#it’s going to be weird not having a dog in the house

[ctimenefic]

i’m obsessed w ur mean dom george and his boy scout knots, even more so w the events of this weekend and the weird amount of flirting him and max have been doing recently!! i could totally be barking up the wrong tree with gax vibes but they have been really fun this year

Okay forgive me nonny for typing directly into the answer box, the typos will be horrendous, but I'm in a tiny french café right now and unfortunately dom george gax has seized my mind so:

Max Verstappen propping up the VIP bar at the Bellagio is not George's problem at 9.04 on Monday, when his hangover is beating a tattoo between his eyebrows that even his largest pair of sunglasses can't hide. His GPDA hours are strictly 9-5, Wednesday through Sunday. On Mondays, he gets peace, he gets quiet, he gets to order precisely one hair of the dog Bloody Mary and crunch through the celery in private.

Max orders another gin and tonic without tearing his eyes from the door, and George sighs.

He'd texted himself, last night, somewhere between the first club and the second. Assumed, naturally, that Danny's one-man tour of the US would have to hit Vegas for Max's fourth, even if he was conspicuously absent from the race itself. But when he checks now, there's still no reply.

His "G'morning" rumbles out, frightfully inarticulate, throat still whisky-burnt. Max spares him a bleary glance.

"Is it?" He sounds dopey drunk. His mouth looks sticky. George's mum loves a G&T too; she used to tuck him in at night, suddenly fond and warm and cuddly, and the smell would tickle his nose, comforting and disorienting in equal measure. It's never the gin that lingers, always the lime and the lemon. Max should switch to Hendricks, with its cucumber twist. It would suit him better.

"Are you staying here?" he asks. Max blinks, makes a nod that's half a shrug. Good enough. "Are you packed? When's your flight?"

"It's my plane," Max says mulishly, like he hasn't got at least three friends - or maybe it should be colleagues at this point - booked in for AirMax. Not George, of course. George is travelling with Toto. He's quite looking forward to it, ten hours in quiet approval, thumbing through The Times on an iPad, starting from the Sport section.

He doesn't bother pointing out the obvious, but he does allow himself a couple of disapproving tuts. It's surprising when Max's shoulders curl, slightly, a flush crawling up from under the collar of his hideous team jacket.

George checks his watch. He's got time, he supposes, to play the good Samaritan.

(When Max's red eyes flick back to the door, he thinks he might've done it anyway, his fifteen minute buffer be damned)

"Let's get you to bed, then, shall we?" It doesn't take much to haul Max upright. They're all easy enough to throw about, if you've got the strength. But he's not expecting Max to tuck into his side, nod into his shoulder and chest.

He manoeuvres them both to the lifts with minimal interruption, which is a relief. Max is more pliable than at the bar, but practically useless. He's on one of the keycard-only floors, because of course he is, four time champ and maddeningly casual about it. George has to rummage through his pockets for it; Max makes an insultingly shocked noise when George slides long fingers into the front pocket of his jeans. "Don't get excited," he scolds.

Something twitches under his fingertips. The firm hard line of the keycard is nudged into his grip.

George raises his eyebrows, tilts his chin, and turns to tap it, secure their no-stop ride through a ludicrous number of floors.

Then he spins back, and Max's inordinately large mouth is fastened to his jaw.

Detaching him takes some effort. "We are going to bed," Max argues, as George cranes his neck away.

The lifts had seemed too big before, American big, a fun house of mirrors exaggerating the gilt and gaud of it all. Now he could do with a couple of square miles more between him and the drunk determined look in Max's eye.

He's looking straight at George, but not like he's ever looked at him before. There's nothing to recognise in those eyes.

("I saw Max in the bar," he'll tell media in three days, a wry smirk on like cheap perfume. "But he didn't see me." And then he'll get the recognition he wants, surprise and a flicker of heat, quickly doused. A bit mean, to do it for the cameras. But he'll know by then, that Max likes it mean.)

"No," he says now. He fits his hand across Max's chest, between the swell of his pecs. Palm against his sternum, thumb and fingertips pressed to his collarbones. The span of it makes Max look small. His eyes have gone lidded.

"No," he says again, and presses firmly. Max is lax against the mirrored wall, mouth still open. Drunk, but neither of them are passing a sobriety test right now. George's driver is probably getting a coffee right now, checking the time. George won't make him wait. He's considerate like that.

Four floors zip by in quick succession.

"Not until I say," he tells Max, firm. Forgiving.

He steps into Max's space slowly. Makes him wait, straining against the pressure of George's hand, until he deigns to lean down and lick into that gin-sour mouth.

Max is sloppy, uncoordinated. George keeps his hand where it is but lets Max grab at his waist, his arse. He grinds like a puppy when George slips a thigh between his, but his dick's either even smaller than the paddock gossip says, or suffering from one too many doubles.

It doesn't matter. It's always been enough for George to be wanted. To grant, or withhold.

It doesn't even sting now, when they're surprised to want him. All of his victories will always be a shock.

He stops Max from straying up his jawline or down his neck. He doesn't want to spend his flight sticky, grime against the prickle of a fresh shave. Keeps it to kissing, a light nip at Max's bee-stung bottom lip when he gets pushy.

He's got one eye on the dial, though, so when the door opens on Max's floor, with its implausible colonnade, George has stepped back, just a friendly finger and thumb holding Max's chin. The blue of his irises has almost disappeared behind the black of his pupil.

"Bed," George orders, sharp, and Max stumbles out with more speed than George thinks he'd get sober. Sober Max would fight all the way down; it'd take hours to get him sweet. It'd be time well spent.

He follows at his own pace, pleased to see Max holding the door open for him, hands shoved deep into his pockets in a poor show of casualness. It's lost the second George steps inside and Max is on him again, fingers scrabbling to pull George's shirt out of his pressed slacks.

When he pushes Max off this time, he wraps his hand against the base of his throat. Squeezes, just a little.

"Shirt. Jeans. Off. Bed," he orders, clipped and quiet. Max looks delightful when they hit home, stunned and open and young. George quite badly wants to put his thumb on Max's tongue, watch him drool around it. But he's being good; he's got a plane to catch. He holds himself still for the clumsy minutes it takes Max to comply, waits until Max is flat on the bed, duvet kicked down to the foot of the bed.

Bless him, he's still soft in his boxers. But his face is enough for George to know.

Daniel had liked it too, when George had put him on his back and told him to stay still. That cocky grin wiped off his face for a long minute, brown eyes blown wide. Maybe that's their problem, Max and Danny. No one to give the orders.

He allows himself just this: a trail of fingers, up the length of Max's leg, over the meat of his thigh, the softness of his stomach. A flick against a hard nipple, and a light chuckle at the full body jerk Max makes under him.

And then, with a flourish worthy of a Vegas magician, he yanks the duvet up to Max's neck. "Sleep it off, you madman."

Max's fury is a series of choked, inarticulate noises George would relish extracting in other circumstances. Luckily, Max has not regained any of his mobility; he fights against the duvet, but George has easily enough time to tuck himself up against his waistband, hidden by the fall of his trousers, and make it to the door.

"Congratulations again," he throws back, before it closes behind him. He finds he means it.

He's on the pavement, monogrammed carry on in hand, just as his driver pulls up. He makes a note to tell Alex, with some elisions. He could use a reminder of the value of punctuality.

There's a sign on the freeway, just before the airport. "What happens in..." and so on. Somehow, he's not convinced Max will see it that way come Qatar. But-

It lingers, the sight of Max's face. Not spitting angry, or dumb with lust, the need to submit. But tired and empty and hopeful nonetheless, eyes fixed on the entrance of the bar.

Disappointed not to see you in Vegas, he texts Daniel as Toto and Susie settle in opposite him. You should make it up to me.

That, Danny replies to.

to my winner? 👅👅💦

Yes, George types. Both of us.

[silentscrying]

🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track three: something about a beat

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

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

warnings: language, hopeless stupid pining, alcohol, mentions of deceased parent, maki is Fed Up, anxiety, unbearably cute dogs. || sfw. 9k words.

“OKAY, IT’S UP,” Nobara says, grinning at you over her laptop. You’re sprawled across the living room at Takuma’s place, surrounded by a random combination of your band and his while others are in classes. After spending last night mixing the single, Takuma helped Nobara set up an artist profile for the band, and now your music is available on streaming services. Just like that.

“That’s so weird,” you say, grinning as you pull up Spotify on your phone. Next Fix by Cursed Technique. Strange to see your face on there, a photo taken of all of you by some freshman when you last performed at The Fix. Nobara sends the link in your group chat, and Toge responds within seconds.

freak no. 1: FAME freak no. 1: FORTUNE freak no. 1: wait it’s not opening freak no. 1: nvm i’m just stupid

“Does he ever pay attention in class?” Nobara mutters. Maki snorts.

Yuta is also in class, but that means he’s locked in, all his devices on Do Not Disturb. You don’t think Toge’s turned DND on a single time in his life.

“I’m going to Kinji’s!” Kirara shouts from the front entryway, and Yuji leaps to his feet and disappears down the hall, barreling back out of his room seconds later.

“Wait! Can you give this to Panda while you’re there?” He hands her a drive, and Kirara rolls her eyes and takes it.

“You need to slow down every once in a while,” she says, ruffling Yuji’s hair. “Okay, bye. I’ll be back in a few hours.” The dogs follow her to the door and return the living room when she’s gone, curling up on either side of Megumi, who’s busy writing some paper in the corner.

“What was that?” Nobara asks.

“Demo drive for the radio station,” Takuma says. “Panda plays our stuff sometimes. I bet he’d play yours, too.”

“That’d be sick,” Nobara says approvingly. She turns to bother Megumi, poking at him until he takes his headphones off and talks to her, and Yuji strolls into the room and flops down directly on the floor.

“Comfy?” you ask, poking him with a socked foot.

“Mm. Yeah.”

“Ah, look what you did, Kugisaki,” Megumi says, and you look up to see Shiro trotting toward you with her tail wagging, having abandoned her post at her owner’s side.

“That was not my fault! You’re the one who moved.”

“Because you kept poking me!”

You immediately slide off the couch onto the floor, letting Shiro sit in your lap. “Um, excuse me,” Takuma says, offended. You crane your neck to look up at him behind you on the couch. His face is lit up by his computer as he works on a string of code he tried (and failed) to explain to you, and there’s laughter in his eyes despite the affronted tone of his voice.

“Favorite,” you inform him with a wide, cheeky smile. He very maturely sticks his tongue out at you.

“Toge message,” Nobara informs you all, reading off her phone. “He says omg we have four listeners do you think they’re writing slutty fanfiction about us already.” She glances at you. “Petition to remove him from the chat—oh, look, he started sending the wolf memes again.”

Hanging out like this has become natural so quickly you almost forget you haven’t been friends with Shibuya Incident for ages. You feel almost as much at home in the tapestry-covered living room here as you do in the plant-filled kitchen of your own house down the street.

Maki checks her watch, sighing. “We should get going soon. The guys will be back in half an hour.” Then you have rehearsal, even though you’re not one of the three bands performing tomorrow night. When you do take the stage next week, you want to be ready.

Nobara is trying to read Megumi’s texts over his shoulder, which isn’t working out well for her, and he tells Maki, “Yes, please, take your invasive little gremlin home.” He puts his hand right on Nobara’s face and pushes her away, and she screeches and tries to tackle him, but he’s already sitting in a beanbag chair in the corner, so it doesn’t really do much except make Kuro jump on top of them both.

You glance up at Takuma again, still stroking Shiro’s fur while the others start to stand, ready to head home. “You rehearsing today too?”

“I’d hope so,” he shrugs.

“Yes, dipshit, in two hours. If you ever read the group chat,” Megumi says.

