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wishcamper · 11 months ago

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Was in a silly goofy mood and decided to write a bonus chapter of the meeting between Feyre, Rhys, and Tamlin from my long-form WIP A Court of Vice and Victors. You can read it here or on ao3!

Spoilers for up through chapter 25

Virtue and Vindication

Tamlin,

I know I’m probably the last person you ever expect or even want to hear from, but I’m writing to you now to ask for your help.

I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m currently pregnant and there are some complications with the baby due to his Illyrian heritage. We can ensure his safety by transforming me into an Illyrian form, which is why I’m calling on you. I haven’t been able to transform since I conceived and hoped you would be willing to assist me.

I know I don’t have any credit for favors, but my son is innocent in all of this. The Tamlin I once knew would never let an innocent suffer if he could help it. I believe your heart is good deep down. I hope you know mine is too.

Please reply soon.

Sincerely,

Feyre

To the High Lord of Spring,

By now you have likely received my mate’s letter. She asked me not to write to you, but I know she will not stress how dire her situation is. So I will be blunt: without your help, Feyre will die. Our son will likely die as well.

On my honor as a male, I will give or do anything you ask of me if you help me save them. Whatever affection we once held for each other, I beg of you to remember it now.

Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court

Feyre,

Regardless of your credit, or lack thereof, you are right that your child is innocent. I am therefore willing to consider your request.

We will meet in one week’s time to discuss terms. I have sent the location with my reply to Rhysand’s letter.

Have Lucien accompany you, I have matters to discuss with him as well.

Tamlin

PS: Your penmanship has greatly improved since we last corresponded. Thought you’d care to know.

Rhysand,

Your words do not move me, nor does your false contrition, but I will take the bargain you offer. That makes two debts you now owe me, the prior for saving your life. This, should you agree, will discharge one.

My terms are these: you are to work in service of the Spring Court until your child is born. You are to obey all orders given and complete any task assigned without protest and to the fullest extent of your abilities.

I will not engage in negotiation. This offer is final and finite.

Remember that I saved your life. Come in good faith, and I shall as well.

Tamlin

The location Tamlin sent was close to the village where she grew up, and it staggered Feyre when she realized that only three years ago she’d ventured into these woods in search of game and loosed an arrow that changed the course of her life.

Of all their lives, really. Mostly in good ways, though Nesta might disagree.

It was hard to remember that shivering girl she’d been, and Feyre felt a flutter in her stomach of the baby turning over, active in response to the quickening pace of her heart. Rhys gripped her hand harder as if he could feel it, too, and they picked their way through the forest in silence with Lucien at their heels. The weight of the meeting hung over their heads like the branches laden with thick ice above them, and Feyre tried to ignore the ones that had snapped and fallen under all that strain.

Because she couldn’t succumb, she told herself. Letting the fear overwhelm her would be paralyzing, make her useless - she had to keep forging ahead toward the future she knew was possible, the life that grew within.

“Watch your step, darling,” Rhys murmured, and he guided her over a particularly icy patch of ground. Feyre saw their faces reflected in it when she looked down to place her feet, the hard slash of her mate’s brow, the worry varnishing her own.

But before she could think too hard about what it all meant, how they’d gotten here, there he was.

Tamlin looked better than the last time she’d seen him in Rhys’ memory, once-lank hair clean and pulled back from his face, brown leather hunting boots gleaming in the weak morning sun. The smell of impending snow crackled in the air and she breathed deeply, trying to freeze the panic that leapt into her throat at the sight of him.

“Tamlin, you look well,” Lucien said with a note of surprise, russet eye softening with something like pride. “Vassa said she’d seen you, but human eyesight and all.”

Feyre guessed they’d made up at some point over the summer - Lucien had returned once from corresponding with Jurian and the mortal queen smelling faintly of roses, a lightness about him that was new. It confused her how they could come back from such violence between them, how Lucien could find it in himself to forgive.

“I accept your terms. Now let’s be done with this cursed business,” Rhys snarled, impatient. Tamlin scanned him, lip curling.

“You speak quite boldly for someone begging for help on bended knee.”

Feyre foresaw the ways this could spiral and slid a hand down her mate’s forearm, prying open the clenched fist at his side. “Can you give us a moment?”

“Feyre, darling -”

“Rhys.” She gripped him harder, ignoring the looks Lucien and Tamlin darted between them. “We do this my way.”

Rhys let out a shuddering sigh. Power rumbled as he regarded Tamlin, the specter of wings rising above his shoulders. “If you lay a hand on her -”

Tamlin opened his mouth to retort but Feyre cut them both off, speaking low to Rhys “I’m fine, I can take care of myself.”

Yet as Feyre watched Rhys and Lucien’s backs retreating through the forest, the doubt began to creep in, the wind-sharp dread that sliced through her, goosebumps dappling her skin beneath the leathers.

So often she pushed those feelings of fear out of her awareness - the spikes of panic at Mor’s red dresses, the suffocation of a windowless room. When Rhys’ breathing would get too quiet in the night. She’d gotten so good at ignoring how the past haunted her, but now the fear lived all around her, inside her, inescapable.

Standing alone here with Tamlin, the tidal wave threatened to break over her, untended terror pouring forth all at once. The wind kicked up, ice encrusted branches crashing against one another.

Tamlin seemed to sense her fear, or scent it, probably, and moved away to sling his moss-colored cloak over a branch. “So you need to be transformed.”

“Yes.” The return to business steadied her, the task centering. “I need to take a fully Illyrian form so my body can handle the killing power. Right now it’s poisoning me.”

“I’d heard Illyrian magic is unique in that regard. Very well. Stand just there, if you will.”

“But the wings need to be clipped.”

The cracked siphon throbbed hotly where it lay against her chest beneath the leathers. Tamlin faltered.

“I refuse.”

“Please. It’s a condition of someone else who’s helping me. It has to be that way.”

He sighed, and she saw the weariness hanging off him, the stress of helping her perhaps coming at a higher cost than she'd imagined. “Seems you’re just as liberal with your bargains as you’ve always been. Fine then. Remain still.”

The secret lurched within her stomach, the death pact with her mate no one knew of, that she’d made before -

But now wasn’t the time.

A hot, prickly sensation spread across her back and down her limbs, over the crown of her head. Yellow light flared, and Feyre closed her eyes against it, focusing on the rabbit-quick beat of the baby’s heart as Madja taught her. She tried to banish the memory of the healer’s horror when she realized the depth of Feyre’s naivety, her ignorance of the danger, and whispered words of comfort and safety to her son in her mind.

When the familiar weight of wings finally settled on her shoulders, Feyre opened her eyes to find Tamlin pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“There. Now go and haunt someone else, I implore you.”

Something like betrayal surged within her, a new current of power singing through her blood that rushed and raged, heating her cheeks. “Why help if you can’t stand us? Do you still hate me after all this time?”

Tamlin didn’t rise to the bait, and a part of her hated him for it as he sighed again, saying, “Because I have wrongs to atone for. And it’s clear nothing I do will change your esteem of me, so I lose nothing by doing what is right.” He regarded her then with a strange expression on his face, and the past seemed to stretch between them, jagged and unforgiving. “What wounded me most was not that you left. It was that you were so quick to believe the worst of me.”

“You allied with Hybern,” Feyre spat.

“I believed my fiance was being mind-controlled and assaulted.”

“You just can’t stand that I didn’t choose you.”

He snarled at that and the anger continued to build between them, some dark energy that lived only between failed lovers. Feyre found herself stomping toward him and Tamlin prowled across the clearing at the same time until they were within striking distance. She could see a vein popping in his forehead and almost hoped Rhys had ignored her wishes and was waiting nearby, ready to defend her against the ugly words, the audacity of Tamlin’s offense.

“What I can’t stand is that you insist on your own innocence with no regard for the lives you willingly destroyed when you betrayed me and dismantled my court.” Tamlin’s eyes were wild, claws protruding from his knuckles. “There are families still without homes, without reliable sources of food save for the generosity of Summer. And you delighted in ruining me at their expense. You mocked me with your so-called Court of Dreams as my people suffered.”

Even as her pride roared in protest, Feyre felt the doubt sneak into her mind. What happened in Spring was Tamlin’s fault, Rhys had assured her, but she couldn’t miss the flash of hurt on Tamlin’s face, the singular devastation of betrayal by those you love the most.

Her memory jolted back to the river house, Rhys’ wild eyes as he screamed at Nesta. She’d nearly choked on her own sobs then, doubled over in Azriel’s arms, and her mate’s motives for concealing the truth were benevolent. She couldn’t imagine if he’d been out to hurt or control her.. But no, there was no use trying to undo something already done.

Feyre took a step back, wrapped an arm beneath her belly to relieve the pressure on her already aching back. “It doesn’t matter. We don’t need to rehash the past, there’s nothing there for either of us.”

Tamlin smiled bitterly, the wind whipping his straw-colored hair about his face. “I forget how young you are until you say things like that. We have all left paths of destruction in our wake. Have you the courage to look backward?”

That tidal wave loomed again, full of secrets and lies, painful rememberings. Feyre found herself weak-kneed and moved to sit on a log but thought better of it, not wanting to appear vulnerable.

“I don’t think I can right now. I might just sit down and never get up,” she said, and couldn't tell if it was more to herself or him.

“Feyre.” Tamlin’s voice was tinged with concern, and when their eyes connected again she saw the ghost of the old affection, the tenderness they’d once held. “Are you well? Are you safe?”

The accusation made her bristle, but she couldn’t deny the tiredness in her bones, exhausted from the mental calisthenics she’d had to perform these past weeks. Was still performing. ““I can take care of myself. You know that better than anyone.”

Unspoken words drifted between them like the shifting clouds of powdery snow, chill where it met her new wings. It was only now Feyre allowed herself to feel the joint at the top, the limits of their movement as she shook off the flakes. She wondered how she must've looked to Tamlin when he first saw her, how she must look now - pregnant and clipped, shivering in the woods she'd worked so hard to escape.

“I know that you fought for the freedom of Prythian, and for yourself,” Tamlin said slowly, quiet. “I wonder if you’ve found it.”

Feyre didn‘t respond, couldn’t stand the sympathy, not from him. Not when he’d caged her, cowed her, trussed her up to be a prized breeding mare. Kept her in the dark about the danger in the court, took her choices away. Yet here she was at his mercy once more because Rhys had.. because Rhys..

“If you forge ahead just for the sake of it, you may find yourself somewhere you didn’t intend to. I know that firsthand.” Tamlin plucked his cloak from the branch and drew it back about his shoulders, wind ruffling the vine-embroidered edge. “I wish you luck with your child.”

Numbness blanketed her and she simply nodded. A quick tug to Rhys across the bridge between them had her mate returning to the clearing, Lucien in tow.

“Will you tell me now how you plan to torture me, or shall I wait in suspense?”

The two males stared each other down, but Tamlin’s tone was mild when he replied, “Your vindictiveness cannot see past itself, Rhysand. When all you have is a sword, everyone looks like an opponent." He pointed behind them where the trees thinned out. "Over the hill is a cabin that will be your lodgings. You are to assess the damage to the Wall and repair what you can from the Cauldron’s breach. You are also to deter anyone who attempts to cross from either side.”

Rhys snarled low in his chest, night-dark power looming. “I’m your fucking border patrol?”

“You are the beast in the wood. Lucien will instruct our allied humans to spread word of a dark creature in the forest, and should any be foolish enough to venture closer, you will scare them off.” Feyre heard Rhys make a noise of offense in his throat, and Tamlin looked like he wanted to smirk, though the expression quickly cleared. “You’ve played the villain for years, why stop now? You chose this mask for yourself, Rhysand, not I.”

“Fine. Allow me to accompany my mate safely home first.”

“Return after the solstice, if you wish.”

Rhys’ face remained neutral but a ripple of confusion traveled through the bond, and when Feyre took her mate’s hand the palm was clammy.

They left Lucien with Tamlin to talk and made their way over the ridge to where the little stone cabin was nestled at the edge of the forest. It slumped to one side, roof sloping down harder to the right, patchy shingles that had seen much better days.

Facing down the door, Rhys braced a hand on the frame, head bowed. “I’m so sorry I failed you, my love. I’m so sorry it’s come to this.”

“Don’t,” Feyre murmured, and her heart felt like it was cracking in two as she rubbed at his back. “It’s worth it if he’s healthy and okay. It’s all worth it.”

He shook his head and pushed open the door, stepped first into the tiny hut that was decades, perhaps centuries out of use. There was a small hearth along one wall littered with twigs and bird droppings, ash-caked stones crumbling along the edges.

Rhys swiped a finger through the thick layer of dust on the small counter, brushing at his clothes as he said, “This is humiliating. For years Tamlin has wanted nothing more than to make me suffer and now I’ve handed him the opportunity myself.”

It rubbed Feyre oddly, his disdain for this shack that looked so like the one where she shivered and wished for more. She heard her own voice from far away, caustic and clipped. "I’m sorry this is so hard for you. It’s not like I’m the one carrying our child or anything. Or that I’m stuck in this body and I don’t even have my mate by my side to help me through the next six months. Ouch.” The baby kicked at her ribs then, right under where the mating bond was aching.

“I never wanted it to be this way.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

Rhys looked away instead of answering and pretended to survey the wood stove, the mishmash of rusted pots and pans. He’d dodged the answer every time she asked so far. I wanted to save you the heartache or it didn’t need to be a problem for both of us, darling. Feyre tugged at the golden thread between them until he looked her in the eyes, star-flecked violet turbulent and shimmering.

“I knew you would choose to die for our child’s sake, and I wouldn’t be able to let you because -”

“How?” she pressed. “How did you know that’s what I’d choose?”

“Because that’s who you are, darling. You would sacrifice everything for those you love.” His expression was soft but there was a nervous sort of energy about him, muscles tense. “That’s what I love about you.”

“Then why not let me be myself? Why try to control me?”

“You know why.”

Her tattoo itched then, the ink of their wartime victory promise. Feyre gave into her exhaustion and sank into a chair at the scrubbed wood table, grooves hidden beneath the accumulated dust.

“We’re about to be parents, and I don’t know if I’ve really thought about what that means yet. Our whole lives are about to change.” The true weight of it settled through her wings, joints aching where they connected to her back. She thought of that faerie who’d died in her arms with his own severed, the hours she’d spent searching for Rhys’ mother and sister’s. “I don’t want to repeat our parent’s mistakes. Your father -”

“My father has nothing to do with this.”

His coldness surprised her, the rumble of power that rattled the cracked cups on the shelf above the sink.

“Your mother and father left you at the same time. Don’t tell me you want that for him.” Rhys’ eyes lingered on her belly, the hand that stroked it bearing their bargain mark. “We can’t be each other’s reason for living anymore. It’s bigger than us now. If it were ever a choice between me and our son, I’d want you to choose him.”

“I - I hope it will never come to that.”

“I do too, but Rhys. We have to be realistic. If the last three years have taught me anything, it’s that there will always be a target on our backs because of who we are. I accept that. I knew what I was signing up for. But you promised me no more lies.”

Her mate looked stricken, and when he knelt before her she felt the sorrow he tried to push down the bond, the hum of nervousness distorting it.

“I can’t live without you, Feyre,” Rhys said, and she tried not to get lost in his eyes, the heat of his body. He took her hand in his own, tattoos pressed together, and placed both atop her belly. “I can’t lose you. I can’t help that I would burn down the world to keep you safe, that I would protect you from anyone, including yourself.”

It sounded lovely if she didn’t think about it too long, romantic and devoted and blessed, a gift from a higher power, to be cherished so fully and deeply. Once it had been a balm to her lonely heart, salvation after so long on her own. But when Feyre heard the words now, let herself really hear them, a chill crept up her spine.

“So you’d lock me up too if it was for my own good?”

Rhys didn’t answer.

And the wave broke over her at last in that silence, the onslaught of memories, the falsehoods, the evasiveness. In her mind she saw the locked manor door, the underground cell, the Weaver’s chimney, the fury in his face when he raged at Nesta, Tamlin’s fury when he exploded the study..

“You tell me I have a choice, but you never give it to me when it actually means something. When I might make a different one than you.”

“That’s not true -”

“You lied about us being mates, and who you were Under the Mountain, and I understood that. Then you used me as bait for the Attor without telling me, made me get this fucking ring, all so I would get stronger. Which I did so I thought okay, it was worth it.” Feyre felt her throat going dry, the words mealy and rotten in her mouth, an overripe fruit. “And then I told myself it was necessary for the war, when you tricked Tarquin and went behind Mor’s back with Kier and Eris, when you tried to sacrifice yourself. But then you lied about this, too, after promising me. You promised me .” Tears crested her lower lids, slid hot down her cheeks. “But maybe I’m the fool, because maybe this is just who you are and I’ve been too blind to see it.”

Rhys was gaping at her, gripping her hand hard and shoving at her side of the bond. For a moment Feyre feared he’d break into her mind as he had those years ago, make her believe this was all okay. And then an even worse moment, when for the briefest flash she wanted him to, wished to go back to that time before she saw this side of his face, this cracked facet of their love she once thought a pristine jewel.

“While you’re down here, try to remember you’re doing this for our son,” she said before meaning to, pushing to her feet. “That loving him and protecting him is loving me. Because you’re right, I would choose him over myself. I’d choose him over you. I think that’s what being a parent is. It has to be.”

She tried to send it through the bond, all the things she didn’t know how to say, her anger, her terror, her love. The hours she’d spent alone as a child, the rejection of her mother, the indifference of her father. Let him feel the full onslaught of that tidal wave, to see her pain as something full and real and alive. Worthy. Then let him see their son, feel how she loved him from that very moment, how she could never let go.

“I release you from your bargain,” she said. “I don’t want you to follow me into death. I want you to live for our son. And for yourself. I want that for me, too.”

Feyre shut down that link between them and left the cabin before Rhys could respond, felt the ink burn on her hand as she stepped out into the cold. Felt the release of that hook in her heart she hadn’t realized was giving her pain until it was gone.

Rhys’ footsteps crunched behind her in the snow, and she let him follow her through the woods until she couldn’t stand it anymore, winnowing home to Velaris without looking back.

#fanfic #how tf do i tag this re: pros and anti #sorry if it's not your jam #but #rhys critical

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luimagines · 4 years ago

Note

Maybe you caring for the chain? Like doing small things like helping tend to their wounds or brushing their hair. Love the blog btw!

Masterlist

A little TLC?

A little Fluff?

That's my JAM! You got it hun!

It's gonna be in bullet point list because I can.

Content under the cut!

Time

Can you imagine this guy?

It's late at night and you wake up unexpectantly.

It was supposed to be your shift but it's way past that

It's even past the shift after yours

Time is still by the fire pit

Awake

You get up

You walk over to him

Place a hand on his shoulder

He looks up at you, tired as hell

He knows he's been caught.

"It's past your bed time Old Man"

"I just wanted to give everyone a little break."

And like?!

You push him aside gently and he lets you sit next to him.

You pull him towards you and you place his head on your lap

"What am I going to do with you?"

"It's not your job to take care of me."

"Someone has to. Malon will have our heads if you come back home any less than how you left."

You start running your fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes in bliss.

It's quiet and neither of you say anything.

Time quickly falls asleep from your touch and you stay up to take your watch.

You take the next watch after as well.

Soon enough the sun rises.

And you let Time sleep in.

Twilight

What about Twilight?

Twilight was mid battle, fighting multiple bokoblins at once.

At some point he had lost his sword.

This boy hunkers down and starts swinging.

It's a one on five boxing match.

Twilight, to say the least, is not unharmed by the end of it.

You notice that he's not stable on his feet and has a few bloodied patches on his clothes, not to mention the (hopefully) small cut on his forehead.

It's more blood than you'd like to see.

You're quick to help and let him lean into your side.

You bring to the side of the fire, quickly taking out your personal med pack and begin to clean his face.

He's not seeing straight so he starts to speak nonsense.

"Twilight honey, please, don't." You try not to laugh.

"Have you seen them though?"

He's talking about you.

"They're so amazing. Did you know that? They're so cool. They know so much about history and animals and plants."

"Twilight please, I can't reach the cut. I need to disinfect it."

"And animals and Epona and Epona likes them so much. I want to show them my home and my family. Colin would love them. And I think they and Illia would be best friends."

You're blushing but it's soft and you're smiling because Twilight is smiling and he looks so happy at the thought.

You wave away Hyrule when he comes to check on The Rancher, letting him know that you've got it covered.

It's sweet.

Wild

His is a little more obvious

"Wild, what on earth?"

He comes back from an afternoon adventure.

He's absolutely filthy.

There's at least three sticks in his hair.

At least those are the ones that you can count because they're sticking out.

Multiple leaves.

You think you see something move.

"What?"

He doesn't care.

You sigh and stalk up to him.

You grab his arm.

"You're my prisoner now"

Wild tries to fight you but you're determined.

You sit him and take out a brush, taking his pony tail down.

It's a long battle.

But after at least thirty minutes of fighting the branches and leaves and what might have been a tiny mouse like creature.

The mouse thingy just ran away.

You're trying to be as gentle as you can but Wild has a hard time sitting still.

Some leaves leave easier than others and there were actually seven separate branches in his hair that you take out one by one.

But when you get past the battle and clear the foliage, Wild relaxes.

Soon you're only brushing his hair.

He needs to wash it.

But you're not anywhere near any body of water so it'll have to wait.

Wild hums every time you pass the brush pleasantly through his hair.

Within moments his hair is soft and tangle free.

You look around him to look at his face.

He's calm and blissful.

You smile and go back to brushing his hair.

It's a calm afternoon from then on out.

Warrior

Warrior isn't one to accept TLC in public but-

It's after a battle.

And you look over to Warrior who's taking off his armor at a painstakingly slow pace.

It takes him a while.

He grimaces in pain and begins to rub his neck and shoulder.

You bit your lip and sigh.

You make your way over to him.

"Need a hand, soldier boy?"

"What?"

He's confused.

"If you got pain, I can help with that."

You don't want to make it a big deal or weird.

"How?"

"I want your permission first. I'd have to touch you."

"Sure. Why not? Do it."

You nod and get behind him.

Soon enough you start kneading his shoulders and lower neck.

He grunts at the pressure you put on it but otherwise lets you continue.

He's stiff as a brick.

So you're there for a while.

But when you get tired or when he's better off than how you started (whichever comes first) you let him go.

He rubs absentmindedly where your hands just were and smiles in relief.

"Thanks."

You grin.

"Any time."

Sky

Now Sky is a bit different

He's not shy about TLC

He's frequently the one to take care of the others

You however notice something off one day

His hand was always in a fist and you pulled him aside.

"You ok? What happened?"

Sky sighs, and opens up his palm

A large cut down the middle

It cut through his leather and gloves and was bleeding through the cloth Sky was holding.

You gasp and begin to help him out then and there.

"How did this happen?"

"It's not that big of a deal."

"It's your hand!" You take off the gloves as gently as you can and bring out your med pack. "You kind of need that."

You sit him down and clean it off.

He's quiet as you work, watching you tend to his wound.

He flinches slightly at the disinfectant and hisses.

You begin to wrap his hand with a clean bandage.

You're meticulous in wrapping it up completely.

It's slow and you're losing progress in travel time but neither of you care.

"You don't have to do this."

"I want to. You can't stop me."

"I'm pretty I could if I did."

"Yeah, probably."

More silence.

You take moment to study your work and gently turn his hand over.

You give it back to him.

"How did you even manage that? You're usually so much better at this."

"It's... embarrassing..."

"Do I even want to know?"

"...No... Thank you... For helping."

"Of course."

Legend

"Legend, sweetheart, what are you doing?"

He's the kind to avoid public soft and gentle actions

Even if he's the kind to desperately want them

He'll push people away and fail to satisfy himself by yearning from a distance.

One day, you have enough.

He's trying to sit next to you and he's fidgeting, internally fighting himself over something but it's too close to you to not notice.

You sigh and pull him close to you, wrapping both of your arms around him even as he tries to fight you off.

He's trying to struggle out of it but you just snuggle into his shoulder.

He doesn't fight you for long.

Legend borderline melts into your embrace and he hugs your arm in return.

"You've got a weird sense of pride, you know that?"

You start to run your hands through his hair.

Legend scoffs

"You're the one being weird."

"Mh-hm."

"You are."

"Just say you want a hug."

"....No."

"Well I guess I have to hug you more often then."

"........No."

"Yes."

"Ok."

Hyrule

Now, you're pretty sure that The Traveler's love language is touch, so he's not shy about keeping his hands to himself.

There's always a hand on your shoulder, a comfortable hug when your sad, gentle fingers to wipe away your tears and he's doesn't mind when one (or three) members fall asleep on him.

"Oh my- Hyrule" You drop your defensive stance from being startled and stare at him.

He's bleeding from at least three different areas.

"Hyrule, sugar, sit down!" You rush over to him and help him get into a sturdy position.

You're quick to pull out a potion and help him drink it.

His hand makes its way onto your shoulder as he settles himself down.

You push his hair out of his face with frantic but gentle fingers.

"Hellllllloooo." Hyrule attempts to smile but his head swoops to the side, too heavy for him to keep it up.

"Oh, what happened?" You push up his sleeve and begin to treat the nasty scrape on his forearm.

You know the potion will eventually take care of the injuries

But you're impatient.

"I... Got caught up in a cave."

"Why did you go alone?" You stress as you begin to clean the blood off.

"...Couldn't find Wild."

"Oh my goodness, take me with you next time." You nearly shake him. "Don't go alone."

Hyrule nods and sighs in relief, as the potion begin to effect.

"That sounds like fun."

"Can you not get hurt, for just like... five minutes..."

"I can't make that promise."

"Promise me, you'll at least tell someone that you'll be going somewhere."

"I can do that."

Wind

Wind is down for anything.

He's not afraid of any sort of TLC.

You're sitting next to each other one day for dinner

You both eat until you're full and lean up against each other.

The warmth of the fire heats both of you like a comfortable blanket.

Wind leans up against you and sighs.

You smile and wrap one of your arms around him.

Wind then snuggles closer and hums happily.

You set your plate aside and begin running your fingers through his hair.

Within moments Wind starts to fall asleep against you and he lets himself fall even more against you.

"Sleep hon, I got you."

" 'mkay." Wind adjusts himself one more time and lets his breath even out.

You let him sleep against you for a while until you also decided to hit the hay.

One of the others sets up his bed roll and you pick up Wind.

You begin to make your way over and set him down but your resident pirate holds onto your arm

"-Don't." Wind whines.

You hide your snickers and try to get him to let you go.

He doesn't.

Welp...

You bite the bullet and ask Hyrule to bring over your own bed roll.

With the help of some of the other boys, you get it set up as close as you can get it.

Adjusting your grip, you lay on your side and pull Wind close.

It's bedtime.

So you fall asleep next to him.

Four

Four is actually little more like Legend in terms of initiating contact than he cares to admit.

He's not going to push anyone away if they come to him.

Even if he wants something as simple as a hug, he won't be the one to go and hug someone.

Someone will have to hug him.

But this boy yearns.

And he's bad at hiding it.

You take it upon yourself when he's being a little off to talk to him

Brush his hair

Hold his hand

Hold him close with your arm over his shoulders, a side hug when your both walking.

He lets you.

He leans in closer and tilts his head in your direction.

A silent request for pats.

If you've been playing with his hair for long enough, he'll let you braid it.

You take the time to keep it out of his eyes and occasionally put flowers in it when there's more down time.

Four won't say it but it's one of his favorite times

He wears his flower braids with pride

It's not something that he would do for himself but he wouldn't change it for the world.

It makes him feel special.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #call me out if none of ya'll like the pet names #I feel like I've gone a little off course for this ask

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tuanyiems · 4 years ago

Text

To Tango

Yugyeom x Fem Reader Genre: fluff, a little angst, smut Words: 12k [Masterlist in blog description] Plot: Sequel to Take Two (Arranged Marriage AU) Part of the Marriage Life AU series. You and Yugyeom have decided to take things slow now that you are starting over on the right foot. This proves to be more difficult when your insecurities about your virginity grow larger and Yugyeom’s dance partners get prettier and sexier with each routine. Warning: gyeom and reader need to work on their communication lulz, loss of virginity, fingering, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie, a brief moment of unintentional cockwarming lol

“Oh, and the sex, Y/N!” Anna let out a dreamy sigh, plopping her head against the couch cushion dramatically, her third glass of wine swirling dangerously in her hand. “I thought we were great in bed before, but engagement sex! Y/N, it’s absolutely mind-blowing!”

You giggle in response to your best friend, lips on the edge of your own wine glass as you nursed your first cup.

Anna reaches out her left hand, eyes crinkling at the sparkling ring on her finger. “I can’t wait to get married and have newlywed sex! Is it even better, Y/N?”

You cough in surprise, mouthful of wine spilling back into your glass.

“Oh dear, are you okay?” Anna reaches over, patting you on the back. She glances over cautiously. “You know, I heard most couples need time to learn each other’s bodies. Not all men can be like Jungkook. It gets better, don’t worry!”

“No!” You looked up in surprise, cheeks heating up. “It’s not that it’s bad. Yugyeom isn’t bad…or well, I don’t…he’s probably not.”

“Wait!” She shakes her head in disbelief, slamming down her wine glass on the coffee table. “I thought you and Yugyeom were getting along! It’s been a whole year, Y/N!”

“W-we are,” you stutter, looking away.

“But you’re still a virgin?” Anna asks slowly. You gulp down the rest of your glass, squeezing your eyes shut in embarrassment as you reluctantly nod.

“Aww, it’s okay…sex isn’t even that…good.”

You roll your eyes, giggling at the obvious lie. “Stop Anna, you looked like you were in actual pain just saying that.”

She grinned, flashing a row of plum teeth. “Sex is amazing, Y/N, I’m sorry.”

You shrug your shoulders, pouring more wine into your glasses. “I’m sure I’ll find out eventually. Yugyeom and I are just taking things slow.”

“Of course, there’s no rush!” Anna smiles reassuringly.

“Right, no rush.” You agree, nodding your head with conviction. Deep down though, you’re worried. After the two of you finally cleared the air of your misunderstandings last year, you both agreed to take things slow, get to know each other as friends first. Of course, this was more for Yugyeom. You had already been head over heels for him two years prior to him ever knowing your name. As time passed, your feelings for Yugyeom only grew stronger, but you weren’t sure you could say the same for him.

It took months for him to come to terms with you being his wife, you didn’t want to scare him away by asking for anything more. But a whole year has passed since then and the two of you hang out more like roommates than a married couple.

The first time you went on a real date, it got so awkward that Yugyeom literally called up Bambam to break the silence. The last time you tried to hold Yugyeom’s hand he flinched like you were going to chop his fingers off or something. Ever since then, you’ve given up, relishing instead on your casual nights in watching k-dramas and weekly grocery store runs. Those count as dates, right?

“Everyone has their own pace Y/N,” Anna adds, as if she could hear your worried thoughts. “There’s no order to when you’re supposed to get married or have sex. Don’t worry about it.”

You look at her with a pout. “Even if we’ve never kissed?”

“YOU’VE NEVER KISSED?!”

You laugh, half at her reaction and half in agony as you nod.

“What the hell is wrong with Yugyeom?” Anna yelled out indignantly.

You smile sheepishly, brushing your fingers through your hair in defeat. “Maybe he doesn’t want to kiss me. We hang out like bros. I think I’ve been friendzoned.”

“Nonsense! There’s something wrong with that boy if he doesn’t want to kiss you. Even I want to kiss you sometimes! That’s how hot you are!”

You laugh, collapsing into the couch cushions at your friend’s bug-eyed expression. “Anyways, it’s not that big of a problem. In his defense, he’s only just gotten to know me. I’m not as outgoing as you Anna, my charms are a little harder to see.”

“No way, Yugyeom’s just blind. That, or he’s a coward! You need to grab that boy by the collar and show him exactly what he’s missing out on. Just grab him and plant a wet one on him!”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I think that’s called assault, Anna. We’ll get there in due time. No rush.”

“No rush about what?” Yugyeom interrupts, entering through the front door. He had just come back from the dance studio. You avert your eyes. Even after a long day of dancing in track pants and a plain white tee, hair stuffed into a black cap, Yugyeom still looks irresistible.

“Are you two drinking again?” He asks after no answer, approaching the two of you on the couch.

You smile sheepishly, twirling the red wine in your glass.

“Yes we are! Have to get rid of our frustrations somehow!” Anna barks back, pouring more wine into both of your glasses.

“This is my second glass,” You tell him quietly when he glances from Anna back to you, questioningly.

Yugyeom raises his brow skeptically, leaning over the couch to get a closer look. You gulp, eyes trailing the tip of his nose and the curve of his cupid’s bow. He’s so close; you could smell the lingering scent of the outside air mixed with his faded cologne.

“Your second glass?” he asks, eyes trained on yours like he could read your thoughts if he stares hard enough. You pray that isn’t true.

You nod quietly.

“Then why are your cheeks so pink? I think you’re already drunk!” He declares, standing up straight. Anna laughs, looking at you with a knowing smile.

“Did you eat dinner yet?” You change the subject quickly.

