christianity from the pagan Machanean religion. Similarly, in 610 CE, Muhammad converted to Islam from the “Jahiliyya" religion, which worshipped Allah as the creator god as well as the Kaaba in Mecca. About 224 years earlier St. Augustine had heard a voice that told him to “take up and read,” a line which became very famous and reverberated through the centuries:

As Augustine later told it, his conversion

was prompted by hearing a child's voice

say ‘take up and read’ (Latin: tolle, lege).

Resorting to the Sortes Sanctorum, he

opened a book of St. Paul's writings (codex

apostoli, 8.12.29) at random and read

Romans 13: 13–14: Not in rioting and

drunkenness, not in chambering and

wantonness, not in strife and envying, but

put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no

provision for the flesh to fulfill the lusts

thereof (Wiki).

By comparison, Muhammad appears to have used a similar line to claim that he, too, heard an Angel’s voice repeatedly say to him: “Read.” Given that Muhammad was presumably familiar with Judaism and Christianity (and especially with the foremost leading authority of his day, the African Augustine of Hippo), it seems very likely that he modelled his conversion on the latter. And, if true, that would certainly constitute a forgery!

——-

Are Allah’s Oaths Self-contradictory in the Quran?

The aforementioned textual criticisms are further compounded when we realize that the Quran contains further theological discrepancies. For example, there are numerous verses in the Quran where Allah is swearing by created things that are less-than-God, thus committing “shirk” (i.e. the sin of ascribing divine status to any other beings beside Allah). Here’s a case in point. In sura 81:15, Allah says: “But nay! I swear by the stars.” Another example is sura 91 verse 1: “I swear by the sun and its brilliance.” When God supposedly swears by something which is less than himself the truth value of his assertion is obviously weakened. By definition, an oath is meant to buttress an argument, not to decrease the weight thereof. Therefore, the truth value of an oath is equivalent to, and connected with, the truth value of the one who declares it. As such, Allah’s oaths (swearing by created things) directly contradict his so-called divine status. By contrast, the God of the Bible swears by Himself, since there is nothing greater to swear under (cf. Gen. 22.16; Isa. 45.23; Heb. 6.13). By definition, an oath is a solemn attestation of the truth of one's words. In this case, how can Allah’s oaths be trustworthy if they appeal to something that is less than himself? Answer: they cannot! It appears, then, that the aforementioned oaths in the Quran are reflecting a human rather than a divine author.

——-

Is Muhammad the Prophesied False Prophet of Revelation?

During the Early Middle

Ages, Christendom

largely viewed Islam as a

Christological heresy

and Muhammad as a

false prophet (Wiki).

In short, following the Arab conquest of the Middle East and due to the *military expansion* of Islam into Europe and Central Asia since the 700’s (toppling one country after another), Muhammad was increasingly seen as a possible candidate for the office of the *false-prophet-of-Revelation* (cf. Rev. 16.13; 19.20; 20.10): https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medieval_Christian_views_on_Muhammad

——-

Conclusion

Muslims claim that the Quran is neither corrupted nor influenced by Judeo-Christian sources, and yet upon further scrutiny the book clearly incorporates passages from both the Jewish Talmud and from various Christian apocryphal works. Plagiarism abounds, and so does forgery. Therefore, it is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to maintain that it’s a “revelation” when at least some of the sources of the Quran are highly dubious!

Moreover, Islam has nothing new to offer by way of revelation. Its doctrine could simply be classified as a modified theological redundancy of the Judeo-Christian tradition and the Biblical heritage that preceded it. The main difference between Islam and Christianity is this. Unlike the Quran’s singular witness and source——given that it was only revealed to *one* man (Muhammad)——the revelations of the New Testament were imparted to many different people, thereby authenticating its message by multiple attestations and witnesses!

——-

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omnivorousshipper · 5 years ago

Text

Shobbs: Adventures in Rescuing

This was requested by anon here

Summary: In the middle of the night, Deckard receives a phone call. Apparently, Hobbs had gotten himself into a sticky situation and it's up to Deckard to save him. He just hopes he's not too late

Deckard leaned back into his plush armchair, carefully balancing his tablet on the arm of the chair as he tucked his legs under him. Once settled, he spread a blanket over himself, picked up his tablet, and readjusted the reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. On the end table next to him sat a steaming cup of tea, heavily doused with honey.

This was one of the first nights Deckard had had to himself. No MI6 agents knocking on his door, no little siblings bugging him for attention, and no bad guys trying to kill him. Deckard didn’t mind his chaotic lifestyle, but sometimes it was nice to have a little break and catch up on some reading.

Reaching for his cup of tea, his hand stilled when he heard his phone go off.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Deckard sighed and let his head fall back for a moment before lifting it once again to look down at his phone, which laid next to the cup. For a second, Deckard considered ignoring the call, but knowing who he was related to, he decided that would be a bad idea.

His hand moved towards the phone slowly, almost as if he was about to pick up a venomous snake. Finally, his fingers wrapped around the cool metal and strong vibrations as the phone kept ringing. Looking at the screen, Deckard raised an eyebrow.

Unknown number.

Nobody, other than the people already stored in his phone, should have his number. Whoever it was calling him had a lot of explaining to do. Rolling his eyes, he finally picked up after a few rings, and gruffly answered.

“Shaw.”

“Oh thank god, I never thought you’d answer. Let me tell you, hearing your voice, it’s like hearing an angel’s. No. Like hearing God’s voice himself. Well, if you believe in stuff like that. Myself, not so much. I like believing in stuff I can touch, you know? Like chimichangas-”

Deckard hung up.

And his phone immediately started ringing again.

Even though he knew it was going to be a bad idea, Deckard sighed and picked up again. But before the other person could talk, Deckard growled out a warning.

“If you don’t get to the point right this second, I will find you and force feed you your own bollocks.”

There was a beat of silence before the other person started speaking, much slower and subdued this time.

“Okay, yeah. Totally understand.”

“Now, who the bloody hell are and what do you want?”

“Agent Locke, CIA,” the other man answered happily. “And let me just say, it’s an honor to finally be able to talk to you Deckard. Can I call you Deckard? Great! So, I have a favor to ask of you!”

Taking the phone away from his ear, Deckard rubbed the bridge of his nose, nearly dislodging his glasses. He knew he should hang up. It would be the easiest and simplest way to avoid a headache. But if the man was actually CIA and was able to contact him, something must be up.

Bringing the phone back up to his ear, Deckard was able to hear the tail end of Locke’s tangent.