Takuma doesn’t seem fazed by Megumi’s irritation and just shrugs. “We have a new song for tomorrow.”

“You didn’t tell me!” You poke at his knee in retribution for his secrecy. “I wanna hear it!”

“You will,” he says. “Tomorrow.”

“Skipper, help, I don’t wanna walk our gremlin home by myself,” Maki calls from the door, and you reluctantly pat Shiro on the head and stand. She follows you to the entryway and sniffs at you while you cram your feet into your sneakers.

“Maki Zenin.” Nobara turns up her nose and crosses her arms over her chest. “If you hated me so much, why didn’t you just say so?”

“Bye!” Yuji shouts from the living room, and you all call out varying goodbyes and noncommittal sounds before making your way out the door and down the block, the afternoon air chilly against your cheeks.

Nobara waits all of ten seconds before spinning around and walking backward, grinning at you mischievously. “I bet Ino wrote a song about you.”

“Oh my god. Shut up,” you laugh. “He didn’t.” You can’t imagine you’ve given him all that much to work with. What would he write, that you like coffee and drums and Megumi’s dogs?

“Why else wouldn’t he show you? Don’t you guys text each other song lyrics like the little romantic fucks you are?” Your face is flaming, and you’re suddenly very grateful for the cool of the wind against your skin. The idea of him writing a song about you plants something weird in your gut—not something bad, just something unexpected and warm and blooming.

You try not to show it and your friends see right through you, Nobara turning back to skip up the drive with a satisfied grin and Maki rolling her eyes at the both of you.

“I’m gonna write a song, too,” Nobara declares, unlocking the door and pushing her way inside. “Skipper and Ino, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S—”

This time, you and Maki speak in tandem. “Shut up!”

—

“There’s a joke here,” Gojo says, tapping both of his index fingers together while he thinks. “About being a drummer and a journalist. Something about a beat.”

You laugh, jotting another note on the lined paper of your small spiral notebook. “I hate to tell you, but I’ve heard that one before.”

You’re not sure features qualifies as a specific beat, more of a broad category, but your staff isn’t nearly large enough to assign people to smaller specialties. Plus, it’s a college publication, designed for experimentation and growth. Nobody wants to be boxed in yet. That’ll come later, out in the monotony of the real world, and you’ll be confined to some hyperspecific beat like neighborhood crime or high school basketball.

“No!” Gojo cries, dragging his hands down his face like it’s the end of the world. “I can’t believe somebody plagiarized me before I even said it.”

“That’s not how that works,” Utahime cuts in dryly, sliding three shots across the counter to the waiting group of sophomores and then effortlessly throwing together another cocktail.

Gojo leans toward you, shadowing out your notes, and stage-whispers, “You see what I have to put up with?”

You do, actually, see what Utahime has to put up with. She long ago put down a line of blue painter’s tape to divide her side of the bar from Gojo’s, and she preaches frequently that there will be dire consequences if he crosses it.

Of course, he crosses it at every opportunity, and here he is, still.

It’s also just how the two bartenders split up the work, the customers, and you write that down too, that it’s an effective division of labor. “Don’t read my notes,” you tell Gojo as he squints at your writing upside down. “It’ll wreck the journalistic integrity.” He sticks out his bottom lip in a pout that reminds you violently of Toge, who’s taking photos of Utahime as she works.

You glance over to the stage, where Angel is performing the last number of her set, a bouncy, belty song that you recognize from a video she posted earlier this week. The crowd loves it, dancing around and singing along, but still, you think she’ll have a tougher time making it through as the only solo artist remaining in the competition.

You whoop and cheer as she hits her last note, holding it for an ungodly amount of time, and Gojo eventually has to abandon his teasing to do his job. When Toge thinks he’s got enough photos, the two of you slip back into the crowd, Panda commentating on the change of artist as you catch up to your friends.

“And now, here’s your alt rock duo, your boys, the Kamos,” he says as you come to a stop beside Yuta. “Give it up!”

Nobara very loudly gives it up.

“Hi.” Yuta nudges you. “How’s the reporting going?”

“Good.” Noritoshi and Choso settle in on stage, tuning their guitar and bass and making girls swoon in the front row but somehow remaining entirely oblivious to it. “You’re not going home tomorrow, right?”

Yuta shakes his head. This weekend is fall break, which just means that there were no classes today. You spent the first day of your three-day weekend cramming for midterms.

Toge’s heading out after this and Nobara will leave early in the morning, but Maki and Yuta will be here for the weekend. You wonder about Takuma and his band, but you can’t ask right now—they’re all backstage, waiting to go on after the Kamos.

The boys in question, when they’re not doing covers, have incredibly nonsensical song names that have little to nothing to do with their lyrics. The first track of theirs you ever heard was called Song About the Time My Dog Got Lost for Three Hours.

“Okay,” Choso says after their cover of a song by The Smiths. “This one’s called Please Don’t Tell Your Mom I Was At Your House Past Curfew.”

He and Noritoshi then proceed to play the most upbeat, energizing alt rock shit you’ve ever heard. You love these guys, and the crowd does too, the way they don’t take themselves too seriously but they’re genuinely talented. But it’s making you nervous for Takuma and his band, because only one group goes on tonight. Only one.

No, you think, shrugging it off. They got this.

When Shibuya Incident finally walks on stage, the ensuing roar of applause before they even do anything eases whatever worries you might have had. They were slotted at the end of tonight’s set for a reason. Everyone loves them.

Without prelude, they launch into a song you recognize from their EP, a fast-paced track with a pretty simple chord progression that gets entirely flipped on its head in the bridge. You let Yuta spin you around as you dance with the rest of the crowd, the lights and sound washing over you. Yuji’s in his element, Kirara is fucking killing it, and Megumi—as always—is the rock the band stands on, unerring tempo and steady presence keeping everyone on track.

After the song finishes with a crazy riff from Kirara, and the crowd takes a minute to freak out and then slowly wind down, Takuma grabs the mic to address the audience.

“Hi again,” he says, scanning the clusters of people from his place on the low stage. His gaze lands on you and your friends, and he smiles a little wider. “That was Godspeed. We’re gonna slow it down a bit for our next song. It’s a new one. We’re calling it Curious.”

Nobara practically launches herself over Toge to get to you and shake you by the shoulders. “What did I say?” she hisses.

“Oh my god,” you say, shoving her off. “They haven’t even started yet.” But you look back at Takuma to find he hasn’t stopped looking at you.

To your surprise, the instrumentals don’t start first. Most of Shibuya Incident’s music opens with a riff or a fill or at least four bars of introduction. But this time, Takuma leans into the mic and starts singing, just a low “ooooh,” and the rest of the band comes in one by one—Megumi, then Kirara, then Yuji. Kirara’s harmonizing on a higher note, and the effect is a slow, dissonant build that makes you lock in, all anticipation.

Then Takuma tugs the mic from the stand and sings,“I see your eyes, curious, curious, you wanna know why the sky’s so goddamn blue. I hear your voice, curious, curious, you’re asking me if I’d ever fall for you.”

And as you listen, Nobara’s smile just gets wider and wider, and Takuma keeps making fleeting eye contact with you, and you realize abruptly that she was right.

This song is about you.

Takuma’s said it to you before, in passing, how he likes the way you look at the world—through a journalist’s lens, curious about how everything works, always searching for unseen answers.

“Wish I could see my life like you do,” he and Kirara sing in unison. “Wish I could walk the streets each night… wonderin’ if the full moon sees you, but I just keep lookin’, lookin’ down at the time.”

You’re transfixed, just like the first night you saw Takuma perform live, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the stage if you tried. Someone should write a story about him, you think. This man could be on the cover of Rolling Stone and you wouldn’t question it.

God, you’re so far gone, aren’t you?

When the set is over, the last song finishing with a long, drawn-out chord, Takuma thanks the crowd and hands the mic off to Panda to take over. As the band disappears one by one into the backstage area, he lays out the voting process.

“The voting period will last ten minutes, assuming no technical difficulties,” he says. “QR codes, as usual, are posted around the bar. If you’re a competitor, you can’t vote. Make sure you’re logged into your .edu accounts or you won’t be able to access the form…”

Your fingers are tapping nervously at your thighs, the crowd around you already glued to their phone screens. The band isn’t back out on the floor yet—Panda will call all three artists up at the end of the voting period and announce the finalist live.

Sweat is starting to pool in the palms of your clammy hands, and you wipe it on your jeans, anxious. To you, there’s no question. But it’s not up to you.

“Relax,” Yuta says, putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “It won’t even be close, Skip.”

After the longest ten minutes of your life, Hana Kurusu, the Kamos, and Shibuya Incident join Panda back on stage, a dramatic spotlight bouncing between each artist as Panda draws out the announcement. “And the artist from tonight moving on to the finals in two weeks is…”

“Just say it,” Maki huffs beside you, and Yuta chuckles and nudges her with a shoulder. She tries to hide the slight upturn of her lips, but that’s not going to slide past you.

You’ll tease her later. For now—

“Shibuya Incident!”

The reaction is explosive, both on the floor and the stage. Yuji practically leaps onto Kirara’s back, and Takuma’s face goes slack in surprise before a shy smile works its way across his spotlit features, Megumi being his nonchalant, unaffected self in the midst of it all. Nobara is screaming, and you’re yelling at the top of your lungs, Toge whooping and snapping photos as the Kamos and Hana crowd the band, congratulating them on the victory.

Takuma looks out into the crowd again and you wave, smiling unabashedly, so fucking proud and excited and thinking maybe, maybe, if you make it too, you’ll be facing off against each other, and wouldn’t that be something?

Maybe you shouldn’t be so thrilled. He’s the competition, after all.

But if he wins for going up there and singing curious, curious with his eyes locked on yours, you suppose it wouldn’t be all that bad.

—

Most of Saturday passes in a barrage of classwork and inconsistent, snacky meals in between, the diet of a harried college student, ramen and chips and whatever actual food Yuta leaves for you in the fridge. He’s back from work by three, and Maki wraps up her own work around the same time you do, late afternoon creeping into evening. The three of you are curled up in the living room, the TV on while Yuta and Maki try to pretend they’re not looking at each other.

You need to get them alone.

you: are you busy takuma: not at all takuma: what’s up? you: mind if i crash your house?

You glance up and swear Yuta has somehow, in the last two seconds, moved closer to Maki on the couch.

you: i think yuta and maki need some ~ALONE TIME~ takuma: TEA takuma: sorry kirara told me to stop saying that in response to everything that happens ever takuma: it’s fun tho

“I’m going to Takuma’s,” you announce, and Maki raises a brow at you.

“Again?”

“Sue me for having friends.”

Yuta’s brows crease a bit at the word friends, but he doesn’t comment. With a furtive glance back, you grab your shoes and slip out the door, successfully leaving Maki and Yuta alone in the house for an indeterminate amount of time.

Please, you think. One of them has to make a fucking move soon.

Takuma answers the door before you can knock. “Hey.”

“No pups today?” you ask as you step past him into the entryway, kicking off your shoes.

“Sadly,” Takuma says. “Fushiguro took ‘em with him, wherever he went. Ah, man. Did you only come over for them?” His tone is teasing as he closes the front door behind you, trading the October cold for the warmth of the house. “Afraid I’m a letdown.”

“Takuma,” you scold at his self-deprecation. “You’re basically an excited puppy yourself, so—”

“Hey!” he squawks, and then thinks about it and tilts his head, conceding. “Fine. Maybe. Yeah, okay.”

“What have you been up to?” you ask as the two of you make your way to the living room.

“Procrastination. Guitar instead of homework, mostly. You?”

“Same,” you sigh. “Well, not the guitar part. But I should have been way further ahead on my homework by now.” You shrug. You’ll get it done; you always do.