He smiles down at you before stepping away. “Yeah, I’m gonna go shower and then head to bed. Don’t keep her up too late, Anna!”

“That’s your job, Mr. Hubby,” Anna mumbles under her breath, snickering when your eyes widen, and you turn back to check if he heard. Yugyeom is already down the hallway though.

You pout, sinking into your seat. “Don’t say it!”

“You’ve got the hots for your husband!” Anna sings with excitement, nudging you teasingly.

You can only groan into the couch cushions because you know she’s absolutely right.

Of course, by now everyone knows you’ve had the hots for your husband ever since you laid eyes on him as a freshman in college. You were like the Cinderella of arranged marriages on campus. You agreed with it yourself. It wasn’t every day that parents matched their daughters up with their longtime crushes.

But that was a sweet and innocent time in your life, when you’d have daydreams of cooking dinner with him and he’d help tie your apron from behind. Maybe even tuck a stray hair behind your ear. Now your daydreams are far more…mature.

So, when you send Anna on her way and turn around to see Yugyeom stepping out of the shower, striped pajama pants on, and only striped pajama pants on, you are a bit breathless, to say the least.

“Jungkook picked Anna up?” he asks nonchalantly, water droplets dripping off his wet hair and falling down his chest.

You beg your buzzed brain not to follow the wet trail. Your mouth waters anyways.

“Mhm,” you manage out after a pause.

He chuckles, his hands coming to cup your cheeks. “Are you sure you only had two glasses? You seem out of it.”

“I’m fine,” you laugh nervously, shuffling out of his grasp. “Anyways, aren’t you tired? You should head to bed.”

“I am,” he smiles. “You too? Do you have a long day tomorrow?”

“I’m gonna be in the kitchen all day. I have to practice a couple recipes.”

“I’ll help!” he grins, shoulders squeezing together happily.

You scrunch your nose, landing a soft punch on his bicep. “I sense ulterior motives. I’ll take it though!”

He laughs, patting your head good naturedly. “Then it’s settled. Just wake me up when you start.”

You smile, watching as Yugyeom turns towards his bedroom, fresh muscle relief patches stamped across his back. He had been in the studio nonstop all week. Ever since changing his major, he’s been overworking himself to make up lost time. And now he’s spending his day off to help you.

You are grateful that he no longer gives you the cold shoulders. In fact, you have a gut feeling he’s been trying to make up for his past behavior by doing favors for you. You keep telling him that everything’s been forgiven, but the boy doesn’t listen.

He’s truly been nothing but sweet.

So, it should be okay that you two sleep in different beds at night. Lots of arranged couples do. You should just be happy you got to marry such a kind man. It’s okay that he doesn’t love you, you’re lucky nonetheless. Eventually, you two will become best friends.

Best friends last longer than lovers, you’ve been told.

But when you tuck yourself into bed that night, you can’t help but feel a little bit colder than usual.

“So, how can I help?” Yugyeom asks, hands on his hips as he sports your far too small, far too pink apron.

You giggle at the sight, sliding the cutting board towards him. “Can you dice the veggies, please?”

“Yes Chef!” he salutes you playfully.

You chuckle, bringing out the other ingredients for your recipe. The sleepyhead woke up at noon and insisted on helping you before even brushing his teeth. Of course, you ushered him into the bathroom soon enough, but it was harder to kick him out of the kitchen.

You glance at the back of his hair, strands curling up in opposite directions like wild flowers. You’d think the image of Yugyeom looking the very opposite of his appearance in the dance studio would damage your infatuation with him, but instead you found his clumsiness endearing.

There are a lot of cool bad boys out there. You’re glad Yugyeom is one of the good ones. Sometimes you fear he’s too good. Like maybe he’s being nice because he feels guilty still or maybe even sorry. You bite your lip. You would hate it if he were only acting this nice because he felt sorry for you.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” Yugyeom yells, breaking you out of your thoughts. “You’re gonna cut yourself like that!”

You look down at your chopping board, fingers dangerously close to the knife. “Oh.”

“And you tried to kick me out of the kitchen. I should be the one nagging you!” he chides, taking the knife away from you. “I’ll finish up the chopping, you can start cooking.”

You nod, feeling your cheeks heat.

“How are your classes going?” he asks, popping a slice of carrot into his mouth.

“Pretty good. I just can’t wait to graduate.”

Yugyeom lets out a soft chuckle. “Same.”

“Extra year was worth it though, wasn’t it?” You grin, filling a measuring cup with water.

He answers with a wink. It makes your stomach flip.

“I never said thanks,” he starts, going back to chopping vegetables. You look at him curiously, waiting for him to continue. “For convincing me to change my major. And supporting me this whole time. I don’t think I would be here without you.”

You shake your head, busying your hands as your cheeks flush once more. “It was all you. I wouldn’t invest in something I didn’t believe in. You had it in you the whole time.”

“Ah, stop it,” he bumps shoulders with yours gently.

You couldn’t help the growing smile on your face as memories from last year floods you.

Yugyeom looked like a nervous puppy in front of his father. You were sure if he had a tail it would be tucked between his legs right now.

You never thought of the Kim family as intimidating. Although the first time you met your in-laws they were angry whispering to each other with Yugyeom over the arranged marriage, they have always been nothing but kind to you. And when you and Yugyeom started getting along, they became even more jovial, showering you with household gifts and random text messages of affection.

However, Yugyeom’s respect for his parents was immeasurable and in front of his father, he became a little boy.

So here he was, face as pale as snow, about to break the news to his father.

You reached out to him, taking hold of his hand quietly. He flinched at the touch before offering you a nervous smile back. You squeezed his clammy hands in yours.

It was the first time you truly felt like Yugyeom’s wife. The two of you were in this together and you were going to support your husband’s happiness even if it meant going against his parents.

As it turned out, Yugyeom’s parents were more than understanding. Disappointed, yes, but after you gave your reassurance that you supported his decision, they were all on board with him pursuing dance.

You chuckled to yourself, remembering how Yugyeom’s frightened face had melted back into his usual boyish excitement. There was something very pure in the way he expressed himself. It was part of the charm that drew you in, in the first place.

You glance his way, catching him bouncing his shoulders up and down to a beat only he could hear. Sometimes you wonder what goes on in that brain of his.

Yugyeom’s knife stops midair. He turns to you abruptly with arched brows. You blink back nervously. But instead of saying anything, he breaks into a big smile before returning to the vegetables, his body grooving back and forth in a little jig. You chuckle softly, shaking your head. Whatever’s in that brain of his, you don’t have to worry about it.

“Wow, this is delicious!” Yugyeom exclaims, taking another big bite of your dish. You smile, placing your hands on your hips with satisfaction. “You deserve an A++!”

“You say that about all my food,”

“I mean it this time! It’s so good.��

“Oh, so you didn’t mean it the other times?” You give a playful pout, pushing the plate closer to your side. “I’m eating this alone!”

“Aww, hey! You know what I meant,” he whines, scooting closer to get another bite.

You laugh, taking the dish into your arms as you swat his hands away. He only pushes closer, wrapping his arms around you.

“Just one more bite!” he whines, squeezing you against his chest.

“All mine!” You grin, grabbing another spoonful. You swirl the spoon around teasingly before aiming for your own mouth, but before you could bite down, Yugyeom squeezes you closer, sticking his head cheek-to-cheek against yours and successfully steals the bite.

You gasp, face flushing at his close proximity and then watch as the plate slips from your nervous hand. Almost as if in slow motion, you see the contents of your dish spill onto Yugyeom’s grey sweatpants. Your eyes double in size the liquid sinks into the fabric of his pants and the rest falls to the floor in thunderous claps.

You blink, frozen, until you take in a sudden breath and collapse to your knees.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You immediately apologize, wiping at his pants hastily.

“Oh, hey hey hey!” Yugyeom grabs at your hands, flustered. “I-I can wipe myself. Don’t worry about it.”

You look at the red flush across Yugyeom’s face, reaching towards his ears and all the way down his neck. Your palms go clammy in his as you realize your precarious position. You glance at the wet spot near his crotch and then back at his wavering pupils.

“I’m so sorry!” You apologize again, for different reasons this time, as you fumble back to your feet.

He only shakes his head vigorously, unable to meet your eyes as he lets go of your hands.

“It’s my fault,” he says, rushing to the kitchen counters to grab a kitchen towel. “I was playing around too much.”

“Yeah, you were,” you agree, taking the towel from him with a sympathetic smile. He looks at you with a pout. “I’ll clean up the mess, you should go change.”

He lets out a sigh before consenting, heading towards his room with his head low. In the privacy of his bedroom, Yugyeom lets out a deep exhale, his heart thrumming in his chest. He hopes you hadn’t noticed.

He looks down, pulling his sweatpants off. Please go down, but instead thoughts of you return to his mind. If he is being honest, it isn’t the first time he’s imagined you in that kind of position, but to have it actually happen—you, on your knees, right below him—and the way you looked up at him with your big, shiny eyes. All you had to do was lick your lips and he would’ve came in his pants.

“Fuck,” he whispers, looking back down. “Go down, go down, go down.”

You sit in Jungkook’s apartment, watching beside Anna as the two boys bicker about the latest trendy dance on TikTok. You laugh, watching as your husband grows red in the face from laughing so hard. He didn’t even drink tonight.

“What are you grinning about, huh?” Anna teases, refilling your glass with more sangria.

You point at Jungkook just as he begins rapping nonsense to the cellphone that is leaning dangerously against a half empty water bottle, off the edge of their coffee table.

“That’s the guy you’re about to marry,” you deadpan. “And that’s the man I’m married to.”

You look solemnly at Yugyeom who is now flailing tissues around as he hypes Jungkook up in the background.

Anna chuckles, clinking her glass against yours. “A bunch a fools, we are.”

You gulp down the fresh glass before breaking out into a grimace. Anna definitely put more brandy into the second pitcher of sangria. You look back at your friend with a frown.

She only laughs in response. “What? It’s not like you’re driving yourself home, that’s what the husband is for!”

“True!” You laugh, drinking more.

Yugyeom scowls, giving Anna a reprimanding click with his tongue. “You’re such a bad influence, Anna!”

She feigns offense, turning to him with her mouth wide open. “Excuse me? Who’s the one that brought you guys together, hmm?”

“Our parents,” Yugyeom retorts, a pleased grin on his face. You chuckle, earning yourself a glare from your friend.

“But I was the one that brought Y/N to the dance studio and stopped you two from divorcing each other,” Anna pouts, squeezing your arm for backup. You only giggled more, sipping on your glass of sangria.

“Speaking of the dance studio,” Jungkook starts, breaking the little spat between Anna and Yugyeom. “You’re working on that new routine with Lisa, right?”

You let out a sigh that only Anna notices. She gives your arm another squeeze, well aware of your concerns.

For the past couple of weeks, you had been complaining to Anna about Lisa. In all honesty, there was nothing real to complain about. Lisa was one of the sweetest girls you have ever met, and her dancing was some of the best you had ever seen. But that was exactly what was wrong. Lisa wasn’t just perfect, she also went perfectly with Yugyeom. The two shared an unrivaled chemistry on the dance floor and that did nothing to curb your own insecurities over your relationship.

It doesn’t help that Yugyeom is spending hours of his day to perfect his new dance routine with her.

But how could you even tell Yugyeom this? You were the one that pushed him to pursue dancing!

You stretch out your legs on the couch, wiggling your toes with a frown on your face. You really shot yourself in the foot this time around.

“Bro, don’t remind me,” Yugyeom sighs, much to your own surprise. You perk up, turning your attention to him and ignoring the snort from Anna. “I’m going to kill Bambam.”

“Why, what happened?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah, what happened?” you insist, a little too eagerly.

Yugyeom turns to you with a frown. “Bambam took Lisa ice skating and she sprained her ankle.”

“Oh no,” you mutter, pressing the wine glass back to your lips to hide the smile spreading across your face.

You feel Anna’s elbow dig into your side.

“Aww, go Bambam though,” Anna cheers. “Hasn’t he been in love with her for forever?”

Yugyeom rolls his eyes, walking over to plop next to you on the couch. His arm naturally reaches overhead, leaning on the cushion just above your head. You swallow, overly aware of his body next to yours.

“It wasn’t even a date, Anna,” he sighs, shaking his head in disbelief. He looks at you then before adding, “That’s why I’ve been at the studio longer than usual. Learning the routine with a new partner is so stressful.”

“Who’s your new partner?” Jungkook asks, squeezing himself next to Anna.

“She’s an underclassman. I don’t know if you know her. Does Chungha ring a bell?”

You watch Jungkook’s expression remain unimpressed as he shrugs. “Nope.”

Pleased with his response, you relax your shoulders and unintentionally lean into Yugyeom. If it weren’t for the alcohol and your slow reflexes, you would’ve sat back up, but Yugyeom presses back into you before you can move. When you feel his hand slide around you, you tip the rest of your glass into your mouth.

“You guys wanna come watch us practice?” Yugyeom offers, seemingly unaware of your wildly beating heart.

Jungkook and Anna agrees quickly, leaving you with no choice but to watch another woman dance with your husband. The only thing that was making you feel better though is the fact that she isn’t Lisa and of course, the additional helping of sangria from your best friend.

When it is finally time for you and Yugyeom to head home, you are completely drunk. You have no idea how he was able to get you to and from the car but when you are finally sober enough to open your eyes without feeling like the world is spinning, you find yourself sprawled on your living room couch.

“One day I’m gonna get Jungkook shitfaced and toss him to Anna. See how much she likes it,” he grumbles under his breath as he approaches you. “Oh, you’re awake.”

You giggle, still drunk enough to ignore your usual nerves. “They’d probably just have drunk sex, Yugy.”

Yugyeom blushes, sitting next to you on the couch. “Let’s wipe your makeup off Y/N,” he replies, ignoring your comment.

You turn to him with your eyes closed, laughing when the cool towelette touches your skin. He chuckles against you.

“Stop laughing.”

“It tickles!”

“Just a little bit more,”

You sigh in relief, opening your eyes again to see Yugyeom tossing the dirty wipes into the trashcan.

“Come on, let’s go brush our teeth,” he beckons.

Your lips jut out instinctively as you cross your arms defiantly. “Do it for me!”

Yugyeom lets out a sigh but a smile quickly breaks onto his face anyways. He always complained to Anna about getting you drunk, but the truth is that he could never get truly mad. How could he when your drunken self becomes a cute little monster?

You are annoyingly adorable.

Even during the early months of your marriage when Yugyeom was adamant on hating you, he could never get over how cute you became when you were drunk. While he found your normal self already quite endearing, it was a different pleasure to see your guard slip down.

Grabbing your toothbrush and spreading a pinch of toothpaste over the bristles, he smiles as he walks back over to you. Your eyes open again, feeling him approach. You flash him a bright smile, showing off your wine-stained teeth.

Chuckling in defeat, he pushes your toothbrush against your smile and begins brushing. You watch him with lazy eyes, smile still adorn on your lips. It makes his skin flush under your gaze. Maybe you are still very drunk, but time feels like it stops.

It’s not often that Yugyeom gets to see you with your guard down. You are always a little shy and always put together. Whether it is helping him talk to his own parents or waking up early to make him lunch, you are always the one helping him and rarely is it ever the other way around.

It’s why times like these, Yugyeom takes his time memorizing your features.

On normal days, Yugyeom already thinks you are perfect.

On nights like tonight, he thinks you are perfectly imperfect.

And that makes you all the more beautiful.

All too soon, it is time to put you to bed. He is surprised you’re even still awake. It’s way past midnight, which is way past your usual 10PM bedtime.

“It’s time to sleep now, Y/N. Can you walk or should I carry you?”

You glance at him, fiddling with your thumbs. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

Yugyeom chokes on his own spit. “Y-you don’t want to sleep in your own bed?”

You shake your head with a pout. “I wanna stay with you.”

He lets out a breath before taking a seat next to you on the couch. It shouldn’t be a surprise that your drunk self is being clingy, but Yugyeom can’t help his thoughts from wandering to the other day when you spilled food all over his pants.

You pat his thigh, leaning closer. He gulps, feeling nervous suddenly.

“Yugy, what’s your ideal type?”

The question catches him off guard. It’s not until you squeeze his thigh again that he remembers to answer.

“I-um...”

He glances down at your wide eyes. The anticipation in your gaze is evident.

“I like someone who makes me want to know more about her,” he finally answers.

His answer is almost sobering enough. You feel your heart dropping.

“What type of wife do you want then?”

Yugyeom wants to laugh at your sudden interrogation but you look so serious. He looks away, pretending to think deeply about your question. The truth is though, he can barely think with you so close to him. The only thing he can think to respond with is you. Of course it’s you. It could only be you.

Before Yugyeom could even accept the idea of marriage, he had already fallen for his wife. Against his will and against his pride, you had snuck into his heart.

When he looks back at you, you feel a flutter in your chest. You wonder if your buzz has gotten to your head. Hope rises in your heart the longer he stares.

“I want a wife who doesn’t like wine so much,” he lets out a small laugh when you immediately frown. If only he could kiss the pout on your lips.

Yugyeom sits up, thinking you’ve finished but you’re quick to keep him seated. With the last bits of alcohol giving you courage, you throw your leg across his lap and straddle him, palms flat against his chest.

“I want a real answer, Yugy,” you pout, too involved in your own questions to see the way Yugyeom’s entire face has gone red. “What’s something I can do that you find really charming?”

He looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. The longer it takes for him to answer, the more you begin to question whether you’ve crossed a line. But Yugyeom is just trying to form a coherent sentence in his mind, anything to keep you from pressing further into him and realizing that you’ve given him a semi.

When he doesn’t answer, you bite at your lip, crestfallen.

You know you should have seen this coming, but it still hurts. He couldn’t even think of a lie to tell?

The next question leaves you in a whisper, “Why aren’t you attracted to me?”

Yugyeom’s eyes grow big with alarm. The sadness on your face is so apparent and it makes his stomach ache with guilt. Why would you ever think this? He is literally hard right now because of you!

“I am!” He shouts back immediately.

You look back at him, but your eyes say you don’t believe him.

“I am, I really am! Why would you even ask?”

“Then,” you sink into him, shoulders slouching. “Why won’t you kiss me?”

Yugyeom looks at you, then your lips, and feels the heat rise to his cheeks. He wants to kiss you right now. He has never wanted to kiss you more than now, but you’re drunk. What if this is just the alcohol talking?

Before he can say anything though, your arms are wrapping around his neck and pushing him against you. Your lips are soft on his and you taste minty from the toothpaste.

You feel a shiver in your spine when he starts to kiss back. Soft at first, and then his arms are squeezing around your waist and you’re running your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until it feels impossible to breathe.

It doesn’t matter. You decide kissing Yugyeom takes priority over breathing.

You moan against him when he slides his tongue into your mouth. When you rut against him, you can feel his hardness through his jeans. It sends a thrill through your body. You rub yourself harder against him, savoring the way he muffles a groan against your lips.

But when you slip your hands underneath his shirt, feeling his hot skin, Yugyeom pushes you away.

“Wait,” he mutters, catching his breath. “Y/N, we can’t.”

“What are talking about? Who’s going to stop us?” You chuckle, trying to sneak your hands back onto him, but Yugyeom is quick to grab your wrist.

He inwardly curses himself, cringing at the tightness in his pants, but he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he took advantage of you while you were drunk. He is not going to share your first time together when you aren’t fully sober. It is wrong no matter how much you insist on it.

With a sigh, he lifts you off of him and stands up.

“We can’t, Y/N. Come on, let’s go to sleep.”

You feel a wave of heat rise to your face as your eyes fill with tears. You stare at Yugyeom’s feet, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.

“Come on,” he beckons, reaching for your hand.

Pulling away, you get up on your own. Without a word, you walk into your bedroom and slam the door shut.

And as you lay in bed, hot tears spill out endlessly.

You stand at the entrance of the dance studio, a sick feeling in your stomach. Yugyeom left early this morning so you were never able to talk about what happened last night.

“Are you going to open the door or what?” Anna looks at you sternly. “What happened between you two? Why are you acting so weird?”

“Yeah, did you lose your virginity or something?” Jungkook jokes.

“Anna!” You yell out, appalled.

She looks back at you with wide eyes, putting her hands in the air. “It wasn’t me, I swear!”

“Yeah, Yugyeom told me months ago,” Jungkook chuckles, a pleased smile on his face.

“Okay, I’m going home.”

Before you could march away and find a cliff to jump off of, Anna and Jungkook are pulling you by the arms and into the studio.

“Hey, you guys made it!” Yugyeom greets you cheerfully. He glances over to you and a pink hue dusts his cheeks. He rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly, unsure of what to do until a girl approaches him. You blink, breath caught in your throat when you see how beautiful she is. “Oh um, this is my new dance partner, Chungha!”

You bite at your lip, noticing far too quickly how Yugyeom’s mood changes at the sight of her. But could you blame him? In just a basic pair of black leggings and sports bra, you could see how toned her body was. Her big, bright eyes blink back at you, and you could see the fluttering of her long lashes. She looks flawless.

And then she smiles.

To think, you had been relieved Lisa was no longer his dance partner. No wonder he isn’t attracted to you. You wouldn’t be either if you were surrounded by women like Lisa and Chungha all day.

“It’s nice to meet you all!” she greets cheerfully. “I can’t wait to get your feedback.”

“Same, Yugyeom said you’re a great dancer,” Jungkook adds.

She smilsd shyly, sharing a look with Yugyeom. “That means a lot. I don’t know if I can meet those expectations though.”

“Nonsense,” Yugyeom rolls his eyes, pushing her shoulder playfully. “Stop pretending to be humble.”

As the two laugh in their own world, you finger at the end of your t-shirt uncomfortably. They have only been practicing the dance together not too long ago but they already look so close.

“Oh!” Yugyeom looks back at you, almost like an afterthought. “This is my wife by the way!”

“Oh!” Chungha exclaims, eyes wide as if she were seeing you for the first time. “It’s so great to finally meet you! When Yugyeom said he was married I was so surprised, but you are so cute!”

You force out a smile, accepting the compliment—though, you wonder if it really was. It sure didn’t feel like one.

“Well, we won’t hold you up anymore!” Anna interrupts, rubbing your arm comfortingly. “We’ll go make ourselves comfy while you two get ready.”

“Hey, it’s our sister-in-laws!” Bambam and Taehyung welcome you from their seat by the mirrors.

“Soon,” Anna grins coyly, sharing a look with Jungkook.

Ignoring the two lovebirds, Taehyung grabs your arm, ushering you to take a seat between him and Bambam.

“I haven’t seen you in forever,” he pouts before flashing his iconic square smile. You answer with a weak one of your own.

“How long have you two been here?”

“Since the morning. We had to practice our routines too,” Taehyung answers.

“Yeah, and those two have been at it since we got here. I think knowing there’d be a live audience today made her nervous,” Bambam adds, referring to Chungha.

“It’s just us though,”

“Still,” Taehyung shrugs his shoulders. “This is her first performance since starting uni.”

You glance at the two who are currently crouched over a tablet and reviewing a video of their practice. She is giggling over something Yugyeom had said and is slapping his shoulder playfully.

You frown. “Doesn’t look nervous to me.”

Taehyung smirks, bending his head to meet your eyes. “Is someone jealous?”

You frown even more, lip jutting out in a pout.

“Aw, poor baby, it’s okay Y/N,” Taehyung chuckle, patting your head. “She’s harmless.”

“Tae!”

You both look over to see Yugyeom staring from across the room. His eyes meet yours briefly before he averts his eyes to Taehyung.

“Can you come over for a second? We need a second opinion,” he says.

“We do?” Chungha asks softly.

You sigh, hugging your knees.

Bambam chuckles beside you. “It’s hard work liking someone, isn’t it?”

You turn your head, giving him an empathetic smile. “You of all people should know.”

You watch Bambam’s shoulders slump, slightly regretting your comment when you see the look on his face. But Bambam is quick to recover.

“Yugyeom cares for you more than you think.”

You have a hard time believing that, memories of last night’s embarrassment resurfacing again. Instead, you cross your arms and turn your whole body away from the three across from you towards Bambam.

“She called me cute,” you pout.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

You sigh. “Not when it’s coming from someone who’s drop dead gorgeous. Cute sounds like an insult.”

Bambam shakes his head in disbelief but doesn’t try to change your mind.

“Sounds like insecurity to me.”

You feel a flush across your cheeks. “Yeah well! Maybe I wouldn’t be if…”

“If?”

You bite at your lip. If Yugyeom had continued kissing you last night? If you went all the way with him? If you hadn’t spent an entire year essentially being friendzoned by your own husband?

You sigh. “I don’t know.”

Bambam gives you a pat on the back. “I’m sure whatever it is, it’s just another misunderstanding. Just talk it out.”

You nod, not wanting to talk about your relationship problems anymore.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Taehyung announces, jumping to the center of the room like a TV host. “May I introduce to you, for the first time ever! Yugyeom and Chungha!”

You clap along weakly as everyone cheers. But the sick feeling in your gut only grows once the performance starts.

The dance is a passionate one. Their bodies are constantly tangled together, Yugyeom chasing after Chungha. You dig your nails into the flesh of your palm as Yugyeom presses himself into Chungha’s back side.

But more than the touching, what hurts the most is the way he looks at her. He looks like he wants her. You knew what you were signing yourself up for when you pushed Yugyeom to pursue dancing, but when did he become such a good actor too?

He’s never looked at you like that before.

It takes a room full of clapping to get you out of your thoughts. You wish you hadn’t though. Chungha is beaming up at Yugyeom and he is looking back like she is the only girl in the room.

“How were you able to watch Lisa do this dance with Yugyeom?” you mutter to Bambam, looking away from the two on the dance floor.

“Trust,” he answers easily. “Besides, Yugyeom’s too dorky for Lisa. She would never fall for him.”

“Hey,” you scold lightly.

“You can either be mad at him or defend him, Y/N. You can’t choose both!”

You roll your eyes, heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m not mad at him, he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why does Yugyeom keep looking at you like he’s sorry?”

You only sigh, too afraid to say out loud the answer you hold in your heart.

That maybe, he is only sorry because he can’t love you back.

You sit on the couch of your living room, absentmindedly spooning your ice cream that is now soup. A couple days have passed and you and Yugyeom are back on good terms. At least on the surface. Silently, the both of you seem to have agreed to pretend what happened the other night on this couch had never happened.

You decided to stop thinking about the way Yugyeom looked at Chungha or how she was so much better than you. Again, you do what you are good at, using your blind optimism to mask the hurt you are feeling inside.

“I’m back!” Yugyeom calls out as he steps through the entrance. He spots the back of your head from the living room and glances at the TV only to find that you are staring at a black screen.

“Hey,” he calls out again more softly, approaching you on the couch.

“Oh, Yugyeom!” You startle, before offering him a smile. “Back from practice?”

“Mhm,” he returns a hesitant smile.

“Aren’t you early? What time is it?” You glance over to the clock on the wall only to find that it is already 9PM. “Oh wow, look at the time! Did you have dinner yet?”

Yugyeom shakes his head, observing how your eyes never quite focus, glancing at his torso briefly before darting back to your bowl of melted ice cream and then the clock on the wall.

“I left some dinner for you in the kitchen, you just have to heat it up.” You place your bowl on the coffee table. “Want me to get it for you?”

He places a hand on your thigh, stopping you from leaving your seat. “I got it.”

He rises to his feet before pausing. Yugyeom looks at you, his eyebrows arching with concern. He stares for a moment. Ever since you guys came back from the dance studio together, you had been quiet. Everything you did and said felt a little too robotic. A little cold even, like you were keeping him at a distance. And then he thought about your lips. The way they felt against his that night—cool from the aftertaste of toothpaste, but hot against his tongue.

“Yugyeom?”

He swallows. “N-Nothing.”

You look at him for a moment longer before forcing out a smile. “Let me just heat up your dinner and then I’ll head to bed!”

Yugyeom watches as you hastily leave him for the kitchen. It is obvious that you are still bothered and this time around, Yugyeom is sure he knows why. But he doesn’t even know how to start talking about it. He can’t even think about the other night without feeling like a flustered mess.

And by the way you are smiling at him, it feels like you don’t want to talk about it either.

Were you embarrassed about it? Was he right and it was just the alcohol talking? Maybe you were regretting it now.

“It’ll only take another minute and you can take it off the stove,” you smile up at him, giving his arm a pat before you walk away.

“T-Thanks,” he mutters. “Good night.”

You smile weakly before closing the door.

Yugyeom sighs, staring at his dinner on the stove. Even when you aren’t feeling your best, you still take care of him. He wonders how he can make you happy.

His thoughts wander to Taehyung. What if it was him you had walked in on at the dance studio during your freshman year? Would you have fallen for Taehyung instead?

He had seen the way Tae looked at you the night of the party. It was the first night since the wedding that you had gotten all dolled up. He saw you as soon as you stepped through the door. He was sure everyone had their eyes on you.

Even with his own stubbornness back then, he couldn’t stand watching everyone eyeing you at the party. Although he had been determined to avoid you that night, it was the look Tae gave you that drew the line for him.

Since then, you and Tae have become close friends. It annoyed the hell out of him especially when Tae was blatantly flirting with you just to get on his nerves, but he couldn’t even complain. It was karma. He deserves it for the months of hell he put you through.

You may have liked him first, but Yugyeom wonders if you’d still like him for long. With the way things are going, it seems like you are going to realize how subpar of a husband he is and leave him for someone better.

The very thought makes Yugyeom want to hurl.

He shuts off the stove with a sigh. Why is he so bad at communicating with you?

Despite being tired from practice, that night, Yugyeom couldn’t sleep. His thoughts keep going back to you and the sad smile on your face tonight. He did that.

And now here he was, hiding in his bed like a coward. Sitting up, Yugyeom turns on his lights with a sigh. This was not okay. He was not going to repeat the same mistake again. He had to talk to you.

With a renewed purpose, Yugyeom marches over to your room, but when he stops at your door, he freezes. What is he doing? You’re probably asleep by now. He glances at the clock down the hall. It’s almost midnight.

Maybe he should wait until the morning instead.

Just as he’s about to turn on his heels though, your door opens. You both jump in surprise.

“You’re awake!”

“Yugyeom?” You rub at the sleep in your eyes. “What are you doing out here?”

He shuffles awkwardly. “Oh, I uh…”

You stiffen, anxiety creeping up your spine as you watch him fidget in front of your doorway. For you, there can only be one reason for Yugyeom to be coming to you in the middle of the night.

He must have come to his senses.

Yugyeom takes in a sharp breath, steeling himself. “Can we talk?”

Your stomach sinks. You want to tell him no.

Instead, you quietly step aside and let him through. He sits on the edge of your bed nervously. You stare at him from the doorway still.

“I-” his voice trails off before it can fully start. He bites at his lip, pulling at the chapped skin until it is wet and raw. “I…”

When no other words come, you let out a tired sigh. “Gyeom,”

He looks up at you and you can see the worry digging creases into his forehead. You wish you could push him out of your room. You aren’t ready for this conversation to happen. But Yugyeom looks at you so helplessly, you don’t have the strength to deny him.

So, with a pang in your heart, you speak. “You never answered my question the other night. Not seriously anyways.”

He looks at you curiously and you approach him. “Will you answer me now?”

“I-sure.”

You take a seat next to him, tucking your hands beneath your thighs. “What kind of girl do you actually like?”

Yugyeom turns his head your way, looking lost. “But I did answer you. Someone who makes me want to get to know her.”

You squeeze your shoulders together, staring down at the floor. “So, someone with stories…someone with experience?”

Yugyeom swallows, feeling himself fall deeper into a hole. “N-no! Not necessarily…”

“What about your exes? What were they like?” you glance at him, wanting to watch his face but scared of the honesty you’ll see.

Yugyeom’s face flushes red. “W-what? Where is this coming from, Y/N?”

Your face falls before you drop your head once more. “Nothing, it’s stupid. I just thought…maybe if I changed? Do you think we could ever be more than friends?”

Yugyeom chuckles softly. It feels unnatural in the tense atmosphere though. You wonder if he’s laughing at you. You wonder if the very idea is that absurd to him.

“Y/N, you’re my wife.”

“On paper,” you mutter. You shift on the bed, wringing your hands together. “But you don’t even want to hang out with me much, let alone date.”

“That! That’s because I’m shy!” he blurts. He tugs on your hand to look his way, but you’re too ashamed to look him in the face.

You wonder if you’re being selfish by putting him on the spot like this.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” you resign, pulling your hand out of his grasp. “I know this arrangement was never your choice. And well, you can’t control who you’re attracted to.”

“I’m not lying though. I really like you, Y/N, I’m just…I’m just really shy.”

You frown at his insistence. “You aren’t shy around Chungha or Lisa.”

Yugyeom looks at you surprised. “Chungha and Lisa are just friends! I don’t think of them like that!”

“That’s impossible! Chungha and Lisa are both so pretty and charming and sexy! They’re the whole package!” You glare at him angrily.

“Yeah, maybe for Bambam!”

“I bet you’ve talked to Chungha more times than you’ve ever talked to me,” you grumble, crossing your arms.

“Yeah, well, I could say the same for Taehyung,” Yugyeom blurts, mirroring your posture.

