#gen x music hour

[clatterbane]

Waylon Jennings - I've Always Been Crazy

[pariahfox]

Viagra Boys - Just Like You | Audiotree Far Out

...

[Lyrics]

There is also the, erm, cinematic masterpiece of their original video for this one.

[thepersonnamedsam]

you already know how much I love gen z driver! could you maybe write something of how would it be if gen z reader’s birthday happened to be during one of the gp’s? how everyone acts and makes it all about her?

happy birthday!

pairing: the genz!driver x '23!grid

summary: it’s the genz!drivers birthday, and it just happens to be the miami gp!

word count: 1.7k

warnings: some swear words and some google translated spanish and dutch :)

note: oh i just love all of your request, especially that one, bc i’m a birthday lover myself! have fun reading it and feel free to request more!! <3

masterlist/ taglist

The first people to congratulate her, were her parents. They called her, in the middle of the night; they forgot that time zones exist. But her heart was full when she picked up the phone at 3AM and both of her parents where singing ‚happy birthday‘ to her. What wasn’t so good, was that she had to be asleep, because it was a Sunday and race day! But it didn’t matter, it was her birthday!

Two hours later, her phone was ringing again, but this time not because someone was wishing her a happy birthday, no, it was her alarm. But today it was okay. 5AM on your birthday doesn’t feel that early, does it now? At least it didn’t for her.

Andy, her personal trainer, knocked on her door at exactly 6.30AM, holding a tiny cupcake with a candle in it. „Happy birthday, y/n!“, his voice cheerful and happy. Her smiled widened and her heart full with love again. „Thank you, Andy.“

„Are you ready for the race?“, Andy asked her. She nodded and closed her hotel door. „I’m excited to see Danny again and Nando and all the other people of course. Oh and definitely Lewis.“, Birthdays were her thing, she always missed them in school, either she had them on a weekend or she was on holiday. So, being surrounded by people who are important to her, was the best present she could’ve gotten.

On the way to the paddock, Andy let her pick out the music, her car playlist was blasting on full volume. Tongue Tied by GROUPLOVE was her favourite song at the moment, that’s why she was singing at the top of her lungs to the lyrics.

„Take me to your best friends house, go around this roundabout, oh yeah“, she looked at Andy as if he would follow the orders of the song.

The music died down, as they arrived at the paddock. Press was already waiting on her, they knew it was her special day and hoped to get some good footage of the birthday-girl. Usually the media annoyed her this early in the morning, but today, nothing could’ve ruined her day. She smiled and waved to the camera, spoke to some press people and had nice conversations with all of them.

The media always tried to find some gossip, especially on the young driver, but not today. They were happy to see her this happy.

As she set foot on the paddock, people were congratulating her. Pads on the back, some strokes on her arm here and there, everyone was nice to her, and who doesn’t enjoy some attention sometimes. Especially if it’s for something you didn’t work for. It was her favourite day of the year, Christmas is second.

„Danny!“, she shrieked as soon as she saw him. She sprinted towards the Australian and jumped into his arms. „I missed you so bad!“ Daniel just laughed and hugged the young driver. „Happy birthday, y/n.“

Her smile was consistent and contagious, every person she smiled at, they just had to smile back. Even Max smiled at her. Well, he always smiled at her, she was one of the persons that could make him smile.

„Max, can you give me a piggyback ride?“, she looked at him with puppy dog eyes and he just couldn’t deny her. „Of course, zus sister.“

As Martin Brundle spotted the two, he motioned to his cameraman to put the focus on them. „And now we see Max Verstappen carrying the birthday girl y/n. It is not rare to see the young driver interact with the different drivers. Let’s wish her a happy birthday“, he talked into the camera. „Hello you two, happy birthday y/n, am I the first to congratulate?“, the older man looked at her with an amusing look on his face. „Martin, as much as I love you, you are hopefully not the first person to wish me a happy birthday“, she looked at him with a serious face.

„Did Max congratulate yet?“, a challenging look on Martins face, he pointed at the camera and said: „Remember, this is a livestream.“, Max‘ cheeks turned a pretty pink colour and y/n gasped. „He did not!“, she gasped. „Max, you didn’t wish me a happy birthday?!“ - „I’m sorry, schat darling. Happy birthday, my dear.“

But how could she hold a grudge against a face that looked like Sid from Ice Age?

Fernando was the next person she saw, and he instantly grinned at her. „Oh Nando, do you know whose special day it is today?“, she singsang to the oldest driver on the grid. „Hmm, let me guess, is it Roscoes?“, he laughed as he saw her shocked face. „How could you, I thought we were friends?“ - „We are, we are, cariño darling. Feliz cumpleaños happy birthday, y/n.“

„How old are you now, 5?“, he laughed at her. „Har har, very funny Nando. How old are you turning this year, 60?“ She was always getting irritated fast. He grabbed her by her hip and pushed her into a side hug of his. „Don’t ever change, cariño.“

„Don’t have a plan for that, who’d change something as fabulous like this“, her hands were pointing to herself. „But on a serious note, Nando, do you know where Lewis is? I’ve been searching for him.“ Fernando only shook his head, he didn’t know where the British driver was. He rubbed over her hair as she left his side to search for her mentor.

„Oh Lewis! Your favourite person is looking for you“, she shouted over the paddock, with no luck. She didn’t even see a trace of Lew, none. But what she did find, was a monegasque driver with the number 16 and a spaniard driving under the number 55. They were arguing over some bullshit, as always, as they spotted her. „y/n! Over here“, Charles shouted over to her and waved his hand. She ran over to them and greeted the older drivers with a side hug. Carlos quickly kissed her head as he wished her a brilliant birthday. Charles even sang the first to lines of the song.

She was a bit embarrassed, but she enjoyed the attention of the two Ferrari drivers. „I love you guys, but have you seen Lewis?“, she smiled at the two as they rolled their eyes. She just wanted to see her favourite person on the paddock. She loved them all equally, but you couldn’t deny that Lewis definitely was her favourite. „I think I saw him at Mercedes, his motorhome“, Charles told her, she totally missed the sarcastic undertone of his and just skipped along to the Mercedes garage.

Before she even set a foot in the motorhome, Toto Wolff approached her and squished her into a hug. „Alles gute zum Geburtstag, liebes! Happy birthday, darling! How are you, so happy to see you“, he whispered into her ear. She loved Toto. „Hi Toto!“, she grinned up at him, „I’m good, thank you. Do you know where Lewis is?“ Toto laughed and pointed to his drivers room. „Thanks!“, she yelled as she took off.

She hasn’t been to her own motorhome, just wandering around the paddock and taking in all the attention from the others. And as she knocked on the door, she knew she’d receive the best attention of them all.

„It’s open“, she heard and busted into the tiny room. „Hello, your favourite human on this planet has arrived and will be gracing your presence from now on!“ She grinned at him and he only laughed and embraced the girl. „I have a present for the birthday girl? do you know where she is“, he joked and turned around to grab her present. „A present? Aw Lewis, you shouldn’t have, you totally should have.“

The present contained some gag gifts, such as a Mercedes hat and shirt, or some shirts with funny pattern on it. But the original present was a necklace. It wasn’t anything special, really. It was a simple silver necklace with a tiny turtle as a pendant. Her eyes were tearing up, so she quickly wiped them away.

„Is this one of the necklaces that makes you a godparent of a sea turtle?“ - „It sure is, have fun with“ he turned the pendant around and looked at the engraving on it „Yertle. He is now your godchild“, he smiled at her and motioned to y/n to turn around, so he could put the necklace on. „Thank you so much, it means a lot“, she hugged him as a thank you. He smiled at her, he adored the young driver and was grateful that he was apart of her journey.

„Thank you, love you Lewis!“, she yelled to him as she sprinted out of the motorhome. She was finally headed to her own garage. They had planned a surprise party for her and Lewis was the distraction. As she reached her motorhome, she didn’t see anyone. „Hello, is it not race day?“, she joked into the dark.

„Happy birthday, y/n!“

She jumped, her heart was racing, but she had a giant smile on her face. Her heart, once again, was full, full with love.

„Ahh, thank you guys!“, she squealed and sprinted into the engineers and mechanics, just like she won a race, which she hasn’t, by the way. She hugged all of them, thanked all and smiled the biggest smile she ever smiled. „I’m so grateful for all of you! And now, let’s win this race!“

She didn’t win, but was one of her best birthdays so far. And the after party was her personal highlight of the day. There was a huge pile of presents, just for her of course.

Lando was the DJ, Max was standing on a table, preparing to do a toast for her and Danny was laughing and pointing his camera at everybody.

The evening was definitely something she’d remember, maybe not Max‘ toast, as it was very embarrassing;

„Dear people, we have gathered here to celebrate not only my win, but also a birthday of some special person. She is not our girlfriend, which we are all happy about, but they’re all jealous of her, y/n! Happy birthday, you beast, come up here!“

The alcohol definitely made it more bearable, but the fact that Pierre had to drag you to Mac spoke for itself.

„Pierre, let me be, go back to your boyfriend“, she spoke harshly to the French man, but he ignored her with a smirk on his face and brought her up to Max.

„Ladys and gents, the birthday girl herself!“

It was one of the better party’s she attended and when she looked at all the posts she’s been tagged, she found one particular that she liked the most.

daniel3.jpg

Liked by yninsta, charles_leclerc and 473’827 others

daniel3.jpg happy birthday to my personal favourite female driver of all time! let’s raise a glass or two, to all the things i’ve lost on you ;)

View all 4638 comments

yninsta i am the only female driver…

landonorris that’s why your his fav

yninsta rude af

daniel3.jpg don’t fight kids

charles_leclerc happy birthday y/n!

carlossainz55 yeah, feliz compleaños to our fav girl

pierregasly liked by pierre gasly

f1girly we love all the drivers in the comments, y/n is definitely the paddock princess

likedbypear oh yes, idk if i want to be her or with her

yninsta be definitely with me, c’mon

neymarjr happy birthday y/n!

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @missskid , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Checkmate

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: angst, murder, fearful for your life, psycho ex

Summary: You work as a maid for the richest and most eligible bachelor. You go to his mansion twice a week and clean his house, and you make pretty good money doing it. The only issue? Your psycho ex, but Dean shows you that he might be just a tad worse than Isaac.

Square Filled: maid au (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Another day, another eight hours spent in this mansion. This is a place you can never see yourself living in only because you can’t ever think to make as much money as your boss does. From what you know, he’s the CEO of two companies, has investments in other places, and is just really smart about managing his money. You don’t see him often since he spends most of his time in his office or not at the house at all, but he did hire you to clean his mansion. He pays you generously, more than you have ever made in your life, twice even.

He’s very generous but you hear he’s a cold-hearted bitch. He’s the most respected and most eligible bachelor this state has ever seen, but he can be as cold as ice. You’ve walked past his office before and have overheard him yelling at people more than once. You do not want to be on the receiving end of that cold stare, so it’s best if you keep your head down and clean as best as you can without getting in his way.

You walk into the kitchen carrying five bouquets of bright and colorful flowers. Dean doesn’t like to keep color in his mansion--only black, gray, and white--so the flowers stand out beautifully. He doesn’t seem to mind since they don’t move once you put them up. Before you get started cleaning, you replace the old flowers with the new ones and toss the old ones into the trash.

Normally, you connect your speaker to your phone and use music to pass the time, but you promised to call your best friend once you got here because of what happened last night. You grab the cleaning cart from the closet and start with the kitchen, and you call your best friend on FaceTime. It’s better than keeping the phone to your ear or putting in uncomfortable headphones in your ear.

“Bitch, you will never guess who just sent me a DM,” Gen says when she answers.

“Who?”

“Isaac.”

“What did he say?”

“What do you think? You rejected him last night and he thinks coming to me is the next best thing.”

Isaac used to be your boyfriend. You were blind to the red flags in the beginning of the relationship because you thought you were in love with him. He said all the right things, did all the right things, and made you feel special. He complimented you all the time, showed you off to all of his friends, and never laid a merciful hand on you.

That is, until about a year into the relationship. The red flags became so apparent that you couldn’t ignore them any longer. He became possessive, jealous, controlling, and more violent. He has never hit or slapped you, but he has grabbed you hard enough to leave bruises on your arms. You broke it off a month ago but the bitch won’t stay away from you.

He keeps showing up at your house telling you to come home and that you’re being overdramatic. He’s there when you go get coffee in the morning. He’s there when you visit your sister (he’s friends with her husband). He’s there even in your nightmares. You’re shocked he hasn’t shown up at your work. You’re not sure how Dean would take to having someone like Isaac in, on, or around his property.

“The best thing to do is ignore him. He’ll go away,” you sigh.

“I don’t think so. He was pretty adamant about getting in touch with you. My husband would have kicked his ass if he came over.”

You wipe down the counters with a sigh.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

“I think you should call the police.”

You roll the cart into the living room and get started dusting the surfaces.

“He hasn’t trespassed onto your property, though. What will they do?”

“He’s harassing you, Y/N. He keeps coming to your house uninvited. That’s trespassing. He was bad enough as your boyfriend, but now he’s crossing the line into psycho territory. He hurt you, Y/N. The bruises may be gone but those emotional scars are still there.”

