#like why can’t you see that!!!!!!! why can’t you meet me where I’m at and understand that!!!!!

[mattscoquette]

𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑷 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑫𝒀𝑰𝑵𝑮 | 𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒕𝒐 𝒀𝑨𝑳𝑬

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉.. you have another study session with chris and he suggests a way to really help him remember

smut, oral (male receiving), swearing, stripping, kinda sub!chris, use of y/n, frat boy!chris, college au

2.9k words

chris’ eyebrows furrowed as he peered down at the textbook in front of him, trying his hardest to try to absorb what he was actually reading. you smiled softly at his actions, finding it almost endearing how hard he was trying. it was only basic american history, but to chris it might as well have been written in latin.

“okay,” you spoke softly, watching as his gaze met yours, “tell me what you read.”

chris closed his eyes and exhaled, as if to mentally prepare himself to recite the text he just read. you had been trying a new method of studying with chris, deeming it nearly foolproof. well, for you, but any study method for you was easy. you would have chris read a chapter section by section, then try to reiterate everything he read out loud and teach it to you. “well,” he began, his expression puzzled as he thought, “the pilgrims came from england because they wanted land.” you smiled, watching as he continued to speak. “and, uh.. they wanted religious freedom too.”

“yeah,” you grinned, nodding your head, “what else?”

his face dropped, looking at you like you were just speaking a foreign language. “what do you mean what else?”

“i mean,” you giggled, “why else did they come here? where did they land, what were the colonies like, there’s more to it. you need to remember details.”

chris groaned loudly, burying his head in his crossed arms as he flopped his head down on his desk. he peaked up at you, his brown curls that were tucked into his backwards hat falling loose over his eyes.

you knew he’d been working hard, getting his grades up high enough to keep him on the lacrosse team. however once they were where they needed to be, they had to stay there. much to your delight, you had been tutoring (and fucking) chris for longer than anticipated. you’d figured that you would have just been another number added to his body count after the frat party, but chris was very adamant on wanting to see you again. and being his tutor three days a week made it so much easier. you both decided studying at each other’s dorms would be a more sufficing place to study, finding the privacy much more convenient than the library.

“y/n this is so hard,” he complained, his voice whiny as he looked up at you, “i can’t remember anything.”

you pouted slightly, sympathizing for him as you ran your fingers across his shoulders in attempts to help him relax. he sighed, eyes meeting yours as he looked up at you. “you’re doing really well,” you told him quietly as you scratched his back, “your average went up a whole letter grade in a month while you have been playing lacrosse. that’s not easy.”

“i’m gonna fail my test next week if i can’t remember this shit.” he mumbled into his crossed arms as he sighed.

you hummed, continuing to trace your nails along his back over his sweatshirt. “let’s take a break, hm? your brain is probably fried right now.”

chris tilted his head back against the chair, leaning down and sprawling his legs out underneath the desk, his arms crossing over into his face. “everything i try doesn’t work.” he grumbled.

you halt your movements on his back, your brows furrowing. “what do you mean?”

“every method of studying you’ve taught me. nothing works. flash cards, blurting, re writing notes. it won’t stay in my brain, like, at all.” chris says, looking over at you. “you look confused.”

“i am,” you murmur, “but you’ve passed your tests. you got Bs and even a few As. what do you mean it isn’t working?”

chris buries his face in his hands on his desk, trying his best to explain it. in the last month, he was convinced it’s been the hardest he ever had to work in school, and it seemed to have been getting the best of him. “it’s like, i learn this shit, but not all of it stays in my brain. i’m only, like, 70% sure of the answers i put on tests and whatever. i need to remember.”

you look at him, drawing your hand back into your lap and crossing them together. you look down at your lap blink, trying to think of a new method of studying. everything you tried had worked for you, how hard can it be for chris to learn? sure, he is nowhere near your academic level, but studying a skill you can learn, the same way you can learn how to play lacrosse.

“well,” you begin slowly, “are there any … ideas you may have? maybe some sort of association we can work on-”

chris perks up at this. “association?”

you blink again, nodding slowly. “yeah, like … maybe we can try and relate something to what you’ve just read, and then that association will help you remember?”

you’ve never tried this method before. hell, you never even have thought about it before, you were just trying to put yourself in chris’ shoes and rack your brain on how you can get him to remember.

he’s smirking now. it’s working.

“i have an idea,” he nearly purrs, leaning in closer towards you, “you strip for me.”

your eyes are wide as you look at chris. “strip?” you sputter, “like, like how?”

now he’s got a cheshire cat grin smile plastered on his face. he nods, eyeing you up and down. “come on, y/n/n, it’ll be fun,” he coaxes, “i’ll remember all this shit so clearly if i associate it with seeing you in just your panties.”

you smirk softly, your eyes flickering between his lips and bright blue eyes. “fine,” you say, “but you better get an A on this test or we’re back to flashcards.”

he smiles wide and leans in to peck your lips, pulling away to return to his abandoned open textbook, finding where he had left off. “okay, so,” he grinned, turning to look at you, “how are we doing this?”

now it’s your turn to smile. “i think a reward system will do - for every correct answer to a question i give, i’ll take a piece of my clothes off. deal?”

chris swallows hard, his eyes wide as he nods. he isn’t used to you being the one calling the shots, and he can already feel his dick twitching at the thought. “y-yeah. that’s cool, that’s cool.”

you smile as you watch the brunette not-so-subtly re-adjust his shorts and return to his book, looking even more engaged than before. this time, he actually studies the text, taking in as much information as his brain will hold. before he even realizes, forty five minutes have gone by, and he’s finished the chapter.

he looks up, turning to you, closing the book. “okay, i’m ready. hit me.”

a grin creeps across your face, sitting up straight as you turn to face chris. “tell me about jamestown.”

chris inhales, closing his eyes as he recalls the paragraphs upon paragraphs he just read. “it was the first colony.”

you smile, nodding for him to continue.

“it was in virginia. john smith, like, ran it. he taught all the settlers how to farm and shit so the colony would survive.” he says, looking to you for reassurance almost, and exhales happily when he sees you smiling and nodding.

“good job,” you say in a sultry voice, your hands crossed across your chest, toying with the ends of your shirt, “tell me more about the early colonies.”

chris’ eyes go wide as he watches you tease him, his erection growing more and more as he tries to focus.

“there was a fuck ton in new england. plymouth was the big one, that was here in mass. they came on the mayflower and wanted to be separated from the church. so, uh, they became puritans.”

you can’t help but smile. you feel like a proud parent watching their kid walk for the first time. you life your shirt over your head, revealing your laced bra, leaving very little to chris’ imagination. he swallows hard, eyes raking over you and your body, his dick fully hard now and poking up against his sweat shorts.

“my eyes are up here chris,” you smile slyly, leaning forward to tilt his chin back up to you. “tell me about the puritans.”

chris swallows hard, slowly bringing his eye back up to you, breathing heavily. you could tell this was really getting to him, watching as he tried to think of something other than your tits. “they didn’t want to be a part of the church of england anymore. they wanted to, like, purify it or whatever.”

“or whatever?” you smirked, cocking your head to the side, “i don’t think ‘or whatever’ will pass you on a test.”

he just stares at you blankly, sitting there topless at his desk, before processing what you had just told him. he shakes his head, trying to focus. “yeah, um, they didn’t agree with the church of england. they thought it was too catholic, and they wanted to make their own practice.”

you grinned nodding your head. “good job.” you tell him seductively, standing up slowly as you maintain eye contact. your hands reach around to the back of your pleated skirt, unzipping it and letting it pool around your ankles. you reveal your lace and frilly panties that match your bra, chris’ eyes going wide. you sit back down, only this time on his lap, his clothed dick pressed against you.

you smile at him, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “you remembering okay?”

his face has no color as he nods, his throat going dry. “yeah,” he stammers, “keep ‘em coming.”

you dip your head down, leaving feather-like kisses up his neck, stopping when you get to his ear, biting the lobe softly before speaking quietly again. “one more question, then i’m all yours, think you can do it?”

chris shudders against you, nodding his head as you press a few more kisses to his neck, pulling away as you look down at him. “what was the mayflower compact?”

he closes his eyes, his mind buzzing with the thought of you as it goes blank. he tries, he really does, to remember what the hell you just asked him. but the only thing swirling around his head right now was you sitting in his lap half naked. he looks up at you, shaking his head. “i can’t remember.” he says softly.

“no?” you pout teasingly, beginning to climb off his lap, “guess i need to put something back on.”

“wait,” he replies, a little too quickly, pulling you back on to his lap by your hips, “i know it, lemme think.”

you grin, watching his eyes screw shut again, racking his brain on what it possibly could be. “that … that was the contract, right? that all the settlers signed when they got to plymouth?”

“are you asking me or telling me?” you grin, running your hand down his chest, playing with the strings of his hoodie as you leaned in close.

“telling you.” he whispered, eyes flicking from your own down to your lips. he leans in, about to press his mouth to yours when you pull away.

“what was the significance of it?”

“fuck i don’t know,” chris whines, furrowing his brows while he looks up at you, “it was to make laws, all the settlers signed it to agree to be civil.”

you giggled, finally giving in and pressing your lips to chris’ and sighing softly. he was quick to try and deepen the kiss, having grown so needy from the thirty minutes of teasing you’d just put him through. chris’ hands roamed across your hips and ass, squeezing the flesh roughly. you decided to let chris take control as you opened your mouth slightly, letting him explore its insides as his tongue swirled around yours.

you moaned into his mouth, arms wrapped around his neck while you pressed your chest against chris’ and leaned back slightly. you could tell he was desperate from the way he was grinding your hips against his, and began to trail kisses down his neck. you sucked and licked at the skin, leaving small dark love bites in your wake. chris made no attempts to conceal his noises, soft moans and whines escaping his lips as your lips made their round across his neck, your hips sure to have bruises where his fingers dug into you.