You raise your brows in surprise. “Tae?”

“Don’t play dumb, he was obviously flirting with you at the party.”

“What party?” you turn to him confused. “Wait, are you talking about the party where I first met him a year ago?”

“Yeah, and I bet if you met him any earlier, you would’ve liked him instead!”

You frown, sitting cross legged on the bed so you could face him fully now. “I’ve liked you for two years before you even knew I existed. Don’t try to change the subject when you were flirting with Chungha right in front of me just a few days ago!”

“That was not flirting!”

“Not saying it’s a bad thing! You can flirt with whoever you want because you’re allowed to like whoever you want. Clearly, it’s not me!”

Yugyeom guffaws in exasperation, cupping his forehead with one hand. “Goddammit, but it is you. It’s been you this whole time.”

“I’m a big girl, Gyeom, you can give me the hard truth.”

He straightens, glaring back at you. “You want the truth?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Yugyeom scoots closer to you. “Remember when you and Anna had that bachelorette party?”

You pause, frown deepening. “It wasn’t really a bachelorette party, it was just the two of us drinking wine.”

“Nope, you insisted it was a bachelorette party,” he argues, chest puffing out. “I know this because when you got wasted over a bottle of wine, it was me you called to come get you. It was me who carried you back to your apartment and tucked you into bed, but not before you tried to strip down to your underwear while announcing your virginity to the entire complex.”

You gape at him, horrified. “I did what?”

“And I have liked you ever since,” a small smile stretches across his face. “I found out the perfect, goody two-shoes girl was masquerading as a terrible lap dancer by night and ever since then, I’ve wanted to get to know even more sides of you.”

You close your eyes, pressing a thumb to your temple. “Wait, back up, Gyeom, I gave you a lap dance?”

“Yeah, and a terrible one at that,” he laughs.

You falter, anger dissipating quickly. “I don’t remember this.”

“That was only the first time, you know,” he looks at you with a small, teasing smile.

You cringe. “How come you never told me?”

He shrugs. “It happened during the time I was trying really hard not to like you. Anyways, I didn’t think it was something you’d be proud to learn.”

“After seeing all of that,” your voice comes out small, like you want to make a joke, but your tone doesn’t quite match, “wouldn’t you rather someone like Chungha?”

Yugyeom sighs loudly. “What’s with you and Chungha?”

“You two have chemistry,” you admit, lips pouting.

“Because we’re friends,” he explains.

“Then what are we?” You look up at him nervously. He meets you with an equally anxious gaze.

Without answering you, he puts his hands out towards you, palms facing up. When you tilt your head curiously, he takes your hand in his.

“You make me nervous,” he mutters, and you can feel the clamminess of his hot palms against yours. Your brows raise in surprise and you watch as a flush of pink rises to his cheeks. “You think I’m flirting with Chungha, but actually I’ve been trying to flirt with you this whole time. I guess I’m just terrible at it.”

You swallow, not sure what to say to this confession. From the way he looks at you, you know he’s being sincere, which only makes you more confused.

“And I’m terrible at it because,” Yugyeom pauses, face tomato red as he tries to compose himself. He looks away and you grip his hand tighter. “I think you have this idea about me, like I’m cool or something. You’re always saying I inspired you to pursue your dreams, but I think it’s the other way around. And it’s…it’s just a lot of pressure.”

“I-I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to make you feel this way.”

“I know,” Yugyeom looks at you softly, “because you’re you, and you see the good in everything—even me. But if I’m being honest, that cool guy you had a crush on at the dance studio? I’m not sure I’m him. I’m clumsy and childish and always cause accidents when I’m around you. The closer we get, the more I worry you’ll figure this out and regret liking me.”

You thread your fingers through his and pull his hands to your chest, shaking your head adamantly. “That will never happen!”

He chuckles, but the laughter doesn’t meet his eyes. “You can’t promise that.”

“Yes, I can,” you tell him stubbornly. “I moment I said, ‘I do’ I promised just that.”

“Can you say that after my next confession?” he scoffs.

Your brows furrow, but you don’t let go of his hands.

“Do you really want to know who my first love was?” he asks quietly.

You nod, heartbeat thrumming in your ear.

“It was dance,” he sighs, looking down. “It’s always been dance.”

You look at him confused, trying to process this information. “You mean…”

“I’m a virgin, too,” he mumbles, the tips of his ears glowing hot red. When you don’t say anything, he looks up with a small frown. “Still think I’m that cool guy?”

You can’t help the smile that stretches across your face. Without thinking, you spring from the bed and pounce onto him. Yugyeom catches you by the waist easily, his eyes wide with shock at your sudden actions, but he holds you tight in his arms anyways. You shake in his arms, giggles erupting from you and tickling the crook of his neck.

“Why would that ever make you uncool?” you laugh, fingers combing through the back of his hair.

Yugyeom relaxes into your touch, resting his chin on your shoulder. “But, what if I’m not good at it?”

You pull away to look at him. He chews on his lips timidly.

“Well, it’s not like I have anything to compare you to,” you chuckle, rubbing gently at the nape of his neck. “We can take our time, learn together.”

Finally, Yugyeom smiles, relief rushing through him. “It’s not that I don’t want to, just so you know. I just want to make sure you have a good first experience too. What if I hurt you?”

“It hurt more thinking you didn’t like me.”

He sighs softly, pressing his forehead to yours. You can feel the ghost of his breath on your lips. “Trust me, I like you a lot more than you realize.”

“Oh, I’m starting to realize,” you roll your hips tentatively against him and his lashes flutter in surprise as you feel the outline of his semi hard on through his pajama pants. His grip on your waist tightens.

“W-what are you doing?”

You can feel him shiver against you and probably for the first time in this relationship, your chest inflates with confidence.

“Starting lesson one,” you whisper into his ear as you press your core harder against him. The feeling of his hardness blooms excitement throughout your skin. Never has anyone been this close to you in this way. The thought used to scare you, but right now, you’ve never been more thrilled.

“Are you sure?” the words barely make it out of his throat as you press a kiss to his neck. You can feel his breath hitch at the slight graze of your lips, and it urges you on. And despite Yugyeom’s cautious words, his arms pull you closer and he tilts his head, giving you better access.

“The surest I’ve ever been,” you reassure him before sucking on the skin of his jugular. His pulse beats against your lips and you’re happy to know you aren’t the only one whose heart is racing.

“You’re…How’re you so good at this?” Yugyeom mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut in agonized pleasure as you roll your hips against him once more.

“I’ve thought about this a lot,” comes your breathy confession. When he doesn’t say anything, you glance at him. “Is that strange?”

He breaks out into smile, shaking his head. “I’m glad it wasn’t just me.”

You smile, “Really?”

Yugyeom nods, lips chasing yours. “You don’t know how many boners I’ve had to hide from you.”

His hot breath fans at your lips before he is pulling your bottom lip between his teeth. You can’t help the moan that muffles against his mouth as his tongue explores your mouth. When he pulls away, you are gasping to catch your breath.

Contrary to the kiss, Yugyeom looks at you with the softest gaze and wipes at the wetness of your lips with a gentle thumb. He lingers at your bottom lip for a moment longer.

Yugyeom sucks in a breath, eyes dilating when you take his thumb into your mouth. You meet his stare with hooded lids as you suck his entire thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digit. When you release him with a pop, you can feel him twitch underneath you.

There is a hunger in your core that you’ve never felt before. Your entire body aches for Yugyeom in its most primal form. You want him. The thrumming in your chest only further confirms this.

You clutch at his plain tee, heat rising to your cheeks, “Can I taste you?”

Yugyeom groans, throwing his head back. You can’t help salivating at the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing. When Yugyeom looks back at you he almost looks pained.

“I don’t think I’ll last, Y/N,” he mutters, ears reddening.

His confession makes your heart inflate and you press a kiss to his jawline.

“It’s okay, I won’t time you. I don’t know if I’ll be any good anyways,” you smile to lift the mood, but Yugyeom shakes his head.

“No, let me make you feel good first,” He presses a kiss over your smile. “I want to take care of you this time.”

You swallow, heart thrumming in your ear. “Well, what if I don’t last?”

He chuckles, kissing down your throat. You shudder, skin prickling at his breath.

“Oh, I’ll make sure you don’t,” he mumbles, sucking at the sensitive skin. You groan, threading your fingers through the back of his hair. “I’m no quitter, Y/N, and we’ve got all night.”

You shiver, stomach twisting with excitement. Not knowing what else to say, you can only nod when he sinks his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts.

But Yugyeom doesn’t move further. Instead, he looks at you again, eyes serious. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? We can stop if it gets too much.”

And although your cheeks heat up at just the graze of his fingers at your hips, you nod without hesitation. “I want you, Gyeom. I’m ready.”

He sucks in a quiet breath. “Lay down for me?”

His request is a whisper, barely audible, but you scramble to the pillows. Yugyeom follows right behind and when you sink your head into the pillows, he meets you, right above, lips finding yours once more. As his tongue explores your mouth, his thighs press between yours, spreading your legs apart. You can’t help being hyperaware of the dampness of your underwear as he does this.

But the thought quickly leaves your mind when he places a hesitant palm to your chest. To your embarrassment, your nipples are already hard with arousal when his fingers graze against them. He groans against your mouth, fingers rubbing rough circles around the peaked buds.

You find yourself already breathless at the sensation, the sensitive skin sending tingles straight to your core. You moan when he slips his hand underneath your shirt, the pleasure growing ten folds with his warm hands on your bare skin.

“God, you’re so soft,” Yugyeom groans, squeezing your breasts in his palms. “Can I take this off?”

You nod quickly, hands already coming to the ends of your shirt to help him slip it off. Yugyeom leans back on his heels, eyes eating you up while you laid topless in front of him, chest heaving from just his small touches.

“Gyeom,” you mutter, feeling self-conscious when he doesn’t move.

There’s a glint in his eyes as his fingers meet your waistband again. You suck in a breath, nodding silently for him to continue. He licks at his lips, pulling the flimsy fabric of your shorts off of you.

You cringe at the sight of your yellow cotton underwear, the pink heart patterns looking suddenly very childish with Yugyeom’s eyes on them now.

“I-I have better underwear-” you rush to cover yourself but Yugyeom moves your hand.

His palms squeeze your thighs, and he looks at you with a reassuring smile. “It’s cute. You’re cute, and beautiful and charming and sexy. The whole package.”

You blush, hearing your words said back to you.

“Plus,” he grins, hands sliding up your thighs and you shiver. “These ones are soaked, just for me.”

Your breath catches in your throat when he runs a finger up the wet cotton. He chuckles darkly at the sound of your whimper when he circles around your clit. It’s just a whisper of a touch and yet you find yourself careening.

Your heart feels like the wings of a hummingbird, flapping against your chest. Never have you laid yourself out, so bare, for someone. It’s scary, being so vulnerable, and yet you find yourself wanting to jump into the darkness of the unknown.

The way Yugyeom looks at you is dark and heavy, like he is trying to swallow you whole, hungry to take in every piece of you. And maybe with anyone else this would frighten you, but it’s Yugyeom, and so you are excited. Excited and eager to give all of yourself to him.

“Can I?” he asks, pulling at the edge of your underwear.

“Please,” you consent, lifting your hips.

Yugyeom groans helplessly at your bare sight, dripping wet just for his eyes to see. He lifts at his t-shirt, skin already hot. You swallow, eyes traveling down his bare torso, to the tattoo stretching across his rib cage and then the growing bulge his thin pajama pants does very little to hide. You clench around nothing, just imagining what’s beneath.

Yugyeom catches the movement and curses. You don’t even know what you do to him.

Your eyes shudder close when you feel his fingers back on you, spreading your slick in circles around your clit.

“Does that feel okay?”

You answer with a whimper, arching into his touch.

He bites at his bottom lip, watching you squirm beneath him. You are so sensitive and so eager. Nothing he could have ever imagined could measure up to this view. He could probably cum to this sight alone. The strain of his pants warns him of the very possibility.

“More,” you barely manage to croak out between a moan but Yugyeom hears you and without hesitation, he dives into your heat, eager for a taste.

Your eyes flutter open at the new feeling, hooded eyes staring down at his head between your thighs. You moan, embarrassment heating your cheeks, but your fingers thread through his hair and push him deeper.

The sting of his scalp only drives him on, lapping at you hungrily. When he moans into your folds, you find yourself vibrating with him. His tongue feels so soft and delicious against you and when he sucks on your clit you tremble at the sensation shooting straight to your core.

Sweat glazes your forehead and you strain to keep your eyes focused on Yugyeom. You can’t even see his face, but you can’t pull your gaze away. The top of his head bobs eagerly and from behind, you can see him thrusting into your sheets.

You whimper, feeling your abdomen tighten when he rolls his hips extra rough.

“Gyeom,” you squeeze around his hair strands.

He looks up at you, eyes glazed over with lust, tongue still swirling around you at an agonizing pace. Squeezing your thigh, he presses a finger to your entrance. He presses, barely entering but you find yourself clenching already.

“Gyeom,” you whine, head falling into the pillow in frustration.

You feel him chuckle against you. A soft kiss to your clit. And then he slips a finger into you slowly. You’re so wet, he slips right in easily. You close your eyes, savoring the unfamiliar feeling. Unfamiliar, but not unwanted. Your body hums for more.

He dips his finger in and out, enjoying the way your body arches, trying to chase after his finger each time he pulls out.

“More?” he asks, teasing two fingers at your entrance. You nod eagerly, squirming at his touch.

Yugyeom dips two fingers into you, dick twitching at the feeling of your tight walls squeezing around his digits. When he curls his fingers, you let out a loud moan, eyes fluttering shut. He reads your body easily, mouth back on your clit as he repeats the motion of his fingers over and over.

Your body tightens, heating up quickly. There’s a burn in your abdomen, a fire that flickers every time he sucks around your clit and curls his fingers against your flesh. You clench your fists around your sheets, feeling your heart pound faster against your chest.

Your whole body trembles, toes curling and abdomen squeezing until it feels like your soul lifts from your body and everything goes white.

When you come to, chest heaving like you just ran a marathon, Yugyeom is back on his knees, looking at you in awe. His lips are red and chin, wet with your arousal.

“Was that okay?” he asks, a boyish smile on his lips.

You chuckle, eyes rolling to the ceiling. “That was amazing.”

“Good.” You feel him lie on the bed beside you, arm coming around your waist.

You turn on your side, meeting his gaze. “Now it’s my turn.”

His eyes widen and the confidence from before quickly fades behind pink flustered cheeks.

“I-Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

Your hands travel down and land on the tent in his pants, straining to be released. You lift a brow at him, but he only gets more red.

“I want to,” you tell him. “I want to feel you inside me. I want this.”

He gulps and you feel him twitch against your palm. “I-I might not last long.”

You kiss his worries away. “That’s alright, you said we had all night, didn’t you?”

You pull at his waistband and he sighs at the release of his cock. You sit up and Yugyeom kicks the rest of his clothes off before helping you straddle him.

You look at him with wide eyes, before looking back at his cock. His tip is red and shiny with precum. Your eyes follow the vein that travels down the length of his cock. You can’t even help it, your mouth waters.

Your stomach flips nervously. Yugyeom seems to sense your worries when his hand rests over yours.

“You really don’t have to. We can wait.”

“I do!” you say quickly. “I just-,” you blink, swallowing thickly. “Will you fit?”

Yugyeom groans, hands squeezing around your thighs roughly. “Are you trying to make me cum before we even start?”

“I-no,” you feel your cheeks grow hot. “It’s a legitimate question!”

He chuckles, until your hand comes around his shaft. Yugyeom sighs at your touch, your soft, small hands feel like heaven compared to his own. Though you don’t intend to tease him, your hand rubs him agonizingly slow as you feel the smoothness of his skin and the ridges of his veins pulsing in your palm. You watch in awe as you squeeze up and a small clear bead of precum buds at his slit.

Yugyeom’s breath hitches when you dip your head down and lick at his slit. Your brows shoot up at the taste. He’s salty, but it’s Yugyeom and you find that you don’t mind it. Instead, your mouth waters for more.

“Fuck,” Yugyeom curses, stopping you when you try to dip your tongue down again. You look at him in surprise, but he’s quick to reassure you. “Next time, baby, I really want to last.”

You nod, flushing at the pet name.

You rise onto your knees, hands coming back down his cock to align him to your entrance. You shiver, feeling his tip between your folds. Yugyeom looks just as nervous, the heat of your entrance making his heart race.

It takes a few tries, his cock teasing between your folds, before he enters. Barely there, but you feel the stretch. He’s much bigger than his fingers, but the stretch isn’t the pain you always imagined. Unfamiliar, maybe a little uncomfortable, but nothing scary at all.

This realization fills you with a newfound courage and you sink down onto his cock with an extended sigh.

“Fuck,” Yugyeom whispers a strained curse, a devil’s grip on your hips as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and slips down his face as his jaw clenches. You’re so fucking tight and warm around him. When your cunt clenches, he groans, balls tightening. “Fuck, don’t do that.”

You still, falling onto his chest. You can hear his heart thrumming wildly in his chest.

“Sorry,” he heaves, hugging you tightly against him. “Just, I need a minute. You feel like fucking heaven, baby.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest. When his cock twitches inside you, you shiver. To be honest, you’re no better either. You feel so full with him inside you. This feeling is so new, but so right. You can feel your walls pulsing around him. Or maybe it’s his cock pulsing against your walls. Probably both.

You close your eyes, savoring the feeling before Yugyeom finally let’s out a soft breath. And then, he is lifting his hips. You moan, the movement pushing him deeper into you. You place your palms on his chest, sitting up.

He looks at you with hazy eyes as you lift off his cock before sliding back down his length. Yugyeom’s moan is load and uninhibited. The sound sends another wave of arousal straight to your core.

“Oh god,” he moans, hips lifting to meet yours every time. “Fuck!”

You strain to keep your pace, his arms helping you out as you gave into the wave of pleasure each time his thick cock slide into you. Already, your whole body was buzzing with pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck,” Yugyeom’s desperate moan meets your ears and then you feel his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you to his chest. He groans, teeth digging into your shoulder.

And then you feel it. Hot cum shooting into the deepest part of you, flooding you with warmth. The sting of Yugyeom’s teeth sinking in your skin, the sound of his heaving breath and heart beat against your ear, the pulse of his cock thrusting into you as he rode out his high—you feel like one body against his and the feeling makes your eyes wet.

You smile, pressing a kiss to his jawline as he softened inside of you.

He let out a satisfied sigh as his cock slipped out and you felt his cum slide out of you. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I told you I wouldn’t last long.”

You shush him with a kiss.

“I couldn’t have asked for anything better,” you smile.

His hand on your waist tightens. “You’re really the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You giggle, tension breaking. “I could get used to this Yugyeom.”

He smiles, hand coming to your cheek. “I mean it.”

He looks at you quietly. It’s a fleeting moment, but the feeling lingers. You feel warmth blooming in your chest.

You kiss him again, “I know, Gyeom. This time, I really know now.”

#got7 scenarios #got7 imagines #got7 reactions #kim yugyeom #arranged marriage au #marriage au #marriage life series #fluff #angst #smut #fanfic

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iclaimedtobethebetterbard · 4 years ago

Text

stars in the sk(eyes)

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Logan, Virgil, Roman, Remus, Janus, Patton Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Analogical, background Intrualiceit Warnings: Language, food, like 1 line that’s maybe suggestive but also said half-jokingly Word count: 5592

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

analogical week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: Logan has always loved stars. Virgil has always loved music. Maybe they can put those together with a little help from some friends.

Notes: Day 2 of Analogical Week 2021! @analogicalweek Takes place in my Starlight Universe, does not need context to read. Patton, Janus, and Remus are all nonbinary folks who use he/they pronouns and masculine terms in this universe (but in the flashback scene, Janus is only using they/them); Roman, Logan, and Virgil are all men who use he/him. (I know absolutely nothing about music or concerts or anything, so please don't roast me too hard for any inaccuracies, lol.)

They were only opening the concert; the real attraction was a band from out of town with a midsize following, making a stop on their tour. Not that Virgil was complaining to have landed this gig. It would be the biggest performance his band—the band he, Janus, and the twins had formed a few years ago—had given, by a lot. And that was exciting. Sure, Virgil had absolutely spent hours stressing over how big it was, but he knew how to manage his anxiety, especially when it came to performances, and the anxiety didn’t stop the excitement.

“You’re going to do wonderfully,” Logan had told him earlier that day as he’d been getting dressed, passing his fingerless leather gloves and then holding his jacket for him to slide into. He’d spoken it with a simple, unassuming confidence, as if it were a given fact. It had been more comforting than Virgil thought Logan knew.

With the memory of his husband’s words carefully nestled against his heart, and the jacket Logan had helped him paint rainbow stripes on sitting on his shoulders, Virgil found it easier to let go of the anxiety. Some lingering tension remained as he paced backstage, running through lyrics in his head and triple checking that everyone knew the schedule, but it wasn’t as bad as usual. Most of it, if he was being honest with himself, wasn’t even about the performance—it was about the surprise the band had put together, the surprise Virgil had had to bite his tongue a couple of times to keep himself from thoughtlessly mentioning it to Logan, even though the surprise had been almost entirely his own idea and the others were just helping. But he’d successfully kept the secret, and now Logan was out in the audience, and Virgil was backstage, and there would be no more chances to spoil it.

But Logan was out in the audience, and Virgil was backstage, and the final round of jitters was setting in. And when Logan wasn’t there, Virgil’s jitters took the form of pestering the hell out of everyone in the room, to make sure everything was perfect.

He checked all the instruments, giving Janus’s keyboard a once-over without touching because he knew better by this point. Remus’s drumset was already on the stage—he was drumming with his fingers on the end of the fallout table in the corner—so there was nothing to do about that. Roman was actively tuning his guitar, so Virgil left that alone too and instead checked his bass, just in case it had gotten out of tune in the last thirty seconds.

All of the instruments were fine, great, even, and Remus and Roman were undeniably being productive; Janus, who’d been on their phone in the corner, had stepped out for just a moment, probably to get a drink of water or something.

Things were in order. Which was good. Great, even. But it gave Virgil nothing to do with his restless energy.

“Are we ready?” he asked, jiggling his leg and tracing the pattern of his fishnet tights through one of the large rips in his jeans.

Roman looked up. “Yes,” he said shortly. Roman’s nerves tended to take the form of a very short temper, which didn’t mix well with Virgil’s perfectionism.

“Yeah,” Remus agreed, running a hand through his dark green curls and straightening his denim jacket.

“We all know the order things go in?” Virgil followed up after a minute of tense silence.

“Mmhm,” Remus said easily. Remus, and Remus alone, somehow always managed to remain at ease and unbothered no matter what. Virgil didn’t know how they did it.

Virgil took stock of everyone’s outfits. He himself was wearing fishnet leggings that went all the way up past his waist. Over them he had ripped black skinny jean, and a black crop top splattered with white paint. On top of that, he wore his black denim jacket, which matched the ones the other three were wearing. Virgil’s had the rainbow pride flag painted on the front, all down the lapel area; the rest of the jacket was covered in patches. He checked his makeup, examining the black eyeshadow and lipstick in his phone’s camera; it looked fine. Perfect, even.

Roman was the neatest of the group, made to stand out as the lead singer. He wore the same high-heeled doc martens as the other three, but in white where theirs were all black. He had a tight white longsleeve shirt made of a shimmery material and a matching pair of white pants, and the black jacket contrasting nicely against it all. Roman’s jacket had the aromantic pride flag where Virgil had the rainbow, and the rest of his jacket was painted with red roses all at the ends of long, intricate, thorny stems. His eyeliner was sharp enough to cut, and his curly hair was piled up atop a black headband wrapped around his forehead like a crown.

Janus still wasn’t back, but he’d been on the neater end too, to counter Virgil and especially Remus’s scruffiness. Their outfit was sleek and all black save for a thin white belt around their waist. A black hat with a broad round brim framed their face like a dark halo. His jacket had nonbinary and pan stripes on the front, and thin white squiggly lines running up and down like warped pinstripes everywhere else. (Virgil knew where on the jacket one line ended in a tiny snake head, and where one trailed off into a tail, but you wouldn’t notice unless you knew to look.) They were wearing black lipstick to match Virgil, and winged eyeliner to match Roman, and contour that emphasized the sharpness of his cheekbones; definitely the heaviest makeup of the group.

Remus, sitting in the corner and making noises to themself, was a sharp contrast to his boyfriend Janus’s sleek elegance. His black jeans, splattered with white paint to match Virgil’s crop top, were ripped almost to shreds, open nearly entirely from mid-thigh down to his ankles, with only a few clinging strands of fabric keeping them anywhere in the realm of being pants. The tee they wore—black again, with his own name painted on it in large white letters—was also ripped full of holes, these ones much more deliberate; he’d slashed it carefully with an exacto knife, kneeling on the ground and focusing with their tongue stuck out slightly, until it was exactly how he wanted it and you could catch glimpses of their top surgery scars when they moved. His makeup consisted of dramatic green and black eyeshadow, and his jacket had the trans and polyamorous flags on it—he and Janus, who had nearly identical collections of pride flags between them, had split two and two which color schemes they wanted to use. The rest of Remus’s jacket consisted of a few jagged holes and some incredibly detailed paintings of green tentacles.

The instruments were fine. The costumes were fine. The makeup was fine. What else did that leave for Virgil to fret over as the final minutes ticked away?

“How about the blocking?” Virgil said. “We can go over it again if anyone—”

“I promise we know, Virge,” Roman snapped.

“Come on, kiddo, you know he’s just trying to help!” piped up Patton, Janus and Remus’s other boyfriend, who was suddenly somehow present and sitting in Janus’s lap, his pastel outfit completely out of place amidst the varying edgy styles everyone else in the room was sporting.

“How did you get back here?” Roman and Virgil demanded in unison. Virgil hadn’t even noticed Janus was back, let alone that he’d brought Patton, who was supposed to be in the audience with Logan until the performance was over.

“Oops,” Janus said, not sounding even a tiny bit remorseful as they played with Patton’s dark curls.

“Did you leave Logan alone?” Virgil demanded of Patton, hands on his hips.

“Only for a minute! He’s getting snacks, anyway,” Patton said, wrapping his arms around Janus’s neck. “We both know where our seats are, he’ll be fine.”

“You already have a partner backstage, stop being greedy,” Roman scolded Janus. “Patton, you know we need to focus right now, can you please not distract my horny bandmates until after the show?”

“You sound like Virgil, with all that worrywarting,” Remus commented, snickering.

“Take that back this instant!” Roman demanded as Virgil gave Remus double birds.

Remus only guffawed, looking incredibly amused.

“Seriously, though, uh, Patton, with all the love in my heart: get out,” Virgil said.

Patton wrinkled his nose, but pressed a warm smack of a kiss to Janus’s cheek and hopped to his feet.

“Do I get a kiss?” Remus asked, reaching his arms out hopefully.

“Makeup—” Roman began warningly.

“I haven’t got any on my mouth!” Remus said triumphantly. “Suck it, Jan.”

Janus smiled wryly, fingers rising to but not quite touching their black lipstick that Patton had avoided so carefully. “The prices I pay for beauty.”

Patton giggled, crossing to Remus, clasping both his hands, and leaning down to kiss him sweetly.

“Great, you’re very very cute together but now is not the time, Patton get out and stop distracting your boyfriends,” Roman said, shooing Patton towards the door.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “High strung much?”

“Not all of us possess your—your stupid coolheadedness powers, Remus!” Roman snapped.

Patton paused in the doorway and pointed at Roman, getting out his dad voice. “Hey. Be nice.” The finger moved to Virgil. “Be nice.” His eyes flicked to Remus, then Janus, and his voice shifted to a different tone, half flirty and half joking. “You two be good boys.”

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god, I said to stop being horny!” Roman shrieked, chasing a giggling Patton out of the room and down the hall. He returned moments later, Patton-less and fixing at his hair to make sure it wasn’t too messy. “We had better not have any more alloromantic bullshit from any of you until after the show is over!” he announced. “Okay?” He didn’t sound quite as annoyed as before.

“Homophobia,” Remus accused teasingly.

But instead of snapping back, Roman giggled. “Oh, shut up.”

The twins began joking back and forth, Janus making the occasional amused interjection. Evidently Patton’s intrusion into the room, although technically unhelpful, had done wonders to break the tension, and Virgil reminded himself to thank Patton later.

Virgil’s phone buzzed with a text from Logan.

Logan: Patton found me, don’t worry. Logan: How are you doing?

Virgil: hahahahahaaaa i don’t wanna think abt it

Logan began typing, then the little bubble went away; a second later, the phone began to ring, Logan’s caller ID plain to see.

“Hi, babe,” Virgil greeted.

“Hello, dear. Would you like to walk me through your plan for the performance, to reassure yourself?”

Virgil let out a small sigh of relief. “Yes, please.”

“I am listening,” Logan assured him.

Virgil took a deep breath and launched into a detailed itinerary, knowing that Logan didn’t mind if he got a little too technical in his terminology because Logan was listening for Virgil’s sake.

“And then that’s about it,” Virgil wound down, carefully leaving off the final item from his explanation. It wouldn’t do to spoil the surprise now. “Oh, looks like we’re getting ready now, gotta go.”

“I love you,” Logan said quickly. “You’re going to do a wonderful job.”

Virgil let out a short laugh. “Thanks, L. Love you too.” He hung up, set his phone down on the table, and picked up his bass.

“You ready?” Roman asked, nudging Virgil with his elbow, as the group finally headed towards the stage.

Virgil sucked in a long breath. “Yeah. I think so. Are you?”

“Oh, you know it!” Roman grinned, a spring in his step. He paused after a second and glanced back to Virgil. “Sorry for being so wound up earlier.”

“It happens.” Virgil shrugged. “Right back at you.”

Roman nodded and put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Hey. He’s going to love it. Just wait and see.”

Virgil looked away, half smiling. “I sure hope so.”

“He will, I know it!” Roman insisted as they climbed the steps onto the stage and emerged into what could practically have been the eye of a hurricane, for all the noise and light that surrounded the stage.

The sky above was fully dark; bright lights everywhere in the area contrasted against it. There was a decent crowd. The venue seemed almost full, as a matter of fact. The observation added a thrill of adrenaline to compliment the goosebumps from the chilly breeze across Virgil’s bare midriff.

Roman stepped forward and spread his arms wide right as the spotlights came up. “Hey, folks, thank you for being with us here tonight!” he said, his smile gleaming in the bright lights and his voice booming in the speakers. “We have some great hits lined up for you tonight! Let’s get it started, huh?”

Virgil waited a few seconds for the cheer of the crowd to peak. Janus began the melody on the keyboard; Virgil came in with his bass at exactly the same second Roman began to sing, and Remus picked up the beat on the drums on cue.

Virgil was quickly able to get lost in the music, all his focus on playing and providing backup vocals, leaving him with no more brain space for his anxiety. This was his favorite thing about music: its ability to keep him in the moment.

They played three songs. Two covers that always went over really well, and one song that the twins had written together about family that always left Roman just a little teary. Normally that would be their closing song.

But tonight was a little bit different.

Roman took a step back, nodding at Virgil; the pair of them traded places onstage, putting Virgil front and center.

“So,” Virgil said, the mic on his cheek picking up his words, “we were thinking we’d let you all be the first to hear our new song. Uh, I wrote this one. And normally Roman does our singing, because—well, you’ve heard his voice. But this song is kind of special. I wrote it for my husband. So. We thought I’d perform it tonight.”

As Janus began playing the melody, Virgil searched the front row of the crowd, squinting against the lights, until he found Logan, sitting next to Patton and gazing up at Virgil with shining eyes. “Lo, I love you so much, babe. More than every star you’ve ever shown me.” He took a deep breath and began to sing.

***

10 years earlier

Unknown Number: Hello. This is Janus. Logan’s roommate

Virgil: how’d u get this number?

Janus: I broke into Logan’s phone after you started dating and saved you to my contacts just in case

[read 3:43pm}

[3:46pm]

Virgil: i Virgil: wtf dude

Janus: Your boyfriend has been moping in his room all day, can you please come fix it? Janus: Roman is starting to mope too for no good reason, but he’s doing it in the living room and at this point it is starting to affect my quality of life

Virgil: yk i literally could not care less abt that part u asshole <3 Virgil: i’ll be over in 15 Virgil: is he ok?

Janus: He won’t talk to me, I don’t know what happened

Virgil: i’ll be over in 10

It was normally a 12-minute walk from the dorm Virgil was an RA in to Logan’s apartment just off campus, but Virgil could walk fast when he was anxious or alone, and in this case he was both. Even taking the time to grab a jacket, he still made it to the building in nine minutes flat.

Janus let Virgil into the apartment almost the second he knocked, relief plain to see on their face.

“You see?” Janus said over their shoulder in a scolding tone. “I had to resort to outside measures to deal with your bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Roman whined from where he was slumped on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through Netflix on the TV.

“Oh? And what’s this?” Janus demanded, hands on their hips. They dramatically pushed the button to open the microwave door, revealing a limp burrito wrapped in a damp paper towel.

“Lunch,” Roman mumbled defensively.