You settle in easily on the couch, and the two of you boot up the Wii and play a few rounds of Mario Kart because someone left the disc in. And when you’ve both beaten each other enough times to lose count, Takuma mentions something about your single and you realize you haven’t checked the stats.

“You can see more on a computer,” he says, and you follow him up to his room, where he cedes control of the device to you. You pull up the artist profile and grin at the steady upward climb of listeners. It’s not a ton, but this only went up on Thursday.

“We haven’t even done anything to promote this,” you admit, spinning in Takuma’s desk chair to face him. “I don’t even know how people are finding it.”

He immediately looks down, which means he knows something. You nudge him with your foot. “What? What does that face mean? Takuma.”

“I maybe gave Panda a drive of the mix,” he shrugs, talking fast like the meaning of the words might elude you if he mumbles enough. “And he maybe played it at the radio station earlier today. Several times.”

A wave of affection crashes into you so fast that you jump up and throw your arms around him without thinking, laughing into his shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that!” You pull back, grinning. “That was really sweet. Thank you. Seriously.”

“Ah, it was nothin’.” He reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck, a gesture you’ve come to recognize as self-conscious.

“Not nothing,” you say softly. He smiles.

After a moment, he glances at the window and seems to come to a decision. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey yourself.”

“Wanna go out on the roof?”

You blink, processing the words, instinctively looking to his window. You’ve never really realized it before, but it opens out onto a flat expanse of shingles, a perfect lookout right outside Takuma’s bedroom.

Your grin is answer enough, and he unlatches the window and pulls it open. He glances back at you, up and down, and you feel yourself blush before you realize he’s taking in what you’re wearing. He grabs a thick jacket from the closet and tosses it to you, then shrugs one on himself and leads the way, gripping the window frame with one hand and pulling himself outside. After a moment of consideration, he reaches back in and grabs his acoustic guitar by the neck from its place against the wall, pulling it out with him.

When the window shuts behind you, you’re immediately grateful for the protection of the extra layer. Even with your hands balled in the sleeves of your hoodie, it’s chilly out here.

You’re surprised by how much of the campus you can see spread out in the distance. It’s early evening, but the days are getting shorter, the sun a misleading blaze of heat in the otherwise cold hour.

“This,” you say, “is fucking awesome.”

“Right? I called dibs on the room as soon as we toured. For this.” He grins, leaning back on his palms, legs spread out in front of him. You lie back on the roof, letting the cool surface seep through your hood, staring up at the sky.

“So Maki and Yuta,” he says, shaking his head fondly. “Are they finally a thing?”

“I don’t know, but if they’re gonna do anything about it, it’s not gonna be while anyone else is home.” You shrug, or at least do whatever approximation of shrugging you can when you’re bundled in a bulky hoodie and jacket and lying on a roof.

Honestly, Yuta and Maki are some of your favorite people on this planet, and you can’t imagine anyone else who really deserves them. They’re the de facto mom and dad of your group—as in, Yuta is the band mom and Maki’s the gruff father who won’t admit his affection for the pet he didn’t want to get but ended up loving anyway.

“Man, I’m glad I wasn’t around when Kirara and Hakari were in their pining phase,” Takuma chuckles. He pulls his legs in, sitting cross-legged, and picks up the guitar, idly tuning it as he speaks. “Then there’s Itadori, probably picks up girls everywhere he goes and has never once realized it.”

“What about Megumi?” You let your head loll to the side, looking at Takuma with the guitar settled in his lap.

“Fushiguro? I don’t know, man, he doesn’t tell us anything. He has like, resting yearning face. I’ve got no idea. I don’t even know where he is right now, just that he’s supposed to be back really late.”

“That means the dogs will be back?” you say hopefully.

Takuma shakes his head, strumming another chord, and another, fingers moving deftly across the frets. “I’m not enough for you, huh?”

“I said no such thing.”

He plucks out a happy little melody on the guitar, looking at you. “Wanna learn?”

You sit up, your hood falling back off your head in the process. “Really?”

In answer, he hands you the guitar, scooting closer to you to show you where to place your fingers. You’ve been around your bandmates enough to know the basics, but you let him teach you anyway, giggling a little when he guides you through a three-chord progression and says, “Damn, you’re a natural.”

He leans back and stares at the sky, listening to you play. Eventually you add a few other basic chords into the mix, varying your strumming patterns, already feeling the strain in your fingertips from the unfamiliar press of the strings.

“So,” you say, still idly messing around on a G chord. Takuma props himself up on his elbows, looking over at you. “What was the incident in Shibuya? Have you been to Shibuya?”

He snorts. “Nope. Honestly, it was more to make people ask the question. You know in the Marvel movies, how Hawkeye and Black Widow are always talking about Budapest?”

“And nobody knows what the hell happened there,” you say, laughing. “Ah. I see.”

“I’ve never even been to Japan,” Takuma admits. “Fushiguro has, though. Maybe he had an incident in Shibuya. Who knows?”

G, C, D. D, C, G. You play the chords over and over, strumming softly, slowly, letting your finger catch on each of the strings, then five of them, then four.

“This is a really nice guitar.”

“Yeah.” There’s a beat of silence that makes you glance up, weighted differently than the usual pauses in conversation. Takuma is sitting up now, knees pulled loosely to his chest. “Was my dad’s.”

“He taught you to play,” you remember aloud, recalling your conversation in the coffee shop. But now you’re hung up on that word: was. Part of you doesn’t want to ask, but part of you feels like his words are a sort of quiet invitation, like he wants to tell you, but doesn’t want to force it. “I… is he…?”

“He died when I was twelve,” Takuma admits, eyes fixed on the sky. “Uh, car accident. It was stupid, some issue with the other guy’s car. Couldn’t stop it.” You’ve never heard his voice like this before, taut, oddly thin. Carefully, gently, you set the guitar on the roof beside you, watching him.

“Were you…”

“In the car?” Takuma sniffs. “Ah. Yeah.”

“Oh,” you breathe, and that’s what it is, more of a breath than a word. “I—Takuma…”

When he laughs, there’s no humor in it. It’s a hollow kind of chuckle, one that says everything he can’t. “It’s why I learned to skate, actually,” he says quietly, not meeting your eyes. “I’d get everywhere that way. I didn’t—want to drive, I guess. Got my license late and everything. I think people thought I was just a slacker.”

Whatever words you might scrounge up feel inadequate for a grief this large. You don’t want to pity him, and you don’t want to dismiss him, and that’s always the problem with hard conversations, isn’t it? What a line to walk.

“You’re not a slacker,” you say eventually, and he raises a brow at you. “I mean, maybe you procrastinate coding projects to a worrying extent, but you always get it done.” You smile thinly. “You don’t give up in any way that matters, Takuma. I like that about you.”

He chuckles. “Nanami said something like that, once.” His eyes go far-away again, just for a second. “He’s kind of the closest thing… like… I don’t know. I’ve known Nanami for a really long time. He was my dad’s friend. And I guess he sort of became a father figure, after…”

He shrugs. “It’s probably a big part of why I decided to go here. That, and it’s not too far from my mom’s. I don’t know that she’d have been thrilled if I went somewhere farther.”

“You’re not home,” you say carefully, a question but not question. “For break?”

“She’s on a business trip,” he says. “So not much point. But I’ll see her at Christmas, at least.”

For a while the silence stretches out comfortably between you, like a weighted blanket. You can’t ignore it, but it isn’t unwelcome. At some point you scooted closer to him, and now you sit side by side, only the layers of your jackets separating you.

“Thank you for telling me,” you say eventually, soft, unwilling to break the quiet. He nods.

“You didn’t go home either,” he points out, an unspoken question in the spaces between words. “Is it just ‘cause you’re from so far away, or…”

“Yeah. A Friday off didn’t feel like enough of a break to warrant a flight back.” But that’s not all of it. His silence tells you he knows it, too. He’s been so candid with you all night. You can share this part of yourself, you decide.

There’s something about Takuma, anyway, that makes you want to tell him things. You want to know him, and you want him to know you—you now, here, at school, but also you there, home, in the past.

“I haven’t been home since July,” you admit, hugging your knees to your chest, mirroring him. “My town is… small. I liked it when I was little. But the older I got the more I started to feel, just—I don’t know, stifled?”

Your hometown used to feel huge, like you could explore it forever on your Razor scooter and never find all its secrets. But you grew, and the town didn’t grow with you, and suddenly you were standing outside your high school realizing you knew every corner of the self-proclaimed suburban city, every street and coffee shop and alley. You’ve always been curious. And at some point, there wasn’t anything left in that place for you to be curious about.

“I love my home. I love my parents. It’s just… I needed to get out. I don’t think they ever really understood that.”

It’s easier to admit things when you’re looking straight ahead like this, out over the lines and curves of buildings, picking out street lamps, watching a few stray cars make their way around slow corners.

“Is it what you wanted it to be?” he asks quietly. “Here, I mean.” He nods out to the vast stretch of campus, spread across the city. So many corners you’ve been here years and haven’t found them all.

Campus is weird on break, you muse, looking out over the darkness. A whole parallel world for you to explore, the shadowed version of the place. A video game map on single-player, a dead server. Hardly any lights on in the windows, no kids out on the street. Like a ghost town. But it still doesn’t feel empty to you. There’s so much promise in it.

“Yeah,” you answer after a moment, soft. “Yeah, I think it is.”

A ghost town that isn’t lonely, somehow. You could write a song about it, you think. Friends with all the dead in my ghost town. The phrase plays itself out in your head, and it sounds like something moodier than your band usually goes for. It sounds like Shibuya Incident.

You wonder if this is what it means to be in a relationship—not a romantic one, necessarily, but a friendship, or any kind of bond between two creative people. If it’s this, the sharing of intellectual property with another person to the extent that their voice and yours start to blend.

It’s in the way Nobara can finish your sentences when you’re throwing out potential verses, scrambling for rhymes. How Toge and Yuta can anticipate each other’s movements, match chord progressions without talking about them. How Maki slips into your tempo seamlessly, every single time.

And now your lyrics sound like something his band would play. Maybe Takuma’s songwriting will start sounding like yours, too.

You don’t think you’d mind.

“Can I tell you something?” Takuma murmurs after a moment, sounding hesitant.

You rest a cheek on your knees, hands clasped together in front of your shins, facing him. “Mhm.”

“That song last night,” he whispers, and he’s not looking at you, just staring out at the rapidly darkening campus. “It was about you. And how you—I don’t know, the way you look at things. Like they’re always so full of potential. I wish I could do that. You just see things and want to know more. I like… watching you, being curious.” He pauses for a beat and then quickly adds, “Not in like, a creepy way! Just—I don’t know.”

A chuckle slips through your lips against your will, the darkness hopefully hiding the color in your cheeks. Maybe you can blame it on the cold. “Watching?” you ask, teasing. “I can’t imagine I’m all that intriguing. There’s a lot of cool people around here, y’know.”

“Skip,” he murmurs, and now his eyes are locked on yours. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

Every nerve in your body is hyperaware of his proximity, and his hand reaches up to cup your jaw, the touch ghosting over you, barely there, hesitant. A nonverbal question. Is this okay?

You lean into the warmth, letting his breath wash over you, mingling with your own in the space between your lips, smaller and smaller and smaller.

He’s watching you, closely, giving you a chance to pull away. So many words exchanged tonight, but you don’t need any for this.

You don’t pull away.

It’s slow at first, and soft, and hesitant. The shingles dig into the heel of your hand as you lean forward on one arm, a grainy feeling on your fingertips, in the grooved imprints left by the guitar strings. You find your free hand moving up to his shoulder, pushing, guiding him down until his back is pressed against the roof and you’re over him, lips locked with his. You look at him, and he’s so full of potential. You want to know everything about him, you want to know how he works, you want to ask questions. And you do, with your tongue along the seam of his lips, and your hand tangled in his hair, and his breath mixing with yours in the air. It’s near full dark now, feeling later than it really is, evening in autumn.