“tell me what you want.” you sighed into his ear, slowly grinding your hips down against his clothed erection. you kissed and nipped at the spot behind chris’ ear, earning a quiet moan.

“your mouth, ma, need you to suck me.” chris whispered, tilting his head to its side to give you better access to his neck. you pulled away with a grin plastered across your lips, eyes flicking up and down his face.

“you want my mouth?” you repeated in a teasing tone, leaning in to hover your lips above chris’. “you think you worked hard enough today to deserve it?”

he nodded frantically, damn near ready to beg you if he had to. “please baby, i wanna feel your pretty lips around me.”

between his dick rutting against your heat and the noises he was making, you were already soaked. but, right now was about chris, and giving him his reward. you began to slowly slide off of his lap and onto the ground, perched on your knees in front of chris. you looked up at him with wide eyes, not looking away as you teasingly ran your hands up his thighs. he was a whining mess, eager for you. your fingers played with the waistband of his shorts, steadily pulling them down his legs and pooling them around his ankles.

chris was practically rock hard at this point, feeling like he could cum from the slightest of touches from you. he sighed shakily as he felt your nails delicately trace his bulge over his navy boxers, murmuring to him softly.

“you’ve been working so hard lately,” you spoke in a whispered tone, “you want me to help relieve from stress, hm?”

“mhm, yeah.” chris groaned, his head thrown back as his hands came up to cup your face, thumbs tracing your jawline. you tilted your head slightly, leaving a few pecks to chris’ hands before turning your attention back to his dick. you sighed gently, leaning in to press open mouth kisses to chris’ cock, tongue occasionally darting out across the fabric.

you pulled back, flicking your eyes back up to his and you flashed him a sly smile. your fingers dipping below the band of his boxers and finally pulled them down. chris’ dick instantly sprung up against his abdomen, his tip red and leaking, aching for your touch.

a small moan escaped your lips as you took his cock in your hand, thumb running across the slit as you smeared precum all along his shaft. you leaned down, placing a small and quick kiss to his tip as you sighed, “god chris you’re so big.”

a strangled groan ripped from chris’ throat as he peered down at you with hooded eyes and parted lips, awaiting your next move. you licked a long stripe up the length of his dick while your gaze was locked with his, maintaining eye contact as you took him in your mouth.

chris’ hands were instantly threaded through your hair, holding your head as you sucked on his dick, tongue swirling around the tip. you began to bob your head on his shaft, deep throating as best you could and jerking what you couldn’t fit. his head was tossed back in pleasure, his chest heaving while he guided you up and down his length.

“mm, come on mama, you can take it all, breath through your nose.” chris moaned, wrapping your hair in a ponytail as he fucked your face, his dick repeatedly hitting the back of your throat. tears pricked your eyes as you inhaled deeply, your nose nearly pressing against chris’ stomach. your tongue repeatedly twisted and licked around chris' cock while you continued to suck, the motions of your mouth nearing chris to his orgasm.

chris gutted a choked moan, his voice cracking. “thaaat’s it, pretty girl, gettin’ me so close.”

you let out a soft sigh around him, sending vibrations through chris’ body. that was enough to send chris over the edge, a low grown coming from his chest as hot, white spurts of cum shot down your throat. you pulled off of his cock with a small pop, your lips wet as you stuck your tongue out to show him you had swallowed it all.

his hands loosened from around your hair to grip your chin, leaning down and pulling your face close to his. he pressed his mouth to yours, kissing you deeply as he tasted himself on your tongue. he pulled away slowly, a faint smile playing on his lips and he looked at you. “thank you.”

“don’t mention it,” you giggled, kissing his cheek quickly, “now, how do you think you’ll do on the test next week?”

“what test?”

© mattscoquette

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ i am sooooooo happy with how this came out fr !! i started writing this in august i think ?? i truly love this “series” sm i think i might make fratboy!chris an au ….. but anyway thank u guys sm for all the love and being so patient with this !! sry if i tagged anyone on the taglist twice i don’t expect to have so many people on it but thank u SO MUCH !!!!! ik ive been talking ab making a part two to yale for so long now im happy its done :) i hope u all enjoyed <3

[fireinmoonshot]

your fiyero | fiyero tigelaar x reader

Pairing: Fiyero Tigelaar x Reader Summary: Ever since Fiyero Tigelaar started at Shiz University, he found himself fascinated by you – the one student who didn't care about him. When he notices you starting to struggle with something, he'll do anything to make sure you're okay. Warnings: Mentions of fainting, falling over, academic stress/burn out Word Count: 2.2k A/N: I've seen Wicked (the show) three times now with the amazing Australian cast that's currently touring and I fell totally head over heels with Fiyero, and then yesterday I saw the movie and fell even more in love with Fiyero and so I had to write for him. I do intend to write more for him, especially if other people want to read more! He's so fun to write for and definitely a challenge compared to some other characters I've written for in the past. I hope you all enjoy! 💗

It’s not difficult to sense the presence of Fiyero Tigelaar behind you as you leave Doctor Dillamond’s classroom, shoving your books into the bag over your shoulder. With the way the students heading into the classroom are staring at someone behind you, it’s quite obvious who they’re staring at. Everyone at Shiz University wants Fiyero Tigelaar. 

Everyone, that is, except you.

“Classes are over, you know?” Fiyero’s voice comes from behind you as you round the corner, heading down the staircase leading to the courtyard. “You don’t have to rush off.”

Irritatingly, the fact that you can’t particularly care less about wanting Fiyero Tigelaar makes himwant you. He usually isn’t the type. If someone doesn’t like him – something he’s actually yet to experience – he would just let it slide. Why waste his energy? But ever since he’d started at Shiz and met you, he’d found himself unable to leave you alone. 

“I know,” you glance back at him over your shoulder. “But some of us actually want to study and spend their time here learning, Tigelaar.”

Fiyero hurries his steps a little so he’s walking alongside you. “Did you miss the part where I said it was my job to corrupt my fellow students when I started here? It’s never too late, darling.” He flashes a grin your way.

You can’t help but roll your eyes at him, right at the same time you almost miss a step and stumble a little. Fiyero is quick, catching your elbow to help steady you. You don’t look at him as you steady yourself, meaning you miss the look of worry in his eyes.

“Are you all right?”

You clear your throat and shake off his grip. “Consider me corrupted by your presence.��� 

With that, you make a beeline away from him and you’re glad to notice that he doesn’t attempt to follow you. You highly doubt that he’s going to follow you all the way to the library. Fiyero and the library have never exactly gone hand in hand. 

~~

The next time Fiyero bothers you, you’re sat on one of the benches by the gardens. There’s a book in your hands and he can see you staring intently at it as he saunters over to you. It’s almost like he’s approaching a wild bird or something, he thinks. If he moves too quickly, he’ll frighten you and scare you away. It’s the last thing Fiyero wants to do.

He’s a few steps away from you when you look up from your book and meet his eyes. His face breaks into a smile as he moves the last few steps and takes the spot beside you on the bench. You turn to look at him, your eyebrows raised. 

“Now, don’t say I’m interrupting your study,” he begins. “That book is most definitely not in the curriculum. And yes, I did actually take the time to look the curriculum up after I saw you reading here the other day, if you can believe it.”

For a few moments, you only stare at him. Fiyero, for the first time probably ever, finds himself actually a little uncomfortable at your unwavering gaze. It surprises him. He’s never the type of person to feel uncomfortable. He’s confident in almost every situation.

You let out a sigh. “It may not be in the curriculum, but you’ve interrupted me nevertheless, Tigelaar.”

“Apologies,” he says, with a small smirk. “Am I corrupting you even more with my presence?”

“Something like that.” You close your book and sit it on the small space of bench beside you. You had actually just been reading the same page over and over for the last twenty minutes and trying to convince yourself to stop overthinking things. 

You had so much studying to do, so much to learn and so many assignments to do and so little time to do it all. It was probably a little counterproductive to be sitting outside, reading a book and doing none of those things, but if you didn’t try and have a break from them all, you were pretty sure you were going to burn yourself out, which was the last thing you needed. It would have helped if you’d actually been able to relax and enjoy your book, though.

“Is it any good? Your book. Not that I’d read it, of course,” Fiyero grins.

You try your best to conceal your amusement. “I’d offer to lend it to you but, as you said, you wouldn’t actually read it so… I’ll keep it safe with me. I doubt the Winkie Prince knows how to properly take care of books if he can’t read them.”

Fiyero gasps jokingly. “I’ll have you know I can read, I just choose not to. I prefer to fill my brain with much more useless things. That way, I don’t have to think. It’s a peaceful way to live, my darling.” 

You shake your head, this time unable to keep a smile off of your face. Fiyero likes the sight of it. It strangely makes his heart beat a little faster. He can’t actually remember the last time he saw you smiling… not that he’s been keeping track. 

“How about you join me?” He offers. “No more studying for the rest of the day and no more thinking? I’m positive I could find something we could do to fill the time.” 

The reminder of studying, however, brings you back to reality after you small moment of joking with Fiyero. You reach down and grab your book before standing up and turning to face Fiyero, who is looking at you with slight concern in his eyes at your sudden movement.

“I can’t,” you say simply. “I’ve been reading all morning and there is a lot I have to do. I’ll see you around, Tigelaar.”