“-but they said no, even though I told them it was a good idea. Why does nobody listen to me? I get results! I get things done! So what if there’s a little blood spilled along the way? It’s part of the job!”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Deckard sighed, feeling his patience close to snapping.

“Your good ol’ buddy, Luke Hobbs of course! Although, he prefers to be called Rebbeca. I came up with that name, you know? He loves it ‘cause we’re best friends and-”

“What about Hobbs, you absolute tit?” Deckard hissed.

“See, that’s where you come in. I sent him after a few baddies in Belgium and all we’ve gotten from him in the last twenty-four hours is radio silence,” Locke blurted out, not seeming to take a breath at all as he relayed the information to Deckard. “And I don’t have any guys in Belgium to help him out, you know, with waffles and chocolate being the only things in Belgium. So, I was hoping you’d go in and help him out?”

Deckard had to resist the urge to rub the bridge of his nose again. And then gave up and rubbed his temple instead.

“You mean to tell me, the CIA doesn’t have anyone who can help an agent who could possibly be taken hostage?”

“Yeah,” Locke sheepishly responded. “That’s basically it.”

“All of you Americans are idiots,” Deckard grumbled.

“And talking about idiot Americans, Hobbs still needs help. Probably. If he’s not already dead,” Locke tagged on at the end.

“Jesus Christ, man!” Deckard nearly yelped. The way Locke just casually mentioned Hobbs’ possibly being dead had Deckard straightening his back and knocking his book to the ground. The idea of Hobbs being surrounded by enemies and taking his last breath made something inside Deckard twist painfully. Nobody deserved a death like that, especially a man like Hobbs.

“So, what do you say?”

“Send me the files on the guys he was tracking. I’ll see what I can do,” Deckard finally said, a note of resignation in his voice.

The next few hours went by in a blur after that. Deckard had rushed to get dressed, collect his gear and weapons, and all the documents he would need to get into Belgium in the middle of the night. Taking one of his least flashy cars, he sped down the Channel Tunnel while he listened to his phone read out the files on the guys Hobbs was tasked to take down.

Hobbs had gone after a guy named Mark Hulmes, the nephew of Lewis Hulmes, one of the most notorious mob bosses in all of Brussels. Apparently the younger Hulmes had been branching out and had tried buying some high end weapons from the black market, sending red flags to the CIA. And it seemed like they had a valid reason to be concerned if Hulmes got his hands on those weapons. The man had been involved in a multitude of violent crimes, including attempted murder, but because his uncle had strong connections with the judge, the younger Hulmes got off with only a few months of probation.

Deckard had never really been in contact with the criminal underworld of Brussels, but he knew Hulmes’ types. He was a ticking time bomb.

One that might have a mouthy DSS agent in his grasp.

Deckard knew Hobbs could handle himself, but from the way Locke put it, it seemed like Hobbs went in alone. And while the man was an absolute powerhouse by himself, Deckard knew that it could take only one lucky shot to take someone down. He just hoped that that didn’t happen to Hobbs and the man was just laying low.

“You better be alive, Hobbs, or else I’m going to kick your sorry arse,” Deckard mumbled to himself, gripping the steering wheel hard, his knuckles going white..

The next few hours went by slowly, with Deckard stiffly sitting and pushing his luck with the speed limit and local police. He couldn’t help the images that would pop into his head every few minutes. From Hobbs beaten and bruised, to him screaming in pain, to his lifeless bo-

“He’s fine,” Deckard firmly told himself. “If he could survive Brixton, he can survive some back alley punk from Brussels.”

The statement only marginally helped him feel better, but didn’t stop the darker thoughts from creeping back in.

The sun was peeking over the horizon when Deckard finally reached the row of abandoned warehouses that the Hulmes family owned and no doubt did most of their dirty business. The buildings were on their last legs, looking as if a strong wind would knock them down. There were weeds growing up the sides of them, while every window was shattered and allowed the elements to enter the buildings.

After a few loops around the place, Deckard was able to spot a few cars parked around one in particular, while all the others stood empty. Parking behind the one that appeared to be inhabited, Deckard started to grab as many guns, ammo, and other weapons that he could. And it being him, he was able to carry quite a bit.

He had no idea how many men would be inside, only a rough estimate from the eight or so cars he saw parked in front. It took him several minutes to gear up, but finally he shut the trunk of his car, armed to the teeth. Holding his custom handgun, the SVI Infinity, he sneaked around the warehouse, looking for a different entrance other than the front door.

“That’ll work,” Deckard smirked, spotting a firescape on the side of the building and allowing him access to the second floor. It was severely rusted and missing several rungs, and creaked horribly when Deckard started to climb up it. Taking his time, he listened carefully to the noises coming from inside.

He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but from the shouts and loud, boisterous laughter, it made the hair on the back of Deckard’s neck stand on end. People like Hulmes didn’t laugh when things were funny, but when something was in pain. That thought made Deckard quicken his pace, not caring if the deteriorating metal underneath him made noise; he needed to get to Hobbs.

The door at the top was just as rusted as the rest of the firescape and almost fell apart in Deckard’s hands as he shoved it open. It creaked loudly, making Deckard freeze in fear of being discovered. He couldn’t risk Hobbs’ life before he had even verified if the man was even in this building. Luckily, the shouts from down below didn’t stop, and Deckard could feel his heart slow.

Carefully entering the building, Deckard crouched near the railing of the platform that made up the second level of the building. And immediately, Deckard could feel rage boil up from his gut and spreading through his veins. Because down below, he could see Hobbs.

The large man was chained to a chair, surrounded by a group of various men, all who were circling the DSS agent and shouting taunts at him. Deckard felt himself jerk forward as he watched one of the men down below move quickly, his hand shooting out to punch Hobbs across the face.

“Look, boys! He’s not so tough anymore!” The man shouted, shrill laughter leaving him and bouncing off the concrete walls of the warehouse. “And to think anyone was ever scared of this worthless piece of shit!”

Hobbs didn’t react from the hit or insults. Instead, his head rolled so his chin was sitting on his chest, his whole body saging into the chair.

Deckard felt his finger twitch on the trigger of his gun as a spike of panic went through him. Hobbs was obviously unconscious and would no doubt need medical assistance soon. Clenching his jaw, Deckard raised his gun with both hands, leveling it at the group of men.

“Try it again, you arseholes,” he growled.

And like he predicted, another man broke away from the circle and was leveling a kick towards Hobbs’ head. With ease, Deckard tracked the man’s movements and before his foot was even halfway in the air, Deckard was pulling the trigger.