“You hate microwave food, and it’s four in the afternoon!” Janus snapped.

“I am in a creative slump, Jan! Have some sympathy!”

“No! Get your whiny ass off the couch and stop ruining my afternoon!”

Virgil took a deep breath and pointedly walked in between the pair of them down the hall towards Logan’s room. Roman and Janus’s still-bickering voices faded into the background.

“Hey.” Virgil knocked on the door, which had a piece of printer paper taped to it with Logan’s name written on it in blue sharpie and a couple of stars, both scribbles and stickers, scattered around it. He waited, and when there was no reply, he added, “Are you okay, Lo?”

“I’m fine,” Logan said, in a voice that had obviously been crying.

“Can I come in?” Virgil asked.

“Okay.”

Virgil pushed open the door and stepped into the dim room, closing it behind him. The blinds were closed, and Logan was curled up under a mound of blankets.

“Hey, baby,” Virgil murmured, kicking off his shoes and climbing to sit on the bed beside Logan and stroke his hair. “What’s wrong?”

Logan made a muffled noise of misery into the mattress.

“What?” Virgil said after a moment.

Logan rolled over. “Teacher didn’t like my essay.”

Virgil chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment. “Okay, I promise I’m not making fun of you, but you do know that that is possibly the most stereotypically you thing you have ever said to me, right?”

Logan let out a little huff that was not quite a laugh. “I guess.” He was silent for a moment as Virgil continued to stroke his hair. “And I know it’s stupid. I still got a B+ and my overall grade in the class is fine and I know I’m a good writer and everything. But it sucks. I was really proud of it.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Virgil said, choosing to ignore the squirm in his gut that always happened when grades came up. It was so easy to compare or to worry about others comparing and then to worry about others getting upset over comparisons and—he dragged himself back to the present, forcibly setting the issue aside. “You’re allowed to feel upset,” he told Logan. “About anything that upsets you. Even if you wouldn’t choose it.”

Logan didn’t respond, but after a minute his hand snaked out from under the covers and grasped Virgil’s.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Virgil asked, struck with the idea.

“Huh?”

“A walk. Get out of your head for a little bit and hang out. We can talk if you want, or just be together.”

Roman’s voice grew particularly loud outside, and Virgil picked out a teary, petulant, “I hate you!”

“Plus it’ll get you away from that energy,” he added wryly.

Logan drew in a breath and sat up. “Alright. Let’s do it.” He pulled out a denim jacket while Virgil put his shoes back on and retied the laces. They made their way out of the apartment, hand in hand.

Roman was on his feet now, releasing an angry tirade at Janus, hands clenched into fists and sounding on the verge of crying, the TV remote cast on the floor beside him. Janus was sitting on the kitchen counter with arms crossed and an intimidating glare on their face.

“Hey!” Virgil snapped, and Roman cut off abruptly. “Eat some food,” Virgil told him on a hunch. Sure, Roman could be a little immature at times, but this was on a whole different level, and a lack of food seemed like the simplest culprit.

Virgil looked over at Janus, to make it clear that they weren’t off the hook either. “We’re going out. You two better make up before we get back. Clear?”

“You can’t tell us what to do—” Roman began stubbornly.

“Janus literally called me in to fix all your problems, so yeah. I can. Also open your windows, it’s gloomy as fuck in here.” Virgil opened the door and held it for Logan, tossing one last glare over his shoulder at Roman, who looked dumbstruck, and Janus, who avoided eye contact.

Logan was quiet as the two of them walked down the stairs and exited the apartment building, hands in his pockets (one still clasping Virgil’s) and eyes on the toes of his slip-on shoes.

“Wanna talk?” Virgil asked.

Logan tilted his head to the side for a moment, his thinking face slipping over his features, and then shook his head.

Virgil nodded. “Okay.” He fished in his pocket for his earbuds and plugged them in. “Let me know if that changes, okay?” He received a small nod and turned on his go-to playlist—a 12-and-a-half-hour-long composition of all his favorite emo songs that he could loop without having to put any thought in.

The two of them wandered through the streets, hand in hand, music blaring in Virgil’s ears and Logan’s fingers soft and warm against his. They made their way towards downtown; their university was in a small city, and it was pretty walkable.

As they walked, weaving around and across different blocks, occasionally stopping to peek into particularly interesting shop windows, the tension in Logan’s shoulders slowly began to relax and his gaze migrated from the toes of his shoes upwards to take in the surrounding scenery. Virgil felt himself relaxing in turn. The subdued, almost sullen look on Logan’s face was beginning to shift back to his typical bright-eyed curiosity, which meant that while maybe not all was right with the world, a whole lot was right with the world.

As the sky began to darken, Logan’s pace quickened with sudden purpose—but he didn’t lead Virgil in the direction of the apartment. Instead, he headed in almost the exact opposite direction. Virgil was lost for a moment as to where they were going, until the park in the center of downtown came into view. Ah. That explained it. He was kind of glad; he didn’t feel ready for the quiet time they were spending together to be over.

A scent caught his attention as they entered the park, and he tugged gently at Logan’s arm, nodding towards the mediterranean food truck. A small smile answered him, and a nod, and the pair of them made their way over. They both ordered gyros—Virgil chicken, and Logan, who was trying out vegetarian food, falafel.

Fifteen minutes later, seated side by side on a park bench and finishing the last of their sandwiches, Logan cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

Virgil bumped his shoulder against his boyfriend’s. “Of course, babe.”

“I am feeling… better,” Logan said cautiously, as if he were testing out the words in his mouth to see if they felt true.

Virgil nodded. “Better is good.”

Logan nodded, eyes moving to the sky, which was now almost fully dark except for a streak of orange sunset leftover on the horizon. The stars were out, at least the brightest ones that could be seen even past the floodlights placed every so often across the park.

“You like space, and shit, right?” Virgil said, scooting closer to Logan and dragging his arm to wrap around Virgil as he rested his head on Logan’s shoulder. It was a bit of a rhetorical question, since he knew Logan had an astronomy minor and was the vice president of the astronomy club and had gone on no less than three eager rambles about space in the last month alone, but one could always do with a conversation opener.

Logan blinked and looked down at him. “I do.” You know this, his tone said, a little puzzled at the question.

“What star is that?” Virgil pointed at a particularly bright one, although he wasn’t paying nearly as much attention to the star as he was to Logan’s face.

Sure enough, Logan brightened, his eyes more interesting than any star. “Oh! That’s not a star at all—it’s actually Mercury!”

“Really?” Virgil asked, grinning and scooting closer.

Logan wrapped his arm a little more tightly around Virgil’s shoulders with an answering smile. “Yes, and it’s actually very fascinating…” And just like that, he was off, words spilling out of his mouth at a breakneck pace, gesturing eagerly with his free hand to emphasize his points.

Virgil listened, doing his best to follow along and asking a few questions whenever Logan started to wind down, but mostly just happy to watch his boyfriend’s lips as he excitedly infodumped, and his eyes, too, alight with delight, the frustration of the disappointing grade all but forgotten as he held Virgil and told him stories about the night sky.

It was nearly ten at night by the time they made their way back to Logan’s apartment, chatting back and forth in quiet voices and giggling. Logan broke off as he opened the door and got a look inside; he glanced over his shoulder at Virgil and put a finger to his lips.

Virgil hushed and followed him in, then saw what the need for quiet was: Janus and Roman were asleep on the sofa, Roman sprawled on his stomach on top of Janus with his limbs everywhere and his face buried in Janus’s chest, Janus with their arms wrapped around him and a throw pillow propping their head up and a worn copy of Crime and Punishment flopped over from where it had clearly been propped up on Roman’s back.

“Precious,” Virgil commented softly as Logan picked up the book, tucked a bookmark off the coffee table into it, and set it down with the tender care he seemed to reserve exclusively for books and Virgil.

Logan smiled. “They are, rather.” He looked down at his roommates. “Sometimes I wonder why I picked the two most dramatic people I know to live with.”

“Sometimes like this afternoon?” Virgil said with a chuckle.

Logan snorted. “Maybe. But then they do things like this, and I remember why I like them.”

Virgil noticed something on the tiny kitchen table. “Or this?” He pointed.

Logan came over to examine what Virgil had found. “Oh,” he breathed, a smile spreading across his face.

A plate of cookies sat on the table, together with a hastily handmade card.

“Sorry :( ❤️” it read in large, expressive cursive, and beneath it in smaller, neater handwriting, “I actually didn’t do anything wrong, but these are for you and I did the dishes, also you’re welcome for the date night.”

Logan laughed quietly, taking a cookie and offering the plate to Virgil, who accepted one cookie—they looked to be snickerdoodles. “Yes. Things exactly like this,” he said. He took a bite of the cookie and raised his eyebrows. “Not bad.”

Virgil grinned and leaned over to kiss him. “Not bad at all,” he agreed, pulling away.

“I literally gave you your own cookie,” Logan whispered, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, but it tastes better this way.” Virgil winked, mainly for Logan’s reaction—he pressed a hand to his mouth, stifling an amused smile that was still visible in his eyes. “I should go,” Virgil added, glancing at the time. It was Sunday tomorrow, so he didn’t need to worry about how late he was up, but he disliked walking home at night.

Logan nodded, taking another cookie and pressing it into his hand. “Text me when you get home?”

“I always do,” Virgil said, accepting the cookie and a goodnight kiss that still tasted just faintly of cinnamon and sugar.

And he did just that; he always felt a little awkward simply texting “I made it home,” or the like, so he usually tried to come up with interesting questions to send to Logan instead. Tonight, it was:

Virgil: hey Virgil: if u could pick one Thing u always wanted to do Virgil: and get a guarantee that u’d get a chance to do that thing no matter what Virgil: what would u pick?

Logan: Fascinating question! I would like the opportunity to name a star. Logan: I don’t imagine it will ever happen in real life, but I’ve always thought it would be… cool, for lack of a better word.

Virgil: ghfdkjghksdhj i will never be over ur love for space Virgil: u have a Brand and u stick to it

Logan: Well, a brand is important in life. :-) Logan: What about you? What would you pick?

Virgil: i think it’d be neat to be in a band Virgil: idk Virgil: like i don’t wanna be super famous or anything but like Virgil: being in a band would be neat Virgil: yk?

***

Ten years later, Virgil sang the last lines of his song looking right at his husband. “And I don’t even need to look to the skies/Because all of the stars are in your eyes.”

The noise around him didn’t fade away like in the movies; to the contrary, the cheering was so loud it was almost hard to focus. But Logan’s face was absolutely alight—Virgil couldn’t be sure at this distance, but he thought Logan might even be tearing up—and he was looking at Virgil like he was his whole world. Even with the bright lights and overwhelming sounds all around, it was easy to focus on Logan in the midst of it all, Logan pressing a hand to his mouth but smiling too wide for anything to hide it, Logan leaning into the side-hug that Patton—oh, and there was Patton, right beside him—was offering, but never taking his eyes off Virgil. Logan looked so happy, even though Virgil knew concerts weren’t really his favorite type of event, and Virgil was hit right in the chest with a renewed realization that Logan was Virgil’s whole world and damn, Virgil wanted to make sure everyone knew it.

But their time onstage was up, and the next few minutes were a bustle of packing equipment away and cleaning up the space they’d been allotted backstage, and it all went by in a bit of a blur, helped along by the remnants of Virgil’s performance mindset and slight overstimulation—though that was getting better now that he was offstage.

Virgil took a quick break, when the bulk of the urgent work was done, to just stand in the empty restroom and breathe for a moment, the noise of the other band who were now onstage thudding in the background so quietly he could hardly hear it. When he’d fully composed himself, feeling much calmer, he took a deep breath and headed back out.

On his way out, he ran into Roman, pushing a dolly with a box on it. “Oh, good, there you are,” he greeted Virgil. “Can you—oh, for crying out loud,” he broke off, looking ahead.

Following his gaze, Virgil snickered as he saw Remus, leaning against the wall with their hands clasped behind his head, grinning down at Patton, who was leaned forward, bracketing Remus with his arms, looking up at him and speaking, although Virgil couldn’t hear him from here.

“We still have work to do,” Roman said under his breath, but the exasperated gaze he leveled at the pair was altogether far too fond to have much real bite.

Virgil’s mind was on other matters; if Patton was here, that meant—

“Lolo!” Patton’s voice called brightly; he’d seen Roman and Virgil and stepped back from Remus, waving happily at the pair of them. “Virgil’s here!”

At the sound of Patton’s voice, Janus emerged from the room, a little further down the hall, that had served as the headquarters for the band. He bent to give the tiny man a kiss, then turned to Remus for another kiss.

Logan popped his head out just a moment behind Janus. “Virgil?” He brightened when he saw Virgil’s face, and stepped fully out into the hall. He hadn’t changed from his work outfit, still wearing a button down with the sleeves rolled up, a tie, and a pair of jeans, and a smile that he looked like he couldn’t wipe off his face.

He was still the handsomest man Virgil had ever seen.

Virgil looked to Roman. “Permission to get back on my alloromantic bullshit, captain?” he asked teasingly.

Roman rolled his eyes and swatted Virgil’s shoulder. “Go be cute,” he said benignly.

Virgil took off down the hallway to Logan, not quite running; Logan took a few steps to meet him, and Virgil caught him in a hug so eager he actually lifted the taller man off his feet for just a second.

Logan, half-laughing with surprise, grasped Virgil’s shoulders for balance as he regained his feet. “You wrote me a song?”

“Did you like it?” Virgil asked, holding him tightly.

“Virgil, I—” Logan seized Virgil’s face in his hands and kissed him.

Virgil wrapped his arms more firmly around his husband, kissing him back exuberantly and swaying slightly back and forth.

“It’s perfect,” Logan told him, breaking away only just far enough to speak. “You’re perfect.”

Virgil grinned, reaching up to run his fingers through Logan’s neat hair. “Careful, you’ll spoil me.”

“I don’t think I could ever do that,” Logan told him seriously. “It’s not spoiling if you deserve it.”

And really, what was Virgil supposed to do about that except kiss his husband again?

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porta-decumana · 4 years ago

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5.55 spoilers below:

The MSQ was good. I’ve been pretty critical of the MSQ since 5.0 (it’s pacing has left a bit to be desired imo except for 5.3) and 5.5 did not feel like the hype train it needed to be but 5.55 rectified it somewhat. I still feel as though most of my hype is from the 6.0 trailers/info from Fanfest, not from how the story is presenting the next expac. But I still enjoyed it overall and thought it was def above passable. Just lacking a certain ‘oomph’ aspect I feel would’ve made it better. Definitely an A- in my book.

The solo instance was by far my favorite part of the MSQ and probably the best thing about 5.5. I loved getting to swap between the characters and revisit spooky lunar versions of our old primal friends. I was very excited to see Old Lord of Crowns back again when I got to play as Urianger. I hope that’s a sign that they’re revising the cards again, at least to give AST something a bit more for DPS rather than Malefic, Gravity, Combust, and Earthly Star. I really miss old Lord of Crowns. Critting that felt good.

Poor G’raha was probably traumatized by my awful BLM play.

Aymeric with the “I beg your pardon” line had me actually chuckling irl. I am glad we’re finally putting to rest the beast tribes as secondary, passive antagonists. It feels like a plot point overdue in terms of needing to be wrapped up.

Estinien dodging Aymeric just to fail to dodge Aymeric = good shit. I hope Estinien is also ready to have Nidhogg roar when he’s in my Trusts. What is that Koji? He wants to make sure he doesn’t go too hard and hurt us? He didn’t seem to care during the Carteneau instance. .__.

Fourchenault was very much what I expected. I feel like he’s sus though for reasons the characters have stated.

I’m still waiting for Fandaniel and Zenos to do something that feels pertinent other than vague about things as they have for the past 3 patches. It’s been nice and we did get a tidbit more with the roar from the tower but... I was wanting a bit more. Just a smidge. Also there’s no way that roar isn’t Anima. Having just watched FFX footage, the roar sounds the same but louder in FFXIV. Runner up thought: the roar is some primal embodiment of Garlemald which terrifies me more because what if that means a primal version of Solus? Anima seems more likely though.

Venat being the person at Silvertear feels basically confirmed now with Hydaelyn-like dialogue to go along with it. I question why nothing more is made of that scene. The WoL at this point is probably seasoned enough to be like “hey guys... there’s some shit going down, I just saw a weird glowing lady over there that sounds like Hydaelyn” but I digress, maybe that’s me projecting a bit.

I’m not done with Bozja yet (gotta do the new instance) but some thoughts after hitting rank 25:

I’m ngl, once I would’ve been all for the Mikoto x Cid stuff but since I have a friend who ships her WoL with Cid, I’m just... hm. It’s reaffirming the fact that I like having the NPCs having ambiguous love lives instead of having shipping in the actual quests. I think Yoshi P has made good calls in the past about being as open with stuff like that as possible so people can headcanon whatever they want. So seeing it up front... has me with mixed feelings.

Where is Nero, where is my boy. This entire experience would be improved if 1 Nero tol Scaeva was present.

Gaius getting namedropped was nice considering the entire Zadnor arc feels super ARR-esque. Gabranth feels like a younger Gaius with less indoctrination and a different end goal. Gabranth was my favorite character in XII and I’m excited to see more of him.

Oboro and Tsubame being in Zadnor were both pleasant surprises. As well as the Nagxia lore from the field notes.

Overall, Zadnor being the exact same thing as Bozja is just... I mean, I expected this. They told us this. But that doesn’t make it any more palatable. At least the level grind isn’t too awful (looking at you Eureka). The first area was abysmally flat and uninteresting but the rest of the zone is okay. I wish if we were gonna continue to get instances like that, they would be... less bland and flat? It just makes the slog seem more sloggish imo.

SHEMHAZAI <3

Lilja is growing on me. I wish her a happy be in more content in the future and a very live through all of it.

I continue to be conflicted about Misija. I think if I resent her at all, it’s because she kicked my ass one too many times in DR. I’m... intrigued about what will happen to her, I guess.

Fran showing up again with the speeder and giving me big XII nostalgia.

Cid coming back for this arc of Bozja ALSO felt really good. I was sad when he wasn’t around for the last few installments. I’m glad he’s getting to resolve his feelings about the Bozja Incident.

#ramblings //#5.55 spoilers #ffxiv spoilers #spoilers #msq spoilers #bozja spoilers #long post

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rons-hermiones · 4 years ago

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Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Four

Not even realizing it, Ron had wallowed in self pity and hatred the rest of the ride. Eventually, the train came to a halt as he hurried to leave Lavender’s compartment, not being able to stomach another talk with her.

Scrambling, he walks down the corridor against the mass of students and eventually retrieves his trunk, stepping from the platform later then most.

The mass of redheads is easy to spot despite the crowd.

His Mum is embracing Ginny as he sees Harry shaking his Dad’s hand. Fred and George have also come, he watches as they step forward and tenderly embrace Hermione. The act is out of character for the pair, but he figured that this gesture coincided with the McLaggen stint.

The three begin talking in what seems like hushed whispers, no doubt about what transpired, well that is until Ron gathered the courage to join his family.

As his mother called his name and embraced him, Hermione went silent. Slowly, she slinked back, away from the twins, away from the Weasley’s.

She was never supposed to even be here. Hermione had told herself that she needed to separate herself from them in order to ensure Ron had the holiday he deserved without her bothering him.

Ron seemed to notice this, heart breaking a little. He wanted nothing more than to hug her himself and assure that he wanted her here, that he was so happy she was.

He couldn’t though, not yet anyway, not when he was still reeling from his half breakup with Lavender not long ago.

Instead, he grabbed onto the Port Key his father got from work, jolting slightly as Hermione’s fingertips gently brushed his as she grasped the old scarf they were using.

Once the dizziness had subsided and they landed on the grass in Ottery St. Catchpole, he was disappointed to see Hermione already retrieving into the Burrow, ahead of everyone else. Alone.

He can’t help but groan aloud.

“Did you do it?” Harry asks as he offers a hand and helps Ron from the ground.

In response all the youngest Weasley brother can manage is a groan.

“Sort of.” Ron whispers slightly embarrassed.

“Sort of?” Harry questions rather loudly, warranting a glance from Ginny who is only a few paces ahead.

“Shush,” The ginger starts, “and I mean the words ‘I’m breaking up with you’, certainly left my mouth. More than once. In a variety of ways.” He explained, his anger bubbling back up at the recollection.

“Alright so you did it?” The Boy-Who-Lived asked, confusion evident in his tone.

“Yeah I told her that and she definitely heard but all she said was no,” at this point he’s stopped walking, “that’s completely mental! I told the girl it was done with and she said no!” He was yelling now.

At this point, Ginny had come to a full stop, the twins were lingering by the front door, and Hermione had thankfully disappeared inside along with his parents. Harry was faced with horror stricken on his features.

“You keep it down!” The dark haired boy staged whispered.

Ron twinged as red as his hair, “sorry,” he said lamely, “she even started on Hermione. By that time I had already told her it was done twice, maybe three times.”

A low whistle escaped the chosen ones lips, “so let me get this straight, you broke up with Lavender at least three times, and all she said was no?” This sounded like something out of a Muggle film.

He nodded, a sour look on his face, “And after all this, she kissed me on the cheek, called me ‘sweetheart’, and wished me a Happy Christmas!” He recapped sounding beside himself.

“You’re right,” Harry said after a moment, “that is mental.”

At this the pair started trudging along the grass again, taking it slow as they wanted to finish the conversation away from prying ears.

“Good news is you did break up with her.” The green eyed boy tried optimistically, a rare thing from him these days.

Harry was really trying to be a better friend.

“Bad news is I don’t think Lavender broke up with me.” He notes.

The pair seemingly sigh in unison, both frustrated, one more so then the other.

“So what? I just tell Hermione I’ve broken it off with Lavender? I’m sure by now she’s owled all of England that we’re still together.”

Potter contemplates the situation for a moment before answering, “well you can tell Hermione you’ve told Lavender you’re done but she didn’t seem to accept the fact. Even though that may be the case, when we head back you’ll be implementing this break up full force. Avoiding Lavender even more than before, as if we thought that was possible!” He tries to joke.

Surprisingly a small laugh sounds it’s way past Ron’s lips, “I suppose.” By this point they’ve reached the front door, “it’s kind of mad to be thinking about all this with everything going on isn’t it?” He thinks aloud.

Harry shrugs, “I know your life may feel like a bad soap opera but it’s quite nice for me to focus on something else for a bit. Especially if it helps you and Hermione out.” He pushes open the door and finally steps inside.

“A soap what?”

...

Hermione really wished there was a spare room in the Weasley home. Not that she’d ever ask for it, being she would never want to upset Ginny. But an escape would be nice.

Surely Ginny will try and get her to talk about everything that’s transpired lately, especially with the red heads new found confidence her brother wants to try and patch things up.

It didn’t matter though, Charlie and Bill were returning for holiday for the first time in years apparently so there was no available room to escape to. And being Fleur was joining as well, Percy’s room was off the table.

Hermione supposes she’ll just have keep Ginny at bay as long as possible. Which should be easy enough considering all the action within the Weasley household.

Even now, unpacking her trunk a floor above them, she could hear the hustle and bustle of the Burrow.

The twins were no doubt sounding off somewhere. Ginny was probably yelling at them to keep it down. It’s very likely Mrs. Weasley was cleaning the house to prepare for Charlie and Bill’s arrival. Mr. Weasley was somewhere consoling said stressed out wife, resulting in more screams. And as previously mentioned, the twins were probably sounding off to Harry and Ron.

And right now as she considers all this play out, she can’t help but feel a little empty.

For the first time since she’s been a guest at the Burrow, does she feel like a true guest. Hermione doesn’t feel like she’s at home. Not like she normally does.

She knows exactly why too.

After the run in with Lavender and Ron this morning, she decided she’d back off. Ron was probably better off without her constant nagging and knowledge of useless facts. Hermione would do her best to stay out of his way, starting with holiday. She’d hate for him to feel uncomfortable in his own house of all places. And after, she supposes she’ll do the same at Hogwarts. For him.

It’s kind of twisted isn’t it? Even after all the times she’s felt hurt by Ron, she still cares about him more than anything else.

Even now, she can still feel her heart clenching, breaking, as he agreed to the terms earlier in the compartment. The feeling alone may kill her, yet, here she is, willing to make that sacrifice for him. For his happiness.

All this coupled with the pain of her grandmother's condition has been borderline unbearable. She wishes she still had Ron to help her through this. She needs his strength.

Too bad she’s ruined that.

As much as she’s yearning to blame Ron for their divide she knows it’s entirely her fault. Because despite being the brightest witch of her age, she is surely stupid for thinking he could ever love her back. To even think he thought of her like that in the slightest.

Asking him to Slughorn’s, it had taken everything for her to do. To him it meant nothing.

And if the past few months have taught her anything, it’s probably that Ron just stuck around for Harry and as an extension, Hermione. All the taunts and jabs Lavender was constantly throwing her way must be true in Ron’s eyes, she isn’t exactly shy about the whole thing.

And part of her brain convinces herself that Ron thinks she’s an insufferable, ugly, no good know it all. But part of her knows that isn’t true.

Ron, who saved her from that troll her first year.

Ron, whose voice rang in her head every night while she was laying petrified.

Ron, who defended her mercilessly during their confrontation with Peter Pettigrew, despite having a torn up leg.

Ron, who comforted her to no end when the nerves struck before the second task.

Ron, who gently would rub dittany on the backs of her hands after detentions with Umbridge.

Harry hadn’t been there for any of that. Surely that must mean something.

And deep down she knows it does, but whenever the rational part of her brain pushes that forward, images of him wrapped around Lavender flicker in her head. These thoughts quickly bring back unwelcome ones of the possibility of Ron loathing her.

She really wishes things were simple. Harry spent summers and holidays with Sirius at Grimmauld place. That Neville could talk to his parents and they’d recognize him. That Ginny would stop tossing and turning, mumbling things about a diary in her sleep. That she didn’t fear for her parents lives everyday. That her grandma would be magically healed and she’d take Ron and Harry up to France one summer to meet her.

She wishes that Ron was her friend again. If not more.

But that’s the problem, these are all just wishes. Figments of her imagination, something her heart longs for. Something that’ll never come true.

And just like that, her thoughts are becoming too much. She’s supposes it’s a bit of a curse to always have your mind working this way.

Tears begin stinging the backs of her eyes and Hermione wants nothing more to immerse herself within a book. To forget for a little while. Maybe even let her mind wander to a brighter future.

But instead, she makes use of her whizzing brain by beginning to unpack her trunk. First she checks for the black book, that’s now a lifeline to her. Once she spots it, she relaxes a little and silently begins preparing a letter to her parents in her head.

Surely that letter would evoke more unwelcome emotions.

Happy holidays to her.

...

So far life at the Burrow has been rather uneventful. Sure, they only arrived here three hours ago, but deep down everyone had this silly little notion that upon their return everything would change.

Of course it didn’t.

The twins were still taking the mickey out of Ron and Harry. Ginny still yelled when their fighting reached her in the living room. Molly still fussed over preparing the house for her eldest sons as her husband tried to calm her.

In a way it was nice though, that things were the same. Sure, everyone wishes they could be better

There was one notable difference.

Normally, Hermione could be found sniggering behind Fred and George or defending Ron and Harry from their taunts. If not, she was curled up on the sofa with Ginny as she complained over her Quidditch magazine. Oftentimes, the witch was offering Mrs. Weasley assistance with household chores or was explaining a Muggle appliance to Arthur.

Instead, she was just gone.

And no one noticed her absence more than Ron.

“Ginny, be a dear and fetch Hermione for supper would you?” Molly’s voice didn’t leave much room for argument.

Ron peered up from where he had been setting down the utensils to see his sister rush up the steps leaving a flash of red.

Upstairs, Ginny tapped on the door lightly, waiting a moment before pushing it open. There, she found Hermione slumped over the youngest Weasley’s desk, writing mercilessly on some parchment. She was honestly shocked to find her nose not in that odd, coverless book.

“Hermione.” She called out, the brunette hadn’t noticed her presence.

Startled, Hermione jumped a bit before relaxing at the sight, “yes?” Her voice cracked.

“It’s time to eat.” Ginny told her.

“Gin,” The bushy haired girl sighed, “I hate to be rude, but could you tell your mother I won’t be joining you guys tonight.”

The ginger shook her head, “Hermione if this is about,”

Granger wouldn’t let the name pass her friends lips, “it’s not about him.” Not a total lie. “I just want to get this owl out to my parents as soon as I can. I have some questions about...” she trailed feeling the tears prick her eyes. Clearing her throat she went on, “anyway, I ate on the train. I promise once I’m finished here I’ll explain everything to your Mum.”

Ginny began to open her mouth questioning the use of the word ‘everything’. Hermione, being brilliant, seemed to sense where this was going and bear her to it.

“Everything about my Grandma.” She amended.

Noticing the sad look in the sixth tears eyes, Ginny conceded, “alright but I’m saving you a plate and you best eat it later!” She scolded, sounding just like Molly.

At this, Hermione was able to muster a true genuine giggle, “thank you Ginny.” She called as the girl vacated the room.

The last thing Ginny heard Hermione say was a quick ‘thank you’ before she descended back downstairs.

As she re entered the kitchen she noted everyone seated already, waiting for her. For them.

Molly however, was standing, hands on her hips and stern look on her face.

“Now Ginny I asked you to fetch Hermione.” She scolded with a wag of her finger.

Sighing, the girl plopped down, “she isn’t hungry.”

All the younger Weasley and Harry, had exchanged knowing glances. Ron however, decided to bow his head, focus his eyes on the floor boards.

“Non sense!” Her mother started.

“Mum honest, I told her we’d save her plate.” She pauses as her mother frowns, “look Hermione’s got a lot going on right now.”

Concern struck over Molly instantly, “oh Merlin! Is she okay? Are her parents alright?” Then she swiftly turned to the twins, “have you two done something to her?” The older woman asked sharply.

“We didn’t do anything mother.” Fred starts.

“Yeah it wasn’t us who did something.” George says next, emphasis on the statement as he looks to Ron.

“Not us!” They sound off in unison.

Noticing Ron’s fist clenching beneath the table Ginny jumps in, “it’s nothing like that, it hasn’t got to do with the Burrow.” Her eyes found Ron’s as if to tell him that Hermione wouldn’t spill to their mother about Lavender Brown, “Hermione and her parents are alright. It’s best if she explains.”

Molly opens her mouth to protest before Arthur cuts her off, “it’s okay Molly, the girls fine, remember? We saw her hours ago. Come on let’s eat.” He reasons.

Nodding to herself Mrs.Weasley finally calms down as they start their meal.

And dinner was going fine. Ron had done little talking, thankful that Harry was the one recapping the Quidditch season thus far.

Again, everything was fine. Until Arthur asked his twin boys about their business.

“So boys how are things down in the alley?” The older man asking, earning a scowl from is disapproving wife.

“Wicked dad.” George says.

Placing his fork down Fred jumps in, “absolutely wicked. Witch weekly wants to do an article on our love potions, it’ll be great for business.”

Shockingly, a proud smile crosses Molly’s lips.

“Yeah we’re thinking of making scented ones, something girls will like. What do girls like?” George wonders, sarcasm underlying his words.

“Yeah Ronnie, what do girls like?” Fred repeats facing his younger brother.

Mrs. Weasley not understanding, interjects, “flowers.”

At this Ron grips his knuckles on the table. His brothers are smiling like it’s Christmas morning. His mother just unknowingly set her troublemaker sons up for a joke to make Ron twitch.

“Hear that Freddie? Flowers.” George grins like the Cheshire Cat.

“It’s perfect. I wonder which ones though, there are roses.” Fred responds

“And daisy’s.”

“Orchids.”

“Jasmine.”

The pair switch off before Fred’s eyes light up, “wait I got it, how about...”

“Lavender!” The two exclaim in sync.

Ginny does her best to surprise a chuckle. Harry looks like he wants the floor to eat him. Ron is about to punch something.

“Yeah how about it Ronnie, Lavender. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” George says leaning in closer to his baby brother.

A look of anger passes Ron’s face, his Mum surveys the scene with a curious expression, “what would Ronnie know about Lavender?” Molly questions.

“Oh mother!” George says scandalized.

“Ickle Ronniekins didn’t tell you?” Fred asks, already knowing the answer.

She shakes her head, “on with it.”

“Your baby boy has a girlfriend.” George announces, loving the luck of disdain across his youngest brother's face.

“Ronald Weasley!” His mother says standing from her chair and wagging her finger at him.

Merlin he wishes You-Know-Who would kill him right now.

“I don’t have a girlfriend Mum.” He defends gruffly.

“You don’t?” Ginny says with slanted eyes.

“Not anymore.” Harry mumbles loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Not anymore?” Molly starts, “and you knew and didn’t tell me Ginny! You boys knew too!” She points to the twins.

In defense the pair throws up their hands as the red headed girl starts to explain, “it wasn’t really my place to tell. Anyway Mum, it’s not like we were the only ones. Bill knew too.”

Angrily, Ron stomps on his sister's foot.

“You told Bill and not your own mother!” She screams, ignoring the yelp that left Ginny’s mouth.

“Molly...” Arthur warns, trying to tug gently at her sleeve.