You replace the duster and stand in the living room in thought. She does have a point but the bruises are long gone. That’s physical evidence you don’t have to use against him. He hasn’t laid a hand on you since the breakup. What will the police do?

“Yeah, I know but they won’t do anything if he hasn’t done anything. If he does, I’ll make sure to call you.”

“Yeah, I’ll fuck him up.”

You giggle at her eagerness. “I gotta go. Got lots to clean.”

“Yeah, for the hot bachelor.”

“Him being hot has nothing to do with him being a bachelor.”

“Still, you’re lucky to see that all day.”

“I rarely see him. He stays in his office all day which I’m not allowed in, by the way. If he’s not in there, he’s at his office building in town.”

“You’re single and he’s single. I’d tap that if I were you.”

“Imagine if Isaac found out. He’d kill Dean.” You roll the cart into the bathroom. “I gotta go, though.”

“Call me later.”

“Will do.”

Like you told Gen, you don’t see Dean the entire day. If it weren't for the initial interview you had with him and the short passings you’ve shared with him, you wouldn’t think he’s real. There is one thing that Gen got right. The man is hot. Gorgeous, even. If you two saw each other at a bar, you’d definitely be trying to take him home. Bright green eyes, tank skin, freckles, bow legs, and muscles for days. The man is the whole package.

After doing your eight hours, the sun is already going down. You leave the invoice for Dean on the kitchen counter as he requests before returning the cleaning cart and packing up your things. You walk across Dean’s lawn to get to your car but pause when you see someone standing in your way.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you hiss at your ex. “How did you know where I work? How did you get past the fence?”

“I know everything about you, baby. I’m here to see if you’re done being dramatic.”

“Being dramatic? You’re a psycho!”

“I call that determination.”

“Okay, Isaac, I need you to leave. We broke up and this is highly inappropriate. Plus, Dean isn’t going to be happy when he finds you loitering on his property.”

“Who the fuck is Dean?”

“Isaac, please leave. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you in my life anymore. Show up uninvited again, and I will call the police.”

You try to walk past him but Isaac isn’t taking no for an answer. He grabs your arm so tightly you think there will be bruises there tomorrow. 

“If I were you, I’d get your hand off her.”

You and Isaac turn to see Dean standing about twenty feet away.

“Who the fuck are you?” Isaac snaps.

“The fuck person who owns this property. Get your hands off her.”

Isaac listens and you move your arm to get the blood flowing again.

“Come on, Y/N, let’s go home.”

“No, I’m not going anywhere with you. Just leave me alone.”

“Are you deaf? No means no.”

“No offense, dude, but she’s mine, okay?”

“Not on my property, she isn’t.” Dean narrows his eyes.

“Your property?”

“Yes, touch her again and I’ll decorate your remains across it.”

“Whatever,” Isaac scoffs. “Call me when you’re done being dramatic.”

Isaac turns and leaves until you can’t see him anymore.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine.” Dean doesn't believe you but he’ll let it go for now. “I’m sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize. It’s not your fault, but you’re not going home. Come on, you’ll stay here for the night.”

Dean turns and starts walking back toward his house. You don’t know what to do but you feel yourself following him. It’s like your legs have a mind of their own.

“No, it’s okay.”

“I’m not a man who takes no for an answer, Y/N.”

Damn, that’s hot. You’re definitely thinking with your vagina and not your head. You should get in your car and go home but something compels you to stay here with Dean.

“Would you really have scattered his remains across your lawn?” you ask when you catch up to him.

“Which answer would make you feel better?”

“Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

Dean chuckles and leads you up the stairs. “Do you have a friend you can stay with?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You can stay with her tomorrow. Isaac won’t be a problem much longer.”

You’re too scared and too turned on to ask follow-up questions. He takes you to a spare bedroom and opens the door for you.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Anytime, sweetheart. I’m right down the hall if you need me.”

He leaves you alone, but you’re not sure what to do now. In less than twenty-four hours, you’ve gone from working for Dean to sleeping in the bedroom next to his. He’s now on Isaac’s radar but you have a feeling Dean can take him out before he even knows what’s happening.

x

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[captain-hawks]

i know i usually ask for my boi soshiro but what about narumi and hm... a location... the rooftop of a building? all good if this doesn't spark anything though!!

the shape of your absence

gen narumi x f!reader

In the months since you left the First Division, you've tried so hard to let go of the torch your heart carries for Captain Gen Narumi. But it's nearly impossible to avoid the heady pull of his orbit when he's standing right in front of you under the glow of string lights on a rooftop at Tachikawa Base.

wc: 2.6k

c: 18+ only, exes to lovers, angst, pining, feels, unprotected p in v, creampie

SPICY SLEEPOVER — ROUND V

This was a terrible idea.

“Gen—” you gasp out, head tipping back against the wall as your knees begin to wobble.

He ignores you from where he’s kneeling on the ground in front of you, the skirt of your dress bunched up in one of his fisted hands, the other clasped against the inside of your thigh. His fingertips skirt the bottom of your ass as he slowly, pointedly strokes his thumb over your underwear and down the length of your sensitive folds. Despite the cotton boundary, it makes you shiver all the same. 

(And admittedly, you’re not sure if you’re more affected by the sensation itself, or the inherent muscle memory in your body’s reaction to his touch.)

“Gen, we shouldn’t—”

Soft lips meet skin at the curve of your hip, teeth teasing the waistband of your panties.

“Why not?”

You know Gen far too well to be surprised by his unbothered, matter-of-fact tone. And quite frankly, it’s difficult to find the strength to grasp the flimsy arguments flitting about in your mind under the weight of his steady gaze as he looks up at you from between your legs. 

“Because someone could walk over here,” you protest, jerking your head in the direction of the warm glow of string lights and the sounds of music and laughter.

Most of the Third Division is currently up on the large rooftop of the training building for a party, milling about with food and drinks as the hour grows late and the day’s humid air turns cool beneath the star-speckled sky. 

And your goddamn ex-boyfriend shouldn’t even be here crashing this celebration in the first place, but as luck would have it, he’s at your base running a special month-long training program with the latest recruits. 

Gen gestures at the supply sheds that you’re currently tucked behind. “Nobody can see. And that never stopped us before.” 

Heat crawls up the back of your neck at the memory of all of the careless places you’ve found yourselves in compromising positions together, too absorbed in one another to care.

“—and we broke up for a reason,” you sigh.

Eight months ago, the Third Division found itself in dire need of a skilled Platoon Leader after sustaining significant losses during a difficult battle. You and Gen were both sitting around the same table when news of the request made it to the First Division, and you’d felt sick over the immediate look of pained resignation that crossed his face the moment he met your gaze.

Because you were both well aware that you were the best person for the job.

…and he knew you’d go, without hesitation.

While the geographical space between Tachikawa Base and Ariake Maritime Base is negligible, it was already a struggle for the two of you to juggle the demands of your opposing schedules from the same place.

You knew it wouldn’t work.

(Gen did, too. Even though he did his best to convince you otherwise.)

The two of you always knew this would be a hazard of your jobs, the one potential downfall that could rip away the sole piece of selfish happiness you had been too weak to deny yourself after the first time he kissed you. 

(Following months of flirting and friendly competition. When you finally beat one of his long-standing records on the training ground and ran into his arms grinning and laughing after—all of the gloating swiftly dying on your lips when he picked you up and spun you around, his eyes shining with so much fondness and pride that your legs threatened to give out under the dam of emotions that burst open inside of you. 

Gen kissed you like he wanted to savor every second.)

But this dedication to your jobs, to the JAKDF, it was a reality you had to remind Gen of again and again on your final night with the First Division—a pale strip of moonlight illuminating the tangle of your bodies atop the mattress, his face buried in your hair, your chest rising and falling at unsteady intervals. 

(It was a reality you had to grapple with in the quiet of daybreak the morning that you left, your eyes clenched firmly shut as you tried to memorize rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm while he slept soundly beside you.)

The sharp, painful ache of leaving Gen has made itself a home in your chest, a steady pang that you’ve become resigned to in the weeks and months that have passed. It’s made bearable only by your mutual agreement to avoid direct contact—to let the hurt sink into the soft, pliant sand of the past as days tick by like the rise and fall of the tides. 

(Nobody needs to know how difficult it is for you to breathe some mornings when you wake up to the suffocating feeling of all of the empty space beside you.)

–

ONE HOUR EARLIER

“I think we should grab dinner next week.”

Glancing up from the drink clutched in your hands, you look at the fellow Platoon Leader standing in front of you. He transferred into the Third Division less than a month ago, and he’s yet to recognize the complete and total lack of interest that you’ve shown toward him and his cocky attitude. Admittedly, you haven’t even bothered to remember his name. 

“I think I’m good,” you reply with disinterest, taking a sip from the cup.

Tilting his head to the side, he offers you a wry smile. “It doesn’t need to be anything serious, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Exhaling through your nose, you blink at him several times. “I’m not interested.”

“Come on, just give me a—Captain Narumi.” The man’s eyes go wide as he cuts himself off mid sentence, gaze falling somewhere just beyond your shoulder. 

Your grip tightens on your glass as the distinct scent of citrus and sandalwood body wash reaches your nostrils a moment before a familiar voice says, “Anyone ever teach you what no means?”

“Captain Narumi, sir. I was just—”

“Leaving?” Gen’s shoulder brushes against yours as he comes to stand beside you.

“Leaving,” he nods, not even giving you one last cursory glance before turning away to busy himself with another group of officers nearby.

You stand there in silence, not trusting yourself to angle your body to look at the man standing beside you, who you’ve managed to avoid thus far since he arrived at your base earlier this week. 

And it’s ridiculous—the way you suddenly feel as if you can’t quite get enough air into your lungs, despite the wide open, endless expanse of it surrounding you on the rooftop.

“Hey,” Gen murmurs, his body nudging yours ever so slightly as he rocks back onto the heels of his feet, head tilted up to take in the blanket of stars littered across the dark sky.

You allow yourself one small discretion, one brief indulgence as you turn just enough to take in his tall profile.

It hurts—looking at him hurts.

This is why you opted for a clean break, because the mere weight of his presence beside you now is all it takes to puncture a fatal hole in the very fabric of your meager defenses.

“Hey.”

—

NOW

Gen straightens up, letting the skirt of your dress fall back down your thighs as he rests a hand flat against the wall beside your head, his gaze intense. 

Suddenly, the mood feels far heavier now than earlier, when your tentative conversation quickly fell into the easy, comfortable laughter the two of you once shared. When you didn’t pull your knee away as it brushed against Gen’s as you sat down. (When you pointedly ignored the loud thoughts clamoring in your head as you gave in to the urge to grasp the front of his shirt and tug his stupidly pretty mouth to yours.)

“Have you been seeing anyone else?” he asks.

Brows furrowing, you begin, “That’s none of your—”

“Because I haven’t,” he cuts you off quickly. “I haven’t been able to do anything but think of you every goddamn day since you left.”

“Gen—” You can’t get the words out, that you feel exactly the same. That there can’t be anyone else.

“Tell me to fuck off right now, and I will,” he exhales, voice rough. “But I can’t keep pretending like that’s not the truth.”

Your voice breaks a little as you quietly reply, “I miss you all the time.”

His forehead touches yours, a visible shudder wracking through him. You nearly forgot how it felt to see this side of Captain Gen Narumi, to peel back the layers of the perfect soldier, the relentless fighter, the arrogant leader with his sometimes childish tendencies. 

To be the full center of his focus and object of his attention (of his affection). 

To viscerally feel the vulnerable emotions painted starkly across his chest (to be trusted to cradle them within your grasp). 

It was a late summer evening beside the waterfront when Gen wrapped his arms around you from behind, a warm breeze rustling his hair as he pressed a kiss to the curve of your jaw and thanked you for being the one person to see him.

Now, his thumb traces your collarbone, and every part of you aches for all of the time you’ve spent apart. The days you’ve tried to distance yourself from drowning in the grief of this loss, throwing yourself headfirst into work until your limbs have threatened to collapse with exhaustion.

Every minute you’ve tried to convince yourself that this was the right choice—that the erratic thrumming of your heart that rises to meet each stroke of his fingertips against the side of your neck should be regarded as trivial when you have a country to protect.

Somewhere, Maslow is rolling in his grave at this blatant disregard of your own human needs.

And it only becomes apparent now, as you feel every fiber of your being rebel, yearning to sink into the warmth of Gen’s body heat—how fucking starved you’ve become.

“Then what do we do?” he carefully asks.

You take Gen’s face into your hands, letting your eyes drink in every corner and curve. “We worry about it tomorrow.”

(You savor it—the surprised little gasp that leaves him when your mouth crashes into his.)

—-

Gen’s lips are a searing hot brand and a hungry, desperate promise against your own when you stumble into the closed door of your quarters, hands fumbling with the lock—only to find yourself pressed up against the wall and moaning into his mouth the moment it clicks shut.

Clothes litter the path to your bed as you both stumble toward it, his hands equal parts deft and greedy as they roam your body before sliding off your dress. He groans when you begin to palm him through his boxers as he shoves down his pants, inhales sharply when you stroke a finger across one of his nipples and press an open-mouthed kiss to the center of his chest. Your insides go molten as he cups your cunt, chest heaving when he feels the way your arousal has wholly soaked through your underwear. 

