#so that I can properly smoothly read it. not going to say 'effortlessly' but...better than now

[meichenxi]

ATTENTION: MXTX BOOKS ACQUIRED!!!!!

!!!! yes!!!!! you heard that correctly!!!!!  I now have copies of TGCF and MDZS in traditional chinese, vertically laid out, plus a whole bunch of other books!!

(I have just returned from taiwan; it was by far not my only purpose in going, but I also decided to stay four days extra at the end after my friend had left just so I could go a-hunting.)

I am. so unbelievably excited. and especially because, with never having a) looked at these books in chinese, b) never having read anything beyond a few lines in traditional, and c) never having read vertical formatting, they are....readable? not with a dictionary on kindle or pleco like I’ve done before to make sense of things, but readable cover-to-cover without a dictionary at all. 

that is a HUGE step for me. reading has always been a bit of a mental block and with the traditional especially and the formatting I was very much expecting it to be a strugglebus situation and don’t get me wrong, it requires a good fucking deal of mental concentration and yes, I do occasionally run my finger down the page to not lose my place like an old person, but...I’m reading them

in the last four? three? days, I’ve read, as of right now, 68 pages of tgcf volume one consecutively (as in, just from the beginning) and over 90 pages in total (+ the pages I read for the scenes I like and skipped to). and it’s so FUNNY!!! I had honestly forgotten. I’m laughing out loud at points!! I read extremely quickly in english, and also have a terrible memory, which combines into flying through books and never having any idea what happened in them - reading more slowly I feel like I can enjoy what is going on more, and appreciate just honestly how funny the writing is. it’s hilarious. xie lian is such a moron (affectionate). ‘next time, if you have to throw something, throw me and not the food, ok?’ what a loser!!!! what a guy!!!!! 

so, 68 pages in, now for an honest appraisal of where I’m at.

first, formatting. 

 the vertical layout - look, going to be honest, I kind of hate it. I’m not used to looking up and down and feel like I’m bobbing my head, and it makes scanning a line more time-consuming. on the other hand, I can feel a massive increase in speed and comfort from even when I started three or four days ago, so I think it’s a matter of practice. I noticed also that when I went to the bookstore I still have the completely hilarious and useless habit of tilting my head to look at the books. the titles of which are written vertically. 

second, traditional. 

I am reading a lot slower than I do in simplified and horizontal laid-out texts, which is not surprising. the traditional is the biggest stumbling block definitely - but it’s not as big actually as I would have thought. I’ve been picking up frequent very different characters with two or three repetitions; not enough to internalise them and read them as seamlessly as in simplified chinese, but enough to look at them, even when it’s a little jarring, and go ‘oh, that means this’ in my head. I have found that I tend to subvocalise more with a) the increase in very different traditional characters, and b) the difficulty of the text. when there are simple conversations or directions I don’t subvocalise at all, which I consider generally speaking to be a good thing as it improves your speed of reading. when there’s a lot of mid-frequency fairly different characters (i.e. ones that I have picked up in these few days but aren’t common enough to be every two lines, and that I still very much have to think about), I subvocalise a LOT. when the characters are ones that I think I probably don’t know in either traditional or simplified, or there are a lot of very confusing descriptions, I don’t subvocalise at all, even if I could by phonetic components. I just - vibe. which brings me onto the next part. 

reading traditional - the brain feeling. 

I CANNOT describe how strange it is to read traditional and how wonderful an organ the brain is. it honestly feels like magic. if you’re still reading at this point and I’m not just shouting into the void, you probably know that I can’t handwrite in chinese to save my life - what that means practically for character recognition is that you could ask me to name the components of a character I see 100000 times a day and I couldn’t do it. it’s all subconscious. I have NO memory or understanding of what radicals are used where at the best of times in simplified chinese, and it’s all done via The Vibe. 

this is EVEN stronger in traditional chinese. I have not really ever deliberately learnt or consumed any media in traditional apart from a few characters you commonly see written or appeared when I have done a little bit of Classical chinese, like 馬，為，無 etc. I also got up to about halfway through the hsk1 course on skritter for a while on one of my endless attempts to learn how to write - so that gave me characters like 歡，對，甚麼 and so forth. in total that’s....still not that much. the VIBES I get when reading, though - incredible!!!!! I see these characters (not just ones with components that are predictable in traditional forms, but fairly or very different ones) that I have no memory of ever seeing before in my life and go, oh, that feels vaguely like this one. and then I look it up and I’m right. 

some of these are things of course are not objectively difficult - if you know the two components, you can go, oh, those are the two traditional versions of the components and so stuck together is the traditional character. but since I don’t consciously know the component parts off the top of my head of more than about 12 simplified characters (rip), this feels like utter magic. I have also been guessing quite a lot based on context and radicals.

I also know I probably HAVE seen some of these characters before at some point, I just don’t remember. nevertheless. it feels amazing, especially with the ones that are not predictable and are totally different. it’s a very bizarre experience. the coolest part though is the ability to remember new characters without looking them up or ‘learning’ them - a large majority of the traditional characters I can know recognise have genuinely been learnt over the last three days. if I see them for a second or third time - they’re mine now. and that is very cool and comes with practice and NOT anything innate blah blah because when I first started, I remember looking at characters over 20 times and still not being able to remember if I had even SEEN them before, let alone what they mean. so that ability has improved a huge amount, and I think reading and learning new words within the context of that book is mostly to thank for that. 

(not really relevant to any of the above, but reading in a foreign language is so interesting, because you really notice the vocabulary the author uses again and again and again more than in your native language. for instance, mxtx is constantly saying 这下. also 莞尔 as a word for smile - xie lian is CONSTANTly 莞尔一笑 . those are the two I’ve noticed a lot so far.)

overall then:

there are plenty of individual words I don’t know, but it’s usually clear what they mean in context, and when I know I’m reading a description of someone’s elegant fingers that's all you really need to know. none of it has affected my reading experience enough to make me physically put down the book and open pleco. 

I haven’t needed the dictionary for anything so far that I can’t get from context or memory of what happens. this means that I am Reading It Reading It, as opposed to Pleco Reading It or Kindle Reading It. which feels like a huuuuuuuuge milestone and difference and you know,,,honestly tearing up a little bit!!!!! because it’s so cool and I never thought I’d get here!!!!!! 

----

with all of that in mind, my plan for reading these is just...go from cover to cover with the first volume of tgcf, but let myself - since I know the story - jump around to read and re-read the bits I like reading. I want to get at least through the first two books of tgcf before I try to tackle any of the other books that I have bought. I’m not stopping to learn vocab really without the dictionary as most of it hasn’t been necessary so far and would interrupt the reading flow, but sometimes if there is a word I have seen 238290 times I will. I have only done this a few times, however, so I think for pulling vocab from this book I will have to do it separately - i.e. choose a passage I like and write down all the vaguely useful / fun words I don’t know. 

I have also got mdzs. now. the thing here is that...I love tgcf, but I’m not as precious about it as I am about mdzs. I have also NEVER read mdzs in translation because I have hated all of them so much, so I want the first time I read it to be as smooth as I possibly can, and to get as much impact and beauty and *shakes fist* as I possibly can. so...I might put it off for a while, maybe another 6 months or so whilst I improve my reading and traditional recognition skills. we’ll see. I don’t want to dip into it in the same way, and I feel like I want to use tgcf as training wheels first. we will see!

updates soon!!! big excite!!!!!!

#meichenxi manages #chinese #tgcf #mdzs #mxtx #lmao I did not get svsss. it's fine and I liked it a lot!! #but I don't like it well enough to struggle head-first through in the same way as these two #honestly I am kind of afraid to even look at mdzs #I feel like...I will either look at it and decide I need to read it immediately #or be emotionally thrown a curveball and just run away #it feels like...hmm. how do I put this. #reading mdzs in chinese feels like such a turning point to me in a way that nothing else does #which is weird because tgcf is longer!!! and not an easy read either!!!! and I'm reading that perfectly well!!!! #but mdzs....would feel like coming full-circle. it would feel like Success. #since it was the untamed that got me into learning chinese properly in the first place #also because I have never read it in English and have deliberately waited until my Chinese was good enough #but now I feel like....it could be good enough....and I want to wait until it's better ahsfkjsa #so that I can properly smoothly read it. not going to say 'effortlessly' but...better than now #I want to be shocked and moved and saddened and given hope by it in the way cql did #and I feel like....I don't know. I don't want the chinese to impede in any way my reading experience of it #which is so stupid!!! because it obviously willl!!! It will ALWAYS be so much more difficult than english #even if I keep learning until I'm 100 #but part of me thinks. look. three years ago you couldn't read a hsk1 sentence in chinese. #if I wait for another year or two years....how much easier and how much more would I get out of it then? #anyway the whole thing is stupid. I'm reading tgcf slowly but like...we're reading every sentence here. not missing anything. #I think I'm just afraid to Finally read mdzs. it feels like the Last Thing. because then what next in that fandom? #I've given it this almost mythical status and that's my own fault but like....argggggh #if I define 'success' as 'reading mdzs' I know for a fact I COULD read it now. but I don't feel like I have achieved success? there's still #SO very much to go? #so I think the problem is that one of my goalposts has shifted. and the other one has stayed in the same place.

[lin-nin]

Hey I totally loved reading your head cannons about Techno, Schlatt, Dream, and BBH accidentally killing their s/o's. I had a request and feel free to decline this if it's too heavy or whatever. What if those four lost a baby with you? Be it a child or a premature baby.

onHe We really suffering with these four two days in a row, huh? Obvious warning for pregnancy, birth, death, gore, miscarriage, all the like! This definitely is a heavier topic but I have no problem writing it. Obvious afab reader, as well :) Added a bonus Philza bc this angst prompt was screaming for some Philza.

Techno losing his child

When you had told Techno you were pregnant, carrying his child, he had been ecstatic. The way he smiled at you was enough to make you melt, especially as he held you close. He would often hold your forming bump, or nuzzle his face against it. The way he cared for you and the child you shared was so incredibly tender, making sure everything was okay for the two of you, for your unplanned family.

He rarely left you alone for long, not wanting you to be unprotected. He had only been at the farm when you had felt it, the sharp pain in your back. It had you staggering, tears in your eyes and hand fluttering immediately to your stomach. You knew something was wrong, and it was confirmed when the blood was on your thighs. You had screamed bloody murder, causing Techno to rush in, axe drawn. Ready to take down whatever had caused you to scream. Only to freeze when he saw you on the floor, sobbing and screaming.

It didn’t take long for him to understand. Especially with the amount of blood there was. He didn’t grieve at first, so worried for you. You always came first. He had helped you, albeit with shaking hands, clean everything up. He even helped you into the tub, hands stroking your hair from your face. You had grown numb and despondent, barely aware of his words. It hurt to see you like that.

He reassured you that it wasn’t your fault- because it wasn’t. It was nothing either of you could have stopped, but you still blamed yourself. He did mourn, though. While unplanned, he had been excited. He had looked forward to being able to raise a child with you. He reassured you in the end that the two of you could try again. Whenever the both of you were ready.

Schlatt losing his child

Becoming pregnant had not been your intention. Not in your plans for years to come. You had simply been fooling around, drinking with Schlatt and maybe getting a bit handsy. So when a few months had passed and you found yourself sick on the regular, a growing bump on your stomach, you were horrified. Not against it, entirely. Just taken purely by surprise.

Schlatt had been a little more vocal about it, expressing his disbelief loudly. He didn’t want to be a father. At least he didn’t think he did. He had just wanted to have fun. That’s all he ever wanted- to do as he please. He didn’t please to be a parent. Yet it was coming anyways.

As he watched you teeter around, pregnancy increasingly obvious, he found himself much more open to the idea. And when you had given birth- a healthy baby boy- he was there. He was there, and he was sober. He even was teary eyed when he got to hold his son. Everything was okay for a couple of weeks, until you noted that he wasn’t eating as much as he should be. He only seemed to grow weaker from there, before succumbing to whatever sickness had grabbed a hold of him.

You had cried, feeling utterly broken. Like you hadn’t protected him enough. Schlatt lapsed into drinking more than normal. He was angrier, snapping at anyone who even brought up his son. The only person he tolerated it from was you. Especially when you had shown up, eyes red from crying, requesting a drink. The two of you weren’t together, but you could definitely grieve your son together. It was, at the very least, cause for a friendship between you two. You had wanted a son, you had had him, and you had lost him. Schlatt felt largely the same, and the only thing that numbed the pain of the loss was alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

Dream losing his child

Whatever gods there were seemed to have a sick sense of humor. You loved Dream so much. Everyone knew it, it was clear in the way you looked at him. Everyone knew he loved you the same, too. Especially in the early days, when he didn’t hide his tender touches and soft kisses from the public eye. Even when things started to change, when he grew defensive and angry, he still loved you the same. Even if it was harder for everyone else to tell, you knew. You could see it in his eyes. You were his weakness.