She rips her hand away and places both on her hips, “I am very disappointed in you Ronald! All of you actually.” The woman huffs.

Ron squirms, “it doesn’t matter. She’s not my girlfriend anymore.”

“Well...” Harry can’t help but say.

All eyes land on him. He thinks Ron may strangle him.

“‘Well’ what Harry Potter?” Ginny asks, tone matching her mother’s.

Now it’s the chosen ones' turn to squirm, “well,” he repeated, “I don’t think it’s my place to say.”

At this, all eyes fall back onto Ron. Sighing in defeat, “well you see, the thing is, Lavender is,”

“Annoying.” Ginny finishes.

“Loud.” Harry cringes.

“Pathetic?” George tries

“Desperate.” Fred corrects.

And to Arthur and Molly’s surprise, their youngest son nods in agreement, making no move to defend this girl.

At this, the couple exchange a look. If the twins so much as look at a certain bushy haired witch the wrong way, Ron is up in arms, ready to curse anyone who crosses her.

“Alright,” Ron says, stopping whatever they were going to say, “let’s just say I chucked her.”

“That can’t be true! I heard her telling Parvati about how she won’t survive a month without snogging you when we got onto the platform.” Ginny calls out.

Her brother groans, “Lavender is not my girlfriend anymore, but I might still be her boyfriend.” He explains.

There’s a silence.

“I don’t know what you mean son.” His dad finally speaks.

“What I mean is that when I broke up with her she just said no.” He admits exasperated, pushing back his chair and digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

One of the twins lets out a low whistle. As the room enters a tense silence until Molly breaks it.

“Ronald,” she sounds disappointed, “this Lavender wouldn’t have anything to do with why Hermione didn’t join us at dinner would it?” Her voice is growing louder.

And there it is.

Of course his mother would know.

He had been painfully obvious over the years.

Ron told himself when she didn’t come down that it was because she was probably writing her parents. But, he also knows, Hermione is capable of constructing a letter in minutes.

“Why would you think that?” He chokes out sounding pathetic.

The twins and Ginny laugh at this.

“Ronald Weasley I am very disappointed in you. Look at the mess you’ve made! Your father and I raised you better than to go around treating women this way!” She screams.

Losing it, Ron stands up angrily matching his mother’s tone, “why are you assuming any of this has got to do with Hermione?” He screams.

In all the ruckus, he failed to notice the new presence in the doorway.

“Hermione.” Ginny says loudly, rather soft.

Annoyed, he turns to his sister, “Ginny I’ve just said,” before he can finish, Harry is pulling on his shirt and bucking his head to the doorway.

As all eyes fall on her, she shrinks away, looking almost to tears, “I can come back, I just wanted to talk to...” she doesn’t get the words out, lamely she points to Mrs. Weasley.

And just like that, any anger washes off the older woman’s face, “of course dear,” she steps over and places a hand on her shoulder, “why don’t you wait for me in the living room while I clean this up.”

Hermione nods vaguely in response before sauntering out of the room.

“Way to go Ronnie.” George whispers.

And just like that, Molly is seeing red again, “all four of you, dishes.” She says to her kids.

The twins are ready to complain when they realize they can just do magic.

“And no magic!” She berates.

“What did we do?” Ginny retorts, “you’re mad at Ron remember?” She reminds.

“You three didn’t bother to tell your mother anything!” She stops, “and you.” She turns to Harry.

“Me?” He asks, scared.

“Yes you, Harry Potter. You are to stay and make sure not one wand is flicked or else all five of you will be working in the gardens until all the gnomes are gone.”

“But Mum it’s freezing.” Ron groans.

“Well then you better do as I say, and being that I have no more house duties for tonight, I’m off to talk to Hermione. Goodbye.” At this she stomps away.

Sympathetically, Arthur pats his youngest son's shoulder before walking off to his shed.

A tense silence falls over the group as each of the Weasley’s exchange glares.

“Well time for dishes!” Harry tries to break the tension.

Scowling, they all work in silence.

#ron x hermione #ron weasley #rons-hermiones come find me #ron and hermione #hermione granger #romione fanfic #romione #hp #sixth year

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her0brine · 5 years ago

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I finally got around to finishing the first part of my little three part fic about Steve and Alex meeting for the first time! I haven’t made a name for this part/the overall name for the story yet so I’ll probably edit this later! I genuinely hope y’all like this first part, the other two halves I’ll try to make it as equally long!!!

The quiet still of a nighttime forest is abruptly cut by the ragged breaths of a miner, hurriedly shambling across patches of grass, as they gingerly hold onto their day’s work. They have been mining for hours, as they were in dire need of iron ore to smelt into ingots, after realizing their new rail system was a bit short on tracks. Their short grey boots squelched into the wet earth, as it was pouring earlier in the day before they entered the cave system they have uncovered some time before. The sound of their mining completely droned out the pouring rain as it echoed through the cave system, so they were quite surprised to see that a light mist has settled across the Overworld.

However, they are fearful of staying out late at nighttime, and they mistakenly stayed in the cave too long, as the mineral vein they discovered was quite large and they didn’t want to pass up on the rare opportunity. As they walked without a torch, the miner’s eyes seems to be rapidly scanning the environment that surrounds them. Walking in the nighttime without a torch was dangerous and is quite the taboo, but spending years in near pitch-black conditions has actually made the miner gain a bit of rudimentary night vision, but also in reality, they genuinely believe that using torches will actually attract hostile mobs towards them. Along with the lack of a torch, they actually didn’t have much on hand, only the fresh iron ore they recently mined, their fully enchanted netherite pickaxe, and the worn-out clothes on their back. Even though they’re clearly capable of entering and traversing such a dangerous location like the Nether to the point that they’ve managed to make netherite items, they still have to resort to getting basic ores from the Overworld to craft relatively simpler items. They actually own a fully enchanted set of netherite armor back at their house, but they rarely put it on, fearful that Pillagers might catch wind of their armor and would strike against them for it. They’re fully capable of slaughtering them in return if one of them even glanced in their direction, but violence is something the miner seems to be fully avoiding. The numerous scars that litter across their entire body seems to suggest otherwise.

As they make their way across the seemingly lifeless and still landscape, they suddenly pause to hear the rustling of a tree. Immediately, the miner looks incredibly on-edge, their indigo eyes rapidly darting from side to side, but not faltering. The gears in their mind start to grind at the thought of what sort of mob would be lurking around in such a situation. As they tense their body, they suddenly drop the iron ores to the ground as they swiftly grab the pickaxe from their waistband. The sounds of the iron ore hitting the wet ground cause them to ring across the barren land, while they lie alone in the darkness, waiting to strike against what suddenly provoked them.

Silence.

Expecting a creeper to hiss at them or a phantom to screech, the miner eventually realizes there’s no mob stalking them, as it was the just erratic cold breeze of the night, making its way through the sparse woods. However this did not fully ease their mind, as they discordantly picked up from the still wet ground the iron ingots, as the bits of metal embedded within the stone blocks now gleamed in the dim moonlight. They begin again, shambling across the patchy land, although at a much faster pace, but not enough to be considered running. Soon, off in the distance they can see their home, a building they have spent the last few years of their life constructing and expanding upon. The house’s facade appears quite quaint and small, as if a child drew it, but surrounding it is a plethora of small shacks and storage units, along with a farm that jutted from one of the sides of the house. The miner picks up speed again, as a small smile starts to form across their typically sullen face. The smile is quickly ripped apart, as the deafening silence of the forest is disrupted once more.

“S-SHIT AAAHH-AAAAAAHHHH!!!!!.......”

The miner stops dead in their tracks, softly trembling as the iron ores once again tumble out of their shaky grasp.

“...a...AH!?........ err..er.....eahh ah? ah?.....”

The miner seems to quietly babble to themselves nonsensically, as they whip their head around frantically, trying to look for the source of the scream. They knew of swears, but only of ones spoken in the English language, a typically human language. The chances of a villager knowing, and also being capable of speaking such a term would almost be impossible. Some wandering traders, clerics, and librarians have spoken English words to them before, but usually said them incorrectly or with a odd vocal inflection. The miner trembles once more, as they raise one of their hands to place upon the top of their head, as they try to make sense of what occurred.

“n...nnH....nnnHhn...........aH.....ah! ah!! whh..whIIi.....w-WINNdd!...... w-wuh-wind.. ehhgg..... err.............. y-yeaa..............” as a timid smile forms on their face again, seemingly at ease at believing it was the wind playing tricks on their mind again.

“AAAAGGH!!! WILL YOU DIE ALREADY!!??!”

The shout is cut off by the sharp clang of the sound of metal clashing against metal, as the miner looks completely aghast, frozen in place as their frantic breaths causes mist to form around them. They look across the horizon, knowing exactly where the screaming originated from. They seem to immediately break out of the dazed stupor they were in, hurling themselves into the new direction. Their frenzied loud steps now contributes to the sounds that broke the still of the night, as more metal clashes rang out in the darkness. Mud splatters across their boots and jeans as they run across the land, before suddenly ducking behind a sweet berry bush nearby the source of the sounds, not caring about the thorns now tearing into their hands and arms. They gingerly pull aside some of the branches to peek through the bush, looking downwards on a lower piece of terrain. It seems to be only a few blocks down, meaning that they could jump without the risk of injuring their already previously battered legs. As for why they realized they have to probably make such a jump, they were witnessing a red-headed human going against a pack of skeletons and spiders, who looked as if their luck was running out. The miner seems entranced, but also absolutely petrified at what they’re seeing, as the other human has been clearly shot at with arrows, as one protrudes out of one of their shoulders, as another seems to have broken off in their back.

“IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?! ZOMBIES GIVE ME A BETTER FIGHT THAT YOU LOSERS! HA!!”

The shout and guffaw is followed by the swift strike of their gold sword, slicing and crunching through the exoskeleton of one of the large spiders that lunged at them. As pale blue blood and chunks of spider setae fly away from the large hit, the miner is still fully transfixed behind their dimly lit sweet berry bush, as a discarded torch, presumably from that red-headed person, sits aside it.

They haven’t seen another human being since......... since their earliest known memory. They have spent years of their life along in solitude, fully accepting their fate of being truly alone and never being able to socialize properly with another alive human being. They have stumbled across in their mining endeavors the decaying and crushed remains of other humans, but their bones seemed to be quite ancient or even fully shattered into small shards, further proving their point of them possibly being the last living human in this biome, and all adjacent biomes as well. So to see what was essentially deemed impossible, right upon their own eyes was absolutely stunning, yet horrifying. The miner begins to tremble again, but more intensely as their eyes worriedly dart between what they’re watching and down at themselves, as they try to think of what to do next.

......Should I hop in and help, or would that be too brazen? They seem to be pretty capable of defending themselves and they also have good form, but they’re also pretty injured and the blood that is spreading from their wounds seemed quite big!!! What if another wave of mobs notices them, and they pile on as well? Would they soon bleed out?! Would they get hostile against me, even if I try to help?!? Would they think I was stalking them this whole time!?!?!........

The miner frenetically whimpers guttural sounds to themselves while burying their head into their lap, becoming fully overwhelmed by their own paranoid thoughts. They don’t want their first interaction with another alive human to be stemmed in violence, even if they weren’t the ones who started the fight. Their time to dwell on what to do next was cut short, as the sharp crack of the person’s gold sword breaking in half indicated that they were now essentially dead meat.

“O-oh AH kn-kNULLA!.. AH UH UH...” the redhead says as they begin to panic, as their gold sword was the only usable weapon they had on-hand, as they now attempted to punch a skeleton that was busy reloading their bow. They whiff the punch, stumbling over as the skeleton now hits them over the head with the bow’s lower limb, now disorienting them even more. They soon try to crawl away, still bleeding quite profusely from their wounds, but still not going down without a fight. The rustling of nearby bushes occurs again, with them now wincing, bracing for another hostile mob to come into the fray.

It was not a hostile mob.

The miner bursts forward from the bush, pickaxe firmly gripped in one of their hands, as they effortlessly swipe at the skeleton, absolutely obliterating it’s fragile skull as the pickaxe plunged through it as if it was butter. As bone shards fly away from the hit, the miner shifts their footing to carry the momentum from the hit, to directly pin and gash open the nearby spider that was attempting to lunge at them. As the spider squeals in absolute agony, their cries were silenced by a quick stomp to the head, crushing it as more pale blue blood splatters across the grassy ground. The carnage did not stop as the miner seemed to effortlessly pick off the rest of the mobs, with some of them now attempting to flee the fight, but they were not spared. As the miner now barreling towards the cowardly mobs, the redhead finally laid facing up, looking onwards on what just happened. Now absolutely dumbstruck, they just sat there with their mouth agape, as this being disposes of what was initially fighting them. The way they killed, with such efficiency and violence was...... chilling.

Silence.

The arid still of the night settled in once more, as the miner finished bashing in the brains of the last spider that remained. Their breaths were husky as they straitened out their back, but oddly at the same time, they also looked somewhat composed. Their back and arm muscles flexed tightly against their worn-out clothes, as they begin to look down towards their right hand, still gripping firmly on the pickaxe. It was drenched in gore and pieces of bone, before wiping it off on their pant leg. Their breathing stilled however when they turned around, to see the other human still on the ground, staring back at them in total shock.

“...... y-you...............th-thANK YOU!!!!” the person yelled, as a large smile spreads across their once panic-stricken face. They push themselves off the bloodied ground, now happily walking towards their sudden deus ex machina. They reach out their hands, attempting to give them a handshake before speaking once more.

“T-THAT WAS AMAZING!! YOU! YOU! TOOK THEM ALL DOWN WITH JUST A PICKAXE!!! I WOULD’VE DIED!! THANK YOU!! WHAT’S YOUR NAME!!!!!”

They soon grip the miner’s free hand, jostling their entire arm as they continue to smile gleefully, even with two arrows still lodged in their flesh.

“I’M!! Wait I’m a bit l-loud so-sorry!! I’m just!! AHH I’m Alex!!! My name is Alex!! What’s yours?!”

Their gleeful smile falters a bit however when fully looking at the miner’s face, seeing that they’re absolutely aghast. Also, if they weren’t sweating bullets before during the fight, they certainly were now.

“A-are you okay? Is? Is there something else around us?!.....” they say, as they soon start to survey the dark terrain that surrounds them. Their grip loosens on the miner’s hand, and it is quickly removed before the redhead notices.

“...eRRr............ A-AHh!!............. ssss..........sttt.... stTEEEEVVV.......... HHGHK!!!” was the last thing the miner manages to stutter out, before a large dry coughing fit ensues. The miner backs a few steps away, their hands now flying up towards their throat as their own grip on the pickaxe loosens, it’s metallic ring ensuing at it hits the ground, making a uncomfortable cacophony alongside their pained gasps. Alex looks on in worried confusion, as the miner continues to roughly cough before tears begin to well up in their eyes.

“mmmMhhh!!!........!!!”, they whimper as their face winces from the force of the coughing fit.

“A-are you okay?.... Were you bit?! I’ve heard p-people can have reactions to spider bites, are you o-one of them?”

Their tone was now soft and mellow, not the boisterous and loud tone it initially was, as they attempt to get closer to the miner. They back off, as the miner now realizes their concern and rapidly waves them off. They soon quickly plunge their hands into their jean’s pockets, trying to fish something up.

“Did you drop something? I can look around!!”

“mmhHH!!”

“Wait is that paper? Oh, okay you’re writing in it now?.............. ooooo! I haven’t seen charcoal in so long!!” they say, seemingly amused by such a rudimentary item. The miner begins to regain their proper breathing, as they scribble away on the paper, quickly glancing up from it every few words, looking at Alex in front of them, who is still bleeding this whole time. They soon hand the paper towards them, although their arm is now fully trembling.

“Oh? Okay okay give me a second, let me clear out my throat!..... Okay let me start! ‘Hello, my name is Steve. It is very nice to meet you. I live around here, and my house is just a few blocks down from this spot. I’m very sorry that I cannot speak to you, I am mute. I can kind of speak through my hands, but I’m not sure if you can understand it. Please let me invite you to my home, you are hurt and I have potions of healing and I can construct you a new bed. I’m terribly sorry I had to meet you like this, I hope I didn’t accidentally scare you when I jumped out. I sincerely apologize if I did.’ ...... oh. You’re mute?........ I’m... I’m sorry I tried to make you talk......”

Alex’s voice wavers, as a guilty look spreads across their face, their eyebrows tiling up as they too begin to tremble slightly. Steve notices as they try to say that it’s fine, but all that comes out is more faint guttural sounds. They begin to gesture at the direction their house is in, trying to get Alex’s mind off of their accidental mistake.

“Oh? Well...... I mean like I am in pretty bad shape huh?” A weak laugh comes out of Alex, as they finally seem to be aware of their wounds.

“Go right ahead, I’ll be right next to you!”

“EHH!! Er!!!!” Steve says as their eyebrows fly up, seemingly shocked at the thought of Alex walking in the condition they are in. They begin to gesture towards them the idea of carrying them over there, but Alex shakes their head, showing that they’re still capable of walking on their own.

The two of them stare at each other for a little bit, as a bit of awkward tension forms between the duo. Steve is the first to start leaning towards the path home however, and Alex begins to follow as well, although their small grunts of pain while walking started to deeply perturb Steve.....

#I’m still pretty damn new to writing stuff like this so apologies if I wasn’t that descriptive enough or if the dialogue isn’t that tight!!!#steve #alex #minecraft #mineblr #⬜️

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mischiefandi · 5 years ago

Text

A Shitty Love Song (Part 1) - Stiles Stilinski

Wild Ones

A/N: hey everyone! this has been a long time coming! thank you for lovely comments on my previous post, im super happy to finally be posting this. a HUGE thank you to @duskholland for helping me out so much with this series, ily to death bitch. enjoyy yall

Summary: Y/N is a 17 year old girl who struggles in an epic battle against herself. Whether it is amor’s icy grasp or life’s unexpected course that forces her to finally open up, only one thing is certain. The truth cannot be long hidden.

Warnings: underage drinking, party times, maybe a couple of swear words but im not sure haha

Word Count: 5,3K

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Reader (Y/N)

Series Masterlist

(picture is not mine -> credits to @ pechka on unsplash)

Seasons before, in the early fall where the leaves don’t yet want to leave their wooden hooks, Y/N had just started her junior year of high school. Being the new girl in school, she was afraid of being alone - something she had always been - but not this year. Whether it was chance or fate, she happened to fall upon a curious but wonderful group of people who quickly became her friends.

At its center, Scott McCall, young lacrosse player with a boyish charm and a heart of gold and by his side, Stiles Stilinski, an eccentric and spirited young man. Surrounding them were Lydia Martin, the fiery and confident genius, the sweet yet lethal huntress, Allison Argent, and finally Isaac Lahey, charming Mr Mischief himself.

This pack of wild cards had found a new companion, and Y/N fit in like a puzzle piece filling in its designated spot. She got along with everyone in the group, forming indestructible friendships with these eccentric teenagers, and she felt fortunate beyond belief. More often than not, she would eat with them by the walnut tree outside of the school. The group would share stories and food, complaining about the soporific lessons from the earlier period, or excitedly planning the next outing, the next party. Every week, the teenagers would go hang out in the woods by the mystical ruins of the Hale House, doing more of the same. Life was light and good.

The group had planned on hanging out by the Hale House one quiet September afternoon, but the universe likes to play tricks, and somehow Y/N and Stiles were the only ones to show up. Deeming it a happy accident, the pair walked through the damp woods together, talking about their day and slowly letting each other in. Laughter echoed between the trees and the wind turned.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

A little more than a month had gone by and Halloween was just around the corner. Classes seemed longer than usual, bigger stacks of schoolwork forming daunting piles on Y/N’s desk. But school was the last thing she could think of when she got home after a long day of concentration. The only thing that mattered, was Stiles. Video calls, phone calls, and late night texts that seemed to never cease took over the second Y/N’s feet passed the threshold of her home. And nothing compared to these conversations.

“I’m sorry but no.”

“Stiles, stop, seriously.”

The mole-speckled boy lunged forward in front of the screen and passed a shaking hand through his spiky hair.

“There is no way you like the second trilogy better than the first one. It’s just not possible.”

“Well it is possible, because I do,” Y/N retorted, her unfazed expression gleaming back at him.

“Literally how? The group dynamic alone should make you see reason. I mean come on. Han and Leia? Han and Chewie? Han and Luke?”

“You do know Star Wars doesn’t exclusively revolve around Han Solo right?” she asked, her lips breaking into a smirk.

“First of all, no. Second, give me one single reason why the second trilogy is better than the first,” Stiles said, “I dare you.”

“One reason?”

The boy nodded, serious as a statue.

“Hayden Christensen.”

Stiles groaned deeply, his face buried in his large hands.

“Can’t even have a serious discussion about Star Wars with someone rational.”

“I’m not sorry.”

“You’re the worst.”

Y/N paused, holding a finger to her chin.

“Hmm, agree to disagree.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Hey! How can we have an intelligent debate about anything if you use swearing as a last resort.”

“I have given up on us. It’s over.”

Y/N laughed profusely against her pillow, shaking her head.

“You’re a drama queen.”

“FRIENDSHIP OVER!” Stiles bellowed and Y/N shot her head back, unstoppable laughter erupting from her stomach.

“It’s going to make things awkward at the party, Friday,” Y/N said between chuckles, her laughter quieting down.

“Who said you were even invited,” replied Stiles, adjusting his shirt, revealing a tiny patch of skin just above his sweats. Y/N’s eyes flicked over to the screen but the second had passed.

“Funny. Listen, I gotta get some sleep otherwise I’ll pass out in math or something.”

“Yeah, I should probably also go to bed sometime soon.”

“Hopefully before tomorrow morning.”

“Har-har,” said Stiles, smiling at the camera, his chocolatey irises beaming at Y/N.

“Goodnight nerd.”

“Goodnight loser.”

Y/N stuck out her tongue at Stiles before hanging up the call.

That night, as she carefully brushed her teeth and got her clothes ready for the next day, Y/N thought back on her video call with Stiles, a warm smile spreading on her lips.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

The week passed so slowly, each hour lasting an exhausting eternity. School, demanding as ever, while keeping Y/N busy, was the reason why time seemed so lengthy. The nasty side-effect from tantalizing hours is the amount of thinking you do to keep busy. So Y/N did just that. She thought about how much she cared for her group of friends, she thought about the fact that she had never felt like she belonged like she did then.

She thought about how nice it was sitting by the Hale House, enjoying each others’ company, how life is so much lighter when you feel surrounded, how much she had learned about herself after meeting the pack. She thought about the band Stiles and her liked so much. She thought about Star Wars. She thought about the sound her computer made when Stiles sent her a message. She thought of his hair, his moles, his neck. She thought about how thrilling it was when he sat next to her. She thought about how much he mattered in her life, just like the others mattered too.

Y/N did so much thinking that week. But the funny thing is, amor has a way of tricking your mind. Your body believes one thing but your mind has been bewitched, and no amount of thinking you do can remove the fog clouding over your eyes.

When came Friday, Y/N was happy to be done with school, bursting through the doors of the establishment, excited to go home and get ready for Danny’s Blackout Party. She was thrilled about going, however nervous she felt.

She had never been to a party like Danny’s rave before and she had no idea what to expect. But more importantly, she was afraid of crowds. She had tried going out to packed bars with people from her old school, but the chaos and the drunks surrounding her made her feel beyond uneasy.

“Y/N! Wait up!” She heard Allison exclaim, and she slowed down her pace, allowing the brunette to catch up with her.

“Are you excited for tonight?” asked Allison, her light brown eyes gleaming brightly.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be...crazy.”

“You okay?”

Y/N forced a smile and nodded overenthusiastically.

“Yeah! Just tired. It was a long day,” she replied.

“Same here, which is why, we need to let loose tonight! Let’s get ready at Lydia’s, so we can all head over there together.”

“Sure. Quick question though, how did Lydia get us invited in the first place?”

Allison giggled, nodding her head towards Aiden and Ethan standing by their motorcycles.

“How do you think?”

The girl’s laughter echoed through the cool autumn air and disappeared with their cars. It was going to be a night to remember.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

As Y/N and Allison reached Lydia’s house, Y/N couldn’t help but feel more and more anxious, tightly gripping her bag filled with clothes and makeup. The party was starting to worry her.

People had been whispering about it all day back at the high school, talking about the numerous illicit drinks that would be served and the intriguing entertainment. It seemed like the Danny had gone all out for Halloween. Still, not knowing exactly what to expect practically terrified Y/N.

She was outgoing, but big crowds and chaos were things that made panic bubble up inside of her very core, quickening her heartbeat to a frightening extent. She loved dancing and partying, and much like other people her age, she loved a good drink every once in a while, but huge events and big blowouts, she had never been a fan of.

Putting on a brave face, Y/N shut the car door and walked up the stairs to Lydia’s front porch, ringing the doorbell as Allison locked the car. After what seemed like mere seconds, Lydia opened the door, letting the excited girls in.

“Finally. I thought I was going to have to get going without you,” she said, smirking at the pair.

“Y/N couldn’t decide what to wear,” replied Allison, sending Y/N a look that made Lydia scoff.

“Excuse me if I've never been to a neon-themed rave. How am I supposed to know what to wear?”

“Well the name of said rave could be a pretty good indicator,” mocked Lydia as the girls walked up to her bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

“Ali, what are you wearing?”

Allison giggled with a smirk and did a demonstrative twirl, showing off her burgundy flannel shirt and black jeans.

“This!”

Lydia raised her eyebrows at the brunette, a confused expression etched on her face.

“Am I the only one here who understands the term “neon”?” she asked.

Allison shook her head then slowly unbuttoned her shirt, revealing a neon pink bra.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. This stunt was definitely orchestrated for someone special.

“Wow. Isaac will love it.”

“It’s about time you two did something about your situation,” joked Lydia, reaching for an eyelash curler.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Allison with an innocent shrug and a slightly less innocent wink.

“Well now that Allison’s outfit is sorted, it’s your turn, Y/N. Let’s see what’s in this enormous bag of yours.”

The strawberry blonde bent down and grabbed Y/N’s bag before she could say anything, emptying its contents in a flash.

“No, no, definitely not, no…Y/N, why are all of these clothes black?” inquired Lydia, with a look of disgust she had difficulty hiding.

“Lyds, I told you, I don’t know what to wear to a rave.”

“Show me your bra.”

“What?”

“Show me your bra. If it’s the right colour, we can just pair it with some of my clothes.”

Y/N reluctantly removed her white shirt, revealing an electric blue floral lace bra, much to Lydia’s delight. Allison whistled approvingly.

“Okay here’s what we’re gonna do.” Lydia walked over to her closet, carefully studying its contents. Allison and Y/N exchanged a glance as Lydia clapped her hands together.

“This goes with this, and you have to tuck it in, like so,” she said, “okay, try this on. Now.”

Y/N looked down at the outfit her friend had put together.

“Yes ma’am,” she mumbled, her face as white as a sheet.

Y/N walked to the corner of the room as the girls chatted and finished getting ready. Her heart thundered as she passed her neck through the bottom of the sheer black top Lydia had handed to her. Looking herself in the mirror, all she could see was a blushing dishevelled mess. Her bra covered most of her chest, but the curves of her breasts were only slightly hidden by the black mesh material she was wearing.

“Okay, this is okay…” she muttered to herself, trying not to panic.

Bending down, she grabbed the black layered skirt she had brought with her and brought it up to her hips, tucking the top inside. The skirt helped balance out the outfit, but still Y/N wasn’t fully convinced.

“How are you feeling?”

“Kind of nervous honestly.”

“I meant how do you feel about the outfit- but you’re nervous? Why?” asked Lydia, walking over to Y/N in front of the full-length mirror.

“It’s just- I’ve never been to a big party like tonight, much less looking like…this,” Y/N reluctantly replied.

Lydia bit her lip and sucked in some air before smiling widely at Y/N and taking a step forward.

“By “looking like this” I hope you mean by looking incredible. Y/N, look at yourself. You’re tall and confident, the outfit looks amazing on you. Your look is not the problem,” she said, gently.

“Then what is?”

“You tell us,” replied Allison, walking over to the girls by the mirror.

Y/N exhaled deeply and turned around to face her friends.

“I hate crowds. I love partying don’t get me wrong, I just- I get really really panicky around big crowds of people. The noise, the warmth, all of it, just terrifies me. I’m worried that I’ll hate it and freak out or something. I’m sorry, I probably should have said something before.”

As soon as the daunting words had slipped through her lips, Y/N felt a weight lift from her weary shoulders, a wave of relief passing over her entire body.

“Hey, it’s okay. Everyone’s got something they’re uncomfortable with. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” said Allison, sweetly.

“I know, it’s not that I’m ashamed, I just- didn’t wanna be a downer. I really am excited for tonight! I’m just nervous.”

Lydia placed her hands on Y/N’s shoulders and smiled brightly.

“Look, you’re gorgeous right now. Even without my help, you’re gorgeous. And tonight, we’ll be around the whole time. If you feel freaked out or you start to panic, we’ll go outside and get some fresh air. We don’t mind.”

“Exactly, we’re your friends. You know you can depend on us on occasion,” Allison joked and Y/N laughed, shaking her head timidly.

“Seriously, Y/N, we’re gonna have a ton of fun tonight. And if you need anything, whatsoever, we’re both here,” added Lydia.

Y/N’s heart swelled and she felt her eyes filling slowly. Blinking the impending tears away, she smiled widely, her radiant eyes following suite.

“Thank you, both of you. You’re the best.”

“Agreed. Now, that’s sorted. Are you comfortable with the outfit?” asked Lydia.

Y/N looked at herself in the mirror, analyzing every detail of her figure, taking in how “out there” the outfit was. After a few seconds, she nodded to herself and smiled.

“You know what? You only live once.”

Allison giggled and rested her arms on Y/N’s shoulder.

“Tonight is going to be amazing!”

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

As Lydia’s car pulled into the parking lot in front of the venue - a large concrete building comparable to a construction site - Y/N sent a text to her friend.

Y/N: we just got to danny’s party

Y/N: u guys here?

The girls looked up at the windows on the top level, the neon lights shining through catching their attention, the music already reaching their ears.

The group excitedly entered the building, Y/N’s heart thundering against her ribcage. Allison noticed the worried look on her friend’s face and she slipped her hand in hers, sending her a warm smile. Y/N took a deep breath, and the three beautiful girls went into the otherwise empty elevator. On the way up, Y/N’s phone vibrated against her palm and she looked down at the screen.

Stiles: we aren’t there yet

Stiles: Scott needed to go get something

Y/N’s heart couldn’t help but sink a little. She had hoped the boys were going to be there already, though why, she couldn’t say. Her phone interrupted her thoughts again.

Scott: by smth, Stiles means someone

Scott: and by someone, he means Kira

Scott: also we’re late because of the jeep

Scott: ;)

Y/N chuckled and texted him back, Lydia and Allison sharing an inquisitive look.

Y/N: figures :))

“Who is that?” asked Allison as the elevator doors opened.

Y/N winced slightly and turned to Allison.

“It’s the boys. Scott was just telling me they picked up Kira…”

“Oh.”

Lydia looked from Allison to Y/N, and back, the awkwardness beyond tangible.

“Are you okay?” asked Y/N, worried that the news had killed the mood.

“Honestly? I don’t love the idea of partying with my ex and his new girlfriend, but we broke up three months ago. We’ve both moved on. Besides, I really like Isaac. I’m not gonna let this ruin my evening,” Allison answered, a soft smile on her lips.

“Allison has Isaac, Scott has Kira, Stiles- well I don’t know about Stiles. That leaves you and me, Y/N. You can help me avoid Aiden tonight,” said Lydia, straightening her dress.

“Aiden, as in, the guy you hooked up with who just so happens to be the guy who invited you to this rave?”

“Precisely.” Lydia walked away hurriedly, and the girls laughed, entering the venue.

The grey concrete in the hall was uncharacteristically bland compared to the other-worldly burst of colours inside of the venue. Neon blue, pink, orange, yellow, and green exploding in every direction, paired with blaring purple lights attached to the concrete beams above the dancefloor where what looked like at least 70 people were jumping up and down to the beat of Losing It by FISHER. Strands of white UV tubes hanging from the ceiling all around the dancefloor lit up every white item of clothing in the room, turning the pure colour into a bright purple.

This giant nebula of chaos and colour made Y/N’s blood pump ten times faster throughout her body. That or the the bass blasting through the giant speakers by the DJ. Either way, the thrill of it made Y/N shiver, her whole body completely frozen in place.

“This is crazy!” Allison gasped.

“Danny really went all out,” said Lydia, staring at the dancing figures in the center of the room.

Y/N’s phone buzzing woke her from her trance and she read the text.

Stiles: be there in about 20 minutes

Stiles: can’t wait to embarrass you on the dancefloor

Y/N: oof

“Let’s go get a drink,” Lydia urged, walking over to the large snack table with numerous bottles. Y/N read the labels and nodded, impressed by the wide range of drinks.

“Wow. Jack Daniels, vodka, a shitton of beer, wine coolers, rum, Jagermeister…Danny really did go all out.”