He used to be smug about how wet you’d get for him, the way it would already be dripping from your folds and sliding down your thighs before he even got your pants off. 

Now, it’s only desperate, awestruck hunger as he pushes against your quivering entrance, breaching the opening of your tight hole and rubbing your slick, wet panties against your sensitive inner walls. When he slides them down, he drops to the floor along with them, fingertips hooking in the waistband as he leans forward to press a kiss to your mound before lapping one firm, broad stroke up your slit. Your muscles tense with a bolt of pleasure as your toes curl against the carpet.

Gen hardly has time to straighten before you’re sliding down his boxers, forehead dropping against your shoulder with an exhaled groan of pleasure as you cup his balls and wrap your fingers around his achingly hard, flushed cock.

You reach back after a moment to unclasp your bra, only to find his fingertips already there, confidently pinching the hooks to let your tits spill out before him. His mouth is hot and damp against your nipple when he leans in to stroke and suck one with his tongue and his teeth, drawing a needy whine out of you as you begin to back him up toward the bed.

When Gen falls back onto your mattress, he looks utterly transfixed and wholly enraptured as you climb atop him and straddle his waist. You lean in, dragging your fingers through his hair, and he reaches up to meet you with a rough, messy kiss.

Your cunt throbs when you rock your hips, dragging your slick folds up his thick length and gasping into his mouth when your clit catches against the head of his dick. If only to relish in the intoxicating tightrope of need you’re feverishly dangling from, you begin to ride his cock like that—rutting your wet pussy up and down his thick shaft, leaving behind the slippery mess out arousal that continues to drip out of you. Gen’s hands dig into your hips as he grinds up into you just as desperately, moaning with each stroke.

And when you finally, finally sink down onto his cock, Gen’s lips find yours to swallow down the scream of pleasure that crawls up your throat and bursts past your lips. As he bottoms out, you’re both left panting into each other’s mouths, your tight pussy greedily taking in every last inch. 

Gen knows your body inside and out, knows every spot to touch and stroke and kiss and suck to have you gasping his name. And as he cups the back of your head, when he strokes your pebbled nipples just right, when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and presses his fingers into the base of your spine—you know he hasn’t forgotten a thing.

“I’m not gonna last,” he exhales roughly, teeth finding your earlobe before he drags his tongue against the sensitive spot just below your ear.

Because it’s been so long.

Because it feels so fucking good.

Because it’s him.

Because it’s you.

He doesn’t need to say the rest, doesn’t need to explain any further as you nod in agreement and whimper when he drags his thumb against your swollen clit while you ride his cock.

“Come for me,” he rasps, well aware that he’s got you dangling from the edge as he strokes your aching bundle of nerves and kisses his way down the side of your neck.

Pleasure explodes inside of you, and Gen rocks upward as your pussy clenches down on his shaft, stuffing his cock in as deep as it’ll go as your tight walls expand and contract around him. You tremble and moan under the intoxicating heat of your climax, every cell in your body reduced to the blistering euphoria seeping through your veins.

“Inside,” you breathe out, forehead pressed to his, the fingers of your right hand tangling with his left atop your hip as he resumes moving when your orgasm tapers off, the roll of his hips quickly growing sloppy as your cunt squelches with each thrust.

He sounds utterly and completely wrecked when he moans your name and kisses you hard, his climax tearing through him. Gen’s cock pulses hot and heavy inside of you, spilling thick ropes of cum into your cunt until you’ve milked him of every last drop.

And later, as you find yourself nearing the precipice of sleep while tucked into the contentment of Gen's safe, warm embrace, the tightness in your chest finally loosens as you breathe in deeply for the first time in months.

[yellowwwcrayon]

Professor Logan x College Student Wade (problematic age gap warning)

Sister Margaret’s was a shithole. 

Logan’s boot slipped in a sticky pile of something the moment he stepped inside. It smelled of unwashed man, cheap alcohol and possibly all of life’s regrets. A noxious cocktail he’d been intimately familiar with during the late 70’s before Charles came into his life. He was better now that he’d retired from the X-Men and was teaching full time. Logan had even quit drinking. 

“Who the fuck are you?” It was a mountain of a man, bald, shaggy unkempt beard trailing all the way down to his sagging waistband and covered in tattoos. 

“Nobody,” Logan stood his ground and didn’t budge when the guy shoved him, “I’m not looking for trouble, just here to find a student of mine.” 

Neckbeard swept his gaze down Logan’s gray cardigan and wool slacks, lips curling back in a mocking smile. “What do you teach, grandpa? Art history?” 

“Didn’t know you knew what art history was,” He lifted an eyebrow, trying not to let the insult about his age get to him. That had never been an issue in the past until Wade walked in mid-lecture a few months back and all of a sudden made Logan feel a thousand years old and, well, like a bit of a creep.

He was practically a fossil, and a fossil shouldn’t be interacting with a twenty-year-old thing like Wade outside the classroom. It was inappropriate. Charles had even offhandedly said as much during one of their weekly breakfast conversations. 

And yet, here he was, on a Friday evening, definitively outside school hours, looking for Wade. Making sure one of his students was safe, Logan reminded himself as he sidestepped the giant man standing in his way.     

“Hey, I wasn’t done talkin’ to you.” 

The guy grabbed Logan’s shirt collar with a fist the size of a toddler’s head and whatever was left of Logan’s remaining patience finally ran out. He punched the guy in the temple. It was a quick jab, meant to incapacitate really. Neckbeard went down like a pile of rocks, thick hairy arms grazing a metal tray of empty drink glasses and causing a crashing bang that reverberated throughout the poorly lit bar. The deafening young people's music screeched to a halt. All eyes turned to Logan. Hands went to weapons. The gangly bartender in the baggy hoodie pulled out a sawed off shotgun from behind the bar. 

Fuck.

He hadn’t had to whisk out the adamantium claws in years, but Logan seriously considered it now facing a whole bar of angry drunk men with guns. He still hadn’t spotted Wade. 

“Weasel.” 

It was a woman who spoke, the only woman Logan had seen in the filthy establishment so far. She leaned in and whispered something in the bartender’s ear. He blinked, mouth parting slightly as he swept his gaze down Logan’s body. The shotgun was placed back in its hiding spot behind the bar. 

“Guys, it’s all cool. This is the hot daddy dilf Wade was ranting about. Go back to your regularly scheduled slow descent into alcohol poisoning.” 

The grating Gen Z music returned. Logan’s face burned.

[fairy-writes]

Hello! Hope you are having a good day:D

Congratulations for 1.6k followers☆♡

Can I request prompt 6 for the event with Gen Narumi

LATER NEVER COMES

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Prompt: “You meant nothing to me.”

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8

Pairing(s): Narumi Gen x Reader

Word Count: 0.8k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Arguments, Breakups, Comas, Dreamwalking(?), Angst, Reader is Shorter than Narumi

Notes: The title was taken from the song of the same name as that one Christmas carol musical they did with Luke Evans.

I’m making so much stuff up. Bear with me. This idea has been a worm for DAYS.

__________________________________________________________________________

Today marked day twenty-six of Narumi Gen’s coma. It had been an accident with a kaiju. That was all you knew. 

And day three of you visiting, trying to rouse him out of sleep. 

You weren’t sure why Hasegawa called you. It had been six months since you had broken up. And that was Gen’s fault. Well… That wasn’t entirely true. You had been the one to break up with him. But he was the one who instigated it. 

You just wish you knew what he was thinking…

But you sat next to him nonetheless, hand in his, and after an hour or so, you spoke. 

“I wish you’d wake up, Gen…”

It was dark. And cold. And Gen was alone. 

Where was he? 

He opened his eyes and found himself in his apartment. That was odd… Wasn’t he fighting a kaiju?

“I’m home.” Came your voice, and he jolts and turns to see you closing the front door behind you. You looked haggard, exhausted, and like you were two seconds away from throwing something. 

Ah… He remembered this day. 

The day you broke up with him. 

What was going on? 

“Hng.” Someone grunted, and Gen flinched and turned back to see himself under a blanket and, as always, playing something on his BS5.

Seriously, what was happening? Was he reliving a memory? If so… That was just plain cruel to make him rewatch the day you left. 

“Have you eaten yet today?” You ask, but past-Gen just grunts again. Present-Gen grits his teeth as you set down a bag of takeout. You were so patient with him. But today was the day that your patience ran out. You watch your boyfriend button-mash his controller and sigh. 

“I got promoted at work.” You say, and present-Gen’s eyes widen. You had gotten the promotion you had been gunning for? That was great! But again, past-Gen just grunted, never taking his eyes away from his game. 

That was how it went. You’d say something, and he’d grunt or hum but never gave more than a one-word answer. 

And eventually, your patience ran out.

Present-Gen saw your face darken in anger after the seventh or eighth question. You slam down the mug of tea you had been making as you prepared the takeout on plates. Stalking over, you unplug his beloved BS5 and ignore his shrieks of anger. 

“What the fu—”

“Do I really have to argue with you just to get your attention?!” You demand, past-Gen stands up and explodes. 

“I was on the final boss! You just ruined everything!” He shouted, and you rolled your eyes.

“Is that really more important? I thought I meant more to you than that.”

“You meant nothing to me!” He snaps, and present-Gen flinches. 

“No! He’s wrong!” He pleads, but the damage is already done.

Your eyes widen, and you drop the cable in your hand. He had been so angry that day that he missed the tears welling up in your eyes. You look broken, shattered, like you had just had your heart ripped out of your chest. 

Which, in a way, he supposed you had. 

Past-Gen sneered as you left to your bedroom. 

“What, you running away?” He snapped and you came out with a bag. 

“We’re done.” You said, and before he could get another word in, you left your tea, the takeout, and him for the last time.

Gen’s hand twitches in yours, and you look up in shock. 

His eyelashes are fluttering, the long and pretty eyelashes that you loved so much opened, and you came face to face with your ex-lover. 

Twenty-six days, three hours, and fifty-four minutes later, Gen was awake. 

“Let me get the nurse.” You say and start to get up, but his grip tightens around your fingers. 

“Wait.” He mutters, his voice rough from disuse. You pause. 

Why did he stop you? 

“I want to apologize.” He said, and you frowned. 

“For what?”

“For treating you like shit. I always kept telling you later, but we both know later never comes.” He said, and as he spoke, you felt tears welling up again. 

You hadn't cried since breaking up with Gen. Part of you felt numb. Most of you just felt angry. Angry at wasting your time on this relationship that he clearly didn’t care about. 

“You said I meant nothing to you.” You whispered, and he flinched. 

What?

Nothing made him flinch! He was so sure of everything!

“I know this is probably bullshit to you. But I didn’t mean it. I was angry, but that’s no excuse. So… We don’t have to get back together… But I’m sorry.” He said, hanging his head. 

You were quiet for a beat. Then two.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you right now… What you said really hurt Gen. But… I’d like to start over. If you want.” You said and watched as the words registered in his mind. 

A small, hopeful smile appeared on his lips, and he squeezed your hand again. 

“I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

[silentscrying]

🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track four: a conflict of interest

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.

warnings: language, MIDTERMS, alcohol, PTSD/trauma, panic attack, naoya, discussion of car crash (not directly described), mention of deceased parent, literal wholesome sleeping together. || sfw. 8.4k words.

YOU’VE ALWAYS LOVED fall—the sharp, cool note that tacks itself onto the breeze, the crunch of leaves beneath the wheels of your longboard, the early sunsets over the shapes of the campus skyline. Usually, a week this beautiful would find you outside enjoying it. But for the same reason that you haven’t gotten Takuma alone since Saturday, you’ve been cooped up indoors, frying your brain.

The problem is midterms.

The week is a blur of class and homework and reporting and rehearsals, and you hardly ever see Takuma, or really anyone outside of your classes and rehearsals, save for the brief comings and goings of your housemates at strange hours of the day. You’re all drowning in work, and any wish you have of talking to Takuma without the rest of his band present washes itself away in an avalanche of assignments and emails and post-it note to-do lists all over your desk.

When you see him with Megumi and Yuji and Kirara, the both of you dance around all the things you want to say. Because you have to. You don’t have time to flesh this out, put a label on it.

You and Toge spend hours wrapping up your project story. Your comp midterm is eight to nine double-spaced pages of hell, excluding citations, and on top of it you’re balancing media law case studies and your elective comparative lit class.

And this is one of your lighter semesters.

Your housemates don’t have it any easier, Yuta and Maki wrapped up in senior capstone proposals, Nobara grinding her way through the rest of her gen. eds and practicing marketing presentations in the mirror, even Toge scrambling to get work done.

Between cramming and writing and squeezing naps in wherever you can, you and Takuma orbit around the unspoken truth of your kiss on the roof, borderline flirty but never crossing that line. Not over the phone.

you: how goes the algorithming you: or whatever the fuck takuma: I’M DYING takuma: KM GOING CROSSEYED takuma: havent touched grass in days. eons even you: :( same you: we’ll touch grass when this is over takuma: if it snows i will literally dig it up for you istg

You laugh despite yourself, sighing as you lean back in your desk chair, looking out the window. God, you want to kiss this boy again. Fuck school, fuck your busy schedules. Christ, you can’t believe it’s only Wednesday.

you: aw for me takuma: anything for you🫡

It shouldn’t make you blush so furiously in the privacy of your own room, but it does.