Which had lead to an argument between the two of you. You were a weakness, a liability, in danger. Something he needed to rid himself of. Which was when you had dropped on him that you were pregnant. It wasn’t what you had planned, not the way you’d wanted to tell him. It was almost as if the words had short circuited his brain, tongue turning to lead. He seemed to soften up after that. At least towards you. Only in private. In public he had only seemed to deny any attachment to you vehemently.

Your pregnancy had progressed normally, and everyone quickly knew of it. There were some congratulations, while others worried about Dream’s ability to be a father figure. You didn’t entirely pay them mind. Of course, nothing ever went smoothly with Dream. You had no way of knowing that when you went into labor, your baby would have come out without air in her little lungs or a beat to her heart. You had cried, so much. Holding her little body against you. Dream had seemed to shut down, staring down at his lifeless daughter.

He seemed distant afterwards. He blamed himself, truly. For maybe if he had been a better person, his daughter would have been born alive. He had practically cut you off, saying that he couldn’t risk you going through that pain and loss again due to his actions. It showed him that even if he wanted all the control in the world, there were some things he couldn’t control. The best way he could control this was by removing you from being put in that situation again.

Bad losing his child

Bad was always vocal with his love for you. You adored it, relishing in the way he would proudly tell anyone who would listen about you. It was endearing and you couldn’t help but tug at his sleeve to get him to lean down so you could kiss his cheek. That’s why it was no surprise when you had fallen pregnant. It was still in the early days, then, too. Back when L’Manberg was still around. You didn’t involve yourself too much with it, though. You were too focused on making everything perfect for your baby.

Bad had pampered you like there was no tomorrow. Getting you flowers, and your favorite baked goods from Nihachu. He would carry you around everywhere. He doted on you and made sure you got everything you wanted and that you were as healthy as can be. You adored it, and always responded by kissing the tip of his horns lovingly.

That’s why it was a surprise when your contractions had come early. Far too early. Bad fretted over you, which only seemed to stress you out. The baby was so tiny when she was born. Yet she was alive, and somehow still perfect. Your sweet angel. You loved her, staying by her side religiously. Bad was much the same, scared to even sleep. She spent so long fighting for her life. She was too small, too young, too underdeveloped. You knew it would happen eventually, her chances of survival low. It was why you cherished every moment with her.

Yet when she had finally lost the energy to fight to breathe, in your arms, you bawled. You cried for days on end, letting Bad hold you close as you did. He only held you, rocking you back and forth. He was hurt, unsure what to say o comfort you. Until one day he came to you, a newfound light in his eyes. Claiming to have found your baby, just in a new form. You had followed him, hoping that whatever it was he was right about. As you saw the red vines he presented to you, you felt the same attachment you had felt for your daughter. This really was her, wasn’t it?

Philza losing his child

Philza had been so excited when you had given birth to his son. His second child, at least biologically. He doted on the pair of you like there was no tomorrow. Always telling you how proud he was of you, how much he loved you. Giving your son everything in the world. After all, after losing Wilbur, he was determined to make sure he didn’t lose his second child. Especially when the boy’s wings started to flourish.

Teaching him to fly had always been his favorite thing, especially as he got the hang of it and could effortlessly soar through the skies with him. You would often find shelter under a tree, fondly watching the pair of them fly. As he grew, he had begun flying on his own, straying further from Philza. You never worried. There wasn’t anything to worry about. Until one day you watched him get struck in the chest with the bolt of a crossbow, helplessly watching him plummet almost immediately to the ground.

You had screamed, and so had Philza. He absolutely could not lose a second son, but watching his child speed down to the earth, he already knew he had. He looked with a vengeance for who had killed his son, while you scrambled your way over to where he had landed. Finding the culprit was easy, at least with wings. He hadn’t even thought twice when he had found the fleeing orange flurry that was undoubtedly his grandson. His trident wasn’t in his hand for long, being thrown straight into him.

Fundy had been vehement in his last breaths, insisting that Philza couldn’t love him as a grandson, and couldn’t love his other son properly either. Philza had no interest in his words, simply ripping his trident from his body and leaving. He grieved heavily when he had returned to your side, helping you bury your son. Despite his grief, and clear depression, he never pushed you away or distanced himself. If anything, he seemed to hold you closer. As if it would repair the damage left on both of you.

#Anonymous #philza #technoblade #badboyhalo #dream #schlatt #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #badboyhalo x reader #dream x reader #schlatt x reader #mcyt x reader #tw death #tw gore #tw blood #tw pregnancy #tw miscarriage

[gohyuck]

Love and War Act I - LDH

theater kid! hyuck with some enemies to lovers realness

word count: 3.2k

warnings: a lot of swearing and a lot of hatred, possible nsfw in future chapters

notes: in part based on this post

part of a series: yes, this is part 1

in which you really, really, really can’t stand lee donghyuck

Act I, Scene I: An Introduction of the Situation

You’ve never hated a musical more. 

In an effort to ‘generate student interest in the arts’, Neo Culture Tech’s very own Mr. Taeil Moon, head of the fine arts department at what can only be described as a STEM college preparatory school, had put word out that this year’s fall theater show would be an entirely student-produced musical. Whether it was to elevate NCT’s arts up to the level at which they’d have to get the same funding as the robotics team or whether it was to truly cultivate creativity, nobody was sure. Still, the play persisted. From the actual dialogue, to the songs and their composition, to the dances choreography, everything was to be a bona fide effort from students across the school, not just in the theater department. Before anyone could say anything, the band and orchestra students were forced to create and compose scores and songs while the choir kids had to write lyrics for their semester project. The dance team had to choreograph everything and the art students were told they’d be making the posters for the show.

All of this, of course, was to come after the actual play had been written by the students in the Theater IV: Theater Productions class. 

If only you’d stayed in Theater III. 

Regardless, every good story starts from the beginning. And at the start of this one, there was a group of 13 potential starring roles in the tragedy? Comedy? Romance? Of Mr. Moon’s Theater IV musical production.

The official Theater IV roster was - and is - as follows:

(Name) - (Nickname)

Julia Choi - (Lia)

Renjun Huang

Lucy Hwang - (Yeji)

Somi Jeon

Chaeryeong Lee

Donghyuck Lee - (Haechan)

Jeno Lee

Jaemin Na - (Nana)

Jisung Park

Joanne Shin - (Ryujin)

Hussey Shin - (Yuna)

Chenle Zhong

13 is a decent amount of people able to give input on a play - from characterization, to plot, to underlying themes, there’s a place for everyone. If all of you worked on it, it could’ve been done at the speed of light, with ample time for revision and practice. Playwrighting wouldn’t have been harrowing. In fact, the project seemed fun at the beginning, and it was something you were genuinely looking forward to. After all, you genuinely liked everyone in your class… or, at least, almost everyone. Still, with 11 other people besides you and him, you would have ample buffer for the brain damage you were sure he would inflict upon you simply due to proximity. 

You forgot entirely about Murphy’s Law.

Jeno, Renjun, Somi, and Chaeryeong were the first to opt out of writing the play, gently reminding Mr. Moon that they were tech theater students, and would much rather design and build the set. It didn’t take long after that for Jaemin, Ryujin, Jisung, and Yeji to choose choreographing with their dance teammates over being playwrights. Yuna was quick to state that she’d rather make the posters in her art classes, and both Lia and Chenle decided that writing lyrics in choir would take up enough of their time as it was. 

At the start there were 13. 

You were happy, looking forward to talking about settings with Somi and comedic effect necessities with Jaemin. You weren’t only in theater to act - you were in the program in order to satisfy your need to create. Creating an entire play from nothing made you more eager than anything.

That is, until 13 dwindled down to 2 with alarming speed. 

Act I, Scene II: The Devil Incarnate

“Her royal highness is finally here!” Donghyuck faux cheers as you walk into your English Literature class right before the bell rings. The smirk in his tone is not lost on you, though you do mentally revel in the fact that nobody laughs at his stupid declaration. His seat is to the right of yours, but that doesn’t keep him from angling away from the board just to prop his feet up onto your desk. You don’t grace him with a response, only rolling your eyes before shoving his sneaker-laden feet off your desk none too ceremoniously and dropping your backpack onto the floor beside you as you slide into your seat. 

“What,” He starts, evidently hellbent on annoying you at 8 in the morning. You don’t turn to look at him, though you can distinctly see his shit-eating grin out of the corner of your right eye. Donghyuck leans towards you, his face coming far too close to you for your own comfort. You hope he’ll get the hint from your silence and leave you alone, but he continues speaking, much to your chagrin. “No snarky response from our resident ice queen today? Is your tongue frozen solid, princess?”

“Call me princess one more time, and you won’t even have a tongue left,” You threaten, still facing forward in your adamant refusal to look Donghyuck Lee in the eyes. He lets out a short laugh and leans back, finally properly settling into his own seat, pleased at his success at pissing you off. Before either of you can try to insult the other again, Mr. Suh rushes into the room, his Staff ID askew around his neck and his glasses sliding down his nose. The door flies shut behind him, and you straighten your back. 

Class has officially started. 

“You were only three minutes late today, Johnny,” Beomgyu calls from the back as your teacher is getting himself settled, and you turn to see your classmate holding up his watch, mirth in his eyes. “It’s a new personal record.” 

As if cued, the rest of the class bursts into a round of applause, with Donghyuck whistling with his fingers beside you. Mr. Suh - better known simply as Johnny to his students, due to him being fresh out of his undergrad - can’t help but chuckle at your class’ antics, doing nothing but shaking his head and pushing his glasses up onto his face. 

“Alright, before I get called down to the front office again, let me fill out attendance,” Johnny says eventually, finally sitting down at his computer. While he starts calling out everyone’s names you rifle around in your backpack, searching for your copy of The Taming of the Shrew, the book you’re all currently reading in class. Though it has some… questionable moments and themes, you can’t help but love it - you daresay it’s your favorite required reading book yet. Just as you find it, Johnny says your name. 

“(Name),” He says, and you straighten yourself out, your copy of the Shakespearean play gripped firmly in your hand. “I’m h-” 

“She’s here. Didn’t you feel the frost when you came in?” Donghyuck beats you to it, and you finally whirl around to glare at him, raising the hand holding the book up high as if you’re about to beat him with it. 

“Donghyuck Lee, I fucking swear -”

“Alright, alright, alright,” Your teacher raises his voice, coming to stand between the two of your desks. “I’m going to ignore the swear word this time because Haechan’s being annoying -”

You lean back to meet Donghyuck’s eyes, sending him a smirk that directly contrasts his wince. 

“- But you know better than to let your emotions get the best of you on things like this.” Johnny finishes, his words now aimed at you. You sigh, lowering your book to rest on your desk and slouching back into your chair. 

“Now behave, you two, got it? Act like actual people for once.”

The snickers of your classmates behind you cause your face to go red, and your anger at Donghyuck flares up again alongside your urge to crawl into a hole and hibernate. Still, through a furrowed brow and clenched teeth, you nod your agreement.

“Yes, Johnny.” You say at the same time Donghyuck mutters a “Sorry, John.” Both of you slide down even further into your seats. 

Neither of you say anything to each other for the rest of class, though you make sure to send scathing glances his way whenever your eyes seem to meet. To his merit, he manages to flip you off effortlessly every time Johnny turns towards the board. By the time class ends and you’re packing up, the two of you are seething silently, anger emanating off of your persons. Donghyuck jostles you on purpose on your way out of the room, but before you can give him a piece of your mind out of Johnny’s earshot, he’s halfway down the hallway on the way to his next class. Still, you train all your angry thoughts in his general direction, praying he’ll trip and fall flat on his face, or something.

Jeno, who’s just walked out of the classroom next to yours, makes his way to fall into step beside you as he always does. He follows your red hot gaze towards Donghyuck, who’s currently leaning against a locker and talking to Renjun. 

“You shouldn’t let him bother you so much,” Jeno finally says, and you roll your eyes before looking up at your friend. “It gives you too much grief.”

“He shouldn’t be bothering me so much.” You counter, and a small smile crosses Jeno’s face as he shakes his head in both amusement and disbelief. 

“I guess you aren’t wrong.” He acquiesces as he pulls open the door to the chemistry classroom, letting you walk in before him. The two of you share a lab table and you pull his stool out along with your own as you orient yourself.  

“I still can’t believe you and him are friends,” You tell Jeno as he sits down beside you. “You’re so you and he’s so… him.”

“We have, like, 90% of our interests in common, (Name),” Jeno laughs, knocking your shoulder with him. “If the two of you stopped going at each others’ throats for even a moment, you might even learn to like each other.”

You can’t help the fake gagging noise you make at the suggestion, and your friend rolls his eyes at you, though not before laughing. As the rest of your classmates start filtering into the room, the two of you switch smoothly to another topic of conversation - “Can you believe Moon’s making us do all of the play stuff this year?” “I don’t know, Jeno, it seems kind of cool to me.” “I mean me too, but damn… imagine the hours I’ll be putting into set design this year.”-  all thoughts of the devil himself banished from your mind. 