Chaos exploded underneath Deckard as the rest of the men started shouting and screaming from their friend’s brains spilled all over the floor and the resounding crack of Deckard’s gun echoed off the walls. Deckard sent out several more shots as the group below him ran around like headless chickens, all of them scrambling to grab their own guns.

“Up there!” One of the men shouted, pointing up at Deckard.

“Shit,” Deckard hissed out, and quickly stood up from his crouch and ran towards the stairs leading down to the lower floor and to Hobbs. He could hear several bullets ricocheting off the guardrail next to him. Ducking, he grabbed a different gun and easily raised it to shoot the men who were running up the stairs, trying to get to him.

Their bodies fell, making him have to jump over them and down the last few steps. He was immediately met with a baseball coming straight for his head. Dropping down, Deckard balanced on one foot and a hand on the ground, and sent a sweeping kick to his attacker’s legs, making the man hit the ground hard. Quick as lightning, Deckard moved over the man and hit him over the head hard with the butt of his gun, knocking the man out.

Jumping to his feet, Deckard kept charging forward, meeting another wave of Hulmes’ lackies head on. He ducked and weaved between them, easily dodging their fumbling limbs as they tried to fend him off. Every single one of them dropped to the ground, either from a vicious punch, a swift kick, or well placed bullet.

Panting, Deckard took on every person who came at him, and soon enough, the crowd of minions was thinning and leaving only about ten minions and Hulmes himself.

“Hey, arsehole!”

Shoving a guy off him, Deckard whipped his head around at the voice.

And felt his heart stop.

Standing behind Hobbs, holding a knife to his neck, was Hulmes.

“That’s right! If you don’t want me slitting this rat bastard’s throat open, then you better give right now, you piece of shit!” Hulmes shouted, the knife he was holding pressing further into Hobbs’ skin and making a line of blood to appear. “Drop you guns!”

Baring his teeth, Deckard let his current handgun fall from his hand and raised both hands to show his surrender. Two of Hulmes’ minions grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms tight behind his back. Ignoring the spike of pain that shot up his shoulders, Deckard let the men drag him towards where Hulmes and Hobbs were.

Now that he was much closer, Deckard felt another wave of rage wash over him as he took in the state Hobbs was in. He was clearly unconscious, his head hanging limp in Hulmes’ hold. There was a mess of bruises all over his face, while Deckard could see several cuts and gashes scattered all over his body, all of them slowly bleeding and soaking his clothing. The only thing keeping Deckard’s anger from spilling over was the fact that Hobbs’ chest was steadily moving up and down.

“That’s right,” Hulmes sneered. “One wrong move from you and I’ll cut your DSS buddy up.”

Deckard didn’t say anything, but felt a thrill of amusement go through him when Hulmes’ expression fell slightly at the glare Deckard was sending him.

“You two” Hulmes waved to some of his remaining men. “Search him and strip him of all of his weapons.”

Staying still, Deckard let the minions grab gun after gun off him, and couldn’t hold back the smug smirk that grew larger and larger as a formable sized pile started to form.

“Not so tough now are you, without all of your guns,” Hulmes taunted, his voice filled with faux confidence. Deckard could clearly see his hand shaking from where it still held a knife to Hobbs’ throat.

“I don’t need any gun to take you or your boys down,” Deckard said in a bored tone. Hulmes’ face scrunched up in confusion and fury. He shoved Hobbs’ head away from him, and stormed up to Deckard, shoving the knife so close to Deckard, he could just about feel the tip of it brushing against his nose.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but let me tell you, I won’t be bullied by some wannabe-”

While Hulmes was talking, Deckard subtly twisted his hand and was able to slip his watch off. With a hard thrust backwards, he was able to break the hold on his arms and snap his arm out to hit Hulmes across the face with his watch.

“Fuck!” Hulmes screeched and stumbled away.

The men who had been holding Deckard’s arms were staring at him in shock, not knowing what had just happened. Using their confusion, Deckard lunged toward them, with his watch wrapped around his knuckles, so the watch face was on the top of his fit. He heard a satisfying crunch as his fist landed on the first minion’s face. The second one went down just as quickly, still too stuck in his own confusion and fear as he watched Deckard take down his buddy.

The last few minions came at him fast and hard, but it was too easy to duck down, grab a gun and face them head on. The fight only lasted less than a minute, with each minion falling one after another. When the final body hit the floor, Deckard watched it disinterestedly, before looking up and tracking the room for Hulmes. The man was running straight for the main entrance.

Lifting his pistol, Deckard took aim and a final shot boomed through the warehouse as Hulmes’ body slumped to the ground, lifeless.

Deckard didn’t bother watching the body hit the floor, as he was already turning towards Hobbs and rushing towards his still slumped body. Gently, Deckard grabbed Hobbs’ head, each hand on a cheek.

“Hobbs. Hobbs! Can you hear me?” Deckard tried not to let the panic he was feeling slip into his voice. Still trying to be gentle, he patted Hobbs’ cheek, trying to get the man to wake up. “Hobbs!”

“Nnngh,” Hobbs finally groaned after a minute of nudging. His dark eyes blinked open, blurrily looking up at Deckard.

“Hobbs, thank Christ,” Deckard breathed out, cradling Hobbs’ head. He looked into the other man’s rapidly closing eyes, trying to see if his pupils were the same size.

“What…?” Hobbs slurred and promptly passed out again.

