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siswritesyanderes · 4 years

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Ok but yandere carlise x reader x yandere esme

(Not as detailed as I’d hoped to make it, but I quickly realized that if I went into detail then this thing would become very long. Hopefully avoided making the characters too OOC. Let me know if you like it, and how I did!)

…

You first met Dr. Cullen when you spent the day volunteering at the local hospital for one of your college classes.

There was a whole group of students there to help out, and you honestly weren’t sure why he seemed to notice you in particular; it certainly wasn’t because you were doing such a great job. Your work speed, in restocking the closets, was roughly average, and you kept having to ask your fellow volunteers where things were supposed to go. Granted, you at least weren’t one of the students who was transparently doing the absolute bare minimum to get the credit, but you wouldn’t exactly consider yourself a shining star of competence either.

Still, Dr. Cullen approached you personally to say, “Thank you for your help. You’re really doing us a great service.”

He was a beautiful man, with warm eyes that seemed to be beholding the goodness in your soul, for how amiably they glimmered.

“I don’t know if I can take any credit,” you said, admittedly flustered by the attention. “It was our teacher’s idea.”

He smiled kindly. “Nevertheless, we’re glad to have you here.”

You smiled back. “Glad to be here.” Then you continued working.

When Carlisle walked away from you, he carefully kept the reluctance from showing in his expression. He sent Esme a quick text warning her that they might have another soulmate in town: a human. His initial thought was that this would be the end of it; so long as Esme avoided meeting you, she wouldn’t feel the awful desperation currently clawing its way up Carlisle’s throat, and so long as Esme wasn’t suffering, Carlisle was confident in his own ability to let you live your own life, just as he had done with Esme, at first…

But then, he knew how that had turned out for her: years of pain, mistreatment…The thought of anything of the sort befalling you…The world was so dangerous, between humans and vampires and other such things, and you, so small in comparison, so vulnerable…

Carlisle regained his composure (though, to the untrained eye, he hadn’t lost it in the first place). The world could be dangerous, yes, but his awareness of that fact was informed, in no small part, by the fact that he wanted justification for keeping you. And he couldn’t give himself such license; it wouldn’t be right.

He wouldn’t drag you away from your human life.

Perhaps he could keep watch over you, and do you small favors every now and then, but that was the most he could afford to indulge.

He heard your stomach growl from across the room; he detoured to a vending machine and bought you a light snack. (Perfectly timed, Alice texted him your preference. No doubt, she was scouring the future to see how you might fit into it; he would have to have a talk with her, to be sure she didn’t go overboard. And deciding to have a talk with Alice functioned in the same way having a talk with Alice did.)

Dr. Cullen handed you a snack from the vending machine, which puzzled you at first; it didn’t seem like the hospital was handing out food to anyone else, and even if they were, why would one of the doctors take the time for such a thing?

He answered your unspoken question with a polite smile and the words, “You were looking a bit faint; I thought you might need this.”

Had you been looking unwell? You didn’t think you felt that bad, but a doctor would recognize the signs if something was wrong, and you were pretty hungry. “Thanks,” you said, and he dipped his head in your direction. Then he and his kind smile departed.

That wasn’t the last time you met Dr. Cullen.

Your paths crossed in all sorts of places: in the grocery store, he tapped you on the shoulder once to ask if you’d dropped a hundred dollar bill, and he urged you to keep it even once you’d told him it wasn’t yours; you saw him in your school’s science building, one day (He was there to speak to one of the professors, and he asked you if you had drunk any water recently.); and you even ran into him at the library. All incidents spaced out over weeks; not close enough together to really be coincidences worth thinking about. You figured that you had probably crossed paths just as much before meeting him, but only noticed now because you knew who he was.

Anyway, the two of you remained acquaintances. He was a nice man.

When someone slammed into your car, a few months later, he was the doctor who cared for you.

“A hit and run?” he murmured, tutting in displeasure as he moved a light across your eyes. “People should be more considerate, and careful with other people’s lives. You could have been seriously hurt.”

“They probably just made a mistake and were scared of the consequences,” you offered, because the doctor genuinely seemed somewhat upset. You were trying to assume the best about the other driver, because the alternative was getting angry about something you couldn’t change. You had barely even seen the car that had hit you. You just knew that it was some shade of yellow, and apparently much stronger than yours. “I wish we’d gotten to trade insurance information or something, though; my car is apparently totaled.” Despite your best efforts, your voice wavered.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Dr. Cullen said, and you were probably delirious, but something about the decisive way he said it made it seem, to you, as if he himself planned on helping you get your car fixed. “Follow the light with your eyes.”

You did.

“Have you...” The doctor seemed to choose his words carefully. “Have you called anyone, to let them know what happened, and that you’re alright?”

“No, I guess I haven’t. The ambulance got there so fast, I guess I didn’t have time to think about it.” You weren’t terribly concerned, though; if your relatives hadn’t been made aware of the crash, then they didn’t know to be worried yet. No need to call them now.

Dr. Cullen stilled at your words, though; the light in his hands shone in the spot between your eyes and did not move. It was as if he was deep in thought. No, as if he were at war with himself.

“Dr. Cullen?” you prompted.

He quickly smiled, setting down the light. “I think you should call them. Now, if you can. I would...just feel better if someone knew where you are, and that you’re alive.”

You called them (as awkward as that felt with the doctor right there in the room, patiently waiting), and Dr. Cullen seemed to relax.

Once you were released from the hospital, you went back to only seeing him every once in a while, around town.

Your car was mended seemingly overnight, under mysterious circumstances, and a part of you jokingly wondered if Dr. Cullen was some sort of fairy godmother, or guardian angel.

Then, another month after your accident, a stranger approached you while you were walking back from your last class of the evening.

“Hi,” the stranger greeted you, somewhat apologetically. She was shorter than you, with a lovely face and spiky black hair and a spritely disposition. “I’m Alice. I’m so sorry to bother you, but could you help me carry something to my car? It’s getting late, and I really don’t want to be here after dark.”

“Oh, sure,” you answered, feeling so at ease that you forgot every warning that would normally flood to your mind about the danger of following a stranger to her car. So at ease that your mind somehow just failed to observe the taller guy standing right next to Alice, well in your field of vision. You saw him, but you didn’t really think much of him.

You followed Alice to a bright yellow Porsche, and the shade of yellow stirred something in your memory, but you couldn’t say what; you were too busy looking for what you were supposed to be helping her lift.

A lovely woman with a long blond ponytail leaned against the car trunk, staring at something that she was holding in her hand, and there was a figure sitting inside the car, too; you couldn’t see them through the tinted windows, but you saw enough to be confused as to why you had been called here to help when it seemed Alice had many potential helpers, here.

Your panic, as you began to realize the ruse, had only just begun to climb when the blond woman suddenly moved, swift as a bird, behind you, and there was a hand over your mouth and a feeling like a pinch in the side of your neck.

The thing she was holding. It was a syringe.

The tall guy (the one you hadn’t thought much of, at first) moved to open the nearest door of the Porsche; he moved the passenger seat forward, to access the back row of seats.

“Wait, stop,” you slurred against the hand (the stunningly cold hand) over your mouth, as the woman who had syringed you began to maneuver you into the Porsche with surprising strength. You were already losing control of your limbs.

“This is officially the worst thing I’ve ever done,” the woman griped as she slid you carefully inside, then climbed in behind you. You were sandwiched between her and the person you’d seen through the tinted windows: a sulking young man with bronze hair. Four strangers total, and you were in the back seat of their car.

“Thank you, Rosalie, for your help,” Alice said resolutely. “Will you drive, Jazz?”

The tall one nodded, climbing into the driver’s seat while Alice occupied the passenger side.

You struggled to find your voice, or your fists, through the haze of sedative.

“It’s okay,” said the sulking young man at your side, in a surprisingly gentle voice. “I’m able to hear you, even if you can’t speak. I can read minds.”

“The human is still awake?” Rosalie said.

“Not for much longer, but yes. You have time to apologize.”

“Sorry about all this,” Rosalie said, gently nudging your mouth closed (as it had fallen open). “Don’t be scared; we just…have to bring you to Carlisle and Esme. They’re pretty great people, and they’ll treat you really well. And these guys were going to do it anyway, so I had to come and make sure things went smoothly. Alice and Jasper can’t even administer a shot; they probably would have chloroformed you or something-”

“Wouldn’t’ve had to,” said the tall guy in the driver’s seat- Jasper, apparently. “Could’ve just lightly flicked the back of their head at the right angle. Provided Alice checked the future to make sure we did it right.”

“…and didn’t cause a concussion, or worse,” the bronze-haired one deadpanned.

There was a brief silence. You were sinking against the self-proclaimed mind reader, unable to support your own weight. You were about to sleep. You actually wanted to sleep.

“Don’t worry, Rose,” Jasper added. “I’ve made sure the human isn’t afraid.”

You supposed you weren’t. Why weren’t you?

You fell asleep before you could figure it out.

…

You awoke to the sound of agitated voices, outside the (closed) door of a bedroom that was not your own.

You were in a bed, and it was obscenely soft and pleasant, but it wasn’t yours, and you weren’t home.

Where am I?

You felt weak, and tired. Heavy, confused. But you had to stay awake, and regain your wits, because you had been taken somewhere, and you didn’t know where or why. There was a window across the room. It was nighttime outside the window. Maybe if you could make it over there, you could climb out and run for it, but you didn’t yet have the strength to even get the bedcovers off of you.

“Because it’s been awful to watch how badly it affects you to be away from your mate,” one of the voices outside the door was saying. “All five of us agreed, and we never agree on anything!”

“And it’s not like it wouldn’t have happened eventually,” another voice agreed. “Just like with Esme.”

“Exactly! You were only prolonging your own suffering, for no reason.”

There was a sigh, and a familiar voice said, “Are you all finished?” It was Dr. Cullen; that much you knew, even though you had never heard him sound so tired.

“We did it for you, because you deserve happiness.”

“And now that Esme has seen them, there is no way to undo it, is there?” Dr. Cullen asked rhetorically. “Edward, is the human awake?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll bring some food up, Carlisle,” an entirely new voice suggested. “The children have been…underhanded, today, but there’s no reason we shouldn’t make the best of it.”

“It was for the best.” (Your head was clear enough, now, that you recognized this unabashed voice as belonging to Alice.) “You’ll see.”

Footsteps approached the door, and shortly a woman entered the room. She was soft-looking, with caramel brown hair, and she held a dinner plate in her hands.

“Good evening,” she said, soberly. Sitting on the edge of your bed while you struggled to sit up. “I’m so sorry the kids did this; we didn’t ask them to, but they thought they were doing us a service. I’m Esme Cullen, Dr. Cullen’s wife. Here: eat something.”

You ate a forkful of pasta only because it was too close to your mouth to refuse. “Why ‘m I here?” you asked hoarsely. “Take me home.” Another forkful slid into your mouth.

“I’m very sorry,” Esme said. “I’m so, so sorry, but you see…the trouble is…” Her eyes scanned over you, and she smiled a seemingly involuntary smile and didn’t finish her sentence. As if looking at you was simply a much better use of her time.

“I want to go home,” you said.

Esme sighed, pressing her lips together contritely. “The trouble is, I can’t bear to relinquish someone who is so important to Carlisle, and Carlisle can’t bear to relinquish someone who is so important to me. I promise you, though, we will make it up to you.” She fed you more pasta.

It tasted delicious, but that did nothing to assuage your terror. “You don’t even know me. What do you mean, I’m important to you?”

Esme clicked her tongue softly and rhythmically against the roof of her mouth, as if to soothe. “Carlisle can explain that better than I. But rest assured, everything is going to be alright.”

Your skin crawled, at the dissonant cordiality. “Where is Dr. Cullen?”

You heard a flutter of what could have been footsteps, if people were capable of moving that fast. Then, the bedroom door opened again and Dr. Cullen entered.

“Hello again, dear heart,” he greeted you, and his demeanor was about the same as it was in public, or in the hospital. Respectful, polite. Maybe just a bit...off. Too much of something, maybe too polite and kind for the circumstances. “I’m terribly sorry about all of this.”

The apologies were making this worse. “You don’t have to be sorry,” you said. “Just please take me home.”

“I can’t do that, angel,” he sighed. He did appear sorry, but not as sorry as he should have. “But I can explain everything to you now.”

He sat down on the other side of the bed, opposite Esme, who was still feeding you. And he did explain everything, in such expansive detail that you fell back asleep before he even got to the part about mates.

…

“You can pretend with them, but not with me.” The voice was quiet, and not so much accusatory (despite the pointedness of his words) as reminding.

“I know that, son.” Dr. Cullen sounded positively serene.

“You knew how much time you were spending with Jasper, in your saddened state.”

“Yes.”

“You knew that we would do this.”

“I…suspected.”

“You meant for us to do this.”

“That’s enough, I think. Thank you.”

Silence fell.

You opened your eyes just a crack. The pillow beneath your face was awash with yellow light; the sun had risen, since last you’d fallen asleep. None of it had been a dream. You were still trapped in a house with these people who thought they were vampires. You closed your eyes again. The two voices had been speaking from the direction you were facing: Dr. Cullen at your level, perhaps in a chair at your bedside; and the other above, as if standing.

“One month,” the first voice suddenly added, and you weren’t sure what it was in reference to. It was as if an inaudible question was being answered.

“That’s her optimistic guess, or her pessimistic?” Dr. Cullen inquired.

“If all goes well, it will be one month. Poorly, and the longest she’s seen is three months.”

“Well, that is good to hear. I’ve waited much longer with hope for much less.”

“I know.”

You turned over, so that your back was to them, and began to open your eyes again, but then you heard Dr. Cullen rise from his seat, take up the chair, and move around the foot of the bed. You kept your eyes shut as he set his chair down on the new side and sat in it once more. He did all of this matter-of-factly, as if he’d changed sides every time you’d turned over during the night.

The thought of anyone wanting to see your face that badly made you shiver a bit.

“Awake?” Dr. Cullen inquired casually. You didn’t hear an answer, but the other man must have nodded, because Dr. Cullen continued, “Good. Esme will be done with breakfast soon. She’s so happy to be cooking again.”

“Jasper is in the kitchen with her,” the other said, as if that was a related statement somehow. “I’m going hunting. Good luck.”

You weren’t sure why, but you felt as if he was talking to you as much as Dr. Cullen.

#yandere twilight #not harry potter #yandere carlisle cullen #yandere esme cullen #male yandere #female yandere #obsession #stalker #twilight fanfiction

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dreamystuffers · 4 years

Text

drive it forward - lyy

summary: of course the job would never be easy but what kind of idiot dribbles a basketball in the room above yours and then gets pissed about a complaint?

genre: fluff, comedy, nba bubble au, e2l, reporter!reader x basketball player!yangyang

word count: 8.5k words

warnings: profanity, suggestive lines, covid-19 (no one gets it in this fic but like it’s important), not historically accurate? (i tried to follow the actual bubble timeline but i do not have it in me to ensure it’s correct :3), kissing, very rushed character development

note: i had to reupload this cause tumblr deleted it T^T also i have very minimal basketball knowledge. I am also bad at it. If you need to learn how to shoot a basketball, don’t use this fic I just looked on wikihow. also a big thank you to my irl best friend for helping me work out the plot (she’ll never see this but ily) and also @ceruleanskies for helping me with the free-throw scene and @ezralia-writes for beta reading! also for context, the nba season for the end of 2020 was moved to disney world where a bunch of nba players were just vibing playing basketball i guess

part of @leesmrk‘s sports collaboration

From the moment you published your first article, you knew that reporting was your calling. After a year of being the head editor of your high school’s newspaper and getting accepted to all your top college choices, it was inevitable that you would land a position as a reporter at one of the most reputable magazines in your area after you graduated. However, you never would have anticipated the lack of recognition you received.

This is precisely why you’re extremely shocked when the head editor—your boss, Kim Doyoung—calls you at 10:30 pm on a Thursday night, telling you to pack enough clothes to last you several months in Florida.

“What do you mean I’m being sent to the NBA bubble?” You question slowly, trying to process whether or not you misheard him.

“It means we don’t have many young, single reporters that are willing to jet off to another state at a moment’s notice, so we’re sending you.” Doyoung deadpans in return, the clicking of his keyboard keys very much audible from his end of the line. “We’ll cover all the accommodations and other necessities so long as you agree.”

While this is an amazing opportunity for you, you can’t help but internally scream at how harshly said opportunity was delivered. However, as a struggling reporter and an idiot dying for an opportunity, you push away your pride and plaster a smile onto your face.

“Amazing. When’s my flight?”

It takes approximately 24 hours, one poorly socially distanced flight, three absurdly large luggages, and two q-tips shoved uncomfortably high into your nose for you to finally settle into your hotel room in the NBA bubble situated at Disney World, Florida. As taxing as it may have been physically, you were more than glad to discover that your bed was extremely comfortable with an abundance of pillows. After all, the resort you were staying in was also hosting some of the best players in the NBA.

You make a quick job of washing up and unpacking the bare necessities you brought along with you before pulling open your laptop to prepare some research and interview questions for tomorrow. While Doyoung had been unclear as to what specifically you were expected to do within the bubble, you figured it wouldn't hurt to get a head start. It wasn't like you had an awful lot of research to do anyway. While you may not be a die-hard basketball fan, you were definitely somewhere close, actively keeping up with a few players on some teams that managed to catch your eye. Reading off some of your colleagues’ articles, you're quickly able to gather some information on more notable players here in the bubble.

It's only after an hour of hard work that a thumping noise suddenly resonates through the ceiling of your hotel room.

"What the-"

The thumping noise continues but now at a steadier pace. Sighing deeply, you reach into your bag to pull out a pair of headphones and set your Spotify playlist to shuffle. Somehow, you're still able to hear the dribbling noise through your headphones, although now more subdued, but still irritating.

You do your best to continue from where you left off for a couple of minutes before the dribbling suddenly gets faster, the noise incessantly drilling into your ears.

"Oh my fucking god, what kind of idiot decides it's a good idea to dribble in a hotel room at midnight." You pull your headphones off and place them onto your desk before reaching over to your nightstand for the telephone.

Quickly inputting the number for the front desk, you put the cream coloured phone to your ear and listen to the ringback tone.

"Hello!" The receptionist's voice seems much too chirpy for anyone awake and working at midnight. "What can I do for you today?"

"Yeah hi. I'm staying in suite 437 and there's someone dribbling in the room above mine. Would it be possible for the hotel to send someone to tell them to stop?"

"Yes of course! Our apologies for the inconvenience."

The call ends shortly after and you flop into the bed, the sound of the ball still pounding away from the ceiling. It takes a couple minutes for the thumping to finally stop. You move to turn off the lights and your laptop, feeling the fatigue from the long day you had starts to hit you.

A yawn escapes you as you crawl under the covers of your bed, sighing as your head hits the pillow. The shrill sound of the ringing phone pierces through your sleep clouded mind. Of course, it has to ring just as you're about to fall asleep. The universe truly works in funny ways.

"Hello?" Your words come out more slurred than you intended but you could care less at this hour.

"Yes, hello. My name is Qian Kun, head coach of the Portland Trail Blazers. I believe you're the reporter from NeoMag staying in room 437? I'd like to apologize for the noise you were receiving earlier. We'll be sending Liu Yangyang to apologize to you in the morning."

Liu Yangyang? Your eyes widen as you bolt upright in your bed.

"Oh yes, sure. Thank you. I'll see you on the court tomorrow."

You end the call much too abruptly for it to be deemed polite and maybe you'd care a bit more if you hadn't just reported Liu Yangyang.

Third pick in the 2019 draft and currently one of the top contenders for rookie of the year, one of the starting small forwards (which was a feat in itself considering how rare it was for rookies to get any sort of starting positions), and most importantly, one of your favourite players in the NBA at the moment. Liu Yangyang was one of the players to look out for in any game. However, there was one thing that confused you about him. It's not that you found him cute when you first saw him in the draft pick—although you did—it's that with his record of donating to charities and volunteering at organizations, why on earth would he be dribbling in a hotel room? Wouldn’t he be a bit more considerate than this?

You simply don't have the energy to entertain your thoughts any more tonight as you yawn deeply and drop back into your previous position under the covers.

Perhaps you'd find out tomorrow.

It's around noon when you get a text from the medical team that your violent q-tip endeavours have provided you with negative COVID-19 tests, allowing you to freely roam the expanse of the NBA bubble. After washing up and transferring your night's worth of research onto your phone, you grab a mask alongside your normal things. While it wasn't necessary for anyone to wear a mask in the bubble—especially given that everyone was being tested regularly—you weren’t quite sure what the typical norms were in the bubble. It’s a learning experience.

The ESPN Wide World of Sports Complex was not at all attached to the hotel you're staying in, but the walk from the hotel to the complex isn't very far. It's almost eerie as you walk through Disney world; the once massively massively overcrowded walkways and long lines now replaced with silence and a few stragglers all here for the NBA. You'd visited Disney World last year with your friends for a birthday party and the hour-long waits had been excruciating. Now, only masked strangers greet you as you make your way towards the sports complex.

Walking hastily, you slip through the automatic doors of the main arena in no time, stopping by the temperature checking machine before pushing open the doors to the basketball court. Unsurprisingly, there are already teams running drills and you stand off to the side as you remove the lens cap of your DSLR to take a few photos for your article.

You’re barely paying attention when Yangyang approaches you. Most definitely not out of his own free will if his coach standing within listening distance staring at him says anything about it.

“Hi, I’m Yangyang.” Contrary to interview videos of him, his tone is flat and body language tense.

“I know.”

Your reply comes much too fast and makes a player you recognize to be Hendery snicker to the side.

Yangyang rolls his eyes at your response before shooting you a tense smile.

“Just wanted to say I’m sorry about last night. Won’t happen again.” His eyes aren’t even looking in your direction, instead off to the side at the drills his teammates are running.

Liu Yangyang. You’ve read tons of articles about him and even watched several of his interviews. When you’d seen him play at some of the games earlier this season he was the star of the show.

No amount of research or interviews could’ve prepared you for the half-assed apology you just received.

“Okay cool,” Part of you hopes your tone came off as insincerely as he did. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

Yangyang’s scoff is very much audible as he mutters something that sounds more like an insult than a noise of agreement before he turns on his heel and jogs off to do drills with the rest of his team.

Letting out a deep sigh, you see Hendery throw you a quick shrug and salute before jogging off after his friend.

Even though you knew some people were different on and off camera, it's baffling to see how someone you considered to be a nice person could be such an asshole.

"Sorry about that," Another boy says from behind you.

His breathing is heavy and there's a slight gleam of sweat on his forehead. You shoot him a strained smile before looking down at his jersey.

"I'm Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul but people call me Ten. I play for the Toronto Raptors but I'm sure you've figured that out already." He gestures down to the black jersey you were already staring at and you set your gaze to meet his instead.

"It's fine. There's no point in apologizing for things that weren't your fault anyway. I'm ___." You stick out your hand to shake his and wince slightly at the sweat coating his own.

"I guess, but Yangyang was just extra pissy today since he had to go back into quarantine after he accidentally left the bubble to pick up the chicken nuggets he ubered. Really killed his vibe you know?"

