#in march last year and i know im so close to being far enough in to upload something but i keep not going back to it

[adhdvane]

wanting to write something so i make an au for it to be possible, and plan all that shit out, but then when i go to write the fic for it my brain shuts off and all i want to write is stuff that happens post set up that will make zero sense to anyone but me bc so much context is gone

[wondernimbus]

everything you didn’t say — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

summary: reader has secrets of her own. a party at the malfoy manor reveals them.

a/n: i had to rewrite this bc im dumb n my first draft didn't save which was Very upsetting but anyways i hope you like it :'') 

“Well, don’t you look dashing.”

Draco’s eyes snap up in the mirror.

[Y/N] is standing in his doorway, having somehow opened the door without him noticing. She has one shoulder leaning on the doorframe, arms folded over her chest, eyebrows raised. There is a glint in her eye that Draco knows all too well; that of playfulness, of fondness. One he has long since associated with safety.

He breathes out a short laugh. “How long have you been standing there?” Draco asks, ringed fingers deftly resuming to work on his tie, but he isn’t having much success. He feels far too jittery, and as a result he keeps accidentally knotting it, only to unwind the silk and try again, over and over like some messed up routine.

Watching her through the mirror’s reflection, he sees [Y/N] step into the room. She’s wearing a plain black dress; lace sleeves, collarbones in display, the silver necklace he’d given her hanging around her neck.

“Long enough to find out that you’re a grown seventeen year old who doesn’t know how to tie his own tie.”

Draco still has it in him to roll his eyes, to let out a short-lived laugh. “I do,” he mutters, yanking a little at the fabric in frustration. “It’s just..”

[Y/N] swiftly pads across his room to join him at the dresser, a tiny grin playing across her lips. Standing in front of him, she gently knocks his hands away so as to work on his tie herself.

“Nerves?” she says quietly. The grin on her lips falls slightly as she fixes her gaze on his tie, hands quickly working to loop the loose ends together.

Draco inhales sharply. His palms are clammy, his heart is beating too fast inside of his chest—to say that he’s dealing with nerves would be an understatement.

”You could say that,” he decides, curling and uncurling his fists at his sides. When she looks up to meet his gaze, he tries for a weak smile, if only to quell the storm inside his heart.

”It’ll be fine,” [Y/N] tells him with a pursed smile. She’s done tying his tie. Her hands move to rest on his shoulders, which are covered with his suit jacket. His mother had insisted he wear it, just as her own mother had no doubt insisted [Y/N] wear her dress; it is somewhat of a special occasion, after all, although what they are celebrating is hardly something that neither draco nor [Y/N] feel too ecstatic about it.

”There’ll be drinks,” continues [Y/N] with a lilting tone, thumbs smoothing over the creases of his suit. “And..”

She trails off. There isn’t really much to say.

”Dancing?” Draco suggests half-heartedly.

There is one brief second in which their eyes meet, and both of their lips are already beginning to quirk up at the corners, and then the next they are both breaking out into laughter. And it’s not the kind that hurts your stomach or has you pounding your fists on the ground, but it’s laughter nonetheless—a little rigid, a little heavy-hearted, but it’s just as relieving.

[Y/N]’s shoulders wrack with subtle giggles. “Yeah,” she agrees, nodding. “And I suspect Greyback will be giving a motivational speech.”

Draco feels his lips tug up into a crooked grin. “Hear my aunt might skip out on the party. She’s got knitting to do, you see.”

Both of them let themselves paint a picture inside their head: the infamous, untamed Bellatrix, sitting in a quiet corner with a quilt in her lap, humming a little tune to herself.

[Y/N] throws her head back in a loud laugh, and this time it’s not quite as tense. Draco watches her, laughing quietly on his own, and suddenly his heart doesn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

He watches as the last of her giggles dissipate, and she is smiling down at her shoes again, and then back up at him.

“We’ll be okay,” she tells him softly, once more reaching out, but not to tie his tie or to smoothen out the creased fabric of his suit, but to card her fingers through his hair the way she knows relaxes him.

Staring down at her—holding her gaze, which is warm and comforting and reminiscent of simpler times, like when she would sneak into his bed at Hogwarts and they would whisper and laugh quietly into the night, taking care not to wake up any of his roommates—Draco allows himself to breathe. To feel like himself again; a boy in love and nothing more.

”Yeah,” he says, closing his eyes, leaning forward to lean his forehead on hers. “Yeah, we will.”

—

Gatherings at the Malfoy Manor were usually a grand event; peacocks would mill about the lawn, some wandering past the large castle doors and into the drawing room, where the guests would stroke their feathers in admiration with one hand and hold a glass of the finest mulled wine in the other as they spoke among themselves, laughing and boasting offhandedly about the ancient living room set they'd imported from France or their children's future careers. Sometimes one would have enough courage to bring up the notion of arranged marriages, only for Narcissa Malfoy to turn them down and say that Draco would choose for himself when the time came, veering the conversation away towards things like ministry connections.

Parties happened often back then—not as much to celebrate as to fill up the overly large halls of the manor with pointless chatter—but things have changed. It’s been a while since the Malfoys last opened their doors to guests.

Does this count as a party? Draco wonders to himself, watching Death Eaters filter into the drawing room, some wearing sickening grins and others looking dead inside.

There are no more wandering peacocks. No more music, no more friendly guests eager to wed their children into the Malfoy family. There are only murderers. Death Eaters. There is laughter, but the kind that has Draco feeling uneasy.

Things have changed. Draco wonders if it's for the better.

He knows he and [Y/N] can't hide here forever—at the edge of the shadowed banister overlooking the entrance hall—but they stay there for as long as they can, until his grim-looking mother comes up the staircase and beckons for them to join the party.

Party. Ha.

So Draco and [Y/N] trail after Narcissa, who leads them into the drawing room, where most of the Death Eaters have gathered. No peacocks, no music, but there is wine, and almost everyone is clutching a glass of it.

He feels [Y/N]'s fingers graze against his. Looking over at her, she sees him staring placidly in front of her, meeting no one's gaze, but she seems to feel his eyes on her—so she turns her head to the side, and Draco sees her facade slip away for the smallest of split seconds as the look on her face softens and she gives him this small, reassuring smile.

He can almost hear her voice inside his head: we'll be okay.

Draco swallows. Nods just a fraction of an inch.

People clap him on the back as he passes, congratulating him and [Y/N] for a job well done at fixing the Vanishing Cabinet. Draco nods mutely and lets [Y/N] do the talking—she has always been better at keeping her composure, masking her true thoughts.

"Could never have imagined it," cackles Alecto Carrow, marching up to them in the middle of the large room. Her cheeks are already tinged pink with intoxication, voice a higher pitch than usual. "Most I expected from you lot was.. well, nothing, really. Doubted you could even fix a dresser, much less a whole bloody cabinet!" she shrieks with laughter, some of the wine from her glass spilling onto the floor.

[Y/N]'s gaze is stony. "Thank you."

Alecto’s nose wrinkles, her chortles dying down. "Thank you?" she repeats. "S'that all you have to say?"

For a brief, horrifying moment, Draco almost thinks [Y/N] is going to bite back with a sarcastic remark—but things have changed and there is a mark on her arm now, so instead she says, flatly, "It wasn’t an easy feat." A slight pause. "We’re just as surprised as you."

Alecto grins. She seems satisfied. "Well, 'course it wasn't an easy feat, or at least for you." She takes a big swig out of her glass. "Could’ve done it myself in ten minutes, isn't that right, Amycus?"

Her brother Amycus snickers but doesn't reply. Draco knows it's because he doubts Alecto's claims just as much as they do; she doesn't seem capable of writing even a bloody paragraph on her own.

"Well," says [Y/N]. "We appreciate your.. praise."

Draco almost snorts. It’s uncharacteristic of her to be so formal, and most of all to take the high road when being insulted. He knows that if things were different, if their lives weren't on the line, she wouldn't be standing here at Draco's side—no, her wand would be at Alecto's throat.

But that little bit of humor quickly fades when Draco finds Amycus staring at [Y/N], uncouth eyes roaming from her lips to her exposed collarbones, the skin hiding just underneath the lace of her sleeves, the dress hugging her figure—

Draco feels anger flare up, hot and heavy inside of his chest. Unconsciously, he finds himself stepping forward, urged on by that unpleasant feeling worming its way into his stomach, curling his hands into fists, tinging the tips of his ears red as his fingers edge closer to the wand inside his pocket.

¨What are you looking at, boy?¨ Amycus sneers, meeting his gaze.

Draco thinks, at that moment, that magic would hardly be fit to put this ugly brute of a man in his place—no, he´d much rather use his fists, pummel them into that crooked nose of his until he kneels at [Y/N]’s feet and begs for her forgiveness, because no one should look at her like that—

[Y/N] is whispering something, but he can´t hear it through the blood rushing in his ears.

But all of a sudden, Amycus’s gaze changes. He is no longer looking at Draco; rather, at something over his shoulder, and then he is bowing his head, eyes downcast.

All it takes Draco is a brief glance behind him to realize why.

He hears [Y/N] now: he’s here. He’s here.

An odd hush has fallen over the large room. The cause is easy to pinpoint; the Dark Lord has appeared at the entrance of the large drawing room, bringing with him a familiar sense of foreboding as everyone’s breath seems to hitch. It’s funny, in a sick way, how easily the atmosphere has shifted from something like ease to suffocating tension. How Alecto, who had been cackling into her glass of wine just moments before, now looks like a dog called to heel. How Amycus has torn his hungry gaze away from [Y/N] to instead stare down obediently at his feet. How Draco’s own parents, who stand a few feet away from the Dark Lord at the entrance, have their lips pursed and their hands clasped in front of them in submission.

Draco would laugh, but he is one of them now, and his head is hung just like the rest of them.

¨My, my,¨ says the Dark Lord, tone soft. ¨What a lovely party.¨

It had been he, the Dark Lord, who had suggested the idea of a celebration to revere in Draco´s and [Y/N]´s success. Not out of fondness, of course, but out of sheer spite for the Malfoys, caused by Lucius’s failure at the Department of Mysteries. This party was just another part of his little mind games; not only had he forced their son, Draco, to let Death Eaters loose inside Hogwarts, but he was now forcing them to celebrate it.

But why is he here?

It had been he who proposed the party, but no one had expected the Dark Lord to actually come. He had other things of actual importance to attend to: things that involved torture and kidnap and blackmail. He was on the brink of taking over the Ministry of Magic, and thus was a busy man—the Dark Lord only goes where he is needed, and not to pointless parties.

Draco swallows.

So why is he here?

¨It is only right, of course,¨ Voldemort continues, his voice still so oddly soft, like he´s addressing children, ¨That we celebrate the success of our young Death Eaters. The task I gave them was not an easy one, I’m afraid, and yet they prevailed, in the end, and proved themselves to us.¨

He wonders if Voldemort has spotted him and [Y/N], and feels bile rise at the back of his throat. Draco doesn´t want him anywhere near her.

Just leave, Draco thinks to himself, his teeth gritted so tight he hears how they scrape inside his skull. Just leave.

“I must admit, a few months ago I had my doubts.. but now here we are, applauding them, congratulating them for a job well done, treating them as one of our own.. welcoming them.”

“Draco.”

[Y/N] has inched closer to him. A moment later she feels her fingers weaving through his, squeezing his palm so tight Draco knows without having to look that her knuckles have turned a ghostly white.

He squeezes back, thinking that she might just be as surprised as him. Just as nervous.

It’ll be okay, he tries to tell her without saying it out loud. He´s too scared to speak. It’ll be okay.

¨And yet even as we toast to their names..¨

Draco keeps his head down. He can hear the sound of Voldemort´s robes rasping against the floor as he moves about the room.

But that is not the only thing he hears. Cold sweat trickles down the side of his temple, because in the Dark Lord’s voice he hears an edge. He senses danger.

A thought bounces around Draco’s skull as he fixes his gaze intently on his shoes: why is he here?

"Even as we welcome them with open arms.. as we let them walk among us unharmed, revered, almost, for their bravery..¨

¨Draco,¨ [Y/N] repeats, a little louder this time but only for his ears, and if the room wasn´t so quiet he wouldn´t have heard her ragged, almost panicked breathing, but it was and he did. 

He senses uneasy movement from behind him. One of the other Death Eaters.

¨Despite our kindness, one of them dares to turn away from us. One of them dares—¨ The Dark Lord´s voice grows colder, angrier, losing control and then all of a sudden softening again after a pregnant pause; ¨One of them dared.. dares to feed information to the fools that call themselves the Order of the Phoenix.¨

Draco hears the collective murmur of surprise that ripples through the room.

“Draco.” [Y/N]’s grip on his hand, if possible, tightens.

¨One of them dares betray us.¨

There is a brief moment of confusion on Draco´s part. He turns his head to look at [Y/N], brows furrowed as he struggles to make sense of the Dark Lord´s words.

But then Draco meets her eyes. Sees the look on her face.

¨I´m sorry,¨ she whispers, and realization hits him like a burst of icy cold water.

¨Seize her,¨ Voldemort says coldly. When Draco looks up, he sees that he is halfway across the room but his gaze is fixed on them—on [Y/N].

Amycus and Alecto are the first to move. They drop their glasses with no hesitation, sending them to the floor where they break into a hundred tiny pieces, and grab [Y/N] by the arms. She resists, wrestling in their arms, but the string of words that leave her mouth aren´t curses, nor are they pleas to let her go; no, they are apologies, repeated over and over again like a mantra as she desperately holds Draco´s gaze—”I’m sorry, Draco. I’m sorry.”

He watches as they yank [Y/N] across the floor, towards the Dark Lord, away from him. His lungs have stopped working, his heart is pounding wildly somewhere inside his throat, and [Y/N] is being roughly thrown at the Dark Lord´s feet—

Draco can´t breathe. His mind is buzzing, blanking out to a field of white, noise and heat colliding and melting until he can´t think through the blood rushing in his ears.

“Pity,” the Dark Lord whispers, gripping her chin harshly, jerking it up so that she would look at him. 

“I thought you'd proved yourself to be worthy of my praise, but instead it seems you've proved yourself to be rather the opposite—“

She snaps her head away. “Fuck you.”

“You, my child, have proved yourself to be a fool.”

“You´re never going to win.”

The Dark Lord seems unfazed. A grin splits wide on his face, stretching his lips into an uncannily amused grin as he stares down at the girl at his feet for a few seconds before nodding—and then turning around, twirling his wand in his hands—when had he pulled it out?

“And now, my brothers and sisters.”

Draco doesn’t feel his feet move underneath him, but they do.

“Lo and behold what happens to ungrateful fools who turn us away believing that they are saving the world, when in fact they are ruining themselves.”

Everything happens so quickly that Draco barely has any time to react; Voldemort raises his wand, and it seems to almost shine in the light as he points it directly towards [Y/N]—the Dark Lord´s mouth opens, the spell resting on the tip of his tongue, [Y/N] at the opposite end of his wand—

“No!”

It’s as though something inside of Draco has snapped, like he is being jarred awake. He doesn´t think—just darts forward with no real goal in mind other than to put himself in between Voldemort and [Y/N], but then there are hands grabbing at his arms, holding him back—

“Let go of me!” his tone is feral. He jabs his elbow into someone´s stomach, trying desperately to wrestle himself free, but the more Death Eaters he rips off of him, the more take their place. “[Y/N]!” he is breathless. “[Y/N]—”

The Dark Lord is going to kill her. He´s going to bloody kill her.

“Draco,” he hears his mother´s voice but doesn’t see her—he´s too busy thrashing wildly in the arms of whoever has hold of him, yelling out profanities and curses and [Y/N]´s name; “Draco, come. You don´t want to see this.”

“Let fucking go of me!”

But then the Dark Lord´s voice cuts through the havoc—¨Let him stay.¨

“[Y/N]!” Draco shouts, gritting his teeth. There are tears in his eyes; he doesn´t realize they´re there until they´ve fallen and he tastes them on his tongue. “Don´t touch her! Don´t fucking touch her!”

But the Dark Lord is, once again, unfazed. He turns his gaze to Draco but doesn´t lower his wand. “Watch, my child,” he says, voice ringing throughout the room, cold and unforgiving. “And pay close attention. This is what happens to cowards. To fools. To ungrateful scum.”

[Y/N]´s back is turned to Draco, and maybe it is better that way, because when the Dark Lord raises his wand, he doesn´t have to see the light leave her eyes.

Draco feels the entire world slow down. A single thought appears inside the ruined mess that is his mind, almost as if it’s mocking him—[Y/N] has always been better at masking her true thoughts. At hiding things; even from him. 

We’ll be okay, [Y/N] had told him.

She had lied.

¨Avada Kedavra!¨

general taglist:  @dancing-in-the-moonlight3 @kalimagik @alittletoomanyobsessions @hariosborn @obsessedwithrandomthings @emcchi @sxrensxngwrites @enjoying-fantasyland21 @masterofthedarkness @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @bforbroadway @hufflefluff-writer @summer-writes @chaotic-fae-queen @firewhisky-kisses @dracosvftie @heloisedaphnebrightmore @idont-knowrn @dreamer821 @peachesandpinks @slytherinprincess03​ @chocfrogaddict @nebulablakemurphy​ ​@kpopgirlbtssvt​ @lumielikesbooks​ @teheharrypotter​ @susceptible-but-siriusexual @chaoticgirl04

[watchmegetobsessed]

VALERIE - Part II. (Harry Styles)

thank you so much for all the love you have showed to the first part of valerie! im so happy you are just as excited about the story as i am so i hope i won’t let you down.

if you are enjoying the story please make sure to give it a like and reblog so it can reach even more people and of course as always im more than happy to read your thoughts and comments on the part!

word count: 3.9k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

Working on a major report you have to finish by the end of the week, you are completely focused on your computer’s screen when your phone buzzes on the desk next to the keyboard. You grab it and answer the call without even checking the screen.

“Y/N,” you say into the phone.

“What’s your size?”

Harry’s voice pushes you out of focus as you grimace unintentionally.

“Since when do you have my number? And what the Hell are you talking about?”

“Since I asked for it from your sister,” he tells you matter-of-factly. “And I’m asking you what size shirts you wear.”

“Why do you need to know that?”

“Because I’m trying to dress up as you for Halloween.” Your eyes widen at his comment, but soon enough he continues. “Because I found cute matching shirts for godparents and a goddaughter and I wanna buy it, but I don’t know your size.”

“Oh,” you say, finally understanding the situation. “What kind of shirts?”

“It’s Fairy Godparents themed, thought it would be funny to wear it at maybe Christmas or something. But only if you are up for it.”

“Yeah, sounds fine,” you nod and give him a little guide to what sizes you usually wear, letting him decide which information he needs for the shirt he wants to buy.

“Have you thought about what you are buying for Val for Christmas?” he asks once you put the topic of your size aside.

“Harry, it’s the middle of October. I don’t even think about Christmas presents until the 15th of December,” you let out a tired sigh.

No matter how bad you want to start shopping in time every year, you have failed every time so far, no exception.

“This proves that I’m the better godparent,” he huffs on the other end of the line.

“It’s not a competition, Harry,” you roll your eyes.

“But if it was, I would be winning. Anyway, I might go a little overboard with the present, so if I end up ordering something big, are you interested in teaming up? I don’t like to give the biggest present on my own, makes it feel like I’m bragging.”

“But you kind of are bragging.”

“That’s besides the point. So, do you want to share or not?”

“I guess we could,” you shrug your shoulders leaning back in your seat. Your legs feel numb as you finally straighten them under the desk, you haven’t even realized how long you’ve been sitting there, eyes glued to the screen.

“Perfect. Is that all?” you ask, not because you are impatient to leave the conversation, it’s been kind of pleasant, you just have a lot to do.

“So you’re really going on that blind date on Friday?”

You furrow your eyebrows at the sudden change in the topic and how boldly he just asked you about your private life. This was the last thing you expected from him.

“Why does that have anything to do with you?”

“Was just asking,” he says and you can see him shrugging his shoulders. “It’s an odd thing.”

“For you. I’m fine with it.”

“Are you though?”

“Why does that matter to you?”

“It doesn’t,” he simply answers. “At least there will be something to make a joke out of next time we meet,” he snorts and you roll your eyes at his comment. Now that sounded more like Harry.

“Unless you won’t have any information about it.”

“You seem to forget Steven gossips like a little girl and I can also have my ways with Rosa too. I’ll have the details before you even get home after the date.”

“You are so full of yourself, Styles,” you sigh, shaking your head.

“Yeah, and it seems like you were also full of me one time.”

“Go to Hell,” you spat, mocking his British accent that just makes him laugh. “If you are done making a joke out of me I’d like to get back to work.”

“Whatever, Love. We both know you just want to get away from this conversation so I don’t roast you even more.”

“Bye, Harry!” you sing before ending the line without even waiting for an answer. Harry Styles once again proved how talented he is in getting on your nerves.

 ***

 Marcus turns out to be a great company and you are finally sending your kudos to your sister for setting you up with a hot guy who is also smart enough to keep up the conversation and not bore you out of your pants.

He took you to a fancy restaurant that’s in the building of a hotel, a place you normally never go to, because it’s pretty much out of your budget, but Marcus was persistent on going there and paying for dinner. After the starter awkwardness you soon cool down and maybe that wine he ordered has helped you relax too. Marcus tells you about himself and then you do the same, just covering the usual fields of your life.

“I have to admit, when Rosa said she wants to set me up with her little sister I was hesitant at first,” he chuckles softly when your dishes finally arrive.

“You’re not alone with that.”

“Does she set you up often?”

You shake your head. “No, there was just one other time, but the guy was horrible, I have no idea why Rosa thought we would be a match.”

“I hope I’ve been better than him,” Marcus chuckles.

“Absolutely.”

You hear your phone buzzing in your purse and at first you just ignore it, but when it goes off two more times you sigh and reach for your purse.

“Sorry, I forgot to mute it completely,” you excuse yourself as you grab your phone and your plan was just to mute it, but then you see that you got three texts from Harry and your curiosity doesn’t let you slide over it so you quickly check them.

“Well done with your outfit.”

“Gives a great view of your legs.”

“Is it also this tight on your ass?”

You run over the messages two more times, staring at your phone in complete confusion. What is he talking about? How does he know what you are wearing?

“Is everything alright?” Marcus asks and you snap your eyes back at him.

“I, uhh—Yes, everything is fine, it’s just that…”

As your gaze runs over the place your anger immediately boils inside you when you spot that familiar grin at the bar. Harry is sitting right there with a scotch in his hand that he raises when you spot him. There’s another guy with him who you don’t know, but it seems like he is more focused on you than his friend.

“For fuck’s sake…” you breathe out clenching your jaw. “Excuse me for a second,” you tell Marcus who just curiously eyes you as you slide out of your seat and head over to the bar. As you march over to the grinning Harry you are literally fuming, ready to kill him right then and there.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you snap at him trying to keep your voice down. You wouldn’t want to make a scene for sure.

“Having a drink, what does it seem like?” he asks innocently, but his face tells you otherwise.

“How did you know I would be here?”

“Why do you think I went into such depths as finding out where your blind date would be? Can’t I be here by accident?”

“Nothing about you is an accident except the fact that I ever found you charming enough to sleep with you,” you growl back and earn a laugh from his friend. Harry wasn’t expecting such a harsh response for sure, you can tell it surprised him, but he doesn’t let it push him out of his cocky act.

“Was it Rosa and Steven?” you ask, folding your arms on your chest.

“What if both?” he asks smugly and God! You just want to smack him across the face.

“Why are you here, Harry?” you narrow your eyes at him.

“Maybe I just want those details first handed. It’s funnier to witness it all.”

“You know what? I don’t think that’s the truth. The reason why you are here is because you are afraid someone might treat me right and that I might have an experience that would just make you appear like an even bigger asshole than what you already are.”

Harry chuckles looking away from you, but you can tell you just wounded his confidence big time, so you decide to take it further.

“I made a mistake with hooking up with you, but I’m smarter now and I don’t start with little boys like you. I know my worth and what I deserve so I’d really appreciate it if you could move on and let me be. I know it’s hard to forget about me, but you’ll have to try.”

You mentally highfive yourself, because this time you actually made him shut his mouth, he has no retort as he opens his mouth but then closes it back. Flashing him one last bitter smile you turn around and walk back to your date and make sure Harry has a nice view of your ass. He can have one nice thing after getting so burned.

 Your little scene with Harry doesn’t ruin your date, especially because not long after you made his jaw drop to the floor he decided it’s best if he just leaves quietly. By the time you finished eating he was nowhere to be seen.

However you keep thinking about why he even chose to come there. It was way over that healthy line of picking on someone and being an annoying stalker. It’s one thing wanting to know the awkward details about your date, but showing up was definitely just too much.

Part of you was expecting him to call you the next day, maybe apologize, but more like to make a joke out of the whole thing but you don’t hear a word from him and it makes it easier for you to forget about it pretty fast.

A week later you are having dinner over at Rosa’s, just the three of you plus baby Valerie who you keep in your arms the whole night, not able to get enough of her cuteness.

“I knew you two would hit it off,” Rosa sighs with a proud smile and Steven just rolls his eyes at his wife.

“It was alright, yeah,” you nod with a soft chuckle. You just told them about your date with Marcus and you can tell Rosa feels like she just hit the jackpot. After that disastrous try you had last time Marcus was surely a change for the better.

Valerie looks up at you with her huge eyes as you flash a grimace at her, earning a short giggle before her attention diverts somewhere else. She is grabbing onto your finger, not letting go of it as if she is trying to hold herself in place by her grip.

“Funny thing, Harry showed up at the restaurant too.”

Rosa almost chokes on her water and Steven starts to cough very suspiciously. Glancing up at them you can tell they are both to blame Harry had any information about where Marcus was taking you.

“Really? That’s… odd,” Rosa clears her throat.

“Is it though? You don’t have to pretend like you had nothing to do with it.”

“I’m sorry, but he just makes you talk so easily, he always gets what he wants,” Rosa sighs, clearly feeling guilty about it. “But I didn’t think he would actually show up. I thought he was just curious.”

“Did he cause a lot of trouble?” Steven asks, worried his friend gave you a hard time. He is not wrong, but it’s not your intention to throw dirt on Harry.

“It was just awkward. I don’t see why he came there,” you admit, shaking your head as you adjust baby Valerie in your arms so she is sitting now on your lap, looking around the table curiously.

You catch a look Rosa and Steve shares and you immediately know something is up.

“What? Do you know something I don’t?”

“No, we definitely don’t,” Rosa shakes her head, fingers running up and down the glass in her hands. “I just… there could be one reason I think he went there for.”

“What is that?”

“You don’t want me to say it out loud, it’s silly, let’s just forget about it,” she tries to end the discussion, but there’s no way you let it slip.

“Rosa!”

“I was just thinking, that… considering the past you two have, he might have been… jealous?”

“That’s literally the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you scoff as you turn to Valerie. “Did your momma lose her mind, Princess?”

Valerie just looks at you curiously before smacking her little hands on the edge of the table, completely ignoring the conversation.

“I told you, you wouldn’t like this idea, but this is what I thought about.”

“Then stop thinking about it. There’s absolutely no way this is what it was about. Besides, our past is irrelevant. He was literally the biggest jerk to me when he had a chance with me. Why would have he blown that just to be up in my business now all jealous?”

“I didn’t say it doesn’t have any plot holes, but it could be a reason,” Rosa adds while Steven just hums next to her, not really taking part in the conversation.

Soon enough Steven takes Valerie up to put her to sleep while you and Rosa stay downstairs. You have moved on from Harry, but your mind keeps wandering back to him so you find yourself bringing him up again.

“What do you think about Harry? Aside from everything I’ve told you.”

You’ve always been curious how other people see him, since you had a very strong opinion on the guy that was tainted by everything that happened between the two of you.

Rosa takes her time thinking of her answer and you wait for her patiently. Leaning onto the table she rests her arms on it turning to face you.

“From what I’ve seen from him, he is a very loyal, caring and loving person. He and Steven have been friends for so long and Steven always told me how he could count on him no matter what and he has been proving the same to me. Have I told you he was the reason I got to wear the dress I dreamed of on my wedding?”

“What?” you ask surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

“Basically, I had that dress and a cheaper one held in the store until the day before the wedding. I knew we couldn’t afford the expensive one, but I guess I was hoping until the last minute for a miracle to happen and it seems like Harry was that. Steven asked him to pick the cheaper dress up because he was caught up with work that day. He told him specifically to bring the cheaper one and leave the other there. But when he arrived with the dress in the morning when I was getting ready, he had the expensive one. He said the lady asked which one he needed and when he said the cheaper one, the lady seemed sad and told him how much I loved the other one but I even told her I couldn’t afford it. Harry didn’t hesitate to pay for the difference the dress had over the cheaper one. I started crying the moment I saw that he had the one I loved and I was also panicking that I won’t be able to pay back to him.”

You listen to her in awe. It surely is a side of Harry you haven’t had the luck to see in the act, though you felt like you had a glimpse of it before the night of the wedding took a heated and then a quite sad turn later on. The Harry you got to know in the very beginning was the same Rosa was just talking about.

“Harry told me he won’t take my money, no matter how hard I tried to make a deal with him, he made his mind up and didn’t let me change it. I knew then that everything Steven told me about him is true. And I know he can be a cocky fucker sometimes,” she chuckles making you smile as well, “but he has a heart of gold for sure. And this is why I agreed when Steven told me he wants him to be the godfather. I want Val to learn from him, to look up to him, because I really think he can have an amazing impact on her.

“Listen,” she sighs leaning back in her seat and you watch her curiously. “I know that the two of you hate each other with passion, but… you can’t do it forever.”

You let out a long sigh looking down at your lap. It’s one of those sisterly talks when she’ll share her wisdom with you and you’ll just know she’s right. Rosa is always right. Well, mostly.

“I wasn’t there, I don’t know how he acted or what he told you exactly, but he is family now and one of you will have to take the first step. You’re wasting energy on the constant fighting, but I really believe you could work together as a team. I know it’s not just on you, I’ll try to have a talk with him as well. No matter what I think about why he showed up at your date, it was still an ass move. I’m just asking you to… be patient with him and maybe only say out loud half the insults you address to him in your head. That would be a nice start,” she chuckles and reaching over her hand squeezes yours as you nod quietly.

It almost hurts you how right she is. It doesn’t matter how pissed you are at Harry for everything he did and said in the past, you can’t keep on playing his ridiculous game forever. It consumes too much energy and time when you could just be neutral and coexist with each other happily in Valerie’s life. She doesn’t deserve to grow up seeing her godparents hate each other with a passion, that’s just not right. This time you gotta suck it up and move on from what happened, but everyone knows it can only happen if he cooperates as well. You can only hope he’ll take Rosa’s advice and show a nicer side of his face to you.

***

The room was exactly like battlefield, makeup and hair products laid on every possible surface as all the bridesmaids were getting ready, two hairstylists working on the girls while a third one was perfecting Rosa’s loose curls. Grabbing your dress you looked around for a possible corner where you could change since you were finished with hair and makeup, but you saw no free spot, so you had to be creative.

“I’ll go get changed in one of the other rooms,” you told Rosa before you walked out, down the hallway looking for an open and empty room you could use as a changing room for just two minutes.

Luckily you found one just two doors down the room Rosa and the girls were getting ready and taking a look around you made sure no one saw you sneak in there. It seemed once it was used as a smaller conference room, but now it was filled with boxes and extra chairs, looking more like a storage room. It was just fine for a quick change.

You quickly got rid of your plain shirt and jeans along with your bra since the dress had one sewed into it. You stood there, already in your dress as you were trying to get the zipper up, but it seemed like it got stuck.

“Great,” you grumbled, still jumping around hoping to find an angle where it slides right up, but it was stubbornly staying in the same spot. You were just about to gather your stuff and go back to the bride’s room and have someone zip you up when the door flew open and a tall, curly haired guy appeared with a suit on a hanger on his arm and a pair of shiny shoes in his other hand.

You jumped at the stranger’s arrival and he seemed just as surprised to see someone here as you were.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

His British accent was thick through his words and it immediately made you think that he must be Harry, Steven’s best friend. You’ve heard about him before but never actually got the chance to meet him. Now standing in front of him with your back almost fully exposed you can’t help but feel a little shy. He surely has an intimidatingly handsome face and physique that shows even though his loose hoodie.

“I just snuck in here to get changed, I was just about to leave,” you explained yourself, holding your previous clothes to your chest along with the front of the dress so it didn’t fall.

“Your dress is… unzipped,” he pointed it out with a soft chuckle and you looked over your shoulder as if you had to check it for yourself, but you knew it well it was in fact unzipped.

“Oh, yeah. The zipper got stuck, I’ll just… have one of the girls help me.”

“Come here, let me help you,” he offered and you hesitantly, but turned around to show him your back.

His hold fingers made you jump a little when he reached for the zipper.

“Sorry,” he chuckled and you just shook your head letting him know it was alright.