“Fuck sakes,” Deckard sighed out. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to drag you out of here, you giant?”

~~~

Luke’s not sure what woke him up; it could have been several things: the blinding light streaming in from the window, the loud voices he could hear not too far away, or the massive spiking pain that was going through his body. Well, it was definitely more in his head than anywhere else. Rubbing his head, Luke carefully levered himself up right, and took in the room around him.

It was a standard hotel room: outdated wallpaper, a bed, a dresser, a door to a bathroom, a door to the outside, and on the bed, Deckard Shaw.

Wait. What?!

Luke had to do a double take and whipped his head to look down at the man sleeping next to him. Laying next to Luke, the smaller man was curled up tight, still above the covers, with a hand stretched out towards Luke, almost as if he wanted to grab him.

What is he doing here? Wait, what am I doing here? What happened? Luke wondered to himself.

Frankly, even trying to remember more than his name hurt his head, but he tried to think back to the last twenty-four hours. One of Hulmes’ men had found him sneaking into one of the warehouses the mob family owned, and had been dragged inside, where he met Hulmes face to face. But, after that, things got hazy. Luke could easily remember the pain, the questions Hulmes spit in his face as he kicked or punched Luke repeatedly. He remembered passing out and the rest was a blank.

Keeping an eye on the ex-assassin still in the bed, Luke slowly swung his feet off the bed, trying to ignore how the world was spinning.

“Hobbs?” A voice rasped behind him.

Cursing under his breath, Luke turned and saw Shaw slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah?” Luke asked, keeping his voice level. He watched with narrowed as eyes as Shaw nimbly rolled off the bed onto his feet and rounded the bed to face Luke. Without thinking, Luke’s back straightened and he leaned back when Shaw was in front of him. The other man ignored him and was immediately grabbing the back of his head. Luke tried to jerk his head out of the strong grasp, but a sharp pain had him hissing out instead. “What the fuck are you doing, Shaw?”

“Checking how the lump on your head is, you absolute wanker,” Shaw mumbled back, focusing on feeling the said bump.

Luke was shocked to hear the actual concern running through Shaw’s voice and the way his touch stayed gentle, never once pressing too hard and causing pain. Soon enough, he nodded and took his hands away from Luke’s head, but then moved them to Luke’s torso, making Luke freeze at the feeling of those surprisingly soft hands on his bare chest, where several bandages were. And that’s when Luke realized just how close the other man was.

Shaw was practically standing in between Luke’s legs, his face only a few inches away from Luke’s as his brow furrowed as he checked Luke’s injuries. Luke could feel his face heat up and his heart beat faster by how close the smaller man was.

But all too soon, Shaw was pulling away and taking a step back from Luke. And Luke immediately missed having him so close.

“What do you remember?” Shaw asked bluntly, crossing his arms and waiting for Luke’s answer.

“Other than when Hulmes’ men caught me, not much,” Luke admitted.

“Bastards really got you,” Deckard said tightly. “You were completely out of it when I got there and saved your sorry arse.”

Luke’s eyebrows shot up. That had definitely been concern in Shaw’s voice.

“You took Hulmes and his guys down?” Luke asked incredulously.

“Wasn’t that hard,” Deckard shrugged. “Hulmes might have acted like a hard ass, but as soon as I bitched slapped him, his tune changed.”

Luke couldn’t help but match the smirk on Deckard’s face with a smile. Most guys he faced acted tough, but could never really deliver. But when it came to Shaw, the man could always hold his own and find a way out of a situation, which Luke had to admit was impressive.

“Well, thanks, man,” Luke sincerely responded, catching the surprised look on Shaw’s face. “If you hadn’t come along, I don’t know what would have happened to me. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Shaw mumbled, not looking Luke in the eye and shifted his weight from one leg to another. Luke couldn’t help the small smile on his face as he watched the bashful display. He’ll have to thank Shaw a lot more in the future. However, the other man cleared his throat before Luke could say anything else. “Do you think you can stand?”

“I think so,” Luke answered, a trace of uncertainty in his voice. Sitting up and staying still had helped the world to stop spinning, but Luke didn’t know what his balance would be like. It felt like someone had replaced his bones with jello.

Carefully, he hoisted himself off the bed and stood for a moment. So far, so good, Luke thought and took a step forward.

And almost fell flat on his face.

“Whoa there, big guy!” Deckard huffed out, catching Luke’s arms and helping him stand. Luke blinked rapidly, letting Deckard keep a hold on him and making sure he wouldn’t fall again. Because honestly, Luke had a feeling he would need the help.

After a moment of catching his breath, Luke looked down at the smaller man and felt his heart stutter at the way Shaw- wait, no- Deckard was looking at him. The worry in those deep, brown eyes was astounding as he carefully kept his grip on Luke firm, but gentle at the same.

Luke couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him with so much worry and attention, other than Sam. And thinking about it, Luke wasn’t sure he could remember a time where someone had to come save his ass, take out the guy he had been hunting, and then drag him somewhere safe to patch him up. And all without expecting anything in return. Because Luke knew Deckard wasn’t the time to save someone and ask for payment. That’s not why he did it.

Looking down at the smaller man, Luke couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward and just barely brushed his lips against Deckard’s, causing him to let out a small gasp. Pulling back, Luke was expecting a punch, a shove, or to even to be yelled at. Instead, he felt Deckard’s hand once again on the back of his head, but this time, his grip was tighter as he kept Luke where he was and crashed their lips together.

It was like fireworks were exploding all throughout Luke’s veins from where they touched: from every motion of Deckard’s lips, to the way his arms clung to Luke’s, and when Deckard shoved his chest against Luke’s, trying to get as close as he could. Luke never wanted the feeling to end, but he could feel himself becoming light headed from the lack of oxygen.

Finally breaking the kiss, Luke rested his forehead against Deckard’s, both of them leaning on each other and catching their breath.

“We should leave soon,” Deckard whispered quietly, not daring to break the calm between them.

“Where’re we going?” Luke whispered back, slowly rubbing a thumb on Deckard’s arm.

“Breakfast first, and then to London, back to my place.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“But first, let’s get you dressed.” Deckard smiled and leaned in for one most swift kiss before pulling back. As they both moved to wrangle a shirt over Luke’s bandaged chest, Luke was again surprised how gentle and caring Deckard’s touch was. He could definitely get used to it.

Deckard wrapped an arm around Luke’s waist, both of them moving slowly since Luke’s legs were still doing an imitation of a newborn fawn’s. But suddenly, Luke stopped, something just occurring to him.

“Um, is this a bad time to tell you I probably can’t pay for breakfast since I don’t have my wallet anymore?” Luke asked hesitantly.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, love. I’m sure I can find several ways you can repay me,” Deckard purred, his smirk holding several promises.