A soft knock on the doorframe draws your attention, and you spin in your chair to find Yuta leaning there. His dark hair is a mess, like he’s just taken off a hat, and his cheeks are red with the bite of cold air. He must’ve just gotten home.

“Yuta!”

“Hey.” He grins, holds up his phone so you can see the time. “You eaten yet?” It’s a rhetorical question. You shake your head, recognizing the call to action for what it is, and close your laptop, joining him at the doorway. You need a break, anyway—you just wrapped up a draft of a paper, and you need to do something else before you look it over with fresh eyes.

“Wanna make stir fry?” you ask, and Yuta lights up.

“Read my mind.”

The kitchen is cast in gold as the sun sinks over the rooftops, and you smile at the little hello, my name is stickers on Yuta’s plants in the windowsill. As the two of you grab bowls and pans and ingredients from the fridge, you realize you haven’t really spent one-on-one time with him in a while. You’ve missed it.

“We haven’t done this in forever,” you say, tossing a green pepper over your shoulder. He catches it with one hand and puts it on the cutting board.

“I know,” he laughs, gentle in the same way that everything Yuta does is gentle, and you’re suddenly struck with the horrible thought of how much you’re going to miss him next year. “I feel like we haven’t had any one-on-one time recently. But I’ve been meaning to, uh… well, I should thank you, for giving me that time with Maki. I don’t know that I’d have made a move if not for you.”

“So you’re the one who made the move?” You grin, elbowing him fondly. “Maki wasn’t very forthcoming with the details.”

“I wouldn’t say I made the first move,” he admits. “I started making dinner, and then she started scribbling on something over by the plants. And I was so confused, and then I realized she’d bought these.” He gestures to the plant name tags, a fond smile on his face. Half the handwriting is Yuta’s loopy scrawl, and the other half is Maki’s more jagged counterpart. “She knew all their names. Which is crazy. Sometimes I barely remember.”

You move to the cutting board and start on the peppers while Yuta fires up the stovetop. “That’s sweet,” you say. “You guys are good together. I’ve only been waiting for like, an entire year.”

Yuta chuckles and looks over his shoulder at you. “I asked how she remembered all the names and she said something along the lines of did you know people actually listen when you talk, and I’ve never been particularly good at hiding my facial expressions.” You snort, because you know that better than anyone. “And then I said Toge definitely doesn’t, and she rolled her eyes and said I kept missing the point.”

“Oh, smooth.” You move over so Yuta can reach into the cabinet above you for the seasoning. “And then you asked what the point is?”

“Mhm.” Yuta hip-checks you lightly as he moves back to his place by the stove, and you relish the familiarity of it. He’s one of your best friends, and you’ve missed doing this with him, cooking with him, talking to him. “She said the point is I’m an oblivious dumbass who should just shut up and kiss her already. So I did.”

You have to put the knife down as your laugh bursts out, shaking your shoulders, because that’s the most Maki thing you’ve ever heard. “And you’re together now?”

“Mhm.” Yuta flushes a little. “She’s great. I wasn’t really gonna say anything… ever? She’s out of my league, Skip.”

It should maybe feel like a bigger deal that Maki and Yuta are finally a thing, but in a way, it’s like nothing has changed. They’ve always been close, and you’ve always known they’re perfect for each other. It felt inevitable, and now it’s happened, and it feels right.

“You’re both out of everyone’s league,” you correct, turning to lean against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest. “And neither of you think you deserve each other, which is exactly why you do.” He smiles, shy and small, and your heart warms in your chest. “I’m happy for you, Yuta.”

“Thanks.” He ducks his head a little, his tell-tale sign of embarrassment, like when Takuma scratches the back of his neck. God, why does everything remind you of Takuma?

Like he can read your mind, Yuta says, “Your turn. You and Ino? I know everyone’s in the loop except me.”

The next half hour or so passes with you explaining the details of your night with Takuma yet again, the smell of stir fry eventually drawing Toge out from the cave (his and Yuta’s bedroom) around the same time Nobara sweeps through the door with Maki in tow. It’s the first time the five of you have been in the same room outside of rehearsals all week.

“Ooh, my god,” Nobara sighs, smelling the stir fry. “That’s the good shit. I owe you my life.”

“You can do the dishes,” you suggest, and she deflates as she unwinds the scarf around her neck and tosses it on a hook with her coat.

“I’ve made a fatal mistake,” she says.

“How’re midterms?” Maki asks as she brushes past you, tossing her jacket onto a chair, and you shrug. In response, Toge puts his head face-down on the counter, and Maki looks to Yuta, waiting for his answer. It’s like they don’t know how they’re supposed to interact in front of you all, now that the whole band knows.

“You don’t have to dance around each other anymore,” Nobara points out, blunt as ever. “We’ve watched you do that for years. I honestly think I’d rather watch you be gross.”

Toge raises a brow. “Careful what you wish for.”

“Let’s break the ice! Let’s talk about it!” Nobara crows, grabbing you by the elbow. “Reenactment, Skip. You be Yuta.” She leans dramatically over the plants, pretending to write on the name tag stickers. “This one is Pikachu.” Yuta definitely does not have a plant named Pikachu. “You’re an obtuse asshole, Yuta Okkotsu,” Nobara says in a truly horrendous impression of Maki, turning around and grabbing you by the shoulders. “Now kiss me.”

“Oh my god,” Maki says flatly. “I hate you.”

“She didn’t call me an asshole!” Yuta says indignantly.

Maki nudges him with a shoulder, which is probably the closest thing to PDA you’ll get out of them for weeks. Nobara’s teasing will only make them less willing to show affection in front of the rest of you. Maybe it’s reverse psychology and that is what she wants.

“Table,” Yuta says, pointing to Toge. “Nobara, go sit in the corner and think about your actions. Maki, could you grab the plates?”

“Girlfriend privilege!” Nobara cries, not making any move to listen to Yuta. She grins at you and you can’t help but smile back. She’s being obnoxious about it, but she also held in her teasing about their relationship for ages until they figured it out on their own. You know she’s just as happy for them as you are.

“You better keep Ino away from this one,” Maki says as she dishes up the stir fry and slides the plates across the counter to Toge, who ferries them over to the table without complaint. Nobara wiggles her brows at you in a way that very obviously says you can try, but you will fail.

When the five of you crowd the little table in the makeshift dining room, it’s honestly the most relaxed you’ve felt all week. For an hour it’s just you and your best friends, talking and ranting and joking and eating some damn good stir fry, and you can forget about all the work piling up on your desk and the boy down the street you desperately need to talk to and the performance in two days that’ll decide your band’s fate. It’s good.

You grin at Nobara as she gestures with her hands while telling a story about this girl in her marketing class, at Toge trying and failing to steal the snap peas from Yuta’s plate, at Maki fondly watching it all unfold.

Despite her earlier complaints, Nobara doesn’t hesitate to get started on the dishes, and Toge dries while you sit at the stool by the counter and chat with them. Nobara shoves a plate at Toge to try and he nearly drops it onto one of the plants, earning him a look from Yuta very reminiscent of a parent scolding their child.

"Sorry, Snorlax," Toge says to the plant he nearly attacked. "Hey, these are helpful, actually. Good job, Maki."

You stare at the name tags, something starting to grow in the back of your mind. Hello! My name is...

"Yes," you breathe. And then you launch out of your seat and grab your notebook from the other room.

You have an idea.

—

You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, spinning a drumstick in your right hand as The Cull wraps up their ten-decibels-too-loud set onstage. Waiting in the wings, Hakari and another stage tech linger by your kit, waiting to swap it out, and the rest of your band goes through their usual pre-performance rituals.

Maki leans against the wall, eyes closed, moving her fingers along her bass without making any sound. Yuta’s quietly checking his tuning for the thousandth time tonight. Nobara does laps around the backstage area, humming and mouthing words to herself, her guitar carefully leaning against the wall beside you.

Toge is straight up just dancing to the other band’s music in the corner.

And you’re here, spinning your sticks between your thumb and index finger, index and middle, middle and ring, ring and pinky, back again. Back and forth, back and forth, the worn wood dancing across your knuckles.

Midterms are over. Projects and papers are turned in, exams are taken, laptops are strewn forgotten across the living room for the weekend. All your attention is here and now, Friday at The Fix, Battle of the Bands. Lifeblood might be a good word for it, you think, whatever this kind of rush is to you. It’s electric.

The Cull finishes with a screeching of guitars and a held-out note that could very possibly be classified as a scream, and then Panda takes the stage, the techs start moving, and the other band files past you in the backstage area.

You nod as they slip by and they return the gesture, not seeming all that interested, but you don’t care. It’s time.

Sliding onto the throne, you adjust the hi-hat and pound the kick a few times. Nobara winks at you from center stage, and you make eye contact with each of your bandmates in turn, confirming they’re tuned and plugged in and ready to go.

And then you launch into your new song, unable to help the smile spreading across your face.

It begins with a drum solo, a mild rhythm on the floor tom. You add the kick, then move to hat, and Maki comes in, then Toge, then the guitars. And then Nobara leans forward and starts to sing.

“You’re in the corner watchin’, at the party, Solo cup in hand. I’m on the dance floor, one more wild girl who needs a place to land.” You glance out over the crowd, stage light blinding you from your position toward the back of the stage. You can’t see shit, but it’s like you can feel his eyes on you.

“Been goin’ solo, flying so low, meet your eyes and draw you close.” Nobara yanks the mic off the stand and belts,“You ask my name, I tap your chest, and I say you already know!”

Power chord, two big beats, one, two, three, crash—

“Hello, my name is everything you ever asked your gods about. Hello, my name is somebody who needs a guy to take me out…”

The music washes over you, thrums from the soles of your sneakers to the tips of your fingers, gets you high on spotlights and amp feedback. You wrote this song about a lot of things. On a surface level, it’s Maki and Yuta’s song, drawn from the name tags on the kitchen plants. But on another level, it’s about Takuma, and you know your whole band knows it.

“Hello, hello, my name is yours if you want it,” Nobara finishes, and you finish with two cymbal hits and a kick, grabbing the cymbals between thumb and index finger immediately after to mute them. It’s a sharper finish than a lot of your songs, punchier, and it feels good.

“We’re Cursed Technique!” Nobara shouts, and Yuta plucks a few strings as he retunes for one of your older tracks. The set goes by all too fast, and then you’re finishing with Next Fix, the beat under your hands familiar and automatic. You’re on my mind at two a.m., you help me find deliverance, I think it’s time I get my fix.

You’d stay here forever if you could, just making music with your favorite people, but your set ends and you have to retreat backstage, Black Flash passing you in the wing as they prepare to round out the night.

“That was awesome,” Kasumi Miwa whispers as she passes you, and you grin.

“You’ll be awesome.”

When Mai appears around the corner, she stops short. You glance at Maki and realize Yuta’s hand is on the small of her back, and Mai has zeroed in on it. Yuta looks like he’s about to pass out, his hand frozen a half-inch away from Maki’s back like he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse to let go, but Maki seems entirely unfazed.

Instead of addressing Maki, though, Mai looks right at Yuta, a slender brow raised in an expression you aren’t quite sure how to interpret. On Maki, it would be teasing, but on Mai it could be a challenge or a threat or a judgment just as easily.

But she only says, “Thought you were gonna take that to your grave, Okkotsu. Been long enough.” She breezes past all of you without another word, and Yuta stares at the place where she stood only moments before, slack-jawed.

Maki shrugs. “Well, that’s that.” The sound of tuning instruments floats back from the stage and Maki starts moving, looking confused when Yuta doesn’t immediately follow. “What?”

“She—what?” Yuta gapes, and Nobara and Toge catch up to you, herding you backstage.

“I can never tell how mad you two are at each other,” you tell Maki.

“We’re bonded by mutual hatred of our own family. We have an understanding,” she shrugs. “She approves of Yuta. I don’t give a shit. If she didn’t, I still wouldn’t give a shit.”

Sometimes you’re very, very glad you have no relatives at this school.

Maki elbows Yuta lightly and he seems to relax, shrugging off the interaction with Mai.

“On another note!” Nobara chirps. “That was fucking awesome.”

And then you hear, of all things, a trumpet coming from the direction of the stage. It’s a very recognizable riff.

Black Flash is covering September.

“What the fuck?” Toge asks. He holds up a hand and darts back to the wing, peeking out on stage. When he returns, his brows have shot up, mouth open like a fish. “Muta has a trumpet. Muta’s playing a trumpet. Since when does he know trumpet? What the fuck?”

“Miwa. Guaranteed,” Nobara says. “Momo’s been trying to get him to learn for years, but he wouldn’t even be in that band if Miwa wasn’t there.” She grins. “I bet Momo was so mad when he finally did it only ‘cause Miwa asked.”