Act I, Scene III: Murphy’s Law 

You’re almost at the door, deep in conversation with Hyunjin about a protest she’s planning when Mr. Jung calls your name, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Yes?” You ask after motioning for Hyunjin to go on to lunch without you. You haven’t done anything wrong that you can think of - not recently, you note, remembering the time you really had almost set Jeno on fire - so you can’t help but be confused about why he needs to talk to you. Before you can ask, your teacher holds out a slip of paper for you to take.

“The note Jaemin delivered earlier is for you. He said it isn’t urgent, so I figured I’d send you during lunch instead of during class.” 

You relax your shoulders almost instantly before taking the bright orange piece of cardstock from Mr. Jung’s grip. You head out of his room - though not before thanking him - and unfold the note immediately after walking into the hallway. 

Please come see me at your convenience! - Moon :)

♕ ♕ ♕

You get to the black box room before Mr. Moon does, causing you to lament not buying your lunch before coming to meet him. As you wait, you pull out your book, determined to at least do something with your time at the moment. Katherine and Petruchio are in the midst of hurling insults at each other when the sound of footsteps startles you out of your book, and you lay it down beside you just in time for Donghyuck to walk in and drop his backpack onto the floor by the door, his eyes trained on the phone in his hand. 

Wait.

Donghyuck?

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your tone is biting at best. He looks up from his screen in surprise, though his expression quickly morphs into one of clear disdain once he sees that it’s you who’s speaking. 

“Got a message from Moonie. What the fuck are you doing here?”

You hold up your orange slip, only just noticing the identical one hanging between two of his fingers. His eyes dart down to his own again before back up at you, seemingly still waiting for a response. 

“Same here.” You respond, and he sneers at you. Donghyuck looks like he’s about to say something - likely hurl an insult that’s completely unrelated to the situation - but, with spectacular timing, Mr. Moon walks in through the door, a large soda in one hand and a fast food bag in the other. Donghyuck finally sits down, his backpack still by the door. 

Your theatre director places his food on the desk in the corner of the room before leaning against it, placing his hands against the edge of the table for balance. He surveys the two of you, both of you on different sides of the room, for a moment.

“I guess you’re wondering why I’ve called you here,” Moon finally says, his words directed at you both. You nod while Donghyuck says a quiet “Yep.”, neither of you looking at one another. Moon nods himself before pushing himself off of his desk, reaching over to grab ahold of his rolling chair. 

“Come,” He looks at both of you, nodding towards the center of the room. “Bring your chairs in.”

You stare at your director for a moment before sighing, careful not to let Mr. Moon see you rolling your eyes. Reluctantly, you stand up, grabbing your chair and moving to sit in front of him. Donghyuck follows suit, managing to put as much distance as humanly possible between you while staying close enough that Mr. Moon won’t reprimand him. 

“You both know how your Theatre IV class is meant to be the ones writing the musical itself, right?” 

The two of you nod, and you can’t help but wonder what direction Moon might be going in. There’s thirteen people in your class - why is it just you two he’s called in?

“Out of everyone in the class, you two are the only ones that aren’t either tech theatre students or double dipping when it comes to fine arts.” Your director continues, his words coming out slower than usual. It almost feels as if he’s trying to force the two of you towards the conclusion rather than telling you what he means to himself. Still, you know your expression is one of confusion. Mr. Moon winces almost imperceptibly before sighing and leaning back, rolling back-and-forth ever so slightly with his chair. 

“When it comes to this year’s musical, students can only work with one of the departments, because having anyone work on two parts of it would be way too much work,” He finally says, leaning towards you and Donghyuck again. Silence falls over you as you furrow your brow, trying to figure out what Mr. Moon might mean. 

It hits both you and Donghyuck at the same time. 

“There’s no way I’m working with just him -”

“Moonie, c’mon, do you really hate me this much -”

“Stop.” Moon says, his voice rising easily in volume. He puts both of his hands up in emphasis, and you realize you’ve leaned further forward than you’d realize. You settle back into your seat, though not without returning the scowl Donghyuck is sending you. 

“If I didn’t think the two of you could do it together, I would’ve just written the damn thing myself,” Your director says, glancing sharply at both of you before continuing. “You’re my two best students - you both know this. I’ve seen you put your differences aside to act together on stage. This shouldn’t be any different than that.”

You stare at Mr. Moon for a long moment, weighing your options. You can say no, you know you can - though he’ll advise strongly against it, Moon will ultimately let you back out of the musical’s production if you ask - but your ego refuses to let you. That, and you’d been genuinely excited to work on it before, and you’d rather die than let Donghyuck, of all people, take something you care about from you. That, and you don’t trust him to write a good play worth performing. You’ll be damned if the fine arts department has to count on him in the end. Hell, you’ll write it by yourself if you have to.

“Fine,” You say, raising a hand up to rub your temples out. “But I’ll only play nice if he does, too.”

“You act like I’m the one who finds it difficult to interact normally with other people.” Donghyuck scoffs, and you shoot him a sharp glare. He returns it evenly for a beat too long before finally tearing his eyes away and hanging his head. You watch as he runs a hand through his hair and throws his head back, groaning loudly as he does so, almost as if it pains him to say his next words. When he finally looks forward at Moon again, he sighs before speaking.

“I’m in,” He declares, throwing you an unreadable look. “Let’s get this over with.”

Moon’s face lights up immediately, and, for a moment, you don’t regret what you’ve just agreed to.

“Brilliant!” He claps, standing up from his chair. “We can discuss it together as a group during our next class, but I’m glad we have this sorted out. Now,” He says, moving his chair back over to his desk before settling back down in it. “I have to eat lunch, and I’m guessing you both do too. Scram.”

You get up, placing your chair back from where you got it before gathering your things. Donghyuck avoids looking at you, and you return the courtesy. He gets to the door right before you do, stooping down to pick up his back. Both of you wave goodbye to your director before stepping out into the hallway. 

“When should we meet to talk about the planning and shit?” You ask, keeping your tone as steady as possible, though you know your eyes tell your feelings. Donghyuck rolls his eyes outright. 

“How about we figure that out in class? I’ve talked to you enough for the time being.”

You make a sound of disbelief, flipping him off as he turns to walk away from you. 

“You’re a grade A dickwad!” You call, staring at his back. 

“Whatever, you frigid bitch!” He yells back, not bothering to turn around and look at you. 

You sigh once he’s out of sight, dropping your head into one of your hands.

This is going to be a lot harder than Mr. Moon thinks it’ll be.

#haechan #haechan scenario #haechan scenarios #lee donghyuck #donghyuck #donghyuck scenarios #nct #nct dream #nct angst #nct fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct 127 #nct 127 angst #nct 127 fluff #haechan angst #haechan fluff #donghyuck angst #donghyuck fluff #nct dream smut #nct smut #nct 127 smut #haechan smut #donghyuck smut #haechan imagine #haechan imagines

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Owl House/Fairy Tail Crossover First Episode Part 1

Hello All, today, I am transcribing the Owl House/Fairy Tail story I created over hear, for your reading pleasure!! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!!

“Phew! Looks like I lost them!” With an exhausted sigh, Luz Noceda crashed to the ground. “Just once, I wish I could go into town without a disguise and NOT get chased by Rune Knights. Is that REALLY too much to ask?”

With a sigh, Luz hauled the satchel she carried across her shoulder off, riffling through the numerous papers and books stored within. ‘Sometimes, I wished that I was better at thinking things through… but then I remember how boring that is!’ She mused to herself, before laughing aloud in response.

“Still, that was a close call.” Stretching herself out, Luz slipped a picture out of her pocket, gazing fondly at the photo of her and her mother, laughing together. It was one of the few mementos Luz had managed to keep of that time. “I better prepare, never know who could show up.”

One campfire, properly covered to conceal any smoke or light it may give off, and give away her position, and one emergency shelter later, Luz laid into a hearty soup she managed to make. So what you will about her social skills, but Luz definitely knew how to survive off the land… with a little help from the odds and ends she “Found” in town today.

With her belly full, Luz decided it would be a good point to get ready for bed, at least after she got some reading done. “Challenges of Space-Time and the Continuum? Nah, already read that, dull as dirt. Masterworks of Weaponry: A Guide to Gear both Standard and Exotic, cool but more technical than I’m in the mood for…”

As Luz narrowed her choices, she eventually reached the SECOND big memento of her Mother among her things: The Good Witch Azura, a fantasy novel series that had been the guiding beacon to her life of adventure and intrigue up until now. A complicated look appeared on Luz’s face. Ordinarily, she’d stash this book away, content with her memories of happier times that it brought to the surface, but today, she felt like maybe she should give it a proper read. As the words danced across her vision, Luz sunk deeper and deeper into her memories, heedless of the tears pricking at her eyes. All she could see was the wonderful, maddening book that had given her so much joy and heartache. The last thing her Mother had given her before she set out on her journey. Before she could fully lose herself in her thoughts, Luz’s attention was grabbed by the sound of an Owl hooting. Specifically, an Owl hooting from just a few short feet away.

As Luz turned her head, she caught sight of the dumbfounding image of a tiny brown owl, something she would normally coo over in delight at the sight of, were said adorable owl not currently lifting into the air, her satchel of works stored within a burlap sack it was carrying. “TINY BAG THIEF!!”

With a roar of outrage, Luz launched herself after the owl, internally marveling at its ability to support all that weight with its little body, but more than anything furious at being robbed. Luz DESPISED the idea of being stolen from. With an accompanying burst of wind at her steps, Luz effortlessly dodged the trees and boulders the little owl weaved around in an effort to shake her. As Luz closed in, her hand just inches away from snatching the owl’s burden… she tumbled through the rather obvious door-shaped portal that had been floating in the air.

With a cough, Luz pulled herself to her feet, finding herself in a canvas tent, the familiar rumbling of a market just outside. Whatever resulted in her coming here, it didn’t seem malevolent… for now. As Luz looked around the interior, she noticed how odd so many of the items stored within were. “Wow, and I thought I’d seen some weird stuff.” Luz walks over to a shrunken head. “But this? This is impressive.”

“Okay Owlbert, let’s see what you’ve got for Mama today!”

“Who the what now?” Confused, and intrigued, Luz moved closer to the tent flap. As she looked out, she let out a soft gasp of awe. Before her was one of the most fascinating sights she had ever seen, beings of all forms and figures trading and haggling in an old-fashioned bazarre. The tent she found herself in seemed to connect to a stand, one staffed by a surprisingly foxy older woman, grey hair held tight behind a bandanna, wearing a stylishly torn red dress. “Okay, let’s see where this goes…”

As the woman pulled out multiple valuable objects, including an Archive Terminal that Luz legitimately cried at seeing tossed like trash, discarding each without a moment’s hesitation, only to settle on some novelty glasses as being the thing to “Make her rich.” Yeah, Luz wasn’t too sure about that. But when she pulled Luz’s precious satchel and held the treasures over a fire? Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

“NOPE!” With a lunge, Luz leapt into the air, grabbing her satchel and the book Eda had been holding over a flame, and smoothly landed on her feet, not five feet away. “Yeah, sorry lady, but this is mine.”

With that said, Luz took off running, ducking back into the tent and heading for the portal, only to come up short as it folded up into… was that a briefcase? “You’re not going anywhere.” Okay, so the probably crazy lady could do a decent threatening voice. Well then…

Luz lunged towards the woman, aiming a sharp right hook for her torso. The lady’s eyes widened, before she shifted to the side, avoiding what would’ve been a stinging blow by the skin of her teeth. Growling, Luz crouched to the ground and spun, hoping to sweep the woman’s feet out from under her, only for her to once again dodge, smoothly leaping over the attack, now sporting a teasing grin. “That the best ya got kid?”

“Not even close.” Luz snorted. Alright, no more Ms. Nice Girl. Deciding she needed to end this quickly, Luz brought her fist to her open palm, a bright light building at the point of connection. “ Light-Make:”

The woman’s eyes widened. “What the-!?”

“Surging Spear!!” With a fierce grin, Luz released her spell, laughing inside at the dumbfounded look on the woman’s face as a bevy of ornate spears, all crafted from solid light, drove themselves into her gut, launching her into the street.

With a huff, Luz followed after, squaring off from across the lady (who she really needed to learn the name of).

As she pulled herself to her feet, the woman groaned out. “How in the Titan’s name did you do that?”

Luz blinked. “Magic.”

“Yeah, I know that, duh! I meant how can YOU use magic at all?” The woman snorted, a look of fascination in her eyes.

“I learned how.” Luz grunted, an annoyed glare fixed upon her face. “Want me to show you what else I’ve learned?”

The woman grinned. “Absolutely.”

Teeth bared in an answering grin, Luz leapt forward. As she closed in on her opponent, she focused on the energy flowing within her, and shouted, “Water Dance: Percussive Rhythm!!”

In response to her spell, water blossomed around her, circling her wrists and ankles. As she finally entered melee range, she lashed out with a trio of kicks, blunt whips of water following each. The woman dodged the kicks, blocking the water strikes using her staff, before retaliating with an overhead blow. Spinning away from the blow, Luz used the momentum to throw a punch, grinning in satisfaction as it and the accompanying water strike connected, as well as the following grunt of pain.