It took him a few tries to get the zipper going, but it finally gave in and slid all the way up. Once it reached the top Harry ran his fingers over it gently as if he sealed it, the touch of his fingertips sent a shiver down your spine.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, turning around. “I’m… Y/N by the way,” you told him, holding out a hand that he took and shook with a charming smile on his soft looking, pink lips.

“Harry. You’re Rosa’s sister, right?”

“Yeah, and you’re Steven’s best friend.”

“I am,” he chuckled. “You look a lot like Rosa, if I might say.”

“We get it a lot. It’s the eyes, I think,” you told him. You and Rosa more or less have the same eyes and maybe share a similar jawline too that makes it pretty obvious that you two are sisters.

“Two sets of pretty eyes,” he smiled and your eyebrows rose at the compliment, feeling the heat crawling up on your neck to your cheeks.

“I… better get going, so you can change too,” you told him turning away and rushing to the door before he could realize how nervous he just made you.

“See you around, Pretty Eyes!” he called out after you.

 He called you Pretty Eyes quite often that evening. Whenever you met at the bar, when he sat next to you through dinner, when the two of you talked outside, a little farther away from the people having a smoke. But the last time he called you that was when the two of you were heading to his room, he was all over you, kissing you anywhere he could, hands gripping your waist greedily as you were trying to open the door with the card he handed you in the elevator. That was the last time he called you that. You haven’t heard this nickname from him since then.

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[bitchin-beskar]

you’re safe in his arms

Rating: M

Warnings: Mentions of death, physical violence, more panic attacks. But also kisses.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: SO IM FEELING A LOT OF THINGS ABOUT THE FINALE. THIS IS ME ATTEMPTING TO FIX WHAT FILONI AND FAVREAU BROKE. ENJOY. (ALSO MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 EPISODE 16: THE RESCUE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK)

THIS IS A SEQUEL TO A PREVIOUS STORY, YOU CAN READ PART ONE HERE!

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment!!! I love hearing what you guys think!!!

“Master Skywalker, there are too many of them! What are we going to do?”

You watched in horror as Master Skywalker ignited his lightsaber, the blue blade glowing in the darkened room. You were hidden in one of the vents. You’d gone to the nursery to try and rescue some of the younglings from the blasters of the clones. When you’d seen Master Skywalker, you’d felt relief, hope, only for it to die a violent death as he began to slaughter the younglings right in front of your eyes.

You clasped a hand over your mouth, trying not to scream as he murdered the children one by one, each of them too young to defend themselves. When he struck down the last of them, he paused, and you held your breath as he turned towards the wall where you were hidden. His eyes were a violent, malevolent yellow, red-rimmed and angry as he seemed to pin you with his stare. 

You were growing lightheaded from holding your breath, but you knew if you dared take a breath now it would be your last. He took a step forward, and–

“Wake up, prisoner!”

You jolted upright, scooting backwards until you were pressed tight into the corner of your cell, as far from the guards as you could get. You were panting, chest heaving as you tried to breathe through your lingering panic. There were two stormtroopers in front of you, blasters at the ready. 

“Get up.”

You shakily tried to get to your feet, still off-balance from your vivid nightmare, and apparently you weren’t fast enough, because one of them marched forward and gripped your arm, yanking you to your feet roughly, jerking your shoulder and causing you to cry out. 

“Shut up, prisoner,” one of the troopers sneered, the back of his hand snapping against the skin of your cheek, your head jerking sideways with the force of it. The other trooper jabbed you in the back with the barrel of his blaster, shoving you forward. “Move it. The Moff wants to see you.”

The walk through the corridors of the ship was silent, with the occasional muzzle being shoved into your back as you stumbled along. As you rounded a corner, you watched as Mando stumbled back out of a room, with Moff Gideon furiously attacking him with what looked to be a black lightsaber of all things. You stumbled to a halt, in shock. 

“What the–”

You immediately turned, grabbing the blaster that was still pressed into the small of your back with your bound hands, using it as a club to bash one of the stormtroopers before flipping it around and shooting the other one. The one you bashed tried to get back up but you quickly shot him too, waiting to see if he’d get back up. He didn’t. 

You turned again, just as Mando used his beskar spear to disarm the Moff, the saber flying towards you as he pointed the spear directly at the Moff’s throat. You dropped the blaster, catching the saber in your hands as Mando’s head jerked around to see you standing there, hands cuffed, eyes wide, with two dead troopers behind you. 

“The kid’s in there,” he mutters, and you immediately dash for the door, needing to see Grogu with your own eyes. He’s perched on a small bunk, his tiny hands cuffed in front of him the same as yours. Tears fill your eyes as you fall to your knees in front of him, hands trembling. You’re afraid to reach for him, the last time he’d seen you, he’d been snatched from your arms, what if he thinks you let him go on purpose–

A soft coo reaches your ears, and you refocus to see Grogu with his little hands outstretched, just like every other time he’s asked to be held. There’s such love and trust in his eyes, it takes your breath away, and immediately you scoop him up into your arms as best you can with your hands still bound. Grogu clutches at the fabric of your shirt, burying his face into your neck with a soft sigh. 

You press your lips firmly against his little head, thanking the Maker that he’s unharmed. You hear footsteps behind you, but you recognize the sound of Mando’s boots. He kneels next to you, and you turn your head towards him, tears finally falling.

He reaches out to cup the back of your neck, pressing his head to yours, the same way he did the last time you saw him. You can feel his fingers trembling on your neck, and his other hand comes up to rest on Grogu’s head, as though reassuring himself that you’re both here and alive. 

“Let’s get you out of these,” he whispers, tugging gently at the cuffs encircling your wrists. You nod, watching as he works a small blade into the locking mechanism, the cuffs popping open only seconds later. He does the same for Grogu, and helps you stand. His hands encircle your arms, and for a moment he just stares at you, before slowly reaching up to cup your cheek, his touch gentle as he wipes away your tears. His palm rests over where you’re sure you’re already developing a bruise, but you refuse to flinch. 

“Come on,” he murmurs, tugging on your arm gently. “The others are on the bridge.”

***

You officially hate Moff Gideon.

It’s an odd realization to have, especially as you’re falling to your knees next to Mando, where he’s laying after taking multiple blaster hits trying to protect Grogu. The others on the bridge are taking care of Gideon, he’s not the one you’re worried about at the moment.

You help Mando sit up, even as Cara is smashing the butt of her rifle into Gideon’s jaw, knocking him down. Your hands flit nervously over Mando’s armour, trying to make sure he’s okay, that he wasn’t shot somewhere that’s only protected by thick layers of fabric. 

His hands grasp yours, stopping your jerking movements. He slowly stands, helping you up as he does so. He bends to grab Grogu, handing him to you as he looks at the security holos. You watch as well, feeling an odd mix of emotions as you watch the figure fighting with a lightsaber. You know that Grogu needs a Jedi to train him, but you can’t help but feel sick at the idea of him being taken from you. 

Mando orders the others to open the doors as you watch the Jedi take down the last of the Dark Troopers. None of them quite seem to understand, so he does it himself, and you move to stand just slightly behind him as the doors slide open, revealing a figure in a black cloak with a green lightsaber clutched in his grasp.

He sheathes his saber and slowly lifts back his hood, and your heart plummets. You know that face. There’s blood rushing in your ears, and all you can hear is the little youngling pleading “Master Skywalker there are too many of them! What are we going to do?” over and over in your head. You don’t realize you’re hyperventilating until your vision is blocked by beskar as Mando moves in front of you. He crowds you back against one of the panels, filling your vision, his hands on your arms, fingers tightening when your breathing doesn’t slow. 

You’re shaking your head before you hear what he’s saying, desperate whispered pleas already falling from your lips. “No, nonono, Grogu can’t go with him, please, you can’t make him go with that man, please Mando, no–”

Mando barks something over his shoulder, but you can’t recognize the words. You do realize that the others are leaving the bridge, but you’re still in fight or flight mode, poised and tense, ready to fight Mando if you have to in order to keep Grogu away from the Skywalkers. 

The panic is overwhelming and the edges of your vision are starting to go dark when Mando manhandles you over to a chair, shoving you down into it and kneeling at your feet. His broad chest is cradled between your thighs, his hands gripping your waist, visor tilted up and trained on your face. You can feel his chest rumbling, and as your hearing slowly returns, you realize he’s speaking to you.

“Breathe mesh’la, just breathe, it’s okay. It’s alright, you’re safe, just breathe, please.” 

Grogu squirms in your lap, pressing his face into your stomach as he tries to calm you down too, his soft coos and whimpers muffled by the fabric of your shirt. 

Mando must see as your breathing starts to slow, because he sighs in relief. His thumbs are rubbing soothing circles on your sides, and he waits for you to speak, knowing that you’ve got to explain why you don’t want Grogu to go with the Jedi, the one you both have been searching for. 

“I can’t trust him, Mando. I just can’t,” you whimper, voice breaking. “H–His father, he was a Jedi once too, b–but he changed, he fell, he became a Sith,” you whisper, as though you’re going to be attacked just for voicing the words. “His father slaughtered children, Mando, I can’t let Grogu go with him. He may be a Jedi now, but what if he falls too? I can’t give my son to that man, please, don’t make me do this.”

Tears are streaming down your cheeks as you clutch Grogu tighter, and for a moment, there’s only silence, like Mando’s trying to process your words. He finally speaks, and it's the question you’ve been dreading. 

“How do you know?”

You close your eyes tightly, hanging your head. “Because I was there. I was a Jedi padawan. I watched as his father killed younglings in front of my eyes.” 

Your voice is a whisper, and when Mando shifts in front of you, you flinch away, terrified of his reaction. 

“You’re a Jedi?”

His voice is strained, and you let out a small sob. “I was training to be a Jedi when the Purges happened. An old friend told me to run and to never use the Force again, in order to stay alive. The first time I used the Force in over twenty years was when I was trying to get away from the Dark Troopers.” Your breath hitches, tears continuing to escape from beneath your closed eyelids. “I’m sorry.”

His hands leave your waist and you shrink back into your chair, head bowed as soft sobs wrack your frame. You’re curled up on yourself, terrified that Mando’s going to insist Grogu goes with Skywalker anyways, terrified that he’s going to hate you for keeping such a huge secret from him, when suddenly there are warm, soft, bare hands cradling your face.

“Cyar’ika, look at me. Please.” 

You shake your head, eyes staying tightly shut, and Mando sighs. His voice sounds different, and you don’t know why, but before you can ponder on it, he repeats himself.

“Please, cyar’ika. Open your eyes.”

You slowly open your lids, but when you see what’s in front of you, your eyes fly open in shock. It’s Mando in front of you, but–

“Your helmet!” 

Your gasp is loud, a hand flying over your mouth as your eyes slide shut again automatically. “Mando, your helmet, I’m not supposed to–”

“No.”

The single word stops you dead in your tracks. 

“But I want you to look.”

You shake your head again, and this time, when Mando sighs, it sounds almost amused, if slightly exasperated. 

“Cyar’ika, I had to remove my helmet in front of a room full of Imperials in order to find the two of you. I only have one regret.”

“What’s that?”

Your voice is a whisper, and when he speaks again, his voice is just as quiet. “My only regret is that my son and the one I love didn’t get to see me first.”

Well, that sure gets your eyes to open again. 

You stare at the man in front of you in shock. He’s only removed the helmet, but it somehow makes all the difference. His hair is a dark brown, his eyes even darker. He has stubble on his cheeks, a little mustache, and his nose juts out just the tiniest bit. His lips are full and pink, and they look extremely soft. He’s looking at you like you’re the most incredible being in the galaxy, and you feel your cheeks heat under his intense gaze.

Grogu coos loudly, and you’re startled out of your exploration of Mando’s features as the tiny baby in your arms wriggles, trying to get to Mando. He holds his tiny arms out, and Mando leans forward, letting Grogu pat his cheeks, Mando’s eyes slide shut, soaking in the feeling of Grogu’s touch as he does so. You watch the two of them, your heart thumping loudly in your chest.

When Mando finally looks back up at you, you’re sure you must be imagining the dark, heavy look in his eye as his gaze focuses on your lips. You bite the lower one self consciously, and immediately his thumb is there, brushing over the skin of your lip and pulling it from between your teeth.

“Can I kiss you, cyar’ika?”

His question is whispered, and your response is equally hushed. 

“Yes.”

He leans up, at the same time as he guides your head down, and he presses his lips to yours. Eyes fluttering shut, you whimper as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, tongue soothing over where you were gnawing at it. His hand slides from your cheek into your hair, keeping you pressed against him as he kisses you thoroughly. You’re running out of air, but this is the one time you don’t mind, because if he didn’t keep kissing you, you weren’t sure you were going to survive. 

His tongue darts into your mouth, gently brushing against your own, and you whimper quietly. For someone who’s been under a helmet their whole life, he’s surprisingly talented, although you don’t exactly have a lot of experience to compare it to. 

When he pulls away, you moan quietly at the loss. “Mando–” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Din. Call me Din.” 

You open your eyes, staring straight into his as he gives you this intimate piece of him, this secret he carries close to his chest. You cup his cheek, and he leans into your touch, eyes soft as he watches you.

“Din.” 

He sighs as you say his name, turning his head and pressing a kiss to your palm. You’re mesmerized by him, and you pray that if this is a dream, you never wake up. 

“What did you say to me before, on Tython?”

It’s a question that’s been bugging you ever since, desperate to know what he whispered to you in his native tongue when he thought one or both of you was going to die. 

“I love you.”

Your eyes widen, your heart fluttering as he utters those three little words. 

“I didn’t want to die without telling you, cyar’ika. But I do. I love you.”

You can’t resist anymore, and you lean forward to kiss him again. He lets you lead, groaning when you shyly press your tongue to the seam of his lips. He lets you in, and you fall even deeper in love with this man, this beautiful, breathtaking man, who would tear the galaxy apart to find you.

“Please, don’t give Grogu to that man, Din. I haven’t used the Force in years, but I don’t trust Skywalker. I’m willing to try and learn again, for him.” You look down at Grogu, who’s looking up at you with his big dark eyes, a sweet smile on his little face. 

“I trust you more than I would ever trust anyone else, cyar’ika.”

You feel a soft fluttering sensation that you recognize as hope. 

“He can stay with us?”

“He can stay.”

You fall forward, throwing one arm around Din’s shoulders as you hug him tightly, Grogu cradled between the two of you. As Din’s own arms come up to wrap around you, you sigh. You’re safe in his arms.

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[ibroughtyoumybullets]

You said not to ask so please ignore this if you don't want to explain, but could you elaborate on your March 19th / May 1st theory? thanks!

ahfkafhksfh yeah no problem. its not a theory its just ... brain worms that have taken a specific shape but thats not new this is just the latest form. under a cut because i hate like. getting peoples hopes up over something ive entirely made up

greentext format but make it wordy

> i think frank has been like. suspicious lately. i dont know how to explain it beyond that. he’s done a LOT of press-but-not-press in the last month or so. sure, he’s definitely bored and stuck in his house like the rest of us, and he had a new EP come out, and the EP is technically the reason for the press. but it also ... isnt. like the bulk of it has been AFTER the EP came out, and none of it has been wholly focused on the EP. and to me, at least, it feels like, i dont know, easing the band back into public consciousness thru a press circuit without the band ACTUALLY doing a press circuit because MCR been pretty hard and fast about the ‘we dont need or want ur press’ when it comes to the reunion. 

> continuing off the last one, in the ... jim ward interview he did, i think? one of the more recent ones, at least - he got asked about his writing process and mentioned working with gerard in present tense. very very likely it meant nothing at all, but also like ... i dont trust him LOL part of me thinks it was on purpose. Im just suspicious of him after the broken clock thing. 

> not only did frank mention working with gerard in the present tense, for Months now, but especially during his recent mini press tour, frank has been really vague but consistent in talking about working with people on music remotely. id have to go looking for it and i dont feel like it, but it’s been something along the lines of ‘working with new people And people you know’. suspitcheous. 

> ONTO GERARD. Gerard like never uses social media. but then a couple days ago he pops up to mention franks EP (which is sweet) and makes sure to sign it so its like, obviously not something his social media manager wrote up for him. and in that post he mentions being down in the lab. and LORD KNOWS WHAT THE FUCK THAT MEANS besides the fact that he’s working on something. but hey, its gerard, when isnt he. 

> But Gerard’s also doing that charity stream on the 2nd. and we havent seen gerard in MONTHS. since august, maybe? and he’s not just speaking, hes PERFORMING. besides the shrine show, the last time he performed was for the muppet charity thing with ray in 2016, and before that, it was the last hes alien leg in 2015. None of us even expected him to perform when it got announced - it had to be confirmed by the event organizers. and that just ... pings something in my brain, same as franks little press tour. It’s gerard emerging from his cave, Being A Musician, you know? 

> SPEAKING of the last time we saw gerard, he teased us back in the summer by mentioning that he has something he’s been working on thats not comic book related that he cant talk about. maybe its a fucking line of hot sauces or a tripp collaboration. 

> Or maybe its music. 

> this is where we depart from reality a little bit more: 

> this has been trotted out again and again on here as a talking point, and i dither between agreeing with it or not, but: MCR spent two years planning their return. they had a plan, for whatever the fuck was supposed to happen - even if all that was supposed to happen was the tour. 

> and their plan got pissed on, doused in gasoline, set on fire, extinguished, and thrown into the mouth of a lion. But They Had A Plan. And theyve been fucking radio silent except the hipdot collab, and before that, rescheduling shows. I ASSUME their almost-year of silence has been them, in part, reformulating their plan. Changing whatever it was going to be to fit the new timeline, or making a back up plan in case things get worse. 

> But the original plan had them all free - as far as we know - after november of 2020. so they wouldnt have had active MCR stuff happening for the national anthem comic book release, the electric century album + comic release, the you look like death tua comic release. But those things still happened, because they didnt require having to be in the real world where the plague is. 

> so, what the worms hinge on, is that whatever the New Plan Is, Whatever They Are Doing Now, it involves waiting until all their obligations and projects that SHOULDNT have interfered with MCR stuff - but had to the potential to because of covid - ended. 

> and thats now. thats the next couple weeks. you look like death just finished up, mikeys album and comic are out, and national anthem finishes up in like a week in a half. 

> and then theres nothing (that we know of) until the rescheduled shows happen, or *knocks thrice on wood* they have to reschedule again. 

> and this is where we really enter crazy town:

> so i was thinking about all of these things, and the imagery / themeing for the return (what little we got of it) and how a year ago everybody was pulling out the wheel of the year trying to figure out what they would do next, and when. 

> and March 20th (i know i said march 19th originally, i’ll get into that) is Ostara. 

> if youre not vaguely witchy, its basically a festival for the spring equinox. light and dark are in balance, yadda yadda yadda. and i could go into full on insane depth about the black and white aspects of the return, the witchiness of an offering + a summoning but i wont. it boils down to: its the closest festival to when all of MCR’s calendars are clear as far as we know, and its almost a year to date of when they had to reschedule the shows. 

> and March 19th is a Friday. which is new music release day. Ostara / the equinox are technically on saturday, but its at 5am on saturday morning so ... technicalities. 

> so the worms in my brain say new single on march 19th. or Something on march 19th. or 20th. one of those days. 

> and the worms in my brain also say MCR are a bunch of cruel little shits, and theyre gonna make us wait before they give us anything substantial. 

> so we move to May 1st. 

> May 1st is also known as May Day, also known as Beltane. (We’re back to the wheel of the year for this one) Its the halfway point between the spring equinox and the summer solstice. And its a Saturday. which is NOT new music release day - but hey, its close enough. 

> may day is also like, similar to halloween / samhain in that the veil is supposed to be thinner on those days, and i think theres a connection the imagery and over-all plan wise between coming back on halloween, and possibly doing something on mayday. i dont think they just came back on halloween as a birthday present to frank. 

> so second single on may day, or album? or announcement that theres gonna BE an album? maybe they wont give us a single on ostara but just tease us with something. i dont know. but i think theres something here. 

> im aware this was a lot of words and i basically gave you nothing, but i can only give you what the worms give to me. 

> sorry for being the way i am. hope this helped. 

[meraki-kintsukuroi]

a star is dying, but the universe won't let it.

(or alternatively: you're burning out like a dying star but these hands that have loved you even long before will never let you go, even if it means getting burnt along.)

tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, light angst, soft fluff, references to depression and to the pandemic, and maybe probably a bit of child abuse it doesn't happen though its just mentioned, implied long-distance relationship, space, morbid, and colour metaphors, discussions about death and dying, shit writing and word vomit (bc im rusty as hell).

pairings : kindaichi yuutaro/reader (gn! reader & ambiguous relationship bc ytf not)

wc : 1, 755

a/n: dedicated to @haru-senji for being in the same situation as I and to all the other people who are as well, hang in there you guys, love you and please stay safe <3.

"Hey 'tarou are you up...?", Yuutarou hears you call out to him in the dark, breaking the silence in the night with your voice faint and small, almost lost against the loud howling wind of the dim sky.

He shifts, twisting his body to where you are, and in the dark--despite of it all--reaches for you when you don't pull or push him away and squeezes the hand you let him hold.

(Intimacy between skin has always been a line you jump in and out of and yuutaro wonders if there ever could be a day where he can hold you without you flinching or shrinking away, and without him saying that its okay despite the hurt in his heart or the deep open scars in yours.)

"Mm, yeah..?", he asks, voice a deep low rasp from the silence that had long been stretching between you, "What is it?"

There is a pregnant pause before you speak. It stretches long and wide much like the ones before and he can't help but be reminded of sea and the sky and he thinks that even in the vastness of it all with you besides him, your backs against the grass of some far away place, underneath all the darkness and twinkling nights, and far away from all uninvited eyes. He thinks that if you were to say anything here and now he would keep it lock in his chest until the day he died.

(Because happiness is limited in a world that is almost at its limit, only holding on to whatever thin silver lining there was to just not fall into the void of nothingness and cease to exist.)

"Do you know how a star is born?",

The ex-volleyball captain blinks once and then twice, and thinks of a grand king who he had served for three long years, of a boy turned king-enemy, to a friend that he had found once lost, of a gymnasium so big that it had to be the whole universe with how many stars, planets, and other celestial bodies there had been, but no matter how much he had thought of it, those astral objects that he had thought of was only at their prime and not at their beginning.

(Those people, those upperclassmen, those players, those rivals, his teammates, had been and always been stars--the moon, the sun, the planet--his universe.

He wonders how proud, those who have seen them at their very beginning feel? To see the rock with no fuel burn with utmost energy along with others who are just as bright as them.)

"No, I don't.", He says, a quiet thing and hears you hum, before feeling you twist and turn before finally settling again, not once letting his hand go as you did so.

(He does not comment on how closer you are to him now, afraid you'd pull away and distance yourself from him again.)

"How about when they die?", you ask him instead, and across the vast meadow he hears the crickets chirping this season's song "Do you know how they die?"

Yuutaro closes his eyes, and thinks of an explosion, of bright colours and a supernova exploding in the expanse of space, of the destruction that follows the grief that comes along with the loss of something as bright as a star.

He thinks of the king-prince-boy and how he had exploded into nothing but colours of red, black, and blue of the grand king who had burst out crying hues of green, grey, and teal, of a dark black empty gym with no bright light or palette in sight.

"They, uh, collapse i think...?" He says trailing off, trying to rack his left part of the brain of the lessons he hadn't slept in science class, "Yeah they do--And then they, they, uh... explode into supernovas? Yeah they explode into supernovas." He finishes unhappy but accepting all the same.

It's not like he was as blunt but smooth with his words just like his best-friend, not sweet like honey, or rough but straight to the point. He was still an awkward, tongue tied, and still fumbling idiot even after all this time. Even when he had hit a growth spurt or even after hitting a major milestone in his life, He was still the tall awkward boy people know who had just grown into an adults body to fit an adult's clothes.

You hum again, and he feels you inching closer, but not close enough to hold you the way he wants to--needs to--

(He pushes the greed--the fear of loosing you--letting go of you away. He can't, does not, will never be selfish, he can't allow it, not when he knows all too well what happens to you and the people around you, suffer through all too well.)

"Do you think we'll go out like that?", you ask him again, voice almost like a child afraid, "Like a supernova exploding in colours?"

He feels you shift again, and this time he thinks you're much closer to him than before and he thinks that you might be facing him this time too, he doesn't know it's too dark to see (but even so, even so, even so please come closer so I can hold you so--)

"Or do you think, we'll go out like a daisy crushed by the one who's supposed to take care of it?"

And something about that question, something about the way you say those words, makes his heart scream and mind twist in agony.

Because he thinks of the world, and how its marching to an unknown point and how much its scaring people. Thinks of you and your home that's only getting so much colder with each day passing. Thinks of himself and how he's just like a ghost wandering with a lover that's slowly collapsing--dying underneath the weight, of the pain of it all, that's too much for them to bear and not being able to do anything about it because-- "the only person who can save you is yourself, and you know that better than anyone else Yuutaro." His mother had once said.

And he knows, he knows, he knows, he goddamn knows, that things are getting worse for you--for him-and for everyone else, but he will fight God and his angels if it meant at least being able to carry some of the burden you had to carry all because the people who was suppose to do it but couldn't so you had to learn how to carry it all by yourself even after all this time.

Because Yuutaro with all his awkwardness and flaws had never been alone.

You however, have been painfully all by your lonesome.

And you meant to him that much to say the least.

"I don't know really." he murmurs truthfully, and squeezes your hand as an I'm sorry that i can't help you lift your pain that I was years too late to even try to do so and now you're hurting so much that you're almost at you're breaking point, and even if you don't know why or what, he still tries to.

Because he was just a ghost with no body or home wandering around this world, trying his darn best to find himself again for a lover that's slowly collapsing and loosing the brightness that they once were.

"Lots of people die in many ways you know?", He says not having one single clue about what's he saying but continues on because happiness is a fickle thing and is it selfish of him to hold your hand and keep you safe from the monsters that was supposed to love you for a bit much longer?

"We're not stars or flowers or anything,", He says with a finality he didn't know he had.

"We're people and we die when we die.", he goes on to say, and he thinks of an accident on the news, a tragedy in a script, and a genocide written on the history books, and thinks that for all the fire and hydrogen or whatever that makes up a star, planet, comet, or whatever. They were all still painfully human even on their last moments.

That they'd all bleed, cry, turn ugly, and at the end of it all die in more ways than one, because humanity is a fickle thing and they were no different.

That he was still human despite being a ghost of he once was, that you were still human even if you were a rotting corpse murdered by the monsters that were your own flesh and blood by the burdens and self-projections that they always had.

That the tyrant he had hated so much was just a boy underneath all the gore, grime, and blood, and that the grand king he had served underneath all the gold and silver and bronze was just human too.

They all were.

"But what if someone wants to go already and the people around them don't want them to...?" He hears you mutter softly, and he squeezes your hand again replying.

"Then don't.", He mutters tiredly just as much you are to the world, the monsters, and at yourself, "Live."

"Do you think we'll ever...", you trail off, and he knows from your tone that you must be struggling with what words to say so he squeezes your hand again because this is the only way you'll let him show his love for you other than his presence (because you're so, so, so scared and he is too, for you and for him as well.)

"Live again?"

Because he's a ghost of a star cluster once formed and you're a rotting corpse of a white dwarf floating in space with no way or direction to what home once was.

"I don't know really.." He says again, and crosses the gap between you deciding fuck it and presses his forehead against yours pushing on as he goes on, "But we'll cross the bridge when we get there all right?"

You don't pull away nor you push him away, instead you tense before relaxing again, and this time instead of him you're the one who squeezes his hand instead.

"Yeah we'll cross the bridge when we get there."

And in the dark--despite the dark, he thinks that maybe you're smiling in what it seems for a long while now, and he thinks that maybe, maybe he is too.

(And when morning comes maybe you both start trying to live again.)

[haztory]

𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝. (2)

-chapter two: the story of us; warnings for this chapter include a brief discussion and mentioning of sexual assault. it is not described in detail nor does it happen to anyone in this fic. i will not ever be using sexual assault as a plot device as i think that’s unnecessary. however, because it is prevalent in female culture, or at least the discussion of it is, it is briefly mentioned.

if this makes anyone uncomfortable, please skip over! i will not be offended at all! 

-summary:  His eyes are a sea of green that you can't seem to stop drowning in.

a/n: this chapter is a doozy yall, im so sorry. this is mainly to serve as complete exposition of reader and iwa, so it’s hella long. i had an original idea of how i wanted this to go and then i started writing and this happened. lmfao. thank you all for being patient and loving and your comments are so wonderful! i had midterms all last week and all i could think about was writing this! so thank you all and i hope you all enjoy! next chapter will be pure chaos and fun!

i was listening to “cloud 9″ by beach bunny for this chapter! so that might help you understand how i see reader and iwa <33

(w.c.: 8,662 words)

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You’re ten years old when you meet Iwaizumi Hajime for the first time. 

He’s an inch shorter than you, skinny, hair set in an unorganized mess of spikes, and he smells of sweat. It’s the least enticing first impression you’ve ever encountered, wondering briefly if this is what all of Miyagi Prefecture has to offer.

Because if so, you’re not looking forward to it.

He’s blocking the entrance to the neighborhood park with his bike, back facing towards you and an arm stretched outward-pointing at something across the park. The same park that your mother has forced you to attend, kicking you out of your new home filled with moving boxes, a warm smile on her face and a simple request to “go have fun”.  

A request that was starting to seem like more of a problem than you anticipated. 

You’re halted in front of the gates to the area for a solid minute, the boy in front of you being less than aware of your presence as he continues to shout from across the park.

“Grab all of them, Oikawa!” 

There’s another boy roughly the same age holding several items that look to be action figures close to his chest. His face is scrunched up and his shoulders slouched as he takes exaggerated sluggish steps while crossing the courtyard. He’s sweaty too, just like the boy in front of you.

“But there’s so many, Iwaaa. Can’t you help me?” 

“You’re such a baby, Oikawa.” 

The one named Oikawa is about to respond when he stops his movements altogether. He merely points his finger, eyes fixated on something behind his black-haired friend.

You realize a bit too late that he’s pointing at you.

The friend, Iwa as he was called, turns his head with a questioning hum, green eyes meeting yours. A sea of emerald. 

“Oh,” he breathes out, voice high in timber and flooded in awkwardness, raising his hand in a shy greeting, “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” you respond in equal awkwardness, the kind that only a new kid can embody. Uneasiness has been settled into your bones ever since the move was announced, and now, as you stand before two physical embodiments of your displacement in this area, the feeling seems to sink even deeper into your stomach. “You’re blocking the entrance.”

“Huh? Oh! Sorry ‘bout that.” He begins a cumbersome shuffle of pushing the bike he was sitting on backward, small grunts escaping his mouth as he tries to make space for you to enter. It’s a slow process, considering he teeters from side to side and struggles to smoothly retreat from the space. Oikawa snickers in the background, some teasing words being aired that you are too far to hear, but they must be irking enough considering Iwa mutters a “shut up, idiot” in response.

The friendship is formidable, you don’t need to know them for long to see that. Envy and all its bitter acid coat your tongue.

“Are you the one that just moved in?” Oikawa speaks up.

You nod.

“How old are you? Are you going to Kitagawa Elementary? Have you already—”

Iwa interrupts the ferociously excited boy with a gentle scoff, “Calm down, Oikawa. Give her some air. Geez.”

“I just want to know more about the new girl, Iwa-chan!”

“Yeah, well you’re doing it wrong.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes and clutches the toys in his arms tighter, “You do it then!”

“Do what?”

“Introduce us! Make friends!”

“I think you blew it already.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun. If she’s going to the same place as us, she might as well join us! What do you say, new girl?”

You’re shaken from the brief exclusion of the conversation— realizing they’re including you this time—  when Iwa tears his eyes away from his friend and meets yours once again. Upon connection with the emeralds, your throat constricts your throat and the relief of ease washes over. The hesitancy that was bubbling in your stomach starts to dissipate when he looks at you— almost comforted by his dark yet steady stare— but the sense is quickly replaced by something else that shakes you. Your skin prickles, like fire ants marching up the pattern of your skin, and your palms start to sweat despite the cooling temperatures and the light breeze blowing against your skin. 

You’d have to tell your mom about this, just to make sure you weren’t getting sick.

“Would you like to join us?” Iwa asks. There’s no trace of a smile on his face but the invitation isn’t lacking in warmth. It’s a subtle kind, almost imperceptible if it weren’t for the look of curiosity residing upon his features. He speaks gently, like there wasn’t a distance between you two and another person listening in on the conversation, pointing his question and attention solely at you. There was a center of his gravitational pull and it was in your direction.

He’s waiting for your answer, and not the kind that results after courteously asking someone a question; You can tell he is really waiting, wanting to know what you say because his eyes hold onto yours in a way that is much more mature than a boy at the tender age of ten should be looking at someone.  

He’s sincere. He doesn’t even know you and yet he waits upon you as though your response were one he was to weigh considerably with his agenda. He’s a stranger, only said two things directly to you, and yet you feel weightless in the most minute of his attention. 