It would be a lie if you said that you didn't feel bad at all, but Yangyang really dug his own grave with that one.

"Just know he isn't always like this. He's actually a pretty nice guy."

At this point, you feel as if you’d need hours of unreleased video evidence to believe Ten's words but for the sake of being civil, you try to take his word for it.

"Well I'd sure hope one of my favourite players isn't actually a total asshole but it be like that."

You swear you can practically hear the gears grinding in Ten's head as he smirks at you. If time travel was a thing and it could make the you from five seconds ago shut up, you probably would.

"That's very interesting. I'll keep that in mind." Slyly, he shoots you a wink before giving you a quick slap on the shoulder. "Nice talk ___. Looking forward to that interview in a couple of days."

"Interview?” You call out from your spot on the sidelines. “What interview?"

The words don't quite reach Ten's ears as he jogs off and away, leaving you extremely confused and even more stressed than when you first stepped onto the court.

The aforementioned interview is only discussed with you hours later via a very brief phone call with a busy Kim Doyoung. He does nothing but inform you that a formal interview has been booked with a few of the more popular rookie players in the bubble scheduled to take place in two days.

“A bit more direction would’ve been nice.” You sigh as you recall him telling you to write ‘something that would appeal to fans’. Very helpful.

You spend the next couple of days researching off on the side of the court, juggling between typing up questions, Twitter queries, and taking photos of the different teams on the court.

You typically avoided going on Twitter unless your job required it. Nothing quite beats going on that stupid bird app and seeing hundreds of thousands of random thirst tweets from fans around the world. You've done your best to take Ten's words into consideration: that people have bad days and that your first encounter with Yangyang wasn't a reflection of his true self. That in no way stops you from complaining about the sheer amount of idiotic comments on social media, especially as you add some last minute questions to your document for your interview in a couple of minutes. Internally, you feel like that TikTok of Daniel Dae Kim’s son watching his dad read thirst tweets. You do your best not to gag as you scroll through your Twitter searches, actively speed scrolling past thirst Tweets and jotting down a few more questions you can find centred around Yangyang’s ability. Honestly, there are so many questions for him that you'd probably have enough for a solo interview with the rookie himself and maybe a more Yangyang focused team interview.

"This fucking sucks." You mumble to yourself as you pick up your camera to set onto the tripod, only to be greeted by an unwanted close up of Ten’s face.

"What fucking sucks?" Chirps Ten making you scream slightly.

You apologize impishly to the other people glaring at you from outside the interview room which makes another player by Ten's side laugh.

"I was going to say Twitter but now I'll say you." The pout on your face does nothing but make Ten laugh as he nudges the boy next to him.

"Ah right, I'm Wong Yukhei but I guess you can call me Lucas." He giggles and shoots you a thumbs-up.

"Fourteenth pick in the 2019 draft and traded to the LA Clippers near the end of the season right? Plus you shot a really funky shot during last year's dunk contest that went viral." You ramble before shooting him a thumbs-up back. "I'm ____."

Ten shoots you a weird look while Yukhei only seems amused, giggling loudly at your description.

“Yup, that’s me!”

"Anyways,” Ten butts in, giving you a cheshire-esque smile. “Are you perhaps miserable because Twitter's full of thirst tweets for a certain Liu Yangyang?"

You purse your lips and exhale sharply as you glare at Ten. Even though you're aware that he’s correct, it takes a lot of self-restraint for you to avoid smacking him.

"It's a bit difficult to do research on what people want to hear when all I can see is people asking Yangyang to step on them." You deadpan making the two boys erupt into another round of laughter as a few of the rookies file in.

Watching the players scramble before finally taking a seat is a strange sight. Although, any sight involving several tall men arguing over who should sit in which seat is a strange sight. Aside from Ten and Yukhei, you’re also interviewing Yangyang, Xiaojun, and Hendery. You go through the awkward introductions and move towards your camera.

"Okay let's get started." You say once all the boys have settled in, setting your camera to record. "You're all rookies with around three years of experience. What're some of the most memorable things you've learned so far?"

"Well-" "I've learned that dribbling a basketball in a hotel room in the bubble will get a snitch on your ass and a massive scolding from coach." Deadpans Yangyang, effectively cutting off Yukhei's sentence and earning him a smack from another player you recognize to be Xiaojun. One thing you were always told in school was to do a better job of controlling your emotions when interviewing assholes.

It was just unfortunate that Yangyang turned out to be one of those assholes.

"Great." You reply after a beat, doing your best to maintain a pleasant expression. Ten shoots you an apologetic look while you direct your attention to Yukhei who seems a bit too cheesed to continue his answer.

It's unfortunate to say that the vast majority of your interview continues in that manner, but it does. While you did get enough decent answers from the other players (and maybe one from Yangyang) to write a decent article, he'd truly taken every possible opportunity to make some sort of backhanded comments towards you. While you did try your best to stay calm and polite, it was extremely difficult given the shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Ten simply gives you a comforting pat on the back as he practically drags Yangyang out of the interview room, the rest of the boys looking equally as sorry as Ten.

You will yourself to remember their sorry expressions that night as you do your best to draft a neutral paper that portrays the boys in a good light.

Maybe someone would even edit the interview to make it sound better or upload video clips that highlighted their personalities.

Only time would tell.

You're not quite too sure if you want to hug or fight the editor back at the office that woke up and chose violence today. While it wasn't uncommon for your magazine to receive a lot of attention, the amount of crazy Twitter stans blowing up your notifications was.

Occasionally, NeoMag would upload certain clips from the interviews (although typically, the videos were just used for quotes), but you were definitely surprised this morning when you woke up to all the clips of you and Yangyang not-very-subtly snarking at each other from last week being shared all over your Twitter feed.

"Oh my god," You groan as you look through your notifications.

An incoming call from Doyoung interrupts your pity party and you take a moment to recompose yourself before picking up the phone.

"Hi Doyoung!" You will every fibre of your being to sound more enthusiastic than you feel.

"Your interview was a mess, " He deadpans into the phone making you sob internally. "But, people seem to enjoy drama, so we've scheduled another interview for you: one on one with Yangyang."

Whatever false enthusiasm you'd previously mustered dies instantly and you're considering all potential ways to tell your boss you'd rather get fouled by Shaquille O'Neal hundreds of times over than let him exploit whatever stupid rivalry it is that you have with Yangyang.

"Great," You say instead, plastering a smile onto your face. "Looking forward to it."

Yangyang's not quite sure who decided to book a second interview but as he watches Kun stride alarmingly fast towards him, it's glaringly obvious that he's about to get his ass beat.

"Liu Yangyang are you stupid or insane?" Seethes Kun as he smacks the rookie's head.

While Yangyang had seen people get on Kun's bad side, he'd never been on the receiving end of it before. Until now, that is.

He wouldn't recommend the experience.

"Ouch," Yangyang whines as he rubs his head. "Isn't it like illegal for my coach to hit me?"

Kun simply ignores his complaints, opting to continue nagging Yangyang instead.

"You'd better be on your best behaviour during your next interview with ___. I don't know what's gotten into you but if you don't clear up this attitude you've had lately, I'll bench you until the playoffs. Are we clear?"

Honestly, Yangyang doesn't quite know what's gotten into him either but he knows the bench is not where he wants to be. As deep into this as he might be, there's no way he's letting decades worth of work go to waste over some petty feud. Definitely not the way he wanted to go.

Straightening his posture, Yangyang flashes Kun an innocent smile before replying.

"Crystal."

He watches his coach huff and stomp away making him wonder to himself if he's perhaps taken this too far.

Honestly speaking, you've never been the most civil person ever. That's why when you end up back in the interviewing room the following week, it's safe to say that today, you were the one that woke up and chose violence.

Sometimes, you just have to fight fire with fire.

"All good Yangyang?" You ask exasperatedly, waiting for his signal to turn on the recording.

He nods solemnly and you shoot him a tight-lipped smile before clicking the recording button. It's quite obvious that he doesn't want to be here, his tense posture and smile glaring indicators.

"So to start, I have a few questions from some fans on Twitter."

Yangyang makes a noise of acknowledgement and even has the decency to shoot the camera a nice smile.

"Cool. What do you typically carry around in your sports bag that would surprise people?"

He pauses for a moment, having the nerve to even look slightly embarrassed.

"Um, I have this stuffed sheep keychain on my bag's zipper that Ten gave to me in college as a good luck charm."

The only thing that could've possibly surprised you more than Yangyang answering the question civilly would be the answer to his question. Maybe you're another victim of those terrible prank shows. At this rate, you're expecting Hendery to pop out of a box and throw Gatorade all over you.

"You and Ten went to college together?" You ask, surprise evident in your tone as you scan the room for any objects large enough to fit a grown 5'11 man holding a tank of Gatorade in it.

"Yeah," Yangyang flashes you a smile and giggles slightly; something that would've knocked the wind out of you and made your cheeks heat wildly before you entered the bubble. "He's one of my closest friends."

Instead, your face only heats up slightly and you look back down at your questions to avoid his stare.

"Very cool. It's interesting to see how different the two of you are personality-wise and how you two can still be great friends."

Yangyang's smile quickly turns into a frown.

"What's that supposed to mean-"

"So the next question is how do you like to relieve stress?" You look up from your prepared questions to meet Yangyang's angry gaze. "I'd assume it has something to do with basketball since you seem to dribble wherever whenever?"

It's almost comical how Yangyang's eye twitches as he shoots you a strained smile before answering.

"Yeah, I really love dribbling. It helps me relieve stress and improve my game. Maybe you should try it sometime."

The rest of the interview proceeds in a similar manner with you asking questions, taking a dig at Yangyang, and him doing his best to stay civil which doesn't work out that well.

It's not until around a week later when your article's been published in the latest issue of the magazine that Yangyang remembers the visual aspect of magazines and the fact that you were in charge of your own article.

"I can't believe ___ managed to write an article that makes you look like a decent human being and published it with those ugly ass pictures." Ten cackles as he watches Yangyang stare at his photos with mild horror.

While you'd done your best to portray the boys in their best light during the group rookie interview, you'd decided to be slightly less professional with this one, publishing an article that included some of your banter and some of the worst pictures of himself that he'd seen in his life.

It hadn't been difficult for you to find terrible photos of Yangyang. One of the occupational hazards of being an athlete meant that it was extremely difficult to take flattering action shots but it was extremely easy to find unflattering photos of the players. You'd purposely filtered through the basketball shots you'd gotten so far and picked out all the worst pictures of Yangyang for use in this article.

"I just can't believe ____ managed to get them to publish the article with the photos like that, " Giggles Ten as he slaps Yangyang on the back. "They're good quality too, you just look like shit."

The younger can only sigh deeply as he looks at the article with a sense of despair. Maybe now that you'd evened the playing field, things would get better from here on out.

To some extent, it was arguable that life was better in the bubble because you'd regained some sense of normalcy.

Since everyone in the bubble was getting tested regularly—your sore nostrils being a big indicator—everyone is guaranteed to be corona free. This also means that everyone's free to go wild without much social distancing and masks.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to be inviting me to a party?" You twiddle your fingers and watch as Ten rummages through your suitcase for appropriate attire.

"Of course!" He pauses his ransacking for a moment to redivert his attention back to you. "The only benefit of being stuck in this bubble is that we can go crazy stupid but safe crazy stupid."

With that said, he manages to fish out an outfit that he deems party appropriate and launches it at you from across the room. You catch it unceremoniously and Ten makes his way to the door.

"See you at Gran Destino in an hour."

He sends you a wink before stepping out quickly.

The NBA bubble has three different hotels for everyone to stay in; the most luxurious one being Gran Destino Tower. Teams within the top four seeds in each conference are staying in that hotel, hence, why Ten—who's on the Toronto Raptors—is able to host a party of this extent.

It's admittedly terrifying to step into a location where anything you touch is worth around a week of your pay but you don't get much time to stare at the decor before you reach the lounge area.

"Oh hey, you made it!" Says one of the boys.

You recognize him to be Winwin, one of the more experienced Raptors players. Looking down, you notice his ankle is wrapped and you grimace slightly remembering the injury he had sustained from a practice slightly earlier before the season.

There were a lot of players who had decided to come and join the bubble despite their injuries. You supposed it had to do with team spirit but some other players have mentioned that they enjoy the environment here.

You see Ten trailing behind him and you smile at the both of them.

"Yeah, thanks for inviting me." You settle a few feet away from the boys, unsure how socially distanced they'd prefer to be, only to have Ten walk right next to you to wrap an arm around your shoulder.

"Winwin here was wondering whether or not you'd show up after your very interesting article on Yangyang."

You have the decency to be at least slightly embarrassed at his words which only makes them laugh.

"Don't worry," Ten pats you on the back. "After the way he was acting towards you, he kinda deserved it."

"Speak of the devil." Winwin laughs as he waves at Yangyang who just walked in.

The younger boy smiles brightly at his friends and waves as he approaches them.

"Hey guys!"

It's undeniable that his nicely fitted black button-up shirt and jeans are doing something to your head. Especially with the leather jacket he has on. Terrible. You will yourself to stop staring at him and turn to face Ten instead.

"Since you two just got here, and so did the wings I ordered, would you two mind grabbing the Uber Eats from outside." Ten smiles devilishly at Yangyang. "Unless you think you're going to send yourself back into quarantine."

Yangyang glares at Ten making you suppress a laugh.

"I'm down, " You say, pushing your phone into your jacket pocket, pulling out a mask in its place.

Yangyang rolls his eyes, shoving his hand into his jacket pocket to grab a mask as well.

"I'm down too."

"I'll go with them," Winwin says grabbing his jacket. "There's probably a lot of food anyway."

You know for a fact that no matter how much food there is, it could easily be held between you and Yangyang. Winwin's just trying to avoid having the bubble become a crime scene for a potential murder.

The three of you head out the door moments later, Yangyang confidently striding towards the entrance where said Uber delivery person should be.

"So is there like a line marking the boundary or something?" You couldn't quite remember seeing anything like that on your way into the bubble.

"Nope," Says Yangyang. "There's just a sensor or something. They kinda trust we won't do anything stupid anymore but Ten loves his Wild Wings."

You hear Winwin sigh deeply at this and chuckle.

Admittedly, you're not quite too sure what happened after that. All you remember is you and Yangyang walking to grab the boxes of chicken and passing them to Winwin before you and Yangyang are escorted to an isolation unit.

"You're telling me you accidentally left the bubble twice." You can hear Kun practically screeching from Yangyang's cell phone across the room. "I have half the mind to bench you for the next playoff game if the league doesn't make the call first."

"Oh no," Yangyang makes some questionable noises with his mouth. "The reception's bad gotta go!"

You can barely contain your laughter as you watch Yangyang hastily hang up the call and slide his phone back into his pocket.

His shoulders slump as he breathes a loud sigh and turns dejectedly towards you.

"I'm really sorry-"

"It's fine. Neither of us knew-"

"No, I mean I'm sorry for everything." He scoots his folding chair a bit closer to you. "I've been stressed lately and really had no right to take it out on you. I should've apologized properly the first time but I didn't. Now I've got you stuck in quarantine too."

"It's okay. Really." You smile at Yangyang and flash him an awkward thumbs up. "It happens to the best of us. We're just lucky Winwin didn't cross the boundary so he wasn't quarantined. Ten would've been pissed."

Yangyang smiles at this and sticks out his hand.

"Let's start over properly. I'm Liu Yangyang, one of the starting small forwards for the Portland Trail Blazers. You seem cool and witty and despite the fact that you published those god awful pictures of me in your latest article, I think we'd be good friends."

You snort at his introduction but reach out to shake his hand.

"_____. Rookie reporter for NeoMag and a huge fan of basketball and one Liu Yangyang."

"Oh shit really?" Yangyang's eyes practically sparkle at this and you feel your heart flip slightly.

"Yeah," You admit sheepishly. "You're one of the best players I've seen in a while."

And also one of the cutest, but you'd never admit that.

"I must've really given you a bad first impression then." Yangyang scratches his head awkwardly making you laugh.

"Yeah, maybe a little bit."

It's funny how well the two of you get along, the extra aggressive q-tip testing almost a bonding experience for the both of you. A new chapter in your bubble adventure.

You and Yangyang are forced to quarantine for the next 10 days, most of which you spend yelling at each other from your respective balconies and video calling. This does, unfortunately, mean that Yangyang has to miss the rest of his pre-playoff games and three playoff games but he's kind enough to avoid dribbling in his hotel room again. Aside from your interview with Yangyang and the other rookies, you did manage to get in enough tidbits from other players during your time near the court to write another article or two.

"You know they're letting us invite guests for playoffs?" Yangyang says one night over Zoom as you continue to work on an article.

"Yeah, I read something about that." You drag the small window of Yangyang to the corner closest to where your eyes are focused for work. "Are you planning on inviting someone? Significant other maybe?"

Your teasing tone only elicits a groan from Yangyang who seems a bit dejected.

"Firstly I am a sad single Pringle—an unfortunate downside to my occupation where I have to constantly travel and practice—and secondly, my family is in Germany and most of my friends in America are part of the NBA."

"Germany?" You echo, trying to recall any information that you read about his past.

"Yeah. I was born in Taiwan and then my family moved to Germany when my dad got a job offer so my passport-" Yangyang rummages through his desk before pulling out a small burgundy red passport from his desk. "Is German. Pretty cool right?"

"Yeah," You can't help but notice how cute he looks, even with his messy hair and face slightly pixelated from the webcam, he smiles cutely at you. "Pretty cool."

"So tell me more about yourself." Puts away his passport and props his head onto his hand. "You're always asking me all the questions in interviews and I know practically nothing about you."

"Well, there's not much to know." You maximize Yangyang's Zoom window, watching as his face fills the screen of your laptop.

"Of course there are things to know! We can switch roles for today." Yangyang types something into his laptop quickly before sharing his screen.

"Twenty questions to get to know someone better? Really?"

Yangyang can't help but laugh at how appalled you look. You suppose after working with professionals in the industry for a while, it's easy to get taken aback by things like this.

"Come on, it'll be fun!"

You watch the screen scroll down to the first question.

"What's your favourite animal?"

"Isn't this question kind of lame?" You question making Yangyang pout.

"Just let me get to know you better." He whines making you laugh.

"Okay, alpacas."

"Why?" Yangyang tilts his head slightly.

"Because they're cute and fluffy." You pull up a picture of an alpaca you have saved on your phone. "See, look."

Yangyang squints at his screen, the webcam adjusting a few seconds later to focus better on your phone screen. "Wait, then why not sheep. They're also soft and fluffy."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Doesn't your name mean 'sheep sheep' in Chinese?"

"Okay, next question," Yangyang says quickly, hoping you don't notice the way his cheeks turn slightly red. "What's your favourite way to spend a day off?"

"That question doesn't apply since I'm always on the job, " You reply almost instantly, sighing put your face in your hands. "It's been a while since I got a day off and even when I have one, I'm still looking for work to do. The pandemic left me with too little work and now that I'm here I still feel like I'm not getting enough work. My boss is kind of a hard ass and I guess I haven't proven myself to him yet."

Yangyang frowns at your words as you continue.

"Even getting sent here felt like I was some sort of second option. Another rookie to drive it forward with no loss. My boss literally said I was being sent since I'm 'young and single so I can afford to drop everything and go to the bubble'."

"You know, as a rookie myself, I totally get that." Yangyang inhales sharply before continuing. "Did I ever tell you why I was extra pissy after you reported me?"

You shake your head and Yangyang shoots you a sad smile.

"I was third pick, but I'm sure you already knew that." You smile impishly at him. "Being third pick, I thought that'd mean I'd get more time on the court and more opportunities to improve my playing but I feel like I'm just being complacent. It's like the team's happy with how I'm playing now so they don't push me to do any better, but I want to get better. I joined the NBA because it's where all the best players are and I want to learn from them but instead, I have some pressure to do well with practically no guidance. Even though I'm doing well right now, I feel like everyone's waiting for me to slip up. I didn't even realize you were there that night since I'd been dribbling in my room for a while. If I'd known, I wouldn't have done it but after having Kun chew my ear off about it in the morning-"

"Yangyang, it's okay." You hold up a hand as you cut off his sentence. "It really just is what it is and at the end of the day, we're all doing our best to get through life. Besides, I'd like to think we're friends now. Friends that get q-tips violently shoved up their nose because of chicken, stay together right?"

"Right."

Your words resonate in his head through the rest of the week and Yangyang can't help but wonder if he wants to stay just friends with you. Something about the idea of remaining complacent with your current relationship didn't sit right with him.

You and Yangyang are cleared to return to the court as quickly as the league policy would allow, meaning Yangyang was getting ready to go for his first playoff game this afternoon.

"A little birdy told me that you and Yangyang were talking during your quarantine period." Sings Ten as he slings an arm around your shoulders making you jump.

You could never quite understand how you never noticed Ten approaching you on the court. He was dressed in casual attire, his team having played their third playoff game yesterday afternoon, which you watched on a livestream while Yangyang called all the holes in their plays through Zoom.

"Jeez, do you ever make noise when you walk?" You whine as you move to hug the boy. "And yes, we've been talking."

Ten smiles softly at you.

"See, told you he's a good guy."

You roll your eyes and let out a short laugh.

"Yeah, he's not bad." You turn to look at Yangyang who's running some drills with Xiaojun. He notices you looking their way and shoots you a wave before grabbing the other boy and heading towards you and Ten. "But how'd you figure out we're talking?"

"Well Xiaojun sent me videos of Yangyang rapping Eminem off the balcony to you and Yangyang would not shut up about how cu-"

Ten never gets to finish his sentence as Yangyang claps his hand over the older boy's mouth before smiling innocently at you.

"Hey ___! Nice to see you in front of me and not from my laptop or my balcony."

He removes his hand from Ten's mouth, instead moving to envelop you in a hug. It's an unfamiliar feeling having Yangyang's arms around you, although not unwelcome. The smell of cologne and bubblegum fills your senses and you feel yourself fall into his embrace.

Xiaojun awkwardly clears his throat as Ten simply smirks at the two of you together. Flustered, you pull away from Yangyang and fiddle with the camera around your neck.

"Nice to see you too." Your voice comes out smaller than you expect and you feel your cheeks get hot.

"You two will be cheering for us while we play right?" Yangyang smiles at both you and Ten.

"Yup," Ten replies, making a basketball shooting gesture with his hands. "You'd better shoot a triple-double today!"

"Against the Lakers? Unlikely" Scoffs Xiaojun as he turns to look at the other team.

The Lakers were predicted to win the playoffs this year so you could see why Xiaojun was so dejected. Even when you'd spoken with some of the other players, it seemed unlikely that the Trail Blazers would progress all the way to the finals. Plus, Yangyang's team had also lost two of the three games he'd missed so far. Statistically, it wasn't very likely that the Trail Blazers would make it much further in the playoffs.

"Xiaojun, Yangyang!" Kun's call motions for the two to head over, the giant scoreboard above the court signalling around fifteen minutes till the game starts.

"Good luck!" You manage to call out.

You and Ten find a spot in the section reserved for staff and guests to watch the game.