“Pass me a cup,” said Allison.

As the girls filled their glasses, Lydia eyed Y/N’s cup.

“Y/N, are you sure you want to start with a triple shot of vodka?”

“Yeah, it’s fine!” Y/N exclaimed, downing the drink before anyone could stop her and gasping as the strong liquid burned its way down her throat.

“Ohkay, take it easy,” said Allison, shooting a worried glance at Lydia.

“I’ve got it under control,” replied Y/N as she refilled her cup.

“Let’s go dance!”

Allison dragged the girls away from the table, walking over to the dancefloor. Y/N downed her second drink and nodded wearily.

“Yesss, let’s do this!”

The looming herd of party-goers, intimidating as it was, seemed a little less daunting now that Y/N was actually at the party.

“How bad could it be?” she thought to herself before treading through the mass, occasionally bumping against people energetically throwing their limbs around.

In the middle of the chaos, Allison stopped and started moving her hips in sync with the song, Lydia quickly following suit. Y/N bobbed her head along to the beat of the bass, her arms swinging awkwardly on either side of her body. Allison laughed and grabbed her friend’s arms forcing the movement to flow through Y/N’s limbs. Lydia busted up and down, moving her waist so naturally it seemed like she had been born for this very moment.

Closing her eyes, Y/N tried to focus on the music vibrating throughout her body, the memory of the colours surrounding her floating behind her eyelids. Allison sang along with the lyrics of the current song, shouting out the words as she moved from side to side. Y/N slowly started to lose herself to the music, letting go of her inhibitions, forgetting the world around her.

When the beat changed, her feet jumped up and down, as if they had a mind of their own. Her head felt heavy yet no thoughts crossed her mind. The music had gotten rid of all concentration, the only thing left was the bass flowing through her veins, making her entire body pulsate to the beat.

Beads of sweat trickled down Y/N’s neck as she kept dancing, her feet starting to ache with every jump. It had only been about fifteen minutes, but to the dancers, it seemed like a wonderful eternity. Finally, Lydia tapped on Y/N’s shoulder and shouted by her ear.

“Let’s do some body painting!”

Y/N nodded profusely, a wide smile on her lips.

“Ali went to dance with Isaac!” Lydia shouted as the pair pushed through the crowd.

“Where’s the paint?” shouted Y/N, trying to hear her own voice over the music and failing miserably.

“Over there!”

A tall blonde boy holding brushes with purple and pink tips smiled as the girls reached him, his charismatic grin turning Y/N’s cheeks bright red.

“What can I do for you ladies?” he asked, his pearly white teeth a bright purple as his grin widened.

“My friend over here needs a lot of paint. Emphasis on lot,”Lydia insisted.

Y/N shook her head, giggling stupidly.

“Not too much paint,” she said warmly.

The boy smiled with a wink.

“Let me worry about that.”

Y/N removed her mesh top, holding it with her right hand, patiently waiting for the boy to start painting across her chest and back. She shivered as she felt the cool wet tip of the brush meet her sweaty skin, sliding a few inches down, a thick stripe of paint spreading across her back. Y/N giggled at the cold feeling, the alcohol in her system reaching her head. She closed her eyes and bent her neck to the side as the boy continued his line up to her collarbone.

“What’s your name?” she heard him ask.

“What’s yours?” she chose to answer, smiling wickedly.

She heard him laugh as he started painting little dots up her back.

“Jeremy.”

“Nice to meet you, Jeremy.”

“You know most girls like a proper introduction before getting this close,” he said over the pulsating music, his breath fanning over Y/N’s neck as he painted small strokes down her shoulder. Y/N grinned mischievously.

“I’m not like most girls,” she teased as she turned to face him.

“No, I guess you’re not,” the boy replied, his eyes darting towards her lips and back up.

“I’m almost done with your body- I mean with the paint,” he said, shaking his head with a grin. Y/N giggled and stepped closer.

“I’m all yours…” she replied.

Jeremy’s deep blue eyes lingered on hers before focusing on her chest. Y/N thanked the universe that he wasn’t looking straight at her, otherwise he would have seen her cheeks fill with red for the second time. He delicately placed pink and orange dots up and down her chest, careful as to not stain her bra and she watched him, observing his concentration with admiration. Finally, he looked up, smiling at her.

“My masterpiece is done,” he declared, placing the paintbrush on the body paint stand.

Jeremy reached for a mirror and handed it to her. She admired the strands and dots painted across her body in a chaotic waltz, the hot purple and pink clashing against her skin. Looking up at him, she grinned widely.

“You’re talented,” she said.

“It’s easier when you have such a good canvas to work on…” he replied, sending her a look hot enough to melt her.

Momentarily remembering the outside world, she looked around and quickly realized Lydia wasn’t there anymore, probably off dancing or looking for Allison. Y/N turned back to Jeremy.

“I’m sorry, I should probably go check on my friends…” she said, biting her lip as she slipped her mesh shirt back on.

“Of course. Maybe later, we’ll bump into each other on the dance floor?” he replied, a nervous smile etched on his lips.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Y/N winked at him and walked away, trying her best to keep her cool.

“Well that was something.” She thought to herself, a wide grin planted on her face.

Looking around, she couldn’t find either of her friends, nor could she find Isaac. Slightly disappointed, Y/N walked over to the table and poured some vodka in an unused cup before knocking her head back, letting the burning liquid run down her throat.

She eyed the dancefloor and thought back on her previous conversation with Jeremy. She was beyond nervous. She’d never actually kissed a boy before. The opportunity just hadn’t ever presented itself. But now that she was here, feeling tipsy as ever, a few feet away from the cutest boy at the party, she couldn’t help but think, why not?

Wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt and downing her fourth - albeit, strong - drink of the night, she nodded to herself and walked over to the dancefloor.

As Five Hours blasted through the speakers, Y/N pushed her way through the sweaty crowd once again, making her way to the center of the dancefloor. Ignoring the world surrounding her, she closed her eyes and gave in to the music, feeling every beat of the song pulsate throughout her entire body.

Colours, flashing lights, the feeling of people’s skin against hers, her head spinning and swaying in every direction, it made her feel alive. As the last drop of the song reached its peak, Y/N jumped with the crowd, knocking her body against complete strangers, feeling the warm and sticky air fill her lungs with every breath.

The song Too Much by Curbi started to play and Y/N felt someone’s body against hers. Closing her eyes, she turned around and felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist. She sighed lightly, enjoying the feeling of her skin against the boy’s. His fingers treaded down her back, firmly settling just above her ass, holding her steady in a sea of bustling bodies.

She danced against him, turning around again, her back facing his front. Moving against his body, she felt his arms tighten around her, pulling her in. His hot breath fanned over her neck and she moaned slightly, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

Suddenly, time seemed to stand still when his lips lightly touched her warm skin. Y/N inhaled sharply, her eyes still shut. The only thing she could hear now was the sound of her heartbeat furiously thundering against her ribcage. Slowly caressing the boy’s arm, she allowed further access to her neckline, moaning loudly as she felt his feverish lips plant warm kisses on her neck, inching higher and higher. Y/N’s hands reached for his and she tugged them closer to her body, her hips still moving against him. His lips danced furiously across her neck, leaving dangerously beautiful marks on her skin.

The music seemed only to heighten her senses. Her legs almost gave out when she heard the boy groan lightly against her ear, her response, a small whine at the loss of contact with his lips. She turned around and tried to open her eyes, the bright lights bursting through the gap in her eyelids. Squinting at his face, trying as hard as possible not to lose herself to the music again, Y/N’s eyes caught a glimpse of the boy’s face.

Bright pink dashes stained his cupid’s bow and the right corner of his bottom lip, the paint from her neck helpless in the face of a passion like this one. Y/N’s eyes scanned the rest of his face and widened slightly when they met amber irises, warm and inviting and so familiar. Her fingers threaded through his damp dark brown hair, her brain trying to comprehend what was about to happen.

His chocolatey eyes looked deep into hers and he licked his lips slowly, the world around them fading. Y/N felt her vision blur as she inched closer to him, her nose picking up the scent of old leather and pine trees and rain. His lips lingered over hers and she felt a chill as her name echoed through the air.

“Y/N…”.

Their lips connected in a frenzied blur, sending sparks of pleasure throughout Y/N’s entire body and the chaos surrounding the pair completely swallowed them. His teeth slightly bit her bottom lip and she deepened the kiss, ardently giving in to his deliciously demanding mouth. Unable to control her body, she steadied herself against him, tugging at his shirt with one hand, the other cupping his face as he sucked on her delectable lips.

Their bodies so unbelievably close disappeared in the crowd of dancers, the whole world somehow a thousand miles away.

Time, a forgotten concept.

A/N: I seriously hope u enjoyed this!! if u did please reblog :)) (would be super helpful especially with tumblr acting up w the tags and all that) <3 part 2 coming soon!!

if you would like to be added to this series’ taglist, please send me an ask :)

If you would like to be added to my taglist(s), feel free to fill in this form

#stiles stilinski #Stiles Stilinski fanfiction #Stiles Stilinski x reader #Stiles Stilinski x reader insert #Stiles Stilinski fanfic #Stiles Stilinski series #teen wolf #v writes #<33 #eeeek #dylan o'brien

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 5 years ago

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Sleep my darling

A/N: this is just a small drabble I came up with when I couldn’t sleep.

Summary: Richie gets a muscle cramp in the middle of the night, Eddie relieves him of it.

The exhaustion brought forth by an inviting, crisp and clean bed worsens his cramps, but Richie refuses to give into the urge to move over and over again, out of fear he’ll wake Eddie up.

When its solely him in his bed, he tends to wiggle back and forth in search of a position that won’t hurt his leg as much and can relax him enough to fall asleep contently, though he knows that finding it is futile and nearly impossible.

The only real, fast working option is to raid the medication cabinet and swallow a painkiller, waiting impatiently for the medicine to dull the pain. Richie’s come to expect these random burst of nagging aches, followed by an excruciating contraction that tightens all the fibers in his legs ‘till it feels like his leg is about to pop of the bone. That last pain only last for less than a minute, but it can bother Richie up to days after the event, the nasty little fragments and the occasional shivers off withheld cramps shaking his leg.

This happened frequently enough that in high school Richie took a tablet of painkillers up to his room, so he would have it at his disposal just in case he started to feel it coming to a head and could prevent it before it fully developed. He’s in Eddie’s house now though, and as much time as he’s been spending here, he didn’t have the foresight to prepare for this situation to take place in Eddie’s bed.

A whimper fights its way out of Richie’s throat, but he clashes his teeth together to smore the sound. Eddie turns in his sleep, moving from where he had his back turned toward Richie to nuzzle under his chin, resting half on top of Richie. Richie holds his breath and forces his leg to stay absolutely still, a deep breath accumulating in the air. Richie’s chest still, tipping of Eddie that somethings the matter.

‘What?’ He mumbles, burrowing in Richie’s neck like a cat begging to be pet. Richie tries his best, but the urge to move becomes too much, so he does, leg kicking out beneath the blanket. He feels warm, flustered in the same way he always does when experiencing this particular phenomenon. His leg can’t keep still, but neither can his mind and his thoughts, circling round and thinking about things that can’t possibly be real but do feel that way. He really needs to get up and pace around. Eddie won’t let him. He tightens his arms to keep Richie in place, probably acting on an unconscious instinct.

‘I’m not awake’, Richie struggles to quietly whisper, hoping that Eddie would turn around and full back asleep quickly.

‘That’s such a bad movie line.’ Eddie groans deep in his chest, a warning sign that Eddie is fighting to get out of his sleep state. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

Richie pushes him off gently, then rushes up without any concern of where he throws the blankets. His period of motionlessness seems to have him worse of them before, every nerve ending in his leg stinging.

It’s a horrible feeling, and one that Richie hates most out of all his ailments. He begins pacing around the room, stretching his toes towards his body to relax the over strung leg.

The soft push wakes Eddie up completely, but thankfully he doesn’t appear to be annoyed. He regards Richie with a slight sliver of sympathy, then pats Richie’s old spot on the bed and rolls out himself. In the years that they’ve been together, Eddie has only witnessed the phenomenon twice. During all the other occurrences, Richie snuck out before Eddie could wake up, only to find Richie sprawled out on the couch the next morning.

The two times Eddie has seen it though are enough for him to remember the effects it causes, and so he can immediately tell why Richie is acting so strange.

‘Come here’, he requests while slinking up to Richie, pressing a chaste kiss on his lips. ‘Lay on the bad and use a pillow to elevate your leg. I’ll be right back.’

He tips Richie in a slow dip, both hands protectively covering the small of Richie’s back and chuckling as Richie flails his arm in order to regain his balance. Of course, Eddie never lets it go that far, and stops once Richie’s back is nearly bend in two but still comfortable, before dragging him back up and letting him fall to the bed with a soft thud.

Richie giggles sweetly, accepting another kiss and shutting his eyes once Eddie retracts and his hand caresses Richie’s nose.

‘What the hell was that for?’

‘I just wanted to make you forget about the pain for a second.’

His plan succeeded, without Richie’s awareness, but now the short term plan is over and the pain is back.

‘Eddie’, Richie asks pitiful. ‘Can you get a paracetamol for me please?’

Eddie hushes him, hovering his lips above Richie’s eyebrow, pecking the spot over there. It’s a neat little patch of skin that is ridiculous sensitive for Richie, and as soon as it’s touched he goes pliant and limp. Eddie has exploited it more than once.

‘I know. Let me take care of you okay? Put a pillow down.’ Leavening to go and retrieve Richie’s medication. The urge to call out for Eddie and ask him to stay is persistent, like a child begging for the loving embrace of their mother, but Richie realized he’ll feel so much better when he lets Eddie do what he needs to do.

For once, without complaint, he follows Eddie’s instructions, lying flat on the bed with an elevated leg. Richie’s scared Eddie might find him dramatic, so he has always tried to minimalize his pain and hide it away, but sometimes it is just impossible. He finds he doesn’t have to, when Eddie returns with a steaming mug, massage oil and a paracetamol.

‘Here sweetheart,’ he greets, placing the mug on Richie’s bedside table and handing him the pill. Richie accepts it gratefully, swallowing it down with his eyes closed and praying it’ll dissolve and help fast.

In the meanwhile, Eddie moves towards his leg, opening the oil bottle and warming it between his hands. If he weren’t in such pain, Richie wouldn’t want Eddie to do this. A wave of gulf washes over him, because Eddie is awake because of him, actively doing something while he should be resting for another jam packed work day. As if Eddie can sense his thoughts, Richie sometimes wonders if he truly can, he reassures Richie before he can voice his opinion.

‘It’s not a problem Rich. We’re in this together now. For the good times and the bad times.’

The sentiment almost makes Richie cry. ‘Save it for your vows, mister I can do everything so much better you can.’

‘I already did’, Eddie laughs. ‘And I definitely wasn’t the one who stole the show with my vows.’

‘Yeah your mom was shocked when I brought up our old sex lives. I’m glad I had Ben to protect me.’

In retaliation, Eddie digs his fingers in the tender flesh of Richie, with just enough force that the muscle screws up and relaxes. Richie hisses but breaths in relief after the initial dig fades away.

‘My mother was long dead asshole. Now drink your tea and shut up before I choke you.’

The tea Eddie made was a Rosemary seeped brew, ironic considering the tranquilizing effect Rosemary supposedly has. Richie doesn’t buy much into it, but Eddie does and by default Richie follows along with all the new ways Eddie tries to keep them healthy.

The tranquillizer must not have been a lie, because after a while of Eddie massaging his leg and Richie sipping the tea, his eyes slide shut and his mind quiets down, looping out his head like a movie that has just been ended. He apparently actually doses for a while, because one moment he blinks, struggling to open his eyes again, and the other the mug is out of reach, the pain is gone and he’s tucked in his side of the bed. Eddie is scooting in bed on the other side, smiling once he sees Richie staring at him.

‘Hey sleepyhead’, he teases. ‘How was your old man’s nap.’

Richie’s brain still works fuzzily, because all he does is blink Eddie’s way, laughing softly and taking Eddie’s arm so he can curl it around him.

‘Okay, I guess I’ll just start teasing you tomorrow’, Eddie relents, pulling Richie as close to him as possible.

‘Yeah, once I’m able to come up with good comebacks.’

Eddie laughs, tips his head into Richie’s curls and breathes in. As much at peace as Richie himself is.

‘Thanks Eds’, Richie says with urgency, getting rewarded by a forehead kiss.

‘Any time Rich. Any time.’

Richie sleeps through the rest of the night soundly.

#reddie #my writing #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrack #richie tozier imagine #eddie kaspbrak imagine #richie and eddie #adult losers #adult Richie

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tmnt-veelicious · 5 years ago

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Across the Stars - Ch.17

*crawls out of a hole* HOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLYYYY FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF-

Yes. I am alive.

Yes I had a rough patch of life over the last few months.

And jeeeeesus, I think I wrote the beginning of this chapter like 3 times....

BUT IT’S HERE. AND I’M SORRY IT HAS BEEN SO LONG. At least the next chapter will be interesting and will introduce some new characters!!! I am definitely feeling the writing juices flowing~

First Chapter -> HERE Previous Chapter -> HERE Next Chapter -> SOON

''I think this neighborhood suits you,'' started April as both women were comfortably seated at a table in a cozy café. Vee couldn't help her quiet chuckle, crossing her arms as her eyes ventured to the large window that offered a view to the street. ''I think it does too..., but I'll be so far from everything. Mostly far from Donnie. He's downtown and I'd be uptown...'' ''It's not so bad! You know these guys can travel fast and they know the city like no one else.'' True. A small sigh escaped the artist, her attention back to the other. She was glad the reporter had answered her call. Vee confessed feeling stupid for her sudden departure and her attitude, but April had been quick to waive those away, answering that all that mattered was that her friend was safe. The only thing left to do was to move forward. Harlem seemed like a nice place. It was mostly known for its nightlife and its jazz influences, to which Vee felt drawn to. Maybe she'd have opportunities up here, who knows? Her train of thoughts came to a stop as a waitress got to their table; a lovely african american woman adorning a dark afro like a crown. Vee did admire her style, noticing her septum piercing and her 'au naturel' look. It didn't seem like much, but so many people could ever inspire the artist, and that was the beauty of living in New York. As the orders were taken and the women left with coffees in hands, proper discussions could finally start. ''So...starting a family?'' started Vee. ''Since when were you two planning that little adventure?'' April's smile was soft: ''We were talking about it for several months, but only recently did we really start to properly consider it.'' ''Even with both your lifestyles? … You wouldn't be the most 'typical' and 'calm' family.'' ''I don't think that should stop us, or anyone. … It's something we both want, Vee, and we're ready to work for it.'' ''I'm not saying the opposite, don't worry!'' quickly reassured Vee. ''… I guess I'm just having a hard time wrapping my head around that idea. I never really thought about having kids, so the thought process kinda escapes me.'' ''Oh?'' the reporter slightly cocked her head to one side, curious. ''I don't want to say I'm surprised, but still am nonetheless.'' The other woman seemed amused: ''There's so many things I have yet to accomplish.... Getting a child is the least of my worries right now. I guess I just don't really feel compelled at the idea.'' ''In that case I can understand,'' added April with a soft smile. ''It's only natural that you'd want to advance your career and get more stability, I get that.'' The conversation paused as their food arrived. But as soon as both were left alone again, the reporter couldn't help squinting a little, now curious: ''Although.... do you think you could ever have kids with Donnie?'' Vee almost spat her coffee, her thoughts suddenly rolling at a franctic pace. She frowned, reminiscing all those times they had sex without any protection. ''I, uh... I'm not sure,'' frankly answered the artist. ''I've never really thought about it, but now that you mention it, I should verify with him.'' ''I think it'd be in both your interests to set things clear. At least you'll know where you both stand in this...'' ''Yeah … that's for sure.'' What if he wanted kids? Could it be possible? At least for now her cycle had been steady and normal, so there was no fear regarding that. And the relationship was still in its early stages – it was too soon to think about that! Oh, those thoughts would plague her mind for the rest of the day, she knew that... ''Anyway, enough kid talk,'' said April, thankfully interrupting Vee's thinking. ''I wanted to discuss apartment and furniture with you.'' ''What, you wanna know how I'll decorate my fortress of solitude?'' playfully commented the artist. ''Oh come on now...'' ''Just kidding, just kidding, don't worry. What's on your mind?'' ''Since I'll be moving in with Casey and he pretty much already has everything in terms of furniture... I was thinking about giving you some of the stuff we have at the apartment. Fridge, oven, whatever you need.'' The artist lightly frowned. ''Wait... give? April, I can't just receive without giving in return. Tell me your price and I'll gladly give you so-'' ''Vee, please,'' gently cut the reporter. ''… I know I'm putting you in a difficult situation and things can turn expensive. I want to help in any way I can, plus you can always repay me in other ways. Don't worry about it. I've given it some thought and I'm at peace with that.'' And the artist was absolutey thankful. Knowing she didn't make the best of incomes, this help felt like a miracle. … Just thinking about all her future expenses was enough to make her head spin, but at least with Donnie's help – and now April – she knew she could get a good footing and proceed without immense struggles. ''Also,'' added April, ''I know you don't have the best of conversations with your parents regarding your choice of living in New York, so I wanted to ease things up by giving you a good headstart and make them less worried.'' Vee softly sighed, although showing a small smile. She knew the brunette had heard some bits and pieces of conversations ever since she moved in. Even if the dialogues had been in French, it was not hard to notice the argumentative nature of those calls. ''I, uhm … it's been almost a month since I spoke to any of them, so there's nothing to worry about for now,'' said Vee. ''Is everything alright?'' ''The less I talk to them, the better! So, yes, everything is fine,'' tried to reassure the artist. April seemed good with the answer, but there was no denying that for Vee to avoid her family, it would probably blow back to her face in a nasty way. But today was not the day to think about such matter. Breakfast done and over with, both women were now on their way to visit the apartments. The first one proved to be a complete disaster; mold found in the bathroom and under the kitchen sink, only two windows and barely any natural light coming in, a broken wardrobe door in the bedroom. The landlord didn't seem like the most caring person either, insisting that he'd get the needed repairs done once a new tenant would move in. ''Those things have a cost, you know?'' he would say. … And this apartment will be a hard pass, you know? Vee couldn't believe that she got fooled by the advertisment online. It seemed so nice... At least the second stop was promising. The lot was at the top floor of a five story high building. The entrance was a small hallway that had one door to the left which gave to the bedroom (with a window!), and a door to the right that gave to the bathroom. The end of the hallway gave to an open area to which the left part was planned for a living room, and the right had space for a kitchen, the area delimited by a side hall that gave enough surface for an extension of the counter tops. Some windows gave enough light into the place, as well as a nice view on the street and buildings around. Plus, the living room windows were tall and large enough, one being an entryway to the emergency staircase outside the building. It was perfect. *** Her step was light as she made her way back to the lair, the greatest grin plastered to her face. She did it! Well … almost! But it was at least a first step in the right direction. Her first point of interest when she arrived was Donnie's workspace, but she found it empty, instantly bringing a small frown on Vee's features. Maybe she should check the garage next? Her attention snapped when she heard a sharp sound – a can being opened. Turning around, she slightly jumped as she spotted Mikey nearby, an orange crush drink in his hand. '' 'Sup?'' ''Jesus, Mikey, you gave me a mini heart attack,'' she breathed out. ''Oops, my bad,'' he said, taking a sip. ''You lookin' for Don? He just got out on patrol with Raph.'' ''… Aren't you guys supposed to lay low for a while with the Purple Dragons and Foot Clan situation?'' The orange clad one shrugged: ''Going out on patrol doesn't mean we're looking for them, you know? We still gotta look out for the bad ones on the streets. Plus, going out in small numbers attracts less attention.'' ''Huh... touché,'' admitted Vee. ''I guess the good news can wait, then.'' ''What good news?'' The artist's grin was back: ''I might have found a new apartment! The landlord just needs to do a credit check and then, if it's all good, the place will be mine.'' The terrapin's smile was soon as big as Vee's: ''Yo! That's awesome! Where is it? How big is it?'' The woman didn't wast any time to grab a blank sheet of paper and a pencil laying around on Donnie's desk, already starting to sketch the layout of the apartment. Deep in her explanations, she did not notice Leonardo now standing near, trying to take a peek from behind. ''What's that?'' he asked. Vee slightly jumped again, already on the lookout for the leader. ''JEEZE, what's with you guys scaring me tonight?!'' Leo showed an amused smile, arms crossed before him as he took some pride in that comment. ''I'm an excellent ninja. Getting to scare you means I'm doing a good job.'' ''Alright, don't get too cocky.'' She briefly sighed, next bringing the paper to clearer view. ''Behold, this is probably my next apartment!'' The blue clad mutant took some seconds to observe the layout, pensive. ''… There's quite some windows in there. I'll have to get Donnie to secure the place so no one can spot you and get in.'' ''Leo! Chill!'' faintly laughed Vee. ''I don't even completely own the place yet. Plus I'll be on the fifth floor; I'd like to see anyone get in other than by the emergency staircase or the entry door.'' ''I'm sorry I am cursed with the leader plague. I always have to think many steps ahead.'' Vee's smile was soft: ''Don't worry, it's appreciated. But now it's time to celebrate! There's no place for worry tonight!'' ''Now we're talkin'!'' added Mikey playfully, rubbing his hands together. ''… Watchu wanna do?'' The artist left her paper back on her boyfriend's desk, a smug smile now showing on her features. ''Donnie and I do have a little secret stash of red wine, and I fully plan on going through one bottle tonight.'' ''Hell yeah!'' Mikey was now nudging his brother's arm with his elbow. ''Care for a drink as well? Come ooooonnnnnnnn.'' Leo was squinting, trying to appear severe, but it didn't take long for him to conceed with a grin, his posture relaxing. ''Alright. Just one.'' *** Vee was delightfully surprised to learn that Leo also had a taste for red wine, happily sharing her bottle with him – and of course he did take more than one drink. Meanwhile Mikey had opted for beer, some cans already resting in the fridge. It felt good to kick back and just be happy, living in the present and have no worries. But soon celebrations took an interesting turn, Vee definitely inspired by her luck and feeling a little bold. An idea came to her mind as Mikey was showing her some stuff he was hoarding, especially when it came to hair dye bottles. She had always wanted to try a new hair color... It didn't take long before everyone was set up: Vee sitting in a chair with a towel over her shoulders, hair in layers. Mikey had ''borrowed'' some of Donnie's latex gloves (used for when he was tattooing), already at the task of applying the chosen color. Meanwhile Leonardo was sitting nearby, keeping company and enjoying the show. ''It's gonna look dope as fuck,'' commented the orange clad turtle, hair dye brush in hand as he was spreading some color. ''I'm kinda nervous about it, though,'' added Vee. ''Last time I did something to my hair, it was only some blonde streaks here and there. … It's my first time going full on with a non-natural color.'' ''There's never nothing wrong with going wild once in a while,'' said Leo. The artist threw him a glance, somewhat amused. ''Says the guy who seems to overworry a LOT about anything.'' ''Hey, I have my moments, alright,'' chuckled the leader, next taking a sip of wine. Mikey tsked; ''What, your last wild thing was to shorten your training time or somethin'?'' ''Nooooo, I-...'' Leo lightly frowned, his lips forming a thin line. A sharp sigh left him as he confessed: ''I asked Mikasa out.'' Both Mikey and Vee's gazes were now locked on him, their smiles wide. ''Finally!'' let out the woman. ''How did it go? Is everything good?'' ''Spill the tea, bro!'' chided in Mikey. Leo's smile was shy, carefully choosing his words. ''We're still figuring some things out, I guess? It all started when we got to you both at the Maneki Neko... I brought her back to her apartment and we kissed. … I dunno how to explain it, it just felt right at that moment.'' ''So far, so good,'' commented Vee. ''What's next?'' ''I'll admit that I chickened out after that,'' continued the leader. ''I just didn't know yet if I was ready to get into some sort of relationship. I was a douche and I didn't say or text a word to her after a couple of days.'' ''You're a fucking dumbass,'' added the other turtle, slightly scolding as he parted some more layers of Vee's hair. Leo raised his glass a little: ''On that I agree, BUT! I kicked my own ass and finally got back in touch with her yesterday. I explained the situation to her and she agreed to meeting up and talk about it a little more. … I'm just-'' His eyes met Vee's, somehow pleading. ''How can I know she really likes me? For crying out loud, how did you know you liked Donnie?'' The artist couldn't help her laugh, surprising both mutants. Leo didn't really know how to react. ''Did … did I say something wrong orrrr?'' ''No, no! Good gosh, no!'' tried to rectify Vee, calming her laughter. ''Oh jeeze, Leo, you and Mikasa are just so freakin' adorable. …. Would you believe me if I told you that she kinda asked me the same question a while ago?'' The blue one showed a smirk, amused: ''Welp, I won't hide that I had a smiliar conversation with Donnie as well.'' ''See!'' pointed the woman. ''Dammit, you two. Mikasa likes you, okay? You guys … all four of you, there are people who're gonna like you and even love you for who you are, no matter the fact that you're mutants. Damn, get that drilled in your heads, alright?!'' Mikey couldn't contain a chuckle: ''You're pretty straight-forward when you get some drinks in you, Vee.'' ''I only speak the truth without reservation,'' she added, taking a sip of wine. She savored her beverage for some seconds before speaking up again: ''But to answer your question, Leo, I knew I liked Donnie when everything felt comfortable. I mean … whatever I would say or do, I knew it wouldn't mind him. … His presence is like a never-ending warm hug around me. I feel true, I feel seen...'' Her eyes got back to him. ''And if you feel like you can be your true self around Mikasa, then I say that it's worth a shot.'' ''I'll take your word for it,'' replied Leo, smiling and slightly lifting his glass in cheer. *** Hours later and Donnie couldn't be any more glad to be back home. Patrol had been pretty boring and tame tonight, but at least he got to spend some time with Raph, which was never a bad thing, at times. Hanging his gear for the night, he then proceeded to his workstation, only to frown a little once he spotted a sheet of paper with some sort of layout draw on it.

By the looks of it, it seemed to be an apartment, the gears of his mind running as he also recognized Vee's handwriting. ''Bro!'' His attention snapped, suddenly realizing that he had been deep in thoughts. He turned to the source of his calling, then noticing Mikey with a big smile on his face. Donnie didn't have time to say anything that his brother spoke again: ''I have the immense pleasure to present to you the world-premiere revelation of Vee 2.0.'' He did some theatrical gestures before bowing and backing out of view in a comical way, finally giving view to Vee who had been hiding behind him. The purple clad turtle's eyes grew wide as soon as he noticed the artist's new hair color. Teal. A lush dark green color that reflected so well when exposed to any lights. ''Whoa! That's so cool!'' blurted the tall terrapin, already approaching the artist. One of his hands was still holding the paper, but his other one couldn't stay put, gently taking some strands of Vee's hair and having a closer look at the color. He couldn't erase his grin, his eyes scanning every inches. ''You should thank Mikey, he's the one who did most of the work,'' informed the woman. The tall terrapin did throw a glance towards his brother who was still nearby: ''No wonder it's perfect. There's always a positive outcome to any of his projects.'' ''Aww, thanks bro!'' added the orange clad mutant, somehow surprised, yet glad to hear such compliment. ''So … you like it?'' asked Vee with a timid smile. ''Like it? I love it!'' answered Donnie, his gaze meeting hers. ''It really suits you. … Any specific reason for that change, though?'' The woman had noticed the sheet of paper in his hand, taking it in turn and pointing the sketch she did. ''If all goes well, this little lot will be mine.'' Donnie's happiness was renewed: ''For real?!'' A simple nod from Vee was enough for him to lift her off the ground in an embrace, unable to stop himself from spinning around a little, obviously feeling overjoyed. Relief also washed over him, knowing how the whole process was stressing the artist – and himself as well, there was no lying there. ''You did it, baby,'' he gently said, loud enough for only her to hear, nuzzling her as he came to a stop while still hugging her. ''Almost, but yeah. Let's hope for the best...,'' replied Vee in the same tone, her arms gently coming around his neck. ''Get a room, you two!'' piped in Raph's tone, playful. The couple looked his way, the red clad terrapin making his way to Mikey. ''Come on, let's give these two nerds some space. Ya wouldn't want to catch their cooties.'' ''Hah! You're just jealous!'' added Donnie comically, next suddenly hurrying to his room, Vee still in his arms and now laughing. Raph was rather unimpressed, a sharp exhale of air leaving him as he glanced from the running one back to his younger brother. ''…. The day I'll be jealous of that bean pole, assume that I'm delirious or somethin' like that.'' *** It wasn't long before they were found in bed, exchanging everyday clothing for comfortable wears. Donnie was laying first, Vee next nestled in-between his legs, her back against his form. The artist was not finished, drink-wise, so she shared some more wine with the terrapin, a screen mounted to a telescopic arm brought over them so they could watch any videos they desired. It was during moments like this that Vee felt at complete peace, loved, and the happiest. The warmth that invaded her could only confirm that she was at the right place with the right person. And yet the same question kept repeating itself in her mind since her conversation with April. ''Donnie, are we compatible?'' she asked in a shy tone. The mutant slightly frowned, his gaze still on the screen. ''Define 'compatible','' he asked. ''Can we procreate?'' His body and muscles suddenly tensed. Both were now staring at eachother, not giving a damn about the video anymore, the turtle trying to find his words. ''… Uhm, well, no. I don't think so. … Wh- Why are you asking this?'' Vee shrugged: ''Well, we've been having unprotected sex and I don't take any contraceptive pills. I'm just curious.... How can you be sure that we're not?'' He sighed briefly, his thoughts running a hundred miles per hour. The video on screen was still going on, the subject suddenly a blur. But that didn't matter. ''First of all, we're not the same specie.'' ''Ok then, why can tigers and lions create ligers? Why can donkeys and horses create mules?'' ''Because to their roots, they are the same. As for us, we come from two different branches. I'm a reptile, you're a mammal; there's a huge spacing inbetween us. Plus, I'm suspecting the mutagen has something to do with it, as it mostly prevents us from contracting human diseases, amongst other things.'' Vee crossed her arms, diverting her gaze, slightly feeling uneasy as she circled her drink slowly and pensively. ''… You do make sense. … I guess I was mostly biased by the fact that you do present humanoid features.'' She felt one of Donnie's hands to her cheek, bringing back her attention on him. ''… Did you want to have a child with me?'' he asked in a hushed tone, forever soft. Vee suddenly blushed, frowning a little. ''No! I mean- uh. Based on your explanations, no. Also I'm not ready for that and it's too early in the relationship to know. I- shit, I dunno,'' she blabbered. The terrapin's smile was soft, amused by her reaction. ''Hey, don't worry, I was just asking! … I guess I'm just wondering too if you ever wanted one. If that was the case, I wouldn't want to prevent you from doing so...'' ''What? You mean you'd let me hook up with a human guy only so I can get banged up?'' questionned the woman, confused, as she sat up straight and was still looking at the other. ''Hell to the no - yuck. The whole pregnancy shebang doesn't appeal to me anyway.'' ''Adoption is also an option,'' added Donnie, matter-o-factly. ''That's pretty much this family's case!'' ''For sure, and I think it's very admirable, but raising a child is still a huge deal in itself.'' She sighed, timidly rubbing the back of her neck. ''… Sorry I brought that up, I was just curious. Ever since I spoke with April, it has been bugging me. I'm really not ready for that chapter in my life and I don't think I'll ever be, but I wanted to know your opinion on that.'' Donnie rejoined her, one of his arms snaking around her form. He was softly nuzzling the top of her head, keeping her close. ''Whatever you choose or decide, I'll always stand by your side, loving every moments – every seconds - spent with you. We build our own happiness, and that doesn't mean it has to imply a child in the future. … As long as you're happy, so am I.'' ''I know. … I do feel kinda weird for not wanting a child though,'' mumbled Vee. ''Hey,'' intervened the mutant. ''You're not weird, believe me. Having a child is not an obligation. This is your body, your choice, and I will forever respect it.'' ''Oh, you better,'' smirked the artist in return.