You’re not cold anymore.

He deepens the kiss, body coming up to meet yours, and you feel like maybe this roof is the top of the whole world, because how could you ever feel higher than this?

“Takuma,” you murmur, and you kiss him again, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this way before, but you’ll do maybe anything in the world to feel this way again.

And then a sharp, deep sound makes you jump, scrambling to sit up on the shingles, breathing heavy from the kiss and the noise. Did that come from inside or out?

“What—”

“Oh, crap,” Takuma groans, pulling open the window. “Someone’s home.” He looks back at you, cheeks flushed from the cold or the kiss or both, looking a little helpless, a little apologetic, and you can’t help the small laugh that bursts from you at the absurdity of the situation. You feel like a teenager getting caught by your parents.

“We should…” He nods toward the window. You hand him the guitar, then crawl back over to the window and slip inside after him, the warmth a stark relief from the temperature you’ve gotten so used to. Your heart is a jackhammer, rapidly pecking away at the once-stable structure of yourself.

You kissed him.

You kissed Takuma.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out with still-cold hands.

utah: [1 Image Attachment] utah: dinner?

Admittedly, the pasta does look amazing, and your stomach grumbles as if on cue.

“I should go,” you say awkwardly, holding up the phone for Takuma to see.

“Uh, yeah, uh—for sure, no problem, I should go see what’s up down there anyway,” he says after a beat of hesitation. “I’ll see you, uh…?”

“Around?” you finish, laughing slightly.

“Yeah,” he echoes with an amused half-smile as you make your way down the stairs. “Around.”

—

You’re freaking out.

It’s 4:31 on Monday afternoon, you’ve been listening to the same song on repeat for an hour, and you’re freaking the fuck out.

After Saturday night, you didn’t talk about it. You kissed him on the roof and your heart turned into a hummingbird and you were warm all over, and then the front door slammed and you nearly jumped out of your skin, and Megumi was back early and Takuma had no idea why, and you pet the dogs and then slipped out, wanting to give them their space.

And you haven’t talked about it. You haven’t had time. Sunday was a mess of cramming for midterms and your housemates returning from break and you threw yourself into your studies and tried not to remember, but now…

The stupid fucking switch in the back of your brain has flipped itself on and you can’t turn it off, all worry and criticism and hypothetical worst-case scenarios and you’re giving too much too fast, Skipper, you know better than this!

How many people in your tiny town fell in love young and grew to resent each other? How many of your high school friends grew up with divorced parents? How many breakups have you seen in your two and a half years at this university, how many tears and shouting matches in public halls, how many friend groups falling apart because two people fell in and out of love?

The thing is, you know you’re panicking about nothing. Takuma hasn’t asked anything of you. It was just a kiss. He is not your boyfriend. This is not a contract.

But if you talk about it, it could be, and you don’t understand why that scares you so much. Do you have commitment issues? What the fuck is your problem?

You probably wouldn’t have a problem at all, if you’d just had the time Saturday night to figure out what the kiss meant. But now that a whole day has passed and you haven’t seen him and you don’t know for sure, your mind keeps wandering down paths it should have stayed away from.

What if it’s a friends with benefits situation and you’ve just read too much into it? Maybe this is all he wants, making out, spending late nights together getting physical. Maybe that’s all. A heated makeout session on a roof doesn’t mean he feels the way you do. And do you even know how you feel? Fucking hell.

It’s the anxiety talking, the more logical part of you says, the part that sounds an awful lot like Maki. Your friends aren’t around to tell you how stupid you’re being, so the only texts you and Takuma have sent since Saturday night are playlists and song lyrics skirting around whatever truths you’re trying and failing to articulate.

Do I Wanna Know floats from the speaker on your desk, your phone next to your head on the bed, facedown and dormant. Do I wanna know if this feeling goes both ways?

Your door slams open and you jump up, whirling around to find Maki with her arms crossed, leaning on the frame. “Alright,” she says. “That’s the tenth time I’ve heard that godforsaken song. What the fuck is up with you?”

When you don’t respond, she steps inside and closes the door behind her, pauses the music, and then makes herself comfortable on the edge of your bed. “Talk to me,” she says. “You’re driving yourself crazy.” The words stall in your throat, useless, stagnant things as you avoid her knowing stare, instead staring at the popcorn ceiling until it blurs.

Maki sighs and shifts entirely onto the bed, turning herself to face you.

“I didn’t know you were home,” you say lamely.

“You’re driving me crazy, Skip,” she tries, and she knows you so fucking well, because the guilt trip is exactly what dislodges all those words built up in the back of your mouth—she breaks the dam and you spill your soul onto the quilted comforter, rambling, a rush of truths and things you thought you’d hidden from yourself but you can’t anymore. And she just listens, not looking away once.

You tell her everything: that you know you catch feelings fast, too fast. That despite your bleeding heart, you haven’t really been in a long-term relationship since high school. That you think of the future, of all the places you want to go, all the things you want to do, and there’s no guy in those dreams, and the thought of restructuring the life you’ve planned out for yourself around a boy who might be temporary is too much to even fathom. That—

“I kissed him,” you say breathlessly, bordering on hysterical, and you feel so stupid, this worked up over something so small, something that should be good. “I kissed him and now it feels real and now I’m freaking out.”

“I can see that,” Maki says calmly. “Let me ask you something. What is the worst thing that could happen, if you date him and it doesn’t last?”

“I…” You chew on your bottom lip, mind spinning through every bad outcome. “He could end up hating me, Maki. I could get some crazy job and have to leave, or he would come with me and leave his whole life behind and then he’d grow to resent me and we’d just be in some kind of hellish limbo until one of us snapped. Or he could—he could leave me, or we could try long distance and he could fall in love with somebody else, or I could, or—or—”

You flounder for a second, realizing your biggest worry is the one most immediate, the one most central to your life as it exists right now.

You’ve been sitting here thinking about big-picture things that are so far out, trying to make the feeling curdling in your gut feel like a valid reaction to a major life event. But that’s not what this is.

You’re just really, stupidly, pathetically scared that Takuma kissed you and didn’t mean it.

“Or—I guess that’s not the issue. Not really,” you admit quietly, not looking at Maki. She probably already knows. She has a way of knowing exactly what’s bothering you and just asking the right questions, getting you to talk yourself out of whatever hole your anxious mind has dug.

“I—it was just a kiss. What if he doesn’t want something serious right now, and I like him this way and he just wants something casual? I can’t do casual, Maki,” you say, raking a hand through your hair. “And it could fuck up this thing we have going. Yuji and Toge get along so well, and Nobara and the boys and Kirara, and Megumi’s your cousin, and I don’t wanna cause some weird, awkward rift, you know what I mean?”

Because it’s been so good, getting to know them. You don’t want to fuck up the dynamic just because you caught feelings too fast.

Maki leans back against your wall, humming as she thinks this over. “Okay. First of all, take a step back. Do you actually think you and Ino dating or not dating or whatever would mean I stop talking to my cousin? Or Nobara to the guys?” She raises a brow at you, unimpressed. “Seriously. I love you, Skipper, but you do not have that much power. These relationships existed before you knew Ino. Yuji is incapable of having conflict with anybody. And Toge doesn’t give a fuck about awkward relationship drama, he just wants to play Smash.”

As she speaks, you can feel your heart settling back into its home in your chest. Maki always knows what to say. Always.

“Second: Let me put it this way.” She levels you with a serious look. “You are so worked up about all these incredibly hypothetical situations. If you shut this down now, if you don’t act on what happened on Saturday, you’re still going to be worked up about hypotheticals. They’ll just be different ones. I know you, Skipper, you’re gonna drown yourself in what ifs. So you have to pick the lesser evil. There’s an unknown factor either way. Which one is gonna be worse?”

You groan, faceplanting into your bedspread. In the process, your forehead must hit play on your phone, because all of a sudden Arctic Monkeys blasts through the JBL again and Maki is grabbing your phone and saying, “Absolutely not. Nope. We are done with that.”

You look up at her helplessly. “Do I wanna know?” you choke out, half-laughing. “Because if I’m taking this out of proportion, if he doesn’t feel this way and I’m just another girl he kissed—”

“You’re not,” she says firmly. “Are you kidding me? Skip. That boy kisses the ground you walk on.” She shakes her head, some mix of fondness of exasperation flashing across her face. “You already know. The question isn’t if he likes you, or if you like him. It’s whether you’re gonna let it play out or shut it down before it has a chance to.”

Your door slams open, and Nobara strolls in and puts her hands on her hips. She glares at Maki and then at you.

“Please tell me I’m wrong,” she says, and you know you’re in for it, “but I believe you both had significant relationship developments this weekend and didn’t immediately call me? What the fuck? Spill.”

Abruptly, you feel like the worst friend in the world. Not necessarily because you haven’t filled Nobara in—she hasn’t been home—but because Maki is flushing pink, and you left her alone with Yuta on purpose, and it’s Monday, and you haven’t even asked what happened.

You look at Nobara. “Close the door.”

She does, but she doesn’t sit down, choosing instead to pace the room as she speaks. “Exhibit A: the plants have name tags and the handwriting is not Yuta’s. Exhibit B: I just came from down the street and Ino is acting weird as fuck.”

You sit straight up, suddenly on high alert. “Weird how? Did he say anything?”

“No. Like, the entire time. That’s the weird as fuck part.”

You turn to Maki, trying to read her. “Okay, what happened with Yuta? Was it when I left? Because if I wasn’t obvious enough—“

“You were very obvious, thank you,” Maki says, her blush deepening. “Uh, we made dinner. As you know.”

“It was good.”

Maki is pointedly looking everywhere but at you and Nobara, gaze darting from the ceiling to the bedspread to the door, as if she might escape the conversation. You hadn’t even noticed the plant name tags. That’s maybe the most sappy gesture that’s ever come from Maki Zenin.

“Mm. Yeah. Uh,” she says, eloquently. “We might have kissed. We might be… together.”

“Maki!” you and Nobara both scream, which results in Toge nearly breaking down your bedroom door five seconds later.

“What?” he demands. He clocks Maki’s bright red face and grins widely. “Aha! Yes. Good.”

“Wh—”

“Yuta won’t look me in the eyes, so I figured. You wanted to tell us all at once?”

Maki nods sheepishly.

“Too late!” Toge says cheerfully. “And he’s not home. So we can take this quality girls’ time to—”

“You are a man.”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me,” Toge tells Nobara, hand over his heart.

She swats at him in response and flops onto your floor, and Toge drops down beside her, you and Maki leaning over the edge of your bed to see them both.

"I ate your love pasta," you tell Maki, and she groans.

"This is why I don't tell you people things."

After the appropriate appoint of freaking out about Maki and Yuta (of course I knew, I always know, Nobara says), they make you go through the whole of Saturday night in detail.

You leave out the part about Takuma’s dad. That doesn’t feel like your story to tell.

When you get to I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Nobara blinks at you, and the innocent expression on her face means whatever she’s about to say is anything but. “So he told you you’re not like other girls?”

“Oh my god,” you groan, dragging your hands down your face.

“Oh, shit, Skipper!” Toge nearly shouts from the floor. “We have to go, like, two minutes ago.”

“Shit!” You scramble off the bed, shoving your laptop into your bag and weaving around Nobara, who has made no move to get off the floor. You and Toge have your usual Monday night class time to do field reporting, and you’re meeting up with Geto and Utahime.

The front door clicks open and closed, and you grin at Maki, who goes red. Yuta’s home. God, you wish you could stay for this.