Despite the fact that you've seen Yangyang play in person a couple of times in the bubble and before the pandemic, he never fails to impress you. He handles the ball as if he's had years of playing professionally and is able to read the opposing player's movements well. You snap several pictures for your article that afternoon, much to your satisfaction, only noticing later while reviewing the pictures that out of the nearly 500 photos you'd taken during the game, around a hundred of them had been of Yangyang. You don't mention it to Yangyang who comes to your room later the next day to complain about his team's second loss.

"I could've totally scored more points if they hadn't set me up for so many fouls." Pouts Yangyang as he eats some of the room service fries the two of you ordered earlier.

"Learn how to shoot better threes and then we can talk." You tease, making Yangyang gape at you.

"Do you even know how to shoot a basketball? Oh my god, let's go." Yangyang pulls you up from your chair and throws a sweater at you.

"Where are we going?" You ask, saving your files before closing your laptop.

Yangyang grabs his jacket before shooting you a smile.

"I'm gonna show you how hard it is to shoot a three-pointer."

Admittedly, you've never been the most athletic person ever but you hadn’t anticipated just how bad you were at basketball.

“No offence but I don’t think you had any right insulting my three-point shooting ability,” Yangyang watches as another airball rolls past his feet. “You’re literally at the free-throw line.”

Yangyang had insisted you start from the easiest place to shoot first, which you’d argued was right next to the basket but he’d argued you may as well learn how to do layups if you wanted to shoot from there. Instead, you find yourself in the semi-circle that is the free-throw line, consistently missing shot after shot making Yangyang laugh maniacally from the side.

“I like to consider myself to be more of an intellectual than an athlete.” You respond cheekily, moving to grab the basketball.

Yangyang scoffs at you before moving to grab the basketball, dribbling to the free-throw line.

“Come here,” He nestles the basketball under his arm and uses his free hand to wave you over. “I’ll teach you how to shoot.”

You roll your eyes and take a swig of water before jogging to meet him at the free-throw line.

“What do I do coach?” Your tone is mocking but Yangyang can’t help but find you cute.

“Okay so line up like you’re about to take a shot.”

You do as you’re told, holding the ball in your hands above your head with your arms bent slightly.

You glance over at Yangyang who simply shoots you a weird look.

“That’s not okay.” He moves beside you and positions himself as if he were shooting the ball. “Copy me,”

You bend your knees and adjust your arms slightly, trying to adjust to Yangyang’s stance. He simply tsks in response, dropping his stance and moving behind you.

“Okay so first move your legs a bit further apart,” He moves his feet behind yours, trying to position you and you follow suit.

“And then your arms,” He reaches up to lower your arms so that the ball is in your face, allowing you to see just above the ball.

He steps back to check your posture from afar and nods to himself. “Okay so just use one hand to shoot and one hand to position the ball, and then jump when you shoot.”

Taking a deep breath, you do as he says, jumping to shoot the ball and you watch as the ball flies from your hands to bounce against the backboard and lands in the net.

“Oh my god, Yangyang did you see that!” You cry before launching yourself into his arms.

Yangyang can only laugh as he wraps his arms around you and pulls away slightly to press a kiss to your lips. You feel yourself freeze and you can feel the moment Yangyang realizes his mistake, pulling away hastily.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry-”

“Wait no,” You walk towards him and cup his face, eyes softening as you look at him. “You did it wrong.”

You take your time connecting your lips with his own. Yangyang kisses you softly, quickly wrapping an arm around your waist and moving to cup your face with his free hand. He tastes like the fries the two of you had been eating earlier and you feel your eyes flutter shut as you smile into the kiss.

“Well, you may not be a great three-point shooter,” You say once you two have pulled away from the kiss. “But you are a great teacher and kisser.”

Yangyang scoffs as he smacks your shoulder and pulls you in for another kiss.

“So let me get this straight,” Xiaojun says as the two of them are running drills the next day. “You literally made out with ___ on the court and you didn’t think to make things official?”

Yangyang looks around the court guiltily and Xiaojun has half the mind to smack the boy into the next dimension.

“Maybe.”

Nothing really happened after the two of you had kissed yesterday. You’d both shared a few more flirtatious looks and maybe kissed a bit more before heading off to your respective rooms and Yangyang realized once he woke up that he never asked you out or asked if he could be your boyfriend.

“Just ask then.” Deadpans Xiaojun, passing the basketball to Yangyang with a bit too much force. “Be like ‘hey I’m an idiot but I could be your idiot.’”

Yangyang almost fails to catch the ball as he cringes with his whole body at Xiaojun’s terrible advice. “You’re gross dude. No wonder the two of us have been single for so long.”

“Hey!” Whines Xiaojun as Yangyang passes the ball back to him. “You literally have a chance now. I might be sad and lonely but you’re just pathetic.”

Yangyang can only glare at the other boy, knowing full well that he’s right. As the two of them continue their drills, Yangyang could only hope that he’d muster enough courage to tell you before you both had to leave the bubble.

You’re going through a similar situation and it pains you to say that you’ve gotten way too used to having Yangyang around in your everyday bubble life.

Given the fact that playoff games were best four out of seven and the Trail Blazers had already lost three of four games, it was a given that Yangyang would be busy practicing. You just hadn’t realized just how much you’d miss him.

It’s precisely for this reason that you end up seated on the side of the court with Ten and Winwin.

You were proud to say the Raptors had swept the Nets with a four-game win, which also meant that Ten and Winwin were able to watch Yangyang’s basketball game with you.

“You’re both idiots you know,” Winwin says as the announcer lists off player introductions at an ear-shattering volume.

You’re sandwiched between him and Ten as they sit on the seats beside you, eyes fixated on the court.

“He literally hasn’t spoken to me since that night. What am I supposed to think?” You sigh as Winwin and Ten turn to look at each other.

“You’re supposed to think he’s a coward that’s wildly in love with you and also a very busy basketball player.” Ten says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Even Yukhei knows he likes you and it took him three years to realize his girlfriend liked him back before they got together.” Winwin looks pained as he recalls the days of Yukhei and Yuqi’s terrible college flirting days. “Please don’t make us lock you in a closet like we did with them. She nagged my ear off for months.”

You laugh nervously at the idea of being locked in a closet with Yangyang. “Yeah, I don’t think it’ll come to that.”

“I sure hope not,” Mumbles Winwin as the referee approaches the center of the court for the tip-off.

It truly seemed as if the Trail Blazers had a chance, the game fairly close until the gap widened in the third quarter. It was painful to see the Trail Blazers lose to the Lakers in a 122 to 131 game but you could see that both teams played hard, Yangyang even scoring several points on his own. You watch as the few bubble interviewers scramble to get a word from the players.

Xiaojun sees you, Ten and Winwin heading their way and nudges Yangyang.

“I’m not saying it’s now or never but it’s definitely now or when the playoffs are over or something.”

“Yangyang!” You call as the three of you begin to approach him and Xiaojun. “You played well today!”

His lips thin into a line, Yangyang thinks about Xiaojun’s words before throwing all caution to the wind.

"You know what, fuck it. I've lost too many things today." Yangyang runs towards you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulls you to his chest and cups your face before placing his lips on yours.

You feel your face heat up immediately but move to kiss him back making the other boys around you coo. Even though you’ve kissed Yangyang a couple of times now, you’re not sure that you’ll ever get tired of it. If one thing’s for sure, you hope you’ll get more opportunities to be with him in the future.

Yangyang grabs your hands as the two of you pull apart and looks into your eyes before speaking.

"Could you maybe give me one win today and let me be your boyfriend?" He shoots you one of his signature boyish smiles and you can't help but smile back as you give his hands a squeeze.

"I guess that'd be a win for me too.

“So yeah, my favourite bubble memory was meeting ____ and now we’re dating. Thanks for listening or reading this interview.” Yangyang smiles cheekily at the camera as you smack his arm.

It was safe to say that you didn’t think you’d be interviewing your boyfriend for a while—especially given the ending of the season and the promotion you received—but you were pleasantly surprised to see that the surprise guest that Doyoung insisted you had to interview was none other than your boyfriend, Liu Yangyang.

“Oh my god, you’re such an idiot.” You say, eyes sparkling as you move to give Yangyang a quick peck.

“Well, now I’m your idiot basketball boyfriend.” Jokes Yangyang as he interlocks his hands with your own, eyes softening as he looks at you.

“Yeah, I guess you are.” You ruffle his hair. “Mostly an idiot though.”

“Hey!”

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed it :3 feel free to leave me a message to let me know what you think!

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spencersmagic · 3 years

Text

Middle of Adventure - 505 series.

(found on pinterest).

masterlist // 505 series // taglist

summary: a part two to "greet me with good bye" (found here)

couple: fem reader x spencer reid

category: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: general criminal minds violence, mentions of guns, curse words (f*ck/f*cking), crying.

words: 1.8k

time to read: 10 minutes.

***

It was quite ironic.

The space between them had never felt as empty, as ruined, as it did right now. It felt like the love, the care that they had had for each other all those years back, all the patience and truth they had shared, had been stolen. The woman in front of them had done it for them.

The last two years seemed empty now. Emotionless. Worthless.

The feelings they had for each other had always been unspoken. Excluding a few instances, core instances that needed verbal confirmation, they had always understood each other without having to share a word. They were both profilers, for God’s sake.

Spencer’s fidgeting in the plane rides on the way back from a tough case was always understood by Y/N. She had always made sure to hold him, caress his hair or read to him when he was feeling anxious. Similarly, when she was feeling weird after an uncomfortable encounter with a disgusting unsub, closing in on herself, carrying herself differently, he would always pick up on it. He’d cover her with a blanket and tell her random facts about the stars, or lemons, or the first shoes discovered… Anything that could get her mind away from the filthy words he had spewed at her.

There were no words exchanged between. Because they always knew what the other needed.

Because they cared. And they wanted the other to be okay.

The lack of words didn’t mean a lack of communication. There was constantly a line of communication between the two of them, established through body language, looks and short beginnings of sentences right before the other picked up on what they wanted. Everything was clear between them. They always just knew.

This had taken time. Of course, it had. At first, they were clumsy. Y/N’s anxiety attacks had gone worse once when he had tried to distract her by talking about the climate crisis (a horrible idea, if you ask me). Similarly, she had learned that after Spencer’s rare, but long talks with Hotch weren’t the moment to make sarcastic comments about, well, anything.

All they had was silence and the promise to love the other if they needed it.

But right now, as they stood in front of the unsub, then woman who had been tormenting Spencer for the past few months with little letters, threats and promises to hurt everybody he knew and loved (or at least everybody who was left), it felt like nothing could ever be the same.

She had called herself “The Woman”, which Y/N understood. She wanted to be everything to Spencer.

She stood still, calmly, knowingly. Because nothing he did could change the course of action that was about to occur tonight. The stillness in the weapon she had aimed at Y/N made sure to make that clear.

“Why would I need to break up with her, Clara? Y/N and I aren’t together” Spencer repeated calmly, trying to focus on his training so he could try to ignore the soft sobs that Y/N was letting out.

The gun rattled as Clara shook in anger.

“Bullshit! I’ve seen you together. For God’s sakes, I’ve seen the way you fucking look at her. You-“she laughed manically “You look at her like she’s hung the fucking stars – like you’re supposed to look at me! So don’t you dare fucking lie to me “. She was met with silence.

“You know…” tears welled in her eyes, strong façade faltering. “You were going to come back. We were supposed to meet, and you were supposed to love me like I have all these years. You abandoned me!” she screamed. “And now you’re with-with her”.

Nothing.

“Do it or I will shoot her!” she screamed, sending spit flying around. Flinching, she shakily repeated Clara’s words.

“Do it, Spencer. I can take it” she spoke clearly, forcing her voice to sound unworried.

It was quite ironic. Because they had been in a similar situation at the beginning of their relationship. And it would end like this, too.

“I can’t, Y/N. Y-you know I can’t! Why are you making me do this?!” he raised his voice suddenly, ripping his lungs open as he sunk down onto the floor. He crumbled upon himself as he sobbed. “I can’t. I can’t do it, Y/N.” he repeated over and over, the last bit of self-restraint leaving his body. “I can’t do it. You are everything. I c-can’t hurt” he hiccupped.

Y/N’s eyes absorbed Spencer every little movement and tremble. She felt as though he had kept her heart right up until this moment, bubble wrapped and intact, but now he was crushing it as he hugged himself tightly. It was too much to bear.

“Spencer, if you don’t do it, I will” she whispered. He looked up, tear eyed, and looked at Clara. Her smile was wide now, red nose, enjoying the scene that was unfolding in front of her. Spencer stood up shakily.

“Clara, you were my classmate in school. Having the chance to go to university, don’t you think I had to take it? Did- Didn’t you want what’s best for me?” he tried to reason. “You love me, right? Don’t you want me to be happy?”. She smiled sadly at him.

“I do. But not if it’s with her”.

He turned to Y/N, eyes filled with tears. “Y/N” he requested. Still, she couldn’t bear looking at him. “Y/N! Y/N. Please look at me” he shook. She turned.

“Y/N…” he whispered, taking a look at her, bloody and beaten. “Y/N, I can’t live without you. Since I met you, I haven’t been able to.” He paused. “You’re everything. I don’t how to live without you”.

“Spencer, you will have to learn. The middle of an adventure is such a perfect place to start” she whispered back. His face changed completely, eyes wide and surprised.

“Oh god! This is so tedious. When can we leave?” had whispered Reid, curling a lock of her hair around his finger.

“We’re here as guests, Spencer. It would be rude of us to leave” she had reprimanded him, seemingly unaltered by his puppy dog eyes.

“But-but my love” he all-but-whined. “I wanna go home”.

“Yeah? You “wanna go home”? Or are your pants getting a little bit too tight from staring down my top?” she shot back. He didn’t dare reply.

“Do you want to play, or not?” Y/N clarified. He nodded eagerly. She grabbed him by the hair as they slow-danced in the middle of the lounge with the other couples at Rossi’s new wife’s mansion.

She pulled him close, lips close to his ear in such a way that appeared innocent to outsiders. Her words, though, were another story.

“Okay, love. “Adventure” is our safe-word. I’m going to tease you and, the moment I bring up that word in conversation that’ll mean that you’ve done well and should now play along. I’ll make up some excuse and we can leave this god-awful party. Sounds good?” once again, he nodded eagerly.

“You know, Clara. Maybe you’re right” Spencer begun, looking into her eyes. “If she’s so okay with letting me go, she clearly doesn’t deserve my time” he swallowed his tears, hoping he was being convincing.

Clearly, Clara didn’t need a lot of convincing. After all, she had been looking for every single indicator in his words and looks in front of the camera to believe he was madly in love with her, and seeking her out.

She lowered the now-forgotten weapon, throwing it on the ground and herself on Spencer.

“You really think so, my love?”

A pet name Spencer had heard coming from Y/N, and had never felt as disgusting as it did in that moment. Spencer couldn’t even think about what it was doing to her.

He just nodded, hugging her back as convincingly as possible.

Sometimes, we do what we can to make our loved ones happy. Sometimes, we stay. Other times, we leave. We give and give for them. At the end of the day, it’s human nature to want to created strong bonds with those you love the most.

Spencer and Y/N weren’t an exception. They gave so much to each other – to their relationship. They loved with such a love that is only seen in movies, with a passion that only occurs during the darkest hours, and a heart that has only been broken and mended over and over.

In retrospection, Clara is no different either.

As Spencer pushed her off, Y/N threw herself to the ground to grab the gun, did a somersault and pointed it at her. Right on cue, Morgan and Prentiss burst into the old warehouse, pointing their guns at Clara.

“Step away from my boyfriend, you bitch”.

It felt almost surreal.

Especially to Spencer, who had been battling with the thought of her for the past three months. It felt like this moment would never come – like a breach in the space-time continuum had been formed and he was now experiencing a reality parallel to his own.

But feeling Y/N’s touch, hearing their mutual comforting words, stumbling like their relationship had been, was grounding. Perhaps not comfortable, or stable, of secure just yet. But it sent a message to both of them. “No matter what happens, no matter how many variations exist in your life, I will never be one. I’ll always be here”.

“You were supposed to come back! You were supposed to love me, and give me a beautiful life. Why didn’t you?” they heard Clara screaming. Tears were streaming down her face as the cop sat her down.

“You could’ve sent a letter, Clara” he reached to grab her handcuffs, which were clasped behind her. Y/N watched the entire scene unfold before her eyes, tears still cascading down her cheeks.

“Would that have made any difference?”

“It’s time to go, Ms. Sondermann”.

“Would it? Or would you have stayed with her?”Spencer stayed silent. “Don’t think you’re anything better than me. You did everything for her! Just like I did. You’re no different than me.” she screamed, as Prentiss pulled her away.

Spencer turned to look into Y/S’s eyes. She looked so different when the fear of losing her wasn’t looming around. Tired, of course, from the three day search, but hopeful.

He hadn’t seen her hopeful in so long.

As he closed in on her, looking so purely loving, she immediately understood. the dust settled and she realized just how much he had been through.

She suddenly understood.

The lack of words never meant a lack of communication.

There were no words exchanged between. Because they always knew what the other needed.

She spread her arms, ready for his embrace at the same time he ducked his head to hold her around the waist. His lips twitched, all the unspoken words at the top of his tongue.

“i-i know, love. i know” she spoke between sobs.

Everything was clear between them. They always just knew.

guys that's the end of the 505 series!!! i hope you liked it.

i'm super sad that it's ending, but the fics i've got in mind are really cool, and i can't wait to write them + share them with you all <3

(im lowkey feeling nostalgic - i've fallen in love with this take on the characters and their dynamic).

taglist: @lady-anon-x @username2002 @eoupe @galaxydefenderjulia @spencerreid-mgg @spenxerslut @urie-bowie-mercury @onyourfingertips @big-galaxy-chaos @fiftyshadesofspencerreid @tbuhgs @exhaleli

tags not working: @huntheimpossible @idontwantyourcookiesthanks

you can join my taglist on the link at the top

happy reading. i love you. stay safe and happy <3

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ramzawrites · 4 years

Text

Wherever the world takes us Part 1 - A SBI!Reader insert

Pairings: none Characters included: Philza, Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, Cpt Puffy, Schlatt, Captain Sparklez, (mentioned) Fundy Warnings: small mention of death Series: Yes, planned slow updates but this happens in a slight AU world of the official lore of the dsmp and follows along the plot only this time the reader gets included as the middle hybrid child of the SBI Part 2

Summary: A small introduction to the SBI family dynamic including the reader! Today is Techno’s big day at the local festival! He get’s to participate in a fighting tournament but until that happens there is still a ton of time to somehow still get into trouble, isn’t there?

Word count: 4380

Shapeshifters aren’t as rare as many people think. In fact many carry that gene but not everyone ends up showing the properties of one. If you have the active gene you may show first changes during your early childhood which then stretches out until your late teens where the changes will stop resulting in the persons usual animal like form. These changes can range from a whole body covered in fur to having goat like eyes or just horns on their head.

As far as scientists know there isn’t a real reason as to what the final form will be since Shapeshifters who are directly related to one another can have complete and drastically different forms to each other. Though an old myth has been going around for as long as people know that the form a Shapeshifter takes is a result of their subconscious, something that mirrors their true self. Sadly due to this belief many Non-Shifters hold stereotypes and prejudice towards them.

Philza was a Shapeshifter himself. As a kid two stubs slowly appeared at his back and settled in over the years as beautiful huge black wings that he could use for takeoff and a bit for flying but mostly functioned better for gliding around. He used these wings to later travel around the world, learning everything about it and training himself.

At some point he did settle down again and ended up fathering four children alone of whom two showed Shapeshifter properties as well.

There were the twins Technoblade and Wilbur. Technoblade showed from an early age on a deeper interest in fighting. Always asking to learn more than the self-defense techniques their father was teaching them, so Philza took the time to teach him everything he knew. Gifting him later on a proper iron sword which Techno then used to train almost daily with. Philza later had to put mending on that sword since it was chipped and scratched in a short time over heavy use. He is also one of the two children of Philza who ended up being a Shapeshifter. They first noticed when two of his teeth in his lower jaw tended to peek out of his mouth. Over the years these two teeth turned into full blown tusks, flappy pink ears would appear on his head, his hair slowly turned into a soft pink, as well as bristle like fur begun growing on his arms. It were the characteristics of a pig as they soon realized.

Wilbur the younger of the twins by two minutes was more interested in music and books. Philza gifted him a guitar the same time he gave Techno his first sword. From that point on it was a rare thing if you didn’t see Wilbur’s guitar around him. Either on his person or laying close by him. Over time he got really proficient with the instrument and begun writing amazing songs as well as singing them himself.

The middle child Y/N was the more mellow of the whole bunch though this didn’t mean much in the context of the whole family. While they happily took part in whatever trouble their siblings got up to they were at the end the first person that would try to help solve these troubles as well and took care of any wounds. To that end they soon learned how to grow their own herbs to make medicine. This was something Philza taught them. Both would spent a ton of time in the garden, so much so, that the garden was dubbed Y/N’s and Dad’s garden. Techno would sometimes help out as well but that was a more rare occurrence. Y/N was the second kid with the active Shapeshifter gene. Just like their father, two stubs appeared at their back that too would turn into huge black wings. Y/N still remembered how perplexed but proud Philza was when he understood what was happening. They didn’t know what they expected from their father but this reaction wasn’t it. But they weren’t mad about it.

The youngest of the family was Tommy and he was the number one reason why the kids got into trouble in the first place. He would wake up, make weird plans and rope the others into it as well. Wilbur was the first he would usually try to recruit to which Techno then would reluctantly join knowing that if the two are together they will need help later on. Getting Y/N on board was pretty easy as well. It was either a thing of them knowing they will one hundred percent get hurt so best to join in now or they were feeling particularly chaotic that day and wouldn’t even hesitate to join.

Back when they all lived together in their old cottage home their daily lives would always start in the same way.

Philza would be the first awake. He would wake the children up and continue downstairs to work on breakfast for everyone.

There was no real order to who would be the first downstairs for food but it was always Y/N who would be the last to join the group. Moving in front of their designated chair only to stretch before properly sitting down.

“Ew! Gross! Your wing touched my food!” Wilbur exclaimed angrily, pulling the plate with his food closer to himself and farther away from his sibling.

Y/N rolled their eyes “I’m not poisonous, Wilbur.”

“Still gross.” He muttered more to himself as he reluctantly took a bite from his toast.

Phil eyed the two but looked back down to his food and coffee “Your wings are getting pretty big. I’m sure it won’t take long until you can do more than just gliding about.”

“So, that means you can teach them to fly soon?” Tommy was the one to ask surprisingly. Sure, that was on Y/N’s mind as well so they didn’t mind Tommy saying what they thought but they still felt like it was a bad sign and a call for trouble though they couldn’t think how nor did they care enough to find out.

Philza raised one of his eyebrows, obviously taking note of that fact as well. It was something you learned to look out for once you spend enough time with Tommy. “I’m not sure how soon but I think so, yeah.”

“Cool.” Was all Tommy remarked. He then proceeded to stare at his food so his family would get their suspicion off of him. Acting as if he didn’t just figuratively plant a huge red flag on the table with the words “I have a plan!”.