#chapter #writing #tmnt #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #fanfic #fancharacter #oc #selfinsert #donatello x oc #donatello x selfinsert

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fandom-imagines · 5 years ago

Text

Twins

Fandom: Overwatch

Pairing: Jesse McCree X Reader

Warnings: Abusive ex boyfriend, violence, semi-smut?

Words: 2248

Summary: After seeing Jesse McCree again after 11 years, some secrets are revealed.

It was weird, being back here at Overwatch headquarters many years later with my old colleagues. The HQ was the same, nothing much had really changed besides it being cleaned up a tad bit since the previous time I was here all those years ago. Most of the members hadn’t changed much too, besides me of course but I guess having two kids would do that to a girl. Speaking of those too little rascals, my mind began to wander slightly wondering how the two twins were doing hanging out with Hana, most likely playing video games. I had left Jacob and Jessica with Hana to do whatever they pleased as Hana had decided against going to the reunion party, favouring to stream for her fans.

“Y/F/N, I haven’t heard that name in years.” A thick southern accent sounded from behind me.

Oh shit.

“Jesse.” I said, forcing a smile as I turned to face him.

“Always wondered where you’d headed off to, darling.” He smiled back, his also forced as he placed emphasis on the term darling.

Of course, I expected this reaction. I had completely abandoned him eleven years ago.

Panicked, I paced frantically back and forth across the tiled floor of my bathroom, my bare toes occasionally brushing the blue rug in mine and Mccree’s shared bathroom.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I mumbled, tugging at my hair in an attempt to release some of the panic.

Obviously, it didn’t work.

My eyes looked up from the ground to the sink, spotting the positive pregnancy test placed on top of it which began to stress me out further.

The one time me and Jesse had gotten drunk and had some ‘fun’ this had to happen. The one time.

My brain, clouded with panic, immediately went to the one idea that I probably shouldn’t have done.

Run away.

So, I did.

I headed to the commander’s office, explaining the issue and how I wanted to do what was best for me and my soon to be born baby. He understood, allowing me to leave but not before agreeing to not mention it to anybody, not even my boyfriend. And that was the last I ever saw of Jesse Mccree, until today…

“Well, you know…” I gulped, eyes looking anywhere except his pleading ones. “Duty calls.” I shrugged.

He gave me a fake nod along with a smile.

Despite the eleven years away from him, my feelings hadn’t faded one bit. He was still the handsome cowboy I fell in love with when I was young and probably would always be in love with but, after I did what I did, I didn’t expect him to feel the same.

“How have you been?” He asked politely, making me loosen up a little.

Maybe he isn’t as angry now. It must have been a shock seeing me.

“I’ve been okay.” I smiled slightly, “How have you been Jess?” I asked, the nickname slipping so casually off my tongue, not feeling foreign at all making both our eyes widen.

“I-I’ve been okay too.” He stuttered, pink darting up onto his cheeks.

“Good, good.” I said, looking towards my purse as my phone began to ring.

“Excuse me,” I excused myself, the clicking of my heels sounding behind me as I headed outside of the venue, still feelings his eyes on me.

“Hey, Hana. What’s up?” I answered upon seeing her caller ID.

“Hey! Jessica and Jacob fell asleep, do you want me to bring them to your room when you’re back?” She asked.

“I’m on my way back now, I’ll pick them up don’t worry.”

“Okay! See you soon.” And that was the last thing I heard before she hung up.

A smile on my lips, I headed to Hana’s room to pick up Jessica and Jacob.

With the two brown-haired twins fast asleep in their room, I headed to sit in my bed and watch some television.

I was about halfway through some random show when a quiet knock on the door caught my attention. My eyes darted to the clock, reading the numbers 1:14.

Who on earth could be knocking on my door at this time? Better yet, why?

I checked on the twins quickly before opening the door to a drunken Mccree.

“Jesse?” I asked, eyes wide.

“Heya, darling.” He grinned, making my heart warm.

“You’re drunk.” I stated, stepping out into the hallway, closing the door behind me so that we wouldn’t wake Jacob or Jessica up.

“And you’re beautiful, no matter how much you’ve grown.” He slurred, wrapping his arms tightly around me. “I’ve missed you, darling.” He hugged me as I felt wetness on my back.

Is he… crying?

“You don’t mean that, Jess… You’re just drunk.” I sighed, prying his hands off of me, much to both our dismay.

“Mummy?” Jessica’s quiet voice whispered behind us as she opened the door, her white bunny in hand.

Once again, both Jesse’s and my eyes widened, McCree suddenly sobering up.

“W-Who’s this?” He asked, eyes still wide.

“This is Jessica.” I said, eyes fixated of Jessica as her hand slipped into my own.

“Who’s this, mummy?” She yawned.

“Nobody, sweetheart. Go back to bed.” She smiled as I patted her hair, just as Jacob walked into the hallway.

“C’mon, Jess. Mum said back to bed.” He smiled, taking Jessica’s hand from mine and pulling her back into the room.

“Are they-” He began, before I cut him off.

“Look, Jess. We’ll talk tomorrow if you still want too. Just, go sober up and get some sleep. I don’t want to have this conversation when you’ve been drinking.” A sigh escaped my lips while he nodded, turning to walk down the hall without a word.

Jesse…

The entirety of the following day was spent wondering whether or not Jesse would still want to talk to me today. I had a feeling that he would, but I wasn’t certain. I had completely abandoned him, after all.

Despite not knowing, I asked Hana to look after the two siblings for the night, not knowing when/if he would show and I didn’t want to wake them if they were sleeping.

It was around 9pm when as quiet knock came from my door which I hesitantly answered, seeing a red eyed McCree outside.

“Can I- Can I come in?” He asked, at which I nodded, widening the door to allow him to enter.

We took a seat on the blue couch that was tucked away in a corner, our knees pressed together making my heart race at the contact.

“Look, I’m just going to be blunt here,” he started, making me nervous, “are they mine?”

I looked to the ground, avoiding his gaze as I nodded.

“Is that why you left?” He asked quietly, hand grabbing my cheek as he asked me to look at him.

I gave another nod.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was scared.” I mumbled, tears welling up in my eyes.

His puppy dog eyes softened at the sight of me crying.

“Don’t cry, darling. C’mere.” Jesse sighed, pulling me into a tight hug as I sobbed into the crook of his neck.

“I missed you.” I cried, gripping him tightly as if it would be the last time I could ever hold him because, in my mind, it could be.

“Me too, sweetpea. Me too.” He said, pulling away to wipe my tears.

“I-I’m sorry.” I blubbered, feeling oddly ridiculous but also nice that I could get this off of my chest which is something I’ve wanted since I left.

To get rid of the guilt.

“Shh, it’s okay.”

It took a while for me to calm down, but with his touch and comforting words, I did.

Now we were sat here in silence, both of us not knowing what to say. I was avoiding all eye contact, feeling incredibly weak for crying in front of him.

“Darling,” McCree whispered, placing his hand on my cheek, “look at me.” He smiled, lifting my face to meet his eyes.

We stared at each other for a second, before his lips crashed against mine as he pushed me to lay down on the couch, his arms holding him above my body while he kissed me, a feeling I loved each time.

“Fuck, darling. I love you.” He groaned into the kiss as his lips made their way down to my neck.

“Me too, Jess.” I moaned as he kissed me, occasionally sucking to leave marks.

His hands moved down to my t-shirt making my eyes widen.

“J-Jess, I can’t. I’m sorry.” I stuttered, gently grabbing his hand.

He immediately stopped, sitting up, pulling me with him.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, darling.” He smiled; hands placed reassuringly on my shoulders. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

All I could do is nod.

“I’ll see you again, right?” He asked as we stood outside my door.

“Of course, Jess.” I smiled, leaning up to kiss him.

“Good.” He grinned, kissing me again before leaving.

As I closed the door behind me, I leant against it with a wide smile which was soon dropped when I read the text on my phone.

Unknown Number: Glad someone is happy.

Panic clouded my room as I paced around the bathroom, just like all those years ago.

Don’t run, don’t run, don’t run.

“It’s okay, Y/N. He can’t hurt you anymore. He has no hold on you.”

But that damned message kept running through my head.

Was he watching?

Is he going to hurt the twins?

Or Jess?

Or me?

“Nono, I can do this. I can look after them.” I spoke into the mirror, staring at my reflection before raising my fist and hitting it, the glass shard shattering all over the floor, some in my hand.

“Mummy!” Jacobs voice shrieked as he walked into the room to see me unsuccessfully attempting to patch my own hand. “What happened?”

“Just an accident, J. Don’t worry.” I smiled, groaning as I failed again.

“You should go see Angela, Y/N.” Hana said, giving me a sympathetic look as she entered the room with Jessica.

I gave her a quick nod, heading to go see Angela who would definitely lecture me.

Once I was all patched up, I headed back to my room.

Hana had agreed to look after the twins again so I could take a moment to collect myself, but they’d be returning soon. The second I opened the door, I was pinned against it?

“Who said you could be happy without me, huh?” A demanding voice yelled, hand hitting the wall beside me making me flinch.

Looking up, I spotted him.

My ex.

Not by choice, but an ex nonetheless.

“I’m not yours anymore, Damien. In fact, I never was.” I spat in his face making him snarl, hands harshly gripping my wrists, pinning them above me.

He put my wrists in one hand, his other hand lifting my shirt to reveal multiple cigarette burns which Damien had inflicted on me for the greater good; the greater good being the protection of my children.

“So, he’s the dad, huh? The cowboy?” He chuckled darkly, placing a hard slap across my cheek which I knew would leave a mark, if it hadn’t already.

“Let go of me.” I demanded, doing my best to make me voice remain monotone to hide the fear and panic I was feeling currently.

“No.”

“I think the pretty lady asked you to let her go, buddy.”

Both our gazes darted towards the door where Jesse stood with our kids.

“What you gonna do if I don’t, cowboy?” Damien smirked which soon disappeared the second Jess pulled out his peacekeeper.

“Well you see,” He said, spinning it around his finger. “I do happen to know how to use this. Not only that, but I’m pretty sure I’d get away with it because it is technically protecting my girl.”

While Damien was distracted, I took the chance to knee him where it hurts, making him groan and kneel down giving me time to punch him across the face.

“Never and I mean never touch me again.” I spat, stepping over his body which was now curled up on the floor as I headed towards my family.

“You okay, darling?” Jesse asked, stroking my hair while Jessica and Jacob hugged me tightly.

“I’m fine, Jess. Thank you for coming.” I smiled, blushing slightly.

“Anytime, sweetpea.” He winked, walking over to Damien to give him a harsh kick to the face making Jacob and Jessica giggle as they did the same.

“C’mon, lets leave this loser.” Jess smiled at me, taking the hands of the twins but not before giving me a peck on the cheek.

In the end, both Jessica and Jacob were told about Jesse and I; not to the full extent but to the point they knew enough and they loved him. I think it may have partly been for the fact that he had potentially saved my life, but it could also be how lovely he is to them and me.

“Hey, darling.” Jess’s voice called from the other room.

I quickly walked there. Jacob and Jessica were with Hana and Lucio so it was just the two of us together in our room.

“I never did get the chance to ask you this before everything happened but…”

I watched him get down on one knee.

“Will you marry me?”

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goofygomez · 5 years ago

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An analysis of The Last of Us Part II and its themes

I’ve seen a lot of people share their experience with playing The Last of Us Part II, and it’s safe to say most of it has been largely negative. It’s no secret this might be one of the most divisive games of all time, and it will probably stay that way for a long time after. I personally adored this game. I believe this is the masterpiece of masterpieces, and it’s the only game to ever top the emotions I felt when playing the first game, although I will say in terms of raw story (with nothing else like gameplay to support it) the first game is still a bit higher on the list for me.

But for all intents and purposes, when considering all aspects of this game, I think this is the single greatest accomplishment in game design and storytelling I’ve ever seen in a video game. That being said, I would like to try and respond to some of the criticisms this game has gotten, and furthermore, I’d like to try and analyze some of the themes I noticed when playing the game. Keep in mind this is MY opinion, and should not be taken as fact. This is just my experience, and I’ll respect yours one way or the other.

Take this as a MAJOR WARNING that there will be spoilers for both games in this post.

With that, let’s start with the common criticisms:

1. “They killed Joel for no damn reason. He deserved better.” This is an easy one to tackle. For one, Joel most definitely did not deserve better. Even though we might love him for being the first game’s MC and have grown attached to him, there’s no way we can or should look past the fact that he, Joel, is a bad man. He even says himself in the first game that he and Tommy did some questionable things to survive in the 20 years between the outbreak and even during the events of TLOU. While he may be perceived as the hero of the franchise, when you look at his rap sheet, you start to notice he’s not so great after all. Take the ending of TLOU as the most glaring example, where Joel has been told Ellie must die in order for the Fireflies to develop a vaccine. His first and only reaction is to kill every single Firefly he sees and murder the surgeon who would have killed his “baby girl”. Would I have done any different in his shoes? Probably not, but that’s the beauty of the first game. Its ending and the ambiguity of Joel’s morality given his actions is one of the driving forces that make the first game so spectacular and why it’s still being discussed 7 years later. Now let’s talk about the second point to this criticism: “He died for no reason”. If you recall, the people who killed him were former Fireflies, one of which (Abby) was the daughter of the surgeon whom Joel unceremoniously killed. In their eyes, they had every right to go after Joel. Like Anthony Caliber, one of the best TLOU speedrunners, said in one of his recent livestreams, “Joel signed his own death sentence when he killed Marlene and the surgeon back at the hospital in TLOU1”. While it may seem overly zealous to us as players who have grown to love Joel, if the roles had been reversed would you not do the same? Would you not want revenge for the killing of your father? And isn’t that exactly what Ellie is doing in this game, which most players justify in this hatred of Abby?

2. “Joel was out of character in giving out his name and trusting strangers. They dumbed him down for the sake of plot.” As I recall, Joel literally gave Henry and Sam his name and followed them out to their hideout barely 30 seconds after meeting them and beating the shit out of Henry. Joel may be an untrusting person at heart but he always does so with reason. The most common reason people give of this is “He didn’t trust the guy asking for help in Pittsburg and ran him over so why trust Abby and her gang”. First of all, that was literally the one situation Joel had already been on the other side of, and knew perfectly well it was rehearsed. On the flipside, he and Tommy had just saved Abby and literally mention there’s no other way to go other than with her because there’s a huge blizzard and a herd was after them. And especially now, after Joel has been living in Jackson for 4 years now and has been living comfortably in a community very obviously open to new people. Abby’s group gave them no reason to distrust them, and giving out his name, in any other situation, would have made no difference in the outcome. It was just unfortunate they happened to be after him.

3. “I hate playing as Abby, why are they trying to make me sympathize with her?” That’s the whole point, they’re not. The entire game, you keep rooting for Ellie to find and kill this woman who wronged you, and when you’re forced to play as her, you’re understandably angry. You’re upset, and you feel you have to slog through this seemingly endless section of the game. But as you keep playing, much like I did, you start seeing the other side of the story. Abby is not the villain the game paints her out to be when she killed Joel. She’s another human being with human emotions and a very real reason to hate Joel and to want him dead. As I said before, Abby is doing exactly what Ellie eventually does after Abby kills Joel.

4. “Why would Ellie go through all that effort to not kill Abby in the end?” I will touch on this in the analysis of the themes, but simply put, it was about breaking cycles.

Now I’d like to start defending how and why I believe this is a masterpiece by first taking a look at one of the admittedly less touched upon parts: gameplay. This aspect usually takes a step back when it comes to narrative-based games, and it is obviously not the most resounding part of this game, but it is clearly not taking a back seat either. The flow of both combat and mellower scenarios in this particular game is astounding. When battling opponents, the AI feels like one of the most intelligent I’ve ever seen in a video game. The way the enemies communicate between each other, telling the others when the player is out of ammo or when they’re flanking to create much more nuanced fight sequences, coupled with the expanded worlds Naughty Dog has come up with to create a seamless experience when fighting hordes of enemies without it feeling stale or repetitive, is one of the most immersive gaming experiences I’ve ever had. Each encounter feels unique and challenging in some ways you may not have felt before in the game, and by the end you’re so immersed in that feeling that going through the Santa Barbara group (to me, at least) was almost automatic and I could see so many different options for me to approach each situation as it came my way.

Likewise, Naughty Dog have managed to turn the puzzle solving from the first game, where you simply had to find a dumpster to step on or a door to open with a shiv, and incorporate the environment and world into it, finding clever ways to get over obstacles without simply having a step-up ladder be the end of it. The mechanics that went into the rope puzzles, breaking windows to get to previously unexplored territory (which is admittedly not new in gaming, but still a cool concept to add to the franchise) paired together with so many more new little features to bring the world they created to life, and bring you into it as well.

As always, and as was the case with the first one, you can’t talk about The Last of Us without talking about the soundtrack. The haunting score created by the masterful mind of Gustavo Santaolalla, a fellow Argentinean like me, brought to life some of the most heart-wrenching moments and the most beautiful ones as well, in a way that can only be achieved with amazing sound design and music. The main theme song, which is a sort of homage to the one from the first, takes a much darker approach, choosing instead to focus on the bass and that resounding low voice in the background, setting the tone for the rest of the game: a much darker, grittier, and grounded experience that will pull no punches. Santaolalla managed to create a score that mimics the first one in melody and rhythm, while succeeding in mirroring it to create a more dissonant accompaniment to the gruesome story you’re brutally killing your way through.

Another aspect of the game that deserves all the praise it gets, and one that people seem to at least be in consensus about, is the graphics and animation design. I can safely say this is hands down the most beautiful, gorgeous, astounding, breathtaking game I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, and that might not be enough adjectives to fully encapsulate how I feel about the graphics in this game. One can argue all day about the morality of the characters in the game or the balance between right and wrong that Naughty Dog so masterfully plays with in the story, but one thing is for sure: The graphics design team deserves so much credit for actually bringing the story and the characters we know and love to such vivid life. You can see it in the little things, like the veins in Joel’s arm as he plays “Future Days” by Pearl Jam and the facial expressions Ellie can make if you stand in front of a mirror during the museum flashback; you can also see it in the larger things, like the jaw-dropping backdrops that range from a beautiful mountain range in the snow to the downtown Seattle skyline. No moment will be wasted by stopping your pace to just admire the absolutely gorgeous view you’re presented with every time you enter a new game world. The attention to detail in animation is also not lacking at all, with so many little actions being given special treatment as we see Ellie patch herself up and still having the actual bandage over her arm instead of disappearing like any other game, or the way Ellie’s fingers perfectly (and correctly) play chords without resorting to generic hand gestures. You can see the love and care the developers have for this game in every tiny crack in the game that simply takes your breath away and that sometimes you won’t even see from the vastness of the world around you.

And finally, the story. It is definitely a divisive story, and Neil Druckmann did warn us it would be. There were times, namely the moment they switched the POV to show me the first 3 days from Abby’s perspective, when I was genuinely wondering what the hell they were thinking. My faith in Naughty Dog never wavered, though. I kept playing because I thought, “There must be some reasoning for this.” And to my greatest relief, it finally clicked for me a few hours into Abby’s section. Namely, the moment where she meets Lev and Yara, two Seraphites that defected after the former shaved his head. At first, it seemed weird that they would be cast out for such a stupid reason, but then you start to get to know them, and you understand the real reason they had to leave their religious cult. As I said before and will say again, this is a game about perspective. Up until that point, I just wanted Abby dead, albeit with some guilt since learning that it was her father Joel killed in that operating room. But seeing Abby’s willingness to help total strangers, much like Joel did at the start of the game, was what sold me on this game’s concept. The purpose of this story is to make you feel the regret and the weight of the actions you impart on the world, as you can see the carnage Ellie left in her wake during your time as Abby, seeing Abby’s friends butchered by either Ellie or Tommy, realizing they’re no different than the villains we have such tunnel vision about. The ending is something I’ll get to in the themes, but I just have to say I love the way it’s such a parallel to the first game’s ending, up to the point of divisiveness in the people who actually played and finished the game (which at the time of writing this is less than 4% of players).

Now onto the themes. One of the things people always praise about the first game, and rightfully so, is its themes and how well it portrays them through certain characters to create a cohesive and coherent story that pulls at your heartstrings and makes you root for the “heroes” of the game. This time it’s not much different, with the minor exception that this time, there are no heroes. Just like Neil Druckmann said many times during the development of Part II, “While the first game was about love, this game is about hate”, which is one of the main themes.

1. Hatred: I can safely say there have been very few times of my gaming life where I’ve been so viscerally angry (in a “good” way) while playing a video game as I have as I tore down through countless enemies that got in the way of me and my target. This game will let out the worst parts of you in ways you can’t even imagine, and will make you take a look at the way we glorify violence in video games without the usual preachy tone of “video games cause violence”. Like I said before, this is a game that mirrors the first one while paying homage to its themes. To take a page out of Abby’s book, it’s like a coin. There are always two sides to it. On the one hand, the first game’s main theme was love, and how loss and grief can be overcome with it with the proper care and time. The Last of Us Part II shows us the uglier side of human nature, which is anger, despair and a natural desire for revenge (another theme). Both games show us the natural progression of a grieving person, but both of them take wildly different approaches. Granted, we don’t know how brutal and vicious Joel was right after losing Sarah, but it’s safe to assume he was nothing short of a monster, which eventually didn’t really help in dealing with that loss until he found love and hope in a little girl whose safety was now his utmost responsibility. In Ellie’s case, she’s still in that first stage. Ellie as a character has always been reckless and foolhardy, and her actions in this game are a testament of how well Neil Druckmann and Halley Gross know their characters. The entire game, right up until the final moments where she’s about to finish Abby off, her actions are fueled by a rage and desire to exert justice onto those who’ve wronged her. In other words, she’s looking for revenge.

2. Revenge: Both main characters have at least one thing in common, and it is their desire to avenge their father/father figure. I truly believe that Joel’s death was not only justified (from a storytelling perspective) but also crucial to the development of a sequel that both enhanced the world of The Last of Us while building onto it with new ideals and perspectives. The idea this time is definitely not one we haven’t seen before in so many other mediums: “Revenge is bad and is never worth it” Seems trivial to even suggest it when we all know the outcome, but The Last of Us Part II manages to not only build upon the idea that revenge is a double-edged sword, but it also manages to balance the perspectives within that cycle to attempt to explore the psyche of the characters we’ve put into the boxes of “hero” and “villain”. And subsequently, they manage to break that characterization by showing us both sides of the aforementioned coin to see, in no unclear terms, that the consequences of our actions when dealing with vengeance always circle back to expose the nastiest side of our nature. It stands to reason that we, as the player, would at first be on board with Ellie “finding and killing every last one of them”, and demonizing Abby for not only killing but torturing possibly one of the most beloved characters in gaming history. We want her dead. We want her to suffer for the crime she’s committed. Yet, in our quest for vengeance and justice, would we not be succumbing to the same cycle that brought Abby to killing Joel in the first place? Did she not think, from her perspective, that she was entirely justified in killing the man who had not only destroyed the one chance humanity had against the Cordyceps, but also murdered her father in cold blood? Are we not the same as Abby for wanting her dead after she kills one of our own? When does it end? And that’s the real question. This whole thing, the lust for revenge that can only be quenched with cold-blooded murder, is just another facet to our complex and grey morality as human beings. It’s natural for us to feel angry and upset at this, and I believe all the hatred people give this game that stems from it forcing you to play as Abby is the exact nature the game is trying to bring out of us and show to us in a mirror.

3. Cycles: While this may not be such an obvious catch as the first two, it’s still very much ingrained in the inner workings of this game’s narrative and how both characters view the world according to their reality and perspective. The concept of revenge, as stated above, is a repetitive one. One that causes cycles and events to repeat themselves if left unchecked, and The Last of Us Part II plays with these masterfully. Starting the game with a heartbreaking moment and setting the dark tone for the rest of the game is what starts the first part of this cycle, which is Ellie wanting to avenge Joel’s death, much like Abby avenged her father’s death after 4 years of despair, planning, and training. Ellie’s desire to kill Abby is what leads her down the path we would characterize, were she some random character and not the main one of the franchise, as the villain’s route, going down a dark path that prompts her to mindlessly and mercilessly slaughtering countless people whose names you hear from their friends’ mouths when you kill them, to the point where you end up getting to Abby’s closest friends and companions and murdering them too, not unlike Abby murdered Joel. It is a sobering feeling to realize the character you most love and root for is, in the eyes of the other main character, as much of a villain (if not more) as we as players make Abby out to be. It is at the end of the game, which a lot of players had qualms about, where Ellie is beating Abby within an inch of her life that she realizes this is not worth it. Killing Abby will not bring Joel back, and will certainly not bring her any satisfaction, as showcased by how traumatized Ellie was after the killings of Abby’s other friends and the fact that she still kept seeing Joel’s lifeless body as she attempted to drown Abby on that coast. Then, as we are mercilessly choking the life out of her, which is yet another example of the visceral anger the game elicits from the player, we see a different memory of Joel. One of hopefulness, where Joel is playing the guitar and smiling. It is at that moment that Ellie realizes the only thing she can do now is to move on with her life and accept Joel’s death as something that happened. To add onto this realization, it’s probably good to mention that Ellie must have seen some of herself in Lev in that killing Abby would have left him (if not dead) in a state much like the one she, Ellie, was at the start of the game. Coming back to the theme of cycles, if Ellie killed Abby, what’s to stop Lev from coming after Ellie the same way she came after Abby, and so on and so forth. Both these things coupled help Ellie finally break the cycle and go back to the farm, where she’s greeted with the consequences of her actions in a more emotional and real way than the PTSD: Dina being gone and Ellie leaving her guitar behind, symbolizing her letting go of Joel’s memory and accepting her reality.

The game scares us; it scares me. It is a harrowing experience that will only get better with time and will, in my humble opinion, go down as one of the greatest games of all time for years to come. No matter the context, and no matter the medium, I wish it were easy to find such real, emotional, and powerful pieces of art as this one more often. But alas, we will have to wait and see. As someone whose name I can’t seem to remember said: “This will mark the gaming industry and divide it between ‘Before TLOU2 and After TLOU2”

#tlou #tlou2 #tlou2 spoilers #joel #ellie #dina #abby #tlou part ii

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jasper-dracona · 5 years ago

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Thought:

We’ve seen Castiel fight quite a bit, he’s actually decent at it, and he has plenty of cool abilities that we see him use like once and never again. He can shoot lightning down from the sky, twist knives that he’s not touching, and he’s obviously pretty good with a dagger/knife because Angel Blades. So, here’s my Supernatural Better Ending idea.

So, after the confession Dean and Sam fight like hell to get Cas back. But, they make a rule: No more of this self-sacrifice garbage. It always gets us into more trouble than we were in before, and it hurts us all. So, we get Cas back by any means necessary, except that. Spells, trickery, killing demons, angels, reapers, all powerful creatures we’ve never even heard of, whatever, just not ourselves.

And they succeed!! It was... oooohhh my god it was fucking hard. The boys need a fucking nap.

After said nap, they sit down and discuss what they all want, and what they’re gonna do next.

Dean says that hunting is really the only thing he’s ever known, it’s what he does best. Sam got a year off to think and feel what living in the real world is like, but Dean’s never really done that, and he doesn’t really want to. He likes kicking in the door of abandoned factories and killing whatever ghoul or ghost is traumatizing or killing the local townspeople.

Sam says that he’s really tired, even after that nap. He wants to live a normal life, and he feels like he’s got the chance because for once it feels like the world isn’t hunting them down, or that he needs to go hunt someone else down to go save them. He’s got a knack for fixing things, for making things work and tick, and well... there’s this girl... But, there will always be this little voice in the back of my head saying that there’s lives to be saved, there’s ghosts to be killed, so maybe I can still help out?

Cas says, he’s not really sure what he wants, other than to be with them (it goes unsaid but they all know he has a uhhh preference if he “must” choose between them)

And Dean pipes up that, well “we’ve seen you fight Cas and you’re pretty good at it, a bit stiff” Sam snickers a bit “but, uh, you can handle yourself quite well.” He snickers again. “You can use an Angel Blade, I’ve seen you shoot lightning down from the sky in the past. Why don’t you come with me on my monster hunting trips?”

“Would I have to learn how to use a gun?”

“It might be good to know, but there’s other ways of fighting that work almost as well.”

“Alright, I... like the sound of that” Cas says, as he cracks a little bit of a side-smile.

Dean, on a bit of a roll, says “and Sam, you’ve always been more partial to research anyway, would you wanna be our...” he pauses for a moment, because this is an emotionally charged title he’s about to offer Sam, and a lot of memories and feelings come flooding back. He smiles warmly and with pride, but undertones of sorrow creep in. “Our new Bobby? I mean, like, part-time since you want a mostly normal life, right?”

Sam, seeming a bit taken aback by this proposition “d- uh- y-yeah! I’d- I’d be glad to do that! Oh and uh, I was thinking, since I’m good at fixing things and making things work, well, I could maybe design you two some new tools. I mean, we’ve got salt pellets for the shotgun and iron tools, and silver bullets, but there’s gotta be other ways to further simplify those kinds of techniques, make them more efficient.”

Dean face lowers a bit and he seems... sceptical. He’s always been one for tradition, “if ain’t broke don’t fix it” is a very old phrase and I think he’s a fan.

“Of course, never to the point where hunting would be un-fun. The danger is part of it! But, I wanna keep the number of hits you- two- (he pauses and gestures to Cas, getting used to this new dynamic) take before you kill whatever you’re hunting to a minimum, right?”

Cas, having been just kind of standing, listening mostly in silence until now, says “yes that would be good. Also, since the main weapon I use is an Angel Blade, would it be possible for us to get other, similarly styled blades for me to use? Because, as powerful as an Angel Blade is, it only kills some supernatural beings other than demons and angels.”

“Uh, yeah I’m sure we could get you that. I don’t think I could make it but I can definitely look into it.”