He watches you with furrowed eyebrows as you walk away from him, clutching your book to your chest and heading in the direction of the library. Fiyero shakes his head and lets out a small laugh. He really thought today would be the day he’d win you over.

~~

A week goes by without Fiyero even getting to utter a word to you. He sees you, though, fairly often around the school. In the courtyard, in the library (where he definitely didn’t go specifically looking for you), in history class and in the dining hall. But every time he’s thought to approach you, you’ve disappeared before he could even make his move. It’s on the seventh day when he notices that something is different about you.

You’re coming out of the library, carrying several books and what looks like a stack of papers in your hands when you trip. Fiyero isn’t quick enough to cross the courtyard and get to you in time to stop your fall. He does, however, take off at a run to be by your side as you start collecting all of the scattered pieces of paper and books that had fallen out of your grasp.

“It’s all right, Tigelaar. You don’t have to help me,” you mutter, trying to shove books into your already overfilled bag. “It’s a Friday night. I’m sure you’ve got other places to be.”

Fiyero, truthfully, does have other places to be. He’s been invited to the Ozdust Ballroom by nine separate people today. But how can he leave you to just clean all this up by yourself? He can see just by the look on your face that you’re utterly exhausted.

“I do,” he says honestly. “But I’ll help you with this first.”

He’s surprised when you suddenly stop putting things in your bag and when he looks up, he finds you staring at him again. It makes him uncomfortable in the same way he felt last week when you’d looked at him in a similar way. 

“Okay,” you sigh. 

Your lack of energy in fighting him is the second thing to make Fiyero realise something is wrong.

After the two of you finish picking up all of the things you’d dropped, the both of you stand. Fiyero opens his mouth to say something when he notices you start to sway. He’s quicker this time, moving to catch you before you fall. His arm wraps around your waist to keep you steady, while his other hand takes the book bag off your shoulder and moves it straight onto his. He’s surprised by how heavy it is. 

“Woah, darling, what’s going on?” Fiyero looks down at you as you blink and push yourself away from him. “Hey, be careful, okay? I think you were just about to faint.”

You shake your head. “I just stood up too fast, that’s all.” You know the words are a lie, and you can tell that Fiyero knows that as well. First, he’d seen you trip coming out of the library, then he’d caught you when you’d almost fainted… you can’t hide it from him. That much becomes crystal clear immediately.

“Let’s get you somewhere you can sit down, okay?” Fiyero begins. “May I?” He gestures to you, asking silently if he can wrap an arm around you to support you incase you fall over again. 

You nod and allow him to guide you just around the corner into the small seating area off to the side of the library. It’s dark, the lanterns not being lit yet despite the fact that the sun had gone down over twenty minutes ago.

“I swear I’m not usually this clumsy,” you say sheepishly. “That’s twice you’ve stopped me from falling in the last two weeks… I suppose I should say thank you, Fiyero.”

Fiyero sits you down gently on the bench and sits your book bag down on the ground. He crouches down in front of you and reaches up to take your hands in his. He’s surprised when you don’t immediately pull away from him. “I don’t think you’ve ever called me by my first name before.”

“Oh,” you think on it for a second, trying to ignore the warm feeling of his hands and how comforting it is. “I guess I haven’t. Sorry, Tigelaar.”

“No, no,” Fiyero shakes his head. “Don’t go back to that. I like when you call me Fiyero.”

“Well, I suppose it is your name,” you offer a small smile.

“There’s that gorgeous smile,” Fiyero smiles back at you and squeezes your hands. “Now, are you gonna tell me why you almost just fainted on me and why you’re clumsier than you usually are, darling?”

You stay silent for a few moments and just when Fiyero begins to think that you might just brush him off and try to make a quick exit like you did last week, you start to speak.

“I haven’t really been sleeping well lately,” you admit quietly. “I’ve had so much work to do, I fell behind on my assignments and I took on some extra work from Doctor Dillamond and… despite my best efforts, I guess I let myself get a little burnt out.”

Fiyero looks at you with his eyes full of pity and you hate it. 

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, “that’s not important. Why would you care?”

Your attempt to make light of the situation fails spectacularly, judging by the look that Fiyero gives you afterwards. You’ve never seen him look that unimpressed before. 

“Of course I care,” he says, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Why, though?” You can’t help but ask. “Why are you so fixated on me?”

Fiyero sighs and moves to sit beside you, letting go of your hands in the process. “If you’ll allow me to be honest with you for a moment,” he starts, “I suppose… you’re the only person at Shiz that doesn’t treat me like the perfect Winkie Prince that everyone thinks I am. You’re the only person that doesn’t think I’m perfect, and half the time you act like you can’t stand to be around me, and for some reason that only makes me want to be around you more.” 

“Are you not the perfect Winkie Prince?” You ask.

Fiyero grins. “Oh, not in the slightest, darling. But let’s keep that between us. I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine. How does that sound?” 

You don’t even try to hide the smile that comes to your face at his words. “You promise you won’t tell anyone about what happened today?”

“I promise,” he nods. “But only on one condition: you tell Doctor Dillamond you can’t complete the extra work you signed up for and you take a break to make sure you get plenty of rest before diving into your other assignments. I’m sure I can sweet talk some of the Professors if you need help.” 

He smiles as you hit him with the same look as before, but for the first time, he doesn’t find himself feeling uncomfortable at the sight of it. Now, he finds it slightly amusing and incredibly endearing. He has always found you endearing, he supposes.

“Sweet talking my Professors will not be necessary,” you chuckle. “But okay. It’s a deal. And I’ll keep your secret too. You can continue to be the perfect Winkie Prince to everyone… except me.”

Fiyero laughs. “I’ll just be your Fiyero, then.”

“My Fiyero?” You repeat after him, eyebrows raised. 

He ignores the way his heart beats faster at the sound of those words coming out of your mouth. 

“Yes, your Fiyero,” he hums. 

“Everyone will think that you finally corrupted me after all this time,” you joke, voice teasing. “I’ll just be like everyone else at Shiz. Part of the Fiyero Tigelaar fan club.”

Fiyero fixes you with a look. “Oh, darling. You could never be like everyone else.” 

[rafesweetie]

⋆˚࿔ espresso ꥟ ˚⋆ — sunny!reader x rafe

“ walked in and dream-came-trued for ya! “

i believe the saying goes, “she was like a shot of espresso.” rafe didn’t think that saying could fit a person more than it could fit you.

he’d see you at parties, dancing with his sister or giggling with the pogues. you never could seem to pick a side. this whole pogue vs kook rivalry never crossed your mind, for you were simply friends with everyone in kildare. he’d see you at the beach with your friends, tanning while listening to silly pop music and sipping on a fruity canned drink. you reminded him of the sun.

there was one night where sarah cameron invited you to her place for a start-of-summer party. rafe was dealing some coke, as per usual, and his eyes followed you as you walked in, holding hands with sarah while she led you inside. he’d never understood why girls held hands with each other, but wheezie said that it’s a universal girl thing, and he ‘would never get it.’

topper elbowed rafe out of his trance, laughing about how rafe had a little crush.

“nah, nah,” rafe denied instantly. “isn’t she a pogue?”

topper shakes his head. “nope. she just hangs out with them. her parents own that flashy smoothie shop, she’s a kook,”

“…oh, that’s good,” rafe mutters. he can’t quite avert his gaze from you.

“aw man, you’re desperate,” kelce is on his other side, patting his back, making rafe grunt and shoo him off. rafe can’t relate to desperation.

his night goes on per usual, getting bundles of cash handed to him as he deals. until topper speaks up after a bit. “she just broke up with pope,” he informs rafe. “she’s on the market,”

“yeah?” rafe checks.

“yeah. you should go talk to her,”

rafe hesitates, staring at you again. you’re not a dancer by any means, but both you and sarah are wiggling your shoulders a bit when a good song comes up. rafe would assume you’re drunk, the way your giggles echo through the room and the way you spill your drink when you stumble into sarah. but he thinks that’s just you, drunk on life. he eventually speaks. “no fucking way, she’s with my sister right now. sarah would lose her shit if i talked to little miss sunshine over there,”

“yeah, well, need i remind you i’m dating sarah, so i’ll just get her away, go make out for a bit, she looks drunk,” topper offers.

“…a’ight. yeah, lets do it bro.” rafe agrees, and they both get up off the couch. rafe stands a little bit away as he grabs another vodka pink lemonade for you, maybe a subtle bribe into talking, and a beer for himself. topper talks to sarah for a bit, greets you, then leads sarah away.

rafe’s literally directly behind you, when suddenly you’re already talking to someone else. you’re pretty chatty, it seems. rafe hangs around to catch you after your next conversation. but then he looks away for one second, then you’re gone again. he spots you on the balcony, with jj maybank. then a couple minutes later, you’re with kie carrera. then you’re shotgunning a drink with sofia. holy shit. you’ve got him wrapped around your finger already, and he looks so cute chasing after you. if he’s not pushy, he’ll never get his chance. so, channeling his inner ward cameron, he spots you with ruthie (who he never would’ve assumed you would associate with. maybe you’re just being polite), and he puts a hand on your shoulder from behind, spinning you around. “y/n. right?”

you blink, not expecting the sudden interruption. but you regain yourself quickly, smiling. “hi! yeah, i am,” you say. your voice sounds as sweet as honey. “you’re rafe cameron?”

you know who he is? he shouldn’t be surprised, you seem to know everyone, but he likes that you know, anyway. “uh, yeah, yeah, that’s me,”

“well it’s so nice to meet you,” you smile up at him. “it’s funny, sofia used to mention you a lot, and obviously im close friends with your sister. but i’ve never met you before,”

“..you’re friends with sofia?” is all he can think to ask.