Y/N on the other hand couldn’t help to smile. They were excited for the eventual day when Philza could finally teach them how to fly. For the longest time now they have only learned to use their wings to glide and got really good at changing directions while doing so. Taking care of their wings was already a pain so they wanted to get at least something good out of having them in the first place and being able to properly fly is a huge plus since getting into positions where you could actually glide around was a difficult and a bothersome thing.

Philza sighed choosing to ignore Tommy and instead turned to look at Wilbur and Y/N “What is your plan today? Want to join me and Techno when we go into town for the tournament?”

After a few seconds of confused expressions between the two Wilbur suddenly shouted “Oh! Techno’s tournament! Of course! I wanna see him beat up other people for a change!”

Techno snorted “Really feeling the support here right now, bro.”

“I’m guessing you both are coming too?” Philza was now addressing the other two of his kids.

Both were fast and eager to agree. Wilbur was right. Usually Techno tried sparring with his siblings though using the word sparring was maybe an overstatement. He would mercilessly beat them up and complain they didn’t last long enough. At rare times where all of them were bored enough they would play a game of >Who can last the longest against Techno<. Y/N really wasn’t too big a fan of this game since they ended up being the only one who would address the wounds later including their own since they didn’t trust the others to properly apply a band aid.

From this point on the breakfast was more alive than before. Tommy and Wilbur would constantly ask questions to Techno about who he will be fighting or how everything will work. To which he all just gave a very non-committal “I dunno”.

After they all cleaned up the breakfast table, they got ready and grabbed everything they needed.

The town wasn’t super far away but it was a long enough walk that it would be inconvenient to get back for things you might have forgotten.

Techno grabbed his sword while Wilbur made sure to take his beloved guitar with him. Y/N made sure to grab all kinds of medicine and bandages with them. They knew Techno will get treated at the tournament should he get hurt but they felt better if they brought some stuff with them as well. Tommy on the other hand made sure to grab all kinds of things including a few pages of paper, pens, string and more. Philza wanted to just write it down to Tommy probably meeting up with Tubbo in town and doing harmless crafts but the chances were slim.

As they made their way to the tournament and Philza was preaching to them to not cause any trouble since there would be a lot of people there today, Y/N soon noticed how Techno would nervously play around with the hilt of his worn out sword.

They affectionately put their arm around their older brother for a short side hug, including putting their wing around him “You’ll do fine. I know it. Don’t worry too much and just imagine you are beating one of us up.”

Technoblade had to roll his eyes at that “I’ll try to take that advice to heart.”

As they arrived in town the kids looked around in awe. Everywhere were stalls set up selling food or little decorative things or toys. People where weaving in and out between stalls, loudly talking with each other. Laughter and yells filled the air.

In the middle of the town square there was a huge box marked on the ground. This is where the fights would happen. As far as Techno explained the rules were simple. Get your opponent on their back, get them out of the box or beat them unconscious. Tommy was absolutely loving the idea of Techno beating all of his opponents unconscious and said he wouldn’t take any other result as acceptable.

“Alright kiddos. Techno and I have to talk with the organizer. You three can go and have some fun but you have to promise me a few things. Whatever you guys do stay together! Don’t talk to strangers and as soon as the fights start you come over. I will find you then, okay? I will only let you guys go if you agree to this.”

“I can still try to find Tubbo, right?” Tommy asked.

“Of course but only if you all stay together.” He was looking at Wilbur when he said the last part. This meant Wilbur was the boss for today. Well until they met up again with their dad.

Wilbur put his hands on each shoulder of his younger siblings “We will! Don’t worry dad!”

Philza gave them a last nod before walking off. Before Techno followed him he looked at the three “Don’t… cause too much trouble. At least for me so nothing happens to the tournament.” With that Technoblade turned around and followed Philza closely.

“Well, what should we start with?” Y/N asked their brothers.

Tommy threw his arms in the air “Tubbo!”

Wilbur laughed “Alright. We’ll try to find your Tubbo. I’m sure he and his siblings should be around here as well.”

Tubbo was Tommy’s best friend and honestly he hangs around their home so much they almost consider him a family member as well. He had an older sister Puffy and an older brother Schlatt though. They were a curious case. All three of them carried the active Shapeshifter gene and all three begun growing horns, their ears turned into that of goats and they all had the horizontal iris’.

Y/N liked to spend time with Puffy. Just like Y/N Puffy too acted more like a caretaker to her siblings which the two soon bonded over while Schlatt and Wilbur soon hit it off as well. It was actually quite amusing to see them interacting since Wilbur was known for loving art and freedom. Schlatt on the other hand tried to see how he can scam the most people in the most effective manner in the shortest amount of time. Trying to turn in a profit at every turn. You wouldn’t immediately think they would end up being such good friends.

The three were raised by their father as well who everyone just referred to as Captain Sparklez though his real name was Jordan. He coincidentally also helped with setting up this little festival for the town.

Tommy suddenly took a deep breath in as he cupped his hands around his mouth “Tubbo!”

Wilbur furrowed his brows “Tommy, there are a ton of people around here! There is no way he heard you.”

“Tommy! Over here!” a different voice called out, away from all the stalls and people.

Wilbur and Y/N looked surprised while Tommy almost proudly smirked at them. The bond Tommy and Tubbo had was something else.

Together the three ran through the crowd to finally meet up with Tubbo and apparently his siblings. As a greeting Tubbo softly headbutted Tommy while Puffy did the same to Y/N. Schlatt never did this with Wilbur. Said he might have goat like characteristics but he is still more human than goat hence why he didn’t do this whole headbutting thing. It has been a whole ordeal with Wilbur once where he demanded to get a headbutt from Schlatt as well for a greeting. After enough prodding and being a general nuisance Schlatt decided to straight up headbutt him as hard as possible almost knocking him out and gave him a good bruise on his forehead. Wilbur never asked for another headbutt greeting since then.

Y/N gave Puffy an additional hug, making sure to wrap their wings around her as well “I’m glad to see you Puffy!”

“So am I! I heard Techno is taking part in the tournament, isn’t he?”

Schlatt was for some reason cackling at that “Oh I bet he will win, won’t he? This would be the best time for some betting!”

Tommy, Y/N and Wilbur all nodded saying things like “Of course he will win. My brother is the best”

Soon the group begun to fall into their usual banter. Tommy and Tubbo were doing something next to them, only sometimes getting back into the conversation. Schlatt and Wilbur on the other hand were talking about how they could start bets and maybe earn some money because surely Techno will win. Y/N and Puffy listened in only to interject at times to root them back down. Both made sure they wouldn’t end up doing anything too stupid, though they too were in on it and ready to help out.

In the end the whole group was sitting on the ground and writing their plan down on the paper Tommy brought with him as suddenly a loud voice boomed over the crowd announcing that the fighting tournament will soon begin.

Tubbo looked absolutely horrified “No! I didn’t have a chance to check out the candy yet!”

Schaltt sighed and gave Tubbo a reassuring pat on his back “Don’t worry kiddo they will still be here after the tournament.”

With that the group begun walking to the marked place for the fighting. All the while Schlatt was grumbling that this was way too early and he couldn’t act on his betting plans.

“There are a lot of people.” Y/N noted as they came closer to their goal.

Indeed there were a surprising amount of people standing around the place. If it was difficult to get through the crowd before, now it seemed almost impossible. It was almost comical how the crowd seemingly turned into a wall of steel as the announcer begun his speech in order to greet all the people watching.

“Ugh, I can barely see anything.” Wilbur whined as he moved on his toes. Wilbur was the tallest of the group so when he had problems seeing anything Y/N instinctively already gave up. Maybe one day it would be the other way around seeing as they all were still growing but for now this was the reality of the situation.

Tommy was frantically jumping into the air trying to see anything that happened. He didn’t say it but he wanted to make sure to not miss out on any second of Techno’s fights. He was his older brother after all.

“Hey, Schlatt?” Tubbo almost whispered as he tugged at his older brother’s shirt.

Schlatt barely made any proper attempt to look over the crowd probably still busy thinking about his lost business opportunity. He tilted his head down to look at Tubbo “Hm?”

Suddenly Tubbo’s unsure expression turned into a serious one. While Wilbur, Tommy and Y/N were confused about this, Puffy begun to snicker.

“Aw, come on!” Schlatt drawled out but as soon as Tubbo got his pouting face out it was over for him.

He rolled his eyes and knelt down. With the help of Puffy, Tubbo was soon sitting on Schlatt’s shoulders, overlooking the crowd.

For some reason Tommy looked absolutely betrayed “This is unfair!”

“And why is that?” was all that Tubbo asked smugly. He was grabbing onto Schlatt’s horns which lead to him involuntarily yanking around his head whenever Tubbo himself moved around. Annoyed Schlatt gave his younger brother a playful slap on his arm as a sign to knock it off.

Tommy crossed his arms “Hey, Wilby! Wait no, I’m not a child anymore.”

Before Wilbur could even do his obligatory cooing whenever Tommy used his nickname or before Y/N could remind him that he was indeed still a child and younger than Tubbo he turned towards them instead.

“Y/N! You carry me and fly up that is way cooler than sitting on someone’s shoulders like some two year old.”

This took Y/N quite by surprise “What?”

“Dad said you are ready to fly and you spent like most of your free time already gliding or flying about so like basically the same thing right?”

“No! This is completely different! Besides I’m pretty sure my wings right now are barely able to carry my own weight! To that I have no idea how to take off from ground!”

Tommy’s bottom lip begun to quiver. Both Wilbur and Y/N knew it was fake but it was still a weakness for the two.

Y/N tried grabbing Wilbur’s sleeve for support but he was already looking at them with sad eyes himself “I mean Tommy just wants to see his big brother win, which is understandable right? At least worth a try?”

It was Y/N’s time to look betrayed but their expression soon got exchange by that one of defeat “One… One try. If that doesn’t work out I will give up.”

So the group walked back away from the crowd to have more space, Tubbo still happily sitting on Schlatt’s shoulders. He looked annoyed but Puffy knew that he was just as happy as she was that Tubbo had obviously a good time.

Y/N would spent a few minutes just trying to take off the ground on their own saying that they would first need to be a bit in the air before being able to grab Tommy. Wilbur was just watching with an amused smile on his face. Oh he was almost certain how this will end in disaster but he was just too curious to see how exactly.

After multiple running starts Y/N managed to get a few feet off into the air, flying directly towards Tommy so they could pick him up. They more or less bodychecked into their younger brother but still managed to pick him up and for a short moment it looked like the two were indeed a few feet above the height of the crowd.

Tommy was screaming partially out of fear but partially out of excitement. Y/N was so concentrated on flying and holding onto Tommy they didn’t even try to look out for Techno on the ground. They stayed semi stable in the air for good two seconds before both suddenly noticed they were losing altitude rapidly.

Now both were screaming as Y/N desperately tried to glide towards the hay bails that the town put up as decoration but with the added weight of Tommy they still plummeted towards the ground pretty fast.

The next thing Y/N remembers was that they were surrounded by hay and that their whole body was feeling heavy and sore. Tommy was groaning as he tried his best to get out of the hay and off their sibling while Y/N first made sure to calmly fold their wings back against their back as they slowly got out of the hay as well.

Suddenly two strong hands grabbed the still disoriented Y/N and helped them properly back to their feet only to be met by an angry looking Philza.

“What on Ender were you thinking?”

“Oh hey dad!” Y/N croaked out as they avoided any eye contact with him. Instead they were busy plucking hay out of their wings. Due to the fall there was a lot of hay trapped between feathers, there were also a few bent feathers that felt uncomfortable at best.

Tommy was sheepishly standing next to them also avoiding eye contact.

“I told you to get to the tournament and wait for me! I told you guys I would make sure to find you so why did you do whatever the hell you just did?” Philza rambled off.

“Yeah guys why did you two do that?” Wilbur was now approaching his family as well, including their other three friends who followed suit.

Y/N let go of their wing as they turned towards their older brother with an angry frown “You encouraged us! Don’t act like you are the only innocent person here! Aren’t you as our big brother supposed to stop us or something when we are stupid?”

Philza sighed “Okay, we deal with this later but at least tell me why?”

“We wanted to see Techno but we couldn’t get past the crowd!” Tommy answered.

“My fights will only start in like half an hour dude. Didn’t you guys listen to the announcements?”

To their surprise Technoblade appeared from behind Philza. He looked bored but still had a somewhat smug smile on his face. Who wouldn’t feel a tiny big smug when your younger siblings gets into trouble with dad for something that was absolutely their fault and you were luckily this time no part of it.

“You three are in trouble! We will go back so Techno won’t be too late for when it’s his turn but once we are back home it’s three weeks of chores for all of you.”

This earned him a murmur of “Okay, dad.” And “But we didn’t do anything bad!”

After that the day ended up pretty normally. They had their trouble for the day so they continued on with following Philza back to the tournament place. He made sure that all the kids had the best places in front so they could watch as Techno absolutely destroyed the other kids.

Jordan joined them as well. Philza didn’t spend any time waiting on telling him how Y/N and Tommy crashed into one of his decorations. He wasn’t angry but did chew out his own kids a little bit for not even attempting to stop them.

For some reason this was the day Y/N always fondly thought back on. They got into their typical trouble that day but also spend a ton of time with their family and friends back in their hometown. Enjoying seeing Techno beat others up and of course winning the tournament to which then Phil and Jordan bought the kids a ton of candy from the stalls.

Yes, they loved their family so dearly and would do anything for them.

So when a letter arrived from Wilbur that informed them that a few days ago a friend betrayed him which led to him losing his first life of three as well for Tommy, Tubbo and their nephew Fundy it felt like their heart got ripped out of their chest.

Y/N was still living at their old childhood home with Philza but both were only rarely at home. The two traveled around the world independently from each other using the old cottage as a place to rest in between. Wilbur probably addressed the letter knowing that this was the most reliable way to contact his family.

Reaching Technoblade who was training out of country was almost impossible at this point in time.

Y/N got out a piece of paper and wrote a letter for their father.

“Dad, I’m going to visit Wil and Tommy. Love, Y/N”

This was all that needed to be said.

They put the letter including the letter from Wilbur visibly on the table so Philza would see it as soon as he got back home. They did this sometimes in order to talk to Philza as well as the other way around so both were always looking out for messages on the table once they got back home.

Y/N grabbed their old netherite sword they got way back from Techno as a gift and begun thinking about what to take with them for the flight towards L’Manberg. If they fly it would only take a few days to reach the place but they also couldn’t carry a lot of things with them.

“Hell of a reason to visit your family after a long time, huh.”

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theeslytherinslut · 4 years

Text

12 Grimmauld Place (3/?)

Pairings: Sirius Black x reader, Remus Lupin x readers brother

Word Count: 2,072

Warnings: angst, language

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

It was the only room you’d seen thus far that didn’t have peeling layers of dark-colored paints, ranging from deep emeralds to smoky greys and jet blacks. Instead, it was painted likely the lightest shade of grey Sirius could convince his mother to agree to, but looking around, that was probably the only thing she would’ve approved of in this room.

Laughing to yourself quietly, you had a stark, strangely sad realization: this was still a teenager's room. Scantily clad Muggle women postered the walls draped across expensive-looking cars, Gryffindor apparel was strewn everywhere possible, what looked to be a Quidditch banner hung from the ceiling, and various Honeydukes wrappings littered the floor. A large, expensive, very elaborately made chair stood in the corner of the room, buried underneath layers of dark clothing.

“Sorry, probably should’ve cleaned up...wasn’t exactly expecting company though, not that you’re a bother! Merlin, it’s lovely to have someone so love--so...it’s nice to have someone else here.” Sirius finished, as red as the scarlet robes hanging from his canopy bed as he stuttered his way through his explanation.

“This is...this is incredible,” you said, moving through the room to find a picture of Sirius and James with their arms thrown across each other's shoulders, laughing jovially as Remus shook his finger at them in the distance. Chuckling to yourself, you continued to look at the handful of old pictures that littered his dresser.

Another picture nearby showed Sirius sneaking up on James as he very clearly flirted with Lily, her face lighting up with laughter as James jumped up in fright.

“He was always so easy when Lily was around...” Sirius trailed off, smiling sadly at the photos before you. Looking to the other corner of the mirror, you saw three more photos shoved into the cracks.

The first was a picture of the group of them lounged around the Great Lake; you’d guessed Peter was behind the camera because only the four of them smiled up at you. James’ head lay in Lily’s lap, hers rested on Sirius’ shoulder, who waved up cheerily at you. As Lily sat up to meet James halfway for a quick kiss, Sirius stretched out his arm and pulled in a sheepish looking Remus, ruffling the top of his head affectionately. You smiled at the sight of your brother with his friends. The happiness that radiated from this picture was intoxicating, you never wanted to look away.

The next was of them in what must’ve been the Gryffindor common room. Being a Slytherin, you’d never seen the inside of anyone else’s common rooms. Large, comfy furniture was placed strategically around the room, drapings of what you’d assumed to be scarlet and gold draped the walls, an inviting fire dominated the center of the room.

This picture was another of the group of them, but this time a frightened-looking James and a smirking Sirius were evidently getting scolded fiercely by Lily. You laughed upon seeing Remus standing behind Lily in a sort of gesture of good faith but seemingly offered no words to his insolent friends.

“Hexed a fourth year Slytherin,” he explained, you turned to glare playfully at him, and he smiled, “The git tried to stick gum in my hair! I think there might’ve been an incident with myself and a girlfriend of his, though...Anyway, James caught him just before and...well, he was with Madam Pomfrey for a few days, I think. Lily gave us a right good telling off for that one, came close to Minnie’s scoldings,” Sirius sighed wistfully, likely reliving the day in his head.

“Wait...” you trailed off upon seeing the last.

The third picture was in the Great Hall; though many people were in the picture, the center focus seemed to be a group of Slytherin girls standing in the entryway. There, in the center of the photograph, laughing heartily, was you. Your Y/H/C hair was seemingly shining underneath what was likely a very sunny day, your teeth gleaming as you laughed at something someone had said.

“Is that..?” you turned around, looking to find him sheepishly smirking at his feet.

“Yes, I believe it is,” he said. A smile was on his face, but he was scrutinizing yours. “I think I nicked it off Remus at some point.”

“Why?” you shook your head. Surely Sirius Black hadn’t been fawning over you as well? Surely you hadn’t wasted all these years apart because neither one of you had the bollocks. “You could’ve had anybody...”

“Well, I could--and did,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Please, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not proud of my whorish boyhood--though it only seems fair having given my recent dating history, funnily enough, a dementor's kiss is not a hot thing.” he broke off when you let out a rip of laughter. “But all that is behind me. I can still hear James suggesting I settle down with a nice girl instead of working my way through the female half of our year. Remus gave up on that idea long ago, I think.”

His smile turned sad at the mention of his friend, and your eyes fell back to the picture of the two of them being scolded by Lily.

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” you said honestly. “The last half of your life...it must’ve been awful. Losing your best mate, your brother essentially, and then being blamed and imprisoned in fucking Azkaban for a decade for it.”

Sirius didn’t answer, merely looked darkly at the floor. You took your cue to steer the conversation in another direction. Tightening your towel around you, you cleared your throat.

“So, this nice girl James wanted you to find, any luck thus far? Do I know her?” you asked, lightening the mood.

“What do you think? This decrepit house isn’t exactly overflowing with options. Unless you count portraits of past, insane, family members, then I’m swimming!” he laughed, skirting around an answer.

“Nothing like a little pureblood incest,” you laughed in return. A draft of cold air blanketed the room, and you shivered. “So, er, I didn’t exactly have time to pack a bag on my way out; you don’t by chance have any clothes you wouldn’t mind me using, do you?”

“Oh, right! Sorry, it’s absolutely freezing in this drafty old house.” Sirius commented, gesturing to your goosebump covered arms. He turned and clapped his hands, flying to his closet.

“Well, I’ve got a bunch of my old school clothes in here...Seems dear old Mum had at least half a heart. This stuff might fit you a tad better,” he murmured, running his hands along the swinging clothes in his old closet. After a moment, he let out a barking laugh. “Here!”

He threw you a maroon hoodie, and you gave him a look, knowing he was teasing you about the housing. Opening the balled up fabric, you smiled despite yourself seeing the front. It was a Gryffindor Quidditch sweatshirt. You grinned giddily as you turned it around and saw Sirius’ last name splayed across the back, complete with his number. What you wouldn’t have given to wear this years ago...

“Did you need pants, too?” Sirius asked, an odd look on his face as you smiled down at his sweatshirt.

“Oh, no. That’s okay. This looks like it should cover everything--I’m a hot sleeper.” you explained sheepishly.

Turning, you padded softly over to the adjoining bathroom and clicked the door shut.

What a turn of events. Standing in Sirius Black’s bathroom, you took stock of the night.

You’d been attacked and almost killed by Fenrir Greyback, only just managing to escape what would have been a horrid death--or worse. After being mended by Madam Pomfrey, Sirius Black was to continue nursing you back to health. Sirius Black, your greatest childhood crush, and the way your heart hammered in your chest even now told you it might not be all the way extinguished. Never once did you think you’d see where he lived, let alone be undressing in his bedroom.

And his bedroom...what a time capsule it was. It made you feel like you were in school again, hoping to catch him in the hallways between classes, always peering through the stacks of books as he and James teased Remus during his studies. And further, it seemed all that time you hadn’t been the only one watching. Sirius Black had been watching you almost as much as you had him in your school years. Evident in that hidden in his bedroom was a photo of you, a photo you didn’t know he snuck. A photo surrounded by the greatest hits of his school years, surrounded by those he considered family.

Trying not to let it all go to your head, you groaned when you slipped the sweatshirt over your head. Though the pain in your body wanted to bring you back to reality, the full, uninhibited scent of Sirius sent you reeling once more. A sickly sweet, smoky scent was the most noticeable. Tobacco, maybe? Suddenly, the image of a young Sirius lounged beneath a tree on the skirts of the Great Lake was brought to mind, smoke rolling from his mouth as he brought his hand down from his lips. Of course, another inherently muggle form of rebellion, a double whammy to his family.

Something woodsy lingered underneath, as if the hoodie had been swaying in the breeze of some forgotten forest for the last twelve years instead of shut up in this abandoned house. Head swimming, you gingerly stepped out into the bedroom before you got lost in your thoughts.

“So, er, about the bed situa...” Sirius said, trailing off as he turned around to see you leaning against his doorway, sweatshirt draped to the tops of your thighs.

“Sorry, shit, I can put something else on if you want...don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything. I mean, we’ve known each other all this time--sort of, anyway. I must be like a sister to you...this is probably super weird. I’ll just fetch a pair of pants,” you nervously rambled. Sirius’ face had not changed since he saw you, and you were beginning to feel incredibly anxious about it all.

“No, no. Seriously, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Sirius said, his old playful smile playing on his lips. Rolling your eyes, you damned the blush creeping up your cheeks.

“Here, I found you these," Sirius said, tossing you a pair of thick brown socks. "I remember hearing you whine about your hands being cold all the time, figured the same might apply to your toes in an old drafty house like this.”

“You remember?” you asked him.

“Yes, well, I overheard you whining about it a time or two, and Remus was always mentioning you whining about being cold...I just remembered, that’s all.” Sirius said, his tone becoming oddly choppy.