“They sound straight out of a damn recording,” you murmur, craning your neck as if that’ll help you hear better. “They’re fucking good, guys.” Part of you wants to slip out into the crowd just to see them perform. These guys really have their art down to a science, as little sense as that might make, and you can’t help appreciating it.

They segue into a new song with a wild sax solo that you know to be Momo’s, and Nobara grabs you by the hand and twirls you around backstage, some jazzy movement with no real choreography. We’re going to lose, you think idly, but you understand why. There’s something infectious in this music.

Even Maki and Yuta can’t stand still once they’ve put their instruments away, and eventually the five of you are jumping around like a bunch of idiots as Black Flash closes out their set with an explosive series of riffs and chords, and the crowd’s cheering floods the place, all the way to backstage.

You hear Panda’s voice, or more so the bass-heavy sound of him speaking into a microphone, and you only really catch voting.

“Sweet democracy,” Toge says. “I pledge allegiance—”

“How about don’t?” Maki drawls.

Toge nods. “My bad. I’m supposed to be loyal to the queen now, anyway.” Maki’s brows furrow, but she must decide it’s not worth questioning, because she turns away and starts talking to Nobara.

Has anyone actually told Toge the queen is dead?

This time around, ten minutes feels all too short, and suddenly you’re on the stage again, Black Flash at your left and The Cull on their other side. Panda is in front of you all, mic in hand, the results on his phone.

“We have literally never had a vote this close,” he says, and the crowd draws in a collective breath. “The difference between first and second place was two votes.”

“Shit,” Nobara breathes out beside you, so soft nobody else could possibly hear. Two votes. That’s fucking insane.

“But we do have a winner,” Panda says, “and the band moving on to the finals next week is…”

This time, there’s too much attention on your band for Maki to make a comment about Panda’s dramatic pause. In the quiet, somebody shouts, “Woo, girl drummer!” and it sounds an awful lot like Kirara. You smile sheepishly.

Maybe you made it. This was definitely your best performance yet, and the crowd seemed to love the new song—

“Black Flash!” Panda shouts, and your stomach twists a little even as you smile and whoop for the winners. The stage explodes in movement as your band and The Cull converge on the members of the reigning Battle of the Bands champions, congratulating them.

“Amazing set,” you tell Kasumi earnestly. Deep down, you knew you didn’t have much of a chance against them. Still, you’d hoped.

You think you catch Maki muttering, “Y’know, not bad,” to Mai, but you could be wrong.

After you slip backstage, Panda catches up to you. “Y’all were second,” he tells Nobara. “Just thought you should know. That was real close.”

Part of you is immensely gratified that you beat The Cull. That you came that close to kicking Black Flash out of their championship spot. You’re bummed, but honestly? It’s enough for you.

And now Shibuya Incident and Black Flash will compete in the finals, just like last year. Takuma’s got a chance to dethrone them.

After locking up the drum kit in the back storage room (which Shoko blessedly lets you use free of charge), you head out to the floor. Toge splits off to talk to someone from a comm class, Nobara beelines for Yuji and Megumi, and you figure Maki and Yuta are being antisocial in a corner somewhere. It doesn’t take long for Takuma to find you.

“Skipper!” You turn to find him grinning at you, and you can’t help but mirror the expression. “That was amazing. That song was amazing, you were amazing. I mean, are. You are amazing.” His hand drifts up to the back of his neck, and part of you wants to reach out an intercept it, tangle your fingers in his. But you hold yourself back.

“Thanks,” you beam.

“Man. You should’ve won,” Takuma says earnestly, squeezing your shoulder. You took off your bomber jacket before the show—drumming is already a lot of movement, but the stage lights make you sweat—so his fingers skim the place where your T-shirt sleeves end and your bare skin begins, sending a spike of electricity down your spine. “You kicked their asses in my book.”

There’s that warmth again, flowering in your chest cavity. Even when his hand falls from your arm, the impression of his touch stays there.

“They were good,” you say, conceding defeat. He shrugs, like whatever you say, and you’re about to finally ask him if you can talk in private when Yuji materializes out of nowhere, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

“Dude!” he crows, slinging an arm around your shoulder so aggressively that you nearly stumble, laughing. This kid does not know his own strength. “That was so good. So good. You should’ve won. That was insane. The new song?”

“That’s what I said,” Takuma says, raising a brow at you, and you’re flushing again.

“Ino, we’re getting Taco Bell,” Yuji says. You plaster on a smile when he turns to look at you, like you haven’t been going out of your mind the entire week needing to be alone with Takuma. “You want anything?”

Yuji’s not trying to interrupt anything. Poor guy just wants Taco Bell. You stifle a sigh. “Nah, I’m good.” You catch Maki’s eye from the other side of the room, and she waves you over. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Hey, you should come over later,” Takuma says before you can turn away. “Gotta catch me up on your midterms. I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”

Yes. There it is. Exactly what you need.

“That sounds great,” you say honestly. “Call me when you guys get back?”

He gives you a two-fingered salute with a grin that makes your heart stutter a little. “Yes, ma’am.”

—

Nobara mourns the loss the whole way home, but by the time Maki pulls into the driveway she seems to have gotten all her feelings out and is back to her determined we’ll-get-it-next-year self. The guys drove separately with all the guitars piled in the backseat, and they beat you home.

You’ve just sat down on the couch and kicked off your shoes when your phone buzzes, a familiar but unexpected name floating across the screen.

INCOMING CALL: TSUMIKI FUSHIGURO

You slide to accept the call, waving at the boys to quiet down. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Tsumiki says, in that tone of voice that means she’s running on multitasking business mode. A low, static humming in the background tells you she’s calling from the car. “So, there was some kind of accident on 34th a couple blocks down from the science complex. I know you’re on features, but Yuki’s out of town and most of the freelancers are younger and haven’t done breaking yet. Are you busy? I can try the sophomores if you can’t, or I can go, but I’m just coming from work and I might take too long—”

You’re already grabbing your bag and your board, mouthing newspaper to Yuta and Toge, who are giving you curious looks as they dig through the movie collection under the TV. The intersection’s not far from your place at all, or from The Fix, for that matter. Yuki’s the news editor, and if she’s out, it makes more sense for someone who’s already done breaking to go. Time is of the essence with these sorts of briefs. “On it, don’t worry,” you say, pushing out the front door and waving to Maki and Nobara on the way. “Photog?”

“Yeah, I’m calling around after this. I’ll get someone there. God, thank you, you’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem. Call you when I’m done.” You hang up and shove your phone into your back pocket as you careen down the street, headed toward the spot Tsumiki mentioned. Now that midterms are over and you’re free of your academic obligations, you can actually take the time to savor the cool night air and crunch of freshly fallen leaves under your wheels. Hopefully the crash isn’t too bad—Tsumiki didn’t seem incredibly worried, but it’s likely she was operating on very little information.

It doesn’t take long for you to hear the commotion, and you round the corner to see a few cop cars blocking off the crash site on the side of the road.

The second you’re close enough to see past the officers and their cars, your heart plummets.

It’s a red Hyundai.

Smoke billows out from beneath the hood, but the other car’s got it worse, the passenger side smashed in. The way it’s positioned—it shouldn’t have even been possible, unless the other car was genuinely driving in the wrong lane.

“No,” you breathe, kicking your board up and running, and then you’re flashing your press card at a campus policeman—he tries to get you to stop anyway, but there’s no way he’s catching you now—and you’re sprinting to the wrecked car, heart shouting in your chest. You see Yuji first, trying to brush off a concerned-looking Megumi, and then a pair of cops approaching them, and another cop arresting someone—shit, you know him, what’s his name? Naoya, that’s Maki’s dickwad cousin—probably the driver of the other vehicle, but where’s Takuma, where—

When you skid around the far side of the car, Kirara giving you a surprised look, you see him leaning up against the tree. He’s sitting on the grass, one leg pulled up to his chest and the other stretched out in front of him, his forehead resting on his knee. His shoulders are shaking, his hat’s on the ground, Kirara is beside him talking lowly and glaring at anyone who tries to get near him—

Until she sees you.

“Thank god,” she breathes. She doesn’t ask why you’re here. She just guides you to sit down in front of Takuma. “Can you—”

“Is he hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so, he’s just—”

“Got it.”

She backs off to give you space, and then you’re on the ground, knees in the grass in front of Takuma. Panic attack, PTSD episode, whatever it is, you’ve dealt with these before. You remember the roof, his quiet voice, explaining what happened to his dad, how he was in the car, how he hates driving because of it. You’d bet anything Takuma thinks he’s back there.

“Kuma,” the nickname slips out before you even realize it. He jerks and looks up at you, shock and confusion written all over his face. He’s full-on trembling, and your heart shatters in your chest. “Hey. Hey, I need you to breathe.” You hesitantly reach out and take his hands in yours, watching him carefully to see if he tries to pull away. He doesn’t. “You’re okay. Everyone’s okay. You’re safe. Can you take a breath for me?”

He’s not fully here, you can tell, his eyes glassed over and his breath catching in his throat. You scoot closer to him, put your hands on either side of his face, blocking out the sirens and the chatter and the crowd. “Takuma,” you say. “Look at me.”

His frantic, moving stare settles on you after a long moment, and he seems to realize abruptly that he is having a panic attack. You can see the moment it clicks in his mind, that if he was twelve years old in a car crash with his father, you couldn’t be here in front of him, and now it’s up to his body to get the message across.

“Breathe,” you say again, drawing in an exaggerated breath and blowing it out slowly. “C’mon, with me. You got this.”

Takuma gasps, trying to follow your instructions as you talk him through it, counting inhales and exhales and starting over every time his breath hitches. “Doing great,” you promise. The rest of the world—the cops, a very angry Megumi pacing back and forth, Kirara speaking rapidly on the phone—might as well not exist. It’s you and Takuma and your breaths in the air between you. Nothing else matters, not right now.

All of the struggles you’ve had this week, papers and feelings and not enough sleep, feel suddenly unbelievably small.

There are things that matter in a much louder way, and this is one of them.

“Christ,” Takuma breathes out eventually, burying his head in his hands. One of the cop cars erupts with the blare of sirens momentarily before stopping again, and the sound has his shoulders tense with worry all over again.

You don’t even think about it. You just pull Takuma into you, wrapping your arms around him, like you can put the both of you in a little bubble away from everything else. “Hey, hey—”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you furiously shake your head. “Just—the sirens—“

“No,” you say firmly. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Takuma.”

He shudders and you rub your hand up and down his spine. “Is the other driver…?”

“A stupid fucking drunk driving in the wrong lane?” Kirara practically spits as she rejoins you near the tree. “Yes.” The cop just took her statement and has moved on to Megumi and Yuji.

You’ve never seen Megumi this livid. He’s gesturing wildly at the other car, and you remember idly that Naoya’s his cousin too, that this is a little personal for him.

“Yeah, but is he…?” Takuma trails off.

“He’s fine,” you murmur, your heart clenching for this boy, who’s been through so much and just relived the worst day of his life and still wanted to know if the other driver was okay. Jesus. He’s too good. “Everyone’s okay.”

You pull back to hold him at arm’s length, scanning him up and down for injury, and he’s staring at you like you just fell from the sky. “Skip—I’m really glad you’re here but—why? What are you…?” His voice is a little hoarse. His gaze trails down to the press pass hanging from your neck, and he cracks a wry smile. “Y’know, when I told you write a story on me, this isn’t really what I had in mind.”

So much relief floods you at once that you think you might actually start crying. “Jesus,” you croak out, and the smile drops from his face.

“I’m okay,” he says quickly. “Just—got the wind knocked out of me, but it’s fine. Skipper—”

You lurch forward and wrap your arms around him before he can finish, needing to feel him breathing, his heart beating. You also hear his breath hitch as he winces, and you pull back in alarm. “Shit, I’m sorry, what—”

“It’s okay,” he says. “Just sore. I’m fine. Really.” He leans back against the tree. “Airbags.”

You slump back against the tree too, deflated as the limp airbags in the ruined car. “You guys okay?” you ask as the others, done with their statements, turn toward you.

“Yeah,” Kirara says, but Megumi shakes his head and points to Yuji, who’s nodding even while cradling his wrist to his chest.

“It’s fine,” Yuji insists, and Megumi looks at him, incredibly unimpressed. “Well, it’s not broken, I can move it.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay,” Megumi says flatly. And you look at him, his expression so familiar, and abruptly realize you’re supposed to be writing a brief.

“Shit,” you mutter, pulling out your phone. “I’m working for your sister right now. I gotta…” You point to the phone. Megumi winces but nods, and Tsumiki picks up on the first ring.

“Hey! Done already? You find Yoshino okay? He said he—”

“Uh, no,” you say sheepishly. “Actually, I—uh, okay, everyone’s fine, but Megumi’s here. If I—”

“Slow down!” Tsumiki blurts. “What? Shit. Frick. Where’s Gumi? Can you put him on the phone?”

You wordlessly hand your phone to Megumi, who’s looking more pained at the concept of talking to his sister about this than the accident itself.