The rocks of anxiety that were sitting heavily in your stomach for the past month have disappeared and the answer that he waits so intensely for comes rather naturally. It’s the surest you’ve felt in a while. You don't know them at all, aren't even sure if you'll like them, but what would you be other than a fool to not follow the path of certain safety laid out in front of you, disguised as a black-haired boy with the spiky hair? How can you be sure unless you don't see for yourself?

“Yeah,” you sigh out, burdensome weight lifting off your shoulders at the answer, “Can I?”

“Yeah. You can.” He affirms with a nod, the corner of his lips quirking upward. Oikawa, rather befittingly, shouts a cheer, resuming his incessant chatter in throwing an onslaught of questions your way but you’re not listening. Pulled elsewhere you find your gaze being drawn back to the calm and steady boy, with the sea of emerald in his eyes.

“I’m Iwaizumi Hajime, by the way. And that’s Oikawa Tooru.”

“I’m (Y/N).” 

“Cool.”

You spend the whole day with them, quickly finding a natural place in their relationship, serving as the happy in-between of the flamboyant nature of Oikawa and the pillar of stone that is Iwaizumi. It’s fun, the most fun you’ve had in the entirety of your move that you find yourself trying to make some kind of excuse to extend the day when the sun starts to set. 

But Oikawa has to go home, and so does Iwa, and the disappointment is more than apparent on your face. There’s the unmistakable promise of seeing one another again, that of which was affirmed when Oikawa held out his pinky for you to take and solidify the statement on.

“I can walk you home if you want.” Iwaizumi tells you after you both wave your goodbyes to the other brunet. It’s a godsend, a miracle from the heavens who heard your building plight and decided to spare your jilted mind with some form of comfort. 

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you tell him, purely as a formality. Your mother’s lessons of never burdening others kicking into gear at his offer, but you plead, secretly in the deep recesses of your brain that he disagrees. Hope desperately that he’ll take the initiative and stay with you just a moment longer. 

He shakes his head, bearing a toothy smile that is missing one of his canines. “I don’t mind. My mom always tells me to make sure girls get home safe.”

Calm, steady, comforting. You selfishly agree before you have half a mind to say otherwise, “Okay. I live this way.”

And as he trails beside you, holding his bike in his hands as he walks at the pace you set, telling you the details about his favorite monster movie, you find yourself incredibly enamored with the short, sweaty boy that hates green tea and loves summertime.

And not for the first time.

You’re thirteen when you realize that you have a terribly, horribly, deeply incessant crush on Iwaizumi Hajime. 

It’s lunchtime and while you’re usually quick to eat with the resident bickering duo of Sendai, they’ve ditched you for volleyball practice— and not for the first time. So you sit with your other group of close friends, the ones you made through the conventional school setting, and not because they impulsively adopted you into their routine. They’re the necessary and equal balance to the growing testosterone you religiously spend your weekends with, so ultimately you’re not too upset at being left behind for a sport. 

Besides, it’s nice to be surrounded by girls who talk about normal things instead of sweaty violent boys that only talk about volleyball and occasionally the things you like.

Mai, a girl with a short bob that frames her round face, shakes the table with her loud laughter, the curtain of her hair swaying in tune to her joyful movement. She was the first friend you made in this group, and easily the one you’re closest to. The complete opposite of Hajime if her unabashed, frantic excitement is anything to go by. But much like the spaces in this Miyagi heart of yours that’s dedicated to Tooru and Hajime, there’s one for her too. She grabs onto one of your arms and holds it tightly, seeking stability as her melodic laughter rings through your table. 

It’s hard not to laugh alongside her. 

“Please!” She begs Yua, a blonde girl in the year above you, and wipes her eyes free from the laughter-induced tears, “No more! I’m gonna pee!”

Yua huffs, shrugging her shoulders to say that Mai’s inability to hold her urine was beyond her control, “I’m serious! That’s how I found out Kaito had a crush on me!”

“And what did you do?” You ask, laughter lacing your own words at the tale Yua expertly weaved, describing in excruciating detail how Kaito from your third period wrote a love letter comparing Yua’s lips to that of a whale as if that was somehow a compliment.

“I ran away! What else was I supposed to do?!”

Mai howls with laughter, her body being thrown against yours and her arms flailing with the movements, unable to contain herself. You’re almost identical, finding that you follow Mai’s gesticulation in perfect countering. Where she pushes you left, you move in sync, allowing her to lean her weight on you as you both lose yourself in the story.

For as much seriousness as she tries to implement in her words, the quirking of her lips betray Yua, “Laugh all you want, but wait ‘til this happens to you! Then you’ll get it!”

“I don’t think Mai and I have to worry about that,” you tell her, the remainder of your laughter dying out of your words. Mai snaps upward, her body no longer slumped against yours, and instead of facing you with furrowed brows and an offended expression.

The two friends speak simultaneously, one with indignation and the other with confusion “Why not?”

The pointedness of the question makes it seem as though your words were wrong, a misstep in a direction that you have to apologize for. Regardless of whether or not you know why. “Uh, ‘cause no one likes us like that?”

Mai scoffs, crossing her arms and tilting her nose upwards, “Speak for yourself.”

“Sorry, no one likes me like that. So I don’t have to worry.” You say with a smile punctuating the statement with a scoop of rice into your mouth. It wasn’t a statement meant to be considered deeply, it was a simple fact. There were hardly any thirteen-year-olds looking your way, and even if there were, it wasn’t like your attention was focused on them either. All the boys in school were either too annoying or too stupid.

Except for Hajime. He was the only tolerable one. Oikawa fell into the “too annoying” category. But you still loved him—sometimes.

Yua and Mai share a glance, a fleeting look before they look back at you, “You’re joking, right?”

You look up from your food to meet their furrowed stares, “What?”

They share another glance, Mai answering Yua’s silent question with a shrug of her shoulders. You’re completely left in the dark. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“Okay, so what if,” Yua begins, the familiar teasing lilt that you’ve widely associated with the blonde returning, stressing on the ‘if’, “someone did like you. What would you do?”

They both look at you with waggling eyebrows, like they’ve cornered you into the exact hypothetical they want you to be in. While this isn’t necessarily an unfamiliar place to be in, it is a weird one, considering you and boys have never really been the topic of conversation unless Iwa and Oikawa were somehow brought up. But your friendship with them was well known and not exactly hidden at all. It wasn’t sensational, nor was it the topic of gossip. Neither was the fact that you aren’t exactly the kind of girl the boys of Kitagawa First were looking at if they were even looking at girls.

“But no one likes me like that.”

“Answer the question.”

You gesture in exasperation, “I don’t know! I’m not really into anyone like that, so I guess I’d say no?”

The two girls pause again, sharing another look. 

“Okay, can you two stop that?”

Mai speaks up this time, almost disbelieving, “You really don’t like anyone?”

“Am I supposed to?”

Yua sings, “Not even Iwaizumiii?”

The chopsticks that you held deftly in your hands go limp and a straight shot of shock runs down your spine. Time stands still in this cramped cafeteria and it feels like your head has been dunked into a bucket of cold water, halting the train of thought and highlighting every possible exit in this building.

The red lights of panic have turned on in your brain and they’re screaming at you to run.

“I— I don’t— what are you guys talking about?” 

Your two best friends, who now resemble Satan’s assistants more than anything remotely positive to you, share their third unspoken glance, and you’re about to lose it. 

“So,” Yua starts again, tearing her sly eyes from Mai’s excited ones, “You do like him?”

Code red. Abandon ship. Abort. R-U-N.

“No! He— I— We’re just friends!” 

“Oh my god!” Mai slams her hands on the surface of the table, her brown eyes boring into your widened ones as she leans over to invade your personal space and poke your chest.

“You like him!”

The brain that is usually so quick with an excuse, trained to be sharp-witted and smart from years of intense teasing from Tooru and Hajime, suddenly feels like mush in your head. Ooey, gooey mush that can’t come up with anything but stuttering, “N-No” at the idea of having some romantic inclination towards Hajime. The best friend you hang out with every weekend; The boy that always walks you home and always makes sure your comments are heard; The spiky-haired idiot with a sea of emerald in his eyes that you always seem to drown in.

But, that’s not— that doesn’t mean— No. 

You don’t like Hajime like that. He’s just a really really good friend. That you enjoy spending time with. That makes you feel comfortable with just a single look. The friend that you always want around, regardless of the kind of day. Yeah. That’s it. 

Hajime is just that kind of person.

Yua gives an unconvinced hum and taps her bright pink nails on the table surface, “When you think about another girl liking him, do you get jealous?” 

Mai backs up from your face to give a wide smile at the blonde, pointing at her wickedly and almost shouting, “Ooh! Good question!”

“Thanks, I read it in my sister’s magazine.”

Mai turns back, almost touching your nose with hers, “Well? Do you?”

The “no” is on the tip of your tongue as an instinctual defense against this personal interrogation, but it doesn’t come out. Partly because of the mush of your brain but also because you know any denial of that question just simply isn’t true; Because when Saran followed Hajime around all day in grade six, you distinctly remember being in a foul mood for a while.

A mood that could only be fixed when Hajime indirectly affirmed that he did not like her.

Oh god.

You like Hajime.

You like his stupid face and his stupid laugh and the stupid way he teases you and the stupid way he makes you feel.

Your friends laugh in your face for a solid minute while you hang your head in your hands, certain that your life was completely over with the new revelation. Yua is the instigator, teasing you relentlessly over the silent confession while Mai asserts that this is the beginning of a fairytale. 

She says it with such conviction that you’re almost inclined to believe her until reason kicks in, and the shamefulness of the situation kicks in. You push it down, fine with keeping the acknowledgment exactly where it is, right under your thumb. That is until Oikawa finds out about it and then suddenly, it’s no longer in your control.

You’re fourteen when he corners you after school. He’s walking you home, taking Hajime’s usual role when said boy and subject of your plight had to stay home with the sick. 

You don’t think he’s going to bring it up, hardly aware he even knows about it, but he does making you choke on your spit and trip over a crack in the sidewalk. He clutches his stomach in a guffaw. 

“Did you really think you could hide it from me?” Tooru teases, his finger poking at your heated cheek that you quickly swat away. 

“I’m not hiding anything, Tooru,” you mutter, keeping your head turned downwards. If Oikawa even sees a smidgen of embarrassment he would never let you live it down.

“Oh, please. You’re so easy to read, especially when Iwa-chan is around. You’re all, ‘oh Iwa, you’re so smart and funny. I want to be with you forever. Mwah, mwah, mwah!’” His hands are interwoven beside his head and he attempts a poor, high-pitched imitation of your voice. Again, Oikawa Tooru belongs in the “too annoying” category that most eighth-grade boys find themselves in. 

You lift your left leg, thrusting your shin outward to kick the taller boy in his behind, a move all too familiar. Really, Oikawa should have seen it coming, having had it done to him so often by Iwaizumi. He’s too swept up in the antics of teasing, though, that it surprises him and the pain in his bottom is sharp. His hands cover the stinging area. 

“Ow, (Y/N)!”

“That’s what you get for being stupid.”

“See! You even act him like him!”

You raise your fist upward and he raises his hands in defense, cowering at the threat of more pain, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He lowers his hands, one eye closed and the other peeking from behind his lowering fingers, “Gosh, so violent. I’m only trying to help!”

“I don’t need help.” You grumble.

You continue your trek onward, desperate to put as much distance between yourself and this nightmare of a conversation. But it’s not that simple. There are now three people that have realized the truth of your crush in less than a year— all of which are your closest friends. It’s only a matter of time before the friend above them all realizes it too. 

Worst off, only a matter of time before someone tells him. 

You turn towards Tooru with a speed that has him flinching and thrusting his hands upward for protection again. A yelp echoes around the empty street and was it not for the intensity behind your desperation, you probably would have laughed.

“Tooru.” There’s a rasp in your voice, one that you aren’t exaggerating. It makes Oikawa uncomfortable hearing such a serious depth to your previously annoyed cadence. In his continuously growing height, he stares down at you, fear crumpling his face.

“Don’t say my name like that—”

“You cannot tell Hajime.”

He straightens his posture out, hand rubbing the back of his neck. A brow is raised quizzically, “Isn’t that the whole point of having a crush? So that you can eventually tell that person about it?”

It’s not like you expect him to understand, hell, you don’t even understand it yourself. All you know is that Hajime cannot know about it; There are too many factors, too many problems that can happen. Besides, you’re sure it’s just a tiny crush, one that will go away after a couple of months. 

And even if it didn’t, you still wouldn’t be able to tell him. Because you’ve been best friends for four years now, and if there was anything remotely remarkable about you, you’re sure something would’ve happened already. Because Hajime is strong, decisive, and steady. If he wants something, he goes for it; And if he wanted you, in any capacity like the way you want him, he would’ve said something. 

But he doesn’t because you’re his best friend. Nothing is outstanding about you, nothing that would make you more than just the girl he’s friends with. Nothing that would make you any different from “just one of the guys”.

He would never see you as anything but. 

So, it’s just easier to have Hajime as a friend than to risk it all for a likely rejection. You could swallow the feelings, bury them deep inside of you for the rest of time. It would be significantly easier than never talking to him again because you couldn’t be a big girl and not make things awkward. 

You try to tell Oikawa as much, “It’s— I just— It would be easier if he didn’t know. It’ll go away soon.”

The brunet tilts his head to the side, kind of like a pouty puppy. When he’s not being a teasing butthead, he’s rather gentle with you, considerate of your emotions, and above all, eager to understand.

“Do you want it to go away?”

“Like I said, it would just be easier.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

A quiet settles between the two of you and it feels like it’s oceans wide. You, stranded out at sea in the terrorizing waves of emotions, and he, the lighthouse built on the rocks. Tall and fixed, beckoning you towards his stable ground of reason. It’s a brief reminder that when Oikawa tries, he’s not that annoying. He’s rather kind and empathetic.

“Do you want Hajime to like you?”

The deep cocoa eyes dig into you and the waves crash even more ferociously around you.

Cotton dries up your mouth, and the ache that always pains your heart whenever you think about Hajime returns in full force, “He never will.”

Oikawa huffs out a breath, back becoming imperceptibly straighter while he crosses his arms. It’s hard to imagine him as anything but that sweaty boy you met on the playground, but he stands before you a giant, body filling out from all the volleyball practice and the baby features of his face evening out to become the handsome boy girls were starting to see him as. He radiates his kind of steadiness, one different from Hajime, but equally as comforting.

It’s admirable— he’s admirable— when it's not pinned against you.

“And how do you know?”

“Tooru,” you sigh, exhaustion suddenly creeping up your shoulders along with the overwhelming urge to cry, “Please.”

You don’t feel like explaining all the intricacies of your perceived inadequacy and thank the gods above he’s a good enough friend to know when to stop prying, “Fine, fine. I’ll leave it alone. For now.”

You stare up at him, searching his face for any notion of deceit or subterfuge, “You promise you won’t say anything?”

“Yeah, yeah,” He waves his hand in dismissal, rolling his eyes in that way that portrays annoyance but the love is there. He understands you, at least. 

You hold out your pinky for him, “Pinky promise?”

“What are we, ten?” 

You hold your finger out further, almost waving it in his face. It’s the staple of trust in your friendship, instituted early on between you and him, and only you and him. He can’t back out now.

He takes it with a sigh of his own, huffing out his breath, and twisting his long, slender finger with yours. You shake his hand in affirmation, letting go only when you feel comfortable in the validity of his promise and resuming your walk home. 

He throws an arm over your shoulder, squeezing you tightly to his body, “Eventually you’re going to have to say something.”

“I know.” 

“I hope you know I’m never letting you live this down.”

“It’s like you want me to hit you again.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe in the future, when you’re more comfortable with the fact that it’s your best friend of all people that gives you butterflies in your stomach, you’ll do something about it. But not right now, not when he spends all his time in volleyball and especially not when you were barely confident in yourself. Or maybe, it’ll go away, and you can look back on this as a funny memory rather than anything serious.

You’re fifteen when you finally accept the circumstances and become resigned to it. Finally understanding that your crush is more than just a crush, but knowing full well that that’s all you can let it be.

Hajime sits on the floor, surrounded by your regular friends plus a couple of others at Oikawa’s birthday party when he says it. You’re not supposed to hear it from your place in the kitchen, but you do and it’s a dagger to both heart and confidence. He’s confirmed everything you knew and quelled any potential rebuttal of thoughts Mai or Tooru have planted in your head. 

You were stupid to think Hajime could ever see you as anything more than the girl he’s just friends with.

Your appetite quickly dissipates and you have to work extra hard to make sure pure despair doesn’t show on your face. Especially when Oikawa hears it too and he makes that face that looks like he wants to give you a hug, which makes everything ten times harder.

A kid named Matsukawa is the one that asks. You don’t blame him. He’s only fifteen, after all, asking what normal fifteen-year-olds normally talk about.

“What about (Y/N)? Would you date her?”

Hajime scoffs, a laugh on his lips as though it were the weirdest question he’s ever heard.

“She’s my best friend. That would be like dating my sister. I don’t like her like that.”

You’re fifteen and you’ve become resigned to it all, because it’s better to have Hajime as a friend, than to never have him at all. Because you would never have him; At least not in the way you want. 

You don’t blame him for that either.

You cry about it later on, after the party is over and after you deny Hajime’s insistence to walk you home. He has a weird look on his face when you tell him you’ll be fine, your house is only a few blocks away. He wants to fight you on it, can see the argument forming it in that storm of green. It’s a shitty feeling to deny him so blatantly, but you really can’t stomach being around him at the moment. Not when your heart pangs longingly for him and your insecurities increase tenfold at the confirmation of your inadequacy.

Not when all of this is happening at once, showing as clear as day on your face, and he sees it. Worst of all, not when he wants to solve it, hardly understanding that he’s the cause of it.

His eyes narrow, staring intently as he studies your features. The scrutiny is uncomfortable and if he does stares a second longer the tears will fall.

“Did… something happen during the party?” Hajime asks hesitantly. There’s a whirlwind of possibilities crossing his mind, all indicating rather unsavory and horrifying ideas that have his worry bubbling beneath his skin. You’re barely meeting his gaze, hands clasped tightly before you and body way too stiff. The complete opposite of your normal demeanor, especially around him.

Usually so open, so vibrant. And here you stand before him, the dark of night surrounding you and the fluorescent glow of the streetlamps casting a ghoulish light on your face, exaggerating your dejected features more prominently. 

He’s heard of worst-case scenarios when girls and boys get together, something mentioned in passing when his mother was on the phone with his aunt. He never really thought much about it, considering he would never do something like that and he doesn’t hang around many girls, to begin with for something like that to be an immediate concern.. 

In this stark contrast of a moment, however, he’s briefly reminded of the fact that he so often tends to forget. You’re a girl; A living, breathing, pretty girl. Everyone likes you, would be fools not to. And while he would never allow himself or anyone else to force themselves upon you, you weren’t with him for the whole party. Disappearing for a brief moment after he saw you enter the kitchen. The idea of something like that— something that horrible— happening to you under his nose has all of his instincts on fight mode, forget the flight. A shattering of the innocence he was so previously impervious to. 

The implication is clear in his voice accompanied with the fear-stricken features, so you can hardly miss what he means. 

“Did— Did anyone…?” His voice cracks and he hurriedly tries to clear it up with the clearing of his throat, but you heard it. It happens often when he’s wrestling with an onslaught of emotions, trying his hardest to remain calm and clear-headed and focused that sometimes his voice just gives out. Also, puberty.

The act doesn’t matter though, not when he’s silently amping himself up to fight someone if you were touched inappropriately. He would win; He’s been in a couple of fights before, usually off school property, he doesn’t mind getting into another one. Not if it was for you. And he would win; Would make sure of that.

The tussle for calm is transparent on his face. Lips struggling to stay in a closed, neutral line rather than the frown he has to hold back. His fists clench, blunt nails digging into the skin of his palms to alleviate the growing anger, only to prove futile. He so badly wants to grab you by the shoulders, shake you furiously, ask what the hell is going on because you’re never like this—

He doesn’t. He knows better. Even if the suspense is driving him up the wall and the tension that encapsulates the empty street is thick and choking him. 

Finally, you say something.

“No, Haji,” you say softly, “No one did anything to me.”

It’s what Iwaizumi wants to hear; Should be ecstatic to know that you are physically unharmed, free from the taint that comes with a foreign touch, the one he’s intent to protect you from. Your voice is too quiet though, and the smile you give him is too small for him to feel any modicum of ease. You're lying. Someone did something.

“I’m fine, really!” You try again, amping up the energy to convince him. It falls flat. 

“(Y/N).” That spiky head of hair tips forward, pushing himself in your averting line of sight, refusing to let you hide from him. He’s taller now, finally taller than you. While his hair is still that fluff of mess on his head, his eyes are still that piercing green that can always read you like a book and his favorite season is still summer, only this time he no longer enjoys going to the park, but instead the beach. 

He’s the same Hajime you fell in love with and the remainder is enough to cause a lump swell in your throat.

“What are you hidi—”

“Iwa-chan!”

The familiar melodious voice rings out in the empty street, its owner sauntering his way over to your departing figures. There’s that recognizable air of flowering confidence rolling off of him like a humid heat and the sly shining of his pearly whites that serves as a buffer from the thick air of tension between you and Haj— Iwaizumi.

Just, Iwaizumi. No added affection.

There's magic in Oikawa’s stroll, you’re sure of it. It looks perfectly coincidental, like he just so happened to stumble upon a tense scene, instead of the very much needed and purposeful intervention for his emotionally crushed best friend and worry-fueled other best friend.

And they call him the idiot.

He sighs that flowery breath of his, throwing his arm around Iwa’s shoulders and watching the desperation that filled your gaze wash away with relief at his intrusion. Iwa’s confusion only seems to increase, but truthfully, Oikawa isn’t too concerned with his hard-headed friend. He’s really only keen on getting you out of there— out to safety and away from the source of your heartbreak.

“Iwa-chan, you have to go set up the movie player. I have no idea how to work it.”

“I’ve shown you how to do it four times, Tooru.”

“But it’s so much easier when you do it. Don’t worry, I’ll walk our precious flower home while you set up for our sleepover.”

Iwaizumi hesitates, his eyes bouncing from the self-assured smile of Oikawa to your downturned gaze. There’s something wrong, he knows it. But it’s obviously a secret he isn’t allowed into. 

He won’t pry, he’s never been one to beg for secrets— never been one to want secrets told to him at all. However, there’s a particular sting at knowing that it’s you who’s hiding something and refusing to tell him. That there’s something Oikawa is aware about, that he isn’t allowed to know.

It’s not his business, he surmises. You’re not his business. He swallows that bitter pill, accepting Oikawa’s offer with a brief nod. He’s not happy, that’s plain to see, but he knows better than to insert himself where he’s not wanted.

Calm, steady, comfortable. Iwaizumi will fight for what he wants, but not when it hurts you in the process.

He bids you a brief goodbye, voice tight and rigid, clearly displaying his dissatisfaction but accepting it nonetheless. He doesn’t even look back at you. It’s what you want, you suppose. Some distance from him for your benefit, so you can at least try and forget about how you feel; Save yourself from the devastation of falling even deeper in love with him. 

He enters Oikawa’s house. It’s a place you’ve been many times, slept over on many occasions yet, when Iwaizumi crosses the threshold with a strain on his shoulders and a grimace on his face, you can’t help but wonder if he’s finally going someplace that you can’t follow. If you’ve spent all these years pining over him, wondering if you would ever be enough for him, only to push him away into an area of no return. 

Oikawa doesn’t give you a moment to think long about it before he’s ushering you away from the crime scene where your uncontrollable and childish feelings have brutally injured a fraying friendship and guiding you home. He talks the entire time, about everything and nothing, and you’re rather grateful for the background noise. To finally think about something other than your broken heart and Iwaizumi’s betrayed face. 

He leaves you at your door with the promise that things will get better, that it won’t hurt so much, and that he’s always there for you. He places a sweet kiss on the crown of your head, turning his back with a final wave and leaving you alone with your thoughts. The promise of meeting one another again is unspoken, instinctive. You know deep down, though, it’ll be different from here on out. You’ll have to be more careful, more guarded with the things you say and do.

You wonder if Iwaizumi has as much trouble sleeping that night as you do. 

(He does. He doesn’t sleep at all.)

Things do get better, which is a blessed curse. The tension eventually resolves after a couple of weeks of tiptoeing around each other. Normality returns in full-swing and you’re able to talk to Hajime without the overwhelming feeling of guilt and need to explain everything; If he holds any issues about what happened that night, he doesn’t mention it, following your lead and letting the friendship return to normal.

The problem lies in the fact that Oikawa was ultimately right, and he makes a point to show that he’s right. That things did get better, and the fragmentation of your splintering relationship with the boy you love eventually gets patched up.

Life moves on.

The feelings don’t go away, but you get better at managing them. It’s significantly easier to push the pining down and not think too much about any passing romantic comments in school that pair you and Iwaizumi together; Nor do you think twice about the harmless flirting that occasionally comes your way. You dish it back, continuing the joking nature of the friendship and after a while, it doesn’t hurt so bad. You exit the stages of puberty and things don’t feel as hectic as they once were. 

The turbulent waves of emotions finally die down to a steady roll, and for a while, you’re able to float. It’s safe, peaceful, exactly how you want it to stay. 

That is until you’re seventeen, almost eighteen, and Iwaizumi asks you to be his fake girlfriend. The waves pick up steam and you’re drowning again. You have the girls of Aoba Johsai to thank for that. 

This time though, you’re determined to protect yourself. The anxiety of it all starts to settle in between your shoulders and instead of falling victim to the whims of an unsuspecting Iwaizumi once again, the urge to protect yourself and your pathetic emotions takes precedence. You will not be reduced down to the unconfident, love-sick girl you once were; You’ve worked too hard to do that. You matter more than Iwaizumi’s stupid girl problem.

It’s why you don’t think twice when you blurt it out after agreeing to help.

“We need a contract.”

“A contract?” Hajime parrots back, broad arms crossed over his equally broad chest and the intense training you’ve instilled in yourself to not stare at him meets its limitations, lest you stoop down to the level of the girls he’s so desperate to evade. He’s grown so much, physically and personally, that it's hard to not look at him. You force yourself to glance around the crowded cafe, look anywhere but his veiny arms, and instead replace your view with the small restaurant you two frequent every Monday— the only day he has off from volleyball practice. 

It’s a small establishment that sells teas and noodles, a pleasant find to make one day when the both of you were hungry pre-teens and full of time on your hands. It’s usually rather empty during this time as it’s just out of the line of sight to avoid the after-school rush of students, but today the line extends outside of the door, all attendees eager to have a taste of miso ramen and pushing against bodies to do so. The people behind you are respectful enough to give you as much space as one can afford in the cramped venue, but you end up still having to press yourself into the stiff body of the boy— no, man— beside you. 

You have the decency to look at least a little uncomfortable in the tightness of the situation, but Hajime shows nothing. Whether it’s because he doesn’t even care that your chest is bracing against his arm or he’s too distracted with the complicatedness of his “girl” problem, his face betrays no embarrassment at the closeness. No frustration, no discomfort, not even annoyance. He merely exists, dealing with your body pressed against his as if this were a regular occurrence and not an awkward preemption to the farce that you’ve stupidly agreed to. This would surely haunt you for the rest of your years. 

This man of steel, this monolith of lean, corded muscle, was going to be your “boyfriend” for the next couple of weeks. You would be lucky if this arrangement even lasted for that long considering the confession of pure unadulterated adoration is crawling up the canal of your throat and tearing the fabric of your skin, sticking a middle finger at the rational parts of your brain trying desperately to hold it back. 

Your fate is signed, knowing full and well that in your inability to deny Hajime— especially when he’s so desperate, which is a rarity in and of itself— you’ve willingly agreed to have your dignity and confidence stripped from your person and your feelings thrown in a loop for the sake of his sanity. 

It’s annoying. Every potential hypothetical plays itself in high definition across the theatre of your mind and each one ends with you being brutally rejected once again. There’s no way you could handle something like that again, no matter how much you’ve matured. 

This is a bad idea, and you need to tell him that.

But then the sight of pleading jades enters your vision and you distinctly remember the permanent frown that etched itself on Hajime’s face these past three months. Remember how the feelings of deep discomfort forced him to confide in you on a late-night phone call when sleep evaded him and he detailed the dread he felt at the prospect of going to school the next school day.

If your mouth even opened a fraction to breathe, you’re sure the “I’m in love with you and have been since sixth grade” will come tumbling out, but even the fear of that happening doesn’t overpower the overwhelming desire to help the man you’re madly in love with.

There’s a limit to what would be forsaken in the name of Iwaizumi Hajime’s happiness, but your sanity isn’t it.

The situation worsens when the subtle shifting of the patrons behind you throws you off balance and forces you impossibly closer to him. The shuffling of feet knocks into your own, tilting you off balance despite your leaning against Hajime. A rebuttal is on the tip of your tongue ready to be released in rapid-fire when Hajime beats you to it. 

He quickly wraps his arm around your waist, allowing your unsteady feet to find balance against his lean body of stone, clutching you tightly to his side as if the accidental push against you were a personal offense. 

The protective nature that so often lies dormant in his personality rears its head forward and you swear your heart stops beating altogether. 

“Easy,” he mutters, a layer of strict dismay interweaving in his words as he casts a pointed side glare at the two boys standing behind you. You hardly hear it, much too occupied with trying not to drown in the sudden flooding of his cologne in your nostrils. 

Musk and spice. His usual scent, but even more addicting when it’s this close. 

This is a bad idea. This is a horrible, bad, awful idea. Bad, bad, bad idea.

You have to end this. You won’t survive this. 

“C-contract.” You, somehow, manage to spit out, shaking your head free from the waft of his scent and the strength of his arm across your back. 

Okay, not necessarily ending this but protecting yourself. Yeah, that’s it. Because there is no way you want him to keep acting like this, no. You’re just doing this to help and totally not to selfishly indulge in the delight of being his, even if it is fake. 

He tears his narrowed eyes away from the boys behind you to glance at you, the remnants of disapproval flickering in the sea of green that you swear only evens out when he looks at you, “Right. What’s in this contract?”

“The, uh, basics,” you begin, voice slowly finding its footing after the intense whiplash you just experienced. You're surprised you can even form words that aren’t resembling proclamations of desire, “What we can and can’t do, how long this is for, and so on.”

“That’s a good idea,” He breathes out. The line shifts forward, and the cashier finally enters the field of view. With a quick recoil, as though his skin were burned by the action, he removes his hand from around your waist. The warmth of his arm rescinds with it, and that thirteen-year-old girl that has fantasized for years about this, whines in desperation. You quickly tell her to shut up.

He clears his throat, awkwardness filling the cramped and stale air, “Uh, sorry. About that.”

He avoids your eyes and you quickly look around too, “It’s fine.”

A silence ensues. It’s not uncomfortable, per se, but it’s a far cry from the brief pauses in conversation that usually occur between the two of you. The comfortable silences that occur naturally between friends of five years. You wonder if you should address it, address the fact that if you two were to pull this off— and pull it off well— there were going to be more moments when he was going to have to touch you like that. 

He was going to have to hold your hand and give you frequent hugs and actually act like he was in love with you. Act. 

You swallow at the prospect. Not like that would be hard for you to do, you think rather pitifully.

There are two more couples in front of you when you say, “I’d like to institute the first provision.”

Hajime quirks an eyebrow, his lips lifting upward, an obvious sign of gratefulness at being able to brush over that weird moment of physicality. He doesn’t know why it was instinctual, or why he even thought that placing his hand that low around your waist would be a good idea. But, he did it; And it’s quite the revelation when he realizes he didn’t mind it. 

At all.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” He glances at you to his right, the teasing smile gracing your features and the recognizable glint of mischief in your eyes. 

“You have to buy all of the food we eat together.”

He scoffs out a laugh, shaking his head, “I already buy all of our food.”

“I always pay you back!”

“You owe me at least three-thousand yen.”

“Okay, an addendum to provision one.”

“Shoot.”

“You buy all of our food and forgive my debts.”

He laughs louder tilting his head back as his teeth peek from his pink lips. It’s the bark of laughter that swells your beating heart with confidence. You may not have him romantically, but there’s no denial of the fact that he likes you in his life, especially when you can make him laugh like that, “I’m starting to think this contract is only beneficial to you.”

It’s your turn to raise an eyebrow at him, the body still tucked tightly beside his as feet shuffle forward in the line, “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m doing you a huge favor.”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.” A silence befalls again, this one not as tense as before. A small smile plays on his lips and there’s a sincerity behind his gaze that reminds you of how appreciative he really is for this. Hajime isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to repay you for stepping in and helping him in the most intimate of ways that you most likely would rather not do. There wasn’t ever an expressed interest in the dating scene from you, always denying the occasional confession that came your way and never thinking twice about the romantic holidays that come and go.