“Hi, Yuta! Bye, Yuta!” you call on the way out the door, patting him on the head, and Toge follows suit with a much more aggressive motion that messes up Yuta’s hair.

“Oh, hi! Um. Bye?” Yuta’s startled laugh follows you out the door, and then you’re on your way.

You’re always on your way back to The Fix, eventually.

—

Utahime, notably a happier person in general when Gojo’s not around, lets Toge into the back to get some photos of the storeroom. That leaves you alone with Geto, back on the same stool as last time, phone on the counter as you watch him work, talking as he goes.

“Finished inventory,” he says, typing something rapidly on his laptop, “and now it’s budgeting. And yeah, that’s about what it looks like on the day to day. What else did you want to know?”

Geto is remarkably easy to talk to. He’s soft-spoken and articulate, a good listener, and you find yourself forgetting it’s an interview after a while, lost in conversation. You learn that he studied business in school, so opening an establishment like this wasn’t much of a stretch. He handles the finances and hiring, and he’s the one working with Panda on the Battle of the Bands. Gojo and Utahime bartend, Nanami is security, and Shoko handles everything else. It’s a small team, he says, but they work.

“I wanted to be able to be home for the girls when they were growing up, and this wound up being a great way to do that, schedule-wise,” he tells you. “And now they’re here, which is great. I wouldn’t say I ever saw myself opening a bar, back in college, but now that I’m here and Shoko and I have been running the place for a while, I’m not sure where else I ever could’ve ended up, y’know?”

You nod, head propped in your hand with your elbow on the counter. “So is this the dream? The endgame?” you ask. “Think you’ll stay a while?”

“Well,” he says, closing the laptop, “I think it comes down to doing something because you love it, not because other people love that you do it. Though right now, both of those things are true, which is fortunate for me." He leans on the bar counter, head tilted as he considers his words.

"If the work makes you happy, if the people there make you feel the same way, I think that’s worth hanging on to," he says. "If I ever stop loving the work, I suppose I’ll move on. I don’t see that happening, really, but if it does, I’ll roll with it. Whatever comes after.”

“That makes sense.” You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Man, I wish the career thing was that clear-cut now. I know I have time, but it’s weird to think about.”

“Would you ever go further than this with the band, you think?” he asks, seeming genuinely curious. “Or is the journalism thing pretty much what your heart’s set on?”

You’ve thought about it. Drumming makes you feel alive like very few other things do, but you love writing, reporting, meeting people and telling their stories. You want to go for editor-in-chief next year when Tsumiki graduates, but the reality is that you won’t have so much time for the band if you get the job. And you love your band.

Not that it’ll be the same, anyway, without Maki and Yuta. That’s something you don’t love to think about.

“I don’t know,” you confess, sheepishly realizing you’re still recording, that you’re supposed to be the one asking the questions. “I don’t think… that the band is ever necessarily going to be a professional thing. Maki and Yuta have all these big career plans. And it’s like, how much do I invest in that now, knowing it’s not… forever? When the journalism thing, the career, might be? I don’t know.”

“You know, I don’t think it matters all that much whether it’s forever,” Geto shrugs. “If it gave you what you needed at the time, wouldn’t it be worth it?”

He glances up at you, taking in the lines of your face, the tapping of your fingers against your other arm. You kind of feel like he sees something you don’t.

“Here’s some unsolicited advice, kid. On the record. Maybe life is short, maybe not. But regardless, your heart is not a finite thing.” His eyes are soft but not sad, serious but with a sort of levity that’s wise and not regretful. You think, idly, that you would find it very hard not to trust him. “If you��ve got something, love it while you have it.”

Something tells you he’s not talking about the band anymore. Or maybe that’s just you, looking for answers where there aren’t any.

“Thanks, Geto,” you say, turning off the recording. “This has been really helpful.”

Your heart is not a finite thing. And you think you’ve made up your mind.

directory | prev.

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

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

a/n: what is this? setup for the megumi spinoff i'm writing after this? oo (sorry he was a cockblock it was for the plot, this one AND his, hehe)

[cardigan-ns]

Humble Bragging

Pairing: Declan O’Hara x Rupert’s Daughter!Reader

Summary: At a Venturer Campaign, your father’s best friend won’t stop giving the eyes at you, causing your father to get suspicious of the dynamic between his best friend and his daughter, leading to a drunken row.

Note: Reader is 21.

“Come on, Gertrude!” You sigh as the O’hara’s dog decided your lap was the most comfortable to lay on as you sat in the garden of The Priory. This caused a laugh to erupt from Caitlin and she pet the dog. “Have you any idea when your dad is getting here?” The youngest O’Hara asked you, her little school-girl crush on your father made you laugh, the countless nights you’d be up with your father in the living room casually chatting and commenting on everyone in Rutshire, he’d always say just how funny Caitlin’s crush was, you had to admit though, she was brave for being so open about it, if you spoke about your admiration for Declan, people would have knives and pitchforks ready at your dismay.

“Uh, I think he said after he’d done polo with Bas.” You tilt your head as you fake unknowing the answer, and you pet the dog, suddenly out pops Maud from the back of the house and she had a glass of Buck’s Fizz and a fan at her ready, she lays on the reclining lawn chair and sighs. “Your father around?” She asks, having such a weird affiliation with him, when she’s clearly married. “Your husband around?” You ask her to remind her where her loyalties should lie and she chokes on her words then and there, giving you a scorn. “You’re a right brat, you know.” You smile proudly, and nod. “As a matter of fact I am, or did you forget the man who raised me.” You glared at the woman, sick of her making unnecessary comments about you and Rupert as if he was a god and you were a peasant, when in actual fact if your father had heard Maud’s comments he’d call her desperate for attention.

The dog had finally leapt off of you and ran around the garden, Caitlin followed suit with her. You needed to be confined by 4 walls and a ceiling, it was strangely suffocating outside, with the distaste of Maud, and the small talk that only seemed to consist of the man who raised you. As you entered the large home you found yourself wandering into the kitchen, opening the fridge and spotting a bottle of wine, and you desperately opened it and found a glass and poured some in, taking a large swig. “Slow down there, you’re gonna be plastered before we’ve even went to the bar.” Declan’s voice erupted from the kitchen door and you turned on your heel to look at him, as you guiltily swallowed the wine. “Sorry, it was already open I swear.” Liar. But declan dismissed you with the wave of his hand and continued to pull down his Venturer T-shirt which he had only seemed to scramble on as he spoke to you. You had yours on too as moral support, and a lovely white skirt to go with the summers day.

“Your dad called, he’s already at the venue.” Declan spoke as he took the bottle of wine from your hand and poured himself a glass too. “Is he serious?” You rolled your eyes, “He promised he’d take me with him.” You slightly huffed, still shocked at the disappointment Rupert Campbell-Black always brought to your wellbeing. “Love, don’t sweat it, Caitlin and Maud are staying here I’ll give you that grand entrance you so desperately wish to have. I’m just as important in Venturer as your old man.” His hand touched your shoulder assuredly and you just smiled, because what the fuck else were you meant to do.

“Get your shoes on, and we’ll go.” He drank his wine and lifted his car keys off of the dining table and left the room. You slipped on your heels and followed him out the door to his petite mustard car, it fit who he was as a person tremendously. As you sat there, the radio was rather loud, you assumed declan probably drowns out the trudges of his day to day life with it. As he drove off of his stoned drive way, and onto the country roads to the bar, he asked you a simple question. “Do ya think we’ll win?” He grinned as he turned a corner, and looked at you briefly. The smile on your face told him everything he’d need to know. “Oh believe me, you will, Tony has nothing to offer the god forsaken world of television.” Declan erupted in laugher and scratched his chin, “You’ve a right mouth on you. Gets me every-time.” The way he said it with such conviction, as if he’d been thinking about you and your rude mouth for a while, led a shiver to rush down your spine, the car was that minuscule you’d think he could feel it, but that’s absurd. You’ve done a great job at hiding your sheer obsession with the man, but by god is he good with words.

As he pulled up towards Bar Sinister, you trembled at the thought of being in the room with Declan while your father was around. Even though nothing was happening it still felt almost illegal. “That’s us, love.” Declan sighed as he turned the ignition off by the turn of the key, unbuckled his belt and unlatched the door. He awaited you to hop out of the car before he could lock it and you followed one another into the boujee local pub. There was a man at the front entrance taking photos for his very obvious job as the paparazzi, Declan put his arm around you to shield you from the flash of the camera. “In we go.” He spoke in tune as he held the door open for you and you began to notice the decorations of the place, the people cheering at Declan’s appearance and the logo of venturer plastered everywhere.

“There’s the man of the hour!” Rupert came over and nudged Declan’s head in spirit of camaraderie. “What took you so goddamn long, I’m almost pissed!” Your father barked as he swayed his pint of beer almost pouring it on Declan’s shoulder. You sway around the opposite side of Declan to push your father away, his eyes giving you a joking scorn. “Christ, darling, you’re acting like your mother.” That retort caused you to walk to the bar in the hopes Basil will cheer you up with his gentle charm. Your father sickened you sometimes, always absent, never considerate of his words, unless it was to Freddie or Declan, not even his own daughter.

Declan eyed you from across the room, saw how you ordered pure orange juice, a stark contrast from the wine you downed in his country kitchen, it confused him, yet comforted him that you weren’t letting Rupert’s words send you into an unneeded frenzy of self-destructedness. You weren’t even aware of his eyes on you, you were too busy watching Basil make a cocktail for Lizzie, as he gave you a step-by step. Declan was being swayed to the sound of music by Sebastian and Rupert as they chanted for the hopes of their victory in the bid. As you sipped the orange juice with bits in it, as punishment your dad yelled over to you, “Look at you, all sinister and gloomy, cheer up!” He swung pint glass to his lips and chugged the remainder of the drink, leaving a scoff to escape your mouth, causing Declan to shove Rupert off him and he approached you. “Up, we’re going outside!” He grazed your shoulder and he looked pissed off but he was just tipped off by the carelessness of one Rupert Campbell-Black.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

As you walked outside to the beer garden, Declan ushered you to sit down. You looked rather glum, not needing anyone else to mention how you’re dragging the vibe of the night down. “Your dad’s a cunt.” He spoke abruptly, causing you to huff a laugh at pure surprise. “Could say that again.” You replied as you swirled your glass of depressing orange juice. He took you in, really took you in, his eyes scanning the sadness in your eyes, the frail feeling of your body leaning against the table, how your hand rested on your face as you bunched some of your hair with your fingers to keep it in place, how the pout on your lips sent a feeling of uproar within him at how careless you’re treated.

“I’m serious, love, you’re here to support him and he acts like you just appeared into thin air.” His brow was stern as he felt his words deeply, your eyes rolled from the glass to Declan, how his brown ones were already on you, like a hawk. “Venturer wouldn’t be what it is without you.” The affirmation of Declan’s words were a feeling of thrill you’d never expected to feel, no matter how hard you try, you can’t deny his words, he says them with such truth behind them you can’t help but feel inclined to believe him. “This whole ordeal is dumb. My dad’s just drunk.” The way you play it off like you deserve to be treated like this makes Declan more than upset, you’ve been belittled your entire life just to be expected to take it.

“Drunk or not he’s being a prick to ya.” Declan’s hand grasped the wooden outdoor chair until his knuckles went white. You looked him up and down weirdly, so unbelievably confused at why it got to him so bad, it’s not like he was the perfect father to his own kids. “My dad flips like a switch, Declan, you know this. In one minute he’ll come out and beg me to dance with him to one dumb fucking song.” You abandoned your orange juice and stood up, causing Declan to follow every movement of your limbs. “You deserve to be shown how wanted you are.” You give him a weird look, he’s clearly steamed out and you don’t wanna open your brain to the possibility he feels the same forbidden feelings you have for him.