The grey-haired lady snorted, twirled her hand and produced a glowing ring in response. Luz may not have been familiar with spells of whatever type she was about to use, but better safe than sorry. She jumped back, and just in time, as a slithering tube of stone burst from the ground, the leading part shaped into the face of an Owl. Backflipping away from the spell, countered with her own. “Clinging Flames!”

Her spell lashed out in the form of numerous small sparks, which, while not very powerful, had the ability to cling to something without being overtly damaging, weighing it down. As the spell of the woman met her own, the flames lived up to their name, clinging to the Owl Tube and pinning it to the ground. Capitalizing on the distraction, Luz rushed in, launching an overhead kick to the woman’s face, only to be blocked by her staff.

“You’ve got some moves!” The woman grinned, the fierce joy of a challenge burning in her gaze. “What’s your name anyway?”

Luz returned her grin. “Luz Noceda! You?”

The woman barked a laugh. “Ha! I’ll make sure to remember that. The name’s-”

“EDA THE OWL LADY!!”

With the sudden shout, the crowd that had been watching their brawl scattered, cowering in fright behind the stands and trees. Coming towards them were a menacing trio of masked thugs, local guards or law enforcement by Luz’s estimate. Still, at least she had a name.

The lead guard stomped forward with a growl. “You are wanted for Crimes against the Empire, Misuse of Magic, and Demonic Misdemeanors!”

The now-named Eda groaned. “Will you bozos just leave me alone all ready? I haven’t done anything!”

“And you!” The guard turned his finger to Luz, ignoring Eda. “Are coming too!”

“WHAT!?” Luz shouted. “What did I do!?”

The guard snorted dismissively. “Disturbing the peace and destruction of private property.” He gestured, bringing Luz’s attention to the numerous signs of her’s and Eda’s duel, wreckage scattered about. The guard turned back to them, what little of his eyes could be seen behind his mask glinting in dark delight. “The both of you will be coming with us to the Conformatorium! And please, feel free to resist.”

Luz felt rage, white hot and murderous, burn in her chest. This bastard was more or less saying that, because she was defending herself, something that she was now starting to think may have just been her overreacting again but still, she was going to be arrested, tossed in prison, and left to rot. Turning her gaze to an equally enraged Eda, she asked, “Truce.”

Eda blinked, before grinning ferally. “Truce.”

With a roar, the two rushed the guards. Luz dropped down, sliding under the legs of the lead guard, a ball of wind building in her hand. “Sparrow Swarm!”

Her spell lashed out in a burst of wind bullets in all directions, each individual hit resembling a small bird strangely enough, and took out the guard before he could react. With a twirl, she spun towards the next guard, Eda having already brought down the one closest to her, and they both launched a quick strike to the remaining guard, sending him onto his back. Luz was honestly surprised at how quick they went down, but then again, they didn’t actually seem all that competent. As she climbed to her feet, she spotted Eda magically collapse the stand they had been fighting near just moments before into a bundle she could carry over her shoulder. As the crowd from before came out, roaring in delight at the spectacle, Luz chuckled, rubbing her head in satisfaction at the outcome. Before she could start enjoying the cheers, however, Eda grabbed her by the arm, hoisting her onto her staff, which was flying and COULD FLY apparently, a cheeky grin on her face.

“Up you go, kid!” Eda smirked. “You owe me some answers, and I’d hate for Wrath’s goons to get their hands on you.”

Luz rolled her eyes. “Fine, but you owe me some answers yourself. Deal?”

Eda laughed. “Deal!”

And with that, they took off for the sky.

#the owl house #owl house au #fairy tail #fairy tail au #owl house crossover #fairy tail crossover #luz noceda #eda clawthorne #magic

[datheetjoella]

Fantober 2020, Day 30: Domesticated

Author: DatHeetJoella Fandom: Free! Pairing: MakoHaru Rating: T Part: 30/31 (read the full collection here) Word count: 1,821 Tags: Canonverse, Established Relationship, Fluff, Domesticity, Accidental Marriage Proposal Read at: AO3, FFn, or right here!

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

Unlike many others, Haruka didn't go to work in the morning with dread in his gut. He had turned his passion into his career and despite there still being days when we'd rather swim leisurely than be barked at by his coach, he hadn't reached the point yet where he had gotten tired of training.

Nevertheless, Haruka's favourite moment of the day was unlocking the door to their apartment, where he could relax on the couch and unwind in the bath, but most importantly, where he could see Makoto again. Finally, that moment had arrived.

Muffled noises resonated through the walls, informing him that Makoto was home early. That knowledge brought a smile to Haruka's face. Although his day had been pretty good so far, he could always use a bright grin, a loving embrace and a tender kiss. Time to replenish his Makoto-well.

He stashed his key back into his pocket and pushed down the doorknob. "I'm home," he called out as he kicked off his shoes. He didn't get a response, so he ditched his bag in front of the bathroom door and went inside.

Makoto was standing in the middle of the living room with his back turned to him, pushing their wireless, low-decibel vacuum around the coffee table. It had been a gift from his mom on his previous birthday - yes, Haruka had reached the age where his parents gave him practical things as presents. Recently, she had become obsessed with high-tech appliances and after he off-handedly mentioned the cord of the vacuum getting tangled when he was on the phone with her while cleaning, she took it upon herself to rid him of those issues.

It had cost far more than Haruka would ever be willing to pay for a vacuum cleaner, but admittedly, it performed amazingly and left their old, cheap one in the dust. Vacuuming had been at the bottom of both of their lists in terms of chore-preferences, but this one ran so smoothly it eradicated the reasons they disliked it.

But the vacuum wasn't why Makoto hadn't heard him; after all, it was relatively quiet. It were the headphones covering his ears that caused him to miss Haruka's arrival.

Haruka opened his mouth to call out again rather than touching his shoulder or jumping in front of him, lest he startle him. But he abruptly shut up when Makoto started to sing along to his music.

His soft voice filled the room, bouncing off the walls and the notes immediately nestled themselves in a chamber of Haruka's heart. Ever since they were kids, Makoto had been the better singer between the two of them, but as he grew older and his voice matured, Makoto improved even more. His vocal range was pretty wide so he could effortlessly sing along to a variety of genres, be it mellow ballads or high-tempo rock songs. While Makoto's voice was already a treat to listen to when he talked, hearing him sing was a rare but very welcome massage to Haruka's eardrums.

To suit his voice, Makoto's taste in music was also very broad. He enjoyed almost anything, so sharing earbuds with him or passing him the aux cord in the car meant Haruka was in for a surprise. This time, he was singing along to an upbeat song by some foreign pop group that was often played on the radio and in stores. The lyrics described the sea breeze and silver sand on a summer night and although it was a bit out of season now they were well into autumn, Makoto's beautiful voice made it sound like a timeless serenade.

With bated breath, Haruka watched and listened. The sight of Makoto singing while vacuuming was rather mundane, something that could happen on any given day of the week, yet it made Haruka's chest brim with profound affection. He could travel the world, eat mackerel at Michelin-star restaurants, swim in every body of water within existence, and he still wouldn't be as happy as he was now. Trophies and the thrill of competing were a great bonus, but all that mattered was this; after work, he came home to the person he loved more than life itself, carefree and content.

When Makoto turned around the table to vacuum the floor on the other side, their eyes met and a wide smile lit up his handsome face. "Ah, Haru, I didn't hear you come in. Welcome home."

Naturally, Haruka smiled too. "I'm home," he said again.

After he turned off the vacuum, Makoto fished his phone out of his pocket to stop the music and put his headphones down on the table. Then, he went over to Haruka to engulf him in a big hug and welcome him home properly. As their lips met in a gentle kiss, Haruka realised he had been wrong; this was his favourite moment of the day.

He cupped Makoto's face, the faintest hint of stubble on his jaw prickling his fingertips and although it was a feeling he otherwise found unpleasant, the roughness was kind of nice now. It was a part of Makoto and since it would be gone tomorrow morning after he shaved, Haruka had to savour it now.

Makoto pulled back sooner than he would've liked, but Haruka wouldn't sweat it. There was more than enough time left in the day to dedicate to loving kisses.

"When you unload your bag, you can leave your towels and swimsuit in front of the washing machine instead of putting them in the laundry basket," Makoto said, "I'm doing laundry anyway so I'll put them in once this round is done."

"Vacuuming, doing laundry," Haruka said with a huff of amusement, "Are you aiming to be a house husband?"

"Depends." Makoto shrugged. "Are your applications open?"

"I guess."

"Then does that mean I'm hired?"

"Who else would I hire?"

Makoto chuckled. "Does that mean we're married now?"

A large question mark appeared above Haruka's head. Had he just proposed to Makoto? "Engaged, I think?" Haruka said with a frown. This was not how he expected this milestone to go down. He'd thought there would be at least more gasps of surprise, fireworks and perhaps even a tear or two. Not a joking remark on an extraordinarily normal day. "This is the most confusing proposal I've ever heard."

More melodic laughter streamed from Makoto's mouth. "It's not exactly how I had envisioned it either, but I must say I quite like it. It was so easy and natural, like everything else between us is, too," he said and he did have a point. "Besides, I'm happy with the upgrade. I was never a fan of the term 'boyfriends' anyway. 'Fiancés' has a much nicer ring to it, doesn't it?"

In Haruka's opinion, it did sound a lot better. Fiancé was more encompassing than the term boyfriend was, and while Makoto was undoubtedly his boyfriend, he was so much more than that. He was his best friend, his better half, his Makoto. "How did you think of me before if you don't like the word 'boyfriend' then?"

"My partner, my significant other, my best friend with a whole bunch of benefits," Makoto said with a playful raise of his eyebrows, but then he smiled, soft and genuine. "My Haru-chan."

It was the answer Haruka could've predicted, yet it still made heat rush to his cheeks. "Drop the '-chan'."

Makoto snorted. He raised his hand and carded his fingers through Haruka's black locks. "Hey, Haru?"

"What?"

"Do you think I'll be a good husband?"

"Your cooking skills can use some brushing up," Haruka said with a smirk, earning himself an offended 'hey!' from Makoto. "But other than that, you'll be the perfect husband."

"Thanks," Makoto said, leaning down to plant a kiss on the tip of Haruka's nose. "You will, too, but I already told you that, didn't I?"

Haruka nodded, smiling as he recalled it. "During our second year of high school, when I was teaching you how to cook mackerel in miso for Ran and Ren."

"Back then, you said you weren't interested in getting married."

It was true. When he was younger he had no intention to get married, but that was because it wasn't possible to marry Makoto and it wasn't like there was anyone else he wanted to be with. It was a great relief that over the years, it had become an option. "I changed my mind."

A warm twinkle shone in Makoto's eyes. "I'm glad. Although I'm happy enough just being with you, there's something extra special about our relationship being officially and legally recognised, don't you think?"

Haruka nodded. According to their friends, they'd been like an old married couple since they were kids so in that regard, nothing would change. But even if the nature of their bond didn't change, the way the world viewed them would. Whenever Haruka met someone new, it was difficult to explain what Makoto was to him: with the title of husband, all those problems would vanish and everyone would understand immediately that Makoto was his world.

"If we get married in a few years, we'll be able to save up for a ceremony on the beach, and maybe for a honeymoon in Okinawa," Makoto said and Haruka's heart swelled at the thought, "But for now, we'll enjoy the fiancé-stage of our relationship."

"Yeah," Haruka said. Their lives were a bit too hectic to get married right away, but that didn't mean they couldn't fantasise about it. They would have plenty of time to dream up the perfect wedding. "To celebrate our engagement, I'll cook a special dinner tonight. What would you like to eat?"

"Mackerel."

"Mackerel?" Haruka asked with a frown. "Not green curry?"

Makoto shook his head. "Mackerel is my fiancé's favourite food."

That made Haruka's stomach flutter. Could Makoto be any more kind and selfless? He was truly proving himself as husband-material. "I'll make a chocolate cake for dessert then. That's my fiancé's favourite pastry."

At the mention of chocolate cake, Makoto's smile softened. "Thanks, Haru," he said and pressed a sweet kiss to Haruka's lips. "There isn't anyone in the entire world who I'd rather spend my life with, so thank you for choosing to be with me again and again."

"Me neither," Haruka said, tightening his arms around Makoto's neck. Revealing the contents of his heart remained to be something he struggled with, but Makoto deserved to hear just how much he meant to him. No matter how difficult something was, for Makoto he'd always try his best. "I love you."

"I love you too," Makoto said as he leaned their foreheads together, their noses touching. "So, so much."

Their eyes fell shut as their lips met in another passionate kiss.

If every day with Makoto was this domestic and comfortable, then Haruka was already looking forward to all the years yet to come.

#i'm sorry i'm stupid #makoharu #makoharu fic #my fic #fantober2020 #colourful days with you

[jennifersylvesters]

fic wars - week two

pairing: bucky barnes x reader warnings: none? word count: 2.6k~ notes: this is for @revengingbarnes and @chillingbucky’s fic wars 2019! basically how it works is that each pair receives six prompts. each of the writers will write three parts (alternating every week) with the given prompts to form a single story. @writeyourmindaway and i teamed up ( aka coin tossing writer duo ) so please make sure to read the first part linked here! it’s technically friday here so i’m sliding in at very last minute. am i sweating bullets? abso-frickin-lutely. anyways, enjoy! prompt: we have to sleep together but we can’t agree on the ac temperature 

Missions after your first memorable one went smoothly. Most were intel, a couple rescue ones here and there. Operations didn’t get any easier but time and practice eased your comfort into the field. Slowly but surely you were finding your place among the Avengers. 