And then they go, they get right into a decent rhythm (I’m not technically caught up so the details of what’s going on with Sam are going to be lacking.) Sam goes and talks to his girl, tells her that he’s going to be living a mostly normal life from now on, just with a bit of research and a bit of tinkering. He gets a job as the local plumber, but also does work on cars, on electrical things. He’s kinda known around town as the fix-it guy. If you’ve got a problem or somethings broken, he’s a pretty safe bet. In his off time he designs this heavy cloth rope that’s been soaked in salt-brine and then dried, leaving it full of salt, so that you can more easily encircle a room with it. It works best for ghosts because they’re mostly incorporeal. He designs a little box, kind of like a craft supplies box, with a series of small tools and materials in each spot. Gold, silver, copper, a coin of each, a piece of iron, and all sorts of other little pieces of equipment and ingredients.

We jump to Cas and Dean, in The Car, having a laugh when Dean’s phone rings. Sam says he’s got a lead and that he has some stuff he wants them to try out while they’re there. He gives them the rundown and say he’ll mail the package to the local shitty motel.

Normal Supernatural episode stuff happens, they follow the lead, get the package, find the house, and get to work. And we get to see Dean and Cas dance-fight their way through like 12 ghosts. They flow around the room with such synchronicity, despite the difference in pace between their weapons of choice, shotgun and throwing daggers. A beautiful sweeping shot around the room of them annihilating ghost after ghost after ghost. The only interruption being that Dean takes just a second too long reloading and gets scratched across his left cheek. Cas quite promptly stabs that ghost in the back, and the room falls silent.

“I think we got them all.” Cas says, without looking around the room, eyes fixed on Dean.

“Thanks, Cas” Dean says in a near-whisper

“No worries. Let’s go get that patched up.”

Cut to Dean sitting on the edge of the trunk, with Cas patching up his cut. Can’t Cas heal people? Well... they prefer this ritual to magic-y insta healing, it’s not as fun. Cas will make sure it won’t scar, however. Cas finishes bandaging him up, and makes one more good press on it to smooth it out, leaving his hand gingerly on Dean’s cheek.

“There we go, all cleaned up.” He says, smiling and looking over Dean’s face once more, just to make sure that’s the only scratch, or is he looking for more personal reasons? Maybe both?

Dean was kinda looking off in the distance while Cas patched him up, but now he looks right into his eyes. He grabs onto Cas’s caressing hand gently, smiles ever-so softly and leans in and kisses him. It is the exact kind of kiss you would expect from Dean Winchester, if any kiss could be described as “gruff”, this would be it.

They both let go after a long moment, Cas’s eyes are full of so much: shock, confusion, excitement, joy, and for a split second, fear, thinking he might just get sent back to turbo hell the empty.

Dean however, simply has a cheeky grin on his face with a touch of embarrassment. “Y’know... we haven’t had a chance to talk much since you got back.”

“Uh- Dean- I...” it looks as though Cas’s mind is going about a trillion miles a second.

Dean revels in his love’s adorable awkwardness, that often shines through even if he isn’t the only one in his vessel, even if he hasn’t spoken, damn he’s the cutest. “I wish I coulda done that sooner. I just... felt I wasn’t ready. That one had to be 100% on my terms.”

Cas wants to say something, anything, but just- there’s so much happening in his brain right now he can’t- he just- ah! This is amazing but he just cannot get any words out.

“Hey uhh, you good there buddy? Did I short-circuit you?”

“I think maybe, yeah!” Cas finally says with a chortle and this expression of relief and excitement and at least a little bit of embarrassment.

We cut to the next scene, back at Sam’s house, giving reviews and suggestions about his inventions.

“Okay okay, I can probably fix that by adjusting the drying time based on the humidity, and you’ll probably need to keep it in an air tight container from now on.”

“Yeah I was uhh... a little distracted when we put it away last. Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright Cas, it’s good to know that proper storage matters for this one.”

Suddenly, a bunch of pinging comes from Sam’s computer.

“What’s that?” asks the ever-paranoid Dean.

“I set up a series of notifications on my computer to go off if it found any news article that had a series of key words. This seems like a big one, vampires most likely, telling by the key words it found. You guys down?”

“Always.” They say, in tandom. Somewhat surprised, they glance at eachother a moment.

Sam raises his eyebrows. His face then says the word “anyways” without him making a sound.

“The article says it happened in [town], [state]. A man was killed in the...” Cas and Dean step around the desk and Dean leans in to look at the laptop, both hands on the desk, Cas leans in slightly and looks intently as well. They begin to discuss, likely speculating what type of vampire and what to do as the camera pans back and up in an arc as Sam’s voice fades, Carry On Wayward Son begins to play (because it has to) and it fades to black.

(Honestly wanted to write that last scene as if it was far later, well after the kiss, so that I could mention an Easter egg, that would be for eagle eyed viewers if this was an actual episode, where Cas and Dean both had wedding bands. Couldn’t figure out how to make it work though, and not seems like a big, weird jump.)

#destiel #spnedit #spn rewrite #spn #supernatural #spn fix it #spn fic #whoopsies I just write destiel fanfic +extras for the last 2.5 hours.#long post #destiel fanfic #casdean #deancas #fanfic

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thgfanficinspo · 5 years ago

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Fear of the Water - 20

Annie meets the other victors from District 4

From the Start - Jonsa - Coryo

(ANNIE)

There are nice clothes in my closet but I don’t want to wear them because I know they’re from the Capitol. And I’m not in the Capitol anymore and I don’t want it on me I don’t want it hanging off my skin.

I find one of my everyday dresses that Bosun brought along to the new house and slip it on. I always wear big shapeless dresses that go to my knees. I like them because they don’t get in my way – I can run around or work or sleep or do anything without them causing me any trouble. They’re long enough that I don’t have to worry about people seeing too much if I crouch or bend or climb, and the materials are simple and comfortable, and the fact that they’re so loose means I don’t have to keep adjusting them like I would with regular dresses. And I like that they’re dresses, too. Pants always trip me up, and I don’t like worrying about two different pieces of clothing when I can just wear one.

I don’t like being in this new bedroom, at least not yet. I don’t like being in this house. It’s too big. Too many rooms. Creaky floorboards and rusty door hinges. Too many places for something to hide.

I change as fast as I can and then run back downstairs. Bosun is pacing in a circle around the main room. He glances up at me. “Get changed; we’re gonna be late.”

I shake my head.

He opens his mouth and curls his lip like always does when he’s about to yell at me but he makes himself stop and take a deep breath to calm down because I think he knows he shouldn’t yell at me, at least not yet. He’s trying to wait a couple days to let me settle in before he starts up again. I hope he doesn’t start up again at all.

When things are good with Bosun, they’re great. It’s like we’re the only people in the world and we’re everything to each other. But then when I start counting things or get “stuck in a loop,” as he says, he gets annoyed and tells me to stop even though he knows I can’t. if I stop it feels like a million tiny ants covering every bit of my skin and I can’t move or do anything until I’ve finished counting.

He raises his eyebrows at me in some sort of prompt. “Ready?”

There are three big dogs in front of Mags’s porch that stare at us as we approach. I think of the dogs in the arena and start to pull away from Bosun, but he holds onto me. “They’re just dogs,” he says. “You can’t be afraid of dogs forever.”

Mags appears in the doorway. “Annie! Bosun!” She waves her hand at the dogs and they disperse. “Ignore them. They hang around wherever they think they can get food. They’re harmless.”

All the homes on Victor’s Isle follow a formula, but there are subtle differences in each. My new house seems to have less walls than Mags’s. Hers is artfully decorated and looks comforting and warm. She’s had almost sixty years to work on it.

“The others are already inside. I don’t think Eefa will make it, though. She’s not one for socializing.”

The others, including Broadsea.

Broadsea. He was a member of the Career pack during his Games. He betrayed them relatively early on – probably because he didn’t like working with other people and he didn��t want them out there working against him. Broadsea was on watch one night while his allies slept. He killed them each, one by one, by slitting their throats or stabbing them through the heart.

One of them managed to get a knife and hack his face apart before dying.

I’m still lost in my thoughts when we find him in the kitchen.

“Annie, Bosun, this is Broadsea.”

And there he is – arms crossed over his enormous chest. He’s well over six feet and at least two inches taller than Finnick, who’s already taller than six feet, too. The best word I can think to describe him is sturdy. He looks like he could stand in one spot during a tidal wave and not even notice it crashing over him. He has hazel eyes and his jaw is strong and square and half his face is hardly a face at all.

That scar – it’s one thing to see on television, but completely different in person. He had some medicine to treat the wound, but not enough. The wound was infected. He did a piecemeal job of stitching it back together with threads pulled from his fallen allies’ clothing.

They cleaned it up as best they could in the Capitol, even removed some tissue and tried to build him a new cheek artificially, but it didn’t work. I still can’t believe he survived such a thing. Now it’s as wide as a finger from his right cheekbone to his jaw, where it dips under his chin and stretches down almost onto his neck. Ghostly pale against his coffee-colored skin. He grew a beard to partially cover it, but no hair grows over the corrupted flesh, so it just makes it stand out even more.

Not to mention the fingertips and toes he lost to frostbite. And the tip of his nose. But those have all been patched up.

He gives of us each a good up and down look before turning away without a word.

Proteus turns away from the stove to greet us and I feel a little bit better because Proteus is not scary or mean and I sort of know him. “Ah, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted your opinion on the sauce I made for the duck before I serve it.” He gives me and Bosun each a little spoonful of orangey-brown stuff. Bosun takes a lick and offers his compliments.

Finnick strolls in as we taste, completely ignoring Broadsea even though they’re about to walk right into each other. He stops for a moment and shoots him a mocking smile before he steps aside to let him through. Broadsea keeps on walking, knocking back another glass of liquor as he makes his way to the sitting room. Finnick is bright again as soon as Broadsea gone. “Do I get a sample?” he asks, flashing that winning smile.

He was fourteen when he was in my place. A child. But he doesn’t look like a child anymore. He was never exactly childlike, though; in the arena he was handsome and young with a chiseled face and sparkling eyes, his cheeks always flushed from being outside. He was gorgeous, and everyone was impatient to watch him grow up and therefor more handsome. And so they could touch him. So he could touch them.

I still don’t understand that – why he wants to jump from bed to bed. Surely the gifts they give him can’t be worth all the trouble. Is he just bored? Or is sex really that good? Having someone flop around and sweat all over you doesn’t sound terribly appealing to me, even with someone like Finnick.

Finnick pulls me out of my mind when he sidles up next to me. “I see you met Broadsea,” he murmurs. He produces a handful of sugar cubes seemingly out of nowhere, pops some in his mouth, and stars crunching away. He speaks through the mouthful: “Don’t feel bad – he hardly ever talks. And he’s an asshole anyway.” He realizes something. “Oh, do you want some candy or sugar or something? I keep a stash in the pantry. Mags thinks it’s bad for me, but I’m nineteen, so what I eat doesn’t really matter.”

If only he knew what it was like to be a woman.

“You might as well sit down,” Proteus says to us over his shoulder. “I’m almost ready to serve.”

Proteus’s wife, Brona, is already seated at the oval dining table, which is made of reclaimed wood.

Her clear, smooth skin is the color of honey and almonds, and she keeps her dark hair tied behind her head in a tight bun that pulls the skin on her forehead taut. Her mouth and teeth are big, but they fit better with her face than my big mouth and teeth fit with mine. She introduces herself and shakes Bosun’s hand. She doesn’t try to shake mine; somebody probably warned her about it.

I wonder how hard it must be for her and Proteus, to be separated from your love for the whole summer. Assuming they love each other.

It surprises me that so many victors have families – about a third of them, I think – but the fact that any of them has one is surprising. Any one of us, now.

Eefa got married at nineteen – a normal age in the districts but unbelievably young for the Capitol – and had two children, but she only speaks to one of them now. Proteus is married, of course, which honestly seems odd to me. He and Brona appear more like friends than lovers, but even friends might be too intimate a term. They don’t have children. On television, they always show Proteus next to a victor from District 5 who won a few years after him – the 55th Games, I think. He actually shows genuine fondness for the man; that’s obvious even through a televisions screen.

I wonder if Brona knows about this man. She seems very cold so I don’t know if she’d care.

We sit down and tuck in to eat. Finnick pulls out Mags’s chair and then mine and pushes them both in for us. He takes the chair between us and smiles at me as he settles in and my ears get red. Bosun is on my other side. Broadsea is directly across from me. I try not to look at him.

Proteus brings out a thick orange soup as our first course. He tells us what it’s made from but I don’t pay attention since the smell is so distracting. I start eating before everyone’s been served, which I think is rude but I don’t care. I slurp down two bowls and a fist-sized loaf of bread before anyone else finishes their first serving. I don’t care enough to look up at them or excuse myself.

I didn’t really eat today. Our kitchen isn’t stocked yet but I found some nuts and hid them in my pocket because I forget that there will be more food and that I don’t have to be hungry anymore ever. I haven’t counted them yet.

Bosun keeps looking back and forth from me to the other victors – trying to gauge my reactions to them and their reactions to me. He looks like he’s ready to leap across the table if he has to, though I don’t know why he would. He’s too smart to tangle with a victor. And he doesn’t even get into arguments with people he’s not related to. But he’s plenty argumentative with me and our cousins and Chelsea and me and me and me.

Broadsea observes me throughout the first course, which takes about half an hour for everyone to finish. He looks at me like some new trinket – strange and intriguing and more than anything else, a source of amusement. He’s continually eating hunks of bread which he tears from the rolls with his stumpy fingers (they had to amputate four fingertips above the knuckle after he won due to frostbite) and dips them in the soup. For every mouthful of bread he tears some off and puts it in his pocket. Maybe he forgets, too. About not being hungry anymore.

Finnick watches me too, but in a much softer way. His pretty green eyes are warm where his gaze touches my skin. He smiles whenever I do, and he’s quick with a story whenever there’s a lull in conversation.

Proteus brings out the main course, which is made with duck rather than fish. People in District 4 get sick all the time from eating too much fish, so duck is a usual substitute, since that’s really the only other animal around except for seagulls. Duck is fancier than seagull. More expensive. But I guess that’s not a big deal since victors have so much money and we don’t ever have to be hungry anymore.

It’s served with turnips and Katniss root.

When I see it on the platter my stomach starts to roll over itself. My hands are shaking.

“Annie?”

I don’t know who says it. I don’t know who they’re saying it to.

I stand up fast, knocking my chair over and then tripping on it as I try to get away. I can’t be here. They’ll kill me to get my food. They’ll kill me for still being alive. I have to get away or they’ll kill me like they killed Piers and I don’t want to die but my legs aren’t working so I have to drag myself across the floor I can’t breathe.

“Annie! Annie!” It’s many voices now. They’re behind me, above me, closing in on me and I can’t breathe. I scoot back until my back slams against the wall. Put my hands over my ears so I can’t hear the mutts eating the boy from 6 or Piers screaming while they saw through him.

Bosun’s face is right in front of mine, saying “Annie? Annie?”

He’s not supposed to be here. His name wasn’t drawn. Why is he here? Why isn’t he home? They’ll cut his head off and they’ll poke out his eyes I’ll poke out his eyes and get goop on my hands and I can’t wipe it off.

“Run!” I scream at him. “Bosun, run! Run!”

And all the voices start screaming “Annie!” too loud and I don’t like it.

I try to shuffle further back but my head hits the wall and it goes dark.

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lost-eternity · 5 years ago

Text

Control -Loki x Reader-

Y/n, a young woman with a doctorate in psychology is sent to analyse Loki and retrieve any usable information on him. Instead, she finds herself falling for the brooding god of Mischief. What secrets lie behind that aloof smirk? Y/n soon realises that she may have bitten off more than she can chew, after all, ~sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth~

Song fic: Control by Halsey

TW: self harm, and certain mental illnesses.

His eyes are blue.

Touched by ethereal storm clouds, as cold as a tumultuous sea. Eyes that sing of empty promises and pretty lies, an infamously alluring gaze that drags you fathoms below their icy depths. Eyes that leave you to drown there, writhing in your misplaced trust. You had never seen any emotion in them other than contempt. But at that time, they had burned with the passion of a roaring flame. Uncontrolled in their path of desecration, consuming all they touch in the twin flames of hate.

His eyes still haunted you, plaguing your dreams like a wretched banshee caterwauling into the night; calling out for your demise. And yes, they would be your demise. It didn’t take much intellect the figure that out. Despite all of the flashing signs, the warnings- you couldn’t help but feel drawn in. The fog behind that cerulean gaze concealed a mystery of a man with motives and morals all to his own. A man that equal parts thrills and scares you, and ultimately beckons your deeper into his sea. Honey-filled words coat your instincts, cajoling you further into a diminished stupor. It is a sour lesson to swallow but invaluable nonetheless; sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth.

“Doctor!” Stark’s gravely tone shook you from your apparent languor and silenced your mental musings. Lifting your chin up, you found yourself once again revisiting your surroundings. You were positioned at a metal table, spread before you were the remnants of the sandwich you had been eating for lunch. Although it appeared you were the last one to finish. With the exception of Tony Stark, the rest of the cafeteria was devoid of S.H.I.E.L.D agents. Stark loomed above you, wearing an incredulous expression upon his insufferably smug brow.

“Tin-man.” You greeted him with a flat tone, gazing down at your rather unappealing sandwich. “Have you finally found your heart?”

“Ha-ha,” Tony remarked callously in response to your pun, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Fury wants to see you, Doc.”

You bowed your head, staring impassively at your hands. “I’ve told you. Just call me Y/n.”

A smirked tugged the edges of Tony’s mouth upwards. “But you’re a doctor.” Although his tone conveyed reminiscence, you knew it was just a guise for the triumph.

“Of psychology," you scoffed, now unable to hide your amusement. “We both know I am not a real doctor.”

Tony only chuckled at your disdained tone. With a grandiose swooping gesture of his hands, Stark dipped his head in mockery. “As you say, Y/n.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you rose to your feet. Your sandwich remained neglected upon the cold metal table whilst you brushed out your immaculate white lab coat. While it was true you didn’t consider yourself a real doctor, you spent a good chunk of your time in the lab with Bruce. Of course, the man’s got a stick up his ass, as Tony likes to say, and only seems to care about safety precautions and lab etiquette. Hence the lab coat. You ducked past Tony, smirking to yourself. You knew that Bruce would blow his top if he found out that you had been eating food in his spare lab coat.

Pausing mid-stride, you twisted your head around to appraise Stark. He was lingering behind, leaning smugly against the table, his head tilted to one side.

“You coming?” You cooed, folding your arms over your chest.

“To talk to Fury? Nu-huh. The man sounded pissed enough as is.”

That dulled the playful mirth in your gaze. “Pissed?” You echoed then sighed for what felt like the thousandth time that day. “Good to know.” Swinging around, you scrambled at a brisk pace down the hall. Nicholas Fury was a terrifying man with a sharp stare and equally sharp tongue. You did not want to contribute to his current moodlet by being tardy.

As you hurried down the hallway you found yourself plunging deeper into your own thoughts, caught up in a tidal wave of passing fancies. You had learnt to embrace the wind of your mind, like a brief gust before returning to a calm sea.

Your ideas drifted back to the conversation you just had with Tony. You recounted his posture, the way he tensely held his shoulders, forcing them upright. How he inclined his head towards you, but still unable to meet your eye. You knew that something was on his mind, and you were tempted to inquire about it once Fury dismissed you... and after you have spoken with him.

Stark liked to fancy himself an anomaly. He would strut around wearing a dazzling smile and an aloof attitude. He used his biting wit and sarcastic remarks as a mask of which to hide behind. All his life he had been treated coldly, expected to depend on only himself and to discount others. This had lead to a vicious cycle of self-dependent cynicism. You recognised this tendency the moment you first met him all those months ago. You had tried to break it, you introduced him to cognitive therapy, to journaling, painting and other methods of self-expression. However, the man had proven himself to be quite stubborn and dismissed you. He rejected your outstretched hand in favour of a bottle of scotch whilst proclaiming: "I'm hungry. Where's the scotch?"

You knew that Stark’s alcohol dependency was a coping mechanism for some form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. You hadn’t been around long enough to figure out what stemmed this, but you figured that it was a culmination of many different elements. The others weren’t of much help and you eventually learnt not to ask questions. Instead, you could only be a bystander to Tony’s self-destructive habits as he continuously searched for the solution to his problems at the bottom of an empty glass. You knew that you couldn’t help him. Not unless he wanted to be helped. And as mentioned earlier, Tony only helps himself.

You pulled yourself from your thoughts as you arrived at an unmarked door. Gathering your sense of courage you reached out, placing your fingertips upon the metallic surface of a recently polished door handle. You must have been shuffling your feet because the contact sent an electric charge crackling through your fingertips and raising the hair along your arm. Taking in a final breath, you flicked your wrist and the door swung open.

The room itself was sparsely decorated. Beams of light interrupted by the blinds along the windows poured into the otherwise darkened chamber. They illuminated swirls of dust, twisting together in some erratic and tumultuous dance. All furniture had been pushed off towards the sides, opening a central area where the man himself stood. Nick Fury, looking as intimidating as ever. Fortunately, his back was to you, and his glowering stare directed towards one of the windows. You weren’t certain, but you could have sworn that he was idly following the path of one of the floating dust particles as it drifted across the room. Clearing your throat, you announced your presence. A heavy silence fell between the two of you.

You were the first to break. “Are you trying to intimidate me?”

There was another pause, causing an empty feeling to open up in the pit of your stomach. It brought you back to your grade school years, trepidatiously lingering in the principle’s office and fidgeting under his cold stare. Had you said something wrong? Were you in trouble? Fury’s shoulder spasmed slightly, it took you a few seconds to realise that he was laughing. “Is it working?” He asked.

“Uh. Yes.” You admitted, making your way over to one of the disregarded chairs. You straddled the chair, leaning your chest and arms against the backboard. “I suppose that is why you’re standing in a semi-empty room with the lights turned off.” A nervously chuckle slipped past your lips. “You, uh, wanted to see me, er, sir?”

“I did.” Fury, at last, turned around to face you. Shadows clustered along his jaw and nose as the byproduct of the backlighting from the closed windows.

You leaned slightly back in your chair. You would not ever be able to quite get used to the threatening eye patch he wore to cover his lost eye. He never talked about how he lost it, and you never were foolish enough to ask. It was probably a traumatising tale, and you knew better than to dig up long-buried memories (if only you knew the truth about the cat named Goose).

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with him, Miss Y/n. Why don’t you tell me how that is going for you.” With a dramatised grunt, Fury sat down across from you.

“Uh. What do you mean, sir?” You blinked, quickly withdrawing. Your boisterousness from earlier dropped in the presence of your superiors. You enjoyed your job as the therapist for the Avengers, you weren’t about to lose it.

A contemplative sigh fell from Fury’s lips. “Loki. You keep informing me that you are progressing with our... special guest, and yet I see no evidence as such.”

A look of bewilderment clouded your face. You stitched your eyebrows together, curling your hands into a fist by your sides. Loki, the Asgardian self-proclaimed god was quite an aberration. Perhaps it was because you were attempting to define an alien’s psychology in human terms. Or because his mind functioned differently than a human's. Regardless of the reason, it simply wasn’t working. You had everyone else on the team figured out, even Director Fury himself. But Loki? The man posed a mystery. A convoluted figure who wrapped himself in shrouds, hiding his motives behind complex word puzzles and mind games. It called to you, drawing you in, challenging you. Taunting you.

Over the past few months, you have had many sessions with him, each one bringing you closer to cracking him. Each breakthrough sent a wave of euphoria coursing through your veins, and you began to truly understand him. This god... this eternal being. You understood him in a way no one else did. And he understood you. You could see it in his eyes, the way he ever so slightly perks up when you entered the room. How loosely he speaks with you now. He doesn’t speak with anyone else that way. Just you.

Only you.

“I am so close, sir.” You reported, schooling your features into an expression of apathy despite the stirrings you felt in your heart. “I just need more time.”

“Time? We’ve given you plenty of time.” Fury remarked, stiffly crossing his arms. “Now we need results. Elsewise we might have to terminate your little experiment.”

You couldn’t help the emotion rising to your voice. “No! I can help him. I swear. I can change him. He is salvageable. He is just... wounded.”

“You can’t save every wounded creature you find on the roadside, Miss Y/n.” The Director consoled her despite the graveness of his tone. “To even try would be an exhaust on our recourses and personnel.”

“I can save this one.” You stated firmly, your tone unwavering. “I am not going to give up on him.”

Director Fury met your unfaltering gaze, scrutinising it for any possible hint of doubt. He finally sighed in resignation, shoulders slouching slightly. “Very well. You get one more session. And if you don’t have any intel for us by then, we are pulling the plug.”

“Yes, sir.” You crumbled forward, relief resting heavily on your back. “Thank you, sir.”

“It’s best to be off now. You’re on the clock.” Fury drawled in a taunting tone.

Quickly springing to your feet, you inclined your head towards Fury in a brief nod before scrambling off down the hall.

Loki’s holding cell was deep under the facility. It boasted an impressive array of mechanisms to ensure his complacency and idleness. The original design was intended for the Hulk in case he ever lost control within the walls of S.H.I.E.L.D. Loki had taken up residence shortly prior to its construction and was moved there on orders from Agent Coulson. After a few failed escape attempts, Loki seemed uncharacteristically docile. This was when Fury had ordered you to begin sessions with the Asgardian due to your background in psychology. Fury wanted to know anything that could be used against him, but you, instead, wanted to try and save him from his inner demons.

From the first moment you laid eyes on him, you recognised his tortured soul. From the information Thor had provided you, you sympathised with the god of mischief. Kings have a tendency to cast a long shadow, plunging anyone underneath them into unrecognised darkness. And Loki didn’t want to be complacent in life only to die forgotten. A sentiment to which you deeply relate.

Pressing your identification card up against the smooth surface of the scanner you watched as the heavy-set doors slid open before you. You stepped into a large rectangular room. In its centre stood a large glass tube, reinforced with some science whoo-haa you did not quite understand.

He sat on the floor, his hair immaculately slicked back as always. Obsidian curls covered his shoulder, outlining his sculpted face like an experienced artist’s masterful brushstrokes. Those piercing cerulean eyes passively gazing towards you, his expression unreadable.

Your raven-haired prince.

“You’re unusually quiet.” You remarked as you stepped towards his enclosure. You took a seat in the padded armchair left for your comfort, crossing your legs neatly.

“What do you want me to say?” Came the croaked response after a moment of hesitation. “You sit there, gawking at me from outside my cage. Like I am a zoo animal here for your entertainment. I am a god. You should be my monkey.”

His sharp tone caught you by surprise. You redirected your attention towards him, lifting your chin slightly. “Is that really what you think?”

“You don’t deny it.” This time, he did not miss a single beat.

“Ah.” A ghost of a smile appeared on your face. “I see now.”

Loki’s carefully crafted smirk faltered, his brows knitting together in a perplexed expression.

“This is about control.” You respond matter-of-factly. “That is what your domineering display on Earth was. A last-ditch effort for control.”

The smirk died on his lips. He turned his head away and scoffed. “Like you can understand me.”

“You really are quite simple, though.” You couldn't resist the urge to speak in a haughty tone as you picked yourself up from the couch. “Ooh, yes. I definitely have it now. All your life you have been cast to the side lines. The people around you making your decisions for you. What you should eat, where you should sleep, who you should communicate with. As such are the duties of a prince. But in the end... you don’t even get to control who ascends to the throne. It is Thor. It was always Thor. You were just a ploy, a desperate grab for peace in a time of war. So they disregarded you. They sent you away to find them a fortune. Because in the end, you were just a pawn in their games.”

“Shut up.” Loki’s lips curled back in a menacing sneer. “You don’t know anything!”

“Aggression is a method of deflection.” You remarked as you slowly paced your way around the glass. His eyes followed your movement, poised like a cat waiting to strike. You continued, undismayed. “That’s why you came here, huh? You needed an outlet. Someone to exercise complete control over. And it felt good, didn’t it? Gaining the one thing that you have been deprived of all these years. But then it was all taken from you. And now you’re here, helpless and without any control. And it’s driving you mad. Tell me, Loki, who is in control?”

No response.

Provoked, you asked again, your voice louder this time. “Who is in control?”

“I said, shut up!” Loki barked, the entire room within the glass confines flickered momentarily.

You took a step back. It was subtle, and if you were dealing with anyone else, you would have thought that it was a trick of the light. But this was Loki. Narrowing your eyes, you whirled around to face the deadpan god. “What did you do?”

If he realised he had been caught, he showed no sign of it. “How do you mean?” That self-assured smirk gradually worked his way back onto his face.

“Remove the illusion, Loki.” You breathed, pressing a palm against the glass.

“Are you sure of that request?” Loki drawled.

Your steely glare was the only answer he needed. Sighing, Loki lowered his gaze. His form flickered a few times before vanishing altogether and what you saw in his place caused you to draw in a shuddering breath.

The food you had provided him that morning had been cast aside. The silver tray turned over and smears of blood mixed with cereal stained the glass walls. Loki himself appeared even worse. His pristine complexion was marred by a busted lip, crimson liquid split out of large gashes in his knuckles. His parts of his hair, caked with blood and mats he been ripped from his very scalp and lay forgotten across the stained tile floor. Loki, observing your shocked expression laughed dryly. “And now you see me.” He croaked hoarsely.

“What did you do to yourself?” Your question was spoken in a tone hardly above a whisper, causing your stomach to clench at the sight.

You were left unanswered as Loki slid his gaze away, focusing it on his arm where a bead of blood trickled across his skin.

“You’re... hurting yourself.” You frowned as you gently placed your fingers against the glass.

“Because of you,” Loki answered gruffly, still not returning your stare.

“Why?” You breathed, furrowing your brows together.

“I hate you.” He nearly spat out the words, his shoulders heaving in the strain. “I hate your stupid face, I hate the way you dissect me like some rat. I hate your eyes. And I hate that I can’t get you out of my damn head! Why do you have to follow me in my dreams? Why can’t you just leave me alone?!”

There was a heavy blanket of silence that settled between the two of you. A pressing and soffocating silence that muffled your thoughts. You felt speechless, the pressure of the tension felt nearly asphyxiating and sent your mind reeling. You were jostled from your stupor when you noticed the blood running from his wrists, delicate skin broken under the white-knuckle grip of his nails.

“Stop that.” You demanded in a hushed tone.

He didn’t reply.

“I said, stop it!” You snapped and quickly slammed your keycard against the side of the containment cell. The doors slid open and you rushed inside. You slammed Loki up against the wall and slid your slender fingers underneath his bloody ones.

Panting heavily the two of you stared at each other, you with fear and him with contempt. Slowly, you came to realise his proximity and leaned back, turning away.

“Why... would you do that?” Loki rasped, his eyes narrowed.

“Because. You need help.” You replied, negating the waver in your tone as you gained enough courage to look back at him.

“What do you even care?” Loki retorted. “I’m a monster.”

“I should be scared of you.” You phrased the statement more as a question, despite your situation, you couldn’t find it within you to be fearful.

Loki slowly looked up, his breath ghosting over your face as you two peered at each other. “Yes.” He replied shakily.

You leaned closer, your lips grazing against his. “Really?” You whispered softly.

What ensued was a moment of indescribable elation. His lips met yours, they molded softly against you. His free hand trailed up your leg, snaking around your waist and tugging you against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat against your clavicle, a steady and slow rhythm that greatly juxtaposed your own racing heart.

How could he be so calm?

You didn’t have much time to ponder this when a sudden weight sent you flying off him and slamming into the glass wall behind you. Red hot pain spiked through your spine, causing your limbs and other extremities to prickle with the feeling of needles. It wasn’t long before Loki was on top of you, pinning you callously against the glass.

“Y-you’re hurting me.” You stammered as you squirmed, your arms feebly tapping against his back.

“Good.” Loki snarled, his breath ghosting over your ear. In a haze of golden light, the illusion melted away from Loki's previously haggard form. Your heart caught in your throat as the blood stains dissipated from the walls and Loki revealed his usual composed, pristine appearance.

Your finally spoke, visible confusion painted across your face. “L-Loki?”

The prince regarded you coldly, reaching into your pocket, he retrieved your keycard. The realisation dawned on you slightly too late. You opened your mouth, but the cry died in your throat as he clamped his hand over mouth. Then he brought his lips against your ear. “You’re god damn right, you should be scare of me.” Spinning on his heels, Loki stalked towards the exit.

Making one last attempt to salvage the situation, you made a sprint towards Loki.

With one fluid movement, the Asgardian swiped your keycard against the control panel and the doors swung shut before you, trapping you inside the high-security chamber.

“Hey!” You cried out, tears pricking the edges of your vision. You slammed your fist against the transparent casing. You battered against it over and over again until your knuckles blackened and each strike sent a bolt of pain jolting up your arm.

Still screaming his name, you watched Loki stroll towards the chamber exit, twirling your keycard along with his fingertips playfully and completely ignoring your shrieks. He paused by the elevator doors, punching in his desired floor number. With a tilt of his head, he slowly began to turn around, those blue eyes once again fixating onto you. A twisted smirk distorted his handsome features.

You watched in horror as Loki’s form rippled. Without once breaking eye-contact he assumed your form. You found yourself glaring back at the man who stole your face, wearing your skin and boasting your smile. In a voice eerily similar to your own, Loki spoke one final time.

“Who is in control?”

‘Dii-iing!’

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