“Dance with me.” He stands up now, his gaze meeting yours as you laugh at his absurdity. “I’m not joking.” His finger brushes the underside of your right palm and a shockwave sends it way down your spine. “It’s not like he’s going to.” The brush of his accent paints the receptors in your ears and all you can seem to do is nod. He leads you back inside. You don’t know what the fuck just happened.

As you reappear your dad greets you with a kiss to your temple and hands you a glass of wine. “Thought you’d snuck out on us.” His grin made you smile sharply at how easily he brushed over completely tearing you to shreds, good old father behaviour. As music played on the speakers, you looked over at Declan who remained beside you, he gave you a faint upturn of his lips, and nodded to the dance-floor where Lizzie and Freddie had already found their feet. You handed your dad the wine again. As the upbeat song seemed to speedily come to an end as you and Declan reached the floor, a longing ballad began to play, typical, you thought. Declan’s expression didn’t change, it didn’t feel weird to him, maybe you were just on the verge of breaking down by how much you feel for him.

‘I still Haven’t found what I’m looking for’ by U2 began to play and Declan’s hand met yours and he pulled you closer to his stoic frame. You felt out of place for some reason, maybe because you and Declan’s dynamic remained casual to everyone else but you felt as though he was the only one in that goddamn village that actually cared about your existence. His free hand grazed your back, starting up higher, feeling as though going too low would cause him to get a bruised lip from your father. “You’re doing good.” He assure you as you almost stood on his foot, with a small smile he spun you smoothly, before pulling you right back to him. As you swayed with him, one of his fingers raked through your hair as it began to fray into your face. “Thanks.” You breathlessly whispered as the feeling of his touch left shockwaves running through your body, even the sight of him caused you to melt in his hands.

From across the room your father remained holding the glass of wine, he swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched you dance with O’Hara. It unnerved him a little, how you would glance at him, it didn’t sit right with him, but as it were, he couldn’t do anything about it without being irrational. Your head rested on Declan’s chest as his rested atop your hair as you two moved in harmony, as the song came to a peaceful close, other couples and friends of the sort were swaying on the floor too, leaving Rupert even more reason to not approach you and tell you off.

The song ended and everything went back to normal as it didn’t happen, which left you a bit shell shocked by the lack of intimacy, you both walked to your father and you politely took the white wine glass off of him. “Thanks for minding it.” He just gave a nod with thinned lips as he struggled to make eye contact with Declan. “I’m going for a smoke.” Rupert quickly retreated to the beer garden, briskly.

As you sipped your wine you felt a hand on your lower back as Declan leaned down to whisper in your ear, “I think we made someone uncomfortable.” He grinned as he usually does, and you nudged his arm, as a means of telling him to grow up, yet even you couldn’t help but break out into a fit of laughter.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The night ended and Declan was you and Rupert’s lift, you drove down the road and your head rested on the armrest of the backseat with your eyes closed, you heard your father speak. “Pull up in here.” Declan looked at Rupert oddly. “That’s not your house, mate.” He huffed and you then opened your eyes, your dad then turned over his shoulder and glanced at you, “I’m well aware.” The way his voice sounded made you uneasy, you knew it was because you danced with Declan, he’s suspicious, his inner debater coming out. “So you want me to pull into my own house, are you expecting to crash on my sofa? You’re right up the road, you can hold out two minutes.” Declan protested and Rupert just shook his head and snapped his fingers, “Now! Anytime today please, Declan.”

“Fucking Christ!” Declan muttered under his breath as he turned into The Priory, and swirled round the fountain and parked by the front door, the living room light was on, Maud must’ve still been awake. “Out you get, sweetie, we’re going to have a chat.” Your dad’s smile, his fucking smile, you rolled your eyes and got out of the car and were met with the cool nighttime breeze, you made eye contact with Declan over the roof of the car, he was just as anxious as you were, “Right then, shall we?” Your dad led you both into the mansion, like a man possessed.

As you entered the large house, your father slipped off his coat. “Maud, come out here please.” He echoed and Declan created a fist with his hand as it rested in his trouser pocket, “Right, Rupert what the fuck are you doing?” You kept your eyes on the floor, following them to the kitchen, where Maud met you halfway, questioning what was wrong, noticing the sulking look on everyone’s face and the suffocating silence in the house.

Rupert swirled around the dining table, pulling out a seat, asking you to sit down, you do as he says, and sit down, and he puts his hands on your shoulders, the O’Hara couple standing there confused at Rupert’s drunken behaviour. “Declan here, has decided on his own accord that it’s okay to prey on my daughter.” You whip your head around and look at your dad, as the three of you yell a “WHAT?!” Rupert removed his hands from your shoulders and put them to his hips. “Maud, your husband was slow dancing with my child, touching her face, swaying with her, whispering sweet nothings, all the while I could see everything.” You hold the bridge of your nose as the vein in Mauds head pops out, Declan only bites his cheek, the fist he’s making growing tighter.

“Okay, first off, I’m not a child, I am Twenty-fucking-one! And it was a fucking dance. What’s your deal?” You complained as your father only walked towards Declan and grabs him by the shirt, “Do you get off on that, huh? Is this revenge for the hatred you so clearly still have for me? I’ve given up everything for this company, and this is how you repay me?!” Rupert bitterly spoke, then Declan’s fist meets Rupert’s in a firm clip. Maud shrieks and puts her hands to her mouth in aghast shock. You just sit there, eyes wide.

“It’s only because you don’t give a single fuck about her. Why’d you think she’s here everyday? It’s not because she likes the scenery because every house round here is the feckin same!” This time Declan has Rupert by his collar and corrected him. “You were verbally violating the poor girl and she needed someone. It was innocent, but you’re so up your own arse you’d believe anything you want to, wouldn’t ya?!” Declan shoved your father, as the rest of his body made an impact to the tiled ground, you stood up and scrambled to your dad, lifting his head up, his cheek was bleeding and purple, by this point Maud had left the room fed up with their childish antics and went to bed.

Rupert stood up and looked at the both of you. “You a make a great pair, you can spend the night since you love it so much!” Rupert left the room, grabbing his coat and slamming the front door, as he made his walk home. Declan’s eyes saddened seeing your heartbroken ones, your eyes glossed over as your father practically abandoned you on some suspicion. (Which he was correct on)

“Oh, love, c’mere.” He sighed as he pulled you into an embrace, your eyes finding shelter in his cotton shirt, dampening it with your tears. Now you know it can never be, but the way his hands ran through your hair, the way his kiss was placed atop your head, you were swooned Every. Single. Time. “Let me make a bed up for ya.” He rubbed your back as you followed him upstairs, he let you get under the covers of the spare bedroom and he sat at the end of the bed, making sure you were okay. “You just sleep this off, I’ll sort it out for you in the morning.” Declan kissed your forehead and turned the bedside lamp off, he stood up straight and gave you one last look-over. “Goodnight, sweet girl.” You hated watching him leave, knowing he was going to be sleeping beside someone else tonight.

[midnighthazee]

Greenridge ABO Series

a/n: I hope my lovely Greenies had a good Thanksgiving! I didn't write as much as I wanted to over the break but I still managed to get this chapter written! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist Masterlist

Warnings: a little bit of explicit language, pabo behavior

WC: 3931

Chapter 13

It had been a week. Seven days since Reed said he would take you back to Greenridge. Everytime you brought it up, he gave an excuse. He had work, his drivers were resting, he was waiting on visitors, blah blah. Last night, he left for a business meeting at HA headquarters without a word. 

Now you were bored out of your mind, wandering his mansion in the late afternoon. You figured you would be nosy since he left you here. You looked in all the bedrooms, realizing he gave you the nicest one out of all the guest rooms. That’s something…you suppose. You turn the corner out of the living room, nearly bumping into one of his men.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

He looked strangely familiar.

“Do I know you?” you asked.

“Uh…no.” he said, hurrying off.

Weird.

You proceeded down the hall, opening doors and finding a closet, or a room with priceless artifacts. Some sculptures, vases, and paintings cluttered the room. You moved on, finding a door with a staircase leading down.

Nothing good ever comes from a basement. You thought.

You found yourself walking down the stairs regardless, a few lanterns on the wall illuminating the dark space. You get to the bottom, no rank smells in the air like the basement you lived in. As you continue on, it’s dark. You feel along the wall and find a lightswitch. 

Light flicks on, illuminating the space. You see a kitchenette, a stack of dog bowls, and another door beyond. You open the door slowly, afraid of what’s on the other side. You hear noises as you step in, but from what?

It smells like…like outside or something. Dirt maybe? You proceed farther in the room, noticing glass doors on one side.They looked like cells, just extremely nicer than Lewis’s setup. As you approached, you noticed a shadowed figure inside. You step closer, squinting your eyes.

The figure moves suddenly, banging two paws on the glass and growling. You fall back, screaming and shielding yourself before you realize whatever it was didn’t break free. As you turn back, you realize it was a wolf - a huge wolf. There were several down this hall, a dozen beady eyes looking at you through the glass. You scramble to your feet and hurry out of the room. You get back to the kitchen, only to run into the guy you saw a few minutes ago.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” You pant. “W-why are there wolves?”

“They are Reed’s night patrol.”

“Night patrol?”

“He lets them out at night and they keep watch of his territory, ensuring no trespassers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He finds them more loyal apparently, but I think it’s stupid.” he chuckles.

“You sure we haven’t met before?” you ask once more. There was something about his smile that struck you.

He sighed. “We have.”

“Was it at Lewis’s house?”

“No. Um….it’s me…Hudson.”

You stared in shock. 

“Surprise?” he offered with a shrug and smile.

“But…how? How are you here?”

“He found me after mom and dad died and took me in.”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“I was supposed to leave you alone.”

“Why?”

“He just told me not to interact with you. He wouldn’t give details.”

“But…I’m here all alone…without my pack. Why wouldn’t he want me to know I have more family here?”

“I gotta go. And you should go upstairs to have dinner. I’ve seen you skipping meals.”

You look down. “I’m not hungry.”

“Lies. Go eat, y/n.”

Before you can protest or ask another question, he’s off, back upstairs and out of sight. You sigh, heading upstairs too. You didn’t eat, but you did stay in your room and watch tv to pass the time. Oh how you ached for your pack.

“Ugh, something scared her.” Minho grumbles. “I swear if that prick is torturing her…”

“Wouldn’t you feel the pain too?” Changbin asked.

“I guess. Ugh….I don’t know if it’s good or bad to have this connection to her when she’s not within reach.” Minho groans, running a finger through his hair.

“I would say good. You can keep an eye on her.” Hyunjin spoke, not looking up from his sketching.

“I guess. Ji, you find the address yet?” Minho asks, coming over to Han on his laptop.

“I’m almost in. Just another second….done. Let me just locate the files.” Jisung typed frantically on the keyboard.

Within a few minutes, he’d hacked into the HA database and was looking into the Blackmane pack for an address.

“Here we are. Blackmane Pack. Run by an alpha named Reed Kang.” Jisung stated. “Located on 53790 Woodmill Rd.”

“How far are we from that?” Jeongin asks.

“Uh, it looks like…an hour.”

“Great. Let’s move.” Minho says, rising from the motel bed.

The Greenridge pack, accompanied by the I-Land pack, drove to the Blackmane Manor. The sun was setting and soon everything was covered by darkness. The roads were scarcely lit, and the houses were very spaced apart. But in less than an hour, they arrived and buzzed the intercom at the front gate.

“What’s your purpose for this visit?” a man’s voice said on the intercom.