It became second nature to joke around with Sam, making sarcastic wisecracks left and right. You advised little Peter about what not to do in high school and how to deal with this Flash kid. Wanda became your closest companion that the team often paired you two up for missions. Team members no longer intimidated you but started feeling like actual friends. 

Still, you weren’t sure where you stood with Bucky Barnes. 

Sure, he bought that post-mission drink but nothing progressed from there. If anything, the gesture felt like a man simply keeping his word. Nothing more noble than a man buying you a beer. Of course you knew there was nothing wrong with that; you just wanted...more. 

He went from stifled cordial greetings to smiling politely and engaging in brief small talk whenever you saw one another in the compound. No surprise that his loyalty towards Steve and Sam kept him constantly preoccupied with the two men. But after that first mission, you found yourself noticing the subtleties of Bucky Barnes. 

The way he trudged in the morning, hair sticking in all sorts of angles. How he tied back his hair whenever he trained. His preference towards black coffee, refusing to add anything to the drink. How he only flexed his right hand when he was irritated. You wondered if it had anything to do with his metal arm, but you didn’t pry. Colleagues couldn’t meddle into those types of affairs the way friends did. 

You offered a hair tie one morning as he stumbled into the kitchen wearily trying to mat his hair down to no avail. The tie was neon pink and you worried the flashiness would cause him to say no. Instead he gave a small smile as he tied his loose hair. He thanked you, commenting how great you were.

“Anything for a colleague” you shrugged off. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed his smile disappear as he searched for a clean coffee mug. “He’s just tired. He hasn’t had coffee yet” you assumed not bothering to ask him. After all even if you wanted progression, you weren’t one to force anything. 

- 

Despite not frequently working together, you knew the inevitable team up was bound to happen again. So it wasn’t shocking when Steve announced you and Bucky would be teaming up for an intel mission in Belgrade. Catching his glance, he gave you a smile and nod before turning back to Cap. You had gotten used to the rhythm of these assignments that if everything went according to plan, it wouldn’t be a repeat of last time. 

Just as you suspected, this operation was nothing to worry about. The two of you blended with the party crowd as you immediately got to work. It had been simple enough on your part. An oh so clumsy fumble into the Minister of Foreign Affairs’s arms with the apology that perhaps you had too much to drink. No one noticing you slipping the bug onto his lapel and a tracking device into his drink. 

Bucky had no problem with his assignment either. He effortlessly cased the joint as he noted the security cameras and bodyguards, reporting them through his hidden mic without so much as a blink. 

When the Minister was on the move, the two of you held back before tailing them. It came as no surprise that the Minister and his guards made their way to a seedy motel outside the city, his frequent location for business deals. 

What you hadn’t expected was for him to meet up with the black market dealers that night. Jackpot. Although the team had an inkling of the shady connections, the Minister divulged illicit details you couldn’t believe. He discussed his government’s “problem” candidates that needed to be resolved properly. 

“This idiot’s really giving us everything” Natasha laughed over the radio. You and Bucky smiled to yourselves as you sat in the car, listening to the Serbian feed as the rest of the team made offhanded comments. 

“Great work, Sugar and Spice.” You rolled your eyes at Stark’s comments. Bucky grunted irritably. “You know what, kiddos? Take the rest of the night off. Booked you two a room in 105. In fact, Cap handed it off to Manchurian Candidate before you two left the compound. Do things I wouldn’t do.”

“Gee. Thanks, Tony” you let out a dry laugh. "You treat all the Avengers like this?”

“Nope. Only for you two, Posh and Becks.” Groaning at the new nicknames, you shook your head. 

“What is Posh and Becks?” Bucky muttered under his breath. You stifled a laugh as he thumbed through his jacket pulling out a hotel key. 

As both parties left the premise, you and Bucky grabbed your belongings and headed to the booked room now that the coast was clear. 

“You think Stark could spring for some nicer digs” you deadpanned scanning the layout of the hotel. The stairwell railing was falling apart and the hotel sign’s light flickered menacingly. You knew the lodging wasn’t his fault; after all, this was a mission not a retreat. It didn’t mean they needed to spring for the grimy place where your enemy did his business transactions.

“It was supposed to be the surveillance room. Don’t think they were expecting the Serbian to admit his treason that quickly” Bucky answered simply. Ah, now it all made sense. 

As Bucky unlocked the room for the night, you grimaced taking it all in. Wallpaper peeled off the walls and the carpet was stained with various splatters. (Of what, you didn’t want to know.) The furniture looked old and had clearly been abused over the years by how they barely held together. 

Bucky let out a grunt as he tossed his bag to the ground. 

“I’ll take the floor.” 

“Why would you-” you paused before glancing at the bed. 

It was a full sized mattress, easily enough to accommodate you and him, but the thought of sleeping in the same bed brought a flush to your face. Apparently he felt similarly as he took a pillow and threw it to the ground. “Like I said, I’ll take the floor.” 

“We’re adults. We can just share the mattress” you reasoned. There was no reason the two of you couldn’t sleep in the same bed. After all, you did it with Clint for a previous assignment. Granted, he passed out without thought after almost getting shot multiple times. But things weren’t in a strange stage between you and Hawkeye the way they were with you and Bucky. The two of you teetered a polite line, unsure about crossing over into a friendship zone. 

After a bit of back and forth, he finally conceded to sleep in the same bed. With you. You sucked in a deep breath, reminding yourself that this wasn’t a big deal. People shared beds all the time. 

As he tossed the pillow back onto the bed, you slipped into pajamas in the bathroom before getting onto the other side of the mattress. Turning on your side, you faced the wall willing yourself to fall asleep fast. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to think about anything but the man sharing the bed with you. 

The sound of light whirring prompted you to sit up quickly. Had the Serbians returned? Did they know they had been bugged? The worst flooded your mind. 

“What is that?” you asked looking around. 

“AC” Bucky grunted. You looked over at the man now in his undershirt and boxers sliding into the bed, his weight causing the mattress to creak. 

It was the middle of winter, the weather crisp and chilly. Forecast even called for snow. What person would turn on the AC in those conditions? Apparently Bucky Barnes would. 

As soon as his eyes shut, you snuck out of bed and crept to the thermostat. Immediately you shut off the AC and cranked up the heat. If you were going to be sleeping in this poor excuse of a hotel room, you at least wanted to be warm. 

Sneaking back, you quietly slipped the sheet over yourself. A couple seconds later the bed lightened and feet padded across the room. 

“Bucky, what are you doing?” 

“Adjusting the temperature.”

“And why would you do that?” 

“Because I prefer the cold.” He made it sound so simple, like the possibility of freezing to death wasn’t an option. 

“Don’t you dare touch that thermostat” you growled. Bucky looked you dead in the eye as he adjusted the settings and cranked on the AC. 

You rushed over with a scowl, crossing your arms. “It’s freezing outside! Why would you turn this on?”

“Because I sleep better in the cold.” 

He insisted he needed the cold air or he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He offered his sweater, which you argued you wouldn’t need if he just turned the air conditioning off. He shook his head as he listed off other suggestions. 

“Take the whole blanket then.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Why not?” He cocked his head to the side. It was his turn to cross his arms. 

“Because I’m not a monster who steals the sheets, Barnes!” This earned you a raised eyebrow. All these new sides to Bucky’s usual polite front would’ve intrigued you if you weren’t so focused on staying warm. You groaned realizing this was going nowhere. Eventually you resolved to just borrowing his clothes. 

He plucked it from his duffel, tossing it your direction. You pulled it on before grimacing. “Bucky, there’s blood on this.” 

“Is there?” Were blood stains on his clothing a normal occurrence that he could sound so casual about the matter?

“I’m not sleeping in a sweater that has your blood on it” you scoffed, observing the stain. 

“Don’t think that’s my blood, doll.” 

You swore at him as you yanked it off, throwing the clothing at him roughly. “Now I’m definitely not wearing that!” 

Still pouting you crawled under the cover, curling up to keep heated. As Bucky shifted, he pulled the blanket closer to him and coincidentally pulling some fabric from you.  

“Barnes” you groaned, yanking the sheet towards you. With his tight grip, it merely rustled the fabric. “There’s only one sheet. If you got to have your way on the temperature, you can at least share the blanket.” 

He faked a snore - one so painfully obvious - that you groaned louder. You smacked him in the shoulder and he opened his eyes smiling innocently. “Sorry, I must’ve fallen asleep from how comfortable this is.”

Your teeth chattered as you glared. He merely smirked in return, comfortably settling himself into the bed. 

“You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” you scowled pulling the sheet once more to no avail. 

“A little” he shrugged. 

Thwack! You smacked him in the face with your pillow. It was a bit childish but so was this whole debacle. 

“Did you just-” he asked startled before you hit him with the pillow again. 

You shrieked as he swung his own at you. The next thing you knew, both of you were hitting one another with pillows before falling back and bursting into laughter. 

The giggling subsided as he leaned over, arm digging into the mattress as he hovered above you. It was closer than the two of you had been all evening. So close that his breath gently fanned your face. “Friends don’t hit each other with pillows” his low voice caused you to shiver. 

“Friends also don’t crank up the AC when it’s already freezing” you quipped back. 

“So you admit we’re friends now?” Something flickered in his eyes as he looked at you. Something you couldn’t recognize but wanted to get lost in.  

“Turn off the AC and then we’ll talk.”

The way those blue eyes flickered from yours down to your mouth had your heart pounding out of your chest. You wondered if he could hear it, how nervous you felt despite your casual words. 

Bucky pulled away and stood up. The light from outside shone on his face as he turned off the air conditioning and adjusted the temperature. The whirring came to a halt and silence filled the room. You could hear everything so clearly now. The floor creaking as he walked back, the rustling of the cover, the mattress springs squeaking as he got back into bed. 

You muttered a thanks, pulling the blanket around yourself. You turned towards the wall again, hoping he couldn’t see you blushing for whatever godforsaken reason. 

“What are friends for?” he grinned before closing his eyes. 

- 

Loud knocking woke you the next morning. You lifted your head, struggling to get up. A couple more knocks and you finally opened your bleary eyes. They widened when you realized you had turned in your sleep and were now facing Bucky.

Studying his face, you understood why he would’ve been popular in his youth. Enough charm and a face like that would make anyone swoon. The temptation to brush the hair out of his face crept up in your mind, but you waved the idea away. Last thing you wanted was to explain your strange, sudden urge to touch him if he woke up. 

The knocking came once more and to your surprise, Bucky breathed “Would you mind getting that?” How long had he been awake? His eyes remained close as he muttered a ‘please’.

Hurrying to the door, you peeked through the peep hole before swinging it open. The sun barely crept over the horizon as Natasha and Steve stood in front of you. The large quinjet only a couple feet away didn’t escape your vision. Natasha leaned on the door frame with her signature smirk as Steve peered into the room. 

“Stark wasn’t kidding when he said it was a dump” Steve muttered as he shook his head. 

“Better than Ankara” Natasha commented offhandedly as she stepped in. This was your cue to get dressed and collect your belongings. Within fifteen minutes you managed to make yourself presentable while the team made sure the room was properly swept. No trace that two Avengers member had been and slept there. 

All of you walked towards the quinjet, ready to head back to the compound.

“How was the hotel, Buck?” Steve asked. 

“Wasn’t half bad really” he yawned, stretching out his arms before scratching the top his head. His hand reached into his jacket procuring a bright pink hair tie. You dry swallowed as he bundled his hair together, eyes unable to focus on anything besides his hair. He turned back to you, and your face flushed knowing you had been staring. 

“Wouldn’t you agree?” he asked, a cheeky smile rising to his face. 

Biting down on your lip, you merely shrugged before he turned back to Steve to discuss the upcoming debrief. 

Concentration was at an all time low on the ride back. Natasha spoke of an exchange between Scott and Tony and you nodded along barely paying any attention. Instead you replayed last night in your mind, wondering what this meant for you and the super soldier. Every so often you’d turn back to Bucky focusing on the band in his hair. It was clear you were more than colleagues at this point. But how he viewed you was still a mystery, one that struck your curiosity and one you wanted nothing more than to solve.  

- 

tags list: @sleepybesson, @supernatural-girl97, @sophiatomlinson23, @tomhaz 

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #my writing #coin tosser writing duo™ #fic wars™ 2019

[yodawgiherd]

Crime and Punishment

Rating: T

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Sneaking in not one but two small requests this time. Who is this guy??

Enjoy!

The coffee swirls were interesting to watch, especially for someone as tired as Eren was. Tiny black whirlpool, going round and round, endlessly chasing after the trail left behind by the spoon. Fruitless activity, as they could never catch it, yet they kept trying.