“mhm. i’ve known her since grade 5. we’re not like, super close now, but we were when you guys dated,” sensing his sudden aversion to talking about her, his ex girlfriend, you shut up. “um, wanna go grab a drink?”

“oh— shit, yeah, um, brought one for you, actually,” he hands you the vodka pink lemonade. “saw you drinking one earlier, so..”

“oh my gosh, thank you so much,” you say. is he that sweet? you guess so.

“yeah, ‘course. heard sarah talk about you, and it’s all been good things, so i figured i’d try and meet you myself,”

“well now you have. i’ve heard her talk about you too,” you don’t have the heart to say it hasn’t been very good things.

it feels like this awkward small talk is going in circles. but maybe that’s a good, slow way to start something.

your name is suddenly called by a group of girls a couple meters away. “it was so nice to meet you rafe. i should go, they want me,” you say softly, reaching for his hands. he remembers when you came in holding sarah’s hands. it seems to be your thing. “i’ll see you around?”

“yeah—“ he clears his throat, gaining the courage to hold yours back. “yeah. see you around, y/n,”

you smile. you could swear he’s blushing. “you’re cute,” you say softly, squeezing his hands once more before retreating away.

he feels like he just took a shot of espresso, and now he’ll be thinking of you every night.

[bqstqnbruin]

Friendsgiving

Hi so we are going to ignore the fact that it is nearly 2 am but here I am with a fic that I started today because of this tik tok that I saw a few hours ago and I immediately went 'fic'. So, here we are

Warnings: none

WC: 5845

Enjoy!

__________________________________________

“Why and how are you in Vancouver?” 

“Don’t hate me.”

“Oh, my god, did you move to Canada without me? You moved and didn’t even tell me.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at what you hoped was Lena’s unnecessary panic that you heard through your phone speaker, trying to navigate your way through the airport that you had never been to before. “No, I’m just probably doing something stupid.” 

“And you’re doing it without me?”

“Leen, I’ll catch you up later, ok?”

“Am I going to have to make sure you don’t end up in a ditch?”

“You should probably watch my location for the next few days,” you say, in all seriousness. “But I have to go, I love you, bye.”

You hang up on your best friend as you hear her screaming on the other end about calling the authorities, knowing that she wouldn’t actually do that. Actually, she might. But you can’t think about that right now.

You were trying to find Brock, despite the fact that you had never met him in person and stupidly agreed to fly to Vancouver on a day's notice from your home the week of Thanksgiving. 

You couldn’t believe the last couple of days of your life. You had posted a silly photo of you and your friends at your annual Friendsgiving. You always got together the Friday before, and had been doing so since middle school when your parents still had to either make the food for you, or had to be in the kitchen with you heavily supervising the entire time. This year was the 15th year in a row that you had all gotten together, celebrating in a much bigger fashion than you had in years past; you all dressed up, you all brought the food in the best serving dishes you had instead of the Dollar Tree tin dishes you all normally brought, you had the fanciest bottles of wine you could afford littering the table, and you had even all planned to stay over together for the first time, continuing the event into the morning. 

Brock had messaged you because of the photo. You were mutuals, having some of the same friends in college but never actually interacted with each other. 

All of your friends talked about how you two would get along so well, but it seemed like every time you were supposed to meet, something happened that prevented you from doing so. There was the one party you were supposed to go to with your friends, that you had been planning on going to all week until you got food poisoning from the dining hall. There was the class you were supposed to take together until his practice times got changed and ended up conflicting with the class. You were supposed to go to a formal together as each other's dates until he slept through his alarm and missed the bus to the venue.

You were always supposed to meet, until you didn’t.

But then you got the message from him a few days ago asking if you wanted to come to his Friendsgiving that he was going to with his American teammates. 

It was easily the craziest thing you had done in your life, saying yes to flying out to Vancouver the next day to meet a guy you had never actually met in person, or really talked to before those messages.

It made you realize you really hadn’t done much with your life. 

You walked through the airport, trying to see if you could find the guy you would be spending the next couple of days with by the baggage claim where he told you he would meet you. 

You finally see him, the blonde head of hair sticking out to you for an unknown reason. 

You knew from his pictures on his account that he was attractive, but, shit, he was gorgeous in person. 

He was also dressed up way more than he should be for someone to be waiting for a stranger in an airport; he was in a full suit and tie, his hair looking like he had just gotten out of the shower and styled it immediately. 

“Hi,” he says to you when he sees you, a smile on his face making your heart skip a beat. 

You didn’t even know this guy. “Hi,” you manage to get out as he pulls you in for a hug. “You look good, all dressed up.” 

Brock reaches for your bag, taking it off your shoulder and walking you out of the airport. “Thanks.”

“Why are you dressed up?”

“We’re on our way to the game.”

“We?”

“I didn’t tell you?”

“Do I look like I’m dressed for a hockey game?”

Brock looks at you as the two of you approach his car, opening his trunk to put your bag in. “You look great to me.”

“I’m in sweats, fresh off a plane. When do you think you told me?”

“Uh,” he lets out as you get in his car. “Yesterday?”

You take out your phone, scrolling through the messages the two of you exchanged. “You told me you had a game, not that I was going to one.” 

“Who did I tell that to yesterday?” he says, staring out through his front windshield, wracking his brain. You couldn’t help but laugh. “I can take you back to my place, if you want.”

“Would that make you late for the game?”

He glances at the clock, pulling out his phone. “Very late, yes.” 

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile that you couldn’t help. “I’ll go to the game. I’m sure I have something I can change into stuffed in my bag.” 

The two of you fall into easy conversation, much like you had when he first reached out to you. There was something about him that was easy to talk to. 

He pulls up to the arena, still talking about one of the parties you were both supposed to go to in college.

“Do you remember that one kid, Chris, who somehow threw up at every party he went to?” he asks you, leaning against his car as you rifle through your bag in his trunk, searching for any semblance of an outfit that was better than the sweats you were currently in.  

“Hold on,” you tell him, climbing into the trunk and pulling the hatch closed, trying your best to change in the cramped space. You managed to find jeans and a black shirt that could pass as a non-airport outfit that you were smart enough to pack as a spare since Brock didn’t really give you a ton of information as to how the week was going to go. You could see him standing outside the car, dumbfounded by the abrupt nature of you practically commandeering his car as a changing room for yourself. “Ok, I’m good,” you say, opening the door back up in what you were sure was record time for changing in a car trunk.

“Wow,” he says, you noticing the slightest shade of red appearing on his cheeks. 

“Better?” you ask. Your foot catches on part of the trunk as you try to get out, practically falling out of his car. 

You feel Brock’s hands catch you, spreading across your back and under your legs. “Much,” he says, his face inches from yours. He clears his throat, his face turning bright red as he puts you down.

He wasn’t about to kiss you, was he? And why would you have been ok if he did that? “Thanks for that,” you tell him, embarrassment seeping into your voice. 

“So, uh, Chris?” he asks, walking you into the arena with his hands now firming shoved into his pockets.

“He really did somehow end up in the bathroom at every party.”

“Even if he didn’t have anything to drink that night.” 

“I wonder what he’s up to now?”

“He just got engaged, actually,” you tell him. “His fiance was one of my lab partners back in college.” 

“Wow. Never would have known that,” he tells you. The two of you walk through what you could only describe as the tunnels of the arena, Brock showing you around and trying to explain to you what everything was. 

“You’re gonna be in here,” he tells you, showing to a room that was filled with women and children who all seemed to know each other. Before you can ask anything, he checks his watch, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. “Shit, I’ve gotta get ready. I’ll meet you right here after the game.” 

Brock runs off, leaving you standing at the entrance to this room that you could see was at ice level, filled with people you didn’t know. 

You couldn’t enter the room. This was already ridiculous, you being here in the first place with a guy you just met for the first time in person less than an hour before. Now you were apparently supposed to go into this room with a bunch of people and do what? Talk to them? 

No thank you.

You feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, leaning against the wall next to the entrance of this room as Lena calls you again. “Ok, you did not fly all the way to Vancouver to see a Canucks game.”

“I’m going to stop sharing my location with you,” you laugh.

“Ok, spill, why the hell are you in Vancouver?”

You recount the whole string of events to her, realizing how ridiculous the whole situation sounded now that you were actually verbally articulating everything. “And now, I’m outside of this room with a bunch of women and I think this is where I’m supposed to be for the rest of the game.”

“Are you in the WAG room?”

“The what?”

“The WAG room.”

“No, I heard you,” you sigh, “What does that mean?”

“The wives and girlfriends.”

You stare at the wall on the other side of the hallway as people you ignored scurried around you. “But I’m not a wife or a girlfriend?”

“Well, as long as you have that established. I heard there’s supposed to be amazing food in those rooms for the families.” 

You peek your head into the room, seeing a line of the women forming on the other side of the room in front of what looked like an incredible spread of food. “I can see that.”

“Go in!” Lena shrieks in your ear. “Have fun, make friends, and bring me some food when you get back.” She hangs up before you can say anything else, leaving you there with your phone pressed against your ear and no one on the other end of the call. 

You finally work up the courage to go into the room, trying to slip in and stay in the back, out of the way of anyone who would feel the need to come to talk to you. You stay along the wall closest to the door, trying to take in the room around you. There were children seemingly everywhere, running and shrieking as they played with each other. Toys were scattered all over the floor, bags lined against the wall. You probably looked like a freak the way you were moving through the room, trying to find a seat that you could sink into and become invisible in.

“Shit,” you let out, slamming down onto the floor, tripping over one of the toys you were somehow too busy to notice. 