“Well, you’re right. My toes were positively popsicles, but I didn’t want to be a complainer or anything, though...” you trailed off, pulling the thick socks onto your ice-cold feet.

“Ah yes, get attacked by a murderous werewolf, blast yourself into a wall, shatter a few bones, but lest you complain!” Sirius teased you, smiling once more.

In the next second of silence that occurred, your stomach rumbled loudly, and you smiled sheepishly.

“Bastard got me right in the middle of making dinner,” you explained.

“Well, come on then. I’ll have Kreacher fix us something; what would you like?” Sirius asked, seemingly happy that he could help.

“What’s he good at?” you shrugged, hungry for anything. Winking at you, Sirius barked for Kreacher as he led you down into the kitchen.

“Yes, Master?” Kreacher croaked, bowing so lowly his nose brushed against the dusty floor.

“Fix us some herb dumpling stew, won’t you? And some of those delicious little mince pies you make.” Sirius said, and at once, the elf nodded and stepped over to the stove.

“And some apple pie?” you asked hopefully as you sank into the seat across from Sirius at the long kitchen table.

“Whatever she asks, Kreacher,” Sirius commanded, smiling fondly at your excited state.

“Of course, Master...Kreacher gladly serves those pure of blood...gladly...whatever she asks..” he agreed in his funny speech patterns.

While Kreacher was cooking, Sirius reckoned it was time to alert Remus and the rest of the Order, and you couldn’t find a reason to disagree.Sighing, you watched him disappear to retrieve Remus.

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alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 4 years

Text

Monet Issues

Happy COI day! Here's some no-longer-canon-compliant angst because apparently the book itself isn't going to be enough for me :)

No spoilers here, but I know not everyone is checking tags and such right now, so I'm going to tag a few people who have interacted with my fics before (lmk if you don't want to be!). Don't feel obligated to read this though, it's a little dark. @littlx-songbxrd @alastairxcarstairs @dianasarrow @doitforthecarstairs @archeronesta @thechangeling @styxdrawings @upsidedown-cats @fictionally-fantastic @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood

Fanfiction Masterlist

CW: mention or discussion of alcoholism, physical abuse, bullying, and toxic relationships

(title from the song Monet Issues by Chase Petra, which I may or may not have listened to on repeat while writing this)

Out of all of the people he’d ever snapped at, Alastair Carstairs had never lost his temper with his mother. Not until today.

“He’s the same. He’s the same as he was last spring, before he left, the same as he was ten years ago. He is never going to change. Not for Cordelia, not for you, not for the baby. Why are you still doing this to yourself?” he pleaded.

His mother smiled and sighed. “That’s enough, Alastair joon. Your father is flawed, but he loves us. He’s trying. You’ll understand one day, once you’ve fallen in love and started a family of your own.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Just answer one question then: if this child is a boy, will you allow him to do everything I was forced to do?”

She hardened her expression. “Joonam, that’s just what family-”

“No. Cordelia never did those things, did she? I never wanted her to. You never wanted her to.”

“That was different. She’s… Well, she has a big heart, you know. I knew that you could handle such a burden, azizam. I know that it was difficult, but look at the man that you’ve become. I’m so proud of you. These trials life brings us… they only make us stronger.”

Alastair could feel his stomach twisting as his mother spoke. “No.”

“Alastair-”

“No! I never asked for this! I never wanted this! You told me that I needed to be head of the family in his absence, but now that he’s returned, it’s as if the past six months never happened? As if the past decade never happened? He has been absent for ten years. Cordelia was allowed to simply be a child. Because she had a ‘big heart,’ you say? What about mine? Was it always small, or did you, did Father make it that way? Because I genuinely cannot remember a time before. When was I meant to just be a child? When you sent me away to school, to meet all of the boys who were allowed to simply grow up and make mistakes and learn from them while I was busy trying to keep my father alive and my family together? I didn’t need to be stronger. I was a child!” His voice cracked. “I needed to be loved and protected! I needed someone to take care of me, not the other way around! I needed to feel safe! I was a child!”

He clenched his fists at his sides, seeing white. “It didn’t make me stronger. It made me- it made me broken. It made me bitter and angry, so much so that I pushed it onto everyone else. It made me a monster. Do you know how awful school was? They taught me to hate myself. I became a bully because it was easier to hurt others than let them hurt me. I let nearly every part of me die, just trying to survive it. I knew someone who didn’t, a fourteen-year-old boy who I watched die. And yet I preferred that over the idea of returning home and dealing with Father’s illness again. Do you want to know the truth?”

He took a step closer to his mother, her expression hard and unreadable. “The truth is that the moment I met someone who I thought might actually take care of me and protect me, I ran to him. I trusted him like I’d never allowed myself to trust anyone. And I stayed with him, even as he lied to me, as he left me cold and alone night after night, as he made it clear time and time again that he would never prioritize me over his own whims and desires. I wanted so badly to feel loved that I gave him all I had, all of my time and energy and attention, knowing that he would never return any of it.”

He took a step back, finally feeling the tears that had spilled down his cheeks. “I’ve realized now that I deserve better. I deserved better. You deserve better.” He lowered his voice and looked down. He knew that his mother loved him, that Cordelia loved him, that maybe even Elias loved him, in his own way. He just wished he never had to wonder whether his life would be different if someone had cared about him. “I know… I know you love me, that you love all of us. I know that you didn’t have many choices. You were in a terrible situation. But I can’t stand here and watch you sit in your denial any longer, knowing the prices we have both paid for it.”

He stared at her, waiting for her to respond, but she did not. Alastair did the only thing he knew left to do: he turned and left. As he started towards the staircase, he stopped and spoke one last time. “You were meant to protect me, and you did not. That’s okay, because I’m learning how to be whole again. I’m finding better ways to survive. I am mending my own heart, alone, because it is my only option. But I want to make one thing clear, this is not meant to be the price of family. This did not make me strong, and you have nothing to be proud of.”

Finally satisfied, he retreated to his room without waiting for a reaction.

***

Sona returned to her room after her son stormed off. Her eyes scanned her dresser, a quiet mess of makeup, perfumes, Elias’ house key. She’d only just given it to him, but it was pointless. He always lost them. At least today, he’d forgotten them in their own home, and not at a bar or on a park bench or in some hansom cab halfway across the city. She looked up at her reflection in the mirror, at the purple spot under her eyes, at the wrinkles now set into her face, and thought of the days when she was younger. Did she always look older than her years?

Elias had been older than her, of course. Much older. Despite her young age, she’d been a widow. Not just a widow, but accused of murder. Despite all that had happened since, she could still remember clearly going before the Mortal Sword, confessing all that had happened, and watching herself acquitted and her husband’s death swept under the rug by a society that did not wish to face the reality of what she had endured.

She’d been frightened, terrified, certain that no one would ever love after what she had done. She’d always known that her life would be difficult, that it would be unlikely for her to find a respectable husband, that she would never marry for love. Theodor was supposed to be a catch. She was meant to be the luckiest girl alive. She was young and naïve and blood spilled for it over, and over, and over, until she broke. Until everyone around her could see that she was broken.

She thought that Elias would make her whole. She believed that he would take care of her, that he would love her, that he would provide. She hadn’t known how she could be so lucky, twice.

Now, she wondered if she should have taken off on that milking cart.

She’d thought about it many times, what her life could have become if she’d simply left. If she’d run away, away from the Shadow World, away from all that knew her past. She could have started over as a mundane.

She always pushed the thought aside. If she had run, she would never have had her children.

Her children.

Their lives had been much more difficult than she’d dreamed of. They were never going to be easy, not being who they are, not in this world they lived in. Some pains were unavoidable.

Some were not.

Alastair had been a happy child, once. He’d carried so much love in his heart, perhaps even more than Cordelia ever had. That is why, when he learned the truth, he agreed so readily to help. Because he loved Cordelia, and her, and Elias, so much. He did not yet know that for some, the cost of love was pain and hopelessness.

She allowed him to pay that price, the same one that she had paid, because it was easier than accepting the truth. Even as she watched him grow more and more anxious, as dark circles imprinted themselves under his eyes, as Risa shot her disapproving looks every time she asked him to look after Elias, or take care of Cordelia, or clean up some bottles, she allowed that price to be paid.

She thought that the Shadowhunter Academy could be good for him, that perhaps it would benefit him to be away from the house. She was a fool, and by the time he first returned from school, she could see that the little boy she’d once known had disappeared.

She could see him again, now, fighting to be heard. She could see that her son was finding himself again, but that it was a slow and painful process, and that he was still very far away. She wondered where her old self had gone, and if she could find her, or if she even still existed at all.

She’d always known that Alastair was similar to her. Too similar, it seemed, and now, he had made the same mistakes she had. She knew the pain he felt too well, the pain that she could see in his eyes, hear in his voice. She’d thought that was love, but it was not. She’d learned the hard way, and now Alastair had, too. She knew that it was not a coincidence.

You had the biggest heart of them all, she wanted to tell her son. It’s still yours. I’m sorry.

She did not know how.

She rested a hand on her swollen belly and thought about taking care of an infant while also taking care of her husband. She could no longer not ask anyone else to do it for her.

For this baby, still unmarred by life’s hardships, for Alastair, for Cordelia, for herself, she took a deep breath and gathered her husband’s few belongings. She threw them in a suitcase, along with a short note, and placed it on their front steps, locking the door behind her.

A/N: Thanks for reading! The Farsi words are just terms of endearment, like “my dear.” I just want to say that I don’t necessarily think everything that Alastair said or Sona thought is true (or that Alastair even believed everything he said), I was just trying to get inside their heads a bit. Forgiving (and blaming) parents is really hard and complicated, and I really wanted to explore how Alastair felt about Sona a bit more.

#fanfiction #alastair carstairs #sona carstairs #anti elias carstairs #the last hours #tlh #chain of gold #chog #cog2 #cw alcoholism #cw physical abuse #cw bullying #cw toxic relationship

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chalkrevelations · 3 years

Text

Ep 27 of Word of Honor, and that was … Well. That was definitely the unicorn chaser to spending so much time and hugging with Awful Yifu in the last episode.

(Spoilers, as ever, so scroll away and come back later, if you’re still planning to watch unspoiled.)

I mean, what is there to say?

Ha, no, really, I can find plenty to say. Buckle up, I guess.

Clearly, I’m going to talk about The Scene, and there’s a lot going on here, besides the obvious cake frosting of everyone coming to everyone else’s rescue and the fighting and the crying and the declarations, and then once it’s all over, when everybody’s still hopped up on adrenaline, before the crash hits, the shouting and the laughing. At the end of it, we’re not even 20 minutes into the ep, and I feel like that should have been the climax (har), but they probably knew nobody would be able to concentrate on anything else that came before it. I’ve seen a couple of interviews now where Zhang Zhehan said he wanted to play Wen Kexing, and given the chance, he would probably still pick that role, and then everyone involved in the interview rambles on about the complexity of the Wen Kexing character, and it makes me worry that Zhang Zhehan isn’t giving himself or Zhou Zishu enough credit for the depth and range that he pulled out of the character. There’s a lot of various people yelling at various other people in many different places in this show, but there’s not been a scene yet that I felt it like I did when ZZS shouts at WKX after Ye Baiyi finally goes away, wanting to know what the fuck he was thinking. That felt real, and it felt layered – like, there’s a bone-deep fear that’s giving that anger extra strength, fear about the fact that WKX could be so self-destructive. Which also may force ZZS to confront for the first time the idea that WKX could die and leave him alone, just like all his other shidi died and left him alone. I’d have to go back and rummage around in previous eps, but I feel like this could be the first time ZZS really has to confront the idea that could happen, and he’s probably not at all prepared for it, because he’s understandably expecting to be the first to go. But this idea that WKX could just disappear, and get himself killed (because let’s face it, Ye Baiyi tossed them both around like toys), and ZZS would never see him again – that he would abandon ZZS like that, just to hide his secrets – I think that might be part of the anger, here. (You don’t fail me … and Zhou Zishou’s expectations for what constitutes not being failed are a pretty low bar, consisting mainly of not getting yourself killed like a fucking dumbass, and even that bar suddenly seems to be too high for Wen Kexing to clear.)

There’s also a clear parallel here, need I say, to the scene in a previous ep when Gu Xiang (WKX) begs Shen Shen (Ye Baiyi) that even after Shen Shen (Ye Baiyi) kills her (him), could he just for god’s sake not tell her (his) boyfriend who she (he) really was. Wen Kexing’s supposedly thought-out plan was basically just going to be what A-Xiang came up with on the fly, and stupid babies need the most love, I remind myself grimly, particularly when all this is about something Zhou Zishu already knew anyway, because he’s a brilliant former merciless assassin, not a good-hearted self-deprecating cinnamon roll who thinks he’s the least talented person in his sect like Cao Weining. We’ve also got some tasty philosophical stuff in this whole confrontation, including competing responsibilities – loyalty vs. justice vs. integrity – along with ideas of retributive vs. restorative justice. This is another good Zhang Zhehan acting moment, because that whole bit about how, actually, Grandpa, his shifu would have been about guiding his shidi toward kindness and making up for the mistakes he made – I actually believe he’s wholly thinking about Wen Kexing when he pulls out this philosophical rapier, and not at all about how restorative justice benefits ZZS, himself, considering how much blood he has on his own hands and that earlier conversation about frying in oil for 80 vs. 100 years. Good job, my friend. The one thing that makes me sad about this scene is that I’ve seen That Extra, and I hate we were robbed of not only Zhou Zishu actually laying his head on Wen Kexing’s shoulder but of Gong Jun’s single crystalline tear spilling down his cheek. Zhang Zehan’s right, that was a better take.

Anyway, Ye Baiyi proceeds to put WKX under house arrest, which, just. So he has to live with ZZS for the rest of his life? Please don’t throw him into the briar patch, right?

Also, yes, WKX. He’d die for you, dumbass. God.

Just to drive home the point of how the Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishou and Gu Xiang/Cao Weining relationships are the same relationship, we then go to a scene … well, we then go directly to a scene where Cao Weining is just sitting there, chin in hand, gazing adoringly at Gu Xiang, much the way Wen Kexing has been gazing adoringly at Zhou Zishu since about Ep 3 2 1 … but that also leads into a scene where Cao Weining is interrogated about Gu Xiang by his shixiong in a milder, miniature version of the grilling ZZS just took from his elder. “Do you know who she is?” Whoever she is, he’s going to continue to respect her boundaries. “I promised her, so I won’t betray or distrust her.” “We’ve been through so much together.” (“We’re in the same boat anyway, we might as well stay together.”) I won’t fail you. Nobody in this scene has actually made the Ghost Valley connection, yet, and Cao Weining is not as canny as Zhou Zishu, so we’re not yet going to get any kind of resolution on the issue in this relationship - but given the way these relationships are running on parallel tracks, I have positive feelings about how Cao Weining is going to meet this challenge (not that I didn’t, anyway) once the info finally does come out.

What else, what else? We do go back to Xie Wang and Awful Yifu in this ep, and oh boy.

Xie’er: Ghost Valley Master’s faithful minion Heartless Amethyst Fiend has been sent by her master to sneakily follow Cao Weining and infiltrate the Gentle Wind Sword Sect where the Glazed Armor is being held.

A-Xiang, chillin’ outside the gated community in a rustic cabin with her fiancé, doing some mending and waiting for her wedding day: Never speak of my former master again, I have utterly left that life behind me. Also, what should we have for dinner?

I can see how you would come to the conclusion you did, Xie’er, but wow, the only time you’ve been more wrong in your life is about your Awful Yifu. Speaking of which, it appears the cat Awful Yifu is out of the bag. Xie Wang is still all, “Since you saved me, you can take my life back if you want,” and here we are in Zhou Zishu-Prince Jin territory again, shades of ZZS in Ep 1 not even blinking as he offers himself to Prince Jin and takes the gamble that he won’t just get his head cut off for his troubles. ALSO, I distinctly remember telling you, Xie’er, that you were empathizing (although not sympathizing) a bit much with the women of the Department of the Unfaithful, and here we do in fact get an explicit comparison, looking back to the conversation with Beauty Ghost about her loser boyfriend, when you refer to yourself as “also a gambler” as you take your leave of Zhao JIng. You need some Water of Lethe, buddy. Or do you think – to return to that conversation and the parallels with Beauty Ghost – that if you remember all this, you’ll stop making the same mistakes?

A last few random things:

lol, let’s all take a minute to giggle over the fact that ZZS has, in Ye Baiyi’s words, associated with this dude. Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Sorry, but I had to pause the show at that point to snicker like a 12-year-old.

Chengling: “How dare those ruffians beat my two dads! Let’s burn down their house.” Wow. OK. Xiang-jie has been … some kind of influence on her didi.

Last scene of ZZS and WKX, oh my god:

ZZS: You’re feeling bad for keeping a secret from a kid? What about me? How are you going to make it up to me?

WKX: Oh, my goodness, look at the time. I’m feeling so … sleepy. Yes, that’s it. I must go to bed. You also must be so … sleepy. You should. You know. Go to bed. Too. Also. To cure your … sleepiness. As you do, in a bed. Where I will also be.

Me, to the screen: He’s going to make it up to you on his back.

Also me: :facepalm: You are a pair of merciless killers. How are you this adorable?

#zhang zhehan #zhou zishu #wen kexing #ye baiyi #gu xiang #cao weining #xie wang #zhao jing #zhang chengling #word of honor #word of honor episode reax

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alicemitch09writes · 3 years

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lame

09.

new beginnings are always the hardest part

Despite everything you said – being happy to see your two childhood friends finally acknowledging each other, coming to better terms with their relationship, you didn’t talk to the two for a week though, slightly pissed that they let their damn egos get the best of them.

Really, boys were stupid. So stupid. How stupid? Fucking stupid!

Yet, at the same time, you merely used it as an excuse to really re-evaluate your stance on things.

Honestly, it was nice to have them work through their feelings and finally see each other on equal footing, despite the fact that they had to use their goddamn fists and talk civilly- nope. Childhood friends with serious issues that were slathered by insecurities and bullying could only be mended by fists and screaming. Still, despite having the two finally coming to terms with each other, they still felt so far and out of reach. You had to wonder, where were you in all of that?

Exhaling through your nose, you rested your head against the mop handle, running your forehead through the wood to ground you. “Stupid,” you say to no one in particular. Well, maybe it was more to yourself.

Tiredly making your way through your home, sluggishly pulling the door open, you announced your presence, voice slurring. “I’m home.”

All you wanted to do was bury yourself in bed, take a short nap, or drown in bath-

Something was off.

Immediately, your senses were on high.

First, you caught a familiar scent – two of them, actually. One smelled like sweat and body wash, the other was of burnt sugar. Then, there were the familiar gentle beats. Rushing towards your living room, you all but slammed the door wide open, yellow eyes opening just as wide.

Green and carmine eyes widened at your presence. Staring. You blink. They blinked. You blink again. Izuku raised a tentative hand, smiling weakly. Bakugou just stared with his hands in his pockets.

…

“OLD MAN! What are they doing here!?”

At your outburst, your grandfather comes running towards you whacking you in the head, hard.

The boys winced at that.

Your grandfather eyes you sternly. “Don’t be rude to our guests, foolish girl!”

The two guests just eye you – one worried, with his hands out, the other in awed concern, feeling the pain from the whack.

"You didn't answer my question," you growled, the back of your head still hurting. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY DOING HERE!?"

"Simple: they came to visit."

"AND YOU JUST LET THEM!?"

"They were standing outside the house, it's rude to just leave them there."

"THEN YOU SHOULD'VE! THEY'RE NOT FUCKING STRAYS!"

"They're our guests, foolish girl."

"You should've left them out, then asked for my opinion!"

Beside you, the two boys shifted their eyes going back and forth at your heated exchange with your grandfather.

"Why should I? It's my house."

"Don't I get a say?"

"Do you want me to hit you again?" he raised a hand threateningly, causing you (and the two boys) to wince and take a step back, the back of your head still throbbing. "Ha, thought so." You gave him a sneer, he smirked smugly.

“I’m going to cook now, keep them company!” turning his back, he casually waves off at you three, walking to the kitchen. “Have them greet your parents.”

Sighing, taking a few calming breaths, you glared at the two boys, gesturing then with your head. Without a word, they were on their feet and followed after you.

It’s been a while since Bakugou’s ever been to your house. Izuku comes over a lot, has been over the years. He can't help but feel jealous of how close the two of you are, he felt so left out.

There was an altar by the corner of the living room, where he found you kneeling in front of, lips pressed tightly staring hard at the wooden cabinet long and hard. Eventually, you took hold of the doors and opened, expression softening as you saw the smiling photos of your deceased parents.

“Hi Ma, Pa, looked who came over to visit.”

Quickly getting to his knees behind you, Izuku gestured for Bakugou to do the same, hands pressed together in front of his chest. “Auntie, Uncle, it’s been a while!”

“A-Ah, yeah…” Bakugou says, awkwardly, you had to roll your eyes at that.

“These idiots finally got their act together,” you reported, almost smugly. “still, doesn’t change the fact that they’re the worst knuckleheads in this day and age.”

Some would think that it was a little odd to have your guests come and greet the dead, but this was quite the tradition in your home. Most of your family’s close friends were used to it, Izuku included.

Knowing this, Bakugou felt left out than ever.

For he remembered the day after that day, how his parents spoke in hushed tones when he came home after nearly dying by the hands of a sludge villain and saved by Deku – of all people, the solemn look in their faces after a quick inquiry on the bruise on his jaw, tears alarmingly threatening to spill from his mother’s eyes, his father’s careful expression – “(Name)-chan’s parents, they’re dead.”

It was all too surreal.

You missed out on school for a whole week, grieving. Classmates were murmuring amongst themselves at your absence, having heard of your little altercation and the death of your parents on the same day. Also, students fawned over him for the Sludge Incident, for managing to hold back the villain (when in actuality he was barely breathing had Deku not jumped in) which was honestly the last thing on his mind.

Deku, who was surprisingly left alone, would stare at your chair worriedly, thumbs quick to send a quick text in between classes. He had wanted to ask him about you but held himself back. Pride and guilt held him back. Also, it felt like it wasn’t his place anymore, neither was it his right.

During the funeral, he finally saw you dressed in an all-black kimono his heart clenching at the bags under your eyes, the redness surrounding it, your puffy tear-stained cheeks, the dullness in those once bright (e/c) eyes.

When they arrived, immediately both his parents gave you a big hug, you barely hugged them back, much to their concern. Auntie Inko gave you a hug, as well, when she and Deku arrived. As for him? He kept himself back, hidden, knowing how his presence would only make things worse. And yet, he still came because he was worried about you, so, so, so fucking worried.

You were barely there, receptive or alive. Bakugou hated it, it wasn’t you – you were never much of a crier, always wearing your heart on your sleeve and brimming with life. Now though, it looked as though you were half-alive. He couldn’t blame you really, he can’t imagine losing his parents, of having a part of you die.

While your grandfather attended to guests, receiving condolence money and sympathies, he ensured a distance was kept, knowing you needed time to mourn. Judging from the redness in your eyes, the blankness in your gaze, it would probably take a while.