“How’s the talk with your mug?”, Ymir walked in smirking, coming to stand next to his table, “Anything interesting?”

“Not much.”, Eren shrugged, taking a sip instead. It hit the spot.

“He isn’t answering.”

“That’s good, since we have to go anyway.”

Nodding, Eren stood up, legs feeling just a tad bit unsteady underneath him.

“How’s the patient?”

“All prepped and ready. Waiting for us to go and cut him open.”

“Then we better not keep him waiting.”

But when he tried to push his way out of the room, Ymir stopped him, casting an inspecting eye over his disheveled visage.

“Hey, are you sure you’re up to this? That’s some serious case of dark circles under your eyes man.”, she looked him up and down, more unsure by the second, “When was the last time you slept?”

“Oh, come on, what are you, my mom? Let’s go.”

With half playful and half firm shove, he got around her, making his way to the operating theater, with Ymir hot on his heels. Honestly speaking, Eren couldn’t answer her question even if he wanted to. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept.

The patch of skin in front of him looked like any other, white and eerie in the intense light, waiting for him to cut. It was a bit blinding, making Eren’s vision swim, flickering from time to time. But it didn’t matter, he had to do this, there was no other way. Taking a deep breath, Eren planted the point of the scalpel right against it, preparing himself.

“Making the first incision…”

Fingers closed around his wrist, preventing the cut, making his gaze fly up to see who it was. Ymir was staring at him from across the table, eyes hard above the surgical mask.

“Eren what the fuck!”, she hissed, “Your fucking hands are shaking!”

She was right, he realized, looking down at his work. The short trail he left behind, quickly filling with blood, was jagged and zig-zag, ugly against the white. Horrified, he put down the scalpel with a clink, taking a step back.

“Get out of here.”, Ymir rounded the table, taking his place, “I got this.”

“You… good to finish it yourself, need something?”

She shook her head, already working.

“Go.”

Under the puncturing gazes of nurses and the weight of his own failure, he stumbled out. It took all the mental fortitude he had to keep himself on his feet.

“Eren.”

Voice he knew very well, deep and rich, radiating calmness. A chair scraped the floor, and someone took a seat across, shifting a bit to get comfortable. Eren was afraid to meet the judgmental gaze, but there really was no way around it, so, steeling himself, he looked up, right into Erwin’s eyes.

“Hello sir.”

“I trust that you know why I’m here.”

“I believe I do.”

“Good.”, a nod, “Then listen closely, because I want you to remember everything I say.”

Erwin leaned back, fingers drumming against the desk.

“Last time I saw you, it was Monday. Have you been home since then?”

“No sir, but its been just a day right? It’s Tuesday?”

“It’s Thursday, Eren.”

Wait, so he went without a proper sleep for three straight days? There were an hour or two long naps he managed to squeeze in, but that was far from enough. Dropping his head to his hands, Eren let out a pained groan. He really did fuck up.

“I had someone give a quick look over your work for the past days,”, Erwin continued, “and they didn’t find any big faults, so that’s good. But we did find some smaller mistakes, especially in the last hours. I think it’s safe to say that you are in no condition to do a surgery.” His eyes grew hard, “Yet you still attempted to do one, and would probably go through with it if it wasn’t for Ymir.”

“Sir, I’m sorry I…”

But Erwin didn’t let him speak.

“You not fucking up big time and the previous perfect record you have, those are the only reasons I’m not firing you on the spot. Got it?”

“I…”

“Why the hell did you pull this? Four days in a row here?”

Eren’s throat was somewhat dry, and he had to swallow a few times before he could croak an answer.

“I wanted to ask for vacation soon, so I thought that I’ll put in a few more hours to compensate.”

“You already did more in the last month than others do in three. Listen, if you want time off, you come to me, ask for it, and I’ll very gladly give it to you. Okay?”

There really was no room for discussion. Then again, not like Eren deserved to have any.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good. Now, you will pack your things, go home, and think, really think, about what happened, could have happened. Sure, maybe the surgery would go smoothly, maybe nothing would have happened. But I think that we both know that way more likely is the possibility of you fucking up, and having the person either have some serious complications, or dying outright. There, on the table, just because of you and your stubbornness.”

Erwin stood up, towering in all his impressive height, looking down at Eren.

“I already called your girlfriend to pick you up, so get changed, pack, and wait for her.”

“I can drive…”

“In this state?”, Erwin shook his head, “You will do as I say in this. And Eren, if I see you at work before Monday, I’ll fire you on the spot. Understand?”

“Crystal clear.”

Gamer headset: on.

Knuckles: cracked

Boyfriend: at work (again)

Yep… it’s gamer time.

Watching the loading circle do its endless loop, Mikasa took a sip of her coke, reclining on the sofa. To Eren’s credit, he did say that he has to finish his assignments, because logically, a surgeon can’t just say fuck it and pack and leave in a single day. So no, she wasn’t mad at him, they talked about it, but still. Spending basically the whole week in a hospital…. It was just weird. The leave he promised to take couldn’t be here fast enough. Gaming the evening away was as nice plan as any other, but just before she loaded in, a ring of her phone interrupted Mikasa, making her frown on the screen. Unknown number was calling, and she considered just hanging up for a moment, but in the end decided against it.

“Hello?”

“Miss Ackerman? Hi, this is Erwin Smith, I work at the hospital your fiancé is at?”

Erwin? That was Eren’s boss right? A bit of fear creeped under her skin.

“Of course, sir, I know who you are. Did something happen? Is Eren okay?”

“That’s up for discussion. Miss Ackerman, we need to talk.”

Eren found Mikasa in the lobby, leaning against the wall, lips pressed into a tight line. When she spotted him, her expression didn’t change a bit, and she quickly walked out, not even bothering to check if he was following her. With a sigh, he did. She was already seated on the bike when he reached her, wordlessly giving him the spare helmet.

“Put this on.”

“Look, Miki, I…”

She shook her head.

“Eren, don’t. Just don’t.”

The ride home was silent, with just the wind around him for company. Mikasa’s attitude was about as cold as the weather, as she immediately stormed off as soon as she parked, closing the door after herself with a bang. Shuffling after her, Eren did his best to prepare some sort of speech inside his head, a way to defend his action, but there really was no excuse. He fucked up, plain and simple. Mikasa had her back to him when he entered the living room, hands squeezing the armrest of the couch, the tension in her shoulders clearly visible. Reaching out, he put a hand on her, not missing the way she flinched from his touch.

“Miki, I’m sorry.”

No response.

“What do you want me to do? Get on my knees and beg for forgiveness? Because I’m not doing that.”, this silent treatment was starting to piss Eren off, and he could feel his temper rising. “I know I fucked up, but you acting like a bitch isn’t really helping so…”

Quick as lightning, she turned, grabbing Eren by the collar and pressing him against the wall, his body sliding upwards. Before he realized what was happening, Eren was hanging in the air, with Mikasa effortlessly holding him up. Her rage was not that quick to boil, but now she was pissed, properly, and it showed. It was scary to realize just how strong she was, when she wasn’t holding back, the grip on his shirt like iron, with Eren having no chance to get out of it unless Mikasa lets him.

“You know it? You know just how badly you fucked up? Great! So, lets just forget about it, right?”, jaw clenching in anger, she shook him like a sack of potatoes, “Fuck sake Eren, do you realize what could have happened? Do you?”

“I’m sorry, all right?”

“No, it’s not all right. Erwin said that you could have killed someone, just because you are so fucking stubborn! This shit you do, acting like a child, unable to be reasoned with, it just makes me want to bend you over my knee and spank you.”

“Why don’t you then?”

Grey eyes blinked in surprise, looking right into his greens. She had every reason to be taken aback, now that Eren thought about it, but sometimes, people are just weird. Mikasa was angry at him, rightfully, and deep down, Eren wanted to be punished, because it was his fault, no one else’s. Erwin, Mikasa, Ymir, they all told him to stop, go back to normal shifts, go home, rest. But no, he knew better, wouldn’t listen, and ended up almost killing someone. He did act like a child, spoiled and unreasonable, so maybe getting punished like one was exactly the thing that he needed.

“You know,”, letting him down, Mikasa took a step back, “I just might…”

She was still looking for the confirmation that he was serious, and Eren gladly gave her one.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Right. Follow me then.”

Up and to the bedroom, Mikasa removed the decoy punching bag from their old friend, the hook, rummaging through the drawers after. On her command, Eren removed his shirt, holding up his hands in front after for her to cuff them.

“I think that you are a bit too old for over the knee stuff, so we’ll have to improvise.”

Connecting Eren’s wrists together with a chain, she led him to the hook, clicking the things together. Now he was naked from waist up, hands raised, tied to the ceiling, while still having no idea what was about to happen. Mikasa was doing something behind his back, out of sight, most likely choosing the instrument of her wrath. Finding it, she came to stand right behind him, clearing her throat.

“Eren, why am doing this?”

“Because you are a control freak?”

A pause.

“Why am I doing this?”

Well all right, if she wanted to play it like this…

“Because I made a mistake, a big one, which endangered the lives of my patients.”

“And?”, she prompted him to go on.

“And I almost fucked my whole career in the process.”, Eren took a shaky breath, “I ignored every advice, everyone who meant well, and kept going, hardheaded like a kid. So, I’m being punished like one.”

“Good boy.”

The whip bit into his skin painfully, forcing Eren to clench his teeth in order to remain silent. Fuck this was great. It was weird, the primal need he felt, the need to feel some sort of reaction to his actions. He fucked up, big time, and the punishment in the form of a short chastising speech from Erwin just didn’t quite cut it. He wanted the pain, needed it. But tonight, he was feeling especially guilty, and decided to push Mikasa a bit, to see if she would perhaps go a bit harder than usual. After all, what could go wrong?

“Oh? Was that it? I hardly even felt it.”

After a bit of silence, she hit him again, noticeably harder. Good, but somehow not enough.

“Are you scratching my back? Could you move a little bit to the left, I have this itch there…”

Mikasa finally couldn’t hold her tongue.

“Eren. Shut up.”

“Make me.”

With a shuffle of clothing, she appeared in front of him, frowning.

“What the hell do you want?”

“I want you to hit me.”

She held up the whip.

“I am hitting you.”

“I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”

Mikasa’s eyes immediately widened, the wariness easy to see.

“That’s dangerous, I can’t…”

He yawned, interrupting her.

“You done?”

“Eren…”

“Come on, what are you so scared of? Hit me!”

The conflict inside her was noticeable, the way her jaw tightened and loosened, the way her fingers played with the handle of the whip. Mikasa wanted to go hard on him, both for the shit he pulled and the bratty mouth, but hitting him as hard as she could? With this whip? But if he really wanted it….

“Fine. You want me to hit you as hard as I can?”

He nodded.

“As you wish then.”

Coming to stand behind him again, Mikasa pulled her arm back, working her wrist in small circles. If he wanted it so bad, then he can have it.

“Ready?”

“Yup.”

“Here I come.”

The sound was earsplitting, a quick whoosh of the whip flying through the air ended with an audible crack as it connected with his back. It was a nice hit, beginning at right hip and going all the way up to the left shoulder. Seeing how he clenched his muscles against the pain, the whispered “Fuck.” that escaped him, Mikasa was very satisfied with herself for about five seconds. Then, Eren sagged in the bonds, and the line on his back started turning red.

“Oh my god,”, Mikasa threw the whip away, rushing to the front, taking a hold of his pale face to see. Eren’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was swallow, as the pain must have been overwhelming. “Eren! Eren, you’re bleeding! Jesus, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want..”

He whispered something she didn’t quite catch, so she leaned forward, hoping that he will repeat it.

“Red…”

Safeword, he’s going to say a damn safeword when he’s bleeding from his back. As if Mikasa didn’t know that she had to stop. God damn it. Reaching up, she undid the cuffs, gently lowering Eren down to the floor. She didn’t know if moving him was a good idea, so after a few panicked thoughts Mikasa just knelt, putting his head on her lap, letting him rest there.

“Eren? Please say something…”

He swallowed, grimaced, rolled his shoulders a bit and winced immediately. Fuck, it hurt.

“You’re bleeding on the floor.”, she noticed, the horror inside her creeping up. She should do something, right? “What can I do?”

“Give me a second.”, Eren finally spoke, getting his breathing under control. “It’s not that bad, just ripped skin. Blood is all right.”

“What should I do?”, she repeated.

“Need to clean the wound and bandage it. Don’t worry I’ll guide you.”

“No stitches?”

Even with the pain, Eren had to stifle a laugh when he imagined coming to the hospital for stitches on his back. Hey dude, how did it happen? Oh, you know, my girlfriend whipped me so hard that she cut through the skin. Anyway, how’s your day?

“Nah, no stitches.”

“I’ll go get the things then.”, as gently as humanly possible, she lowered his head down from her legs on the floor, standing up, “You’ll be okay here?”

“It’s really not that bad.”, braving through the sting, he offered her a smile, hoping to ease her worries a little bit, “I’m okay.”

But when she left, and he tried getting up, his body folded almost immediately, refusing to move. Not that bad, but not that good either.