A few cars pull up—a white one screeching to a stop that really should not have been going so fast in front of a bunch of police officers, and then a darker gray one that arrives smoothly after, neatly pulling up against the curb. Gojo practically launches himself out of the first car, looking around until his gaze locks on Megumi, who hangs up the phone with a quiet okay, thanks and then immediately groans upon seeing Gojo there. Nanami and Shoko get out of the second car much less dramatically and trail after Gojo to the cluster of you by the tree.

“Megumi!” Gojo calls as he jogs over. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Megumi grumbles, trying and failing to brush Gojo off. “Where’d you come from? Don’t you have work?”

“Geto and Utahime are closing down,” Gojo says with a shrug. “We heard and came as fast as we could. Figured I’d bring our resident doc. Or Nanami would, since she wouldn’t ride with me,” he says loudly so Shoko can hear. She just rolls her eyes.

Megumi tosses you your phone and says, “Forget the brief, you’re good.” You nod, pushing to your feet and offering a hand to Takuma.

“We,” Gojo says, placing one hand on Megumi’s head and the other on Yuji’s, “are going to the ER.” You expect Megumi to object, but it’s Yuji who tries to wave Gojo off. Except he tries to physically wave him off with his bad wrist and immediately grimaces. Megumi swats him on the shoulder and gives him a serious look that says we’re going, don’t argue. You figure Tsumiki will probably meet them there.

Shoko stops to talk to Kirara a short distance away, and Nanami keeps walking, making a beeline for Takuma—and by extension, you. It doesn’t escape your notice that the second he’s within range, some of the tension in Takuma’s body seems to vanish, seeping out of him and into the grass, like the tree’s roots are taking it on for him.

Nanami’s usually immaculate hair is a little disheveled, like he ran his fingers through it. Without his usual glasses on, he looks a lot less daunting, a lot more personable. The worry in his expression is well concealed but very much present.

“Ino,” he says. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Takuma says unconvincingly. “Fine. Just—yeah. Drunk driver, you know…” He scratches at the back of his neck, and this time you don’t check yourself. You reach up and grab his hand, slotting your fingers between his. He shoots you a grateful look before turning back to Nanami. “I’m okay. Really. Thanks for… um…”

“Of course,” Nanami says before Takuma can say anything more. You release his hand so he can step forward. You’ve never seen Nanami hug anyone before, but apparently there’s a first time for everything.

“You’re not going with Gojo?” he asks when he pulls back, hands planted on Takuma’s shoulders. It feels very paternal. You’re not sure you should be listening in.

“Nah, I’m okay.”

“I’d feel a lot better if you got checked over,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “Would you let Shoko look at you, at least?” You’re relieved when Takuma nods, letting Shoko pull him away.

Gojo leads Yuji and Megumi past you, back to his car, and Yuji stops to whisper, “Never fear, Skip, the drum set was not in the car.”

“Oh my god,” you say. “Yuji. I’m more worried about you than the drums.”

“Aw, Skip!” he says happily. “That’s nice.” You roll your eyes but can’t keep the fond smile off your face, and you know Megumi’s probably doing the same thing, though you can only see the back of his head as he follows Gojo. Yuji bounds off after them, still cradling his wrist to his chest but seeming very unconcerned about the whole ordeal.

Yet another screech of tires alerts you to a truck appearing from the other end of the street. Hakari doesn’t even bother to shut it off, jumping out and leaving the door hanging open.

“Kira!” he shouts, pushing past the remaining officers. “Kirara!”

“Over here!” Kirara calls, thanking Shoko and weaving around the slowly diminishing crowd. Someone’s already showed up to tow Naoya’s car, and another truck probably isn’t far behind. Kirara gets swept up in Hakari’s arms, her trying to reassure him she’s fine, and you find yourself left alone with Nanami. He studies you openly, keen eyes and a calm, very slight smile on his face.

“I don’t think we’ve met, officially,” you say sheepishly. “I’m Skipper.”

“Kento,” he says, holding out a hand. You shake it and feel abruptly like you’re talking to a business executive. As Shoko looks Takuma over on the other side of the big tree, Nanami—Kento—lowers his voice a bit and says, “Ino’s told me all about you.”

The heat rises unbidden to your cheeks, and you hope the evening dimness hides it. He talks about you? To Nanami? You aren’t really sure how to respond to that, but luckily, Kento spares you the trouble. “Look out for him tonight, will you?” You can tell from the tone that he’s testing the waters, trying to determine how much you know about his dad.

Hopefully the message gets across when your gaze drifts back to Takuma over Kento’s shoulder and you say, “I plan on it.”

“He’s alright,” Shoko announces, and Takuma appears at your side again. “Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.” Something loosens in your chest at the words, something that tied itself into knots the second you saw Yuji’s car and hasn’t let up since.

“Hey,” Hakari calls, he and Kirara approaching hand in hand. “You guys good?”

Takuma nods, and you shrug. “Wasn’t in the car.”

“We’re gonna head back to Kirara’s. You want a lift?”

Takuma glances at Kento, and you feel the truth of his words that day on the roof, about Nanami being the closest thing he has to a father.

“Go home, kid,” he says. “Sleep it off. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Takuma says, like a breath of relief. He looks exhausted. But he’s here in one piece, and that’s what matters. Your fingers brush his as you walk back to Hakari’s truck. It’s a quiet ride, a short one, your board on your lap and your press pass still dangling from your neck.

“Oh, Skipper,” Hakari says when he turns onto your street. “Your house over here? Or are you coming to theirs?”

You glance at Takuma, but before either of you can say anything, Kirara says, “She’s comin’ over.” She catches your gaze in the rearview mirror with a knowing look and you manage a weak smile. You can’t imagine letting Takuma out of your sight right now, honestly.

The dogs are there the second Kirara opens the door, and Takuma practically falls into them, burying his face in their fur as they nuzzle up against him. Shiro turns to you after saying hi to the others and noses at your palm until you scratch her behind the ears.

“Hi, sweetie,” you murmur. “Good girl.”

Kirara nudges you with her shoulder as she brushes by, glancing down at Takuma and then back at you. You nod. I got him. She offers you a small smile before she and Hakari disappear around the corner.

“C’mon,” you murmur, tapping Takuma on the shoulder. He nods, pushing to his feet and patting each dog on the head one more time. You follow him upstairs, feeling a little out of your depth. After all, he’s not the one who decided you were staying.

When you’re both standing in his room, you shift on your feet a little, wondering how to word it. “If you want some space—”

“No,” he blurts, unexpectedly loud, and then his cheeks go a little red, sheepish. “I mean—uh. I could… use the company. If you don’t mind. You don’t have to stay, obviously, just—”

“Kuma.” You laugh a little, watching him freeze, glance up at you mid-ramble. “I would love to stay.”

“Oh.” He grins. “Cool. Okay. Um.” He turns around and grabs a pair of sweats and a tee from his dresser, then holds them out to you. “If you want…? Or I can ask Kirara, I’m sure she’d let you borrow something, or obviously you live right down the street or—”

Something about the idea of wearing his clothes makes you go a little warm all over, and you accept them without hesitating, cutting off his rambling. “Thanks.”

“I’m gonna…” He jerks his thumb toward the door. You don’t know if he’s just giving you the space to change or going to shower or what, but you nod, waiting until the door clicks shut behind him to tug on the sweats and shirt. The shirt is huge on you, one shoulder sliding off, a fading logo of some music festival on the front. You sit on the edge of Takuma’s bed, tucking your knees under you, and then your phone rings. Tsumiki.

“Hey,” you say, pressing it to your ear. “They’re okay?”

“Yeah, Yuji sprained his wrist but nothing else. Pretty minor, all things considered,” she reports. “They’re on their way back to the house.”

“Good,” you breathe, the relief evident in your voice. “Thanks. Do you… are you sure about the brief?”

Tsumiki chuckles. “Hey, not your job to worry about the press tonight.”

“I can still try to… write it,” you say half-heartedly, dreading the thought of it. “I mean, I saw the scene and…”

“Don’t even worry about it. Genuinely,” she says. “You and I both know that’s a conflict of interest.” You huff a weak laugh. What an understatement. “More importantly, you sound exhausted and I’m sure that whole thing stressed you out. Listen, the photog I had on it wanted to break into writing anyway. No time like the present.”

You immediately feel even worse, because your photographer was probably looking for you at the scene and you just left him hanging.

“Stop,” Tsumiki says, like she can read your mind through the phone. “He handled it well. It’s fine, Skipper. Get some rest.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, but she’s already gone. You shoot a quick text to the group chat explaining what happened, that everyone’s fine, and that you probably won’t be home tonight. Takuma doesn’t want to be alone, and honestly, you don’t know if you could leave him if you tried.

It doesn’t take long for the texts to start pouring in.

utah: let us know if any of you need anything!! maki: keep us posted and tell megumi to answer his dumb phone nobara: WHAT nobara: OH MY GOD???? nobara: well i’m glad everyone’s okay nobara: christ freak no. 1: alsjkfq qEQht

You frown at the keysmash, wondering if Toge dropped his phone or actually just doesn’t know how to communicate like a normal person.

you: ??? freak no. 1: sorry SOMEONE TOOK MY PHONE,,,, utah: because SOMEONE DOESN’T KNOW WHEN IT’S AN APPROPRIATE TIME TO SEND MEMES, TOGE maki: nvm he picked up maki: go to sleep, skipper, we can talk tomorrow

Toge texts you privately thirty seconds later. It’s the meme of Gru laying out his evil plan and then realizing it’s a horrible idea. The first frame says answer the phone, the second says get the breaking news like a baddie journalist, and the last frames say realize you know everyone at the scene of the crime. You laugh out loud. Toge knows you. He knows you needed this. He wouldn’t have sent it if he didn’t think it’d cheer you up.

A half-second later, another image comes in, but it’s just a picture of Nobara with her hands clasped together in front of her mouth, speechless and absolutely thrilled. The full image shows her swooning over a little puppy, but you long ago cropped it and started using it as a reaction image in your chats.

freak no. 1: me when ur okay :)

“Aw,” you murmur. Toge can be sweet sometimes. You start texting back, but then another message comes in and you backspace immediately.

freak no. 1: me when ur spending the night with your boyfie :) you: i was gonna say thanks but then you kept going freak no. 1: me when she texts back :) you: goodnIGHT TOGE freak no. 1: me when she goodnight texts :)

Takuma knocks softly on the door before cracking it open, waiting for you to give him the green light before coming in. He’s changed into his own pair of sweats, and his hair is ruffled and wild around his face. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You toss your phone on the bedside table and scoot over to make room. “You okay?”

He sits cross-legged on the bed, and you turn to face him. “Think so,” he says. “Just… felt like I was back there for a minute.” His eyes go distant just for a moment, and your heart twists in your chest. You scoot forward, knees bumping against his.

“Glad you’re okay,” you murmur, and it doesn’t feel like enough, but he gives you that soft, open look that makes you feel like you could say anything at all and he’d treasure it.

“Glad it was you and not some rando reporter.”

You grin, holding a fist out to Takuma like it’s a microphone. “How do you rate Skipper’s hug on a scale of one to ten?”

He leans forward, playing along. “Uh, you know, it was so long ago I might not have a really accurate rating. I would have to probably hug her again—”

You don’t let him finish, surging forward and wrapping your arms around him, tackling him down onto the bed in a fit of laughter. Caught off-guard, he has no defense, and after a startled moment his arms snake around your waist, and you lie there, looking at each other with barely-restrained grins.

“Well, that one was pretty good,” he murmurs. “Nine, I think.”

You gape at him. “Nine?”

Another smile dances across his lips, and you suddenly really want to kiss him.

“Guess you’ll just have to keep trying.” He shrugs innocently, and then tries and fails to stifle a yawn, which makes you yawn in turn. It’s late, night having draped itself over the city hours ago, and the effects of barely snatching hours of sleep all week are finally creeping up on you, weighing you down.

“Go to sleep,” you tell Takuma, grabbing a blanket from where it’s been wedged between the bed and the wall and shoving it toward him.

“You go to sleep.”

“Bossy.”

But he shakes the blanket out and lets it fall over both of you, trapping your warmth beneath it, and sleep feels very, very appealing.

You think about the paralyzing, all-consuming fear that took hold of you when you saw the car. The thought of anything happening to him—you actually can’t even fathom it. And you think about what that means, and that you’ve only known this boy for a month, but you feel like your heart beats on the same channel as his.

Geto’s words play themselves over and over in your head, Maki’s mixing themselves in until you have a chorus of phrases bouncing around like pinballs.

Your heart is not a finite thing.

You already know.

The question isn’t if he likes you, or if you like him. It’s whether you’re gonna let it play out or shut it down before it has a chance to.

If you’ve got something, love it while you have it.

Geto was right. You don’t know how long you’ll have this for, have him for. But you better make the most of it while you do.

But Takuma’s eyes are already closing, his arm slung over your waist, seeking your warmth, your comfort. He looks exhausted, shaken. These aren’t conversations for tonight. Tonight, you just hold him, and feel his breath against your neck, and revel in the fact that he’s okay.

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jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32 @gojodickbig @stargazing-with-choso @anonymity-222

a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, TEAM. i've fallen into another anime hyperfixation (blue lock) and it's killing me slowly. one part left of this fic !!