“I’m here to see Mr. Kang. It’s an urgent matter.” Minho spoke, eyeing the gate and what he could see of the front lawn.

“Mr. Kang is not present. Please come back tomorrow.”

“Is there no alpha or beta I could speak with in his place?” 

“No. Come back tomorrow.”

Minho groans. He looks at the house, knowing you are here. They back up, driving down the road before parking. He groups up with I-land, suggesting they hop the fence and save you.

“We don’t know how many are guarding the place. If he really isn’t here, he could have left her heavily guarded.” Jungwon’s beta, Jake, said.

“I’m counting on the fact that he would think we know nothing of this place. Or would have taken longer to find it. Let’s go.” Minho explained.

“Min, can’t we think this over?” Changbin suggests.

“She’s in there. It’s like I can feel how close she is.” Minho stares at Changbin.

Changbin backs down, following his alpha. 

They head down the street, finding a good spot to breach. Quickly, they scaled the brick wall and began running through the yard. They made it halfway to the house when a howl rang out into the night.

“Guys…that sounded close.” Felix noted, looking around.

“Oh, shit. Over there. Run!” Sunoo yelled.

They all looked in the direction he pointed, seeing three large figures headed their way. They took off, running quickly back to the wall.

“Spread out, they can’t chase us all.” Heeseung yelled.

In efforts of getting to the wall, they all spaced out, making the wolves distance themselves and lock in on a target. Niki and Heeseung reached first, leaping and climbing over. Hyunjin and Sunoo were next, followed by Jake, Jeongin and Felix. Changbin helped the rest scale the wall, as the wolves closed in.

“Hurry!” Felix and Sunoo yelled from the other side. 

Changbin grabbed onto a vine, pulling himself up. One of the wolves lunged out, grabbing him by the pants leg - their teeth slightly nipping the skin. Changbin tried to pull up, the wolf trying to pull him down. His other leg kicked frantically, fighting off the two other wolves. He managed to kick one in the face before landing a blow to the wolf who had him by the pants.

He heaved himself up and over the wall, falling to the ground in a huff. He sat there a second, catching his breath. Felix was quick to look him over as the others bent down.

“You okay?”

“You good?”

“The teeth marks are shallow. Should heal quickly.” Felix informed.

“I’m alright.” Changbin reached his hands out.

Minho and Jungwon pulled him up to his feet and they all headed back to their cars. Changbin had a slight limp but managed to get there on his own. Minho was cursing himself for not being able to get to you.

“What if we deflect? Cause commotion that draws the wolves attention away, while the rest of us sneak up to the house…” Seungmin suggests.

“We don’t know how many wolves there are. If we don’t get them all in one location, we won’t make it in.” Sunghoon said, leaning against the car.

“How do we figure out how many there are?” Jay asked.

“We could always go back in, run around the yard and hope we can outrun them.” Jisung suggested, earning a glare from several of them. “Or not…”

Meanwhile, you were currently hiding in an alley, checking around the corner before proceeding down the sidewalk. You had managed to sneak out the house before nightfall, claiming you wanted some fresh air. Once you learned about the wolves, you decided you had to make your attempt before nightfall, instead of after. And with Reed not home, you figured today was the day. So you asked to get some fresh air, laying in the grass for a bit, and idling walking around before they finally were distracted enough for you to slip away. The guards were on their phones, not realizing what you were up to. Before they knew it, you were off the property and heading into the local town.

So far, the streets were quite desolate, a few cars driving by here and there. Each one made you tense as you worried it was Reed or his men, hiding into an alley or shadow every time. You also jumped at the howl of wolves heard in the distance. They must be the ones Reed kept at his disposal.

As you walked, you kept your hands tucked under your arms. It was chilly and you regretted not wearing a jacket before running off. It probably would have made it obvious since it was warm before the sun set but you could have made an excuse. 

Turning down a street, you hoped to come across someone, anyone, who could take you home. Or maybe you could at least find a place to stay for the night so you wouldn’t be out in the cool autumn air. You followed the sounds of people and came across a pub. There were loads of people inside, loud and boisterous as they laughed and drank. At least they would probably be too drunk to notice you (or remember seeing you). You head inside, thankful for the warmth and keep your head low. You notice a fireplace off in the back and make your way over there. It was warm and cozy so you settled in at the table next to it.

“Hi, what can I getcha?” a young woman asked, startling you.

“Just water…wait, is water free?” you ask.

The girl chuckled. “Yeah, it’s free.” 

She walked off towards the bar and you focused back on the fire. Within a few minutes, she returned with two drinks.

“This one is on the house. It’s alcohol free.” She smiled, hurrying off to the next table.

You smiled, looking at the beverage. It looked like lemonade, so you took a sip. It wasn’t lemonade, but it was good. You sipped it while warming up by the fire. You looked around at all the people, trying to find someone who could possibly help you. Most of the people in here were big, burly men that were intimidating. They smelled like alphas, at least from what you could differentiate, and that worried you. Were they like Lewis? Or would they be nice and helpful like Chan? 

You finished your drink, now drinking the water as you scoot closer down the bench to the fire.

“Would you like a refill?” the girl asked.

“No. Water is fine.” you force a smile.

“What’s an omega like you doing here all alone?” she asked, whispering as she leaned over the table. 

Your eyes widened.

“I can smell you. And I’m sure I’m not the only one.” she looked over her shoulder briefly. “Be careful, they get handsy when they are drunk. It’s not safe for a little omega like you around here.”

You caught her scent - beta.

“Is there somewhere I should go?” you asked.

“There you are!” A guy’s voice interrupted.

“Hudson?” your brows furrowed. “How did you find me?” 

The girl walked away, but, unbeknownst to you, she kept an eye on you. She could smell a damsel in distress a mile away.

“I figured since you escaped, you came here. A town with people who could possibly bring you home.” He shrugged, sitting next to you. “Was I right?”

You shifted in your seat.

“You need to come back,” he whispered.

“No.”

“Y/n…if Reed finds out you got away, he will come for you.”

“He can try. I need to get back to my pack.” 

“Y/n…”

“He doesn’t own me. I spent thirteen years of my life being trapped. I’m not going back to that.”

“He said he would take you back. Just give him time.”

“Give him time for more excuses? No. He’s your alpha, not mine.” You move to get up, but he grabs your wrist. 

“Please. I just got you back…” he pleaded. 

His voice was sincere, the pain evident in his tone. You had missed him dearly and were happy to have him back in your life. But it wasn’t enough to stay. You couldn’t live with Reed’s pack. You wanted to live at Greenridge - it’s where you belong.

“Come with me.” you say.

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can. I’m sure Chan would let you.”

“I already pledged myself to Reed. I…I can’t…” he looks down sadly.

“I’ll miss you once more.” you say, pulling your wrist from his grip and walking towards the exit.

You nearly get to the door when someone’s arms pull you back, spinning you around.

“Hudson, let-” You started to protest.

“Go out the back. Reed’s men are searching the streets.” Hudson says, nodding his head to the back door.

“Thank you.” you say, embracing him in a hug.

He hugs you back tightly. You pull apart, heading to the back while he leaves through the front.

Out back, you hurry down the alley, peaking around the corner to see Hudson pointing them in the direction opposite of you. They hurry off and you slip down the street in the cover of darkness. It felt even colder now but you pushed on, up the curved hillside.

The street eventually leveled out, only illuminated by the street lamps as you walked. You hugged yourself, pushing through the cold air that bit at your skin. You didn’t know how long you had been walking but your feet were beginning to hurt.

You hadn’t trained with Changbin for long and you were regretting complaining every time. You would sweet talk your way out of it half the days he trained everyone. If you had let him train you, maybe you wouldn’t be struggling so much.

You heard the wolves howling once more, breaking up the silence of the deserted road. Up ahead was an intersection. You noticed a few cars driving through, their headlights briefly illuminating the street ahead. You kept walking, hoping to put as much distance between you and Reed’s men as you could. 

You got to the corner, stopping by the edge of the building. Each direction had an incoming car so you waited for them to pass before crossing the street. You looked ahead, squinting from the bright headlights shining in your direction. The car crossed through the intersection and you stepped to the curb, seeing the car going the opposite direction also pass.

Suddenly, the color red illuminates the road, tires squealing. You freeze, noticing the second car stopped in the middle of the road. It looked like the suv Reed’s men drove as it began to back up. You panic. 

Shit… they found me, you thought.

Looking to the right, you see the sidewalk is clear, an alley not too far up. You take off running, hoping to turn the corner before they see you. You hear tires squealing again, a roar of the engine following. They were speeding up to catch up to you. You pushed your legs faster, fear fueling you. You approach the alley, cutting the corner and running down the dark path. You see a dumpster and quickly duck behind it.

The headlights illuminate the alley and you curse yourself for not being faster. They must have seen you turn down the alley. You wait for them to pass ready to bolt as soon as they do. The car cautiously drives down the alley, slowly passing the dumpster. Taking a few breaths to brace yourself, you pop out from behind and hurry back up the alley towards the street. You’re nearly at the street when a voice calls out.

“Y/N!” 

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn around, seeing two figures walking towards you. It couldn’t be…

“Y/n?” one questioned as you squinted.

“Changbin? Jisung?” you whispered.

As they approached, the street lamps illuminated their faces. You rushed over to them, swinging an arm around each of their necks and pulling them into a hug. They hugged you back tightly and you felt the tears filling your eyes.

“Oh my god you don’t know how relieved we are to see you.” Jisung said, pulling you into his own hug.

“We’ve been looking all over for you. We were about to sneak onto the Blackmane property to rescue you.” Changbin said.

Felix came rushing over, followed by the others. He took you by surprise, lifting you off the ground. You giggle and he puts you down with a pout. “You’ve lost weight.”

You blush, looking to the ground as he looks you over for any physical evidence of abuse on your body. 

“I’m fine, Lixie.” you say.

Hyunjin stands next to Felix, smiling at you. You smile back and he scoops you up, spinning you around. As soon as he puts you down, Seungmin is pulling him off you so he can squeeze you into a hug as well. You look over and see Jeongin smiling at you. You open your arms towards him and he comes over, arms going under yours and lifting you off the ground. You wrap your arms around his neck, relaxing into him. Never did you think you would be so comfortable with an alpha.

Their scents each engulfed you, relaxing you immediately. You were elated, comforted by their presence and grateful to finally be reunited. It had been a long, lonely week without them and you were happy you wouldn’t have to keep running.

Changbin and Jisung are boasting about how they finally have you back, Felix mumbling about how you look like you’ve lost weight. But you weren’t paying them attention, instead walking away from them to approach Minho who was leaning against the trunk observing the whole reunion.

You walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tight. Everyone stopped talking of course, watching for his reaction. He had been so cold before you left, beating himself up about hurting you. But right now, you didn’t care. He could give you the cold shoulder tomorrow, but right now you wanted the comfort of your alpha. 

As you press your cheek to his chest, holding onto him as if this was all a dream and he would disappear, he couldn’t help but smile. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head as he inhaled your scent. His eyes closed as he breathed you in. God he had missed you.

You could feel the bond strengthening, your mark tingling as you both held onto each other. 

“Wait, where’s Chan?” you asked.

“Um…he’s fine. He’s safe. He’s just um…” Minho tried to find the words.

“Is he still at the Hybrid Association? But Hyunjin and Jisung are here?”

“How did you know we were there?” Hyunjin questions.

“Reed told me. Then he took me there but he hurried me out as soon as I gave my statement of what happened with Lewis.”

“You were there?! At headquarters?!” Jisung exclaims.

“Yes.”

“That son of a bitch.” Changbin growled.

“What happened to Chan?”

“It’s complicated…” Minho starts. “He’s being detained.” “For what?!” “Murder.” 

“What? He didn’t kill Lewis. Reed did.”