He wonders why because if you tried, you’d have every guy within a ten-foot radius begging for your attention. Surely one of them would be worthy of your love. (He doesn’t agree though. There’s no one in this world who could ever be worthy of you. Not when you smile so brightly and tease so enticingly. No one would ever deserve that part of you. No one that he would ever approve of, anyway..) He’s not dumb in realizing that your willingness to engage in a romantic relationship with him— even if it is a fake one— is a large deviation from the norm. It’s not something to be taken lightly.

So, he owes you. Big time. Whatever you want, whatever you put in this contract, he’ll do. He’ll be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. 

(Fake boyfriend, he has to remind himself. He swallows down the disappointment.)

“Thank you.” he breaks the silence, rubbing the back of his heating neck, “Again. For doing this for me. I don’t—”

“Ah, ah!” You interrupt, holding your hand upwards and wagging a finger at him, “I haven’t done anything yet, so don’t start thanking me so soon. Who knows? I might sabotage this whole thing, be the worst girlfriend you could ever imagine.” 

 The couple in front of you finishes their order, stepping to the side to allow the both of you forward. You step up, dragging him with you but you don’t miss the low throaty chuckle he emits when he says, “You like me too much to do that.”

He pats the top of your head, smoothing the fly-away hairs with a wink and a sly smile, and then, like nothing even happened, he steps up to the counter, taking the initiative and placing your usual orders. There’s both too much nuance and not enough to his statement to determine if you should be scared at his words. Does he know? Did Oikawa tell him?

You don’t even notice when he puts both food items on one bill. 

It’s then that you remember, with little humor like someone who’s forgotten a necessary step to an important project, that while you’ve done a lot of growing and building these past four years to fortify the walls of your heart, so has he. He’s stronger, more confident, more sturdy. 

Fourteen-year-old you built the walls for a fourteen-year-old Iwaizume Hajime. She didn’t even think to consider the damage eighteen-year-old Ace and Vice-Captain of the Seijoh Volleyball Team could do. Not with a spike those strong arms could make and a sea of green that you still drown in.

The first large crack in the barriers has been made. 

He turns to face you upon finishing the order, stepping to the side and bracing his body against the far wall of the restaurant to allow the next customers to the counter. That damn sly smile is still on his face, and it’s then you realize that he has to know. He has to know what he’s doing, or at least know that it’s doing something to you.

“So,” he tucks his hands into the pockets of his uniform pants, biceps bulging at the action “tell me about this contract, sweet girlfriend of mine.”

end notes: god damn glad that’s over. what did yall think?? too much? not enough? lemme know! i love reading all of your tags and comments, it fills me with such happiness :))))

tag list: @bruh-kill-me @owlnymph @airybnb @yukiilu-personal @cathwritestragediesnotsins @berna-dette​

[tuanhood]

hypnotic | part one

paring: vampire!im jaebeom x reader

genre: angst, eventual smut (part two), vampire au

warnings: language, cringey vampire cliches i’m sure

word count: 9,800+

summary: jaebeom has been waiting 200 years to find his mate - the one who can break his trance and isn’t affected by his hypnotic abilities. You don’t seem to be that person, but he just can’t seem to get you out of his mind… why? 

a/n: hello guys! so i originally had this planned to post tomorrow (the 30th) but it was so long i decided to split it up and post one part today and the other part on the 31st! This first part is mostly Jaebeom and not a lot of Y/N but SO BE IT. This is also my first time writing in the genre of vampire/fantasy loL so please forgive me because it’ll probably be cringe and not make sense. if that’s the case lol drop me a message!! also vampire jaebeom was requested FOREVER ago. so here it is practically 3 decades later. and i attempted to make a banner. if someone can make me a better one it’s v much WELCOME.

part two

Knock Knock Knock 

He wished he could just pretend like he was asleep. He wished he could use that as an excuse to not answer the door, but based on the very strong feeling he was getting from who was behind it – that wouldn’t work. 

“I know you’re in there! Just answer the damn door Jaebeom!”

Jaebeom rolled his eyes, leave it to Bambam to be at his front door before the day even had a chance to truly begin. Before letting him in, he went through all the possible things or excuses he could use to get out of whatever his younger friend had in mind.

“Is your vintage YSL here or is it still at the dry cleaners?” Bambam asked, pushing past Jaebeom as soon as he has the door partway open.

Gruffly, Jaebeom turned back into his apartment to Bambam already halfway to his bedroom – no doubt to look through his closet, “What are you doing here Bam?” 

“What does it look like? I’m here for the vintage YSL asshole!” 

He’s learned by now that it’s better to let him do his thing – whatever that may mean. So instead of following Bambam, he plopped down onto the same couch he’s had for nearly 15 years. “You know when I first bought that shirt it wasn’t considered vintage!”

Jaebeom waited for a response, but instead, he was met with silence. After a few moments – many of them thinking about how maybe it was time to replace the couch – he felt his “vintage” YSL button-down hit him in the face. 

He groaned; the impact was surely going to create wrinkles in the material he tried to keep in pristine condition. It was ironic since he was often heard making fun of how much Bambam cared about clothes, but Jaebeom liked to keep his things nice. “Bam I just got it back from getting cleaned a couple of days ago.”

“Put it on.” 

The tone of his friend’s voice seemed rather impatient. If he had closed his eyes, Jaebeom would have thought he was talking to Jinyoung or even himself. 

“Why do I need to put it on? It’s 8 in the morning; where are we going?”

“Um excuse me? Did you forget what day it was? Now come on, we’re meeting Jinyoung at that new café down the street in fifteen.”

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, trying to picture the café on the mental map he keeps in his mind, “the one that used to be a video store in the 90s?”

Bambam made his way into the living room, picking up a few glasses that rested on the coffee table Jaebeom’s feet were on top of, and marched over to the small kitchen. Jaebeom has lived in this apartment more years than he’d like to admit, especially because enough time had passed that the neighbors he had were clearly aging and he just stayed 26. The thought of moving somewhere new often enters his mind, but with this place, he just can’t bring it in himself to go quite yet. It’s almost as though something is tying him to this city, this place – like he’s waiting for something.

“Yes, and a speakeasy in the 20s both of which are not important right now because we live in the 21st century Jaebeom. Now come on, Jinyoung’s waiting – that asshole is always early.” 

He heard Bambam mumble something along the lines of known him 100 years, would it kill him to just be on time for once, as he furiously dropped the glasses on the kitchen counter.

“Do I have to go?” 

Bambam paused his motions of putting Jaebeom’s dirty dishes into the sink to stare the older vampire down, “Jaebeom you only turn 200 once.” 

He scoffed in response, “Jesus don’t remind me.”

“We have to make a whole day of it! So please just put the shirt on, because I want you looking presentable,” he stopped in the middle of his sentence, suddenly wiggling his eyebrows, “you never know what could happen.” The final word is drawn out, almost sing-song like and it drives Jaebeom up the wall because he knows exactly what Bambam is referencing.

For Jaebeom and those like Jaebeom, they didn’t consider the day they were born as their birthday, but instead as the day they turned. There was no point in celebrating their birth anymore as they were no longer alive. However, at this point after 200 birthdays, – alive and dead combined - Jaebeom was beginning to believe that there was no point to those either. He always knew being immortal was a curse but day by day that idea was only solidifying itself in his mind.  

Jaebeom let out a gruff breath which only made Bambam look up from the fork he was scrubbing, “Bam I don’t know what you think is going to happen today… but it certainly isn’t that.” 

The “that” he was referencing was one of the main factors that as of late had made him feel like living forever was indeed a waste. It was the thing that was supposed to make him feel “complete.” According to old texts and traditional vampire folklore, he was now walking around half full, but once he met his mate, he would become whole. At first, he didn’t believe the tale. He had gotten by so far without a mate that the idea of him not being complete made him laugh. But watching both Bambam and Jinyoung find their mates – Bambam 70 years ago and Jinyoung 16 years ago – made him finally acknowledge and reflect on the piece of himself he was missing. 

And fuck he was lonely. 

Bambam chuckled at him as if being in on his own personal joke. His friend was strange like that sometimes, “just put the shirt on Jaebeom.” 

By the time he’s had the shirt on and Bambam has somehow convinced him to let him wear his Rolex he got as a gift from his friend Jackson in 1920, Jaebeom feels mentally prepared to leave the house and embark on this dreadful day. The reminder that he has now been around for 200 years and still is not whole.

“Finally,” Jinyoung sighed when Jaebeom and Bambam finally reached the café down the street, “I’ve been waiting 20 minutes.” 

A disgruntled Bambam checks his watch, “well if you don’t want to wait every single time, don’t be so fucking early,” he promptly turned to Jaebeom to share his grief regarding their friend, “you think he would learn after all this time.” 

“Let’s just go order,” Jaebeom shrugged, not caring to be in another disagreement between his longer than life friends.

“Be honest you’re early on purpose just so it gives you something to complain about and a reason to make us feel bad!” 

Jinyoung ignored Bambam’s theory, replying to the oldest, “no need. I already ordered for the three of us. It’s a special day, the birthday boy doesn’t need to pay,” he glanced at Bambam, “you on the other hand…” 

The two new arrivals, flop down into the sofa chairs on either side of Jinyoung, along of them situated to make a half-circle in front of a low coffee table. The three of them had somehow stuck into this… pattern. Years of friendship that contained years of Bambam/Jinyoung squabbles that Jaebeom would often have to mediate. Patterns were nice, but sometimes they would get old – especially after so long. 

As the two of them argue over whether or not Bambam should pay Jinyoung back for a simple iced Americano because Bam swears he got the drinks the last two times, Jaebeom looks over to the counter where the baristas work on – no doubt – the plethora of orders they have. The factor of the café being new has certainly been the cause of the popularity and amount of people in the shop. He can’t help but feel bad for the individuals working on the drinks – three years ago he had been one of them for roughly 18 months and knew that it wasn’t as easy as it appeared to be. 

In retrospect, Jaebeom didn’t have to work. He had so much time to learn and understand what it meant to be financially responsible. Not only that, but he’s literally had hundreds of years to save. Plus, his early investments in companies ended up landing him some pretty substantial and valuable shares. Jaebeom was sitting on quite the pretty penny. 

“Wow your portfolio is remarkable… I’ve never seen one like it,” his latest financial advisor had said to him in complete awe, “I mean an early investor in Amazon? Apple? Mastercard?” 

Jaebeom had laughed nervously, “What can I say? My grandpa had good intuition, I guess.” 

Money aside, he had wanted something to do with his time – hence his barista job. It was fun, but like most things, Jaebeom just grew tired of it and as he watched the girl working the espresso machine let out an exhausted breath, he realized that he wasn’t missing it. 

Jaebeom has become good at studying people. It was something he still wasn’t sure of whether it was a vampire thing or just something he had picked up over time. Watching the girl at the machine, her hair is in a low bun, a few strands falling in front of her face. It’s clear with the way the hair tie is situated, that the hairstyle was once a bit neater, tighter, and sat at the middle or even top of her head. However, the now fallen placement and slight disarray signal how busy she’s been working and how fried she must be feeling. 

He looks to the string bracelet on her wrist, visible from far away enough for Jaebeom to conclude that she must have someone in her life deemed important to wear one of those “friendship” bracelets. He never saw the point, but humans were strange creatures, despite him once being one. 

Jaebeom’s breath hitches when he catches sight of the delicately drawn tattoo on her wrist near the bracelet. It’s of lavender and it immediately reminds him of his mother who had loved exploring the lavender field that had been near his home when he was a child. Despite all the time that has passed since he lost his mother, the pain that aches inside of Jaebeom when he thinks of her isn’t any less. 

His thoughts are interrupted by the call at the coffee bar, “Order for Jinyoung.” 

The call comes from the overworked girl he had been studying and Jaebeom wants more than anything to stand up and retrieve their orders. He finds a weird want to hear what her laugh sounds like. Maybe he could say something or strike up a conversation that would-

“What are you doing?” It takes Jaebeom a moment to notice that he has partially stood up from his chair as if he’s about to go somewhere. Cluelessly, he replied, “going to get the drinks.”

The youngest shook his head, “No way! Birthday boys don’t get their drinks, they don’t lift a finger.” 

He knew Bambam was one to take birthdays seriously, but this was beginning to feel like it was going the extra mile too many. 

“I’ll get it.” 

Jaebeom watched Bambam get up to retrieve the drinks. He expects him to just grab the drinks and return to the table, but instead, Bambam says something to the girl. Arching his neck to the side, he tries to make a clear path to eavesdrop on what’s being said, hearing being one of the benefits of turning. Unfortunately, the café is too loud for him to focus on the conversation and he’s defeated by the fact that he’ll have to stay in the dark.

The girl laughs loudly at something Bambam said and Jaebeom can’t help but feel mixed about it. On one hand, he got his wish – hearing her laugh – but on the other hand, he wasn’t the cause of it. For some reason it makes him bring his clench and unclench his fists which rest on the arms of the sofa chair. Jinyoung takes notice.

Jaebeom quickly looks down at his lap when he senses that Bambam is returning to where they’re sat, not wanting to give away that he had been staring. First, he places Jinyoung’s and his drink on the table, soon turning back around to go back and fetch the last drink – Jaebeom’s. 

When he comes back, Jaebeom looks up to see a large grin spread across the youngest’s face. He has that look again – the one as if he knows a joke Jaebeom doesn’t. 

The latter nodded his head in thanks for getting the drinks as he inspects his green tea on the table. Just as he’s about to pick up the mug, he’s stopped in his tracks by an announcement coming from the coffee bar. 

“Hello everyone! Sorry for the interruption, but I’ve been told that we have a birthday here today,” you said. Giving announcements wasn’t your strong suit, but you figured now that you were an actual owner of something, you were going to get over your shyness. But you didn’t think it was going to be that often that a tall, skinny and pale boy with a Rolex on his wrist would be asking you to get your coffee shop to sing happy birthday for his friend. Even when you were a barista working for someone else no one had made such a request. This was a café after all, not an Applebee’s.

Jaebeom wished more than anything that he could sink into his seat and just disappear. If only that cliché that vampires turned into bats were true, then he could just fly away at a moment’s notice. Leave it to Bambam to torture him like this. It wasn’t intentional of course, but it certainly felt like it to Jaebeom. 

It was especially tragic to him because the girl he had been studying was the one leading the entire café in singing “Happy Birthday.” He did his best to avoid looking at her, feeling like his entire body was heating up in embarrassment even though he couldn't heat up. 

You on the other hand felt a little insulted by the birthday boy’s lack of eye contact. You hadn’t even managed to get a good look at him before you started singing and now it was not possible with the way that he was looking down at the ground, his long hair falling in front of his face, concealing itself to you. It wasn’t difficult to conclude that he felt awkward about a bunch of strangers he had never met singing him happy birthday, you had felt the same whenever your friends tried to ambush you on your birthday… but you at least looked up and acknowledged the presence of the people singing. A tight smile from this guy would even be happily accepted. 

When the song is over and the claps that follow finally subside, he looks up to see the café back at its previous state of normalcy, not a single person looking at him anymore. Jaebeom lets out a sigh of relief. 

“You could at least act like you liked it,” Bambam huffed in annoyance. He wished Jaebeom could appreciate the idea of birthdays like he did. 

“I really didn’t need to be the center of attention today Bam.” 

“But it’s your bir-” Bambam begins to explain, but Jaebeom abruptly cuts him off, not wanting to hear his reasoning for today’s antics, yet again. The day hadn’t even started.

“My birthday, I know. Thanks for reminding me.” 

Jinyoung clears his throat and plays with the spoon that came with his Flat White. Just as Jaebeom is the mediator for Bambam and Jinyoung, sometimes Jinyoung has to be the mediator for Jaebeom and Bambam. Essentially the commonality in the disagreements of their trio friendship is Bambam and currently, Jinyoung feels as though he should route the conversation elsewhere.

“What else is in the cards for tonight then boys?” 

It’s then based on the look on Jaebeom’s face, that Jinyoung thinks that maybe talking about the plans for tonight – on Jaebeom’s birthday – isn’t re-routing the conversation. Especially since it’s Bambam’s whose eyes light up and is the one to reply to him.

“Obviously we’re going out tonight,” Bambam paused and turned to Jaebeom, wagging his finger in the latter’s face, “there’s no way you’re getting out of this. I’m not taking no for an answer this time.”

Jaebeom rolled his eyes and didn’t respond as he knew he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He had rejected Bambam’s invitations to go out consistently for the last 6 months and on his birthday of all days, Bam was going to force him out of the house just as he had done this morning to come to the café.

He looks back to the front counter, his eyes searching for the barista who has now suddenly disappeared. A frown begins to make itself known on his face, feeling a bit disappointed by the fact that she may have left already or gone elsewhere, but soon she’s popping up from behind the counter, no doubt getting something from the cabinets below. Jaebeom feels relief. 

“What did you say to her?” he asked suddenly looking back at Bambam.

He cocked his head to the side, confused, “What did I say to who?” 

“The barista behind the counter.” 

His friend nodded his head slowly, suddenly realizing what Jaebeom means. A smirk appears on his face, “nothing much… Just how it was your birthday and it would be really good if we could all embarrass you by singing about it. She’s not a barista, by the way, she owns the place. Kinda backward thinking there Jae. It’s the 21st century, women can own things now, they can vote.” 

“I know that,” Jaebeom hissed. 

Bambam puts up his hands in defeat, “I’m just making sure.” 

“Don’t you know her?” Jinyoung asked, “isn’t that why we came here?” 

Jaebeom’s interests are perked. It’s not often that the three of them meet new people. It’s not like there’s a huge point to it. The last new person the three of them met was Mark – also a vampire – a bartender at their favorite club in the city, but that was in 2007. 

He waits for Bambam’s explanation as to how he knows this girl and why they came here specifically beside it just being near Jaebeom’s apartment. 

Waving his hand nonchalantly, the Thai boy gives his answer, “I don’t really know her. Minji does. Met her in some kind of class, I think. SoulCycle? Pilates? Zumba? I don’t know. I can’t keep up with her and her activities these days.” 

Minji is Bambam’s mate. He had turned her only a month after they met. 

Jaebeom’s not sure what he would do if he met his mate. He doesn’t know if he would want to subject them to turning and living the same kind of life as him, but he also doesn’t know if he could continue life alone after meeting his mate. If he ever meets them.

“Why the curiosity?” Jinyoung asked, for once finding it hard to remain stone-faced. Even his usual chill, non-revealing demeanor seems to fade away when it appears that his older friend might be attracted to someone. 

Jaebeom simply shrugged, “it’s nothing…” 

“What do you think? Could she be the one?” Bambam asked teasingly, pointing to the girl behind the counter. 

Jinyoung rolled his eyes almost immediately at the younger boy, “if you’re going to keep bothering him about it, don’t make it so obvious idiot.” 

Jaebeom had been alive – or more like undead – for 200 years and more than half of that time he had to listen to this same conversation from his friends over and over again. His patience was wearing thin and 180 years later, he was tired of their pestering. 

He leaned forward slowly and grabbed his green tea off the table, making sure to visibly flinch at the heat of the drink, Bambam, and Jinyoung chuckling at his reaction. Out of the three of them, Jaebeom certainly had the most practice when it came to “putting on a show” for the humans and “acting” the most human. Taking a sip, he looked back at the girl behind the counter. 

The youngest vampire had spent many of their outings and conversations hypothesizing who Jaebeom’s mate could be. Despite being the oldest of the three, Jaebeom was the only one left who still hadn’t found his mate and he was beginning to feel hopeless. Typically, Bambam pointed out any human girl as a candidate – all of them of course ended up not being his mate. Therefore, Jaebeom didn’t pay attention to his picks anymore, but he had to admit… He did get a strange feeling from the girl behind the counter. 

Jaebeom looked to you, hoping to catch your gaze as you quickly made the coffee orders for the few people waiting to the side of the cash register. Just when he was about to give up and focus his attention back on his friends, you tore your concentration away from the drink in your hand and looked up at him from across the cafe. 

Jaebeom focused his gaze deep onto you with his eyes – testing, checking, and trialing your focus. You didn’t look away, instead, you trained your eyes deeply into his and stared at him until finally, it was Jaebeom who broke the contact. 

He shook his head at his friends, disappointed by your inability to break the trance and ultimately confused at the feeling he still got from you despite that. 

Jaebeom took another sip of the tea, “it’s not her.” 

“Did you have to debate that Uber driver on the Twilight franchise?” Jinyoung groaned at Bambam as soon as they’re out of the car. 

The entire twenty-minute ride, he had got into a heated discussion with their driver on how Twilight was not “true” or realistic to most actual vampire folklore. It had been an excruciating thing to listen to. 

“Got to stand up for our kind dude.” 

“Okay, but what happens when she starts asking how you know all these things or why you’re so interested in vampire stuff?” Jinyoung tended to always be right. This wasn’t an exception.

Brushing off his pants, Bambam gives him a nonchalant wave, “chill out man. Everyone loves vampire stuff.” 

“Maybe in 2008,” Jaebeom said just barely loud enough for his friends to hear them. The two of them laughed, Bambam shoving him playfully on the shoulder, “Birthday boy getting funny on us.” 

“I was always funny,” Jaebeom deadpanned. 

“Funny and looking good tonight. Let’s get you laid, shall we?” 

After a day that was jampacked full of various activities planned by his youngest friend, the last thing Jaebeom wanted to do was spend extra energy on trying to get some girl to come home with him tonight. Besides, he wasn’t that guy anymore. 

Jinyoung scoffed, “he doesn’t need to get laid tonight.”

“Yes, he does! Jaebeom how long has it been?” 

This time it’s Jinyoung that shoves Bambam’s shoulder – except it’s not all that playful. 

“Fine don’t answer that, but I’m just saying there will be quite a few girls here that you can have your pick of, despite your plain outfit.” 

Jaebeom looked at the clothes he had changed into when Bambam spared him a sliver of time to go back home to digress and feed his cats. The latter had wanted him to borrow clothes of his, but instead, Jaebeom decided on pulling pieces from his closet that felt more like him, less like Bambam. A plain pair of ripped jeans, an oversized black shirt that he had bought at a shop from his trip to London last year, and his mother’s necklace that often wasn’t missing from its spot around his neck.

Bambam’s earlier critique was that he was dressed too basic and that no girls would bat an eye at him. Girls don’t like plain guys, he had said. The comment makes Jaebeom wonder about you and whether you’d fall under the category of not liking “plain” guys. 

He bites the inside of his cheek. It was probably the eighth time he had made himself do it today. Jaebeom had found his mind often drifting to you throughout the day for some unexplainable reason. During their walk in the park, he wondered if you would take strolls during your breaks from the café or when Bambam forced him to go paint pottery for an hour and a half he thought about what you would paint. It frustrated him because he hadn’t even spoken to you – not a word and yet you were clearly on his mind for one reason or another. It wasn’t even like you were his mate. He had tried to see if you were unaffected by his trance, his hypnotic capabilities, but you had just stared at him completely fixated just as everyone else was. 

Jaebeom was not going to think about you any longer. He was already planning on avoiding your café. 

“We’re on the list,” Bambam tells the bouncer when they arrive at the entrance of the club. He scans the list and motions his head towards the direction of the door to signal to the three of them to go on ahead. There’s a bit of a whine coming from the people waiting in line which admittedly so makes Jaebeom feel a little guilty, but Bambam ensures him it’s fine, “why have a friend who works at a club if we can’t use him for the perks?” 

“Why does he keep bartending again?” As soon as the question is out of Jaebeom’s mouth he realizes it was a stupid thing to ask since the answer is apparent. 

Bambam laughed at him, giving his long – irreplaceable he’d like to remind everyone – leather coat to the person at the front of the club. Jaebeom swears he hears him tell the coat check guy the “proper” way to put it on a hanger. 

“Obviously for the girls Jaebeom.” 

Mark’s mate – Hana had passed on a long time ago. Jaebeom had never got the chance to meet her, only hears about her in passing from some stories that Mark has told the three of them. He hadn’t turned her. Jaebeom’s never asked why. 

“Girls… of course.” 

He can’t help but think about how Mark must feel inside. Although Jaebeom doesn’t know him as well as he knows Bambam and Jinyoung, whenever he’s with the older boy he’s always got a smile on his face. Often quiet, but he’s always got certain energy bouncing off of him that would indeed make him popular with women. However, if what they say about mates is true, would that mean that a piece of Mark was now missing? Did he feel like he was less of a person? Jaebeom felt like that sometimes and he hadn’t even met his mate yet. Mark had his, but now he didn’t. 

“Drinks?” Jinyoung asked the two of them and Jaebeom is partly surprised. Out of the three of them, Bambam was the one who was the most comfortable in a club or even bar setting. He figures that Jinyoung must be using his birthday as an excuse to cut loose and become someone else for the night.

Bambam instantly nodded his head at Jinyoung’s suggestion and Jaebeom finds himself trailing behind the two of them as they make their way over to Mark at the bar who is throwing his head back at something the girl across the bar is saying. Judging on Jaebeom’s intuition – it’s a bit fake and overplayed, but you got to do what you got to do.

“My man!” Bambam yelled over the music, leaning against the counter in a way to make sure he doesn’t get the elbows of his long sleeve turtleneck wet. Mark in response, turned to them and smiled, then routing his attention back to the girl, giving her an apologetic smile. Her half-smile says everything Jaebeom could need to know – this girl would not be going home with Mark after his shift tonight. 

“What can I get you guys tonight,” Mark turned to Jaebeom and the latter can barely make out his sharp canines in the dark club, “birthday boy you want anything special?” 

Before Jaebeom can reply that he wants to be at home, Bambam answers for him.

“Could we maybe get something that’s off the menu?” He wiggled his eyebrows at Mark who gave him a shit-eating grin, knowing immediately what he was talking about. 

“Off the menu” meant Mark’s secret stash of O negative underneath the counter. While alcohol had the same effect on them that it had on the average humans, adding a bit of blood just made a little bit better. Okay… it made it a lot better. 

“Three negronis coming right up,” Mark winked to give a little signal that these would most likely not be as well composed or put together as a negroni, but due to them being in public, he couldn’t necessarily announce a shit ton of alcohol mixed with human blood was going to be served up to them. 

“How has your birthday been Jae?” Mark asked as he was in the middle of placing three glasses onto the countertop in between them.

It was difficult to explain since to Jaebeom it had just been another day except for a little bit more excruciating. The celebration of another year “older” filled him with thoughts of how much time has passed, whether he’s done anything truly important and why he still hasn’t found the person who is meant to complete him… but like he said only a little more excruciating than any other day. 

Jaebeom shrugged in response, “Bam planned a lot and for the most part, it was…” he paused for a moment, wondering if he should say how he felt – numb, lost, and wishing the day would come to an end as if tomorrow won’t bring the same thoughts or problems. But as he looked at his friends who had tried so hard today to make him happy and celebrate, he decided to guard them against the ultimate truth, “for the most part it was fun – really good. I mean besides the singing at the café of course.” He throws in the last part to at least have some kind of believability to his story. 

He notices Mark’s eyebrows lift out of curiosity as his concentration focuses on measuring out each part of the drinks, “An entire café sang you happy birthday? Damn, I don’t think I could ever get through that, so I can only imagine how you feel.” 

“That was Bam’s idea,” Jinyoung muttered. 

Once again, Bambam does his nonchalant waving of the hand, “it wasn’t that bad. I mean okay, maybe it was… But Jaebeom was obsessed with the girl who led it.” 

Jaebeom suddenly feels like he wants to put duct tape over his friend’s mouth. 

“I was not obsessed with her! I don’t even know her!” Jaebeom for some reason felt the need to defend himself, which was probably the worst option. Him getting defensive was usually a tell-tale sign for his friends being right on whatever they were confronting him with. 

Bambam scoffed, bringing gliding his drink across the bar to be directly in front of him once Mark has poured it neatly into the short glass, “I noticed you staring at her before I went to get the drinks. That’s why I asked her to do it in the first place.” 

“So, she doesn’t know Minji?” Jinyoung questioned. 

The youngest takes his first sip and immediately lets out a hissing noise, signaling to Mark that it’s both strong and good. “No, she does, but Jaebeom’s weird staring only made it that much better.” 

Mark pushed the other two glasses towards Jinyoung and Jaebeom, “Was she your…” he drifted off, almost as though he was finding it physically difficult to get the word out. Jaebeom can’t help but feel the want to reach his hand out towards Mark and place it comfortingly on his shoulder, but his group of friends don’t do that. Instead, he saves him the trouble by answering back right away, not forcing him to say it.

“No, she wasn’t.” 

The bartender nodded slowly, suddenly avoiding his gaze from the three familiar boys across the bar from him, “That’s uh… too bad that she wasn’t able to break the trance. Sorry, Jaebeom.” 

He knows that Mark is just trying to be nice, especially when they’re on a subject that he clearly can’t and doesn’t want to talk about, but the attempt to be comforting makes Jaebeom nauseous. 

“Well maybe he’ll find her here tonight,” Jinyoung quipped, placing a hand on Jaebeom’s back. Sometimes the latter swore that his friends treated him he had just found out he had a terminal illness. 

“I sincerely doubt it,” Jaebeom commented gruffly. 

There’s a sound from the other side of the bar from a customer who seems fed up with the conversation being had between the four of them – distracting Mark from serving anyone else. He gives a signal to them to notify them that he’ll be there in a second. “Well… come to me if you guys need more drinks.  It’s on me tonight.” 

“Thanks, man,” Jaebeom tells him honestly because he might need a couple more drinks before he gets to the state of wanting to be in this room.

Mark said a final word of “see you guys later” and heads to the other end of the bar to help customers who have been waiting. Grabbing their drinks, Jaebeom, Jinyoung, and Bambam turn around to depart the bar, to find somewhere to sit for a bit before the drinks truly begin to hit them.  

With his drink in hand, Jaebeom took a sip and reveled in the perfect balance of alcohol to burn his throat and blood to soothe it. The drink was probably the most relaxing part of his day thus far and as he looked out at the crowd, he could already tell that maybe the mixture was going to his head due to his sudden thinking that this place wasn’t all that bad.

Despite not being a club guy, if he were to go out, Jaebeom would always choose this club that Mark works out. To put it simply – it was vampire friendly. With Mark behind the counter and his “secret” supply free-flowing, it became a notoriously known place for vampires in town. If he had to guess, the attendance on an average night was probably evenly split 50/50, humans and vampires.

The humans weren’t aware of the vampires of course – for the most part.

Jaebeom cleared his throat once they’ve found a booth to sit in, “so… Bam what do you know about that girl?” 

Both Jinyoung and Bambam exchange glances before looking back at the birthday boy. The latter tried his best to conceal the smile on his face, “not much… just that she owns the café, knows Minji, and is very single.” 

For some reason, Jaebeom’s stomach does a little flip, but he wishes it wouldn’t. “S-So?” Through his stutter, he tries to remain as confident as possible, but his friends see right through his façade.

Jinyoung leaned forward until his elbows rest on the top of his thighs, “Jaebeom you can be honest with us… Why the sudden fascination with this girl? Are you sure she didn’t break the trance? Just with the way that you’re acting…” Jinyoung drifted off, not bothering to finish his final sentence, but once again looking at Bambam. It makes Jaebeom lean forward in his seat as well. 

“With the way, I’m acting? I’m completely normal. I’m fine. She didn’t break the trance and now I’m just curious about her as curious as anyone would be about someone they meet.” 

There’s the silence between the three of them until Bambam speaks up, “You didn’t meet her though.” 

It dawns on Jaebeom that he didn’t even speak to you and he wonders why does it feel like he did. Why did it feel like he knew you but didn’t at the same time? Why haven’t his mind and body been cooperating with him since this morning at the café? 

Just with the way that you’re acting…

The way he was acting? What did that mean? Was the way he was acting mean something specific? 

He feels like he blinks and thirty minutes go by. And in that past thirty minutes, Jaebeom had somehow managed to drink 6 of Mark’s “negronis.” He felt like his head was beginning to get dizzy. It wasn’t often that Jaebeom found himself drunk on the verge of drunkenness due to alcohol not affecting him as much as humans. To even remotely get to that state, he had to drink a lot and it had to be strong. 

“You feeling it Jaebeom?” Through the darkness and the haze of the alcohol, Jaebeom could barely make out the hint of the smile playing on Jinyoung’s face. He had switched to a glass of wine at some point while Jaebeom was binge drinking which had to be the most Jinyoung thing ever. Who drinks a glass of wine in a dark, sweaty club? 

He’s afraid to answer him verbally which would give his friend an obvious sign of how he was feeling. So instead he just shrugged – as usual. 

“Dude let’s get out there!” The youngest shouted, motioning his hands to the middle of the club, “dance… maybe find you a girl?” 

Jaebeom watched the people pressing up against each other on the dancefloor, moving their bodies, and drinking like their lives depended on it. He wondered if he wanted to be a part of that. Everyone out there was so full of life and vigor… he just wasn’t. He also didn’t know if he was that drunk, but bless Bambam because he didn’t need alcohol to be out there. 

For what feels like the millionth time, his mind drifted to you. Was this your kind of place? Would you come here? If you did would you come alone? With friends? Someone else? You didn’t seem like the type of person who would like this place. You seemed more like him – the observant, calm, inquisitive type who would much rather be at home with a book than at a party. 