Mikasa was a quick student, cleaning and bandaging the cut very efficiently, following his guidance almost flawlessly. After her care, he was able to relocate to the bed, with her help, laying down with a sigh. Finally, Eren was feeling as tired as he should be, the shock and adrenaline dying down to the overwhelming need for sleep.

“Again, I’m so sorry.”, Mikasa sat down next to him, playing with his hair, “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“And I shouldn’t have pushed you that hard. It was my fault too.”

“The dom is supposed to be in control…”

“But we weren’t really playing, were we?”

Mikasa sighed.

“Guess we both fucked up then.”

“Yea, but we found ourselves in that situation only because I did the dumb stuff at the hospital.”

“I just hope you finally realize just how terrible it would be for you if something serious happened.”, she looked down, voice shaky, “If he died because of you, Eren, it would have destroyed you. If you lost your license…”, eyes meeting his again, Eren realized that hers were wet, unshed tears in them, “You need this work, to help people, if you couldn’t do it anymore…. I don’t even know what we would do.”

Taken aback by the raw emotion in her voice, Eren could feel his cheeks burning. She was right. He needed this work, and today he came so damn close to losing it, just because he was dumb. A rude awakening, but a needed one.

“I know, and I promise I’ll change.”

They both fell silent for a time, with Mikasa dragging her fingers through his hair endlessly, lulling him to sleep. But before he let the darkness take him, a last thought struck him.

“Miki?”

“Hm?”

“I think I won’t take the days off now, but later.”

She frowned, confused.

“Why?”

“Because now I would have free time, but you are in a middle of your projects. And I prefer spending my free time with you.”

A flattering statement, one she rewarded with a kiss on the forehead.

“So, I’ve been thinking, how about I take my vacation when you are free too, and then we can be together. Sounds good?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”, another kiss, this time a feather light brush of the lips, “Now go to sleep.”

To appear at least a little bit rebellious, Eren rolled his eyes at the order.

“Yes mom.”

“What, should I tell Carla that you want me to take her place?”

“Erm… No?”

Mikasa arched an eyebrow down at him.

“You know what, I’ll just be silent. Night baby, I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Mouth right at his ear, the next whisper tickled him.

“My dear son.”

#snk #eremika #fanfic #prompt fill #sneaky but its there trust me

[vodkawrites]

Yuuri Week 2017, Day 4: On ice Title: 28 Tuxes Chapter 4 Genre: Alternative Universe Pairing: Katsuki Yuuri / Victor Nikiforov, Jean-Jacques Leroy / Isabella Yang Characters: Katsuki Yuuri, Victor Nikiforov, Jean-Jacques Leroy, Isabella Yang, Leroy Family Rating: Teen and up audiences Warnings: None Summary: While planning his 28th wedding, Yuuri begins to wonder if he can ever find love for himself.Or; the victuuri 27 dresses AU absolutely no one asked for.

Read the fourth chapter on AO3

"Ah, Mister Nikiforov. So nice to see you," Yuuri says with a fake smile.  He isn't exactly looking forward to speaking with a reporter and frankly he doesn't even know what to say.

He shakes Victor's hand customarily, trying not to linger on the fact that he is hand in hand with a gorgeous stranger. Well, he supposes they aren’t exactly strangers; they are probably classified as acquaintances at this point. Yes, definitely nothing more than professional acquaintances.

"Please, Yuuri, call me Victor," the reporter - Victor - says smoothly.

Of course the beautiful - no, not beautiful - reporter wants to refer to him by his first name. He tries not to think of how melodic his name sounds coming from his mouth.

Yuuri nods, trying to remain professional during this whole situation, even if Victor isn't. He doesn’t even seem to be taking this entire thing seriously. At least the first few times they had met, he was adorned in a customary, well-pressed navy suit. Instead, he is now in a grey Nike track suit that looks more like he came from the gym than a corporate office. Yuuri tries not to think about how good he looks in something so simple. To be honest, he isn’t sure that something so simple could look so good on the right body type.

Yuuri shakes his head, trying to dispel those thoughts from his mind. He will not ruin this interview for his clients by being distracted by a good looking reporter.

“Alright let's get this interview started.”

"Interview?" Victor asks innocently. He dramatically places a hand on his heart as if he is pretending that a knife has stabbed him between his pectorals.  

Yuuri only rolls his eyes, rather unimpressed with his theatrics.

"Yuuri, you wound me. I thought this was an ice skating date. I brought my skates and everything," he says with a cheeky smile. He holds up a pair of skates just to show how dedicated he is to believing that this is less like an interview and more like a date.

Yuuri narrows his eyes, glaring at the pair of skates. He expects to see the worn pair of skates from the rental desk - the hockey ones with frayed laces and blunted blades that seem to fit no one - but he is thoroughly impressed by Victor’s own pair. They are certainly in better condition than the rental skates at the rink, but Yuuri can’t exactly distinguish any of the finer details to determine their true value. He supposes the gold blade is enough to confirm his suspicions that they are some custom pair of expensive skates. However, he is far too bothered by the fact that Victor thinks this is a date to comment on the quality of his skates.

"You're hilarious," Yuuri quips dryly.

Victor flashes him a crooked smile. "I try," he says.

Yuuri doesn't give him the satisfaction of an answer - he hardly deserves one for being so absolutely impossible. Instead, he turns his focus towards one of the benches, setting himself and his skates down.

Victor follows his lead and sits down on the bench next to him. He is a bit too close for comfort - his arm is basically brushing against Yuuri’s - and it is distracting to say the least.

Victor lazily kicks off his shoes, not bothering to properly unlace them, before squeezing his right foot into the boot. He easily ties the laces with the precision only a professional could possibly be capable of having.

"I can't remember the last time I skated," Victor muses quietly. Yuuri can't tell if he is trying to make conversation or simply thinking out loud.

Regardless, Yuuri ignores that comment in favour of tying his own skates. Victor makes it so easy, but Yuuri knows it is a tedious process to get the laces tied right. He supposes that his is inherently harder given that they are a rented pair from the front desk and not his own (not that he would ever have his own pair willingly but it would be nicer than relying on rentals and possibly getting foot fungus). Yuuri can fully admit that they are hideous and probably more suited for hockey than figure skating. The laces are fraying at the edges and the left one is a bit too snug around his foot, but he persists. Besides, aren't skates supposed to be tight?

"Ready?" Victor asks, already standing up from the bench. He seems to balance himself easily, as if he has done this plenty of times before.

"No," Yuuri admits lamely. He still has another skate to tie, not to mention this one isn’t exactly tied that well to begin with.

"Here, let me tie them." Victor bends down onto one knee, leaning in to Yuuri's feet.

Yuuri, however, kicks his hands away.

"I can tie them myself just fine," Yuuri snaps. He will not have someone - especially someone like Victor - tie his skates for him. He is an adult and adults don’t need help to tie their skates.

Victor raises both of his hands innocently but Yuuri knows he's anything but innocent. "Whatever," Victor assures him, obviously trying not to be offended by Yuuri's comment.

He straightens his back, watching Yuuri as he finishes tying his other skate. He doesn’t say anything but he continues to tap his bottom lip with his finger. Yuuri finds it annoying.

After what feels like twenty minutes of struggling (but is probably more like two) Yuuri wobbles as he stands but eventually balances himself on the carpet. He follows - or rather teeters towards - Victor and the entrance to the rink. Victor slides into the ice gracefully while Yuuri almost stumbles over his feet, trying to find his footing.

"Let us be clear," Yuuri begins, his voice low. He is sincerely trying to be intimidating, but he knows he is failing. It doesn't help that he has to have both hands grasping the wall just to make sure he doesn't fall face first on the ice. He silently wishes he had his sister or Phichit or anyone else conduct this interview for him. At least they wouldn’t be this embarassing on the ice.

"I can't say anything about the venue, the flowers, or their outfits Those topics are strictly forbidden. I also can't tell you who's invited."

"Wow," Victor says with a chuckle. He leans back, evenly distributing his weight onto the boards. He looks so natural on the ice, as if he's floating. Yuuri wonders how often he does this to be so comfortable on the ice. Or maybe it's just a Russian thing.

"So what can you tell me about this wedding?"

Yuuri taps his fingernails on the wooden boards. The sound creates a slow rhythm but he's not sure what song it is.

"I can tell you that the colours will be red and white," he explains, his face neutral. He refuses to have an fodder the reporter can use against him in his article. And he will certainly not lose JJ and Isabella as clients for that reason.

Victor rolls his eyes. "How absolutely Canadian of them," he remarks.

"Or maybe they are popular wedding colours?" Yuuri suggests.

"Well they're also having half their wedding at an ice rink." He gestures to the ice rink with his hands. "That just screams Canadian to me."

Yuuri furrows his eyebrows. He doesn't exactly see it that way - JJ chose to have both his love for Isabella and his love of ice skating expressed during their wedding. What is so hard to understand about that?

"Well I think it's cute," Yuuri admits.

"I think it's stupid."

"You're telling me. They want their first dance to be a first skate, which is really the only reason I'm here. I hate skating," he confesses. He cuts up the ice with his toe pick for emphasis. He knows it's bad etiquette but he can't help but to do it.

Victor raises his eyebrows. "You hate skating?" he asks, almost surprised by this revelation.

"Well yeah. I'm a wedding planner not a professional athlete," Yuuri defends with a huff.

"But you're planning Canadian skater Jean Jacques Leroy's wedding?"

"So? Doesn't mean that I automatically love skating. A job is a job."

"But don't you like how weightless you feel on the ice? How powerless you feel at the mercy of the ice?"

"No. And I don't particularly like falling in my ass," Yuuri quips and crosses his arms over his chest.

Victor juts his hip out and taps a finger to his bottom lip. "Well that's your problem. Fear of the unknown. It's common in beginner skaters."

Yuuri scowls, curling his lip as he does so. He doesn’t particularly like being talked down to like this, and by someone who probably knows nothing of skating to begin with.

"Because you're suddenly an expert in skating?"

"Well why don't I show you?" he asks.

He extends his hand out in front of him, practically begging for Yuuri to take it. It seems inviting enough.

However, he narrows his eyes at Victor's hand, skeptical that his friendly gesture isn't just some sort of sabotage. When has Victor ever done anything nice for him aside from offering to tie up his skates. How does he know Victor isn't going to take him to the middle of the ice and leave him to defend for himself all to have Yuuri end up with ice on his ass? How can he even trust him?

"Show me?" he repeats, the words effortlessly rolling off his tongue.

"You know, loop around the rink? I used to know a thing or two about ice skating," Victor clarifies. He even puffs out his chest for emphasis.

Yuuri blinks twice. He can’t be serious. It seems all good to be true: holding hands with a beautiful stranger, clinging on to him as he tries not to fall. What more could he ask for?

He begins to wonder if this truly is an ice skating date more so than an interview.

"Alright," he agrees, reluctantly. He isn’t really sure why, although Yuuri insists it is his charming good looks and savvy charisma skills. Definitely not because he likes him or anything.

"But if I fall, you're coming with me."

He places his hand in Victor's, entwining their fingers together. Yuuri notices that his palm is rather coarse, lacking the same soft and supple feeling as the back of his palm. He supposes it isn’t particularly a bad feeling - it is a rather comforting feeling - and he certainly appreciates how warm his hand is, if anything.

Victor leads him around the ice, taking careful glides as he tries to keep up with his long strides.

"You're pretty good," Yuuri praises as they finish one lap around.

Yuuri can tell from the way Victor is leading him that he may know a thing or two about ice skating. It’s obvious that he is weightless on the ice, almost as if he is a bird preparing for flight. It seems almost natural like he is born for the ice.

"But that doesn't say much seeing how I'm absolutely terrible," Yuuri quickly adds, trying to hide his praise under an insult.

"You're not terrible,” Victor points out as if it’s some sort of compliment. “I just have more practice."

“Oh really?" Yuuri challenges.

Victor smirks. He slicks his hair back with one hand, moving his bangs out of his eyes. "Let me show you."

He drops Yuuri’s hand, leaving him to balance himself on the boards. Victor easily loops around the outside of the rink, his feet crossing over each other as he skates backwards. To Yuuri, he looks rather professional as he does so. He gains speed as he rounds the edge for the second time. and performs a waltz jump. He poses in the center, his arm outstretched as if he is an Olympic performer. It’s rather sweet to see.

He waves at Yuuri, as if he's inviting Yuuri to join him.  

"Me?" Yuuri asks, pointing to himself. He knows Victor couldn’t be gesturing to anyone else - the ice is empty - but he cannot possibly think that Yuuri could skate to the center by himself.

Victor laughs. It's a sweet laugh, one that rumbles from his stomach and makes his Adam’s apple bob. Yuuri wants to hear more of that laugh.

"Yes, you, who else would I be talking to? The ice? Now, come closer."

Yuuri gulps but agrees nonetheless. He skates - or rather waddles - carefully over to Victor, one foot in front of the other. He wishes to mimic Victor's fluidity, they way he seems to dance instead of step on the ice, but it comes out all wrong. He isn't entirely sure how to glide without stumbling over his own two feet. His staggered movements make him look more like a penguin than he would like, but Victor just smiles as he approaches.