“Are you ok?” one of the women asks you, crouching down on the floor to meet you at what was now, embarrassingly, eye level. 

You could feel your face getting hot. “Other than my ego being bruised, I think I’m good.” 

“I haven’t seen you before,” she says to you. “I’m Lexie. I’m Thatcher’s wife.”

You had no idea who Thatcher was, but it probably wouldn’t look good for you if you admitted that. 

You introduce yourself, finally getting up off the floor and dusting yourself off. “I’m here with Brock.”

Lexie’s eyes light up with excitement. “You must be Brock’s mystery girl.” The room seems to go silent when Lexie practically shrieks that, even the children making no noise. “He had been telling us he was seeing someone, but we never thought he would bring you to a game early.”

“Oh, I,” you start, getting nervous now that all eyes were on you. You had no idea what he had told these women, or their husbands, or boyfriends, or whoever these people were. “Here I am.”

“I can’t believe Brock would just throw you to the wolves like this,” Lexie says, linking her arm with yours and walking you over to the food table.

“Are you kidding?” another one of the women chimes in. “This is exactly something Brock would do. I’m Natalie, by the way, J.T.’s wife.”

The two women start chatting your ear off, you unable to comprehend what they were saying. Brock had a ‘mystery girl,’ that you had now taken on the identity of. Brock was probably seeing someone who couldn’t be there this week and now he was going to look like an awful human when you suddenly disappeared and were replaced with another person next week. 

But, why did you care? You barely knew Brock.

You had no idea how much time passed by when they all start filtering out the seats near the ice, the players skating around in circles. 

You join them, unsure what else to do. You pull out your phone, getting an idea and starting to type in a new note, trying to wave Brock over to the boards when you finally get his attention.

They think I’m your ‘mystery girl??? you show him with your phone screen pressed against the glass when he comes over. The color seems to drain from his face, mouthing ‘I’m sorry,’ and shrugging way too casually for your liking before practically sprinting away from you to the other side of the rink. 

You head back into the room, beelining for the exit and pulling up Lena’s number.

“Brock told everyone he and I are dating?” you try not to scream too loudly, hoping that none of the people in the room or in the hallway 

“Oh,” Lena says. “That’s not great.”

“Not great?” you say, running your hand through your hair, feeling yourself panic. “This is crazy. What if this turns into a psycho killer situation?’

“He’s way too high profile in the area to get away with killing you.”

“That’s not reassuring.” 

“I’m just saying he wouldn’t get away with it.”

“Adelena,” you stomp your foot like a child out of frustration, using your friend's full name.

“Ok, calm down,” she says. “There’s no need for the government name here. I think you just need to talk to him after the game and figure out what’s going on. I will fly out there and save you if I have to.” 

You take in a deep breath. This was the dumbest thing you could have done, regret seeping into you with every passing moment that you spent in Vancouver. “I’ll let you know.” You go back in the room, trying to pay attention to the game as the people around you milled about, trying to get to know you and about your ‘relationship’ with Brock.

“How long have you two been going out?” Lexie asks eagerly. 

“Um,” you panic, “Not that long, honestly. This is all really new.” That wasn’t a total lie.

“How did you two even meet?”

“We went to college together.” 

Before Lexie could ask you another question that you probably didn’t have an answer to, a toddler runs up to her, crying. “Gotta go,” she says to you, lifting the toddler and trying to comfort them. 

You sat and tried to watch the rest of the game, writing down everything you told Lexie in hopes that Brock would have said something similar. You spent the rest of the game on your phone texting with Lena, thankful that no one else in the room came up to you to talk to you or ask questions the way Lexie had, only going back to the ice and looking up from your screen to see Brock scoring.

You wait outside the room for Brock once the game was over, his teammates coming out much faster than he was as the hallway and the room behind you slowly emptied out, leaving you alone in the hallway. 

“What the fuck,” you ask him when you finally see him. 

“I’m sorry, I know,” he tells you, walking out to his car. 

“I don’t care if you need me to pretend to date you, but I would have liked to know about it before you threw me into the Gossip Grotto.” 

Brock exhales when he gets into the car, resting his head against the steering wheel while you stared at him with your arms crossed in front of you. “The guys keep bugging me about not dating anyone so I told them I was seeing someone to get them to shut up.” 

“And you didn’t think that was relevant to mention when you invited me here that there was a good chance they would think I’m the girl you’re dating?”

“No. I figured they would have forgotten about it by now.” 

“Well, their wives didn’t.”

“So what do we do?”

You stare at him. “I could leave on the next flight and get out of here and probably be mad at you forever. Or, we pretend we’re together.”

He whips his head to you, his eyes crazy with shock. “What?”

You shrug, pulling out your phone and showing him the notes you made during the game about you and him being together. “We fake date. I’m only here until Wednesday, and you said we were only going to be seeing your friends on Tuesday night. We have plenty of time to figure this out.”

“We have a day and a half.” 

You scoff. “You think I haven’t figured out more complicated things in less time? I got a plane ticket and got myself here on twelve hours notice.”

“So, we fake date?”

“We fake date.” 

_____________________________

“What are you doing?” you ask, walking into Brock’s kitchen the next morning, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You spent the night in his guest room, sleeping in what was probably the most comfortable bed you had ever slept in. You spent the night before starting to hash out the story you would tell his teammates and their partners, agreeing that you would only share information about the two of you if you were directly asked about it. 

“Debating whether or not to make us breakfast,” he tells you, one hand on his hip, the other holding open the fridge door. Brock had on no socks, boxer shorts and a t-shirt, all of which showed off to you just how unfair his entire physique was. His hair was messy in a somehow perfect way that would have made you drool under any other context. You could pretend to drool over him, but real drooling was out of the question right now. 

“What’s the other option?”

He closes the fridge door, turning to face you. “I don’t make breakfast and we go out for food instead.” 

“How good are you at making breakfast?”

“I make a mean bowl of cereal.” 

“We’re going out for breakfast, get dressed.” 

“Wow, my girlfriend is bossy,” he smirks as you walk away, looking over your shoulder at him and sticking your tongue out.

Was that too flirty? You had agreed last night that flirting was ok so you could ‘get used to it.’ How could you flirt in front of other people if you had never done it before? 

You call Lena while you were getting ready. 

“You could just real date him,” you hear her suggest, crunching on something on the other end of the line.

“You could just give me real advice and not chew on something in my ear.” 

“It’s morning, let me eat my apple,” Lena says, obviously with her mouth full. “What are you guys doing today?”

“Right now, getting ready for breakfast. Beyond that, watch my location.”

“Yeah, I have no job. I can just stalk you all day.”

“If I end up dead how are you going to know?”

“Ugh, fine,” she sighs. “Have fun, don’t die.”

She hangs up, leaving you alone to get dressed for a day you didn’t know the details of. You pull on leggings and a sweater, your sneakers on and grabbed a jacket that you didn’t even know if you needed. You head back out to Brock’s kitchen, finding him leaning against the counter on his phone.

“You need to change,” you tell him. He had on black jeans and the same color sweater as you. 

“This could be a cute couple thing,” he jokes. “We could take a picture together and post it, or something.” You hesitate, walking over to Brock as he extends his hand with his camera open. “At least pretend to like me,” he tells you, plastering a smile on his face as he starts taking photo after photo.

You rest your hand on his chest, leaning into him and smiling at his camera. You did look good together, if you had to admit. 

“Can you do one where you kiss my cheek?’

“What?”

“Don’t couples do that?’

You stare at him for a second. Would it be weird to do that? He asked you to do it. “I normally scroll past those photos.”

“Me, too.” The two of you stand in silence for a second, neither of you sure how to go on. “Maybe we don’t do that. Too much, too soon.” You nod in agreement.

“So, where are we going?”

Brock smiles at you, leading you out the door. 

_____________________________

The breakfast he took you to was amazing. He said that he had an entire day for you planned as a thank you for coming out here in the first place. 

“How are you with hiking?”

“It depends.”

“On?”

“How long the trail is.”

Brock laughs, putting his car in park in front of a water front. 

“If we don’t stop, it’ll take two hours.” 

“That seems like a long time.”

“That’s how long my games are.”

“Yeah, that was a long time,” you tease him, getting out of the car. 

The trail was beautiful, a breeze off the water cooling you down as you walked alongside Brock. This could easily have been a real date if the two of you were actually together. 

You shake your head slightly of the thought. This was just supposed to be you helping him out, even though that wasn’t the original purpose of your trip. “So what are you supposed to do for Friendsgiving tomorrow night?”

Brock stops walking, the person behind him nearly knocking into him as he scolds Brock for stopping in the middle of the trail. You pull him over to the side of the walkway, ignoring the spark that you swore ran through you as laced your fingers in his. 

“I have no idea, actually.” 

“So you’re off to a great start.”

“I think I was told to bring something in the group chat,” he says, using his free hand to pull out his phone and start scrolling through the message thread that seemed to go on forever, your hands still intertwined. You weren’t sure he even noticed at this point, but part of you didn’t want to be the one to break the connection between you. “Ah, mac and cheese.”

“Have you ever made homemade mac and cheese before?”

“It has to be homemade?”

You roll your eyes, starting to walk again with your hands still locked together. “Did you think it would just magically spawn in front of you once you got to Quinn’s place?”

“I only have boxes of the store brand of mac and cheese.”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, pulling out your phone and finding the recipe you make for yourself when you have motivation. “Can you use Quinn’s oven when you get there or will he not have space?”

He quickly types on his phone as the two of you keep walking. “Yeah, we can as long as it doesn’t take too long,” he tells you, showing you the message from Quinn.

You nod, scrolling to the recipe on the website. “What do you have from these ingredients?” 