Then for a moment, he can picture it. It’s almost like he’s in a trance – an image of you curled up on a couch – his couch – under a large white cable knit blanket fills his mind. Rather than reading, your painting with watercolors – the kind that seems to be in every elementary school classroom – and he hears a voice out of view. His voice.

“Painting really?”  

Jaebeom sees you glance up from your painting to look at him, smiling.

“Looks like I’m gonna have a lot of time on my hands so… might as well get good at something.” 

Jaebeom hears himself laugh, “Okay but watercolors?” 

He feels like he’s going to pass out when he finally hears it – your laugh. 

“Let the artist work Im Jaebeom! She needs to get good enough to live off auction house money once her paintings get sold! Shh!” Despite your words, you smiled and suddenly moved the tools away from you onto the coffee table. You lifted half the blanket off of you and patted the space of the couch beside you, “you know I can’t say no when you give me that face. Come here.”

And just like that, the vision is gone. Jaebeom feels confused because it didn’t feel like a dream or fantasy, but it felt real… it felt like a memory. 

“Hello, Earth to Jaebeom?” 

Right… dancing. Maybe dancing would help him forget whatever game his mind was playing on him.

“Yeah let’s fucking go.” 

Another instance occurs where Jaebeom blinks and everything moves so fast. Suddenly he’s no longer sat at the table with Bambam and Jinyoung, but instead in the middle of that mess on the dancefloor with everyone else. He almost feels like one of them. He almost feels human again. But as soon as that feeling washes over him, it quickly dissipates. 

He knows it must be the drinks doing all the work, because otherwise, he would have never found himself in the middle of all these people, thinking that dancing is a good idea. Dancing had never done anything remotely good for him before, so why now? To help forget? Was it going to help him do that? 

“I swear it’s like he’s not even here.” 

Jaebeom tuned back into the moment, and it’s when he realizes that Jinyoung and Bambam have been trying to get his attention this entire time.

“Sorry I was just- the alcohol you know…” He says it so quietly that he knows his friends won’t be able to hear him over the music and the millions of conversations happening around them. But he thinks that maybe it’s better that way and that it truly doesn’t matter what he says.

Jinyoung comes closer to Jaebeom, until his mouth is right next to his ear, “we were just asking if there’s anyone that you’re interested in.” 

They’re still on this idea? Jaebeom asked himself. 

Even in his drunken state, he didn’t think that finding some random girl to fuck was going to help with the emptiness he’s been feeling lately, but for the first time since getting up and onto the dance floor he takes in the people around him. As depressing as it was to observe, most people were here with someone else. 

It’s then his gaze falls onto a couple that stands far on the left side of the floor, behind where Jinyoung is standing. The two of them have their fronts pressed up against each other, dancing so closely with arms exploring one another’s bodies. The female has her head resting on the male’s shoulder as if she’s too exhausted to keep going, but can’t dare to part with him. It’s like they’re part of each other and any distance would cause them to lose all sense of themselves.

The girl lifts her head off the male’s shoulder and gives him this look that makes Jaebeom’s heart – if it was still beating – ache. She says something to him and he nodded happily in response. Even through the dim lights and large crowd, Jaebeom could see the sharp teeth inside her mouth.

She placed her head back against his shoulder, this time, however, the male had his head angled back, stretching out his neck. The girl moves in closer until her mouth just ghosts over the skin, breathing on it until the boy shuts his eyes awaiting the sting and pleasure that will come next.

Biting down against his flesh, breaking skin, the girl drinks from her partner. Even though he’s at a distance from them, Jaebeom can tell by the look on the man’s face that he’s enjoying being fed on and that it certainly isn’t his first time. 

He feels like his eyes are frozen on the couple. It’s been so long since he fed off someone instead of the stuff that he gets from his connection at the hospital. Jaebeom tries not to think about the way his fingertips tingle and his throat dries up at the thought of drinking from a warm body. The alcohol has only dehydrated him and made him feel even more thirsty – he’s afraid that going back to the bar and asking Mark for a glass of O negative exclusively isn’t going to make that go away. 

After a moment or two, the girl removes her mouth from the boy’s neck and drags her tongue over the spot where she had drawn blood from, ultimately covering the wound and signaling that she was done drinking. 

He thinks of how risky it is to do that at a place like this. Although half of the people around them also take part in the activity of drinking blooding and granted most of them aren’t paying attention to those around them – there are still unsuspecting humans everywhere. If one wrong person were to see then that could be it for this club being a haven for the vampire community in the city and that would probably be… it for vampires in this city in general. 

But who was he kidding? He was being a hypocrite because he’s for sure done the same thing. 

You’ve once again entered his mind. However, this time it isn’t an image, picture, or vision that occupies his thoughts, but instead just the idea of how you would react to who he is, what he really is. Throughout his time that he’s been undead he’s only done the “reveal” to a handful of people and even then, it took him a long time to get there. Well except for one person who ultimately was a mistake and his friends hadn’t hesitated to let him know.

With you, Jaebeom felt that you wouldn’t be the kind of person to judge him instantly based on what he was. You would be shocked of course, maybe even scared, but you wouldn’t let that cloud your judgment. You wouldn’t let yourself reject something just because it was unfamiliar. 

What the fuck was he on about? 

It must be the alcohol doing this to him. He would have to thank Mark for making them strong this time around, but also make a mental note to never let this happen again. Jaebeom was already a deeper thinker, but this was getting out of hand.

There’s a sudden grasp of Jaebeom’s elbow and he feels himself jump at the sudden touch. His eyebrows furrowed when he realized it wasn’t one of his friends considering Bambam and Jinyoung were both dancing over to his right side. 

When he turned around to greet the person who had grabbed him, he was disappointed, surprised, and annoyed all in one. It was the last person he had expected to see her, except not really because it made perfect sense. 

“Jaebeom… hi.” Ara smiled shyly at him, tucking a string of hair behind her ear and slightly looking down at the ground. He wants to groan because he knows she’s doing this because he had once mentioned that he thought it was hot when she looked innocent. He shouldn’t have ever said that.

He’s not sure what to say, because what are you supposed to say to someone you’ve been trying to avoid for the past year and a half? Jaebeom had said everything he had wanted to say to her. 

At one point in his life, he had been stupid. He had been stupid and he had abused the power that had been bestowed upon him since the day he had been turned. Perhaps one would assume that he’d been foolish with his ability just at the start – 100, maybe even 150 years ago. Instead, Jaebeom had gone through a rough patch about a year or two ago. 

The overwhelming pressure of finding his mate had started to get to him again. All he needed was someone, anyone to break the hypnotic trance and that was it. A task that seemed so simple, yet never came. So, Jaebeom had used hypnotism to his advantage, getting as many girls as he could in his bed in the shortest amount of time possible. He wasn’t proud of it and it was something he would constantly regret as long as he was ali- around. 

One of those girls… had been Ara. 

Jaebeom felt relieved when she didn’t wait for him to answer back at her greeting, “How are you? I-It’s your birthday, right? How old are you turning again? 27?” She winked immediately after her question and he wants to roll his eyes.

She was the mistake by the way. The mistake that knew about who he was. 

He doesn’t even remember how it happened, how his secret slipped, or what the circumstances of her finding out was. Part of him thinks he was just horny, thirsty, and weak, but she found out and she… loved it. 

Weirdly enough, Ara loved the idea of him being a vampire and his “lifestyle” which at first Jaebeom didn’t think too much about. He thought okay she’s taking this extremely well… better than anyone else I’ve ever told, but whatever, but then it became strange. 

She was what those in the vampire community call a “vampire fetishizer.”

He coughed awkwardly, his gaze wandering over to Jinyoung and Bambam, hoping they would catch sight of him stuck with Ara and come rescue him. Jaebeom wasn’t that lucky though, not even on his birthday, “Yeah… 27.” 

Jaebeom can’t help but look at her neck. It’s fully on display and it was clear that Ara had come here to find someone to feed on her. He had been the one to show Ara this place before he had been clued into her little… vampire obsession. 

“Well did the birthday boy get everything he wants today?” She smiled and gave Jaebeom those eyes. He feels his cock twitch in his pants and he realizes he has to keep himself in check because he’s not that weak tonight… right? 

His eyes flash to her neck again and Jaebeom feels his throat get even drier. He was so thirsty and he knows Ara would be so willing. 

No Jaebeom… No. 

“I-I uh yeah… you know got- yeah today’s been good,” he stuttered awkwardly, bringing his tongue out to wet his dry lips. Judging on the look on Ara’s face, she’s taken the action the wrong way. 

“You look thirsty Jaebeom… do you want a drink?” 

He knows what she means and Jaebeom swallows hard in an attempt to distract himself, to remind himself that he’s not that thirsty. He doesn’t need it that bad.

“I-I think I am.” 

The words come out faster than his brain can process to stop them and the part of Jaebeom that’s coherent, sharp, and aware wants to punch the weak and drunk Jaebeom in the face. 

Without a word, Ara turned from Jaebeom and began walking to one of the exits at the side of the club. He feels like he’s the one in a trance, mindlessly following her through the people, not even hearing Jinyoung and Bambam calling out to him. The only thing that Jaebeom makes note of as he follows her is Mark’s face behind the bar, giving him a tight smile. It almost stops Jaebeom. Almost. 

When they finally get outside through the exit door, they find themselves in a small alley between the club and a dry cleaner. 

Jaebeom doesn’t even get a moment to think before Ara is pushing him against the wall of the dry cleaner, her hands roaming up and down his body, her lips going to his own. They’re pressed up against each other so closely that he recalls the couple he had watched earlier. He feels sick comparing this moment now to the two of them. 

“Fuck I missed you so much,” Ara sighed seductively into this ear, making Jaebeom’s stomach churn further at her clear longing for him. Well not him, but the vampire part of him.

“Please, I need it,” she mewled. At her words, he almost puts a stop to this whole thing and has to question whether this is the right thing to do. Jaebeom wonders if this is old Jaebeom behavior – the one that just used women and threw them away later like toys, but then he remembers that this is Ara. She’s using him as well. 

It’s almost as though that old, cocky, snide Jaebeom appears out of nowhere as he says his next words and brings himself closer to her neck, “do you really need it?” 

“Yes, Jaebeom I do, please.” Ara already sounds so desperate and he’s barely done anything. He can’t help but smirk at her reaction.

“Then I guess I better give it to you then.” 

He’s about to do it. He’s about to bite down and finally relieve his thirst, his craving, but then he looks to the side of the alley – towards the street. He feels like he’s seeing things again like he’s in the middle of a hallucination or mirage. That thought is pushed away when he locks eyes with you. 

“Don’t mind me,” you placed your hands up in front of yourself, to show him you’re not eavesdropping. Your action frustrated you because it would have been much better to say nothing, but you felt yourself panic. The prolonged eye contact with him while he’s just seconds away from pressing down – bitting down? – on the girl’s next for some reason pushed you into defensive mode. Not to mention his eyes… his eyes were – red? 

The girl hadn’t noticed you; you aren’t even sure if she heard you, but she certainly noticed Jaebeom’s stare fixated on you. When she faces you, she wears an unpleasant sneer, clearly annoyed by your interruption of whatever this was. 

“Can you go?” She said, the agitation in her voice more than apparent. 

Rather than immediately leave the scene, you continued to stare at Jaebeom. It’s difficult to say why you decided to walk this specific way home despite it being so late and dark out, but for some reason, you couldn’t help but be pulled in this direction. You weren’t someone who believed in signs or fate, but it felt so wrong to go any other way tonight. That was another thing, you felt this kink in your neck that practically forced you or taunted you into looking down the alley between this dry cleaners and club. It was yet another thing about today that felt unexplainable to you as you certainly weren’t expecting the birthday boy from the café today to be in a compromising position with some girl. 

After a moment of more uncomfortable staring – something else that had happened at the café today with him – Jaebeom breaks your gaze and looks down at his feet. The eye roll and acrid look on the girl’s face don’t go unnoticed by you. 

You shouldn’t be here. 

“S-Sorry. I’ll just get going then,” you concluded, unsure why you felt an uncomfortable sickness spread throughout the entirety of your body. 

You barely knew this guy – all you really knew was that today was his birthday and that he was friends with Minji’s boyfriend. Basically nothing. Yet now and even earlier back at the café you had felt this weird sensation within yourself. Not even when you looked at him, but just being in the same presence. It had been so hard to focus on making coffee today when he was seated across the room. Every part of your body just wanted to get closer, gravitate towards him. It was fucking weird… and scary. 

The girl nodded as if to signal “yeah about time,” at the announcement of your departure. Jaebeom on the other hand, still had his eyes glued to the ground as if looking at you once again will cause him some kind of pain.

Just as you’re about to continue your trip back home, you stop yourself and look back at the couple in the alley. 

“Happy birthday by the way…” you paused wondering if it would be weird to say his name considering he doesn’t even know yours, but you shove the thought out of your mind, “Jaebeom…”    

Hearing you say his name causes that tingling feeling in his fingertips to come back and his entire mind is sent into a frenzy. He feels too awkward, too shy to look at you again, but a sudden thought washed over him. What if earlier was a mistake? What if you are his mate? With the way he was currently feeling just at you saying his name, the visions he had in the club and the nonstop place you know had in his mind, it was difficult to believe that you weren’t his mate. 

Bambam and Jinyoung had found it difficult to explain to him what it felt like to find your mate, but surely what he felt right now wasn’t normal behavior or feelings. Unless he was a psychopath. 

Tightly shutting his eyes and drawing together all his strength, Jaebeom aims to try once again to see if you can break the hypnotic trance, unaffected by his abilities. However, as soon as he’s finally ready, head turned up to face you – you’re gone. You didn’t wait for him to respond to the happy birthday message. Instead, you simply left not wanting to be a burden or troublesome to whatever it was those two were doing in that alley. 

“Thank fucking god, let’s get back to it,” Ara concluded with a final roll of her eyes, gripping Jaebeom’s shoulders to get him close to her once again. He stares at her neck, but this time he doesn’t feel anything. He no longer feels thirsty and his appetite is gone. 

Jaebeom shrugs her off slightly. The encounter with you has caused him to wake up and realize what a bad idea it would be to do this right now. He hopes that Ara won’t put up a fight – he doesn’t want to have to hypnotize her if he doesn’t need to. 

At his actions, Ara takes a step away in disbelief, as if she actually can’t believe that Jaebeom is changing his mind and no longer wants her, “are you serious?” 

He doesn’t say anything but instead avoids eye contact with her just as he had done for you. 

Snorting, she glared at him, “Fine. Whatever. I don’t fucking care. I can find someone else to feed off of me. Yours never felt that good anyway. Asshole.”

Just like that, she’s out of his life once again and Jaebeom can’t help but feel thankful. He should have never been weak enough to be dragged out by here anyway. He had just been consumed by thoughts of you, alcohol, and the couple on the dancefloor. Then again, not coming out here would have robbed him of the opportunity of seeing you again and finding out that you actually knew his name. 

That’s when it dawned on him. 

Fuck… how much had you seen? What did you see? 

Jaebeom realized that he might have some explaining to do

[wickymicky]

my top 10 favorite kpop singles of the first half of 2021

i did one of these at the end of march, for the first quarter of the year, and this is my update for the second quarter, which obviously is also the first half of the year lol. so like, that’s kind of a big deal, we already know half of all the kpop that will be released this year, and im starting to have strong favorites that all the stuff from the second half of the year will have to struggle to beat, haha. 

rather than do a big thing like my year-end list that i did at the end of 2020, i’m gonna limit myself to just three sentences per song for songs 10-6, and five sentences for the top 5 songs haha. if these songs are good enough, and they stay high on my list all the way through to the end of the year, then i’ll post big full-size reviews of them then, i guess. or if you want to know more of what i think about something, or why i put something where i did, feel free to ask me about it lol, i love having discussions about this kind of stuff

anyway here’s the list

10: Lunarsolar - DADADA This is kind of a surprise pick for me lol, and I’d be lying if I said that at least half of the reason I wanted to include it here wasn’t just because I want more people to know about this song, and also to surprise people with an interesting pick haha. But genuinely, I think this song is really solid, there aren’t many flaws with it that I can even think of, and I’ve listened to it a ton since it came out. It’s such a fun song, and if you like girl groups and you don’t know this song, then I highly recommend it haha

9: Rocket Punch - Ring Ring When I saw the teaser images, I thought this would be a disco concept, and like it kind of is... but only in the visuals lmao, the song seems pure 80s synthwavey stuff, more like Everglow La Di Da than GFriend Mago (and I’m into that, personally haha). This was a really cool comeback for this group, and I’m continuing to get more and more into them with each new thing they do! I don’t really have a lot to say about it, but it’s just fun and catchy and bright and loud and good, and yeah, it’s a song I’ve really enjoyed listening to a lot, which is really all that you need in order to make it on this list, you know?

8: Cherry Bullet - Love So Sweet This song feels really simple to me, but in a good way! It really feels like the songwriter(s) had a really good idea one day, and wrote a song for it immediately, rather than trying to start a song and come up with ideas as they went haha. It feels like everything in the song is in service to that underlying idea, and everything helps bring it to life more

7: Itzy - In the Morning (or Mafia in the Morning, whichever you prefer. I just tend to call it “Mafia” and nothing else, lol) Okay this one might be kind of a hot take, cause I’ve seen people be prettttty divided on this song, but I personally love it haha. Sure, the lyrics are corny as hell, but that’s nothing new for kpop, and I do think the use of the mafia game as a song motif is kind of interesting, I suppose. But honestly the biggest reason why I love it is the production haha, cause damn this song hits hard and the instrumental just sounds so cool (as do the bsides! their Guess Who mini album is my album of the year so far for sure, no question)

6: Fromis 9 - We Go I’m so glad Fromis came back with this song, and I feel like it’ll be a really meaningful song for me in time. This period of time right now, when we’re starting to feel like progress is being made in the fight against this virus that’s been dominating our lives for a year and a half... I think this song captures that feeling perfectly, possibly without even necessarily trying to. It sounds like a sigh of relief, meeting friends who you haven’t seen in a long time, or just the reassurance that even though many people are still very much in quarantine and taking things very seriously, this won’t be forever and there is still good in the world... that’s what it sounds like to me 

5: TRI.BE - Rub-a-Dum This one was kind of a surprise for me lol, cause I wasn’t expecting to like a song with this title this much. I like Doom Doom Ta, and I would have put it relatively high on this list if Rub-a-Dum hadn’t come out afterwards, but I feel like this song does everything that Doom Doom Ta did but better, and in a bit more of an interesting way. It was written by Shinsadong Tiger and LE from EXID (just as Doom Doom Ta was) and I think this song has LE’s touch all over it, in the best way. I love that this song is kind of experimental, cause like it only has one verse... it goes Intro > Verse > Prechorus > Chorus > Bridge > Final Chorus haha, and i think that’s mostly so that you can luxuriate in that chorus drop as much as possible. The song just really works for me overall, it’s super solid and I just couldn’t deny that it’s in my top 5 favorite songs of the year so far. 

4: Dreamcatcher - Odd Eye As soon as this song came out, it was another moment of “Wow, Dreamcatcher just put out the song of the year right at the beginning”, just like they did in 2020 lol. But as the year has gone on, I think I’m not as into this song as I was into Scream and Boca (the other two from Dreamcatcher’s Dystopia trilogy, with Scream being my SOTY last year). But like... a Dreamcatcher comeback that I feel is just fairly decent and not one of my most favorites... still gets it to 4th place overall haha. That’s just Dreamcatcher’s power, even the songs I’m not as obsessed with are ones that I still get pretty obsessed with. I love this vibe, it’s a really different take on a cyberpunk-y genre from other kpop songs that have dabbled in it, and overall I think every member slayed this (especially Handong who made her triumphant return this comeback!)

3: Weeekly - After School Okay, I’ve been pretty conflicted on this song, because even though initially I wasn’t sure how much I would get into it, it nevertheless is my single most-listened-to song of 2021 so far. Part of that is how much I love Weeekly, part of that is how fun the performances were to watch (and I’m counting watching those as listens to the song lol), but also I think it really did grow on me quite a bit, and I was even considering it to be my favorite of the year for a while. It’s a lot of fun, it’s really catchy, and it’ll probably go down as one of their most iconic and fan-favorite comebacks. It’s the kind of song that’ll get stuck in your head for weeks. It’s just very very very very... Weeekly, haha. 

2: Everglow - First This song is a fucking whirlwind, and it really beat the shit out of me just like the members do to the camera in the music video lmao. It’s pretty different from La Di Da, which has become one of my favorite kpop songs ever, but I really really like it too. I feel like First is what Everglow were going for with Adios and Dun Dun, but fully realized, in a more complete form. I love how high their budget seems to be now, and I love how they seem to be really coming into their own as a group, I feel like this is the Everglow they were always meant to be. Honestly, I could see this maybe becoming my SOTY by the end of the year, and it’s very close (within 10 or so) to being my most-listened song of the year, but I do still think it’s too soon to say for sure haha

1: STAYC - ASAP This was such a hard decision to make, because honestly the top 4 on this list were all really strong contenders for first place, but after a lot of thought, I’ve decided that ASAP is the one I feel like I’m the least likely to change my mind on. I’ve listened to this song every single day since it came out, except for like 4 or so, which means that even though I’ve listened to it less than the three songs below it on this list, I’ve listened to it more consistently than any of them... I just have not gotten tired of it. It’s such a breath of fresh air for kpop. It’s kind of minimalist because it really doesn’t have any extra stuff, it’s very streamlined and it knows exactly what it is and that’s all it needs to be, and that makes for a very satisfying listen, in my opinion. This song sounds like what heart-shaped things look like. ASAP ❤︎

[kafka-ish]

coward | s.u.

y/n, bold and beautiful, is now second guessing herself when she finds herself skinny dipping with stan uris 

word count: 2.5k

warnings/included: fluff, steamy-ish, exhibitionism, fem!reader

request: (from anon) “could i have a request where the reader is v v v flirty with stan and one day he says something really dirty even richie's shocked. it’s fine if not.” 

a/n: i accidentally changed it bc i misread ur request im so so sorry !!! also if u noticed i haven’t written in awhile it’s bc my classes started up again so fics may take more time to write/post -- hope u understand <3

-

What came out of y/n’s mouth next truly shocked Stanley.

“Wanna go skinny dipping?” It wasn’t far off from whatever usually spewed from her mouth that she and the rest of the Losers had a hard time controlling.

His mind flashed to all the times y/n’s hand grazed his: the light touches, the silent stares, the whispers that tickled his ears and kissed his brain.

“Next year for Halloween, you should be Stan without a shirt.”  

The hearts she drew on his notebook when he wasn’t looking, the hand she held in hers, the what-are-we’s before giggling in his wonderstruck face that she was joking; it was all a sign of want that he’d been too dense to see before.

“You’re great, you know. Great at being an asshole.”

Sweet, mischievous y/n; always blunt, always careless of what others thought of her. It never occurred to Stan of what she thought of him.

Richie was the first to speak up, Stan still having to catch his breath from the promiscuous words that left her mouth seconds ago. “Sure, toots, I’d love to see what’s under that suit of yours. God, you don’t know how much I hate that thing.” He laughed and Stan wanted to beat the shit-eating grin off his shit-eating friend. His jaw, pronounced and square, tightened and Richie saw. “On second thought, I think someone else would enjoy the view way more.”

Another laugh came from the group, but it wasn’t from Richie. It was y/n’s. The soft giggle leaving her luscious lips did nothing to calm Stan.

“Are you jealous, Stanley?” She asked. A smirk sat on her lips. She only called him by his full name when she teased him.

He definitely felt like he was being thrown a bone only to find out the pitcher never threw one right now.

“Of course not.” Stan gave her the side-eye, readjusting his position from the rock he sat on while doing so. “I can’t think of any situation where I’d be jealous of Richie.”

“Oh yeah?” Richie challenged and Stan squinted at him.

“Yeah.”

“I can think of one—multiple, actually.” Richie wore the same smirk as y/n—only his was less digestible. Maybe it was because y/n was less insufferable to be around, or because she didn’t take a crack at his religion every chance she had, or because her hair was soft and shiny on her head and something Stan wished he could run his hands through. Maybe it was because y/n was a girl, or because she was pretty and the way she batted her eyelashes made him see stars even in the sunlight.

“When?”

Richie leaned in and whispered something that was totally vulgar and jarring to Stan’s ears.

Stan flinched—unsurprised that his friend was ballsy enough to say such a thing, but because what if he had actually thought about doing such a thing?

“Gross, Ruh-Ruh-Richie!” Bill yelled from across the quarry, already knowing what his friend would say.

“Yeah. You’re disgusting,” Eddie said from next to him while he looked up at Bill.

“Ruh-lax. It’s not like it’s something I’m gonna do.” Richie opened a new can of Keystone Light next to his already half-drunken one. “I got freedom of thoughts though, right?” He winked and Ben rolled his eyes.

“If you already have a drink open you should finish it,” Stan instructed, ignoring the subject at hand.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” y/n sounded closer than she was before. Her arm brushed up against his and he thought she was about to hold his hand until her fingers grazed just past his to grab his can of beer. She took a sip. “Besides, it all ends up somewhere.”

She could be so careless with her actions. But this was the same girl who made sure paper and plastic went to recycling, the total opposite of Stan, a total enigma.

“I just think, if you want another one, you should finish the one you already have.” Stan explained himself clearly and concisely. It was something y/n always admired. She never got tired of hearing him talk—she could listen to him talk for hours on end.

“Whatever.” Her eyes rolled so far he’d thought they’d get stuck. “I’m going home. “Later, Losers.”

“Wuh-what about the sk-skinny dipping?” Bill asked and Ben elbowed him. He wasn’t yet comfortable in his body, though he had been on Derry High’s track team for a year and a half and lost a fair amount of weight (twenty-two pounds), he still wasn’t comfortable in his own skin (he didn’t think he’d ever be)—even around his best friends—friends he considered family.

“We can do it tomorrow.” y/n shrugged. “Sound good to you, Stanley?” Her eyes were only focused on him and Stan knew that. They glowered under the sun’s harsh rays and fixated on his figure.

“I don’t know.” Stan tried to sound as monotone as possible. “Maybe you should be asking Richie instead.”

At that, y/n smiled, leaving the rest of the group confused as she walked away.

“Duh-dude!” What wuh-was that?” Bill wondered aloud, astounded how y/n had him wrapped around her finger—or maybe it was the other way around.

“If I knew, I would tell you,” Stan said, holding the same shock in his voice.

“Are you and y/n like—”

“No!” The sharpness of Stan’s tongue cut Ben off quickly with a harsh glare he’d later apologize for. But it would be a lie to say that he didn’t want something with y/n. Another lie, that Stan would keep to himself, would be that he didn’t anticipate the events that were to come for tomorrow…

“Hey, stranger!” It was y/n from down below. She was already wading in the water—waiting for him, presumably.

“Hey, y/n/n.” He started for the long way down, not caring to cannon-ball ten feet down from the cliff of the quarry today. “Where’s Bill and Bev and Mike and Ben and—”

“—and Richie?” A beam shot across y/n’s face as soon as Stan met her eye line.

“And Richie,” Stan mumbled. That was the only thing he’d been worried about. Although he knew there was nothing about his trashmouth friend to worry about. But it was always best to stay skeptical.

“I told them not to come.” y/n said this with such nonchalance—such grace as she tilted her head into the water and drifted back, letting the water carry her away as if she were weightless.

“Why,” Stan asked, though it came out as more of a demand.

“Because.” y/n shrugged, but you couldn’t really shrug while you were trying to stay afloat. He noticed that her eyes were closed, and her bathing suit was still on. Maybe she was lying about skinny dipping and he had worked himself up last night over nothing. y/n was like that—making promises she never intended to fulfill. If it weren’t for y/n being, well, y/n, Stan might’ve been annoyed at her antics. But he wasn’t—far from it, even. He was infatuated with her being—clothed or not, enraptured with how sunshine she could be one hour and rain she could be the next.

Math and English were an easy feat—but trying to understand y/n was like trying to learn Mandarin blind and deaf.

Her curves spilled from the bikini bottoms that hugged her butt and the matching top she wore hugged her bust exceptionally. The bikini’s scandalous red color harmonized with y/n’s skin tone well and Stan couldn’t imagine her in anything else at the moment. He didn’t want to imagine her in anything else.

“Are you gonna get in?” Her presence startled him as she was quick to swim up to the rocks. “Or are you scared?” A sly smile splayed across her pink lips and Stan mirrored her.

“I’m scared?” He scoffed. “You were the one who said we were going skinny dipping.” He stripped himself of his shirt, revealing his pale, yet toned, chest. “Guess who’s not undressed.”

“You?” y/n guessed; the innocent tone surprising on her tongue. She had inadvertently licked her lips at the answer and Stan couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her mouth due to the action.

“No. You.”

“My bad.” A giggle escaped her bitten lips and y/n began to unclip the back of her bikini. “Is that better now?” The straps fell loose against her arms, but the top stayed covering her breasts.

Stan didn’t say anything.

“What if I…” y/n didn’t finish her sentence. Silently, she fully removed the straps from her arms and the contraption left her bodice.

“Christ,” Stan seethed out, but he wasn’t gentlemen enough to look away from the sight on display before him: y/n treading the shallow water that was crystal clear thanks to Mr. Sun that shone down on this part of town, giving Stan an eyeful.

“Don’t say his name in vain.” She had now slipped the bottoms off and Stan didn’t know what to do with himself. Get undressed, I guess.

His pants were the next to go as Stanley undid his brown leather belt that held his too-big khaki shorts together. His waistline had shrunk due to baseball season’s quick start. And although it was only early March, the heat had picked up fast in this small town they called home and Stan could feel himself already itching to feel the water on his sweat-stricken skin.

“What are you waiting for?” y/n called from below. She was growing impatient, but who could blame her?

Stan stood above her in only his underwear. If the rest of the student body was here, he would’ve been living out his nightmare—stripped to the bone with an audience to gawk at him. But only y/n was here to witness the grey Calvin Kleins that hugged his thighs and rather than a nightmare, this felt more like a daydream.

“Are you shy?” She teased. “C’mon, Stanny, there’s no need to be—”

“Shy my ass,” Stan interjected as he relieved himself of the last piece of clothing and jumped into the water all in a quick movement.

“Glad you could finally make it, slowpoke.” y/n splashed his face, disregarding his lack of clothes—both of their lack of clothes—but Stan couldn’t help but admire y/n’s skin that the water had already kissed and glowed under the flash of the sun.

He’d never seen her in such a state before. In fact, he’d never intended to. But this was worth it—even if it were the only time, he knew he’d have this memory burned into his skull forever the same way the sun would burn his skin the next day because he forgot to apply sunscreen. Since when does Stanley Uris forget to apply sunscreen?

“It’s rude to stare,” y/n deadpanned, but Stan couldn’t help it. How could he not take his eyes off her tan lines from up close and the divot of her collarbone? The way her hair slicked back from the water and the pout of her lips was all too tempting to not want to consume. Stan Uris would be an idiot to not stare. A polite idiot.

“You make it hard.”

y/n felt her cheeks heat up and she knew she wasn’t sporting a sunburn. y/n never burned. “Oh. Well, in that case, stare as much as you want.”

“Gladly.”

y/n was quiet now—a rare event, but it gave Stan an opportunity he’d never thought he’d get or go for.

He swam closer, the stroke of his arms creating rifts in the water and y/n shivered at the feeling of the coldness that hit her chest each time he got closer.

It was strange seeing him up close—in such an intimate setting. As big of a crush y/n harbored on the boy, it’s not like she did anything about it. A few remarks there, a few remarks there. This was the furthest they’ve ever gotten. Maybe a little too far now that she was considering it more closely. Since when did first base turn into skinny dipping in the quarry?

Before her thoughts could leave her second-guessing anymore, y/n felt her lips on someone else’s. They were pressed together firmly and tightly. She held her breath as if she were underwater, but her heart prevailed, only picking up at a speed she’d only feel when she caught him looking at her or when he laughed at her jokes.

The kiss was powerful and all she needed. If this were the last time they’d ever see each other again, she wouldn’t care, because she’d have that kiss to cherish. Maybe she’d long for one in the future. Just one more. But this kiss left her knowing that this skinny-dipping idea wasn’t so bad after all.

His lips were soft and tickled as he pulled apart to catch a breath. y/n’s eyes opened to find Stan’s pupils were wide and lustblown. She stood still in the water, amazed that anyone could feel that way about her.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Stan—”

“What?” Stan asked, eager and anxious for the words meant for him.

“This is embarrassing but.. I like you.” The words were bold and packed with courage—not far from the regular way y/n spoke, but this was different. It had a certain bite to it that Stan couldn’t quite taste.

“Are you embarrassed because you like me or are you embarrassed because you’re confessing to me without any clothes on?” Before Stan’s eyes could rake down to y/n’s body once more, a splash of water hit his face—cold and abrupt. His eyelids slammed at the impact and he flinched.