“He killed Hayes and Milo…”

“Th-they’re dead?”

“Reed didn’t tell you?” Felix asked.

“Not that part…” you shook your head.

“They wouldn’t let us see him.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the law to not murder a fellow hybrid.” Minho explained. “Plus his past…it complicates things.”

“His past?”

“I’ll explain it later.”

“But-”

 Headlights turning into the alley interrupted the conversation. You tensed, noticing the other car.

“It’s alright.” Minho spoke. “It’s one of our allied packs.”

You looked up at him and he smiled at you. His expression was soft as he looked at you, making you blush.

“How’d you find her?” one of the men from the new car asked as he got out.

“She was wandering the streets. We got lucky.” Jisung said.

“Y/n, this is Alpha Jungwon. He’s been helping us.”

“Nice to meet you.” you say, one arm still wrapped around Minho’s waist.

“You too. Glad to see you're safe and unharmed. We were all worried.” Jungwon said with a smile.

“We should probably get out of here.” Changbin noted. “They are probably looking for you.”

You nod.

The eight of you piled into one car, the other pack in the other car. Minho led them back onto the main road, and they got on the freeway, attempting to get far from town before they stopped for the night.

You were sandwiched between Jisung and Seungmin, having fallen asleep on Jisung’s lap during the drive. You hadn’t slept well since being away from home and it was already late at night. Jisung rubbed your head soothingly as you laid in his lap. Felix eyed you from Seungmin’s other side, making sure you were truly okay. Hyunjin and Jeongin were in the way back of the suv nearly falling asleep as well.

Nearly two hours later, Minho decided to stop for the night. They needed to rest up and get some food, so he found a motel to stop at. As everyone shifted to get out of the car, you groaned at being woken up.

“Sorry, y/n. But we are going inside, c’mon.” Jisung said.

You sat up, looking around. You get out, following them up to the rooms. Minho and Jisung decided to share the room with the king bed. The rest of the boys are with you in the other room with two double beds. Jungwon got his pack a couple rooms too and they split up, saying goodnight.

You got into the room, it smelling stuffy and old.

“We will be back home soon. It’s just for the night.” Seungmin placed a hand on your shoulder, offering a smile.

You went to the bathroom, wanting to shower but too tired to do so. Plus you didn’t have a change of clothes. So you just wash your hands and go back into the room.

Changbin pulls you to the bed near the window, insisting you share with him. Jeongin joins in, leaving Felix, Hyunjin, and Seungmin to the other bed closer to the door. Laying between the two of them made you feel so safe and warm, lulling you to sleep rather quickly. The two of them stared at you in awe before they too fell asleep.

TAGLIST:

@estella-novella @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @butterflydemons @readr1221 @gaby105-skz @notevenheretbh1 @bah2004 @sinfulfic @bowsnbang @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @dreamerwasfound @motheraiya55 @m00njinnie @writeuntilthebitterend @jutdwae-flower @staytinyluv @emmxxsworld @galaxy4489 @wolfo2027 @iknow-uknow-leeknow @thatgirlangelb @fr34k4c1dr41n @stwq2349 @rylea08 @sang-09 @scarlet789 @hxnnielk

Shout out to my lovely beta @cherry-erii

[hyperobsessedd]

Loser!reader X Fuckboy!joost

a/n: I’m thinking about doing a different version of this with the same concept but different plot. lmk if you’d want that.

Also this is pt.1, I just got scatter brained towards the end, pt.2 will be out sometime this week.

cw: reader is a bit insecure, some colorful language

⟡⋆.˚❀⋆.˚���

Loser!reader who still kept in touch with some of their school friends, not because they wanted to build a genuine connection with the person but because, A. They didn’t want to seem rude, and B. Their biggest fear was being alone in the world. Although they would never actually tell anyone (kinda).

Loser!reader never really liked writing essays in school, writing could be fun but writing a 3 page essay about the 50 year history of ethnic studies in schools wasn’t exactly fun. All the thoughts they had running in their head was getting to be annoying so instead of staying up late at night thinking about past mistakes, they started writing down their thoughts in a journal. They would almost never go back and read the entries but having a place to write down their ideas, thoughts, and feelings was nice.

Loser!reader really only had one close friend in their school days who understood them and found their quirks charming and not weird. It had been years since they last spoke to that friend and that decision plagued their thoughts a lot. As a way to work towards gaining more self confidence they looked around on social media for that friend and hoped that they could reconnect. After a couple hours of searching they found the friend’s instagram page. At first they felt happy but as they scrolled through the page they started to feel worse, their friend had a picture perfect lifestyle; photos with many of their friends, a dog, and even a partner.

Loser!reader who let go of all the negative thoughts and just went for it by sending the now stranger a message.

Loser!reader stared at their phone screen, instantly regretting their decision. They immediately turned off their phone and started to write in the journal, just wanting to get their thoughts out of their head. After a few minutes of silence they checked their phone again to see a notification from instagram, it was your friend!

Loser!reader and their friend who started to chat and reminisce on old memories. The old banter between you two returned and for the first time in years they felt…happy? Your friend was also easy to talk to, she was also the one who would talk for you whenever you felt shy. She also tried taking you to every outing that she was invited to but you almost never accepted the invitation and if you did you were stuck in the corner of some random house nursing your drink while your friend was out there trying to include you (you didn’t really realize that until one night of deep thinking).

Loser!reader’s friend who invited them out, she told you that you didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to. You secretly felt elated at the idea of going out with your old friend but no one (except your journal) would ever know that.

Loser!reader who for some reason didn’t seem worried about the outing. You didn’t overthink at all for the first time in years and you were able to pick out an outfit without thinking about how you’d look.

Loser!reader felt a little strange at the party. Their were so many (all) unfamiliar faces and everyone in the house looked like they were judging you (everyone was focused on themselves). You made your way through the tight space, waddling behind your friend like a baby penguin who has never seen anything beyond the egg they hatched from.

Loser!reader who felt all the memories from high school come back, the feelings of self doubt in social situations, being overwhelmed by the amount of people in the room, and the crippling feeling of being judged by not only strangers but by their own friend. You excused yourself from the area, telling your friend that you had to use the restroom and that it would take a while.

Loser!reader who was back to their usual self, all alone on the balcony with upbeat music in the background. Being a literal outsider while everyone was enjoying themselves and having fun. Everything was starting to get overwhelming and you could feel the tears start to pool in your eyes, threatening to come out at any moment. But just as you were about to start sobbing, someone else came into the balcony.

Fuckboy!joost who was known for being a manwhore. He was fairly handsome (who are we kidding he is hot asf) and such a charmer. Most of his ‘relationships’ were just one night stands and his longer term relationships usually ended with his partner getting sick of him going to parties all the time and shamelessly flirting with other people. He was used to having whatever he wanted, cars, girls and guys, he would always find a way to get what he wanted even if that involved breaking someone else’s heart just to get to his end goal. As long as his desires were fulfilled then nothing else would matter.

Fuckboy!joost who had noticed you from the moment you entered, something about you pulled him in. It might have been your shy smile that made you look oh so innocent, your soft eyes with traces of hurt which would make you easier to get, hell maybe it was just your obvious signs of weakness but whatever it was he wanted to take advantage of it, no matter the cost.

[hegodamask]

It still doesn't feel real to be making this post. But we had to say goodbye to Leia last night.

She's been in my life almost as long as I've been on Tumblr. For anyone who's followed me a long time, you'll know she used to feature on this blog a lot before I started to hold back on posting more personal stuff.

Leia was stubborn, independent and definitely the boss in our house. She was the last of her litter to be homed and wailed all the way on the journey back to our house. It was probably too late to train the sass out of her by that point.

If it was dinner time, she'd let you know. If someone was approaching the house, she'd let you know before they even got to the gate. Even when our other dog, Bo grew much bigger than her, she was still the one in charge. If she were human, I always imagined her as some eccentric aristocrat who'd chase trespassers off her property with gun and then go back to eating and sleeping in her mansion all day.

But every day I'd come home from work she'd run to me for a cuddle. If you were upset, she'd know. Just her presence alone really helped my family through some tough times these past 12 years. We would take her to visit my Nana to cheer her up. And when my Nana passed away this summer she was there for us. She had had the softest fur and these big brown eyes that would comfort you through anything, and she always wanted to be with us.

Then yesterday, after being sick on and off for a little while, things took a turn for the worse. The vet said they could continue treating her, but all it would do is just prolong her life a few more days before the inevitable.

So goodbye, Leia-loo. And thank you. I'll miss you running into my room to tell me dinner's ready, I'll miss your obsession with big shopping bags and Christmas wrapping paper. I will miss having your weird, defiant little self around.

Safe travels to the big Sainsbury's bag in the sky ✨

[rileys-battlecats]

was trying to figure out why I feel so Wrong rn and I think it's because I didn't follow my usual daily routine like At All and now my brain is freaking out. woke up at a vastly different time, had entirely different tasks throughout the day, took a nap at a weird time (to make up for the fact I had about 3 hours of sleep last night), zero human contact for the past 15 hours, and ate different food from usual (various leftovers from social events/thanksgiving, instead of cooking for myself like normal). and before I really realized that these were all things that were Bad For My Brain I was just wandering around my house like "why do I feel like garbage?? I've literally been outside so much today my brain should be happy"

ANYWAY here's to me not remembering I have issues with unstructured living because my days have been so similar for the past 4ish years that I straight up Forgot that things being too different too fast makes me crazy ✌️

[lonely--seeker]

I think I'm going insane. Lately my dreams have been so mundane, it wouldn't be weird if I wasn't just a person that has nightmares 80% of the time, so I now my dreams are so hard to distinguish from reality.

I wouldn't be able tell what was real from what not if it wasn't because last night I went to my doctor's appointment and I was handed new glasses by Harvey just to go back home and find out Laois was cooking something in my backyard.

[david-watts]

I think at this point I'm immune to gaslighting like fucking try me. don't say 'I haven't rearranged the pantry' when you have, actually, and made a massive fuss about it

[piknim]

I always see people say that they got a puppy from a breeder because theyll know the temperament and it wont be reactive/agressive, while saying any dog you get from the shelter will be reactive or unpredictable... but 90% of the people ive seen online with reactive dogs are "well bred" dogs from a breeder, and the owner is anti rescue/shelter

[celepeace]

Man they weren't kidding about how even if you push down emotions consciously your body will Remember

[wish-i-were-heather]

ok wait i might have woken up at 12 but imma try to make today productive 😣😣

[whiskeyswifty]

.

[theborzoiarebackintown]

I’m going to a friend’s house this weekend for new years and borzoi fun, and put together some treat bags for her dogs. Margo insisted on being my quality control team, sniffing bags, sampling treats, etc. I think she did an amazing job!!!!!

[patheticpuppyboyslut]

(not hornyposting just musing lol) so i’m a singer-songwriter and performer irl and i’m thinking about the fact that i go around on a day to day basis singing serious, professional songs that use dogs and brainwashing and cannibalism as painful heartbroken metaphors. and i’ve been doing this for years but little by little all these things i process my anguish through in songwriting, have also become how i satisfy my sex drive. and i don’t know what to do with that information i just think it’s wild!! fun fact abt me i guess. i go out there in public singing about how service is my fulfillment and calling myself a good boy and i sing about wanting to be violently torn apart and eaten and i’m like. yeah it’s a metaphor. yeah dw i’m really normal. i don’t fantasize about having my humanity stripped from me and being treated like a stupid sweet puppy barking and whining for my lovers sick and twisted pleasure what are you TALKING about. i just like the poetic imagery of it. i SWEAR.

[vivanightcity]

talking RP makes me miss my little idiot who larps as a human from a regency era novel but has no fucking idea about anything at all.