[clatterbane]

Jane's Addiction - Ain't No Right (Official Video)

[fuckyeahviagraboys]

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[pariahfox]

Hole - Credit In The Straight World (Live at The Metro, Chicago 1994)

I actually caught one date on this tour. Right up front crushed against the barrier, and that was the roughest goddamn pit I have ever been in. Which is saying something. And in a relatively small venue, at that. Lost all respect for one previously friendly acquaintance over some of his behavior in the pit that time.

But, it was quite a show. Nobody on stage was acting particularly wasted (so performing better) for that one.

[ssivinee]

✧Original Visual✧

Irene x Aespa! 96’ liner! F reader:  In the industry, beautiful idols aren’t uncommon. Your beauty was on the next level, all the 4th gen knew. But what if a certain 3rd-generation original visual begins to notice you due to a V-live you did?

Word Count: 1.4k

Note: Simple fic since I may not be able to write much today🥲

Character Vision Board

Choi Y/n, the oldest member of Aespa, was known for many things. Her dance skills, rap skills, composing, and even music production. She’s even the older sister of TXT member Choi Yeonjun.

But if you were to ask the K-pop community and idol industry what she was known for, it was her visuals. Y/n had a powerful gaze, sharp jawline, plump lips, and currently, oxford blue hair that cascaded down her back, ending right above her hips.

One dull day, Karina and Y/n were in SM’s dance studio. It was their day off, and despite being happy about that, the two members didn’t know what to do with their day, so they just decided to go to the company building and chill there.

The two girls wore similar outfits: grey sweats, a basic cropped hoodie, and sneakers. They lay on the black couch, just staring at the ceiling.

"Unnie~, I’m bored~"

"Jimin-ah... so am I."

The two looked at each other as Karina laid her head on Y/n’s lap, trying to figure out how to make time go by faster.

“Wait, what if we do a live?” Karina jumps into action, going to get the company phone, “you finally came up with an idea after so long.”

“You could’ve thought of it yourself!” Y/n chuckles as the girl sticks her tongue out, returning with another phone.

They take a tripod phone stand, attach it, and begin the V-live. After waiting a few minutes for MY to join, they finally had about 5k viewers, so they decided to start.

“Hello, guys,” Y/n stares at the chat while her and Karina wave.

“AESPA’S VISUAL LINE?”

“What did we do to deserve your guy’s grace today?”

“Y/n and Karina’s duo is something I didn’t know I needed.”

“Clap twice if you wanna leave SM.”

Y/n laughed at the several comments she saw, especially the English ones. “You guys know how to make me laugh.”

“We were bored, so we just decided to go on V-live to talk to you guys,” the younger stated, and spam of hearts came from the chat. The two keep reading and begin to read some questions.

“What song are you guys obsessed with at the moment?”

“Spicy by Aespa,” Karina said, making Y/n look at her like she was crazy, “Okay, self-promo.”

“Unnie, that’s how it should be. We’re idols, man,” Y/n laughs at Karina’s statement, hitting her lightly as it was a habit when she found things funny. “Anyways, for me, it would probably have to be Unforgiven & Fire in the Belly by Le Sserafim. They killed it on their album.” Karina nods in agreement.

“Dance Unforgiven? Guys, I haven’t learned the choreography.”

“She’s lying~ She knows it from TikTok,” Karina exposes her in a tattle-tale tone. “Wha~, no way you outed me like that,” the younger shrugs, followed by a giggle. “Do it, unnie.”

“Fine,” Y/n gets up to go to the computer. She ensured everything was connected before playing a few seconds before the chorus. “You guys ready for unnie to slay?” Karina says, and Y/n begins to dance the chorus. Effortlessly, she jumps with a bunny-like hand, then turns her fingers into horns and repeats, doing the same steps.

Once she finishes, the leader goes, “See, I told you she’s a liar. She knew the dance.” Y/n sits back down next to her, slapping Karina’s shoulder, which causes the girl to act like it hurts.

The live went on for 3 hours, and a lot happened. The girls talked, danced, and even sang songs. Now fans had a compilation of them dancing to ‘Kick It’ by NCT 127, ‘Wannabe’ by ITZY, ‘Hype Boy’ by New Jeans, ‘Hey Mama’ by the SWF dance challenge, and more.

Nearing the end, they decided to take one final request, “Psycho by Red Velvet sunbaenim?” When Karina read the comment, Y/n rushed to the computer and played the instrumental version. “Wait, we’re singing to it as well?”

“Yes! I love this song way too much to not sing it.”

The two got in place, and once the song began, Karina focused on dancing while Y/n did the adlibs perfectly. Comments start to go wild over her voice.

“Y/n drank the SM water again.”

“Ain’t no way she hitting Wendy’s notes????”

“Sub-vocal of Aespa, everyone!”

Y/n joins in on the dance now, and the two begin switching lines back and forth, creating a live vocal performance of the song. The second verse begins to hit, Y/n gets hyped and raps, “Hey trouble 경따윈 없이 오는 너, I’m original visual, 우린 원래 이랬어 yeah.” Karina joins her in singing the iconic one-liner. Then the comments go crazy again.

“4TH GEN ORIGINAL VISUALS YUH.”

“Wha~ the rap suits her.”

“I need a collab with Aespa’s visual line and Irene.”

As the song ends, the two are out of breath and fall to the ground. The echoing dance studio now echoed with their heavy breathing, “Sorry guys, we went a bit overboard,” Y/n tells them as the two drink their waters.

“No, you didn’t. It was amazing!”

“I need a live stage version stat.”

“Joohyun-ssi would be proud.”

“I think that’s it for us, you guys. We’ll do a V-live soon with the other members,” Karina tells the chat, and as fans spammed bye, she ended the stream.

“I’m pooped, man.”

“Same.”

The two get up and prepare to head back to their dorms. Once in the van, Y/n stays on her phone while Karina takes a quick nap. She then gets a notification from Instagram, which she questions. That would only mean an idol was texting her, but it would mean they’re an idol she never spoke to before since they didn’t message her regularly.

Looking at her DMs, shocked was an understatement. The Bae Joohyun had texted her, and once she opened the chat, she wanted to throw her phone out of the car.

Irene texted, ‘Wow, Y/n-ssi, you're a beautiful dancer. Thank you for rapping my lines and doing justice to our song.’

...

BEAUTIFUL DANCER?!

Y/n and the Aespa members were reasonably close to certain SM idols, mainly female idols, due to Y/n, Karina, and Winter being in Got The Beat. One specific idol she never got the chance to interact with was the one who was texting her right now.

‘It’s an honor, sunbaenim. I’m glad it got your approval,’ Y/n sends. She was frantic, not knowing what to say, ‘An honor? Your sound so corny, c’mon.’ Before she could even unsend the message, texting bubbles began to pop up.

Oh dear, she saw it. ‘Y/n-ah. No need to be so formal. Just call me Joohyun-unnie.’

If you thought this couldn’t make it any worse for Y/n, it did. She freaks out and has to do breathing exercises to calm herself down.

‘Okay, unnie! May I ask how you knew about the cover?’

‘Ah, the clips circulated very fast, lol.’

Y/n smiled to herself. She was texting someone she thought was untouchable in the industry. The car stops, and she notices they’re in front of their dorm. “Jimin-ah, wake up, we’re here,” she wakes the younger in a delicate tone.

At another dorm, the older woman lay in bed watching the Psycho cover multiple times. “Unnie, do you have my sweater? The red one?” Irene heard Seulgi’s voice.

“Yeah, it’s in here on my chair!” She hears the dancer’s footsteps, and as Seulgi enters the room, she hears the Psycho clip, catching her attention as well.

“What are you watching?” The younger lay on her paid, peaking at her phone to see the familiar girls. “Y/n and Jimin did a cover of Psycho, even singing to it,” Irene shows her the phone, and Seulgi smiles at the two girls.

“I’m not surprised. They’ve always been excellent,” she stands up and takes her sweater. “That reminds me to text them soon.”

Irene says, “You think I can have Y/n’s number?” Seulgi looks at her leader with suspicious eyes.

“Sure,” Seulgi sends your number to Irene, but before she leaves, she asks the latter, “Can I ask why?”

“I just want to get to know her. Is that so bad?” Irene says as she adds your number to her contacts and in a sarcastic tone, “Right, that’s the reason, unnie.”

Irene rolled her eyes as Seulgi left. She wasn’t lying when she said she wanted to get to know you, but Seulgi knew her unnie too well to know that that wasn’t the only reason. Irene thought you were gorgeous, sexy, and very charismatic.

She’d never admit that to her members, though. Maybe she would after she and Y/n establish a bond.

[sirhamburrger]

CHAPTER ONE: technical checks

basket case - h. chigiri x f!reader (band!au) || divider by @roseraris wc (written portion): 352 || tags/cw: stress-induced breakdown, denial of negative emotions, sentiments of being 'a burden' to others, just really really angsty (this hit me right in the feels, and i wrote it) introducing manshine! (please read this first) || introducing x-gen! || next chap

stumbling past security with chigiri, she holds her access pass high up for personnel to see. chris is still talking with reo, and she internally curses ego with all her might. she plasters an apologetic smile on her face, setting her things down backstage.

"great, we're all here now." chris' smile fades slightly; he knows he's going to have to deliver some unpleasant news. "data collected from your first ever show indicates promising results. turnout was on par with x-gen and the ubers. however, crowd satisfaction wasn't great." he stops then, looking each member in the eye. "what do you think we could do to change that?"

she knows it's only his job to be asking these questions, to help them do better, but she can't help but resent him for it. so she says what he wants to hear - what ego and anri want to hear.

"we can switch out some of the songs on the setlist for more appropriate ones," she says lamely. "ones that might appeal more to our western audience."

chris nods quickly. clearly he doesn't want to make this harder than it has to be. some of the earlier resentment fades.

after all, this is how it has to be.

reo stands a little closer to her, his elbow brushing against hers. it's like a reminder of their solidarity as a group. but solidarity never solved problems like the way her eyelids grow heavy after hours of staring at music notation and the continuous effort to stay on tempo. it never solved problems like the blisters on her hands after rehearsal finally concludes, or the persistent ache in her shoulders and arms and back and everywhere else.

and it certainly never solved the way she leans against the cold tiled wall of the hotel bathroom, sliding down until she's sitting on the floor. the floor upon which she hugs her knees close to her chest, and cries silently for half an hour.

she lies to reo afterwards about how she's doing. it's the least she can do, after all, to not burden them with her trivial feelings.

a/n: i just had to have oliver's character be meaningful in this series >:) how could i not? bastard munchen's band name in this au is actually b-stards but manshine and everyone else literally doesn't give a single crap LMAO

taglist: @narcjsistx, @nyxlai, @n0ah-hal00 (open, comment on any post in the series to be added)

bllk masterlist || general masterlist

© sirhamburrger 2024

[m00nc4kes]

Call Me?

hobie brown x black! reader

words: 1.4k

rating: gen

summary: You find an old note with a number written on it.

warnings: none :). reader is gender neutral and black (even if its not mentioned)

You held the small piece of paper in your hand as your eyes traced a string of numbers you’d long forgotten about. You had come across the note by a complete stroke of luck, or perhaps misfortune from how your heart had yet to resume beating.

Unpacking boxes in your new apartment had been a long and grueling process that made you determined to not stop and reminisce. Even so, your box of high school memorabilia enticed you, making you grab your boxcutter and glide the blade along the taped edges. Ironically, you had triple-taped the box shut to prevent yourself from getting distracted. Alas, it couldn’t be helped.

You flipped through your old yearbook, taking in faces you hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. You knew that some people in your class never had the chance to have their picture in the book due to missed deadlines or having an inability to sit still and smile at the camera (a vague voice reminded you in the back of your mind). 

You continued to take things out of the box like old assignments, flyers, and notebooks. What you hadn’t expected was a piece of paper to slip out of your previously cherished music notebook. When you picked up the note, your heart hit a wall and you swore you would never recover.

You reread the messy ink that was scrawled onto the paper:

Call me? ;)

(XXX) XXX-XXXX

-Hobie

Hobie.

Flashes of a boy with a lopsided grin entered your mind. You don’t know how you could’ve forgotten about the boy who captured your heart by sliding a simple note to you. Years spent together roaming the same crowded halls, sneaking into concerts, and making music together all started with that note. This note. 

No, you were sure you never completely forgot about him. Your first love would always linger in the bright part of your subconscious. It was just that— life moved on. 

Yet, you held memories of that boy close to your soul as painful as it was to remember them. So in reality, you knew you never forgot about him, you simply avoided thinking about him until it became second nature. Until you couldn’t deny his existence with concrete proof— with the note in your hand. 

You would never forget how you two had bonded through a common love and appreciation for music. He was your first in so many areas and was someone you had commonly thanked the stars for.

Hobie. Hobie Brown.

He made you feel alive after your mother’s sudden death and your father’s sudden emotional reservation. You couldn’t possibly remember being a teenager without remembering Hobie.

Nights spent sneaking on the landline and typing in the number you had known by heart to talk to your boyfriend. Oh, how your father despised catching you twirling your finger along the phone cord in the late hours of the night. He would always say that his child didn’t need to be hanging around some punk teen who had no direction in life. Though, there was nothing he could do. You loved Hobie.