“You’re such a perv.” y/n scoffed as if she had forgotten her deepest secret had just spilled from her lips in front of the boy the secret was about. Secret. Don’t act like it wasn’t as obvious as a fat kid scarfing down their third brownie in the first place—

“You know if it’s any more embarrassing… I like you, too,” Stan said. He felt winded after saying it. His chest felt heavy and his toes dug into the sand in order to keep him from falling headfirst into the water. It was so easy for y/n. Brave, crass y/n who swore like a sailor yet had the face of a doll.

Stan’s train of thought was lost at the feeling of y/n’s body pressed against his. He’d forgotten they were both bare-assed and exposed for all of Derry to see because the warmth of y/n was all too much. His heart jumped out of his chest sixty miles a minute and the muscles under his arms were now stones. Stan didn’t recognize that her lips were on his until her tongue swiped his bottom one for access in which he granted.

Teeth clashed and tongues danced. It was a hot minute until y/n pulled away with a cheeky smile and lingering fingers on his collarbone that made Stan hold his breath.

“That was hot,” he heaved, finally cutting the silence between them. Of course, the birds still chirped and the water around them never stopped flowing. But the world just seemed to stop whenever Stan stepped foot into y/n’s intoxicating proximity.

“Hell yeah, it was.” One arm was still strewn around his neck while her free hand traced code on his shoulder.

Nothing else was said. Nothing had to be said. But Stan was sure of one thing; that y/n was no coward.

[kareofbears]

plainly in truth, chapter 1/5

“Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

The sweat on the back of Ryuji’s neck is thick as he climbs the stairs to his apartment after a lengthy run.

It’s hot for spring, mild for summer, and now that it’s late June, it’s finally starting to teeter into real heat. He escalated slowly, gripping the guard rail like an old man to make sure his legs don’t give out, in no rush to head back to an empty apartment. His mom’s been doing back to back shifts, businesses booming like it does during this time of the year.

Normally, that would make him miserable. Nothing worse than hopping back from a day of fun shit only to come back to an empty living space with laundry piled to the nines and the TV left running. He doesn’t blame his mom because he’s not an asshole, but he never dealt well with being alone. But nowadays, he’s actually starting to like it. Crave it. Maybe a little too much.

It’s easier to deal with being alone than getting that sinking feeling he gets whenever he talks to his friends.

Shoving his hand in his basketball shorts, he pulls out his keys when something makes him pause. The plastic plant beside the entrance had been moved. Ryuji squints. Quietly, he grabs the knob and turns. It’s unlocked.

“Hey.”

Ryuji lets out a frustrated sigh, tension leaving his shoulders as he kicks the door closed. “Fucking hell. How’d you get in here?”

Seeing Ann sit primly with her legs crossed in a dining table that’s barely big enough to put two plates down evokes a feeling of nostalgia in him. She holds a key between her fingers idly. “Spare key hasn’t changed since we were thirteen.”

He walks to the fridge, pulls out a carton of milk and drinks it straight, ignoring her grimace. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he offers it to her.

“Hard pass.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs, putting it back in the fridge. “I’m gonna shower. I think we might have some chips in the cupboards if you want some. Might be stale though.”

When Ann speaks again, her tone is flat. “You haven’t been hanging out with us. Or even talking to us.”

He tries not to let the annoyance show in his face too much. “Yeah, well, what part of ‘I need some alone time’ was confusing to you?”

Wood creaks, and he can feel her presence right behind him. “Cut the crap, Sakamoto. Something happened, I know it did. It’s not like you for your big mouth to be shut like this.”

Shaking his head, he strides to his room, praying that Ann will take the hint.

She doesn’t. “Okay, so I’ll just keep talking until something happens.” She leans against his door frame as he rummages for a change of clothes, listing off with her fingers. “It’s summer vacation, so it’s not a school thing. Phantom Thief stuff has been done for a while, so it’s not that either. I saw your mom last week, and she’s doing great. Congratulate her on the promotion for me, by the way. And the only other thing in your life that’s important is—” he hears her pause suddenly. “Are you and Akira doing okay?”

The sudden sharpness in her voice is enough to make his irritation ebb away for a second. “We’re fine,” he answers, pulling a probably clean shirt from the bottom of his drawer. He knows just how much she’s invested in their relationship. She’s pretty much a third member given how desperate she is to make them work. “I would’ve told you if we weren’t.”

“Thank god,” she breathes. “So what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he rolls his eyes. “A big fat load of nothing with nothing sprinkled on top. You want me to say it again?”

“If it’s nothing, then why aren’t you over the moon that Akira’s finally visiting tomorrow?”

His stomach does a weird flop inside of him. He can’t tell if it’s a good flop or a bad one. “I’m over the moon,” he defends. “I’m crazy excited.”

“Then show it!”

“Okay! Damn, sorry I wasn’t happy enough for you.” Giving up on finding clean shorts, he picks one up from the floor and hopes it isn’t too gross. “I’m headed to the shower.” He rounds on her, giving her a glare. “And do not tell Akira that anything’s going on with me, ‘cause there isn’t anything going on. You’re just gonna make him worry for no reason and he’s gonna be all—” he frowns, overexaggerated. “—About this, so cool it.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. He won’t hear about it from me.” Ann gives him a long stare, and he refuses to look away. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks, softer this time.

“Never been better. Now scram.”

“Good. See you tomorrow, and don’t be late!” she calls as she marches through his apartment, foot out the door. “Noon! Leblanc!”

“I got it!” he yells back.

When the lock clicks back into place, Ryuji leans his back against the wall, letting his eyes slide shut. Is he that obvious that Ann would notice? He rubs his eyes with palms, frustrated. If Ann noticed, Akira’s definitely going to notice, and that isn’t allowed. He’ll just have to do better.

Going into the bathroom, flicking on the shower, he realizes he forgot his towel in his bedroom. Stupid Ann, distracting him.

Padding back to his room, he nabs it from the side of his bed, refusing to look at the letter collecting dust on his desk as he flicks the light off once more.

—

Akira came home to a face-full of streamers, two pots of curry, and six arms tackling him. Smiles and hugs were passed like a bottle of wine after a war has been won, and Akira shrugs it all off like he isn’t soaking up each and every exclamation of how much they miss him for a rainy day. Morgana gets his fair amount of head scratches, Akira gets enough noogies to warrant a concussion, and even Ryuji somehow manages to forget his problems for approximately three minutes.

It’s evening now, and while everyone had already left (not after slamming down two plates each and Yusuke brazenly asking for tupperware after the fact), Ryuji decided to linger.

“So,” he starts, sleeves rolled up as he washes the dishes while Akira dries. It might not look like it, but he doesn’t mind doing his chores; especially not with the way they both purposefully knock their knuckles against each other whenever they pass a plate between themselves.

“So,” Akira repeats. “I’m home. That’s cool, huh?” Even with eighteen layers of nonchalance layered on top of each other, there’s no hiding the lilt in his voice.

“Pretty damn cool,” he rinses a mug and hands it to him. Ryuji pauses as he watches Akira dry, lip quirked up. “I like seeing you like this.”

“Cleaning?”

“No, you bastard.” He reaches forward, unable to help himself as he pinches his cheek. “Smiley.”

Akira slaps his hand away. “I’m always happy,” he says, voice fond.

“I didn’t say happy, now did I? I said—” Ryuji wipes both hands on his jeans before pinching his cheek with both hands. “Smiley!”

He doesn’t fight back this time; instead, he lets Ryuji knead his face. “Your hands are wet,” he complains, slightly slurred.

“Suck it up.” His skin is mesmerizingly soft. Probably softer than even a girl’s. He would hold him like this all night if he’d let him. “This saves you from washing your face tonight, so you’re welcome.”

With one last tug, he reluctantly sets him free. Akira’s face is red and blotchy from the assault, but somehow he pulls it off because of course he does. “Thanks,” he deadpans.

“Don’t sweat it, dude. You know I got you,” he laughs, and for a second, he feels good. Light. Being with Akira does that to him, a pendant that wards off all evil. The pendant must’ve had some fine print in the contract though, because his stomach drops again when he remembers again. Ryuji turns around and starts scrubbing the pan harder than he needs to. Chill out, chill out, chill out.

Arms encircle his waist. “Sojiro’s gonna smite us if we don’t finish these before he opens tomorrow,” Ryuji says.

“I know.” A chin hooks around his shoulder blade, sliding in place. A perfect fit. “We’ll get to it.”

Ryuji leans back, far enough to smell the shampoo in his hair. He breathes in deep. It’s not what he’s used to, probably different brands in his hometown, but it still smells nice.

With the water still running, a group of businessmen’s laughter booming from just outside the cafe, Ryuji nearly says it. To take that weight off of his weakened knees and share some of the burden with someone who’s never complained about carrying some of his baggage. It would be embarrassing, humiliating, fucking mortifying, but it would be better than this, right?

He opens his mouth. “Missed you,” is what comes out instead.

“Missed you more, I think.” A beat passes, and then Akira continues, quietly: “You don’t know how good it feels to be back.”

That was all it took. The final piece, the last lock. The words he needed to convince him that this was the right thing to do. If he was on the fence of whether or not to tell Akira, this was the tug that took him over the edge. Because Akira came here for one reason: to have fun. To feel good again. To feel like Akira again. Is Ryuji really going to be the one to shit all over that? To fuck up his summer vacation with his problems again?

Yeah. Fuck that.

He wishes he can pull Akira impossibly closer. “Welcome home.”

It can wait until he leaves. After that, the world will just have to explode, taking him with it.

—

Ryuji’s in bed that night, tossing and turning, blanket tangled in his legs and head underneath his pillow, when he finally caves.

Smacking around for his phone, he pulls it to his face, squinting against the bright light.

SR: futaba

The response was immediate.

SF: what SR: that was fast. whatre you doing up SF: im always up. why are YOU up SR: just wanted to talk SF: ok

He waits a few moments to see if she’d continue the conversation. She doesn’t.

SR: hows school? SF: ?????? who cares, its three am SR: i care SF: ugh, go to sleep. we’re meeting tomorrow anyway SR: yeah but you dont talk about school during group meetings much SF: alright weirdo SF: schools cool. people mostly leave me alone, and i think akira must’ve tipped off kawakami cause she is wayyyy too nice to me even after bullying her in front of the class SR: what did you do lmfao SF: she said that whoever could recite pi to ten decimal points can get a bonus ten percent in the final SF: and i kept going until the bell rang SR: damn! SF: its mostly okay though. better than i thought it’d be for sure SR: and how about actual school stuff SR: like classes. Math, science, english, all that shit. SF: sheesh, easiest part no doubt. could do all that stuff in my sleep SR: really? even though youre a year behind? SF: uh yeah? i could be eight years behind and still dunk on these clowns with one hand tied behind my back and watching a live stream

Ah, right. Futaba’s a literal genius. As in ‘Make A Documentary Of Her In Twenty Years In A Movie He’d Never Watch But Makoto Would Love’ kind of genius. He forgot.

SR: nice SR: thanks, im gonna sleep now SF: kk see you SF: (¯﹃¯)

—

“Okay, this is getting a little ridiculous,” Ryuji says when he opens the door to his apartment.

Ann is sitting in his dining chair once again, this time donned in hot pink shades and a comically big sun hat. He tries not to let annoyance and panic flare inside him. He loves her, because of course he does, but he was banking on stocking up some energy and alone time before they hit the road. Maybe even shed a couple of frustrated tears, who knows? As long as he’s alone, it’s fair game.

“Hey, don’t give me any of that,” Ann says. “You and packing your luggage is like mayonnaise and my flawless complexion—it’s not good, buster. Remember Hawaii?”

He feels his skin heat up, and slams the door harder than he should. “How the hell was I supposed to know I’d get randomly checked? ‘Sides, I didn’t do anything illegal.”

“A backpack filled with condoms and a toothbrush might as well have been illegal.” Ann reaches into her pocket, whipping out a wrinkled piece of paper. “You can’t pull that kinda crap now, and if I know him as well as I do, I’m sure Akira’s already packing for that.” She laughs at her own joke and raises her hand enthusiastically. He can’t help but grin as he high fives her. Hey, even if his life is falling apart, at least he’s still getting some, right?

“So I’m here to help,” she continues, shaking the sting from her palms. “I finished packing a day early and everything, so I better get some thanks after this.” Before he can complain, she holds up a finger, expression stern. “I know you don’t need help. Yes, I’m still worried about you. Yes, I’m doing this because I’m worried about you. Let me do this stupid little thing, okay? It’ll make me feel better.”

His stomach churns, more intense than usual. “You’re still worried about me?” he asks, breath hitching. What? No. Did he fail at that too? Does she know? That must mean Akira knows, right? And if Akira knows, then—

“Whoa, hold on!” A hand grips his shoulders. “Deep breaths, Sakamoto. Don’t spiral on me now.” Gently, he’s led to a chair. He sits gratefully and waits for his heart rate to drop. The entire time, Ann stays quiet.

Eventually, when the room stops closing in on him, he sighs and leans back against his chair. “Sorry,” he says, feeling really stupid. Damn, what happened to him keeping this on the down low?

She slaps his knee. “Shut up, don’t apologize for that,” she scolds, and he almost smiles. It’s easy to forget how good Ann is at this sort of thing. For better or for worse, she’s had plenty of practice while talking to Shiho. The grip on his knee tightens. “Ryuji…”

He shakes his head. “No.”

And, for better or for worse, she absolutely does not let things go.

“Look, buddy.” The grip is starting to hurt, and it means business if her red acrylics are anything to go by. “I just saw you have a teensy little panic attack two damn minutes ago, and you’re expecting me to just leave you to it? Are you a clown? Are you a clown in a circus, Sakamoto? Is that what you are?”

“I just don’t want to fucking talk about it.” He shoves her hand off his knee, and before he knows it, his voice is raised. “Christ, can’t you just leave me alone? All you do is get up in my business when I clearly didn’t ask you to. Just cause we did this whole Phantom Thief crap together doesn’t mean it gives you the right to everything going on in my life.”

He loathes the ringing in his ears from his own voice. He hates it when he yells in the apartment, but hates the silence that follows more. Too much like his dad, too much like his exhausted mom.

Ann is staring up at him, hard and unwavering. “You’re such a piece of shit sometimes.”

“Huh?”

“If you want me off your tail, you’re gonna have to work harder than that.” She gets on her feet, glaring at him. “‘Piss me off and make me leave in tears’ was your tactic, right? Boring. Overdone. Try again.”

The way she’s standing, shoulders pushed back and chin jutted out like she’s ready for a shoot in some kind of army magazine, means she’s dead serious.

“Ann, just get the fuck out of my house. You’re really starting to get on my nerves.”

“Ooo, classic 'angry and make me storm off’, right? Better, but not good enough.”

“What the hell are you even saying?”

“I’m saying that you could say whatever pops into your bleached head—” she flicks his forehead, viciously sharp nails digging into his skin. “And I wouldn’t go anywhere. You could call me names, or threaten me, or try to hurt me, but I am not going anywhere.”

Her eyes are bright blue, but he can still feel the heat of it like Carmen was inches in front of him. His throat quivers when he swallows. She’s really not going to give in.

“My knee’s been real bad lately,” he relents, making a fist and lightly knocking it against his thigh. “Normally it acts up during bad weather, but the sun hasn’t left in weeks and it still sucks. I didn’t wanna tell anyone, ‘cause I hate talking about…” he trails off, but she doesn’t need him to continue. They both know damn well who he’s referencing.

Ann’s face crumbles. “That’s horrible,” she says, absently rubbing the red mark on his forehead. “I’m sorry I was mean.”

He waves it off, the same way he does whenever his mom asks him if he’s getting enough sleep. “Don’t sweat it. I know how crazy you get.”

It’s a real testament to how worried she must’ve been when she didn't take the olive branch. “I know you probably don’t want to worry the group, but you should tell Akira.”

“Ann—” he starts wearily.

“You know I’m right about this. Now that the Metaverse is back and we’re going to be running around more, he can’t not know about this. Your boyfriend aside, he’s our leader. Something really nasty can happen if we’re not thinking straight.”

“...Sure.”

Ann gives him a weird look. “That was surprisingly easy. I thought you’d complain more.”

She’s getting way too sharp. “What, you wanted me to be a dick about it?”

“I guess not.” Leaning against his kitchen counter, she chews her lip like it’s bubble gum. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Yeah.” Ryuji stands to stretch, ready for this conversation to be over. “You can keep this between us—”

“—Except for Akira,” they say in unison, Ryuji exasperated and Ann insistent.

“Fine. I’ll back off if you think you have it under control.”

“Hallelujah, she’s finally giving me space.”

“But,” her gaze is harder than steel. “Never, ever keep secrets from me again, got it?”

Ryuji rolls his eyes. “Gotcha. Can we get started now? I’m over talking about my horrible past so that we can finally have a straight-out-of-an-anime summer vacation.”

Her eyes brighten up. “Yes! Okay, I made this huge list and I know for a fact we’re gonna have to go for a quick shopping trip—”

“Quick? So, like, three hours going by your standards?”

“Don’t interrupt me. We need to pack some swim trunks, toiletries, and I know you’re worried about your mom so we’ll go grocery shopping for her before we leave in the morning.” Feet tapping excitedly, “This is gonna be so fun. You start packing, I’ll go shopping. Rendezvous in an hour.”

Before he even gets a chance to put a word in, she’s already out the door.

—

Later that night, when everything is messily thrown into one oversized backpack and a rucksack and the fridge is chock full of groceries for his overworked mother, he gets a text.

TA: i know you said not to bring it up but i dont care TA: i searched it up and apparently cold and hot compresses can help with the pain on your knee TA: also getting shoes with really good support would help too. i modeled for some shoe brands, i can def get you some discounts!!! TA: like, i know this is all base level stuff and you know this already, but i bet you we can ask sophia for more help. maybe she can access top secret doctor stuff for knee injuries?? :O

Ryuji stares at his phone for a long moment, before shoving it under his pillow.

Great. Add ‘guilt’ and ‘keeping up with a lie’ to the list of shit he has to worry about.

—

“A lake!” Yusuke cries, kneeling in front of the body of water like a man discovering a desert oasis. Gently, he cups the clean water and cradles it against his cheek. “You are nothing like the garbage-infested sewers in Tokyo. You are crystal clear. You are divine. You are salvation. You are—”

“Akira, Inari’s being a weirdo again,” Futaba points an accusing finger at Yusuke, who’s shirt is slowly absorbing more and more of the water. “At this rate, he’s gonna have to change.”

Makoto grunts as she lugs out the grill singlehandedly, a loud clang ringing out when she nonchalantly sets down a family-sized piece of machinery. “Alright, here it is.” She catches the look of awe that Ryuji’s giving her. “Does it still shock you that I can probably bench press you twice over?”

“I���m just trying to figure out where you’re hiding all that muscle, prez,” he snorts, and it’s the truth. Her and Akira must be the same breed, considering they’re both way too lithe to be this strong. He’s seen the way they throw a punch in the Metaverse—they could probably disintegrate a dude in real life if they really wanted to. Like yeah they workout, but not that much. Maybe they’re dieting too? He’s tried dieting, but ramen is just way too good, even at the expense of muscles.

“Ryuji, when you’re done spacing out, can you grab the ingredients?” Akira calls out.

“Ugh, cut the mind reading dude, it scares the hell out of me.”

He shoots him a signature Kurusu Akira smile; small yet disarming all the same, and it never fails to get Ryuji’s heart to do weird flips. “It’s not mind reading once you realize that I’m just obsessed with you.”

Instead of answering, Ryuji grumbles as he stalks off into the RV. Damn him and his genuine words and compliments.

He pulls out their luggage from underneath the table. Akira doesn’t need to say what ingredients he needs to grab—he’s helped out enough times during Leblanc’s afterhours to know the curry spices by heart. Ryuji might be a failure, but hey, he can do this no problem.

Grabbing bottles and shakers and balancing them on top of his arms like an overworked waiter, he glances left and feels his heart dropped. The envelope from his room—dust-free from rubbing against the rest of his luggage—is sticking out of his backpack. After a quick adjustment, he uses his free hand to shove it deep in his bag, hearing the paper crinkle in on itself.

It was a spur of the moment decision to bring it along with him, one that he’s still half-regretting. Why’d he do it? Maybe he was worried that he might enjoy this trip a little too much? Maybe he was some kind of masochist that likes having his problems and anxiety follow him literally everywhere he goes? Maybe he was scared to hell and back that his mom would find it before he had a chance to tell her himself? Fuck if he knows.

Poking his head out of the door, he yells, “Heads up!”

Throwing a bottle of black pepper, Akira catches it without looking. “Thanks.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

“Too late, I already sweat a little bit.”

Ryuji squints. “It’s sweated. Right, Ann?”

“Don’t look at me. I went to America for modelling, not a spelling bee.”

“I won all my spelling bees in middle school,” Makoto says, chest puffed out in pride.

“Were you the only one who joined?”

“That’s not important.”

Akira’s phone beeps enthusiastically, and Sophia’s voice rings out. “Got it! According to the internet, ‘sweat’ and ‘sweated’ are both grammatically valid. Technically, both Ryuji and Ann are correct.”

“Can we all just shut up for a second about sweating, for the love of god,” Futaba fans her face weakly. “It’s already sooooo hot. I feel like my skin is melting. Yusuke, is my skin melting?”

He looks at her for a moment, peering closely. “Yes.”

“How about we go in for a quick dip in the lake?” Haru offers, and Ryuji suspects that she can feel the same energy that he’s feeling when the group gets like this. “We were all talking about how beautiful it was, and it would cool down Futaba-chan no problem.”

She leans down, swirling her hand in the water. “It’s a little chilly, but it’ll definitely take care of the heat.”

“Good idea!” Futaba jumps up and throws off her shoes, ready to march in. “This is gonna feel so good.”

“Socks!” Akira reminds her.

“I know that!”

Haru and Yusuke follow suit, eager to get away from the heat, Makoto going in to change to shorts. Ryuji guesses it’s probably not an easy feat to roll up leather pants. Probably makes it either to ride motorcycles, or whatever people with leather pants do.

He feels a poke in his side. “You hopping in with them?” Akira asks.

No. The answer is already at the tip of his tongue, ready to roll out. Given how cramped the RV is, keeping up the trademark Sakamoto energy while lugging more baggage than an airport employee is brutal. It’s barely been a day since they started the trip, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up. Already his chest feels heavy with something, and whenever all the windows are rolled up, it gets weirdly hard to breathe. But if he says no, Akira would definitely know something was up.

“Uh—”

“Actually, I think we’ll take over the curry for you,” Ann cuts in.

Ryuji turns to her, startled and wide eyed.

“Why?” Akira asks, just as confused as he is. They both know how much Ann loves being in the middle of things, especially in group hangouts.

“Because you look like you could use a break. I know for a fact that you had to pack Yusuke’s stuff for him, or else the van would’ve had fifteen canvases and an easel, and you had to grocery shop for everyone, and talk Haru out of a guilty spiral because she wasn’t confident enough in her driving. And all this before—” Ann looks down at her wrist to peer at a non-existent watch. “Five o’clock.

He frowns. “Sure, but I’ve done twice as much during our prime. This,” he gestures at the pot. “Is a walk in the park. Thank you, though.”

Ann sighs, heavy and contemplative. “I didn’t want to say it out right, but since you’re being difficult…” She places a hand on his shoulder. “You should hang out with Futaba more. Being gone from her for that long has been rough, and yes, we took care of her while you weren’t there, but you’re different.” Her hand tightens. “You know, Wild Card and all that.”

“That’s not what that means, but I appreciate the effort,” Akira says. Despite his words, it’s clear that what she said bothered him. Eyes flickering to Futaba, enthusiastically kicking the water to see how far the droplets would go, he directs his gaze to Ryuji. “Is it okay if…?”

Ryuji rolls his eyes, pretending like relief isn’t crashing through his body. “Go.”

Akira kisses his cheek. “Thank you.” When he pulls away, he gives Ann a hesitant look.

She grimaces. “Thanks, but no. Go hangout with the gremlin.”

He gives her a salute and saunters off, rolling up his jeans to wade through the water, making sure to splash Futaba on the way there.

After a moment of silence, he sighs. “Fine, I’ll say it. Your acting classes are actually doing you some good.”

“Ha!” she points at him triumphantly. “And you said it’d be a waste of time!”

“I didn’t say that.” Ryuji slouches into a nearby camping chair, the one that Sojiro forced them to lug along, hoping that some of his fatigue would seep away. “We both know that Futaba’s never been better, so what’s up? Why’d you throw out Akira like that?”

“It’s not for me, stupid,” she scoffs, but he can’t help but feel the weight in his chest get even heavier. He sinks even deeper into his chair. “The water was cold, right? That would make your knee even worse.”

“Yeah,” he blinks, having already forgotten the whole fucked-up knee story. “Thanks.”

“I won’t chew you out for not telling Akira, even though I should. But like I said,” she ruffles his hair. “I got your back. I know it must be hard, but you’re still acting all normal. We’re lucky that it’s only affecting you in the real world, too.” She had come up with that one herself, and thank god she did, cause he wouldn’t have known what to say if she had confronted him on how he could easily do flips and sprints in the Metaverse. “That just takes a lot of guts, and even though I know for a fact this would make you feel so much better once you tell him, I trust that you know what you need better than me.”

“Quit trying to look all cool,” he says, and prays to fucking god that the red on his face comes off as embarrassed gratitude rather than earth-shattering guilt. “And aren’t you supposed to be cooking, curry master?”

“Hey, he asked you to do it, not me. I’ll help you get the ingredients, but no way I’m doing the whole cooking shebang.”

“Ugh, fine,” he says, as if he doesn’t secretly love the idea of getting to cook for Akira this time instead of the other way around. Pushing himself up, Ann reaches out to help him. “You don’t gotta baby me, Takamaki.”

“I’ll baby you for as long as I need to, and then eventually Akira will be the one babying you. We come in shifts.”

“I hope you’re unionized.”

Makoto pokes her head out of the RV, wearing a showercap. “Did someone say unionized?”

“What the hell?” Ryuji staggers back in shock. Crap. “How long have you been there?”

“And why are you wearing that?” Ann gasps.

“Not long, and I don’t want my hair getting wet in case I fall in. We have no idea what’s been in here.”

“Were you going to fall in a bathtub?”

“Did you want me to push you in?”

“No, ma’am.”

—

There wasn’t a problem initially. Well, not one in Palaces, anyway. Wait, they’re called Jails now, which is really confusing. Ryuji’s just gonna have to avoid using those words so he doesn’t make himself look like an idiot.

Back in Shibuya, it had been...fine. Attacks landed, punches were dodged, Batons passed like his life depended on it (and it did). Like clockwork, instinct came to him and the weird nostalgic normalcy of fighting Shadows made it bearable.

Ryuji was off his game, and he could tell.

But he was barely off his game. If anything, he still had a foot on his game. Maybe even an entire leg on the game if he was being generous. He was still enough on the game that even Akira doesn’t notice.

But the weird part was, he doesn’t mind the fact that he’s off his game. In an even weirder way, he’s never been more on his game in his entire life.

“There!” Futaba’s voice crackles through the comms. “Uncle is open wide!”

“Her name is Ante, Oracle,” Makoto responds, brass knuckles jammed into the throat of some poor Shadow. “It’s open, but it’s vicious.”

Ryuji calls for Kidd just as she pulls away, wiping out the rest of the weaker ones with ease. “This thing’s like a goddamn mousetrap.” Ante’s serpent body slithering on the cool tiles so fluidly that it gives him the creeps. Her tail has tiny spikes etched into it, like mini knives hot glued onto a tetherball. The minute any of them even come close, she strikes outwards. “How vicious is vicious?”

“Depends on how fast you are.”

Akira’s head jerks up, and when their eyes meet, cracks a smile. “Fast, you say?”

Ryuji grins wider than he has in days. Joker relying on him? How can someone not feel a little giddy at that? “Say no more, leader.”

He stretches quickly, and feels eyes piercing the back of his head. Ann, probably. Shrugging it off, he sprints low towards Ante. As long as Ann doesn’t say a word, there won’t be a problem.

She’s taken hits from where Akira’s been concentrating on her. A mixture of bullet holes in its scales mixed in with cross slashes from where his bless attacks hit had left her delirious and pissed off. When he’s close, she bares her fangs and strikes, only for him to skid on the smooth tiles, rugged hands touching his mask.

“Come on out, Captain!”

His blond hair ruffled from Kidd’s attack, a crack of lightning came down from his Persona’s mangled hand, and a split second later her tail had been sliced clean through. And another crack comes, her neck landing on the tiles with a muffled thud. An attack that should’ve just been enough to incapacitate Ante had instead completely decapitated her.

A beat of silence passed as everyone processed what had happened. Ryuji’s mouth drops open, but he can’t muster any surprise.

He doesn’t know how, or why, but for some reason his attacks have been at least five times as strong as they had been back before the Metaverse was still intact. Moves that he didn’t even know are on the tip of his tongue, as if he had practiced them all his life. Normally this would only happen after rigorous training for months, adding up in tiny increments.

Now it happens every day.

“Well, looks like someone woke up on the right side of the gym today,” Futaba laughs awkwardly.

“What on earth was that, Skull?” Haru asks, eyes wide. “I had never seen you do something like that.”

Morgana’s tail swished. “She makes a good point. When’d you learn that one?”

“I don’t know.” He calls back Captain Kidd, eyeing the drop that Ante had left behind, but doesn’t move forward to snatch it up. “But whatever the reason is, it’s awesome as hell. I mean, did you see that? Sliced that thing open like a stuffed bear.”

“Let’s not bring stuffed animals into this, please,” Makoto frowns.

Akira’s giving him a look again, and it leaves Ryuji unsettled. “What is it, dude? I got something on my face?”

“No,” he steps closer, and his voice drops. “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright? I’ve never been better, man.” He flashes him a grin, hoping that it’s bright enough to distract Akira’s ever-searching eyes. “Come on, let’s get moving. Natsume’s heart isn’t gonna change itself.”

After one last glance, he nods, and Ryuji can see the minute Calculating Joker comes back. “You heard him. Let’s get moving, everyone.”

They all follow him up the stairs, eager to get moving past the eternally bleary and uncreatively written setting of Natsume’s Jail.

“Psst!” Ryuji hisses at Ann, who turns to him with a question in her eyes. “Panther! Get your ass over here!”

“What?” she whispers back.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I fucked up my knee when I rushed her, and I still haven’t told Joker, so do you mind…?”

An expected look of disapproval emerges from her expression, and Ryuji hurries to beat her to the punch. “I know, I know! But I can’t tell him in the middle of all this, now can I?”

“Fine,” she grumbles before calling Carmen. “I’ll cover you for now, but only ‘cause I’m a good friend and I’m super cute.”

“Yeah, the cutest, prettiest, whatever.” He glances over to Akira, swooping down to grab Ante’s drops before heading up. “Quick, before he looks back.”

Diarama washes over him, and even though relief floods through his body, he can feel a bead of sweat running down his temple. He’s not sure if it’s from her inherent heat or from the stress of lying to her again.

“Better?” Ann asks.

“Way better. Thanks.” He catches Sophia looking at them curiously. “The kid’s watching us. You better move ahead before she starts analyzing our personality types or something.”

Her eyes light up. “You think she’d do it if I asked? I really wanna know.”

“Just go!”

Ann hurries to catch up to Sophia, and while she’s distracted, Ryuji gently rolls up sleeves—he had gotten nicked by Ante as he slid. Normally that wouldn’t have been a problem; he had gotten thrown through walls, been hit by mini hurricanes, been blown up by a boat, and walked away from all that still swinging.

Yet lately, any tiny, fractional, miniscule injury is enough to shoot unbearable pain throughout his entire body. It’s as if he was back in Kamoshida’s Palace, where every punch thrown at him had been life or death.

Glancing down at his forearm, he sighs. The cut was gone, but he can’t keep asking Ann to heal him in secret every time.

“Skull?”

Hurriedly pulling down his sleeve, he glances up to see Akira standing in front of him.

“Everyone’s waiting for you,” he says casually, as if those words don’t mean the entire goddamn world to Ryuji. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he answers, shaking his head. “My bad. Let’s go.”

They clambered up the staircase, and Ryuji decides that all of that stuff—getting injured and having it hurt like hell—just isn’t too important.

That just means that he’ll be fine as long as he doesn't get hit, and he’s had plenty of experience dodging punches that were thrown at him before.

—

“Cheers!”

All of them raise their red plastic cups, clinking it against each other in a way that they see adults do all the time on TV. Apple juice and iced tea slosh as they gulp it down eagerly, excitement so prevalent that they can hardly taste the cheap, convenience store-esque quality of their drink.

“This isn’t too bad,” Makoto muses, leaning against the faux-leather seats of the RV. “Though it would probably taste better if it wasn’t room temperature.”