Looking at you now, seeing the color back in your face, your eyes, the lively (if not, careful hostile) aura emanating off you sets him at ease. Well, almost.

He tried not to linger on the fact that he had a part in utterly destroying a part of you the same way he did Deku, but it bled through as the months went by. All he could do was stare at your parent’s faces, silently offering his heartfelt apologies for all those years he wasted.

"GRANDDAUGHTER! WHILE YOU’RE AT IT, BRING THEM TO THE DOJO!" A yell came from the kitchen, disrupting the peace.

His eyes fell to your form, shoulders slacking. He may not see your face, but he could tell there was a sour expression written all over your face.

Then you sighed, twisting in place to look at the two.

"How about it, boys? Wanna let off some steam?"

The dojo was adjoined to your house - a small traditional dojo that's about ages old, you're not sure but you know but it's been there forever - or so you're told.

A wide space greeted you, polished wooden floors and tatami mats on the ground, calligraphy of 'fortitude', and your family name done by your grandmother hung from the walls along with some ornaments and nondescript paintings that were as old as you (maybe) – everything was in place.

With your grandfather as the head of the family, duly seeing that he lived the family legacy and upheld tradition, he saw fit that the dojo was well-taken care for, that his students weren’t weaklings – family or not, and that the Yoruichi family lived up to its potential and filled with honor (this part, he drilled hard on you when you were younger). In addition, he was the current coach of your school's martial arts club and you were his star pupil, which spelled big favouritism, but nobody complained after sweeping the floor with them on the first day.

Growing up, this place was your safe haven, you could always find peace here, it also held so many good memories that smelled pleasantly of bamboo, faintly of wood, and the faint sounds of a wind chime resounding.

Unable to help yourself, you threw yourself to the ground sideways – an act catching the boys by surprise, Izuku to shrieked, and Bakugou to start - hands planted firmly on the ground, cartwheeling away before doing it again except doing it forward, then sideways, and then your body twisted in mid-air, before landing gracefully on your feet arms raised on both sides.

"(Nickname)!" Izuku called after you, causing you to giggle, especially because your hair was a complete mess now.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself." Patting your hands to the sides, the feel of your skirt made you realize why both boys seemed red in the face. Thankfully, you wore shorts underneath.

With Shinsou busy and final exams in the way, your sparring sessions had been put to a hold. You missed sparring, training – even if it were against Aizawa-san or your grandfather, you loved the thrill of fighting. It was in your blood, after all.

“Really, you shouldn’t be so reckless!” berates your green-haired friend, marching towards you, the blond following close behind.

Looking around, the blond teen took in his surroundings - the aged wooden beams overhead, the cubbies, your grandmother's calligraphy set neatly set in one of the fine cabinets, until his eyes stopped on some pictures. It was the three of you, during your younger days when your grandfather wanted to train all three of you.

Unaware of the way his eyes softened at the picture, he continually looked over and relived the memories – he could almost hear Deku’s crying as he tried to punch hard, him hollering in mad glee, and then you lording over the two because the dojo was ‘your turf’. Carmine eyes traced the smile on your 8-year old face, pulling away to find that you were wearing the same smile. Except, unlike the photo – where the smile was directed at him, Deku was crying in it – your smile was directed towards your green-haired friend who marvelled at the trophies you and some fellow students of the dojo won.

Jealousy was an ugly emotion, but it was always there. He hated it.

As a child, since discovering his quirk, he’d been showered by praise and was the center of everyone’s attention. But for him, the only praise and attention he wanted was from you. However, because he was a shitty kid with an overgrown pride, you barely batted his way and spared him even an ounce of acknowledgment. Honestly, he’s been starved for your attention for so long now.

Only when you had shoved his kindness away in middle school did he realize how badly he’d hurt you, how little of an effort he did to truly reach out to you. He had a handful of ‘friends’, but not really, and you had Izuku – a friendship built on trust and love, he wanted that. But he was too selfish and prideful to do shit about it.

Before he knew it, Bakugou acted on his feelings.

“(Name),” you looked up, (e/c) eyes blinking in question. “let’s spar.”

“Ka-Kacchan-?”

“Sure.” You said with a shrug.

Green eyes blinked at you, then at the blond-haired teen, darting back and forth at the two of you. Were you really doing this now?

“W-Wait a minute! Are we really doing this now?” Izuku tried to reason, seeing at the two of you began to circle each other, him in the middle. “We should just talk, recall the good times! L-Like…Like…um…” the tension between you two, it was unpalpable, raw, and intense. “(N-Nickname)! Remember the first time you showed us a kick split and Kacchan tried to mimic?”

As funny as that memory was, his two friends were too busy circling each other, resembling animals in the wild. Their expressions were blank, but their eyes spoke too much.

(E/c) met carmine. Both unwavering, unyielding, and both hungry.

“(Nickname)? Kacchan? Are you listening to me?”

Readying into a stance, you closed your eyes as you took a deep inhale, opening them when exhaling slowly out your mouth. Bakugou’s fingers were tingling, smoke emitting.

“(Nickname), Kacchan, please there’s no need to-!”

Without a moment of hesitation, Bakugou was lunging forward, the explosion – which was half-powered, Izuku noticed – leaving a cloud of smoke behind that momentarily filled the area.

You didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by the smoke, one arm quickly raised to guard against his fist, and the other readily grabbing hold of his knee that followed soon after. With all your might, you pushed him off. (In a fit of panic, Izuku cleared the smoke clouds away with a fling of his fingers at 2% power.)

Bakugou threw his fists, to which you easily deflected or swatted aside, keeping the blows away from you. Tossing his hand away, you planted your hands on the ground and swung your legs to hit him low, Bakugou quickly moved out of the way, rather clumsily. For a moment, he swore he saw you smirk, swinging your legs around with ease to swing at him again.

He had realized then that he had no idea how you fought; he was going into this blind. You both (three, counting Deku) may have trained together under the same dojo when you were younger, but that had been years ago! Plus, being a Yoruichi meant that you were proficient in other forms of martial arts. But again, emotions got the best of him. For some reason, despite being caught at a disadvantage, he found himself gleaming.

You were fast – much faster than he had anticipated, and extremely agile. He took note of the fact that your eyes were its usual (e/c) color, despite the fact that it was dark out. All the punches and hits received were all raw strength, honed from years of training under your grandfather. He always knew you were a capable fighter, despite having not used your quirk just yet. Fuck, were you mocking him?!

Seeing the frustration in his eyes, you smirked, grabbing hold of his incoming fist, catching him off guard, to toss him aside. So answer: yes, you were mocking him.

He had no idea how much you had studied his fighting style over the years, becoming familiar with his straightforward tactic – it was so predictable. And after seeing the Sports Festival and the fight with Izuku from yesterday, you easily caught up on how adaptable he was given the situation and had quick reflexes. It made you sick.

Yet at the same time, despite knowing this, both of you seemed rather in tune fighting each other.

Izuku, who had long given up trying to be the peacekeeper, could only watch in awe at the two. The mood between you two was…something, to say the least. And watching you two fight? It felt as though it were a dialogue if that even made sense – a mad disarray of Kacchan lashing out on you, you easily avoiding all his punches and explosion, you were able to catch Kacchan off-guard a lot whenever you changed fighting styles to which he’d manage to counter in his own reckless way. It was a nail biter to watch, yet it was fascinating at the same time. The two of you were in perfect synchronization with each other.

A cloud of smoke filled the air, your eyes narrowed to see through just as a palm cut through, nearly punching your cheek clean. Ducking a swipe of Bakugou's smoking fists, you took hold of his wrists and twisted them inward, Bakugou barely had time to react and the explosions went off his skin.

Angered, he used your closeness in an attempt to headbutt you, but you easily evaded, losing balance in the process. Seeing this, he grabbed hold of your hand, tugging hard to twirl against him, back to his chest. Instantly, he caught hold of your other hand. The position looked as though you were dancing, it was rather intimate.

"What's the matter? Not gonna use your quirk on me?" he taunted in your ear, making you shiver.

"As a matter of fact," throwing your head forward and back, smacking your hair to his face, he releases you - just barely - but it was enough to free you, sweeping him off his feet to pin him to the ground – an elbow to his back and one arm stretched out painfully behind him. "I don't need my quirk to beat you. I'm plenty strong on my own." Releasing your hold, you tilt your head to the side, unable to help the smug look on your face, faint lines of yellow lining your eyes. "Not bad for one 'seemingly quirkless', huh?"

Quirkless. Something in him roiled, especially with the way you said it.

Pushing himself off, making you lose balance, he grabbed hold of your collar and nearly slammed you to the ground, switching positions. “What the fuck is your problem?”

(E/c) eyes gave him a cold hard stare, the corner of your lip slightly twitching. It made his tenuous temper flare.

Tightening his hold, he asked again. “What is your fucking problem?!”

“My fucking problem is you!”

Okay, that threw him off.

Bakugou pulls back, blinking at your response, completely dumbfounded “I thought you were ‘working on being a better friend’? Was that all for show?” His voice was soft, hoarse. It hurt that after all this time, he was still a stranger to you. Yet at the same time, he's rather confused with how lightly you've been handling this.

Unable to look at him any longer, you look away. Those carmine eyes were full of hurt; you didn't like it.

"Let go of me," you tell him, his hand had slackened, allowing you to push him off. And he lets you, feeling defeated as he watches you pick yourself up.

His eyes turn to Deku for help, assurance, assistance, never would he have thought that he'd come to Deku - of all people - for such. Deku just stared, weakly at you, then at him – at a loss.

Before you could walk away, Bakugou grabbed your arm, his grip hard. "No, you're not walking away that easy, (Name)."

Your name sounds so foreign when he says it, you gulp, refusing to look his way. "What the fuck do you want from me?"

He glowers, tugging you back to face him, staring you down. "What I want is for you to stop being so fucking difficult and talk to me!"

You couldn't help scoffing, harshly tugging your arm free. "You? Talk? Wow."

Bakugou had always known you were a petty person, but to be this difficult at the same time? It was really grating his nerves.

"(Nickname)..." Izuku berates in the background, which was silenced by Bakugou.

"CAN YOU FOR ONCE JUST LISTEN TO ME!?"

"K-Kacchan..."

"WHAT DO YOU CALL THIS THEN?"

“I’M FUCKING TRYING TO BE CIVIL, BUT YOU’RE BEING SO FUCKING DIFFICULT!”

“YOU? CIVIL? IF THAT ISN’T THE JOKE OF THE CENTURY!”

(Somewhere in the kitchen, Shihan casually cooks dinner, knowingly oblivious to the explosion, yelling, screaming, going on in his beloved dojo. Casually checks the spice intake on one of his dishes, adding a bit more.)

Bakugou opens his mouth, about to berate on one of your bullshit of an excuse to give him the time to speak only to stop. He realized how much you’d instigate and rile him up, and how much he’d fall for it. This was never-ending, the ceaseless anger between you two, it had to stop. “Why won’t you give me the chance, (Name)?” his voice was brittle, so brittle and soft, from yelling and of hurt.

Vulnerability was something you never expected of him, but you were too proud to even recognize it from him of all people. “Your life is fucking perfect, why the hell do you want to make a mess outta mine!?”

“Perfec- “he nearly spat out the word, hating it. “you think my life is perfect?”

Rolling your eyes, hard, Bakugou swore it was enough to see the insides of your head. “Come on, do I need to list it down? You and your perfect family, your perfect little cozy home, your perfect academic performance, your perfect quirk,” that part just had to be overly emphasized, dramatized, much to his disgust “life just hands you everything perfectly in a neat little bow-“

“My life is anything but perfect! I'm anything but fucking perfect! My life’s not fucking perfect because I don’t have you in it, (Name)!” he angrily yells.

That made you stop. Izuku, too.

And after a few seconds of saying it, as did Bakugou. "Fuck," he muttered, ducking his head, to hide his reddening face, he was reeling at his confession – pent up after being so long overdue.

“…what…?”

Izuku’s hands slapped over his mouth, a small noise coming threatening to come out as he watched the two of you in keen interest. “…K-Kacchan…(N-Nickname)…”

(Now would probably be the worst time to gush, squeal, or scream over this, as though he were watching a rom-com movie, but he couldn’t help it! Izuku had always been the biggest supporter of you two, wanting you both to end up together since you were children.)

After all this time, he liked you, too?

When he looked up, he was surprised to see how red you were – you were, like him, blushing hard. Like that one time you visited to give your ochugen gifts.

Wait.

“Wait.”

“I’m outta here!”

The door slammed shut behind you.

Dinner was an awkward occasion, an extremely awkward one especially because your grandfather had Bakugou sit right next to you.

Your grandfather, painfully knowing that he is, acted oblivious to the tension and casually chatted up the boys - Izuku mostly doing the talking, whilst Bakugou mumbled here and there, you kept your head low avoiding the gaze of anyone in the table.

Just after dinner, you made a beeline for your room, uncaring for your grandfather's wrath - you could deal with that later, you just wanted a moment to yourself after Bakugou's confession.

“My life is anything but perfect! I'm anything but fucking perfect! My life’s not fucking perfect because I don’t have you in it, (Name)!”

Fuck.

His words rang in your ear, all the blood rushing the instant his voice rang in your head.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," you wailed into your pillow.

With special permission from Aizawa-san, and Izuku's insistency, you found yourself at the prestigious UA once again in time for its culture festival.

To say the place was huge would be an understatement, and that’s saying because you’ve been here a lot whenever Izuku was injured, more than just three USJs, it felt like its own continent! This time though, it was colorful and vibrant than usual.

The school went all out, I see. You thought to yourself, after all the bad shit that happened to them.

You still held Izuku with careful regard, it was always easy to forgive him, but appreciated the gesture that he extended his invitation to you. He wanted you to be there, to experience the joy of a high school culture festival even if you two weren’t school mates anymore. (Also, it was his way of saying sorry.) All things considered; things immediately went back to normal between you two.

(Save for one)

Meeting up with your best friend at the front gate, you were surprised to find him covered in dirt and grass. But before you could even ask, he hurriedly brought you backstage to meet up with his classmates before the show started.

“Everyone this is my childhood friend, Yoruichi (Name)!”

Giggling at his stutter, you shouldered him playfully before bowing at his classmates. “Hi everyone! It’s nice to meet the lot of you!”

A series of ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ came afterwards, soon after, the two of you were bombarded with questions. Tiredly, you turn to your best friend, sharing a look. Man, I miss the days when we were invincible.

“Ah, it was that girl who yelled at him at the hospital!” a tall plain-looking guy pointed at you, to which Iida yelled that it was rude to point. You could only offer an apologetic smile, nudging at your best friend’s shoulder again.

“Eh? I didn’t know Midoriya had another childhood friend!” some guy with flaming red hair and shark teeth said, kindly and in shock.

“More than that, Midoriya’s been keeping this beauty from us!” a small purple-haired boy screeched, angrily turning to your best friend. On instinct, you stepped in front of your friend protectively.

“Wow, I’m offended you don’t talk much about me, Izuku.” You teased, elbowing the green-haired teen. He laughed, scratching his cheek.

“This is so radical, a female childhood friend. Must be nice~” a boy, with a streak of black over his hair that could only remind you of Pikachu, gushed. “But wait, haven’t I seen you at that one café- “

“Dunce face, shut your mouth.” Bakugou suddenly appeared in your line of sight, you immediately turned away before he met your gaze, fighting the blush creeping its way to your cheeks.

“Ne, ne, ne,” a pink-skinned and pink-haired girl gushed, nearly shoving her face into yours. “So, like, is Midoriya your boyfriend?”

In unison, you two stared at each other before bursting into laughter, used to the question for so many years.

“No way,” Izuku says, trying to calm down. “(Nickname)’s like a sister to me!”

“I second that! Izuku’s such a whiny big brother with a big brain.”

“(Nickname), you didn’t have to put it like that…”

Grinning toothily, you playfully ruffled his curly locks, discreetly eyeing a brunette who seemed to sigh in relief.

“Wait a minute, since Yoruichi’s your childhood friend, does that mean that Bakugou’s your childhood friend, too?” a short-haired punk-looking girl asked, a few heads turning to the blond. Said blond stilled, expression a careful blank.

“Yeah, he is.” The reply came easy, nonchalantly. Playfully. “Is. Was. Somewhere in between.” You wiggled your hand in the air for emphasis.

It was a cold response, almost as cold as Todoroki’s ice.

“But that’s enough about me, I heard you guys were putting on a live performance?” the mood easily shifted, two kinds of excitement stirring from the class. “And Izuku, you’re dancing? Since when!?”

“Sadly, we kicked him out.” The pink-haired girl says, arms crossed.

“Deku-kun worked his best!” Ochako defended, cheeks puffing.

“That’s right! That’s right!”

“Ah, Midoriya-chan looks mad?”

“More than that, he’s blushing too.”

Several eyes turned to the green-haired teen, cheeks puffed and an angry flush dusting his cheeks, glaring your way.

“I-I mean, dancing sounds fun. Plus, I’ll have you know that we’ve danced together before, (Nickname)!”

(e/c) eyes narrowed playfully, finger poking at freckled cheeks. “Dance Revolution, Just Dance, and Dance Master don’t count, dumdum. Plus, you suck at those!”

“She’s so brutal!”

“Almost like a female Bakugou.”

“Uwa, it’s kinda rare to see Midoriya like this. He seems more comfortable and less grounded.”

“I see what you’re saying! And he usually shies away from girls!”

“Yoruichi’s got spunk, doesn’t she?”

“Oi, we got to prepare! Come on, now!”

Realizing this, you stepped away from Izuku, wishing him luck. He had told you that he wanted you to meet someone after the show, you could only nod at that.

Meeting carmine eyes, you faltered, body shifting to move, but stopped. Braving a look his way – much to his shock, you offered a small smile. “Break a leg.”

Their show was amazing, spectacular, a showstopper, and you made sure to relay your praises to the class afterwards.

Shortly after the show (and sharing your thoughts about their presentation), you were introduced to Eri, the sweet little girl Izuku told you about during his work-study. The moment you saw her, she immediately won your heart. Oh, and you were introduced to Mirio, a goofy senior who was super friendly and an amazing presence to behold.

Without even knowing, you somehow wounded up with the rest of 1-A joining whatever sorts of fun the cultural festival has to offer. Most of the time, you stuck close with Eri, who'd grown fond of you after your first meeting, sometimes, sticking with the girls (even though your nose would crinkle at girlish topics), or even hung with Bakugou's ragtag of friends (of which, you were surprised to find that he had a clique of his own!).

It was a rather eventful day, and your legs were all tired out from constantly moving around. Still, it was a fun day. Sitting against a railing, you watched as Izuku ran off towards the gate, a paper bag in hand. Smiling at his retreating frame, you leaned back and watched around, eyeing the festivities - or what's left of it, feeling suddenly lonely about it all. This was where Izuku and Bakugou went to school, this was their cultural festival, and you were just an outsider.

“Here,” you blinked as a churro appeared out of nowhere, offered to you. Retracting your hands from your sides, you carefully took the treat in your hands and looked up, meeting carmine - Bakugou.

“Thanks,” you reply, dumbly.

Sitting next to you, Bakugou was strangely quiet, hands buried in his pocket. “What did you think of our performance?” he asked, rather quietly.

“Pretty kickass,” you say honestly, still staring at your treat. "I forgot how well you could play the drums."

The corners of his mouth twitched, but his expression remained a careful, almost wistful blank. His eyes though, they were another story. “I’m glad you came, (Name).”

Scoffing, a smile found its way to your lips, you bump his shoulder with yours. Surprised, he looks up, eyes finding yours, (e/c) warm. “Yeah, me too.”

Something inside him stirs, strangely, comfortingly. He could feel his throat drying just looking at you, just as you bit on your churro - a big crunch, followed by sugar falling off.

“You should consider transferring.”

“Pass, I’ll just take the supplementary lessons Aizawa-san offers.”

"Like they'll do you good."

"Hm,” you swallow, using the back of your hand to wipe the cinnamon sugar off your mouth. “lest you forget I have my shitty old man, and he teaches me plenty."

He mulls at your words as you chew on your churro, enjoying the youthful vibe of the cultural festival. Truth be told, being here actually made you jealous. You never enjoyed the cultural festival at your middle school because everyone did such a mediocre job and could care less about having fun. But this? This was nice. Relaxing, fun even.

"What happened to you?"

Stopping midchew, you let the words sink in - word by word, before finishing the last piece of your churro. Mulling over his question, you leaned your head back to watch the cotton candy-colored skies. "I gave up." You said simply, decidedly, honestly. "You seem to disregard people who care about you."

He swallowed thickly at your words. There were a million things he wanted to say while you were right there, no animosity between the both of you for once, however, he found himself choked up. All the words, questions, they held up in his throat. It felt pretty fucking lame of him.

However, if anything, there was one thing he's been meaning to say to you for a very long time. "(Name)," he starts, he liked the way your name comes out of his mouth, always liked how it's comparably lighter to say compared to a million words that made up language. "I'm sorry."

Startled, you turned to him, really stare at him. Two words, yet they carried so much weight. So much history addressed. So many years of fighting, crying, yelling, and stubbornness. All it took were just two words.

Surrendering, you leaned against his form - feeling his body flinch at the contact, but doesn't move away, eyes falling shut. "I'm sorry, too."

That made him scoff, offended at your apology. "Shut up," As far as history has shown, you have nothing to apologize for.

"No, really listen." you continue, eyes dropping to your fingers. "I'm much to blame for our history. I've been so incredibly petty, cynical even whenever it came to you. Izuku was always so forgiving and he'd try to pass it on to me, but I just tossed it aside, never realizing that in the process I was hurting both of my dearest friends. By neglecting Izuku's wishes, I was neglecting you in the process. I was so selfish."

"I've been selfish, too."

"I know."

"And prideful."

"Oh, I know."

The makings of a smile creep its way to his lips. "And shitty."

You snort. "Oh, believe me, I know." Unknowingly, you laughed easily.

Bakugou watches as you laugh - eyes crinkling, cheeks brightened (with a few specks of cinnamon sugar sticking), your teeth were exposing, a light-hearted laugh escaping your mouth, you looked so pretty like that. He rather liked hearing your laugh.

Finding his elbow, you wrapped your arm around his, leaning ever so closer. Bakugou might've jumped at that, but you couldn't tell, too contented at that moment. "I missed you, fucker."

At your admission, he felt his chest stilling, calming. Before realizing it, the expression on his face lightened, softened, carmine eyes taking in your form against it – had you seen it, it would have done you over.

It was the softest expression he could ever muster.

"I missed you, too-"

"Oi, Bakugou!"

"There you are! We've been looking all over for-"

Kaminari and Kirishima both stopped at the sight of two teens, relishing in each other's presence - quite comfortably, too - which was ruined by their arrival.

Curious, you peeked a look at the two teens.