Smirking back, Luke was going to make sure that Deckard held to all of those promises.

#shobbs #deckard shaw #luke hobbs #hobbs and shaw #rescuing a loved one #rescue mission #hurt/comfort #small bits of violence #fast and furious series #fanfic #my fanfic

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tiefighter · 5 years ago

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hi! do you have any tips on how to get A star essays? as I always get B's I don't know what I am doing wrong...

While I can’t give you targeted advice about your essays, what I can do is give you general advice! alright so (apologies, this is gonna get long) all essays follow a familiar format. You have your essay subject, which you need to turn into a thesis sentence. However, a thesis sentence doesn’t have to be in the very first line of the essay. Say you were talking about fictional world war two novels influencing the media. You could start with something like “As a subject for fictional depictions, be it in video games, movies or even novels, world war two is not only popular but a proven draw-card (you’ll need to prove this within a paragraph of your essay, probably citing numbers of downloads for battlefield games, box office scores for war movies, that sort of thing. Book sales). Movies like Dunkirk, video games like Battlefield and novels like the English Patient (references, blah blah blah) all depict, using fictional hooks, either real or fabricated events during a well-documented war that involved much of the globe. Discussing this, and by showing evidence, we can separate the fiction from reality, and in doing so come to an understanding of how the media is influenced, and in turn influences, our beliefs about our own history.” So you break it down. You explain what you’re going to do, you make a thesis statement to hinge your essay on, and then you follow through. A basic paragraph structure is like a mini-essay in itself, and the first paragraph sets the tone for your entire essay. Don’t include anything you’re not willing to include or can’t back up in your essay. Structuring your paragraphs, and making sure you can back up EVERYTHING you say with references is going to mean your essay gets a better score. I know you’ll be tempted to include colloquialisms and heresay, but don’t. Don’t use phrases like “Everyone knows” or “as they say” because who the hell is they, and everyone don’t know jack shit. Back all of your shit up. -- okay, so a paragraph. You need a topic sentence, supporting sentences, a conclusion and then, if you’re going to lead onto another paragraph, a linking sentence. Your topic sentence starts at the beginning. “The movie Dunkirk, which made $50, 513, 488 at 3720 theaters on its opening weekend (boxofficemojo.com, 2020), is both a demonstration of the sheer selling power of historical movies and the storytelling abilities of fictional accounts. Movies with a similar budget that were released on the same weekend blah blah blah blah blah” This is what you’re going to talk about during your paragraph. the underlined parts are your topics for this paragraph, You’re gonna want to take all your supporting factors for this, and slam them right in here like peanut butter and jelly between two soggy pieces of bread. next, are supporting sentences. Go to reviews, or go to anything you can get that can support your essay thesis question: that these movies are often what people understand as the truth of world war 2, and the media is both an influencer and influenced by the same accounts. You need at least two, preferably three or four, supporting sentences, each of the sentences with references, each with evidence. This is true of all essays, not this one I just pulled out of my ass. What your professor/teacher is looking for is your understanding of the topic, what you’ve gotten from the subject that you’ve been studying and how you apply it in a contextual manner. Don’t deviate from your topic. If your topic is “jesus christ is a fictional figure and has been used to brainwash the masses for decades via ever shifting goalposts and dictatorial leadership” then fucking stick to it. Find your sources, back your shit up. An ideal essay isn’t documented by pages, but by sheer volume of your research, and your ability to apply it. By bringing in box office numbers, you’re supporting your previous statement about the movies being a drawcard. If you can, you could reference it against other movies that opened that same weekend that made less money, therefore attracting less people to see them. (or opening in less cinemas because, reasonably, cinema executives were willing to bank on a movie by a known director, etc etc) Your concluding statement is going to go over all the evidence you’ve gathered, and you slam it all into the ending of your essay that concludes something like “blah blah blah I’m right and this is why I’m right blah gimme an A” just back everything you have to say up with evidence. That’s all they’re looking for. They want to see how you apply your understandings you’ve learned in class, and the topic question will absolutely tell you what they want, if they don’t tell you directly. There are several essay questions that use similar language Discuss: gather evidence to support your understanding of the topic, and apply it. compare/Contrast: gather evidence of both sides, and compare/pit them against each other in a bloody battle to the finish. Explain: gather context, via evidence, and explain what your conclusion, after reading everything you have on the subject, is. advocate: gather positive evidence, and apply it to your point of view/a particular stance. Each of these has the same basis. Evidence. Back your shit up. Make sure you reference everything. This isn’t to say half your word count is made up by references (references aren’t included in the word count) but any conclusions you draw as a result of your essay must be researched, and thoroughly explained in your own words. That said, if your professor/teacher isn’t being explicit about what they want out of an essay, you are absolutely allowed to ask clarifying questions. If you can, get together with classmates and break down what they want from you together. Examine the language, and make sure you do exactly what the question is asking. The marking rubric they have will definitely have columns regarding your understanding of what you’re writing, and how well you applied various principles. That said, there’s such a thing as a grading curve, and sometimes what separates a B student from an A student is half a fucking point. Grading isn’t fair, I think homework is a waste of time and I’m fully willing to stand by that remark with data, lol. Honestly, good luck. If you have any other questions, or want clarification for anything I’ve said/explained, please feel free to contact me again!

#im so sorry this got long #essay help #this is just a basic breakdown #feel free to contact me lol #shitpost

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ceealaina · 5 years ago

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Title: Everything You Do Convinces Me More - Chapter 2 Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card Number: 3088 Link: AO3 Square Filled: A4 - Pining Ship: Stony Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Pranks and Practical Jokes, Explicit Sexual Content Summary: Steve likes to prank people. And then he and Tony hook up. There's some kind of connection to the two events in there somewhere. Word Count: 9383