“Does it look like this place has a mini fridge?” Futaba says, legs swinging down from her top bunk. “That’s a good idea though. I should’ve bought mine from home. Can you imagine we’re halfway through a six hour road trip and you want iced coffee and boom! Two feet behind you is Futaba’s Ice Cold Cafe, one hundred yen per use.”

“I hope you’d be ready to sleep on it, because this place is cramped enough as is,” Akira slaps the wall a few times, the way a rancher would a sturdy horse. “We’re lucky with what we have.”

“I know that! Without this thing we never would have been able to conquer Natsume’s Jail.” She reaches down to muss Yusuke’s hair. “I’m sure Inari feels good about that.”

He smiles, hair sticking up in all directions. “Of course I feel satisfied. Though I understand his struggle, being able to stop a fellow artist into becoming a true monster is always something that will bring me joy. Justice will never stop feeling good.”

“Cheers to that!” Ann raises her drink. “And you know what? This wouldn’t have been possible had Ryuji not kicked some major ass in that Jail.”

The group whoops and hoots loudly, and Ryuji can’t help but scoff when Ann winks at him. “Aw guys, you’re making me blush. I’m fucking awesome, sure, but we’re all pretty amazing.”

Haru shakes her head. “She’s right, Ryuji-kun. WIthout you, defeating dragon Natsume would’ve been much more difficult.”

“Even I can admit that you’ve gotten much stronger, Skull.” Morgana leaps onto the table, licking up the bowl of apple juice that Haru had left him. It feels wrong to let an animal drink that, but he’d never say anything about it. “Have you been training?”

Ryuji shrugs. “Yeah, a little.”

“Ooo, look at Mr. Humble all of a sudden,” Futaba jeers.

“I’m always humble!”

Ann grimaces. “I don’t think so. Remember when you finally got Akira to go on a date with you—”

“How dare you. He was begging me to go on a date with him—”

“And you wouldn’t stop telling us about how you had nabbed the coolest guy in Tokyo—”

Ryuji nearly jumps over the booth to put a hand on her mouth. “Quit yammering, Takamaki, I’m begging you.” He feels something slimy on his hand, and pulls back quickly. “Ew, did you lick me?! That’s so effing gross.”

“You’re gross.”

He feels a hand on the small of his back, warm and familiar. “I don’t think you’re gross, Ryuji,” Akira says. “I think you’re very clean.”

A harmonic beep rings through the air. “Sorry to interrupt,” Sophia’s clear voice cuts in. “But Akira, you got an email.”

“Thanks Sophie.” He points to where his phone is perched on the windowsill, propped up so she can see them celebrate their victory. “Can you…?”

Ryuji wordlessly passes it to him as everyone breaks off into smaller conversations, chatter blending into each other until it sounds like the kind of white noise he would queue up when he’s desperate to get some studying done. Immediately, Akira begins scanning through his phone, gray eyes focused.

He props his head against his shoulder to read alongside him and makes a noise of interest. “You signed up for cram school?” he asks, surprised.

“I did,” he replies, thumbing through the details of his admission.

Ryuji stares at him. “But you’re so fucking smart. Why are you paying who knows what to learn shit you already know?”

“Because Tokyo U barely cracks a 30% admission rate, and chemistry is hell incarnate.” With one last few clicks, he sets his phone down with a wince. “Sure is expensive though. We might have to reform the heart of someone in the education committee.” When he continues to stare at him wordlessly, Akira turns to him. “Don’t worry, I’m still leeching off of the Thieves' money from last year, so it’s not too bad when you take into account my part-time back home.”

“No, that’s not—I’m just—” he shakes his head and forces himself to start over. “Since when did you decide on Tokyo University?”

It’s Akira's turn to look taken aback. “What do you mean? You’d never leave Tokyo, especially if it meant leaving your mom.”

“That’s not the point. The point is I’m making you choose between me and your hometown!” he exclaims, but he already knows in his heart what Akira’s choice is going to be. It’s stupidly obvious. For some reason, the longer this conversation goes on, the tighter his chest feels.

The feeling doubles when Akira’s eyes, always focused and always sharp, subdued at his words. “Are you really comparing yourself to that place? You know I’d choose you over anything.” He reaches forward and combs through Ryuji’s hair, hushed and gentle in a way that only Akira can manage. “I’m so excited to live life with you again.”

The white noise, so comfortable before, abruptly turns overwhelmingly loud—grating and unbearable and painful to be around. Ryuji stands abruptly, barely reacting to Futaba’s yelp when he backs into her.

“Hey! What gives?”

“I…” his eyes dart around, flinching when he accidentally makes eye contact with Akira, and again when he locks eyes with Ann.

The sudden silence from the group is somehow worse than the noise from before, and if the tightness in his chest gets any more painful, his lungs are gonna burst into a million pieces and he’s not gonna be able to pick it all up from the ground if everyone’s watching.

“Trash,” he blurts out.

“What?” Makoto blinks, glancing up from her map.

“This place is disgusting and it’s way too cluttered and it’s bad to leave such a big mess so I’m gonna—” Ryuji grabs the plastic bag filled with garbage, haphazardly tossing empty cans and plastic cups into it. “I’ll be back. Don’t wait up.”

Before they can question him, he’s already out of the RV, towing trash and leaving his friends behind him.

—

“What the fuck was that?!” Ryuji screams into the sky.

He was far enough from the trailer that he knew they couldn’t hear him even if they had strained their ears, and it was late enough into the night that even the tourists weren’t poking around to look at the shrines or the Great Masamune himself.

“Keep it a secret’, my ass! That was the second dumbest thing—no, the third dumbest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. Do you know how high that threshold is, Sakamoto? High! Higher than you can see with your own two eyes! Higher than Yaldabaoth’s goddamn crane-sized spine!”

Swooping down, he grabs a fistful of pebbles and throws it as hard as he can. “You are so selfish! What happened to keeping ‘Kira happy, you effing asshole?” Relishing in how far it went, he takes another two more. “You are so annoying. You are—” he throws, the rocks landing with a little plink. “Insufferable. Stupid. Selfish. A fucking—” this time, he doesn’t even know where it lands. “Gah!”

Turning on his heel, he glares up at the statue and grits his teeth when he sees Masamune’s stoic expression. “Don’t give me that look—you’re dead. You ain’t got nothing to complain about. Everyone’s remembering you as the guy who saved Japan, or whatever. But guess what? You’re probably a loser. A dumb, stupid loser who convinced everyone that you’re good for something when you’re worth jack shit!”

Before he can stop himself, he takes the garbage bag full of cans, glass bottles, and crumpled chip bags and hurls it at Masamune. It hits the base of the statue, far below damaging the One-Eyed Dragon himself, but the glass cracks under the force of being thrown, tearing through the plastic and causing trash and shards to explode all over the steps. Ryuji’s chest is heaving as he stares down at what he’s done.

“Impressive.”

He whirls around at the voice behind him, stomach lurching straight to the ground when he sees who it was. “In his years of war, I doubt that anyone’s ever tried throwing waste in his direction in order to defeat him.”

“Yusuke,” he breathes, feeling his frustration draining away to make room for even more guilt, if that was even possible. Ryuji cannot possibly look any more of an asshole than he does right now—tearing his throat raw in a public space, surrounded by the garbage he had thrown at a national monument in front of a guy who clearly worships and respects art that’s old as hell. “Sorry, I’ll clean it up, I promise. I was just…” he hesitates. “Talking to myself.”

Yusuke hums, unconvinced, and carefully approaches the mess in front of him. Ryuji waves him off. “No, don’t. Broken glass is a bitch, especially the little pieces. If that gets in your skin, it’s game over. You’d have to go into the hospital for sure.” He grimaces. “Trust me. My dad used to throw beer bottles at our place like he was in a ball game, and that ain’t fun, I promise you that.”

“I see.” Turning around, Ryuji hoped that he was magically going to head back to the group and not mention this to anyone there, but instead Yusuke stopped in front of a water fountain. “You’re right. If you’re not careful, it could be very easy to hurt yourself when dealing with broken glass.” Pulling out a handkerchief from his breast pocket in a way that only Yusuke can, he soaks it in water before crouching down at the shards glimmering under moonlight. “But if you use wet fabric to dab it on the shards itself—” he pats the concrete and flips the fabric over, revealing the moist and glistening pieces stuck on its side. “You can clean up the pieces with little to no danger.”

“Huh.” After a moment, he realizes that he’s making Yusuke do the dirty work for him. “Pass me that. Thanks for the tip, but I can take it from here. I mean,” he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s totally my fault that the glass is here anyway.”

He doesn’t look up from his task, eyes focused and movement meticulous. “No need. If you’d like to help, you can start picking up the non-dangerous litter around us.”

Ryuji does as he’s told, wincing as he has to pick up sticky, pop-soaked wrappers with his bare hands but he doesn’t complain. Karmic retribution has never held back against him. “The glass thing,” he starts, squatting down and picking up empty cans and plastic utensils with curry remnants still stuck to them. “They teach you that in Kosei?”

“No, from one of Madarame’s past pupils actually.” Yusuke shifts over to dab at another glass-covered section, concrete looking clearer with every pat. “Sensei had a rather violent habit of hurling canvases at the wall if they do not meet his standards, and his actions had led to many of our more fragile belongings being shattered when he did.” His tone doesn’t change, but Ryuji can see his shoulders tighten. “At least it allowed me to move away from that house very quickly, considering I had very little to pack away.”

Ryuji opens his mouth to comfort him. Instead, he finds himself speaking in a low tone. “Glad that bastard is rotting in jail,” he resists the urge to spit on the ground. “Then afterwards, I hope he rots in hell, just to really cover all of our bases.”

That pulls a chuckle out of Yusuke. “Thank you,” he smiles, and all Ryuji can do is nod. There isn’t much you can say after that without making it weird. But how weirder can it possibly get when the two of you are off towing around someone’s perception of the world on a daily basis?

They continue to work in silence; the wind is gentle, but it’s enough to rustle the leaves and allow Ryuji to feel some relief from the summer heat. He’s picking up wet paper tissues, and it’s gross, but it’s nice to be doing something with his hands.

He’s just about done his part of the clean-up when he can’t take it anymore. “Aren’t you gonna ask?”

“No,” Yusuke answers without looking up. That’s another thing that Ryuji really appreciates about him—playing dumb has never been something that he’s done to get out of an awkward situation. To be fair though, Yusuke himself is an awkward situation.

“Why not?”

“Did you want me to?”

That question makes him pause, and Yusuke doesn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve always been the most vocal in the group, and while many a time it has been our downfall in terms of secrecy, I have always considered it one of your strong points. And if you, Sakamoto Ryuji, are indeed struggling with using your words,” Yusuke’s eyes turn to him. “Then it must be very difficult to talk about.”

A beat passes. “No,” Ryuji mutters. “I don’t want you to ask.”

“Then I won’t,” he says easily. “But I do have a question.”

“Lay it on me.”

Yusuke shuffles to crouch down next to him, and it’s kinda weird seeing someone as elegant as him pose like some kind of hoodlum. “Does Akira know about your struggle?”

His mind flashes back to the confused look back in the RV and he scratches his neck roughly. “I bet he does now.”

Yusuke leans back, shocked. “He doesn’t know?”

“I’m getting there! Don’t pressure me, man. You said it yourself, I’m fucking struggling.”

“Well, yes, I did say that, but it’s Akira,” he says the name almost reverently. “I’d be surprised if he doesn’t sense that something is askew.”

“I just said that, didn’t I? Goddamn, you and Ann are just two of the same peas in the same freaking pond, aren’t you?”

“It’s ‘pod’, Ryuji,” he corrects. “Ann is aware?”

“She—” Ugh, how does he explain that she thinks she knows, but really he had lied about what he told her? “She basically knows.” And because his fat mouth just keeps getting fatter, “She’s sort of part of the problem.”

Yusuke’s eyes widen and Ryuji hurries to cover up for his mistake. “She’s not a problem, it’s just that I didn’t explain…It’s really my fault, and how I deal with internal shit, you know what I’m saying? And Ann’s just kind of in the crossfire, so what ended up happening is when I talk to her about what I’m feeling, I end up just feeling worse.” He winces. First he lies to her and now he’s shit-talking her? “I did not say that. What I really mean is that, uh, feelings...and actions...are complicated,” he finishes weakly.

“I see,” he says finally.

It seems that even Yusuke has a threshold for uncomfortable moments, because he rises to his feet. “Thank you for sharing all of that with me.”

“Uh, yeah, for sure. Thanks for the glass trick.”

“No need to mention it. It’s much easier to clean up a mess when you have someone helping you.” He points vaguely behind himself, “Would you like to head back together? I’m sure by now the festivities are winding down, and the trash you were so keen on disposing of has definitely been thrown away.”

Ryuji blanches. It grossed him out that he forgot he was holding an armful of garbage in his hand. “You go ahead. I just need to,” he rocks his arms, almost cradling the wet garbage. “Throw this out.”

“Very well. I’ll see you when you get back, then.”

He waves at him, and Ryuji wiggles in response (unless he wants it all hitting the ground and restarting that whole process again, which, no thanks.) After dumping it all into a nearby trash can, the process of which lasts several minutes since he still had to sort out the recycling, he feels a buzz in his pocket.

KA: come back when you can KA: i miss you

He takes a shaky breath.

SR: on my way

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

Flake interview 2020-01

Not a new interview, but relatively recent, Flake with "Der Standard" 2020-01 before an appearance of Flake in Vienna (author Stefan Weiss), don't think there's a translation on the website, so here's a shot..:

Rammstein keyboardist Flake: "The reunification was a mess"

Christian "Flake" Lorenz hits the keys not only as a keyboardist, but also as an author. A conversation about controversial views on the GDR, fireworks and climate protection

At Rammstein he is the "keyfucker" - GDR jargon for keyboard players. His real name is Christian Lorenz, but he has been calling himself "Flake", pronounced in German, of course, since his youth. For a quarter of a century, the native of East Berlin has been the alien in the German rock band, the thin freak among the strong musclemen. In the meantime, Flake also hits the keys as an author: In "An was ich mich so erinnern kann" (2015) he wrote down his GDR experiences, followed in 2017 with "Heute hat die Welt Geburtstag", a literary autobiography about Rammstein. On March 26, Flake will come to Vienna's Globe Theater for a reading.

STANDARD: We are currently celebrating 30 years of 'Die Wende' *1). Your joy is limited, as one knows. How do you perceive the anniversary?

Flake: 'Die Wende' and reunification of Germany have to be separated. I experienced the change as a punk at the time. The ossified old concrete headframe of the GDR Politburo was also our enemy. We didn't want this idiotic regime anymore and we fought to loosen it up. When the wall came down, we didn't know what to do with the freedom we suddenly had. But then began an incredibly exciting time in which we tried to develop professionally, politically and musically in every direction.

STANDARD: And then came the reunification.

Flake: A lot went wrong from then on. We were annexed as a useless country, entire biographies were declared worthless, companies were closed so that the western companies could expand. We have been reset to such an extent that resentment and disappointment have built that have persisted until now. By and large, the reunification in this form was a mess.

STANDARD: If you look at Germany's east today, right-wing populism has recently had great political success there. A legacy of reunification?

Flake: Many people are disappointed because certain promises have not been fulfilled. But they already had the political left in their lives, now they are trying it with the right. Personally, I cannot understand how one can vote for the AfD *2). But those who do are doing it in large part in protest against the mainstream parties. It is clear that the AfD cannot meet expectations either. If the AfD were to rule, many people would notice very quickly that it is not getting better, but worse.

STANDARD: You grew up in the East Berlin punk scene. What are the differences between the East and West punks?

Flake: There was a fundamental difference: the Ostpunks didn't need any money because life was absurdly cheap, rent around 25 marks. The koney you made from one concert lasted over a month. So you could make the music you wanted to make and not just the music that sells well. Absurdly enough, it made us very free.

STANDARD: There were also IM Stasi informers among your band colleagues at the time (IM: unofficial employee, note). Aren't you angry with the repressive surveillance state of the GDR?

Flake: I'm not angry with IM informers in the bands. Because their IM status often made it possible for the bands to exist at all. The Stasi didn't lock up its own people. The best example of this is the GDR band 'Die Firma'. It was founded by IM informers. The gag was that 'Die Firma' ('The Company') was actually a synonym for "Stasi". Covered by the Stasi, they then sang anti-subversive texts. Almost brilliant really.

STANDARD: Do you understand when it is said that the GDR was an injustice state and that Stasi repression was a kind of terror?

Flake: I can understand it when people say that who have experienced it and suffered from it. But personally, I can't say that the whole state was bad. I don't want to know how many innocent people have been or are being imprisoned and monitored in the West. I do not find the generalization of the "unjust state" okay.

STANDARD: Would Rammstein have been conceivable in the GDR?

Flake: We wouldn't have founded a band like Rammstein within the GDR because it would have been the wrong answer to this system. We founded Rammstein because we noticed that our punk music wasn't getting anywhere in the West. It took harder stuff.

STANDARD: You have retained a kind of socialism within the band. Nevertheless, Rammstein is a millionaire company. Were there moments when you thought: The money could not only destroy our character but also the band?

Flake: Rammstein is a company where money fluctuates a lot. We have a lot of employees, we buy tons of pyrotechnics, we have a huge stage, costumes, our own electricity network, we shoot extremely complex videos. The money that remains private can actually hardly harm us, because it is so limited. We really have to make sure that the plus-minus calculation works out.

STANDARD: In your book "Heute hat die Welt Geburtstag" you describe the 25 years of Rammstein as a long partnership: It has become calmer in bed, but you understand each other blindly. Is divorce even an option?

Flake: Divorce is definitely not an issue. It's like a very long marriage: You don't even think about divorce anymore.

STANDARD: In the midst of tough muscle men, you were always the figure that breaks everything, especially in the interaction with singer Til Lindemann, who sometimes roasts you on stage like a cockroach. It looks like the traditional comedian constellation white clown and stupid August, Laurel and Hardy with SM components. How important is that to the show?

Flake: We developed that more by accident. We never made it up: you are the strong one, I am the weak one. At our first concerts we always stood around very haphazardly, then we started pushing and provoking each other. When I watch a normal heavy metal band I get bored easily. We always have something going on.

STANDARD: Do you sometimes long for a role change at Rammstein? To be the strong one for once?

Flake: Nah, I have other worries. With those couple of concerts, I can handle my role well enough.

STANDARD: Can you even enjoy appearances or does that only come afterwards? After all, a Rammstein show is precision work.

Falke: What do you mean enjoy? I enjoy when everything runs smooth and everything works like a machine. There are good and bad concerts, at the good ones we take off like an airplane.

STANDARD: Rammstein mixes black romanticism with black humor. You yourself love the blues, which often sails in similar waters. Can you draw joy out of melancholy?

Flake: The blues is the best example of this. Sadness and comfort go hand in hand. All of popular music arose from a problem of the respective author. This is exactly what you want to hear when you are not feeling well yourself. During puberty you normally don't want to hear "Walking on Sunshine" either.

STANDARD: Traditionally, there is also joy in melancholy and morbidity in Vienna. Is that the Eastern European impact?

Flake: Slavic music is very melancholic, on the other hand the Goth culture comes from the west. So I wouldn't really pinpoint that to anything local.

STANDARD: It is said that Rammstein did more to preserve the German language than all the Goethe Institutes put together. Are you proud of that?

Flake: Yeah. But the interesting thing is that we are regarded more highly abroad than in our own country. In Germany there is a lot of ranting: We are dull and foolish about Germany - complete nonsense.

STANDARD: Rammstein has always been compared to the totalitarian parody band Laibach. They recently played in North Korea with the aim of appearing subversive. Is something like that conceivable for Rammstein?

Flake: We'd have to think very carefully about what we want and why we want it. If that were to help someone, okay - but only to be able to say, "We're subversive now," that's not an argument.

STANDARD: For reasons of climate protection, there is an increasing number of missile bans. A topic for Rammstein?

Flake: We played a concert in Chicago once. The local fire protection was so rigorous that we shouldn't even have lit a match. Complete ban on pyro. We went on stage and said: either we are leaving because we are not allowed to make a fire here, or we are playing without. The audience wanted the latter, of course. And it became one of our best shows. You have to weigh it up a bit: should you stop all things like a Rammstein show for climate reasons? But I totally understand that there shouldn't be any more bangs on New Year's Eve. I was in Vienna once at the turn of the year, and there was relatively little banging. I thought that was good. Berlin is one of the most terrifying cities on New Year's Eve. There it's pure aggression.

Notes:

*1) i kept 'Die Wende' as the term for the political transformation in east germany, not sure what the official english phrase is

*2) AfD, short for 'Alternative für Deutschland' or 'Alternative for Germany' is a right-wing populist political party, often characterized as far-right, known for its opposition to the European Union and immigration

[likelightningafterthethunder]

Like Lightning After the Thunder: Chapter One: Damned Smile

Fic Summary:

His breath wavered as he stared into Katsuki’s eyes. He knew he could get out if he tried. He could knock Katsuki out, hope that no one else would find them, and run back into the shadows where he belonged. Katsuki may have had him pinned down but he was in Denki’s range now and it would take little effort to send a charge through Katsuki to paralyze him temporarily.

It would take barely any additional effort to kill Katsuki.

As the sparks began to charge, lighting up the air around him, Katsuki refused to back down.

–

Katsuki always knew he was destined for great things.

He didn’t think he’d have to turn his back on all he’s ever known to get there.

Rating: T

Warnings: Eventual major character death, implied/referenced child abuse, psychological trauma

Other Tags: Bakugou Katsuki/Kaminari Denki, slow burn, alternate universe - canon divergence

Read on Ao3 (links to corresponding chapter) or read below

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Fic navigation to read the fic on tumblr 

--

Even years later, that damn smile haunted his dreams.

There was absolutely no reason for him to still think about the event. Everything had been taken care of when it had happened― injuries were treated, authorities alerted, information secured, and a press conference to tie it all up in a big red bow. There were no loose ends, no surprise second coming, no physical reminders of what happened lingering in his daily life. Katsuki would have labeled it as done, dealt with, and no longer relevant, shoving it aside in his memory so he could focus on actual important shit.

Except his mind had different plans.

When he was lucky, he could completely forget about the event for months. Other times, his dreams would be filled with nothing but that damn smile, taunting him with its silence. He could usually predict when the dreams would come― the anniversary of the event for example― but other times, it seemed like anything could trigger the memory. He once saw a bright yellow balloon and for the rest of the day, every time he closed his eyes he saw that damned smile, never wavering despite the curses and insults Katsuki spewed.

He wanted to forget it. He wanted so desperately to forget it. For the image to erase itself from his mind, for it to take the feelings away with it. He could deal with the anger, he could always deal with the anger, but when his memory reminded him of the wave of hurt and betrayal that nearly blinded him…

When his alarm jolted him from his sleep and freed him from the smile, he couldn’t get out of bed fast enough. He woke up drenched in a cold sweat, sheets singed and smoking lightly as he unclenched his hands, and Katsuki was, for once, very relieved that not all of his sweat was explosive. He slapped the singes a few times to ensure that all of the embers were put out before heading for the bathroom, cursing under his breath as he flinched at his own reflection in the mirror.

There was nothing particularly wrong with his appearance, if you didn’t count the dark circles under his eyes from a fitful night’s sleep or his clammy skin, but after being plagued by the smile, Katsuki could barely look at himself. His reaction to the smile made him feel weak, like he couldn’t handle himself and that there was something wrong with him. It was just a smile after all. There was no reason for him to react to it like a nightmare, no reason for him to lose sleep over it or to feel overwhelmed by emotions at the thought of it.

Yet when he saw the smile and saw how the corners of his mouth were tugged a bit too tight, how his eyes were open a bit too wide, how the only shine in his eyes were the reflections of light on tears that refused to fall…

Katsuki cursed.

The icy cold shower did little to help distract him from the memory, nor did his morning run nor the steaming shower he took after. He wasn’t supposed to head into the agency today, so he didn’t have any planned beatdowns for today, and yes he probably shouldn’t be hoping for it, but part of him hoped for a sudden emergency villain so he could distract himself by focusing on beating some villain’s ass into next week.

A few hours later when his phone refused to stop buzzing, Katsuki wondered if throwing his phone across the room until it stopped would be close enough to beating villain ass to work. He reluctantly decided that talking to people so they’d leave him alone was probably less hassle to deal with than having to replace his phone and distribute his new number (even if it would give him an excuse to ghost some of these damn extras).

A few individual texts and a group text were the cause of the buzzing. As the group text’s new message count continued to rise, he figured it would be easier to respond to the individual texts first. Just in case he changed his mind about destroying the phone.

Four Eyes (Rocket Legs): Hello Bakugou, this is a reminder about the upcoming Class A reunion. As the head of the reunion committee, it is my duty to ensure an accurate headcount for the event, and I have yet to receive your response about your attendance. Please ensure to respond via the following link by this Friday at 11:59PM. [Class A 10 Year Reunion RSVP]

Four Eyes (Rocket Legs): In case you missed the previous messages regarding the reunion, the event is March 28th starting at 7PM at the Shinjuku Hotel in Musutafu. If you need to rent a room for the night or the weekend, please alert the Shinjuku Hotel staff that you are part of the Class A reunion party by next Wednesday for an event discount.

Katsuki frowned. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to the possibility of being surrounded by all of his former classmates and even less at the idea of being socially obligated to spend the entire evening with them. At least when he met up with his friends elsewhere, he could always claim needing to leave early so he could make the last train or that work needed him to come in early the next day.

He closed out of the conversation, figuring he still had a few more days to decide if he really wanted to deal with his classmates for an entire evening.

Midoriya: Hey Katsugou! I was wondering if you’re going to go to the reunion? Tenya said the deadline to RSVP is coming soon and we haven’t heard from you, so I just thought I’d check in!

Katsuki: The fuck is Katsugou?

Midoriya: Oh sorry!! Typo!!

Midoriya: Anyway, are you coming?

Katsuki closed out of the conversation and moved on to the next one.

Shitty Hair: Katsuki! Are you coming to the reunion or not dude????

Katsuki: Fuck off.

Shitty Hair: Aww dude that’s no way to talk to your best friend, you know you love me!!

Katsuki: I’m blocking you.

He did not, in fact, block him. But he did close out of Eijirou’s texts.

Save for the newest text sent directly from Eijirou, all that was left was the backlog of texts in the group text. It had kept going off while he was reading the other conversations, so Katsuki figured it meant that everyone was either off for the day or on their lunch break.

Raccoon Eyes: guys!!!!! the reunion is COMING UPPPPPP!!!!

Raccoon Eyes: i cant wait to s

Raccoon Eyes: ee all of u guys again!!

Tape Face: lmao you saw us last week

Raccoon Eyes: yes

Raccoon Eyes: an eteRNITY ago

Raccoon Eyes: and like

Raccoon Eyes: kats left early so we didnt have everyone

Raccoon Eyes: so it doesnt count

Shitty Hair: Yeah Katsuki don’t leave early next time!!

Raccoon Eyes: we just have to hold him hostage next time

Raccoon Eyes: or like

Raccoon Eyes: AMBUSH him

Tape Face: i can always tape him up

Raccoon Eyes: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES

Raccoon Eyes: tape him to the wall

Raccoon Eyes: and then like

Raccoon Eyes: steal his wallet

Raccoon Eyes: cant get on transit w no moneys

Raccoon Eyes: ei and han hold him down

Raccoon Eyes: i run to hide his wallet where he cant fi

Raccoon Eyes: nd it

Raccoon Eyes: probs keeps kats tapped to the wall all night

Raccoon Eyes: free up his arms so he can have a drink????

Tape Face: explosion palms dude

Raccoon Eyes: oh u right

Raccoon Eyes: he can just have a cup w like

Raccoon Eyes: a REALLY REALLY long straw

Raccoon Eyes: make sure u tape him up w his hands behind his back

Tape Face: you got it

Shitty Hair: He’s in this chat guys he’s going to see the plan

Raccoon Eyes: whatevs we can still totally blindside him

Raccoon Eyes: ANYWAYS

Raccoon Eyes: ure all going right?????

Tape Face: ya I rsvpd a while back

Shitty Hair: Yep!! Wouldn’t miss it for the world!

Raccoon Eyes: what about u kats

Raccoon Eyes: kats???

Raccoon Eyes: KAAAAAAAAAAAAATS

Raccoon Eyes: k

Raccoon Eyes: a

Shitty Hair: I’ll text him separately

Raccoon Eyes: t

Tape Face: he probably has this muted lmao

Raccoon Eyes: s

Raccoon Eyes: !!!!!!

Raccoon Eyes: how dare u ignore us

Raccoon Eyes: after everything weve done for u!!!!

Raccoon Eyes: thought we were ur ride or die hoes

Raccoon Eyes: dont tell me ur not going!!!!!

Raccoon Eyes: im so offended

Raccoon Eyes: how could u do this to us kats

Shitty Hair: Maybe he’s at work today?

Raccoon Eyes: boo

Raccoon Eyes: how dare he prioritize wo

Raccoon Eyes: rk over us

Raccoon Eyes: his best friends

Raccoon Eyes: the suns of his life

Raccoon Eyes: the bit of happiness in the cold

Raccoon Eyes: cold

Raccoon Eyes: cold

Tape Face: coooooooooold

Raccoon Eyes: COOOOOOOOLD

Raccoon Eyes: thing he calls a heart

Shitty Hair: Lmao

Tape Face: its got a bit of warmth

Tape Face: most of it is his temper

Raccoon Eyes: boom boom POW

Raccoon Eyes: well while we wait for kats

Raccoon Eyes: help me pick some photos for the slideshow!!

Tape Face: are you doing only UA pics or some stuff since then

Tape Face: somehow iida managed to not specify lmao

Shitty Hair: The info email was like ten pages, how did he miss it

Tape Face: idk

Raccoon Eyes: ive got plenty for both!!

Raccoon Eyes: momo said pref UA pics but some new stuff is good too

Raccoon Eyes: show how far weve come n all that

Tape Face: oh cool let me get some opinions then too

Shitty Hair: Anyone have any pics of the camping trip from second year?

Raccoon Eyes: before or after todoroki and kats’ fight turned it into a icy hot springs

Shitty Hair: Both lmao but probably before it went to hell

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: ofc ive got us chillin in the springs

Raccoon Eyes: well most of us

Raccoon Eyes: kats u never get in the water w us :C

Raccoon Eyes: lets go to the beach next time!!

Tape Face: hed prob boil the water w you in it if you dragged him in lmao

Tape Face: spicy acid time

Raccoon Eyes: id like to see him TRY

Shitty Hair: Don’t tempt him lmao

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: i got like a shit ton more

Raccoon Eyes: should i send some of THE FIGHT

Shitty Hair: Maybe not

Tape Face: yes

Tape Face: well

Tape Face: depends on how many pissed off katsuki pics youre putting in lmao

Raccoon Eyes: OH

Raccoon Eyes: OHHHH

Raccoon Eyes: OHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Tape Face: ?

Raccoon Eyes: dude

Raccoon Eyes: do u have the POMERANIAN pic

Tape Face: o shit

Tape Face: image.png

Shitty Hair: I still think Katsuki should’ve taken that pup home

Shitty Hair: They’re matching!

Tape Face: image.png

Tape Face: i also have this one

Tape Face: when she tried to bite his nose off lmao

Raccoon Eyes: kats couldve named her king explosion murder

Raccoon Eyes: or just murder

Raccoon Eyes: p sure she wouldve tried to murder kats at least o

Raccoon Eyes: nce

Tape Face: lmao she basically tried when he found her

Shitty Hair: Maybe it’s for the best that he didn’t keep the pup

Tape Face: look what i found

Tape Face: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: AWWWW YES

Raccoon Eyes: LOOK AT USSSSS

Raccoon Eyes: we look FABBBB

Shitty Hair: Is that from the dance?

Tape Face: ye

Raccoon Eyes: guys what if we recreate that pic at the reunion

Raccoon Eyes: the fits?

Raccoon Eyes: immaculate

Raccoon Eyes: the pose?

Raccoon Eyes: perfection

Tape Face: hotel?

Tape Face: trivago

Shitty Hair: I’m down for recreating some pics!

Raccoon Eyes: yessssss

Raccoon Eyes: u have no choice either kats u gotta do it

Raccoon Eyes: wherever u are

Shitty Hair: Oh he replied!!

Raccoon Eyes: SWEET

Raccoon Eyes: what he say

Shitty Hair: He said fuck off

Tape Face: as expected

Shitty Hair: Lmao he threatened to block me again

Tape Face: thought he said he was blocking you last week

Shitty Hair: Yea exactly

Raccoon Eyes: HOW RUDE

Raccoon Eyes: as punishment for not paying attention to us

Raccoon Eyes: im gonna send this

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Tape Face: LMAO whend you make that

Shitty Hair: Is that Katsuki with a cat face and ears

Shitty Hair: Dude I don’t know if he’s going to kill you for that or for the pink hair first lmao

Raccoon Eyes: lmao made it just now

Raccoon Eyes: well MAYBE if he ANSWERED us

Katsuki: Delete it.