And then there was Bakugou, who was absolutely furious.

masterlist • ten

#lame #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki fic #bakugou katsuki angst #bakugou katsuki angst fic #bakugou x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha fic #bnha angst #bnha angst fic #mha #mha x reader #mha fic #mha angst #mha angst fic

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dclsbaby · 4 years

Text

mykonos-crossed lovers (part i) 🦋

🎶 playlist for part i

prologue

part ii

part iii

part iv

Summary: When you drunkenly book a girls trip to a tropical Greek island to help mend your broken heart, you would never for a second think it will take you exactly to where he is. Him. A tale of the right person at the wrong time, an overused cliché made into plots of movies you never thought would live through in your reality. Two people, still madly in love with each other, hearts still broken, suppressed by the alcohol and distractions consumed on this trip. Will they let their egos get in the way, protect what’s left of their already broken hearts, or will let their hearts speak?

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: angst?

Author’s Note: hi everyone, thank you so so much for the responses to the prologue! I am so overwhelmed and did not expect to receive so much kindness it makes me wanna cry hahaha 🥺 thank you a thousand times over! and if this is your first time getting to know the fic, I highly suggest you read the prologue before diving into part 1! This chapter is sort of a filler chapter (I know it has 2.6k words lol), it shows how (y/n) have been doing since the break up & how the trip came about, I hope it’ll make sense once you read it 🤍 thanks for reading x

Gif:

It’s been months since you last spoke to him. Him. The thought of him still hurts. The idea of him existing without you, hurts. As much as you try to fight it, you still remember him like the back of your hand. You could draw on paper the contours of his face by memory, by instinct, like remembering your way home. He was a love you have never experienced before. Something about his magnetism seemed impossible to resist.

You and Dominic broke up nearly half a year ago. Your hopes of an amicable breakup were destroyed by him. His confusion, his anger, his frustration made it impossible for you two to stay friends. He couldn’t even begin to imagine being just a friend to you when his entire heart belongs to you. He called you selfish for leaving, he called you stubborn for having your mind made up without letting him put up a fight when he was ready to battle anyone, even you, to save your relationship.

The first few months were difficult, but the first few weeks were excruciating. You barely ate, as the numbing in the pit of your stomach constantly made you nauseous that your body couldn’t digest anything you ate. You couldn’t bring yourself to shower and get dressed, and spent days laying in bed, wallowing in sadness. Overtime, you just learn to live with the pain.

Since then, you’ve had good days, and slowly but surely stopped faking smiles and replaced them with genuine ones. But your bad days felt like hell, with your mind often teasing you with memories of him that you’ve suppressed enough to compartmentalise, then it comes back to you all at once, and consumes your entire soul. The pain is suffocating, like being crush by tidal waves, leaving you no time to run for shore, the waters dragging you, pulling you in many directions. All you could do was be still, stay paralysed, and pray that it goes away. That’s what remembering him felt like.

Then on other days, you often wonder how you were able to manage all this, with the pain still fresh whenever you think about it, but I guess we’re all guilty of pushing our feelings to the side and pretending that everything’s alright, when it’s the opposite. You’re still alive, despite it all. But you want to live, not just survive.

The truth is, you did not leave because you fell out of love. In fact, you were too in love—it’s a crime. He was your entire life. Days were spent waiting for him to come home from training and matches. Missing him during away games. Your entire happiness depended on him, and that terrified you. You weren’t happy with yourself either, and expected more out of your life. The burden of having a prosperous career, a stable income, a life for yourself that you loved, becoming too heavy to bear. You had all these dreams and goals set for yourself that you never got to actualise so you could be by his side. Your love for him was insurmountable, that you couldn’t accommodate anything for yourself. No matter how hard you tried, you will always put him first. It was natural. Even though he never asked for all your attention, you couldn't simply choose between yourself or him, because you would always choose him. Over and over.

So you did what you had to do, break your own heart, and his, to love yourself.

Since your breakup, you finally moved out of your friend’s place and got yourself a nice two-bedroom flat at the city centre with a stunning view of the city. You landed yourself a job as a junior editor for British Vogue that demands commuting to London several days a week. As you thrive in difficult situations, the breakup forced you to submerge yourself in work, mainly to avoid the pain, but it propelled you to get to where you are.

Trying to get over someone who is in the public eye was a different battle. It seemed as though everywhere you went, he’s there. You see him on billboards, TV screens, his face painted on murals, quickly becoming a tourist site. Occasionally, you would watch his games out of habit, and listen to the prideful Evertonian crowd chant his name. You witnessed his first England senior team debut, and tuned in to England v. Wales on the TV for old time’s sake. You watched him score his first senior England goal behind a screen. Your eyes welled at sight of him living his dream, poaching the ball into the net, scoring the first goal of the game, making his country and family proud. You feel the rush of adrenaline he felt as he ran to his teammates and celebrated. You can’t help but share this sense of pride, as you’ve watched firsthand how hard he has worked to get to where he is.

But on days where he isn’t on your mind, you do not want to be reminded of him. It’s difficult to cope when you encounter pieces of him that takes you back to the worst day of your life, and his.

Like last night, for instance. You had been scrolling on your social media when it was brought to your attention that a magazine had published an issue with your ex on the front cover, spotted on a night out with a blonde you don’t personally know but you could’ve sworn you’ve seen before. Perhaps another one of those so-called “influencers”, you thought to yourself. You know that you have no right to feel jealous or upset, as you broke up with him and this was bound to happen, but selfishly, a part of you had hoped that he wouldn’t find anyone else, or at least not before you did. You’re frustrated at yourself for letting him have this effect on you even months after your break up.

Succumbing to your bad habits, you give in to your impulses and pop open a bottle of red wine to calm your growing anxiety. Two glasses of wine, a takeout, and a season of Gossip Girl later, you find yourself slightly drunk, nerves calmed, and a little drowsy so you quickly change into your satin pyjamas and tuck yourself in bed.

You decide to turn on the TV for some background noise and quickly close your eyes. By some twist of fate, you hear a painfully familiar voice giving his thoughts at the end of a game he’s won. The sheer volume of his voice on the TV causes a sharp pain in your chest as you scramble to reach for your remote in the dark, with your eyes half opened. and change it to anything but a sports channel. That’s it, you thought to yourself. I need to get the fuck away.

Still drunk and not entirely aware of what you’re doing, you reach for your laptop on the nightstand. The brightness made your eyes squint a little bit, but you managed to type out a link and open a travel booking site, and scroll through different pictures of tropical islands you’re longing to get to. Anywhere but here, you thought. You selected options that you thought looked the blue-est, the most expensive, a party town, and had the most five star restaurants.

By the end of it you have booked a return flight to Mykonos for 5 people where you will be staying at a grand, luxurious 5-bedroom villa located at the party central of the island. You couldn’t be bothered to check how much it cost you. All sense of ration gets thrown out the window when you mix heartbreak with alcohol. When you told your friends of what you had just done, it was safe to say that they were surprised but absolutely ecstatic that you have booked a much needed getaway with the girls. With a three-day notice, you all quickly scramble through your closet and go on an online shopping spree to pick out your outfits for the holiday.

***

Days later, you find yourself landing on Mykonos island on a sunny afternoon.

“I can’t believe you’ve managed to pull all this off within days,” your friend says as you all walk through the pebbled entry way of your villa, and open the door. “Holy fucking shit,” another friend says in awe of the sight. The villa was filled with white interior, bright lights, wooden tables that give off beach vibes, and an infinity pool where you could swim as you watch the sunset, with a view of the blue sea. With 5 bedrooms to choose from, your friends collectively decided that you should take the master that had direct access to the pool, which you happily accepted but it wouldn’t matter anyway, as you’ll all probably stay in one room.

Once you’ve unpacked, you pull out your white cardigan and make your way out the terrace to catch a view of the sunset and have a moment by yourself. You take a deep breath of the fresh air with a hint of sea breeze as you try to take in the stunning view of the island. You are filled with gratitude as you bear witness to something so beautiful as you watch the sun sink into the blue Aegean Sea. Despite the peacefulness exuded by the view, your heart can’t help but feel Dom. You remember when he had brought up wanting to spend this exact summer in Mykonos with you, but life had other plans.

***flashback***

Dom was laying in bed with his laptop screen on his chest, an arm to support his head as he scrolled through the travel booking site. He had been looking through different options, but he has his mind set on a lovely town in Greece, Dubai’s overrated after all, he thought.

“Me, you, blue skies, tanned skin, bike rides around town, what do you think love?” asked Dom. “Where’s this?” you ask, moving closer to him as he shows you his laptop screen. “Mykonos. It’s not too far away, I’ll have enough time to rest before pre-season starts,” he replies. “That sounds like a plan,” you smile at him. “But we’ll book it closer to the summer, yeah? In case anything comes up,” you said as you plant a kiss on his cheek. He nods as he bookmarks the site and drifts off to sleep with you shortly after.

Unbeknownst to you, later that night he quietly opened his laptop and quickly booked the trip for you two as a surprise. Anything that will come in the way will just have to be compromised. He was adamant to make sure he gives you the best summer of your life, it is what you deserve after all, he thought.

***

You had forgotten about your conversation with Dom until you stood on the island. Your thoughts were interrupted by your friend’s footsteps. “Hey, you okay babe? You’ve been out here for a while,” she asks with concerned eyes. “I’m alright,” you said. “Or I will be,” you add, giving your friend a forced smile. Your friend wraps her arm around your shoulders as you two make it back inside to have an early and quiet night with the girls, exhausted from all the travel.

***

The next day you woke up a little late, with only several hours to tan before having to get ready for your dinner reservation at one of Mykonos’s famous restaurants that looks over the sea. A little frustrated at yourself for sleeping in, you went to the bathroom to wash your face, put on some light makeup, and change into your swimwear.

You join your friends who are sprawled on the sunbeds. “So, where is this place again?” you asked your friend who booked the dinner. “A restaurant by the sea located at party central babe. Everybody, I mean everybody goes here. They’ve got the best food and music,” she replies. “Think of Mamma Mia 1,” another friend chimes in. Your eyes widen at the imagery. “Better have some great alcohol too, I’m desperate for some,” you laugh. “That’s my girl,” your friend says.

***

By the late afternoon you and the girls are getting ready for dinner. Makeup bags and its contents sprawled on the floor, you had to tiptoe around makeup products and brushes, careful not to step on them. After long deliberation, you decided to dress up in co-ord that hugs your figure and fits you like a glove, paired with your favourite heels, settling for an elegant yet fun look. You decide to keep your hair down and put on some natural makeup to balance out the bold colour. After about 30 minutes of taking pictures of each other and some group photos, you finally made it out the door.

The location was spectacular. The ambience was complemented with bright lights to lighten the dim Mykonos sky that has turned a shade of dark blue, almost purple. The food was divine, a little overpriced for your liking, but it was worth it. The restaurant turns into a nightclub close to midnight, and you and your girls were eager to start your first round of drinks. Fruity drinks were passed around, made with fruits freshly picked from the gardens. Watermelon margarita was your drink of choice, partly sweet, partly sour, and just enough tequila as your first drink of the trip.

The restaurant was packed, you could’ve sworn you had seen a star of a Spanish series you’ve just finished watching on Netflix. The guests were well dressed, many had bravely eccentric taste, mixing patterns and sparkly jewellery, paired with funky footwear to add some flair. In Mykonos, you will not encounter the same judgment as you would walking down the streets back home.

Your friends stood up to dance the second the alcohol kicked in. You took your time, savouring your drink, wanting the night to last. You smile at the sight of your happy friends, so full of life, not giving a single care in the world. As you’re sitting there, observing people, you suddenly feel your chest get heavy. It’s hard to put into words what this feeling is like, but it pushes you to shut down in social settings, overwhelmed by strangers and loud music that makes your ears ring. It is a feeling of unexplained anxiety, where you need a second to correct your breathing, and calm yourself down. Not now, you thought, not here. You often feel these random bouts of emptiness since you left Dom. You try to push the discomfort away, and think of anything else but him. You stood up and walked to the edge of the restaurant by the white border wall to get some fresh air, and take in the view of calm waves under the night sky to collect some peace of mind.

You place your elbows on top of the border, and rest your head on the palms of your hands. A bystander would think that you’re a scene from a movie, a damsel in distress, longing for her love interest. But this was no movie, no fairytale, no knight in shining armour to protect you, no lover to sweep you off your feet.

Or so you thought.

Your focus on the sounds of splashing waves was interrupted by familiar footsteps, getting louder and louder as it creeps its way closer to you. The scent of the sea began to mix with an all too familiar scent of tobacco vanilla. Only one person came to mind. It can’t be, you thought.

“(Y/N)?,” his voice breaks.

It’s him.

#dominic calvert lewin #dominic calvert lewin imagine #dominic calvert lewin imagines #mclfic

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likethewindandsea · 4 years

Text

In a rush

Once our only love comes crashin' down on us

I'd say

We might still get another day

Maybe

Too many wrong things and not enough amends

I mean

Who knew this summer would ever end

All those seconds spent, turn those fakes into some friends

If we'd be free by then, I guess it depends

On a different trip, feet kissin' the same sands

Once our love comes crashin' down on us

I'd say

I kinda wish we could just rewind back to yesterday

Look

I know the last few days were rough

That's kinda what happends when good can never be enough

I see some lines I'd like to rethink

Thoughts and ideas I'd love to link

It's only good until we sink, till we fall

If we had never tasted freedom we wouldn't have lived at all

( Did we?)

New paint job , these still the same walls

(They just never seemed so tall)

And you feel some shock and awe

Too far apart, close enough is still too far

Different sky, mine's just without stars

Why don't we need a new king

(Maybe you too much of a good thing)

When you never stop, never down when you actin' up

And with that said

There's no more space for shame

I took this to heart, always easy to blame

When you left it was kinda the same

I don't say shit like that during the day

(It just always poured when it rained)

I wouldn't think twice, really isn't that strange

Too much insanity so clearly I'm sane

Hope the distance ain't that much of a difference

Just a part of those new ends

Ain't we all just lost

When this even feels sort of painless

Somewhat stupid

But not too dangerous

I mean

Look how even that blond bends

Didn't catch all you were sayin' but I'm still tryin' to understand

It's just the last memory that always kills you

I know it ain't fair

I think mine is between you and a skyline that leads anywhere

I guess even those things gotta end somewhere

You think it's not all clear

Before the night is done I'll shed that last tear

Gettin' sentimental when you think of last year

I thought that shit would last years

Guess that was kinda wrong

Least you got God's blessing and a couple songs

If I could pick a different start

Slightly tweak the middle part

Love to the whole world, to you it was only art

... just be quiet for a second, alright?

I wanna hear the city breathing.

Breathing?

Yeah, you know... listen to the people, their sorrows, their dreams...I just wanna remember this moment.

(“É melhor prevenir do que remediar.”)

What?

What does "remediar" even mean?

I don't know, maybe "remedy" or something?

I just checked it... it's more like "mend" I guess.

Kinda makes sense

We just all out here tryin' to mend some things.

I don't think I am.

("...aqui se paga.”)

... you know you can't fix everthing...some good, some bad, some unspoken truths... I gave up trying... for now.

... memories, they're just too precious...what does it all mean... like from here right to God, from Rome to this.

I still count seven hills.

I know, I've walked them all today.

... maybe not so bad... to let go... even here, even now...

... just a chance... just one more time... play it again... please

( How long 'till we reach the Atlantic?)

... maybe an hour if we... could be there by dawn...

...too late... always has been, always will be...

( Why couldn't we live on Venus?)

... too hot...

Yeah, well space is already cold enough.

Could we come back after crossing the event horizon?

No light would escape and neither would we.

Gravity... keeping us around... why don't you turn back?

Why?

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jenovahh · 3 years

Text

Comm 17 - A Little Help - NSFW

Rating: NC-17/Explicit Tags: Threesome (MxMxM), Anal Sex, Accidental Voyeurism, Blowjobs, Heat Fic

Commission Request: WoL is going into heat and Estinien has always been their partner. Not wanting make things awkward with G’raha who they have burgeoning feelings for, the WoL seeks Estinien out once more. G’raha notices the WoLs absence, and decides to seek them out... ====================================================

There’s no mistaking the sounds he hears from down the hallway.

G’raha Tia knows his face is as red as his hair, no longer tipped with silver mind you.

The moans and sighs are unmistakable, familiar, and the sounds are so lewd he can feel his breeches already begin to feel a little too tight. His ears flick forward before flicking back in embarrassment, flicking forward once more as if he can’t help himself as he creeps steadily forward down the seemingly unending hallway.

The Rising Stones is empty, Tataru seeing to other business as she communicates with Krile who still lies in Sharlayan. Y’shtola and Urianger having mended their camaraderie have gone to research what the council could possibly be up to, most likely preparing to endure another late night up to their ears in tomes. The twins had busied themselves elsewhere, possibly still processing their father’s rejection. Thancred had gone out to attend to other matters, leaving with nothing but a wave and a smile.

Though he has always admired the Warrior of Light, even G’raha could not deny that he has not only spent time with A'von to be with his inspiration, his shining light...that he wanted more. While yes he knew his abilities could help their adventures, his reasons for joining A’von on his adventures were not so noble.

Even he could be selfish.

He knows not when these feelings of simple admiration and idolatry shifted into something more personal, pushing him to spend every bell of every day with A’von until they parted ways for the evening, each withdrawing to their own rooms. Part of him could not help but feel a little anxious for burdening the Warrior of Light with his presence every day, but could anyone blame him?

He loved every second he got to spend with his inspiration, to see those pale, blue eyes crinkle and pouty lips smile at him as their tails swayed behind them as they trekked across Eorzea. On more than one occasion had G’raha felt A'von's own tail brush against his own, the fluffy mass unmistakably curling around his own for barely a second before withdrawing so fast G’raha thought he might’ve imagined it.

He could barely sleep from thinking about it so much.

Try as he might, there was no running away from his burgeoning feelings for A’von, which was what left him feeling so bereft when he awoke to another day of the Warrior of Light mysteriously keeping his distance. It had been going on for barely a week now, A’von having started to nervously avoid him, until he became a ghost altogether. The only way G’raha knew he was relatively okay was from how he could distantly hear A'von's door close late at night when everyone had long since turned in.

Tonight was to be the same he thought, only G’raha had been arriving back to his room fairly late himself. He had nowhere else to go really, given his body had been slumbering on this world for the past few years, leaving him with nowhere else to stay save the Rising Stones. He had spent another night talking off poor Rambroes’ ear, sharing more tales of the future and the First and all he had seen. Passing on secrets of the Crystal Tower and its capability until he gave one good yawn and Rambroes sent him home just like old times.

It was quiet, whatever remaining Scions having long since gone home for the evening, meaning it was quieter than usual. It’s what led him to hearing moans and sighs from the end of the hall as he prepared to go to bed. He had been a little embarrassed of course, thinking that perhaps one of the other Scions needed release, and were thinking themselves quiet to races with average hearing. But one moan in particular let him know just which Scion was currently being pounded into the mattress.

He couldn’t help himself, cat-like stealth helping him sneak down the hall, toward the door that was cracked just enough that a sliver of light peeked out into the corridor. Just as the sounds got louder, so did the air, a familiar and long forgotten scent tickling G’raha’s nose and making him hard as rock in his trousers with each step he drew nearer. It was subconscious how his hand moved to grip himself through his clothes, not feeling such hunger since...he was in this body, strangely enough. Desire was the last thing on his mind when bearing the mantle of the Crystal Exarch.

“You like a good tussle as much as the rest...don’t deny it…” a man gruffly rumbles, the barely perceptible squeaking of the mattress finally making its way to his ears. Reaching the door, it's ajar just enough for his red eyes to peek in, barely able to contain his gasp at what he sees.

A'von is there, naked and sweaty and willing, his back to Estinien’s chest. Without meaning to G'raha eyes jump down A'von's bare torso to his cock, red, swollen, and leaking precum all over the place as it bounces lewdly with each thrust of Estinien’s hips. A'von's usually light eyes are darkened with lust, his trimmed claws biting into Estinien’s arm where the Elezen man has it wrapped possessively across his chest. Estinien’s other hand grips A'von's hip with bruising force, holding him in place as he controls the pace of his thrusting, leaving A’von no option but to sit there and take it.

He had been as in awe of the Azure Dragoon as anyone had the right to be, he thinks, despite the Elezen’s more standoffish demeanor. Having been the “new hire” himself, G’raha had taken to try and form a partnership of sort of being the two newest members, to which Estinien begrudgingly accepted. G’raha knew he didn’t genuinely dislike him as a person, but was more used to being alone, as was his wont.

G’raha had heard (or rather read) plenty about the prickly dragoon, noticing that he became more present as A’von had become more absent. Estinien had informed everyone he would be using this waiting time to take care of a few loose ends until it was time to depart, showing up surprisingly early as A’von had begun to make himself scarce. The seeds of jealousy tried to take root in G’raha’s heart, but he quickly quashed such thoughts. He was man enough to acknowledge that others had grown close to A'von in his absence; it was not fair to keep him to himself.

“You’re so beautiful like this, you know,” Estinien whispers, pressing thin lips to A'von's neck, tongue licking a stripe up to his jawline. “All hot and needy for me…” He growls, accentuating his words with a hard thrust, the sound of skin against skin making G’raha grip his dick tighter, needing some kind of relief as he played the hidden voyeur. He should step away, should turn around and go back to his own room, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight before him.

“S-Stop saying such things,” A’von moans, grunting as Estinien’s fingers snake their way up to slip into his mouth, pink tongue darting out to lick them, drawing him into his waiting mouth. Estinien rumbles in approval, rewarding the Miqo’te by increasing the pace he fucks him. “Gods,”

“Halone couldn’t save you now...though you wouldn’t want that, now would you?” Estinien chuckles, making sure to fuck the Warrior of Light nice and deep. “No...it is your new friend you wish were in my place.”

“That’s not true!” A’von nearly wails, face flushing a deeper red from embarrassment.

A new...friend?

“Oh yes...it is not blue eyes you want to see. Go on and tell me more of how you wish for the heir of Allag to ravish you for all to see.” Estinien continues to tease.

“Estinien, be quiet,” A’von protests, even as his own hand goes to circle around his own cock in a silent plea for more. He handles himself expertly, eyes dazed as he tries to desperately thrust in his hand at the same time Estinien plows into him from behind.

G’raha is pretty sure he’s stopped breathing.

“I’m sure he would be more than amicable to your request…” Estinien hums, pushing down on A'von's back to press him into the mattress. G’raha watches toned muscle flex in Estinien’s arm as A’von’s tail curls around it affectionately despite the force Estinien exerts fucking him from behind.

G’raha’s mouth is dry as the desert as he watches A'von's lust drunk face, holding back a groan at hearing the Warrior’s wanton sighs. He looks back to Estinien--

...to find the dragoon staring right back.

G’raha freezes, preparing to turn tail and run but the dragoon shakes his head, smirking all the while as he turns his gaze back to A’von. “Go on and tell me, A’von. Tell me how you came to me because you couldn’t face your feelings for your G’raha Tia.”

“Gods,” A’von moans, eyes rolling back in his head.

“You want him don’t you? Too embarrassed to have him see the infallible, unshakable Warrior of Light, his light and inspiration...reduced to a moaning mess.” Estinien continues, not having stopped his thrusting for one moment.

“Gods yes,” A’von moans, a smile curling his lips at the thought.