Brock quickly scans the list, nodding along and mouthing each component to himself. “I have the flour, salt, and pepper.”

“So you were supposed to be making mac and cheese and you had neither the mac nor the cheese?”

“That would be correct.”

“Oh my god,” you groan again. Brock stops walking, pulling you off to the side of the trail again. “What?” Brock gestures to the water in front of you, the sun making the ripples shine, the sky absolutely pristine. “Wow,” you let out. 

“What do you think?” you hear him ask, not taking your attention away from the sight in front of you.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is.” You look over at him, seeing him tuck his phone away into his pocket, his eyes on you instead of the view. 

_____________________________

“Why was getting all of this way harder than I thought it would be?” Brock asks, putting the bags of groceries on the counter.

“Because you had no idea where anything in the store was and we had to keep doubling back for things we missed the first time.”

“You really have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“We’re dating, isn’t that something you’re supposed to know?”

Brock laughs, pulling out pans and bowls from his cabinets as you start to get everything prepared for the mac and cheese. You tell him what to do, giving him step-by-step instructions.

“This is nice,” he tells you. 

You think for a moment, shredding the cheese into a bowl. The recipe called for more cheese than any recipe you had ever made before, and somehow the mountain of cheese in front of you still didn’t feel like enough. “It is.”

“My mom and dad used to cook like this,” he tells you, his voice somber as he comes up behind you. 

“Yeah?”

“She would tell him what to do and he would do it. Badly, but he would try his best.” You laugh along with him. He had told you that his father had passed away a couple of years ago, but you didn’t know anything else about him other than what she could find with a quick google search that now, in a weird way, felt like an invasion of privacy. “We could always tell which things Dad helped with because they tasted just a little off.” 

“You miss him, don’t you?” you say, slowing down your shredding and turning towards him. He was facing you again, his arm around you but not touching you, resting on the counter on the other side of you. 

“Always.”

You swore he was going to lean in, his eyes flickering down to your lips. You clear your throat, turning back to the cheese. “You should check the pasta to see if it’s almost done or not.”

Brock nods, smiling and winking at you before doing what he was told.

_____________________________

“This is all fake.”

“And?”

“It doesn’t feel fake.” 

“Well, you aren’t a great actress, are you?”

“Lena,” you whine. 

“I saw you try out for The Little Mermaid in middle school.” 

You had texted her once the mac and cheese was done and you were back in what Brock now referred to as ‘your room,’ panicking that he had almost kissed you again. What if you were just reading into things? You felt stupid to think that he was doing anything more than pretending for the sake of getting used to things for tomorrow, right?

“Is there a chance for this to turn into something not fake?”

“Considering he lives in a different country, unless you want me to actually move to Canada without you, no.” 

“Do you want it to be something that isn’t fake?”

You hesitate, knowing that Lena had a stupid smirk on her face that would turn into some sort of ‘I told you so,’ later in the conversation. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does.”

You sigh. “He’s great, but I’ve known him for two days. You don’t fall for someone like that in two days, it’s absurd.”

“Jack and Rose did in Titanic.”

“And that’s fiction, not real life.”

“Ok, if you had more than two days, then what?” 

“Then, I don’t know. Maybe?” 

“So, what do you do about it?”

“What can I do, Leen?” You flop down on the bed. “I’m here for less than two days before I leave and probably never talk to him again. The best this can be is fake.” 

_____________________________

“Are you ready for this?” Brock asks you, handing you one of the trays of food you made. “No.”

He smiles at you. “Me neither.” 

You head towards the door of Quinn’s place, ready to be as overwhelmed with the people you were about to encounter as you were two days prior at the game, even if you had already met most of these people. 

Lexie is the first one to greet you, somehow, through the chaos of everyone else around you. She leads the two of you into the kitchen, even though Brock already knows his way around. “I’m stealing her,” she tells Brock, grabbing you by the hand and leading you off to another room while all the guys stand around the kitchen island, somehow the ones in charge of the food.

“It is so good to see Brock so happy,” she tells you, handing you a glass of wine as she poured one for herself. The two of you were alone in the room she pulled you into, leaving you amazed that with that many people in the house, there was even an empty room to begin with. “I mean, those photos he posted of you? You are the most photogenic person I have ever seen.”

“Uh, yeah,” you tell her, knowing that you have to stop stammering everytime you try to give someone an answer. 

“You don’t know about the pictures?” You shake your head. She prompts you to pull up Brock’s page, the most recent pictures one from yesterday.

You scroll through the carousel. The first one, as you saw, was the one of you two before you went out for the day. The second one was one of you in the airport, looking for him. You thought you looked awful, but somehow, he made you look good. The third from the game the other night, one of the photographers probably captured a photo after he scored of him looking at you and smiling at him before he heads to the bench. The fourth and fifth were ones you had no idea he took; when you were looking out at the water yesterday, smiling at the sight while your hair somehow perfectly framed your face, and while you were hunched over the cheese, grating too many cups of the stuff for today. 

“He’s in deep,” Lexie smirks, drinking her wine. 

You can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks as you looked at the photos, which he captioned, Thankful for you, with your handle tagged. 

“Now it makes sense why I’m getting so many notifications,” you joke, setting your glass down on the table in front of you. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to go find the bathroom.” 

You head back towards the kitchen, hoping to find Brock there. 

“I’m surprised you actually are dating someone,” you hear someone’s voice in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Brock responds.

“I thought you made her up,” another voice agrees with the first. 

“I’m not Quinn, I wouldn’t do that,” Brock lies.

“That was one time when I was in sixth grade,” the first voice argues.

You hear Brock laugh, your heart fluttering at the sound, immediately hating yourself for that. You’ve known him for a few days, why did you have to remind yourself about that?

“How long have you guys even been together?” Your heart stops,hoping Brock remembered all the things they talked about the last few days. She knew what he should say, but that didn’t mean he would say it.

“Only about two months, I think.” 

“You think?”

“Petey, you know he’s not good with time.” 

You finally work up the nerve to walk into the room, seeing Brock’s face light up at the sight of you. 

He was faking it. 

“Hey, babe,” he says, pulling you close and kissing the side of your head. 

“God, you two aren’t going to be the kind of couple who overdo the PDA, are you?” Petey asks.

“Only if you piss us off,” Brock says, not taking his eyes off you. 

“So, um,” you say, coming back to reality and turning to the other two. “Everything looks great.” 

Quinn looks at the clock on the oven. “We should probably eat soon. The food should be in a couple of minutes.”

“We’ll get everything on the table,” Brock volunteers the two of you, grabbing one of the plates and handing them to you.

“Everything is going well, so far, I think,” you whisper to him once you’re out of earshot of the others. 

“Everyone thinks we’re actually together. I think we might pull it off.” 

_____________________________

The rest of the night went surprisingly well, the attention largely kept off the two of you most of the time as the team seemed to be more interested in teasing each other while their partners rolled their eyes at the guys’ antics. Brock drove you back in silence, a smile on his face the entire time. 

You headed to bed, knowing that you were going to be leaving when you woke up the next morning, part of you dreading the moment Brock would drop you off at the airport. 

He pulled up to the terminal, neither of you moving once he put the car in park. 

“Can I admit something?” he asks. 

“Sure.”

“I don’t think I want you to leave.” 

You look at him. “I don’t really want to leave.”

“But,” he starts.

“I have to.” 

Brock gets out of the car before you could say anything else, heading to grab your bag from his trunk. 

“We were good at fake dating, though,” he says, handing you your bag. 

You nod as he pulls you in for a hug. “Was all of it fake?” You don’t know what compelled you to ask that, other than you not thinking before you speak.

Brock smiles, his arms still wrapped around you. Before you can fully process it, his lips find yours, a sweet, slow kiss as your lips moved together, his hand on the small of your back pressing you into him. 

“No.” 

[prettiedup]

“You look good.” Ony states as he studies the false lashes that sits on top of your eyelids. His tatted hand reaches out to grab your chin. Silently, he tilts your head right and then left. He slowly nods his head in approval while continuing to examine the extensions. You had mentioned getting a more dramatic set this go round, and truthfully he was a bit nervous, he thought he would have to pretend to like them. But, to his shock, the dramatic fluff fit your face perfectly.

“Thank you, baby.” You find yourself fawning at both his compliment and being under his watch. You absolutely loved having all of your boyfriend’s attention, no matter the situation.

You lean closer towards him, the two of you meet in the middle where your lips connect to. Ony never liked quick kisses. He preferred to take his time gliding his tongue into your mouth, and sucking on your tongue. You were used to his antics at this point, and decided to just let him do as he pleased.

When he finally decides that he’s had enough, he pulls away from you. His eyes dart down to your lips before trailing back up to your eyes. He gives you a knowing smile when he sees the needy look you’re giving him.

“You aight?” He asks. He lets go of your chin, and adjusts himself in the driver seat. You nod at his question. Ony smacks his teeth at that. “Words, bae.”

“I’m okay.” You confirm.

He waits until you’ve buckled your seatbelt to pull out of your lash tech’s driveway. The familiar whine from his hellcat runs through your ears before he turns the music up. He hands you his phone, in a routinely fashion you open his apple music and begin searching for a song.

You choose a song you knew for a fact the both of you enjoyed singing.

You let the song play out before turning the radio down. “Where are we going?” You ask curiously.

“Imma drop you off at the crib, ‘nd then I have some plays to go make.” He explains.

Instantly, your attitude changed. You were no longer smiling. Instead, there was a pout on your lips while you gazed at him offendedly. Your arms found their way crossed against your chest before you even realized you were doing it.