Steve sighed heavily for the fifth time in an hour as Tony flicked the ‘page’ on the document he was reading on his tablet. Truthfully he hadn’t actually read a word in more than twenty minutes, but he continued to focus on the screen, pretending to be fascinated by whatever he found there. He could feel Steve’s eyes on him, staring at him over his empty breakfast plate, but Tony didn’t dare look up at him for even a second, certain that if he met Steve’s gaze he’d start laughing and ruin everything. He grabbed for his coffee mug, taking a long sip to hide the quiver of a smile in his lips.

Eventually Steve couldn’t linger over his long-finished breakfast any more, and he pushed his chair back from the table, sighing again.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony heard Clint mutter from the toaster.

“I’m going for a run,” Steve announced to the room at large. “And then I’ll be around the tower. If anyone needs me.” He got mumbled affirmations from Sam and Clint, and waited a long beat. “Bye Tony.”

“Bye Cap,” Tony said, trying to sound as absent as possible, and oh god, he couldn’t look up, he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he was going to start to laugh. He choked it back down, swallowing and biting at his lip until he heard Steve leave the room. Then he composed himself enough to look up and stare at the door longingly for a long minute before swallowing back half the coffee in one go and hopping to his feet. “Shit, I’m so late,” he said for Sam and Clint’s benefit. “Pep’s gonna kill me.”

He was just outside the door when he heard Sam and Clint both groan, Clint grumbling something about drowning in sexual tension. Tony bolted, and managed to make it to the stairwell before he burst out laughing, having to sit on the step to catch his breath.

***

Twenty minutes later found Tony not at SI or in the lab, but straddling thick thighs, fingers running through soft hair as he made out with Steve, the two of them sprawled in his favourite recliner.

“Is this what we’re calling “a run” now?” he teased, pulling away enough to appreciate Steve’s heavy eyes and swollen, red lips.

“I mean…” Steve’s eyes sparkled mischievously as he dragged his tongue slowly along his upper lip, knowing exactly what that did to Tony. “It’s technically still exercise, just… a different form of exercise.”

Tony giggled a little, shifting on Steve’s lap to press in closer, kissing him again. “I don’t know, Steve,” he hummed between kisses, shivering a little as Steve’s big hands wrapped around his thighs, pulling him in tight until they were pressed entirely together, Steve’s hips arching into the contact. “So far there hasn’t been that much exercise involved. Kissing only burns like 90 calories an hour.” He moaned softly as Steve nipped at his lower lip. “And running is like — oh — like 100 calories a mile. And you can run what, 26 miles in an hour, when you’re not even trying that hard? So, so…” He trailed off for a second, nails digging into the back of Steve’s neck when long fingers slipped under his waistband at the back of his pants. “So we’d have to — fuck, Steve — have to kiss for like 28 hours to burn the same amount of calorieees.” His voice trailed off into a high-pitched whine as Steve’s finger slid down the cleft of his ass, making Tony’s toes curl.

“Mmm-hmm,” Steve said, sounding faintly amused as he kissed over Tony’s neck. “Fuck, I love it when you talk science in bed.”

Tony huffed out a laugh, squirming against Steve. “Technically… technically it’s math.”

Steve made a face at him, biting down on his earlobe in retaliation and making Tony groan happily at the feeling. “God, the attitude.” He shook his head, laughing even as he spoke. “You wanna burn more calories, Shellhead?”

He didn’t give Tony the chance to respond before he was abruptly standing up. He nearly upset Tony on the floor, catching him at the last second and smirking at the shriek Tony let out.

“Ingrate,” Tony grumbled, no heat in his voice as his thighs tightened around Steve’s waist. Steve just laughed and bit at Tony’s lower lip as he moved them towards the bedroom. He kicked the door open, which absolutely did not make Tony squirm against him, and all but tossed him on to the bed. Tony was still giggling when Steve climbed up over him, framing him with his body and grinning down at him before kissing Tony again. “God, you feel good,” Tony moaned, head tilting back as Steve ground down against his dick. Then he snorted with laughter. “Did you see Clint’s face when you made that sad little sighing sound?”

Steve groaned, the sound decidedly unsexy. “You are not thinking about Clint right now.”

“What?” Tony blinked up at him with wide eyes, the hint of a smirk playing around the corner of his lips. “I can multitask!”

Steve arched an eyebrow at him and then was yanking Tony’s pants down over his hips in one quick movement, shoving his legs up and settling quite comfortably between his legs with his mouth hovering over Tony’s silk boxer briefs, pulled tight around his hard cock.

“Tony,” he said. “You’re not thinking about Clint right now.”

Tony shuddered beneath him. “Sure thing, Cap,” he said, grinning and arching his hips up. “Whatever you say.”

***

A couple of days later, Natasha walked into the gym and stopped dead. “Uh.”

In a rare moment of speechlessness, she glanced behind her and then up at the ceiling, half expecting Clint to be hanging from the vents, recording her. When there was no one else to be seen, she looked forward again, frowning at the sight of Tony, splayed across one of the crash mats and staring aimlessly up at the ceiling. One hand was resting over his chest and he gave a long, drawn-out sigh.

“Uh,” she said again, and then shook her head. “Tony? You alright?”

“Hmm?” Tony startled, like he hadn’t even noticed her coming in, and then shook his head. “Sorry, I was just… Thinking.”

Nat wrinkled her nose, blinking up at the speakers. “Is this Air Supply?”

Tony hummed along to a few bars of All Out of Love before looking over at her. “Yeah, I guess so,” he admitted before falling back into silence. Nat shook her head.

“Didn’t you have a meeting this morning?”

“Yeah,” Tony admitted with a heavy sigh. “I wasn’t feeling it, so I cancelled.” He blinked at her. “Sorry, did you want to work out?”

“That is generally what people do in the gym,” she agreed, giving a pointed look to his current position.

“Right, of course. I’ll go.” He hauled himself to his feet with a forlorn sort of look over to the doors. “Sorry, I was waiting… Thought somebody…” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “Anyway. Have a good workout, Nat.”

Nat waited until he was gone before pinching the bridge of her nose and swiping a hand over his face. “Jesus fucking Christ,” she muttered before setting out to take on the heavy bags extra hard. “If those two aren’t already fucking, I’m gonna throw them both off the roof.”

***

Steve was going over some case files when Rhodey walked in. “There you are!” he yelled, making Steve stare up at him with wide eyes. Before he could respond, Rhodey was tossing a notebook down on the table beside him. “What the fuck is this?”

“Oh.” Steve zeroed in on the book and felt his cheeks heat up. It was a joke, but it was still a little embarrassing. His ‘diary’ was filled with terrible poetry and ridiculously detailed descriptions of how much he loved various aspects of Tony that most people wouldn’t even notice. In his defense, Rhodes was the last person he’d expected to find it. “Uh, where…” He cleared his throat. “Where did you get that?”

Rhodey arched an eyebrow, looking totally unimpressed. “It was by the pool. Laying it on a little thick there, aren’t you Rogers?”

“Uh. What do you mean?” Steve asked, not quite able to meet his eyes.

Rhodey made a noise like he was embarrassed on Steve’s behalf and then picked it up, rifling through until he found a particular page. “Tony’s eyes are so beautiful, I could drown in them. They’re like chocolate syrup, melting in the coffee he drinks so much. They’re so warm and inviting, and I love the way they sparkle when he laughs, the way his skin crinkles up around them. There’s so --,”