Tape Face: O SHIT

Tape Face: you summoned him

Raccoon Eyes: NO I WILL NOT

Katsuki: Delete it Raccoon Eyes or else I’m coming for you.

Tape Face: are you coming for the left shoes and shittin in them

Raccoon Eyes: NOOOOOOO not my shoes!!!!!!!!

Tape Face: its just the left shoes tho

Raccoon Eyes: BUT THATS MY FAVE SIDE

Katsuki: What the fuck are you two going on about?

Raccoon Eyes: DONT COME FOR M

Raccoon Eyes: Y LEFT SHOES KATS IM SORRY

Katsuki: I’m not coming for your fucking left shoes. Or any of your shoes.

Katsuki: I will be coming for you if you don’t delete that picture, though.

Raccoon Eyes: FORGIVENESS

Raccoon Eyes: I BEG

Raccoon Eyes: PLSSSSS

Katsuki: Delete the picture.

Raccoon Eyes: ugh fiiiiiiiiiine

Raccoon Eyes: its deleted

Raccoon Eyes: i wont send it to momo for the slide show

Katsuki: Good.

Raccoon Eyes: IF U COME TO THE REUNION

Katsuki: Fuck off.

Shitty Hair: C’mon Katsuki!! It’ll be fun!!

Tape Face: ya it wouldnt do if we didnt have our exploding star

Raccoon Eyes: ill send momo WORSE if u dont come

Raccoon Eyes: nd u wont know WHAT til AFTER

Raccoon Eyes: so PLSSSSSSSSSS

Raccoon Eyes: PRETTY PLSSSSSSS

Raccoon Eyes: PLS COME TO THE REUNION

Raccoon Eyes: ill spam u a lot worse if u dont show us proof of rsvp

Raccoon Eyes: pls kaaaaaaaaats

Raccoon Eyes: kaaaaaaaaats

Raccoon Eyes: k

Raccoon Eyes: a

Katsuki: Ugh fucking fine, I’ll do the RSVP now then.

Raccoon Eyes: t

Raccoon Eyes: YAY

Four Eyes (Rocket Legs): Good afternoon, Bakugou! I just wanted to confirm with you that I have received your RSVP for the Class A reunion. As a reminder, if you need to rent a room for the night or the weekend, please alert the Shinjuku Hotel staff that you are part of the Class A reunion party by next Wednesday for an event discount.

Katsuki: image.png

Katsuki: image.png

Katsuki: Four Eyes is watching the RSVP form like a fucking hawk apparently.

Raccoon Eyes: YAAAAAY URE RSVPD!!!

Shitty Hair: You know him, always dedicated to his work

Tape Face: sweet

Raccoon Eyes: are u guys getting rooms

Tape Face: yea musutafus too far for a round trip

Tape Face: esp since itll prob end late

Shitty Hair: I got one for the weekend!

Tape Face: wbu mina

Raccoon Eyes: booked a room already!!

Raccoon Eyes: kaaaaats wbu

Raccoon Eyes: u should

Raccoon Eyes: we could have a brunch or lunch or s/t thats just us

Raccoon Eyes: plsssssss kats

Katsuki: I’ll think about it.

Tape Face: better than a no lmao

Shitty Hair: If they run out of space or if you decide last second, you can room with me dude

Raccoon Eyes: awww why not a yes

Katsuki: I haven’t asked the other Four Eyes for the time off yet.

Tape Face: is this four eyes no4 or no15

Raccoon Eyes: four eyes no69

Raccoon Eyes: no wait

Raccoon Eyes: no420

Tape Face: haha blaze it

Raccoon Eyes: BLAZE IT

Shitty Hair: It’s number 7

Katsuki: Fuck you, I don’t have that many Four Eyes saved in my phone.

Shitty Hair: I’d be surprised if you had 420 contacts period dude

Raccoon Eyes: would b hilarious tho

Katsuki: Yes, it’s Four Eyes number 7.

Shitty Hair: I was right!!

Katsuki: Why would I ask any of the other Four Eyes for time off? They’re not my fucking bosses.

Tape Face: dunno

Raccoon Eyes: idk maybe ure secretly dating one a

Raccoon Eyes: nd have to confirm that its ok

Raccoon Eyes: ARE U SECRETLY DATING A FOUR EYES

Raccoon Eyes: U HAVE TO TELL US IF U ARE

Raccoon Eyes: URE LEGALLY OBLIGATED

Tape Face: o shit

Tape Face: scandalous

Katsuki: Shut the fuck up, I’m not dating anyone, secret or not.

Raccoon Eyes: thats what they all say

Katsuki: Whatever. I’m not dating anyone.

Raccoon Eyes: kats n four eyes no420 sittin in a tree

Raccoon Eyes: k

Raccoon Eyes: i

Raccoon Eyes: s

Raccoon Eyes: s

Raccoon Eyes: i

Katsuki: I’ll blow up all of your left shoes when you’re not home.

Raccoon Eyes: n

Raccoon Eyes: NO

Raccoon Eyes: IM STOPPING DONT DO IT

Shitty Hair: Hey what do you guys think of this photo

Shitty Hair: image.png

Tape Face: dude yes

Raccoon Eyes: AWWWW OUR FIRST BILLBOARDS AS PROS

Katsuki: Do we really need to send them pictures? It’s not like we fucking forgot this stuff already.

Tape Face: you can be a killjoy if you want lmao

Tape Face: im sure mina will send more than enough to cover for you

Raccoon Eyes: U BETCHA

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Tape Face: lmao why do you have a pic of katsuki throwing ei

Shitty Hair: I still can’t believe you did that bro

Shitty Hair: WITHOUT WARNING TOO

Katsuki: I gave you plenty of fucking warning.

Shitty Hair: Saying “I’m throwing you” AS YOU’RE THROWING ME is NOT PLENTY OF WARNING DUDE

Raccoon Eyes: im always ready to document golden moments

Katsuki: Shut the fuck up. We won the training exercise so what’s it fucking matter?

Shitty Hair: YOU THREW ME!!

Katsuki: Tape Face caught you before you could get hurt.

Shitty Hair: YOU /THREW/ ME!!!!!!

Tape Face: barely caught

Katsuki: Whatever.

Raccoon Eyes: im still impressed by how eASY u made that look

Katsuki: What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?

Raccoon Eyes: o look conveniently timed distraction photo spam

Katsuki sighed as he continued the conversation, commenting here and there on the photos his friends sent for judgement. In retrospect, he probably should have tried to talk to Shion first, since there was a chance she would have denied the time off for the reunion. Although, knowing her, she would have accepted just to force Katsuki into socializing. He opened up a new text message, figuring that if Shion did decide to deny the time off, he would at least have a screenshot to send to his friends explaining the sudden change in plans.

Katsuki: I need March 28th and 29th off.

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Do my eyes deceive me? The great Katsuki Bakugou, asking for time off?

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): I’m amazed! Usually I have to ask you to take the day off!

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Nay, not ask, but force!

Katsuki: Are you going to give it to me or not?

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Depends! What do you need the time off for?

Katsuki: Class reunion.

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Oh those are fun!

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Fill out the proper time off paperwork and have it on my desk by Monday. I’ll approve the time off.

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Just keep your phone on you in case we need you to come in for an emergency, but I’ll try not to ruin your reunion with work.

Katsuki: Thanks.

Well, so much for an easy way out.

Katsuki pinched the bridge of his nose when he noticed that his phone had already accumulated another thirty texts in the past few minutes, no doubt primarily from Mina. He scrolled through the backlog, sending a few mostly empty threats when he saw photos he did not want projected for the entire class to see, freezing when his gaze met a pair of familiar amber eyes.

Shit.

In his scramble to close out of the photo, to escape the genuine smile that somehow was more haunting than the one in his dreams, he left the group text completely. He briefly thanked his past self; he’d impulse or rage quit the group text plenty of times before that this wasn’t unusual behavior. If he was lucky, his friends wouldn’t have noticed the timing of his departure and would assume he was just fed up with the notifications or the conversation.

Shitty Hair: You okay, Katsuki?

A weak laugh escaped Katsuki’s lips as he read the newest notification. Of course Eijirou noticed.

Katsuki: I’m fine.

Shitty Hair: Okay

Shitty Hair: We don’t have to talk about it

Shitty Hair: But if you want to, I’m here dude

Shitty Hair: I’ll tell the others that you left so your phone would shut up and not to add you back yet

Katsuki: Thanks. Really.

Shitty Hair: No problem dude

Katsuki put his phone down, silently praying for the smile to leave him alone.

When he finally laid down for bed that night, he repeated the short prayer, for a peaceful night’s rest free of the smile, of the hurt, of the pain, of the guilt.

But as always, the smile came.

[zuzu-hotman]

Ready To Love P.6 [[Zuko]]

Pairing: Zuko x Female!Reader

Warnings: The usuallll as well as mentions of death and darkish themes??

A/N: this is late and shitty im sorrryyyy

Pt.1,, Pt.5,, Masterlist

“....”

“What were you expecting him to return and sweep you away? Foolish.”, her words cut deeper than they ever had. Hitting the rusted old nail directly on it’s head.

Azula never much cared to talk to you. Not when he was here and not even when he had been banished, as he was now. However when she did speak to you, it was always when she knew she would inflict the most pain.

When she knew she could gut you so deep, it would haunt you for years to come.

She laughed as she looked down upon you. It was not a happy sound. Nothing like her older sibling, who had always laughed with joy in his heart, when he had it. Hers was cruel- meant to make you seethe. She had the gall to laugh in your face after telling you the ‘news’. You were sadly hoping for good news. You knew Azula was like this- you had always known she was not good. You just didn’t know her well enough to really determine if it was fully true.

Lesson learned.

“Oh, don’t cry now. Not when I haven’t gotten to have my fun yet! I’ve been absolutely dying for a chance to get rid of you! You see, you get in my dear friend Mai’s way!”, she gives you an eerie smile, “It’s only fitting that I, one of her dearest friends, takes care of the issue!”

She talks as if she’s doing some sort of favor. Like she’s doing something absolutely necessary. Your tears sliding down our face don’t stop her at all. She acts as if they aren’t there. She acts as if she hasn’t just told you your father was killed for his ‘crimes’.Killed for being an Earth Bender from the Earth Kingdoms. For being who he was.

For not being Fire Nation.

“You see, my Dad doesn’t care to do multiple executions in a day. Takes up too much time. You and your Mother are granted a sliver of mercy. You two are to leave immediately. Now, if you dare step foot in this land again, there will be no mercy, understand?”, she gives you a wide grin. “No more living here and no more Zuzu for you. See, I could have had you killed but since you’ve done nothing to me personally, I’ll be nice this once.”

That had made you snap, “Nice. Nice? You call that being nice?!”

Her face turns sour, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me! You just told me my father was killed- you made no attempt to try and stop it! You come in my home and you tease me and laugh like you didn’t have a hand in his death! How did you even know who he was!”, you can feel yourself shaking. Can feel your deepest secret threatening to rise up within you. He’d told you to hide it while you were here, to never use it. How would you escape if you did? So close to the heart of the royal grounds?

“Hah. Your dad was a fool. Using his bending on palace grounds. He put up a real fight, but he was clearly outnumbered and outmatched. As all Earth fools are.”

She wasn’t going to tell you. That much was clear.

You tried to hold back, you really did. Azula just had a knack for bringing out the worst in people. You’re not proud of what you did. Yet you don’t regret it. The look on her face was priceless.

Perhaps you hadn’t actually beaten her, but it was as close as you’d ever get. Still, she always had the last word.

“He’ll never like you. You’ll be sad all your miserable life! You’re a fake! A liar! You never belonged here! Useless Earth peasant!”

So then what was this? You were certain she was right, despite how your heart had hoped. You were sure you’d see him with Mai- or with some other pretty Fire Nation girl. Someone other than you. You had especially believed this when he looked at you like that back underground in Ba Sing Se. He had finally seen you then. Who you were and where you came from. His actions at that time had you thinking he’d never see you as anything ever again.

Sure, you were wrong. He had wanted his friend back. You just didn’t know he’d want more. Much more.

Unfortunately, he took your stunned silence the wrong way. The hurt look in his face broke your heart for the split second he allowed you to see it.

“Right.”, he had said, “I’m sorry I- we should get ready to leave.”

He didn’t give you a chance to try to pull him back. Not that your mind gave you one either. You were still reeling, even now, sitting in Appa’s saddle, staring up at the passing clouds. Him? Love you? Since when?

How?

What was it that he loved about you- though couldn’t you ask yourself the same?

You had an answer though. Multiple answers, ranging from the way he smiled to the way he never saw you as just some lowly peasant. New ones being added like how he loved his Uncle and valued what he thought of him. How he’d proved his will and determination to change, to admit everything he was taught back in his own home was wrong. To make the choice himself to leave everything behind and do what was right, despite the massive hatred he had gained from his own flesh and blood.

His strength, no matter how it may have wavered.

Just him in general.

You should be on cloud nine right now- you should be feeling so light, so why weren’t you? What was holding you back?

“You think he’ll ever want you around anymore once he knows? It’s not your being an Earth Bender. It’s your lies. It’s you never telling him, or, oh.. not trusting him. Poor Zuzu..”

Her words still echoed to this day. Unfortunately, she still haunted you. From her smile as she shattered your life as you knew it, to the same one she wore when she saw Zuko react to you that day.

You couldn’t let her hold you back all your life, otherwise her lies would become truths. Zuko wouldn’t lie about something like that. He wasn’t Azula. You couldn’t compare the two.

The only comparison was the often bad timing. The difference was, Azula’s timing was bad because she was not on their side of things. She was an inconvenience. Zuko had no sense of time. A war was ahead of him. The world was on the verge of combusting as he knew it. There was no right time.

You could agree with him. Tomorrow was not guaranteed. A future was not promised, only hoped for.

So, as you moved your gaze to the back of his head in front of you, you made up your mind.

Words were not wasted in asking him to follow you that night. You didn’t care that you had just grabbed him from his conversation with Aang. Didn't think to respond to the look of shock on either of their faces as you took him by the arm and dragged him away. You also didn’t think of how it might be perceived on his end.

Zuko was sure you were going to chew him out. He followed you, matching your urgency with dread in the pit of his stomach. Had he crossed a line that night? Were you mad now? He hadn’t meant to upset you- he wasn’t lying. He had thought about it over and over and over again. He came to that conclusion after asking himself hundreds upon thousands of questions.

Why had he missed you so much? What was it about your laughter that he craved? Why did he enjoy clasping your hand in his? What was the reason for him always thinking of you when he was welcomed back home? Thinking of where he would take you and what he would show you? Now that you were both older and he had more freedom?

How come his heart cried for you when you told him the loss of your beloved father? What made his heart ache at you having to harbor a life threatening secret all on your own- being unable to tell him even when your life was once secure?

What was it about you?

The answer was not being his childhood friend. It was just being you. Being the best escape from his life at home. Being his definition of home. He’d been lost without you. Sad and hurt and unable to grasp why aside from his banishment and the brutal punishment from his own father. You were in his very bones and soul. He could live with you just as his friend if that’s what you wanted. He just couldn’t live with not telling you. Couldn’t go on thinking he might die and never get to tell you how he felt and how horribly sorry he was for everything.

Sorry you had to meet him and be hurt by him. Sorry his own Nation was the way it was. So very sorry he loved you so deeply despite being so young and new to such feelings.

“Do you truly mean what you said?”, you say after some fast marching into a quiet and far off area of the beach. 

A few waves crashed here and there as he stared into your eyes, searching for something, anything to make sense of this.The salty air filled his lungs, mingling in with your own soft scent.

“Answer me.”, you say, impatient.

“Wh- of course I- why are you asking? I apologized- I shouldn’t have-”

“I’m not asking for an apology. I want a serious straight answer. Did you mean that?”

You looked determined and he’s not sure what for. Regardless, he braces himself for a smack to the face, “I did.”

You stare at him, unmoving for a few long beats of silence. “Okay.”

“...Okay?”

You nod, “Okay.”

Zuko is thoroughly confused. Okay what? What was this all about? Were you mad or not- he sees you raise your hands up quickly. He wonders if you’re going to hit him or bend at him- maybe shake the hell out of him. He probably deserved it, but you didn’t do that.

You reached up, held his face so softly in his face. The softest caress he’d ever felt in his life. Your small smile matched it perfectly.

“You just don’t learn do you?”

He couldn’t even question what you meant. He wasn’t given the time or even a chance. In a split second you had him swirling. Quicker than he could see, your lips were on his. Gentle as ever, capturing his in the sweetest way..

“ Yᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴏɴᴇʟʏ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴍᴇ..”

Pt.7

[dirt-cup-draco]

Draco x Reader- Caged

could i request an angsty draco x reader where they get into a fight right before the battle,, and draco chooses to stay with hogwarts and voldemort tries to kill him but the reader jumps in front of him last minute and somehow survives? super angsty but fluffy ending please 🥺

A/N: IM GOING TO BE HONEST. I completely forgot the fluffy ending once I started writing. I am sorry for what you are about to read only because I even made myself a bit sad.

Draco’s silver eyes were filled with fear as he held you close, hands warm and shaking against your hips as his heart pounded against your chest. Nuzzling his forehead against yours he let his heavy eyelids shut for a second, eyelashes brushing against your cheeks. “Promise me you’ll be safe?” He begged, tugging you closer. His voice was only a whisper. 

You chewed nervously on your lips, arms strung around his shoulders, fingers tangled in his shining locks. “I’ll be safer with you by my side,” You croaked, voice hoarse and eyes stinging as tears threatened to fall. 

Draco’s breath hitched and squeezed your hips tighter, trying to ground himself. He shook his head, nose bumping against yours, lips so close. Even being near to the one he loved most didn’t bring comfort. “You know what I have to do... Please, just let me do it. It’s the best option, the only option,” 

“I don’t care!” You whined, moving your head to lie in the crook of his neck. “I don’t care what sort of option it is, I can’t have you risking your life. I can’t lose you,” 

Draco smiled softly, letting his fingers run through the silky tendrils of your hair.  “Aren’t we all risking our lives in one way or another? I don’t want to lose you either but if I side with Potter then I am putting you and my mother at risk... Whatever happens to me, happens. But the world needs Y/N Y/L/N. Let me do this for you, for us,” He begged as you pulled away, his hand snatching yours. He wasn’t ready to be parted. 

Your eyes were burning with tears, the collar of his shirt damp from the few that had escaped and were continuing to run down your cheeks. “The worlds need you too, I need you. If you go to him then you are damned... Why not fight for what’s right?” 

“More is at stake than my life...” Draco tried to get you to see reason. If he stuck by you, then you would be cast under the same deadly shadow as him and Voldemort would not be merciful. Of course he hoped that the future would be brighter once the war ended, but for now he needed to risk his reputation so that you could stay safe. 

“You already said it Draco,” You fought back, “We are all risking our lives anyway, why not be by the people you love? A-and your mother! She can run, your father will take care of her. Please do the same and let me take care of you, let me protect you,” Your hands were back in his hair, brushing the unruly tendrils from his eyes that had dimmed significantly since the first time you had first seen Draco Malfoy, a beautiful, if obnoxious, eleven year old boy without a care in the world. 

“Damn you,” Draco cursed with no conviction as he sagged against you. “I-I’ll stay with you if it’s what you want, but at the first sign of any danger I need you to promise that you will get out of there and go wherever is safest. Promise me and then I will stay,” 

“Nowhere is safe,” You pointed out and Draco squeezed your shoulders hard as he forced you apart from him, eyes burning in yours. 

“Promise me,” He demanded. “I won’t let you lose your life because of me,” 

“I promise,” You finally conceded, kissing him like it could take away all the wrong in the world. 

“Thank you,” Draco sighed against your lips. “I love you,” 

You hadn’t known that the last time you would kiss him would be with a lie sitting sour in your mouth.

-- 

Lucius could see that Draco was glued to your side, unwilling to fall into Voldemort’s open arms. His grip on his wife tightened. “It’s time for us to go,” He whispered low, eyes following the Dark Lord as he stood before his followers and enemies, for anyone who didn’t side with him was an enemy. 

“But-” Narcissa argued but Lucius silenced her with another squeeze to her quivering shoulders. 

“He cannot be used as a pawn, which means our deaths, we must go,” Lucius hissed and his wife slowly came to the same understanding as he had. If Draco was loyal to Voldemort, then they would remain loyal as well, the threat of their only son’s possible death motivation enough. Yet, Draco had made his decision to stand against Voldemort and that meant they needed to make one as well. 

Even if they were dedicated to- trapped by- Voldemort’s cause now, who was to say they would be for much longer? Voldemort was intelligent, knowing more than most how powerful love for a child could be. Narcissa and Lucius would become examples to Draco for his refusal. “Let us before, before they realize,” Lucius instructed, eyeing his fellow death eaters and feeling none of the kinship he once had as a young member. 

With one final glance towards her son, Narcissa vanished with her husband, having disapparated from the war zone. 

--

You had looked away for just a second but that had been long enough to lose Draco. Chaos had erupted, spells and hexes and unforgivable curses flying through the air as everyone fought for their own lives and for the future. Death Eaters were killing their children’s friends, boys and girls were killing adults they had never met once in their lives. Some of the younger students stuck near to the teachers, not knowing spells advanced enough to get them out alive. 

“Draco!” you screamed through the din of Hogwarts crumbling. Your eyes burned with the dust that had accumulated, the debris sending plumes of it up into the already stifling air. 

You ran past people you considered friends and men you knew to be your enemies. You dodged spells and cast your own, heart pounding with a a rhythmic beat that felt like a prelude to a death march. 

Finally spotting a familiar shock of platinum your legs rocketed forward but nearly buckled when they saw what faced Draco. Voldemort was standing not ten feet from him, wand held by skeletal fingers. Two death eaters flanked him and they pulled out their own weapons once they saw you arrive. 

“Get out of here,” Draco bit out, not needing to turn around to see that it was you. He could smell your perfume even if it was muffled by the tang of sweat and the gritty blanket of dust that covered you. 

“No,” You said simply, reaching for his hand. 

Draco’s heart dropped. You had promised, damn it!

Voldemort began to laugh, thin lips stretched across his features as his yellowing teeth made an appearance, jaw opening wide as if he was a snake. It was unnerving, his laughter sent chills down your spine and the look of him was inhuman. “It appears I will be killing two birds with one stone tonight,” 

Your heart was stuck in your throat. “Y-You mean your men will be killing tonight. You wouldn’t do it yourself, coward,” You provoked him to tear his beady eyes away from Draco. 

“Y/N,” Draco hissed low in the back of his throat, “Don’t,” 

“You’re just a scrap of what you used to be,” You continued, ignoring how Draco squeezed your hand uncomfortably, blunt nails digging into your clammy palm. “For hell’s sake, an infant destroyed you. How does that feel? To know that one boy, one insignificant boy has ruined everything you are, year after year ever since the day he survived,” 

Voldemort’s sickening grin grew into a scowl and the veins began to stand out through his pale complexion. His grip tightened on his wand. “You know nothing of the horrors I have wreaked on this pathetic world, girl. His voice grated against your nerves like nails on a chalkboard but you kept your shoulders square, eyes forward. You took half a step forward, Draco didn’t notice. 

“It will be a pleasure to kill you,” Voldemort continued. “I will find far more pleasure in killing you before your heart even stops beating. There isn’t only one way to end someone’s life,” 

Your eyebrows drew together in confusion for only a second before Voldemort was facing you, wand pointed directly between your eyes. With a flick of his wrist you found yourself immobilized, eyes stuck open as your body went stiff as a board. Your hand was stuck around Draco’s but the comfort had vanished. Your stone like body had rendered him stuck with you even as he tugged violently. 

Draco lifted his wand to mutter a counter to your petrified state but with another flick from the bony wrist of He Who Must Not Be Named, his wand was flying high into the sky and far out of reach. 

Despite your state, words unable to come from your frozen throat, Voldemort’s attention was on you. “Who is a coward?” He asked only once before with a vicious grin he was pointing his wands toward Draco. Your boyfriend was still trapped, struggling against you and fear in his eyes. 

“I-I can still free us,” He promised, not realizing the danger he was in. You tried all you could but your hand was still frozen around his fingers, unrelenting in their grip. You were caged in your body and nothing would budge. Your key was Draco’s wand that lay too far away. 

This was nothing like when you and your third year friends had been goofing around, freezing students on their way to classes, knowing the effects would wear off in minutes. Voldemort was skilled and you had no idea how long you would be frozen. You couldn’t even cry, you realized. Your mind was screaming and pounding against every nerve that had been shut down. Begging for something, anything, to shift and set you free. 

Draco was still struggling, promising he’d help you when Voldemort cried, “Avada Kedavra!” He didn’t have time to move, didn’t have time to prepare as the curse hit him, his silver eyes flashing once as they found yours. Then, the spark was gone and Draco Malfoy was hanging limp by your vice grip. Dead. 

You watched as Voldemort grinned, prepared to be next. Yet, the beast turned on his heel, his men following after him as you were left in your place, clinging to Draco. 

“I can still free us, we won’t be stuck here Y/N, just give me a moment,” Draco had been saying before his voice had been stolen from him. He didn’t even see death sneaking towards him, he had only been focused on making sure you were okay. 

Your eyes were fixed forward, unblinking. Yet you could feel the boy you loved growing cold in your hand, his weight heavy against your stiff leg. To see him might be too much. Within the prison that your body had become you were throwing yourself against the cage of your bones, screaming at the muscles and nerves to just fucking work.  

He can’t be dead. I just need to move and see him and he’ll be fine, he’s just unconscious, he’s fine. You kept telling yourself, even if you knew it wasn’t true. Draco’s still alive, my lovely Draco is still alive. 

You would be found by McGonagall once Harry rose from the ashes victorious, your weak body collapsed on top of Draco’s lifeless one. She’d bite her tongue, dragging you up with a strength she had to force. “Come now dear, there is nothing more we can do,” She’d say but you would only be able to reply with one truth that would haunt you every day for the rest of your life.

“It was my fault,” 

Over and over, as the years passed. The same four words as you were forced into St. Mungo’s with no argument, sitting stagnant and letting other’s keep you alive, your own will gone. 

After all, there was more than one way to end someone’s life. 

[plctitude]

* hailee steinfeld, cis woman + she/her  | you know juliet 'jet' rothschild, right? they’re 24, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, twelve years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to don't blame me by taylor swift like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole inability to sit properly, constantly tapping her fingers on any surface, never taking shots with chasers, thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is march 15, so they’re a pisces, which is unsurprising, all things considered.

hello ! im gel and this is my little goon jet ! lmk if you wanna plot something

full name : juliet carter rothschild . preferred name / nickname : jet . age : twenty - four . birthday : march 15 . sexual orientation : lesbian . relationship status : single . occupation :  barista , musician , music producer . residence : delphinus heights .

history ––

juliet was born into a loving family in southern virginia , williamsburg to be exact . her family wasn’t loaded but they were comfortable enough that juliet could take guitar and piano and drum lessons and play sports and do basically whatever she wanted to try.

unfortunately for her parents , the drums were what really stuck with her . sure , she can still play the other instruments she learned growing up , but the drums were her safe space , her comfort .

nevertheless , they supported her because she was their little girl and as an only child , it was easy to spoil her . she loves her parents , wouldn’t trade them for anything in the whole world . because they were her whole world .

at 12 , her whole world came crashing down . she doesn’t remember much , if she’s being honest . all she really remembers was being pulled out of school and police officers telling her that her parents wouldn’t be back . they weren’t dead , as far as anyone knew , but they also weren’t anywhere to be found .

so her aunt offers to take her in , and juliet moves to irving . she starts going by jet , eager to leave behind the life she knew back in williamsburg . her aunt goes with it , doesn’t want to upset the 12 year old girl who just became an orphan . neither of them really talk about where her parents are , but they both hope they’re still out there , trying to make it back to her .

it takes a year or two but jet gets used to being in irving . it doesn’t just become her aunt’s town , it becomes hers . and the house in delphinus heights becomes her home , too. and when her aunt gets a girlfriend , who’s then a wife , jet is ecstatic . she loves seeing her aunt happy and in love .

at 15 , jet realizes she doesn’t like boys , she likes girls . she actually comes out to her aunt’s wife first – kind of an accident, really – , but everything goes smoothly and she’s never felt freer . at 16 , she meets a girl , a beautiful girl whose eyes rival the ocean , whose smile lights up her nights . and they fall in love , and it’s wonderful and deep and consuming and healing . but this is when jet learns all good things must come to an end . it’s when she’s running home , tears streaming down her face that she learns what heartbreak really feels like . it’s when she sits at her drum set , hole blown through the snare drum , cymbals crashing to the ground , that she realizes how close hate and love sit on a spectrum .

at 17 , she’s about to graduate and go to college when she changes her mind . she’s not going . her aunt’s not happy about it , but jet’s never really wanted anything but music anyway . so she gets a job , then another job , because ‘ if you’re going to stick around , you’re going to help pay the bills ’ . and it’s the beginning of something beautiful .

at 18, she starts producing her own music . it’s just some simple songs , but it’s a sign of progress nonetheless . she saves up money , uses what’s not for bills and rainy day savings to pay for a class . she learns everything she can about music production , music theory , recording , etc.

at 19, she joins a band , and it goes well until it doesn’t anymore . they’re getting gigs , they’re popular , but it’s breaking from the inside because everyone’s convinced they’re going to be the next big thing and their egos swell to the point where they can’t all fit in the same room anymore .

at 20 , she regroups , focuses on her own stuff again . she does some small producing work on the side , helping other artists who aren’t as well versed with the production stuff . it’s good money , good learning opportunity , and good exposure .

at 21 , she gets a job as a bartender on top of her barista job , hoping to save for her own place in irving . she doesn’t really want to move out but her aunt and her wife are trying to start a family . and she doesn’t want to be in the way .

at 22 , her aunt gets pregnant , and with her wife picking up more shifts to cover the impending financial burden of having a baby , jet decides to stay .

now ––

her parents are still missing , but honestly it’s been so long they may as well be dead . she still misses them , sure , but the whole in her heart isn’t as large as it was when she was 12 . at least not for the same reasons .

she’s still producing music , but it’s become more of her job than a hobby . it’s good money , for the most part , but she wants more time for her stuff .

her aunt gave birth last year and jet spends a lot of time with her cousin , frey . she quit her job as a bartender to take over as a full time babysitter , but she doesn’t mind . she loves playing her music for the little boy , though her aunts are weary about her teaching him the drums when he gets older .

she’s still writing and playing music , but she definitely makes time to go out and have a good time because why not ? someday you could just disappear and you would’ve spent your whole life agonizing over trivial things when you could just ~have fun~

her aunt still wants her to go school , tbh because that’s what her parents would have wanted for her . she struggles to bite back the ‘ well my parents aren’t here ’ on the tip of her tongue every time they have that argument .

personality ––

becoming an orphan at such a young age kind of fucked her up , for the lack of a better term . she developed some anger issues as a teen , most of which she would take out on her drum set . lord only knows how many sticks she’s broken .

she love love loves playing the drums . it’s her absolute favorite thing in the world and it helps her calm down , get through a bad day , or even to make a good day even better . it lets her get a lot of her energy out and to her , it’s really the one thing she can count on to never leave . if she’s not near her drums , she’s probably tapping her foot or tapping her fingers on a table . it’s her go-to fidget move , which can get a little annoying .

her one serious relationship showed her how deep she could fall so she’s decided to not let that happen at all costs . she’s more of a hookup kind of gal , and a bit of a heartbreaker at that , but she’s honest with people . she’s not looking for a relationship . not right now , maybe not ever . once she actually has feelings for someone , she’ll avoid them or do whatever else to get over it . can’t get your heartbroken if you never let anyone near it , right ?

she’s a bit of a partier sometimes , especially when she’s got a lot of pent up energy . basically she’s got two sides , a fun party side and a sweet niece side. she’s got a wicked tolerance for alcohol , to be honest , but that sometimes means she’ll get crossed or not eat just so she can feel drunk faster .

she’s not the greatest barista ( think like almost as bad as rachel from friends ) , but she’s gotten a hell of a lot better than when she first started .

she’s gay so she can’t sit properly ever lmao . she’s more likely to sit on top of a table , rather than the chair at the table .

she’s a bit of a dork with puzzles , like she loves doing puzzles . they’re her favorite way to zone out , but no one is allowed to know this except maybe her best friend(s) bc she has a reputation pls

wcs ––

The Ex Girlfriend™ – it was super deep , super intense , and ended super badly

ride-or-die – been best friends since she came to town , literally inseparable , can always count on the two of them to be getting into trouble back in school

music clients – a singer-songwriter she produces for

unlikely or secret friends ? – not really sure what the reason would be but im sure we could come up with one

ex-hookups , current hookups , future hookups - @women : would love to plot these out ! ( just as a warning though , i do not write smut bc im ~uncomfy~ with that but im down for mentions and flirting )

friends of her aunts or something !

favorite coffee shop customers !

ex-bandmate , ex-clients , high school classmates, etc.

big down for literally anything !