Ony glances at you out of the side of his eye. Seeing you pouting and crossing your arms makes him sigh. “Don’t start.” He warns you.

“Why can’t I come with you? You usually let me come.” You ask in irritation.

“Cause I don’t want you to. Simple.” Ony responds with a lousy shoulder shrug. The stoplight turns green and his car grumbles as he accelerates.

You had this horrible habit of accusing. In your defense, the way you looked at things is like: my boyfriend is tall, dark, and handsome. If I’m attracted to him of course other women will be also. And so you found yourself accusing him of things constantly, sometimes without even meaning to.

“A girl must be there.” The words flew out of your mouth quicker than you could stop them. Ony had told you time and time again to stop accusing him, claiming that it’s both draining and annoying. You just couldn’t help it.

“Here you go.” He sighs. Instead of giving you an answer he just turns the radio up, blasting out any chance for you to keep your accusations going.

Your arms stay folded for the remainder of the drive. You childishly look out of the window the entire time, not once sparing your boyfriend a glance.

The millisecond he puts his car in park in his designated parking spot outside your loft complex, you practically hop out of his car. You don’t purposely slam his car door, you had used more strength than you intended to truthfully. Ony didn’t play about his car. The thousands of dollars he has spent adding modifications to it only backs up his claim. You knew just from that action you were going to be in deeper trouble.

The sound of your pink tory burch sandals clacking against the pavement, your numerous bracelets hitting against each other played in your ears as you tried to collect your thoughts. You didn’t hear his heavy footsteps trailing behind you which is both a good and bad thing.

You’re in the elevator when your phone lights up, displaying your lover’s contact. Your heart thumps in your chest a little faster as you contemplate answering it. With a shaky exhale, you answer.

“Hello?” You could hear the sound of his car switching gears and the clicking of his signal stick.

“What did I tell you about slammin’ my door?” He’s composed, which only makes you more anxious.

You bite down on your lip at his question. You look around the empty elevator as you try to come up with an explanation that was good enough. You were acting childish but you just felt undeniably angry at him for not even offering you an invitation.

“You made me mad.” Your voice is lighter and apprehensive.

You could hear Ony kissing his teeth at your admission. “Why do you not understand that what I do ain’t a fuckin’ game, mama? This shit aint sparkles and rainbows. I’m mad at myself for even exposing you to this shit. This typa shit ain’t for you.” You’re his babydoll. Pink, glitter, soft scents, doe eyes, and pouty lips. Violence doesn’t fit in your criteria, it just isn’t you. How polar you two are is what drew Ony to you to begin with.

The elevator dinged and slowly opened its doors. You step out, your grip on your phone tightening as you rationalize his words. There’s a frown on your lips that you’re positive Ony would have plucked away if he was standing beside you. His explanation made sense, and deep down you knew you had no business mingling with a crowd like that. Hell, you had no business mingling with Ony.

“But, I’m grown,” You whine. “I should be able to choose where I want to go and what I want to do.” You’re putting up a weak argument against him. The both of you knew it too.

“Yeah but that ain’t you.” He reminds you. “Running the streets with me ain’t safe. And your safety is the most important thing t’me.”

You hum at his words while you bring your hello kitty printed key up to the doorknob. You still vividly remember the day Ony surprised you with it. You guys had been together for some months, and were beginning to discuss hypothetical ‘what if we lived together’ scenarios. A few days later Ony had gave you a solid black box with a light pink hello kitty key in the inside. That was the start of something incredible.

“My baby’s so stubborn.” Ony could hear the sound of the front door slamming shut. Your sandals and shuffling played through his speakers, he had told you to pick your feet up when you walked, and like always, what he said went through one ear and out the other.

“‘M notttt.” You whine.

“Yes you are. But it’s okay, baby. Daddy’s got somethin’ for that attitude you had earlier.” He promises you.

You have to pause in your tracks. Instantly, there’s throbbing in between your legs. A surge of horniness courses through your body. This is how the game between you two went. You would pick at him for something—anything, just so you could act out, and so that he could put you right back in your place.

“You don’t sound mad with me anymore though?”You frown.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not gonna set you straight for acting out like that. I’m bout to pull up tho, imma text you when I’m free. Love you, mama.”

“I love you, baby.” You say before hearing the call end.

There’s butterflies swarming in the pits of your stomach as you try to imagine what he could possibly be planning. When Ony made promises like that, he made sure to keep them. He’s a man of his word and never switches it up.

[soulofapatrick]

"I’m your idiot" - Senami Shinazugawa x female reader

Summary: You get injured and Senami panics for once

Words: 4K 

Warnings: blood; injury 

Notes: I just finished Demon Slayer hehe

Y/N’s POV 

The Butterfly Mansion is so close now. Its rooftops peek through the dense forest, like a distant promise, barely visible above the treetops. The faint clash of swords echoes on the wind, sharp and rhythmic, a sound that’s both reassuring and agonising. Every step I take feels heavier, as though my body is being pulled down by invisible chains. My legs tremble beneath me, struggling to carry my exhausted frame. Blood, sticky and hot, pools beneath my uniform, seeping through the fabric and staining my skin. It’s a constant, unrelenting flow, a reminder that I’m barely holding on.

Sanemi’s going to be furious.

The thought cuts through the fog of pain clouding my mind like a blade. His voice, sharp as always, rings in my ears: Why didn’t you call for backup? What the hell were you thinking? Those words will bite—harsh and unforgiving—but what stings more than the anger in his voice is the worry that always follows. It’s the worry that weighs heavier on me than anything else.

I stumble, my foot catching on a loose rock, and I barely manage to grab hold of a tree trunk to stop myself from crashing down. My knees threaten to buckle, but I force myself forward, one step after another, despite the waves of dizziness that threaten to swallow me whole.

The courtyard is so close now—just ahead, an open space where the Hashira train. My heart stutters in my chest, a jarring mix of relief and dread. I don’t want him to see me like this, vulnerable, broken. But I know I can’t make it much farther. I’m too far gone.

By the time I reach the courtyard, my vision is nothing but a blur of shapes and colours, spinning as if I’m caught in a storm. The sound of sparring fills my ears—Mitsuri’s laughter, light and infectious, Obanai’s dry remarks laced with annoyance, the sharp clang of steel meeting steel as Giyuu’s blade clashes against Sanemi’s. The noises are distant, muffled, like they’re reaching me through a thick veil of water, as though I’m standing at the bottom of a deep well.

I take one more step.

My body betrays me. My legs give way beneath me, and the world tilts violently. The ground rises up to meet me, hard and unforgiving, as I crash to my knees. My palms scrape against the dirt, rough and raw, and a sharp jolt of pain shoots through my side. I choke on the coppery taste of blood in my mouth, swallowing back a cry that threatens to escape.

For a moment, I can’t breathe. The world spins, my vision darkening at the edges. The pounding of my heartbeat fills my ears, drowning out everything else. But then, through the haze, I see them—the Hashira—training under the sun, their movements swift and fluid, their presence grounding me, even as my strength fades.

“Y/N!” Mitsuri’s voice slices through the fog, high-pitched and laced with panic. My head jerks toward her, and I catch the sight of her wooden sword slipping from her hands, forgotten as she freezes in horror. Her eyes widen in disbelief, her face draining of colour as she takes in the sight of me.

Her cry cuts through the air, sharp and unrestrained, drawing everyone’s attention in an instant. Giyuu’s movements falter, his typically serene composure briefly disrupted by a flicker of concern that crosses his stoic features. Obanai stiffens, his eyes narrowing as they fixate on me, sharp and calculating, the gears in his mind turning in silence. And Sanemi—

Sanemi freezes mid-swing, his body tensing as if time itself has slowed. His sword, once poised to strike Giyuu with practiced precision, slips from his grip and crashes to the ground. The clang of metal against stone echoes across the courtyard, the sharpness of the sound making my already fragile heart skip a beat.

“Y/N!” His voice shatters the tension, cracking with raw, unfiltered panic, cutting through the chaos like a blade.

I barely register the rush of his footsteps—fast, determined—as he breaks into a dead sprint toward me. My arms tremble, the last vestiges of my strength giving way, and before I can crumple entirely to the earth, his presence is there, like a storm rushing in to steady me.

Sanemi drops to his knees beside me with such force that the earth beneath us seems to shudder in response. His hands are on me instantly—rough, urgent, but somehow tender—as he pulls me against his chest, cradling me like I might slip away if he isn’t careful.

“Shit, shit,” he mutters under his breath, his voice barely a whisper but full of panic and disbelief. His eyes rake over me, taking in the blood soaking through my torn uniform, the tremors that wrack my body with every shallow breath. His fingers press against my side, and I can’t help the sharp intake of breath, a flinch of pain that I can’t hide. “What the hell happened to you?”

The words barely reach my mind through the haze of pain clouding everything. I try to respond, but my throat is so dry, parched, that all that escapes is a weak, rasping sound—an echo of a voice that feels like it belongs to someone else.

“Damn it, don’t talk,” he snaps, his voice harsh, but the fury in his words is quickly undermined by the trembling of his hand against my side, the softness that lingers despite the anger in his tone. “You’re bleeding everywhere—how long have you been walking like this?”

I summon what little strength I have left to lift my gaze to his, meeting his eyes—stormy and frantic, filled with a mixture of disbelief, anger, and something softer, something buried deeper that I can’t quite place. With great effort, I force my lips into the faintest of smiles, even though every fibre of my being aches in protest. “Didn’t... want to bother you,” I whisper, each word a struggle, each breath like shards of glass in my chest.