“Okay, okay!” Steve burst out, not sure if he wanted to laugh, or melt into a puddle of humiliation. He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Please stop.”

Rhodey tossed the book back down into his lap. “Not even Barton is gonna buy that shit.”

“It’s not shit,” Steve protested automatically, before picking up on what he was saying. “Wait. You know?”

Rhodey rolled his eyes, but there was the hint of a smile on his lips. “I’m sorry, was I not supposed to know that you two have been fucking for months? If anyone knows what Tony looks like when he’s smitten and getting some, it’s me.”

Steve rubbed at the back of his neck to hide his smile. “He’s smitten?” he asked, feeling his cheeks flush all over again.

“Good lord, you two are disgusting, and absolutely meant for each other.” Rhodey grinned at him. “But Rogers, you hurt him, and I will end you.”

Steve couldn’t help grinning back. “Square deal.”

***

Steve was back in the big communal kitchen with Clint and Sam when Tony walked in, typing on his phone with one hand, the other occupied with a tray of coffee. Fucking with the team or not, Steve couldn’t keep his eyes from trailing down Tony’s body in appreciation. His suit jacket had already been abandoned, and Steve let his eyes linger on the curve of Tony’s ass before he ducked his head to hide the stupid smile spreading across his face.

“Hey Shellhead,” he said to the table before finally composing himself enough to lift his head. Fortunately, Sam and Clint took the flush of his face as embarrassment -- he didn’t miss their shared eyeroll. “How was your meeting?”

Tony positively beamed at him, and god, Steve was so going to drag him to bed later. “Rocked it,” he told him, pleased, before scoffing just a little. “Come on, Cap, was there really any doubt?”

“Nah,” Steve admitted, eyes still locked with Tony’s. “You’re amazing at everything you do.”

Their eyes stayed on each other for a few moments longer, and then Steve realized that they were probably being a little obvious, especially when he noticed that Sam and Clint had progressed to full-on nudging each other, waggling their eyebrows and looking back and forth between the two of them. Tony seemed to realize the same thing at the same time, and in almost perfect unison they looked away from each other again. Steve cleared his throat to keep from laughing.

“Hey!” Tony said brightly. “I brought coffee for everyone.” He set the take-out tray in the middle of the table, but then yelped when Sam reached for one. “Oh no, wait, sorry. That one’s for Steve.” He gave him an extra smile. “Put in that caramel syrup you like.”��

Steve resisted the urge to glare at him. He hated caramel syrup, the taste too sweet for his hyperactive taste buds, and Tony knew it. Sam knew it too, but as he opened his mouth to comment, Steve kicked him discreetly in the ankle and ignored his wince as he beamed back at Tony. “Thanks, Tony! That’s fantastic.”

He took a long sip, bracing himself, but warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee spread through him as the taste of hazelnut -- his actual favourite -- flooded his mouth. Good lord, he loved this man.

They made small talk for a few minutes, long enough for Steve to finish his extra-large coffee, and then he excused himself, leaving the empty container on the table. He lingered in the hall because he couldn’t help himself, wanting to listen.

Clint went to throw his own empty cup in the garbage, grabbing Steve’s as he went, but Tony grabbed his arm before he could. “Ow!” Clint whined, more on the principle of the thing since Tony hadn’t actually grabbed him that hard. “What the fuck, Stark?”

“I’ll, uh. I’ll take that. Steve’s cup.”

Clint arched an eyebrow at him as Tony yanked it out of his hand. “It’s empty.”

“Yep.” Tony agreed. There was a long, awkward moment of silence, Clint and Sam both staring at him, and then Tony cleared his throat. “Anyway, is that Pepper I hear arriving? Better run, you know how I hate paperwork. Bye!”

He practically ran through the door and Steve grabbed him in the hall, pushing him up against the wall and kissing him before Tony’s laughter could escape and give them both away. “Really, Tony?” he asked. “An empty coffee cup?”

Tony grinned up at him, eyes sparkling, and squirmed a little as Steve loomed over him. “Well.” He shrugged, unrepentant. “Your lips touched it.”

Steve snorted. “That’s not the only thing my lips are gonna touch,” he growled. Then he clapped his hand over Tony’s mouth as he cackled in delight. “You’re a menace,” he told him, laughing himself. “You’re going to get us caught. Come on, we’re going to bed.”

“Oooh,” Tony teased as Steve practically dragged him down the hall. “An afternoon delight. My favourite.”

Steve ignored that, not letting go of Tony’s hand until he had dragged him to his own suite of rooms, marginally closer than the penthouse. Tony was laughing the whole way, loving it when Steve got all demanding like this.

They managed to make it to Steve’s bedroom without getting caught, more and more of a miracle every day, and Steve immediately shoved Tony onto the bed, crawling on top of him and smothering his laughter with more kisses.

“You know,” he said conversationally when he pulled back. “A fella could take the fact that you’re still laughing the wrong way.”

Tony laughed harder, but his fingers were drawing tantalizing equations over Steve’s back. “Sorry,” he told him, not sounding it at all. “I’m just… Happy.”

Steve felt a stupid smile creeping across his own face. “Well. I’m glad I make you happy.”

Tony snorted. “It’s not you,” he told him, obviously lying. “I just like… Pranking the team.” He couldn’t seem to stop smiling though. “Jeez, Rogers. Vain much?”

“Oh right, of course. It’s the team. My mistake.” He ducked his head, sucking a bruise into Tony’s collarbone that finally stopped him from laughing, tossing his head back with a low groan. His legs tightened around Steve’s hips, hands sliding lower to pull up the hem of his t-shirt and scratch his fingers over his back. Steve grinned against his skin, flicking his tongue out to soothe the sting and delighting in the way Tony shivered beneath him at the touch.

“That better not be above my collar,” he grumbled, but he was grinning, his voice already rough with want. “I have important meetings, Rogers. Gotta be presentable, business appropriate. I have a reputation, you know?”

Steve huffed out a laugh against Tony’s neck, making him shiver again at the sensation. “When in your life have you ever cared about being business appropriate?”

“I resent that,” Tony told him, face open and bright. “I think you better make it up to me.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve kissed his way down Tony’s neck, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt to give him more access to skin. “How would you like me to do that?” he asked, smiling smugly when he felt Tony’s hips rock up against his.

“Jesus, Steve,” Tony grumbled, still laughing. “Just get inside me, already.”

Steve grinned, but he didn’t do it right away. Slowly, he unbuttoned Tony’s shirt and kissed his way down his chest as he went. He took his time, teasing Tony’s skin with fingers and teeth and tongue until he was a panting, squirming mess beneath him, hands scrabbling over Steve’s cotton-clad back.

“Steve,” he whined, dragging his name out and bucking his hips up to grind their cocks together and make them both groan. “God, you’re such an asshole.”

Steve lifted his head long enough to smirk at him before arching up to close his lips around a nipple, tugging at it with his teeth until Tony was hissing out a breath.