So when your dad suddenly dropped the news that you two would be leaving the city to be with family on the opposite side of the country, you lost your mind. But all your screams and cries and pleads didn’t do anything to stop it. 

Hobie would stay in the city with hopes of making it big, while you would finish your last year of high school in a random town no one’s ever heard of. So, you made the reckless decision to cut your relationship off.

You were seventeen and doomed to believe that your world was ending and you didn’t want to drag Hobie down with you.

You remembered that last day, how could you ever forget? Watching Hobie’s heartbroken face as your dad drove you two away, never to be heard from again.

It was a lifetime ago. You supposed, that was the end of it. An end to a chapter, never to be opened or read again.

Yet, here you were, nearly 8 years later, with this note. With this number. 

Before you could stop yourself, your eyes flicked over to your phone across the room. It was sat on top of a box labeled: bedroom. What were the odds that Hobie kept the same number? He never had a landline and kept his flip phone tucked in his front pocket. What were the odds?

You stared at the paper again then back at your phone. What were the odds? You slowly shifted toward it but stopped yourself. An image of Hobie’s crestfallen expression entered your mind. Guilt threatened to take hold of you but you stopped it with a heavy exhale. 

“What am I doing?” you muttered. You were supposed to be unpacking, not going back down memory lane. It was why you had taped up that godforsaken box in the first place.

You slowly reached for the music notebook and slid the note back into its place, then put the entire thing in the box. With a sudden resolve, you put the box into the closet and shut it behind you.

You walked across the room to your stack of boxes and moved your phone to your bed. You decided to start with the “bedroom” box and peeled off the tape. It came off easily and you tossed it aside, just like how you had tossed aside your dreams of making music with Hobie.

You paused. You could feel your brows furrow at the jab you made at yourself. 

You hadn’t tossed aside any dream, you thought indignantly as you pulled out the items inside the box with a little more force than necessary. You just made reasonable dreams. Like getting a degree to show teenagers how to pursue their love for music.

You grew up and after all this time, you were sure Hobie did too. Who knew where life took him? You surely didn’t know.

You tried to chew on that but you didn’t like the taste. You set your picture frame down and stared at your phone for a long moment. The air stilled and your heart slowly picked up its pace as a thought struck you.

…one call wouldn’t hurt, right?

Your fingers curled around your phone as you tried to will your heart to stop racing. You would only do it once, you told yourself as you found your legs leading you to your closet. Only one time, you reminded yourself when you found the notebook again. You flipped open your phone as you held the note in your hand and typed the number in.

Your thumb hovered over the call button.

“Just once,” you told yourself.

With a solidified resolve, you pressed the button. Your heart made thunder in your chest as the phone began to ring.

And ring.

And ring.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat as the phone continued to ring. When the phone finally clicked, you were prepared to greet the voicemail on the other side.

Instead, you received a deep, “Hello?”

And by god, your heart completely surrendered itself to whatever being lied above. Your mind went haywire as you tried to remember the language that you had spoken your entire life. All you could do was fumble out a: “Hi.” 

You cringed at the random emphasis you put on the two letter word. Perhaps you had said it too loud or said it wrong because it didn’t feel right coming from your nervous tongue.

“Hi,” he said again, mimicking your tone. 

This— this had to be Hobie. Was this Hobie? You should just ask— “Is… is this Hobie? Hobie Brown?”

There was a vague hum on the other side. “Who’s askin’?”

A shaky exhale left your nose as you placed the phone between your ear and your shoulder to wipe your sweaty hands. “This is… um. This is (Y/N).” The silence that came after made you spiral.

Should you give him your last name? What if he didn’t remember you? What if this wasn’t Hobie and you were bothering some random man with the same number—

“(Y/N)?” You couldn’t read his tone. “From secondary?”

You suddenly felt emboldened as you remembered an age-old debate. “From high school. Yes, that’s me.” 

“High school?” he echoed to himself. Then a loud cackle burst through your speaker. “Oh my days?! (Y/N)? That is you— with your random ways of sayin’ things.” 

For once, your heart didn’t betray you and you could finally breathe. You couldn’t stop the smile that split across your face. Life moved on, but you swore you were a teenager again, twirling that cord around your finger.

“You got a lot of nerve calling me random, Hobart.”

The laughter you two shared would echo long into the dark hours of the night.

hi hi hiiiiii

hope you enjoyed ;)) i literally wrote this at work omg

[oliveisme533]

He will always come back for me

Din x F!reader

Warnings: angst. torture and abuse from imps. Misogynistic behavior

Summery: You had been employed by the Mandalorian for about a year before being captured by imperial troopers. They had wanted you for your knowledge of engineering, but once word got around to Moff Gideon that you had knowledge of the child, you were taken for questioning.

Questioning was a generous word… they tortured you for information about the child’s whereabouts and his Beskar protector. During long days in your imperial cell you recalled happy memories you’d made with your boys.

Grogu says his first word

“Din!” You shout from the hull. Din jumps down from the cockpit not bothering with any of the rungs on the latter. His boots hit the floor “what? Are you okay?”By the sound of your voice he assumed something was wrong. You look up at him from the floor where you were squatted down, playing with the child. “Grogu just said his first word.” You say with wide eyes. Din kneels down to his son’s level “okay let’s here it” Grogu looks back at you for assurance and then squawks the word “Din” you look over at Din with teary eyes “seeeee” Din chuckles. He’s always loved getting to see that tender side of you. He considers it a privilege after you spent so much of your life putting up walls just to survive. Din rubs his child’s head “good work buddy” and then climbs back up to the cockpit.

A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as you recall the memory. It’s short lived. A guard bangs on the bars. “ it’s dinner time, brat” a nickname you’ve earned after punching one of the guards in the throat for letting his hand slide a bit too low when guiding you back to your cell. And you’d do it again. You silently rise and exit your cell as the guard follows you to the cafeteria. He doesn’t try and touch you. You know Din would be proud of you. He had spent many hours teaching you to fight. It was too painful to think of him anymore. You missed him so much. Din was the closest friend you’d ever had in this fucked up life, a fact you reminded yourself of when that little nagging voice in the back of your mind whispered you know you love him as more than a friend. No, you’d argue back with yourself, this is just a side effect of being imprisoned. All my feelings are simply magnified. It’s not that I long for him because I love him, I long for him because I long for freedom…and I miss the old life he represents.

You picked around at your dinner. It looked nasty but you knew you needed to keep your strength up. You had already lost too much weight, you could see it in your hips. You forced the food down before you were marched back to your cell for the night. How long had it been? You stopped keeping track after 3 months. Maybe 5 months? 6? It was hard to tell. You let your eyes close knowing tomorrow would be just as miserable as today. You tried to conjure up a happy memory that you hoped would seep into your dreams. A memory you held particularly close to your heart popped into your head…

Din teaches you to dance

“I don’t understand what this has to do with fighting” you complained as you followed din down the ramp. He was taking a break from jobs and decided to lay low on a quiet planet where you and Grogu could stretch your legs for a bit. On breaks like this he always took advantage of the open space to train you more. “Because. It has to do with coordination. This is how I learned to fight.” You looked Din up and down, somehow you couldn’t picture him dancing, yet you understand the shared skill that coordination held between fighting and dancing. You signed “okay but I’m not much of a dancer.” You set Grogu down and took Din’s outstretched hand. “That’s why I’m teaching you” Din had brought his portable radio and turned it to a station with slow music. “Relax” he chuckled. “Do you not trust me?” You trusted him with your life. “I think you’re the only person I’ve ever trusted actually.” He caressed your hand gently with his thumb, understanding exactly how that felt. You felt heat rise in your chest “okay…let’s get on with this” you could have been imagining it, but you could have sworn that Din was extra attentive to you that afternoon, after you had made the comment about having only trusted one person. Later that evening, the three of you lay out under the stars. Grogu had tucked himself under his Dads arm and was now snorting softly. “I’ve never had someone quite like you before.” Din whispered. You turned your head to face him “how do you mean?” There was a beat of silence before he answered “such a close friend.” Your chest filled with warmth “yeah me neither” you reached out and squeezed his hand and Din squeezed it back.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart!” Every day they took you to a location where you did engineering work. They had mostly given up on torturing you for answers about the kid, they figured if you were this loyal to the Mandalorian they might as well keep you as bait. Your night in shining armor would likely come try and bust you out, or at least that’s what they were holding out for…it had been months though. It’s not like you wanted Din to risk his heck for you. You wondered if he still cared about you.

Your work was a good distraction. Today’s job was relatively easy and you were able to let your mind drift far away from your monotonous task. You decide to revisit the memory you had been thinking of last night, the one where Din taught you to dance.

“Alright, nice and slow. I step forward and you step …back. Perfect just like that. Watch my feet and mirror what they do. Good. Now try and do it without looking.” “Din that’s impos- “Don’t be so stubborn…just look at me.” And you did. In that moment you had never wanted to see his face more. How was he looking at you? You wanted so badly to know. “Okay. Hand placement.” Din continued. He gently put one hand on your waist and took your free hand in his. “You’re going to have to get a little close for this to work.” Din’s arm was almost fully outstretched to reach your waist. “Come hereeeeeee. I’m not going to hurt you.” He said as he pulled you to himself. You laughed nervously. It wasn’t like this was your first time being this close to him. You lived in a ship for goodness sakes. Quarters were cramped and it wasn’t uncommon that the two of you worked side by side, squished together trying to fix some electrical problem on the crest. You found dancing with him started to come incredibly naturally, like the two of you had done this ever night for years. “Yes, yes that’s so good!” You felt sheepish under his flattery.

“Hey 1187, get back to work!” You hadn’t even noticed it, but in your dreaming you had entirely stalled your work and had been simply staring into space. For the remainder of the day you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. That evening you overheard some of the guards saying Moff Gideon had arrived on base. Why the hell was he here? Overseeing the prison is a little below his pay grade. Then you heard them say “yeah he wants to question the girl himself.” Oh fuck …sounds like he was here for you. After dinner you weren’t led back to your cell, you were led into a dark room and handcuffed to a table. Moff entered the room. You stared him down, refusing to appear weak. “Are you enjoying your stay?” You spat “oh dear, I take that as a no. They told me you were a little brat. I will make this very simple for you…tell us any information you have on the Mandalorian and the child he is in procession of, or die a most painful death.” You smirked. “What good am I to you dead?” “You’re no good to use any longer, you have injured countless of my guards, you’re a self righteous brat, and you have proven your silence on this notion. You are becoming a hindrance to me.” “Kill me if you like, but you can kiss goodbye your plan to use me as bait for Mando to come rescue me.” “Oh I think we both know that ship has sailed. Your Mandalorian likely has a new little whore at this point…I doubt he’s coming back for you.” You breath quickened. You knew Moff was trying to break you down, and his words were starting to strike very close to the insecurities already dwelling in the back of your mind. “Go to hell. I’m not telling you shit.” Moff signaled to one of the guards who used his rod to electrify you. You screamed as the pain ripped through your body. “Let’s try again.” He said in an eerily calm voice. He calmly removed one of his black leather gloves and then without warning smacked you across the face. “Tell me where he is. I don’t think you understand how important the child is to me, but I will make you understand.” You kept your gaze fixed on him but said nothing. “Right well I have other matters to attend to. I will check back in with you in a couple hours to see if you’ve had a change of heart.” With that he moved to exit the interrogation room. “Take her back to her cell and put her in the restraints.”

Back in your cell they had you chained to three wall. You found it hard not to feel defeated. You refused to let that emotion take up any space in your body, but tonight felt different. You were tired, you were ready to give in and silently accept death with your head hanging low. You could feel yourself drifting in and out of consciousness. You were pretty sure they had drugged you, before putting you in the restraints. Your head hung low to your chest and you felt as though you could almost fall asleep when all the lights turned red and sirens blared in the hall. Your head jerked up. “Are we being attacked?” You wondered to yourself. You heard shooting and other sounds of a struggle, and then silence. Two men rounded the corner. One man was bald and had a slight beard, the other …the other was your Mandalorian! You could have cried. Din saw you almost immediately. “Here!” He and the other man rushed towards your cell. The bald man used his comlink “Dune, do you copy? Open cell 1187” the door swung open moments later. You were at a loss for words. Din knelt down and began to work at your restraints while the other man kept watch. “Hey, we’re going to get you out of here okay.” He said softly. All you could do was nod. Tears threatened to spill over. Din worked quickly “Mayfield how we doing?” He called over his shoulder. “Fine for now, but pick it up.” The last restraint fell to the floor “okay can you run?” Din stood up and held out his hand to you. “I think so.” Mayfield used the comlink again. “Alright Dune we’re headed your way. Need you to be ready to jump to hyperspace the second we get back to the crest.” “Copy that” a woman’s voice responded.

The dash to escape the prison was a blur. You weren’t sure if it was the drugs, the chemicals in your brain or both, but before you knew it you were sitting in the hull of the razor crest panting. “Alright get us the fuck out of here!” Mayfield called. Din quickly scaled the ladder and in moments you were in hyperspace. The last thing you remember is Din calling your name before you hit the cold, metal floor.

Pt 2 is coming 😍