“Well, you heard him.” Estinien calls, raising his voice to clearly indicate he is speaking to G’raha. He feels himself freeze even more, stiff as a board as Estinien ceases the motion of his hips, giving the Warrior of Light just enough time for his thoughts to clear. G’raha watches as if he’s having an out of body experience as A’von turns in question to Estinien before following his line of sight to the door where he stands, unmoving.

A’von and he simply stare at one another blankly for a moment, before A'von's ears pin back against his head, hands covering his face in shame. “Raha!” he calls, and at the sound of his name without the prefix, so many of his fears scatter like petals on the wind. “By the gods, I hadn’t meant-- I mean,”

“Will you just ask him if he wants to join or sod off?” Estinien interrupts rudely, prompting A'von to reach back and smack him.

“Be quiet,”

“Von?” G’raha calls, stepping into the room. He pushes the door open to allow himself entry, closing it gently behind him, ensuring that it is shut. “Did you really…?”

Blushing again, A’von buries his face into the sheets in embarrassment, prompting an exasperated sigh from Estinien. “The bloody fool was too enamored with you to bother asking whether or not you wanted to help with his heat.” The Elezen grumbles with a roll of his eyes. “Something about not wanting to bother you, that you’ve just returned to this world and shouldn’t worry about such things.” He mocks, going as far to impersonate A'von's voice.

“Must you?” The Miqo’te whines, looking as if he would love nothing more than to disappear.

Estinien playfully gives him a smack on the ass, enjoying the man’s undignified yelp. “I must.”

Swallowing, G’raha carefully reaches for the clasps keeping his gear in place, praying he isn’t presuming over much. He and A’von make eye contact, everything and nothing passing between them for a moment. Despite their compromising position, G’raha notices A'von still has the gall to look ashamed, and it’s then he knows he must say something. “I...want this as much as you. If your words hold true.” He murmurs, unsure of his own voice.

A'von's large ears slowly perk up, blue eyes locked on him as if he wanted nothing else. “I...I hadn’t wanted to impose. I presumed that you didn’t want,”

“Of course I want,” G’raha groans, nearly falling to his knees to the side of the bed, reaching to kiss A’von who returns it just as eagerly, the two men groaning into one another’s mouths. G’raha caresses his face gently, always, always wanting, his heart doing little flips in his chest that the gods have seen fit to grant him so many of his wishes.

G’raha feels A'von groan into the kiss, his eyes trailing to where he notices Estinien begins to slowly thrust again. This close G’raha can feel the effect of A'von's heat, his own breath coming fast as he stares into A'von's eyes, thumb trailing across the scar he knows his friend so adamantly hides. He can feel how he tenses beneath his touch, and so he moves to press his lips comfortingly to the scar, kissing every ilm as Estinien begins to one again build their pleasure.

“This is...okay?” A’von whines, claws ripping into the sheets as Estinien begins to pound even harder.

“More than okay.” G’raha groans, using this time to begin undressing as best he can from this position. His medallions clink together as his top falls to the floor, his hands nimbly picking out his hair pins and placing them with his top. “Though it has been some time, if memory serves, it may take two of us to satisfy a heat.”

Hunger fills A'von's eyes at that, following him as he stands to remove his trousers. G’raha can’t help but flush red at how A'von's lips part and his tongue swipes across them, gazing up at him hungrily before eyeing the outline of his cock in his underwear. Even as Estinien continues to thrust, A’von reaches out and grabs him by the thigh, urging him closer to where he can pull down his small clothes, letting his cock spring free.

G’raha can’t help but groan as he watches that tongue swipe over pointed fangs once again, A’von turning his body as best he can to get a proper grip on his cock and pull the tip to his mouth. A’von eagerly begins to lick at his length despite the dragoon’s thrusts, eyes gazing up at him wantonly that does none of his wildest fantasies any justice.

His mouth feels exquisite, tongue warm and wet, swirling around the tip as he eventually gives up and climbs on the bed, turning himself to kneel directly in front of his companion. A’von groans thankfully as he fully dedicates himself to his task, bobbing his head up and down his length all while Estinien holds him by the hips and rams into him from behind. Each thrusts forces a groan from his throat, the vibrations travelling up his length, sending pleasure racing through what feels like every nerve in his body.

“Wicked white,” G’raha curses, having not let go of the phrase as A’von greedily laps at him, thrusting his hips back against Estinien whose groans have gotten more frantic, his pace more wild as he furiously pounds into the Warrior of Light. They grunt and groan together, G’raha committing the sight to memory as A’von calls Estinien’s name as he comes, pulling off his length to moan his release into his lap as Estinein too meets his end.

Estinien groans as he comes, head resting against his A’von’s back as he gives those last few thrusts to ride out his orgasm. G’raha watches as the two of them catch their breath, A’von giving him a soft smile as he pushes himself up to bring G’raha down to him for a kiss. G’raha reciprocates immediately, their tongues dancing together even as Estinien withdraws, allowing for A'von to press forth unsuspectingly. G’raha scrambles to get his legs from under him as A’von straddles him, eyes devious as he holds his hand behind him expectantly. Estinien silently hands him the oil, G’raha watching hypnotized as he pours a generous amount in his hand before putting the bottle down once more.

G’raha can’t help but raise his hips as his lover’s hand wraps around his cock once again, the oil lubing him up easily. He can barely keep his eyes open, the pleasure is so overwhelming, looking through hazy eyes at how calloused hands rub him up and down.

Having recovered, Estinien grabs the vial of oil, pouring what remains over two fingers before chucking it elsewhere in the room. Coming up behind A'von he slips two fingers into his sheathe, A’von purring, eyes hooded as he still keeps his focus on G’raha. “Good, you’re still ready. You ready to take him?” Estinien murmurs into A’von’s ear, taking one between his teeth and nibbling.

A’von nods slowly, finally releasing his cock as Estinien pulls his fingers from his puckered entrance.

Slowly, A’von leans forward, resting rough hands upon the smooth planes of G’raha’s chest, eyes not leaving one another as A’von reaches below to take hold of G’raha cock and line it up. Sinking slowly, the two Miqo’te moan as one as A'von slowly sinks down, G'raha hands coming to knead the flesh of A'von's thighs as he takes ilm by precious ilm. Even if he’s still stretched from Estinien’s own pounding, A’von savors each bit until they are flush against each other, his cock still hard and leaking pre cum as is warranted by a Miqo’te heat even after an orgasm.

A’von leans down to kiss him, his heart feeling ready to burst as A'von raises his hips to bring them back down. Groaning into one another’s mouths, G’raha feels robbed of breath as A’von nibbles playfully on his bottom lip, earning a surprised whimper from him at the action. Smirking, he watches as A’von sits back up, riding him earnestly, eyes on him. “Let me...make these past few days...up to you…”

A’von rides him like a man possessed, panting and mewling as he bounces on his cock. As if the sight alone wasn’t erotic enough, Estinien comes to claim A’von’s lips, the Miqo’te’s hand wrapping around his cock and pumping furiously as he prepares to meet his end once again. “The both of you,” A’von groans against Estinien’s lips, and G’raha knows he won’t last much longer either. “I’m going to,”

A’von comes, crying out as his seed spurts everywhere, but G’raha can’t be bothered to care as he finally releases, feeling his orgasm soar through him with blinding speed. His toes curl as he feels his seed spurt inside of his love, eyes fluttering closed as he gives a few more thrusts to ride out his orgasm.

It is his turn to catch his breath, finally opening his eyes just in time to catch A'von as he seems to collapse atop him. “Von?” he panics, until Estinien stills him with a hand.

“He’s fine. Just worn out.” He huffs, standing from the bed to cross over to a nearby basin. “You and I both know he could use the rest. Especially since he’ll pounce on us soon as he wakes.”

Nodding, G’raha shifts A'von to be a bit more comfortable, scooting over to make a little more room for all three of them to fit. Given that they’re in Estinien’s room, he doubts anyone save Alphinaud or Tataru would dare pay a visit, and so he dubs it safe enough to rest his eyes, and join A'von in the world of dreams.

#estinien #estinien wyrmblood #FFXIV #ff14 #Final Fantasy XIV #commissions #ffxiv commissions #drabble

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ukrfeminism · 3 years

Text

“I am going to my first dental appointment for work to be done on my teeth,” a domestic abuse survivor says. “After head butts, tin cans of soup were thrown at me, and more. This is such an excellent and important idea.”

The victim is one of many who will be helped by a new scheme that sees dentists offer free treatment to those who have suffered violence at the hands of their abusive partners.

A National Dentistry Register for domestic abuse victims is currently being drawn up that will comprise of dentists willing to treat those with damaged teeth sustained in injuries or as a result of coercive control.

The initiative is the brainchild of Rachel Williams. She has first-hand experience of the damage domestic abuse can inflict due to suffering life-changing injuries after her abusive husband tried to murder her with a sawn-off shotgun in the hairdresser where she worked.

Ms Williams, who was in an abusive relationship for 18 years, tells The Independent dozens of dentists are already keen to get on board despite the scheme being in its early stages.

She notes many domestic abuse survivors are unable to afford dentist treatment due to fleeing their abuser with just the “clothes on their back”.

“As a survivor, you have so much taken from you,” Ms Williams, now a leading domestic abuse campaigner, adds. “When you are with an abuser, you forget who you were as a person. You were groomed and modelled to how that abuser wants you.”

She said she had spoken to victims who say they ground their teeth “terribly” while sleeping due to anxiety. She also cited the example of one woman who had to move far away to escape her abuser and had to wait at least six months to get an NHS dentist.

“Victims may not have good teeth, either from neglect because their perpetrator has not let them visit a dentist, and also women who have bad teeth due to a violent incident.”

Ms Williams, who can no longer run or ride a bike due to the injuries she sustained when her estranged husband shot her, says she has been overwhelmed by responses from domestic abuse victims telling her what a difference free dental treatment would make to their lives.

She noted the chief executive of the British Dental Association, Martin Woodrow, has said he is keen to take part in the initiative, while a woman who is part of a community of 250 female dentists wants to get involved.

“It goes to show there a lot of kind people out there who want to help people in their journey to freedom,” Ms Williams adds. “I hope to give people hope there is light at the end of the tunnel of domestic abuse.”

After Ms Williams’ husband shot her, she later found out from case reports that her ex-husband had a history of domestic abuse and violence with a previous girlfriend. Police also found an arsenal of weapons stashed at his home.

“My teeth are falling out due to continual stress for the last six years,” another domestic abuse victim said. “Not eating, not sleeping or taking care of myself properly. Last dentist appointment, she said I am going to lose all my back teeth. I hate what this has done to me.”

A woman is killed by a current or previous partner every four days in England and Wales.

“I had my jaw broken and nerve damage and have trigeminal neuralgia due to domestic violence, which thank god has improved so much the last couple of years,” another survivor said. “But I was told my teeth would suffer badly, and they did. First few years I ground my teeth so badly from the injury that they just look awful now. I don’t have the best teeth, anyway. Really hate them. I just think well what’s on the inside is what counts.”

Tara Dorosti, a dentist who has signed up to the scheme, told The Independent she had recently helped a domestic abuse survivor whose teeth had been badly injured by her partner.

“She had been hit in the face and teeth several times,” Ms Dorosti adds. “It affected her teeth. Also, she was grinding her teeth while asleep through stress. This can cause a damaging effect on teeth and lead to pain in the jaw. She was very concerned she would lose her teeth. She seemed to think if she did lose her teeth it would be the final straw.”

The dentist said seeing the patient upset her – adding domestic abuse victims’ sleep patterns are already often affected so then suffering pain in their teeth further worsens the situation.

Ms Dorosti, who has been a dentist for 14 years, adds: “Dentists are in a good position to identify domestic abuse. Things they could look out for include patients cancelling appointments, or if they are always accompanied by their partner when they come.

“A lot of abusers hurt victims in places others can’t see, like behind the ears, and around the neck, on the head, or in the hairline. That is not the usual place for people to have cuts and bruises. As a dentist, we can see.”

She urged victims of domestic abuse to remember they can anonymously confide in their dentists who will then be able to get them help from charities or the police.

#Domestic abuse #domestic violence #uk radfem #uk radical feminism #uk radical feminist #uk feminism

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brandstifter-sys · 3 years

Text

Crisis Angel

@dukexietyweek Day 2: Swapping (Ao3)

Word Count: 2277

Characters: Roman, Virgil, Remus

Pairing: Dukexiety

Rating: T+

Warnings: Blood, death mention, Gore, sex mention, Body Horror, Fire, Criss Angel references

The Dragon Witch causes Remus and Virgil to switch roles because she's tired of listening to them whining about the other, but they manage to fix it

---

It wasn’t everyday that Remus got cursed by the Dragon Witch, in fact it was incredibly rare, since she actually liked him and his antics. But he had to complain and whine about his predicament, no one liked him, and he seemed to scare the shit out of Virgil. All he wanted was cuddles, clothing optional–was that too much to ask!? A duke can fall in love and want to be with the person who had his heart, and he can want without shame! If only he weren’t the embodiment of intrusive thoughts he could win that emo over. The Dragon Witch just had to take his ranting to heart!

Remus woke up feeling a general unease. He was very much aware that he had to fix his weapon rack or else he could do some serious damage, and there would be blood and broken bones and sprains and he didn’t know how to mend himself! That’s what Janus was for—and for being a friend, like the golden boy he was. He was kinda saddened when he remembered that no one else really liked him or wanted him around. He had a feeling he knew what happened, and he didn’t want to think about the implications of it. He did anyway. It's not like he had much of a choice.

Instead of his usual attire, he threw on a Green Day shirt, leggings, sneakers, and Virgil’s old hoodie. He kept it for the nostalgia and because Virgil didn’t wash it before he got to it, so it smelled nice. It was the only part of his outfit that made him feel comforted and safe. He would need the safety to manage his way through the day and back to the Dragon Witch’s castle. She had to be behind this sudden change! He just hoped he was the only one affected.

However, when he stepped into the common area, Remus realized that he was not the only one affected. Oh no, he saw more than he bargained for!

"I can't believe you of all people would suggest such a thing!" Roman huffed from his usual recording spot and crossed his arms.

"Why not? Just because I hate him doesn't mean I don't think he should be royally fucked into submission!" Virgil jeered from the stairs, where he was spread out and lounging like some kind of rockstar. He definitely dressed the part—tight leather pants covered in zippers, an open spiked leather jacket that showed off his defined torso, and knee-high combat boots.

"I want to vanquish that foul villain, not create a fanfiction worthy scene to deflower him!"

"You wouldn't, I made sure he was flowerless years ago. You're just making excuses, Princey—we all know you want that snake cake and to tear into that dandy with your second sword—unless you're more interested in a new pony to whip."

"What happened to you? You sound like—"

"—me," Remus said and announced his presence. Two sets of eyes landed on him and he swore he wanted to disappear at that exact second.

"Are you saying I sound hot?" Virgil jeered and leaned forward, smirking coyly at Remus. Roman huffed and ignored him, deciding that Remus might be more willing to explain.

"Do you know why Virgil is acting like this? And what are you doing in that hoodie? You look like death!"

"I don't know for sure but I'm pretty sure Mille did it," Remus shrugged and leaned against the staircase tiredly, but not letting his guard down, not with the way Virgil was eyeing him. He shivered at the thought that crossed his mind—too much blood he did not want.

"Millie? Remus, have you been bothering her as of late?" Roman pressed.

"I don't know if I would say I was bothering her, I visit her at least once a week with snacks and we hangout. I could have been bothering her, though. Maybe I was! Oh god, what if I was and she didn't say anything because she doesn't trust me to listen to her when she's uncomfortable?!" Remus freaked out and tugged the hoodie closer around him to shield his body.

"You know you could have asked me for that hoodie, I would have given it to you, in exchange for a few organs," Virgil mused and licked his lips. Remus winced and curled into himself, uneasy about getting that kind of attention in front of anyone else.

"You switched," Roman said as it dawned on him, "but why would she do that? Unless—"

He froze when Virgil casually drank lighter fluid from a flask and then a lit match. The plume of flames that shot from his mouth towards the ceiling made Remus jump back and clutch his chest. At least he wasn't thinking about how he could have made a mistake with the Dragon Witch.

"Hmm the Dragon Witch did this? Do you think she'd make a better pair of boots or a belt? I'm tired of the flood of new parlor tricks," Virgil hummed, "It's agony without any relief—but I know one of you can make me feel better."

Roman scowled as Remus inched toward the couch. Virgil snapped his fingers and appeared on the couch behind Remus.

"I'm a better seat than this old thing, Dukey," he teased, getting Remus to yelp and freeze.

"I'll go see her and save you the heart attack, at least from that journey. I'll see if I can stitch the pieces together since you don't seem to be prepared for that."

"Need a few needles?" Virgil asked lazily and pulled a string out of his navel, shockingly there were needles threaded along it. Roman sank out with a huff, unwilling to deal with any more nonsense. Remus was more distracted by Virgil's bare skin and toned abdomen to be bothered. So he might have been gawking.

"You can get a closer look, with your tongue if you're brave enough," Virgil teased before tossing the thread away. Remus turned bright pink and averted his gaze. He kept getting horrible ideas about what he could do to that body.

"You don't want me to do that," he sighed and hugged himself, "No one wants me to get too close, even Janus has his limits. And I know it's for a good reason."

Virgil sat up and leaned towards Remus, pouting.

"You really think that, Cuddlefish?"

"Yeah, everyone else just wants me to get lost, except Janus, why wouldn't I think that?" Remus said bitterly and sat on the arm of the couch.

"I only want you to get lost in my eyes, or my intestines after I go Dahmer on your ass."

"Come on!" Remus snorted, "I scare you, and you don't like me and my gross ideas. I make you uneasy and I don't know what to say to not do that because everything could go wrong and I don't want that. And now more than ever, I'm terrified of everything that could go wrong!"

"I usually don't like the thought of you seeing my pants tenting—that's a circus that's not usually in show. But you can get ringside seats whenever you want, if you want."

"What?" Remus questioned, trying not to focus on the image of Virgil wearing Britney Spears' ringmaster outfit from the video—or something more revealing.

"If I don't keep my distance I'm not gonna be able to let you get away. I like you, so goddamn much I just want to rip your eyes out to stare at them forever."

"Virgil?"

"It's a lot easier to say it without the crushing weight of anxiety squeezing my innards out through my pores. I like you, that way, hell, I might even be bold enough to say I love you! And it's usually so terrifying I could drop dead from emotional overload at any second and you'd have a corpse to play with as much as you want!" Virgil raved, jumping to his feet, "You are everything I'm not and I want you to want me the same way but you deserve better than a panicking maniac with anger issues and low self-esteem! And I know that this change won't last so I have to tell you now before I go back to being a pants-shitting basket-case."

"And what are you going to do when we switch back? I don't know if I can take a confession like that just for it to change jack shit, especially when I want you to mean it. I don't wanna be the emotional victim of the resident mind freak," Remus pressed. Virgil stood in front of him and tapped his chin in thought.

"Actually," he hummed and thrust his hand through his chest, revealing some torn muscle and his broken ribs. Remus' eyes went wide as he grabbed his thundering heart and tore it out, blood spurting on the floor.

"I want you to keep this, keep it safe, and that way I'll know that it's safe to act on these feelings, even when I'm an anxious emo mess again."

Remus reverently took his heart and cradled it in his hands like a treasure he was afraid to break. He stared up at Virgil in awe before pressing his lips to the gift.

"There's a different throbbing muscle you can put your mouth on," Virgil teased. Remus scrunched up his nose and stuck out his tongue.

"Not when you have a hole in your chest, Angel!"

"Wanna stick something in it?"

"Kinda," Remus admitted sheepishly. Virgil leaned down and cupped his cheek.

"First let me show you my greatest trick," he purred, "turning a man into a puddle." Remus' breath caught in his throat and his eyes fluttered shut as Virgil captured his lips and licked into his mouth. Remus melted into the kiss just as expected, his heart racing with his thoughts.

And then a familiar feeling took over him. The Dragon Witch really went with the biggest cliche to lift the curse.

"I can't believe I just did that," Virgil mumbled as he pulled away. Remus grinned and wiggled in his seat.

"But you did! And you can do it again!" Remus sang and giggled, "But first—!" He conjured a jar around the heart and set it on the ground gently, then he eyed Virgil's wound.

"Do you want to fix that or can I stick something in it?" he pressed, getting Virgil to glance down and flinch.

"No, too many risks, I don't really want you to accidentally mess something up."

"Accidentally?"

"I don't think you would do anything like that on purpose with this hole."

"This hole?" Remus purred, "So there are others I can mess up? Please, do go on!"

"Maybe later, after I skin the Dragon Witch. I didn't want her to actually get rid of my anxiety so I could tell you—y'know—"

"So you were bemoaning your cruel fate too? Maybe we should thank her! You're really hot when you're confident and having my kind of thoughts!"

"Give me enough time and somewhere private and you can get more of that," Virgil mumbled and rubbed his neck, "If I'm in a comfortable place, I might be able to relax—but don't get your hopes up, anxiety sucks."

"It was kinda not that bad being Anxiety," Remus mused, "I didn't feel great but I was a lot more aware of my surroundings and the way my pulse thundered from excitement! Now I know what I need to fix in my room and what really gets me going!"

"Even if I'm not Creativity anymore, I still might have a few ideas worth trying," Virgil said in agreement.

"Creativity?"

"Yeah, your role."

"But I'm an intrusive thot!"

"You think you're the only one with twisted thoughts?" Virgil scoffed and grabbed the hair at the base of his neck, "You know you were still having them, I could see how you flinched without me doing anything, it's so obvious. That part didn't change for either of us."

"So you have intrusive thoughts too? You should tell me about them! Over dinner!"

"I could do that, if you can't come up with a more creative date."

"You can come to my room to watch a few horror movies and cuddle—but you have to wear that outfit or less because goddamn! I forgot how ripped you are!"

"Dinner it is," Virgil huffed and loosened his grip. Remus whined and leaned closer with a pout.

"Movies and cuddles. But jammy pants and no shirt under the hoodie instead," he countered, "I need skin to skin contact no matter how platonic."

"You mean the mouth to mouth won't be enough for you?" Virgil mumbled and blushed down to his shoulders. Remus' eyes went wide.

"You never said that would be an option! I didn't think you'd want to do too much on the first date!"

"You have no idea what I want to do with you right now."

"You can show me!" Remus grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. Virge scoffed and loomed closer, gripping his hair tighter. Remus' breath hitched as those lips brushed against his own.

"You'll just have to wait for that," Virgil mumbled and pulled away without kissing him.

"Tease!" Remus whined and crossed his legs. Virgil smirked at him and shook his head.

"See you tonight at eight—or more like seven since I tend to panic and show up early," he said and pressed a kiss to Remus' forehead before sinking out.

Remus picked up the jar again and squealed. It was going right above his TV so he could see it while he held its owner close to his. He definitely owed Millie big time!

----

Inspo pic for Virgil’s outfit

#dukexietyweek2021 #remus sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #dukexiety #roman sanders #anxiety!remus #dark creativity!virgil #body horror mention tw #fire mention tw #cannibalism mention tw #blood mention tw #death mention tw #i really liked making virgil a total criss angel rip off for some reason #sandyscribed

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