“Okay, okay,” Steve laughed. “I’m sorry.” He leaned back, tugging his shirt off over his head and preening a little at the way, no matter how many times they had done this, Tony’s eyes caught on his chest, a soft, involuntary, pleased noise slipping past his lips. Ducking his head to hide his smile, Steve busied himself with hauling off Tony’s pants, then squirmed his way out of his own, laughing when Tony’s attempts at ‘helping’ ended up with him groping Steve’s ass, and the whole thing taking twice as long as it should have.

“God, you’re a nuisance,” Tony muttered, like it was somehow Steve’s fault. Steve bit his upper thigh in retaliation, then patted the side of his ass.

“Come on, pass me the lube.”

“Fucking finally,” Tony crowed, arching up — and conveniently bringing his dick closer to Steve’s mouth in the process — to rummage around in the nightstand. Steve licked a bead of precome from the tip of his cock, unable to resist, and distracted them both enough that the bottle of the lube bounced off his forehead when Tony tossed it at him. Laughing, he squirted some onto his fingers, wiggling them at Tony.

“Ready?” he asked, grunting when Tony just planted a foot on his chest and shoved him. He didn’t move, of course, just snickered to himself before sliding a finger inside without hesitating. Tony groaned, going boneless beneath him, and Steve rubbed over his prostate just to hear the noise he made.

“Steve, Jesus. Another one, come on.”

And really, Steve was tempted to tease him, make him beg, but he was hard as hell, and he could never resist when Tony got all demanding like this. Giving in, he added a second finger, scissoring them quickly until he could add a third and Tony was panting and twitching beneath him.

“Okay,” Tony gasped out, his voice hoarse and needy and just how Steve liked it. “Okay Steve. I’m good, I promise. Get in me.”

Steve pulled his fingers free and Tony fumbled for the lube that Steve had lost in the sheets somewhere. Before he could say another word, Tony was squirting some into the palm of his hand, sitting up to reach between them and close his fist around Steve’s cock, slicking him up.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve ground out, fingers clenching in the sheets as his head dropped and his eyes clenched shut. “Jesus, you feel so good.”

“Yeah?” Tony’s grin was obvious, even with Steve’s eyes closed. “‘Bout to feel a whole lot better,” he promised. “Come on, Steve. Come on, come on, come on.”

He was still stroking over Steve’s thick length as he goaded him, twisting his wrist and dragging his thumb over the spot that made him shudder, and it took Steve a minute to catch his bearings as little tremors of pleasure slithered through him. But then he got a hold of himself enough to pry Tony’s hand free, closing his hands around both of Tony’s wrists and pinning them to the bed by his head. He smirked at Tony, arching an eyebrow and all but daring him to protest, and when all he got back was a delighted grin, he couldn’t help kissing him again, all hot and open with probably too much tongue, but perfect all the same.

Steve took advantage of Tony’s distraction to push into him without any further warning, loving the way he could feel the breath rush out of his lungs. Steve didn’t hesitate to slide all the way inside him, not stopping until his balls were pressed against his ass and Tony had broken off the kiss to tip his head back, nails digging into Steve’s back hard enough to leave bruises.

“Fuck,” he groaned, arching his back to try and pull Steve even deeper. “You feel… Feel so good, honey.” He made a choked noise as Steve pulled back and thrust into him again, dragging it out so that Tony could feel every single inch. “Yeah, just like that. Faster, Steve,” he mumbled, not seeming to care that he was contradicting himself from one sentence to the next. “Come on, baby. Fuck me like you mean it.”

He lifted his head to give Steve a wink, and who was he to deny an order like that? Shifting them slightly, Steve folded Tony in half and pulled his legs over his shoulders -- not missing the squeaking noise that Tony made at how easily he manhandled him -- and began to fuck him hard and fast, bed rocking with each thrust like some kind of cliche.

Steve couldn’t have said how long he kept it up, his body hot and overwhelmed with the sound of Tony moaning beneath him, the feel of him all tight and hot around his cock. He drove into him harder and harder, could feel his balls pulling up tight and his toes beginning to curl, and he was just beginning to think that he couldn’t hold out any longer when Tony let out a desperate, whining noise between his teeth.

“Steve, I’m gonna…” He scratched at Steve’s back again, like he couldn’t figure out what else to do with himself, and despite how close he was to his own orgasm, Steve couldn’t help snorting into his shoulder. That earned him a smack, and Tony’s teeth closing around his earlobe just a little too hard. “Come on, you bastard.”

Somehow Steve found it in himself to hold on just a little longer, to lift his head and give Tony a shit-eating grin. “Sorry, what is it you wanted?” he asked and then, before Tony could work himself into a tizzy, he was closing his hand around his cock. “This?”

Tony couldn’t answer, vision going sightless as Steve tightened his fist, every one of his thrusts fucking Tony’s cock up into the tunnel of his palm and fingers. An instant later Tony was crying out, spilling over Steve’s fingers and his own chest and stomach. His entire body tightened around him, and Steve groaned, letting go of him to plant his hands on the mattress and fuck into him a handful more times before he was following suit, burying his head with a groan as he came deep inside him. He was still panting into Tony’s neck when he felt him patting over his back in a way that was probably supposed to be soothing, but missed the mark entirely.

“I can’t tell if I love you, or hate you,” Tony told him dryly, Steve’s resulting laughter shaking them both.

***

Afterward, Steve lay stretched out on his back with Tony sprawled across his chest, fingers trailing absently over his skin.

“Hey,” Steve told him, rubbing a hand up his spine. “I found a notepad, and I wrote your name a bunch of times with hearts all around them. Left it right beside the controllers for the next time Clint and Thor play video games.”

Tony started laughing, hiding his face against Steve’s chest and making him twitch as the vibrations of his beard tickled his skin. “Come on, Steve. If you really wanted to sell it, you’re supposed to write our last names hyphenated together.”

Steve hummed consideringly. “Steve Rogers-Stark, huh?”

“Uh, excuse me?” Tony snorted. “Clearly we would be the Stark-Rogers...es.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Trust me, Steve. I know these things. The flow works much better. It’ll look fantastic on the business cards.”

Steve burst out laughing at that, nearly knocking Tony onto the floor in the process. “Right,” he managed, practically choking on his laughter. “The business cards, of course. Clearly the most important thing to consider.”

Tony huffed, pretending to be put out even as he snuggled further into Steve. “Clearly,” he muttered.

They settled into comfortable silence for a few minutes, and Tony was nearly dozing when Steve spoke again.

“Steve Stark-Rogers. I think I like the way that sounds.”

Tony went still beneath him, holding his breath. “Do you?” he asked. “We could… I mean. That could be a thing.”

“Might give the game away,” Steve pointed out.

“Maybe,” Tony admitted, but then he was lifting his head to beam at Steve. “But think how badly we could troll the team.”

@tonystarkbingo

#tonystarkbingo2020 #tsb2020 #stony #pranks and practical jokes #troll steve rogers #troll tony stark #tony stark #steve rogers #bottom tony #fic #my fic

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