He isn't entirely sure how to stop either and instead continues to skate in Victor’s director. He easily takes the hint and catches him before he collides, their hands interlocked together. He likes the feeling of their bodies so close, mere centimeters apart.  

Victor steadies him, positioning Yuuri at the centre of the rink. Yuuri balances himself before letting go of Victor's hands.

“See you’re basically a pro!” Victor cheers as he steps back.

Yuuri glares at him. “Standing on the ice without falling doesn’t make me a pro.”

“Well, I say it does. And I was a professional ice skater, so I know.”

Yuuri scans him. Now it all seems to make sense: the custom ice skates, the jump, even the way he poises himself on the ice. Of course he is an ice skater.

He is certainly built like an ice skater - and at least has the grace and poise to be a professional - so he shouldn't be as surprised as he is. He is slender yet muscular with almost effeminate curves that make Yuuri’s mouth go dry.

He knows little about skating in general - he has watched a bit of the Olympics but nothing more than that. He pictures Victor in one of those sparkly (and extremely tight) skating costumes. He can picture him in a white, feathery body suit, one that glistens under the stadium lights.

"No way.”

"Yes way," Victor protests. He wipes a bead of sweat forming on his temple with the back of his hand. "When I was thirteen, I wanted to be an Olympic skater. I won a few competitions, too."

He grabs Yuuri's hand once more and guides him back to the boards. His hand is warm and a bit sweaty from skating, but it feels comforting the way their fingers seem to perfectly intertwine. Yuuri tries to ignore the way his heart seems to beat against his chest; he hopes that Victor can’t hear it as well.

There is something about him that’s different. He seems almost vulnerable, so innocent and natural on the ice. It’s hard to believe this is the reporter who doesn’t believe in love.

Yuuri feels his his cheeks turn red. He supposes it’s only due to the cold; definitely not because he is flustered and blushing over ex-skater and current reporter Victor Nikiforov.

Yes, definitely the cold.

Yuuri looks up at him through his eyelashes, admiring the way he provides him with a soft smile. "What happened?" he asks innocently.

He doesn't really know why he asks - he knows he shouldn't care about the personal life of a reporter, but for some reason he is quite interested (to say the least) by Victor. He’s mysterious and attractive and absolutely wonderful.

Yuuri decides that he wants to know everything about him.

"Life got in the way, I suppose," he says. He shrugs casually as if he doesn't mind the question in the slightest. However, Yuuri can tell the spark in his eyes is lost, his smile fading just slightly.

He hates that he asked.

"Skating is expensive as fuck, especially at a competitive level. And no one really wants to take a chance with someone who might never win a gold. Besides, I needed a more realistic career; one where I won't have to retire at age 20 from a major injury or whatever. When it came down to it, I liked journalism better but I guess I could never get away from the sport, huh?" he says, tilting his head towards the rink for emphasis.

“You know what they say. The cost of following your heart is spending the rest of your life wishing you had," Victor finishes.

Yuuri blinks twice.

"Huh,” he finally breathes out. “So it's the best of both worlds?"

"Just call me Hannah Montana, I guess," Victor says with a chuckle.

Yuuri laughs - genuinely and unabashedly laughs. He can’t remember the last time he has laughed like this.

Victor clears his throat. "So...the wedding," he begins.

Yuuri pauses.

Oh, right.

The wedding.

JJ and Isabella.

The interview.

"Yes," Yuuri agrees, collecting himself.

For a brief moment, he had forgotten that Victor is only here for an interview; that this wasn’t some sort of first date. He instinctively drops Victor's hand from his own, almost forgetting that his hand was even there. He silently misses how perfectly their hands seem to intertwine as the warmth from his hand lingers.

He feels empty.

"If you couldn't guess, the venue will have an ice rink. It's non negotiable," Yuuri states, icily. He tries not to be offended by Victor's rather abrupt switch from their personal dare he say intimate - prior conversation to his work. He dusts off some imaginary snow from his pants, averting his eyes from Victor's.

Victor snorts. "How very JJ."

"They'll be dancing to Partisan Hope," he recites almost mechanically. He doesn’t really care about the wedding or saying anything of interest anymore. "It's a beautiful arrangement."

"I'm surprised he's not dancing to that stupid King JJ song."

This time, Yuuri snorts.

"What? There's a song about JJ?" he asks. He's certainly never heard of any song called the JJ song and judging by Victor's reaction he is rather thankful that he has devoted himself to his work instead of listening to pop songs.

"You know the song that's like 'I'm the king JJ no one defeats me/this is who I am just remember me'," Victor sings. It's horrible and off-key which makes Yuuri wonder if that is how the song sounds or it is just Victor's terrible rendition. He sincerely hopes its the latter.

Yuuri stifles a laugh. He can't even imagine what a song called King JJ must actually sound like. He half thinks Victor is making up the song because he honestly cannot believe there is a song dedicated to his client but at the same time he isn't all that surprised. JJ seems like the kind of person who has a song like that written about him.

"It's pretty terrible. Come on, you've heard it. It played on the radio like 500 times in the past year."

Yuuri shakes his head once, his bangs falling in front of his eyes. "Sorry, I don't have time to listen to top 40s hits when I'm at work."

"You must work a lot," Victor points out.

He shrugs. He doesn't think that he works that much (as much as his sister and Phichit says otherwise). Sure sometimes he goes above and beyond (and maybe sometimes he works close to 80 hours a week) but it's only so he can create the perfect wedding. He expects the same for his own wedding, if not more.

"Weddings take a lot of work. Rome wasn't built in a day," he reminds Victor.

"Isn't it stressful?" Victor asks. He exhales loudly, trying to emphasize just how stressful it must be. Yuuri however isn’t fazed by his forced dramatics.

"Not really. It's kinda fun."

"Planning a wedding is fun?" Victor asks. Yuuri can tell that he’s obviously mocking his choice of words.

"Yes," he states obviously., trying not to show that he is evenly remotely fazed.  

Of course planning a wedding is fun. What is better than deciding on all of the little details to make the most out of one’s biggest day? Picking out the cake, deciding on the flowers, buying registry gifts; it’s all rather entertaining to do so.

Not to mention seeing them come to fruition is one of the most satisfying feelings in the world. When he watches the couple meet eyes at the alter, it is truly a magical experience.

"Weddings suck."

Yuuri opens his mouth to refute, however Victor beats him to it.

"I just want this wedding to be over. Don't you?"  

Yuuri shrugs his shoulders. He’s never really thought about it that much. Sure it is a bit more stressful having to plan a wedding for a famous celebrity - and one that demands so much of him - but he wouldn’t say that he regrets it. In fact, he sort of enjoys the challenge.  

"Well,” he begins. “I suppose a successful wedding will lead to more exposure maybe more jobs-"

"No," he interrupts. "I mean the spectacle of it all. I don't know how you stand it."

Yuuri scowls. "I happen to like weddings," he protests.

He cannot even fathom why - or how - Victor could even remotely dislike, let alone despise, weddings. Weddings are a time of celebration and bringing two people together. To hate that is like hating sunshine and puppies; it simply isn’t done.

"Ugh," Victor groans. "Don't say that. I thought you were cool."

"Excuse me?" Yuuri asks raising his eyebrows.

"Well weddings are awful. They're just a corporate scheme to squeeze money out of two happy people," Victor scoffs.

"Or a way to join two people together," Yuuri corrects, optimistically.

He can't believe he is even having this argument. He can understand one hating weddings, hating marriage even, but hating the very idea of love is unforgivable.

"So what do you think about Isabella and JJ?"

He blinks twice, trying to understand what Victor is necessarily asking of him.

"I'm sorry, what?" Yuuri asks, dumbfounded. "I don't see how that's related.”

"Well I do,” Victor argues, pressing for some sort of information. “You say it's about love but what about JJ and Isabella?"

Yuuri shakes his head. "Mister Nikiforov-"

"Victor," he corrects curtly.

"Victor," he repeats, almost like a hiss, as if the word itself will cause some sort of disease just by saying it. He clenches his jaw at the sound of his name leaving his lips. "That's highly unprofessional."

He innocently holds his hands up in a mock surrender. "I just want your opinion. I’m not asking for your social insurance number.”

"Fine, I think they're cute together," Yuuri half-lies. Sure they seem to lack chemistry when they are together - although Yuuri is much more focused on Mr. and Mrs. Leroy than them to begin with - but he isn’t about to admit that to a stranger reporter just to get his sanctification. He’s above that.

Victor rolls his eyes. He doesn't seem convinced by Yuuri's rather vague statement. Or maybe he simply knows.

"Oh come on. They aren't cute together," he argues. He expertly leans his body weight onto the boards, someone making himself look casual. It only furthers to annoy Yuuri.

"Oh really?" Yuuri asks.

He raises his eyebrows, waiting for Victor's explanation of the situation.

"Yes, Isabella is obviously just dating him for money," Victor points out.

"Are you blind? She loves him," Yuuri stresses.

From the few times they have interacted, they seemed rather happy together. Sure, he could understand if she is still dating him for his looks, or his personality, or some other shallow reason. But for the money? It’s so obviously not the case. Isabella is still with him because she truly loves him. Anyone who can tolerate his signature JJ style brand of annoying can’t be in it for just the money, no matter how rich he is.

Besides, who is Victor - Mr. I Don’t Believe In Love - to say whether they love each other or not?

"Does she?"

"Why are you asking me that? You don't think they're in love?"

Victor shrugs. "No, I don't believe in love," he says casually as if he didn’t just admit that he doesn’t believe in love. He leans down and brushes some built up snow off the blade of his skate, swiping the slush off with two fingers. It creates a small mound of ice below his left foot, but he doesn’t pay any attention to it.

"Don't believe in love?" Yuuri repeats back, as if to ask if he has heard him correctly. How could one not believe in love when it surrounds them every day?

“You heard me. I don’t believe in love,” he states, punctuating each word.

Yuuri looks at him - really looks at him. His confident smirk, his cocky attitude, the way he holds himself. He must be hiding something.

Of course he believes in love; there’s just something that’s making him say that. Maybe it’s his twisted vision of masculinity or some divorce in his past that makes him think this way. Whatever the case, Yuuri is going to find out what it is.

“You know what,” Yuuri begins. He straightens his back in an effort to look intimidating despite being a tad shorter than Victor. “I think this is all a smoke screen."

Victor snorts. "For what?"

"Well your hatred of love is all a lie. You know what it is? It's a defense mechanism. You don't want to take the chance to love something to have it taken away.” He takes a step forward. “You don't want anyone to get close to you because you're afraid of failure. It’s why you quit ice skating too, I bet.”

"Oh really?” he asks. He offers Yuuri a smug grin which only seems to entice him further. “Because after one date you know me so well?"

"Well I think I nailed it,” he says, trying to ignore the fact that Victor referred to this - whatever this really is - as a date instead of an interview. “You should just admit that you're a big softy and that this whole cynical thing is just an act so you can seem wounded and mysterious and sexy and-"

"Wait,” Victor interrupts with a smirk. “Did you just insult me and then call me sexy?"

"N-no,” Yuuri lies, adverting his eyes from Victor’s.

He internally curses. Of course Victor is sexy, but he surely doesn’t need to fuel his rather large ego by outright telling him. How could he possibly let that slip?

“I don't know why I'm arguing this with a stranger,”  he says, gesturing wildly with his hands.

"We're not strangers."

Yuuri scowls. They are strangers - acquaintances at best. He knows absolutely nothing about his aspirations, his goals, his hatred for love. In turn, Victor knows absolutely nothing about him. And one interview/date isn’t going to change that.

"You know nothing about me."

"I think I know you better than you know yourself. You do everything trying to please everyone but the only person you're upsetting is yourself.  I think that you just plan weddings to hide the fact that you’re going to die alone. You live precariously through other people's lives because yours is too boring and miserable."

Yuuri stares at him, mouth agape - actually agape with his mouth hanging open. It’s obnoxious and a bit immature, but Yuuri can’t help but to do it.

How could a stranger possibly be able to read him so well?

"I'm sorry,” he quickly apologizes. He runs his hands through his messy bangs, tugging on the hairs as he does so. “I’m so so sorry. I didn't mean that-"

"No,” Yuuri assures him. He holds up a hand to stop his incessant babbling. “It's okay.”

Victor steps forward in an effort to comfort him. He holds out his arms, hoping Yuuri will accept his embrace.

Yuuri, however, takes one step back.

“I should go anyways,” he insists, coldly. “JJ and Isabella will come back and it’s better if I’m not here to spoil it.”

Yuuri opens his mouth to speak - to say anything to prevent Victor from leaving - but Victor is already gliding off of the ice.

"You're right, you know,” Yuuri mutters, softly.

“About the date?” Victor asks, trying to make light of the conversation.

“About me,” he admits. He kicks up the mound of snow, spreading the ice crystals onto the rink.

Victor looks to the ground, hoping to find some answer there as well.

“Well..if it makes you feel any better, you weren’t that far off about me either.”

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