His expression contorts, his lips parting as though to say something, but no words come. For a moment, he simply stares at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly, as though he's at war with himself. He’s torn, and it’s painfully evident—torn between the fury that surges within him and the vulnerability that threatens to break through.

“Bother me?” he growls, his voice thick with emotion, his hand tightening around me, but not in a way that would hurt. “You’re—” He stops himself, inhaling sharply through his nose as though trying to calm the storm inside him, trying to keep himself from unraveling.

Behind him, Mitsuri hovers anxiously, her hands clasped over her mouth, her wide eyes filled with worry. Obanai stands a few steps back, his usual calm indifference replaced by a rare flicker of unease. The atmosphere around us is thick with tension, heavy and suffocating.

“Giyuu, go get Shinobu,” Sanemi barks, his voice cutting through the silence like a whip, his command sharp and unwavering despite the chaos swirling inside him. He doesn’t look up from me, his focus entirely on the fragile weight of my body in his arms. He’s shaking, but he won’t let it show—not yet.

I hear the rapid retreat of Giyuu’s footsteps as he races off to find Shinobu. His footsteps fade into the distance, and in the silence that follows, Mitsuri takes a hesitant step closer. Her voice trembles, barely more than a whisper, as she asks, “Is she—Sanemi, is she going to be okay?”

Sanemi’s jaw tightens at the question, and his lips press into a thin line, a flicker of something dangerous flashing in his eyes. He lifts his gaze to hers, the flicker of panic momentarily giving way to a controlled mask of determination. But when his eyes dart back to my face, the fear he’s trying so desperately to hide is unmistakable. It’s there, in the way his pupils constrict, in the way his hand—still cradling me—quivers.

“She will be,” he says, his voice firm, though the conviction falters like a thread pulled too tight.

His forehead drops to mine, and I can feel his breath—hot, uneven—against my skin. His presence envelops me, grounding me in a reality that feels dangerously distant. “You’re an idiot,” he murmurs, his voice low, cracking with restrained emotion. His words sting, but it’s not the anger that cuts deep. It’s the tremble beneath them—the rawness, the fear. “You could’ve died out there, and for what? To spare me a little worry?”

I manage a weak laugh, though it comes out more like a dry, desperate wheeze, and a bitter taste coats my tongue. “Figured you’d... yell at me less.”

His fingers tighten against my side—almost painfully so—and his shoulders tremble with the weight of emotions he’s fighting to suppress. “You think I care about that right now?” His voice cracks, fragile and breaking. “You think I care about how much I yell at you when you’re bleeding out in my arms?” His words are strained, raw with anguish, and the desperation that laces his voice sends a chill through me, more potent than the pain. “I just—” He stops himself, biting back whatever else he wants to say, his chest rising and falling as he draws in a shaky breath.

“Sanemi...” I whisper his name, my voice barely audible, but it seems to carry the weight of everything unsaid between us.

His lips tremble, and then, before I can even blink, he interrupts me, his forehead pressing harder against mine. “I’ve got you,” he says, his voice a fierce promise, though the cracks in his tone betray the fear that’s clawing at him. “You’re going to be fine. Just—just stay with me, okay? Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

Mitsuri kneels beside us, her hands hovering over me, as though afraid that the slightest touch will make everything worse. “Sanemi, I think—” she begins, but her words falter in the air, swallowed by the tension.

“I know,” he snaps, but then his voice softens as my breathing catches in a strained gasp. “I know,” he repeats, almost to himself, a mantra in the silence that follows.

The world around me tilts, fading further into a haze as the darkness creeps at the edges of my vision. But still, I feel him—his strength, his warmth—as he gently, but urgently, lifts me into his arms. The movement is careful, as if he believes that any jolt will shatter me into a million pieces. And still, his heartbeat pounds in my ears—loud, frantic, wild—but steady enough to hold on to. His arms are like iron bands, yet there’s a tenderness to them, a desperation that breaks through the tension.

As he rises to his feet, his voice drops to a mutter, too low for anyone else to catch, but not too low for me. “You’re everything, you idiot,” he breathes, his words laced with an agony so pure it almost cuts through the darkness threatening to swallow me whole. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

And even as the shadows tug at my consciousness, pulling me deeper into oblivion, I cling to him. To the sound of his voice, jagged and frantic. To the heat of his body, holding me together. To the promise buried in the depths of his words, a lifeline tethering me to the world, even as everything slips away.

——

The first thing I register is the sterile scent of herbs and salves, mingling with the faint scent of wood and fire. My body feels heavy, weighed down by exhaustion, but the softness of the futon beneath me is a welcome reprieve from the unforgiving battlefield. Each muscle aches as if I’ve been torn apart and stitched back together again, but for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m allowed to rest.

I try to shift, but a warmth at my side stops me, pulling me back into the stillness. Slowly, my senses sharpen, and I realise my hand is wrapped in something rough, something solid. A warm, unyielding presence. I blink, my vision blurry at first as the light filters through the window, and my gaze lands on him.

Sanemi.

He’s slumped in a chair beside the bed, his body curved toward me like a lifeline, his head resting gently on my thigh. His white hair spills messily over the edge of the blanket, soft strands caught in the light like streaks of moonlight. His grip on my hand is firm, almost desperate, as if even in sleep, he’s afraid I might slip away.

I blink back the sting of tears at the sight of him, his exhaustion written across every line of his face. His brows are furrowed even now, as though he's still fighting, still caught in some nightmare he can’t wake from. I feel a pang deep in my chest—this man, this warrior, so strong and unwavering, yet here he is, vulnerable, caught between the worlds of dreams and fear.

My free hand moves without thought, trembling fingers sliding gently through the mess of white hair, like I can anchor him to me in the way he’s always done for me. His hair is coarse, yet soft to the touch, like him—tough and unyielding, but full of unexpected warmth. I thread my fingers through it, offering a gentle, soothing stroke.

He stirs almost instantly, his head lifting slightly, his eyes blinking open slowly, groggily at first. The confusion on his face fades almost immediately, his eyes locking onto mine with wide-eyed shock. And then, a relief so intense it fills the room with the weight of it.

“Y/N?” His voice is rough, hoarse, as though he’s been yelling at the world for days, his throat raw from disuse. But the fear in his eyes, the way they soften when they settle on me, tells me everything I need to know.

“Hi,” I whisper, my throat dry and scratchy, the words barely leaving my lips.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. His whole body freezes, like he’s afraid if he so much as blinks, I’ll vanish. Then, his hand tightens around mine, and he leans forward, his face hovering just above mine.

“You’re awake,” he breathes, his voice cracking, his face inches from mine. His hand drops from my hand only to cradle my face, his thumb brushing along my cheek in a gesture so gentle, it feels like the softest of prayers. “You—damn it, you’ve been out for four days.”

Four days?

I echo his words softly, my voice faint, barely audible. “Four days?”

He nods, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. His breath is shaky, uneven, and I can feel the tension in his body, the weight of everything he’s carried these past days, all of it pouring out in that single exhale. “Four damn days of you lying here while I—I thought I might lose you,” he mutters, the words laced with the kind of pain I’ve never heard from him before.

My hand moves again, resting softly against his cheek, feeling the roughness of his skin beneath my palm. His eyes snap open, and I smile faintly at him, the curve of my lips weak but genuine.

“I’m here, Sanemi,” I murmur softly, my voice a quiet assurance against the storm he’s been weathering. “You didn’t lose me.”

His breath hitches, and for a moment, he doesn’t speak. He only stares at me, his jaw clenching as if he’s fighting to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. And when his voice finally breaks the silence, it’s barely a whisper—so quiet, yet so charged with everything he’s been holding in.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he says, his voice low and trembling, the words laden with an intensity that shakes me to the core. His grip on me tightens, and I feel the weight of his heart pressing against mine, raw and unfiltered.

“Don’t,” he cuts me off, his voice sharp but his touch impossibly gentle. “Don’t apologise. Just... just promise me you won’t do something that stupid again. Promise me, Y/N.”

His words slice through the air with a force that makes my chest tighten. There’s a desperation in his tone that I can’t ignore, an unspoken fear that tugs at the deepest part of me. He’s trying so hard to be the brash, no-nonsense Sanemi—the one everyone knows, the one who wears his pride like armour—but here, in this moment, with me, he’s stripped bare, vulnerable and raw in a way I’ve never seen before.

“I promise,” I say, and the weight of the words makes them feel like a vow. I mean it—more than I can even put into words. I won’t put him through that again.

His shoulders sag in visible relief, and for a moment, he just holds me there, his forehead still pressed against mine, grounding me. It feels like time slows, the world outside of this room falling away until there’s nothing left but the two of us—this fragile moment, this fragile promise.

Then, almost as if remembering who he is, he pulls back slightly, his face hardening in the way only Sanemi can. But his hand doesn’t leave my face, his thumb still tracing idle patterns along my skin, a touch so soft it contrasts with his words.

“You’re still an idiot for not calling for backup,” he mutters, the sharpness in his voice still there, but it’s tempered with something softer, something more... tender.

I can’t help but smile at him, the corners of my lips lifting in a small, genuine way. “I’ll call next time,” I promise, the words coming easy now.

His brows furrow in mock frustration, but the softness in his eyes betrays him. “There better not be a next time,” he growls, and despite the threat, there’s a protective warmth in his gaze that melts something inside me.

I laugh weakly, the sound light, but enough to ease something in him. He lets out a breath, low and quiet, like he’s been holding it in for days, and then... he leans down. The pressure of his forehead against mine relieves some of the tension that’s been mounting in his body, but then, as if drawn by some invisible force, he presses his lips—barely a touch, a whisper—against my forehead.

It’s fleeting, a soft, warm caress that holds more weight than any words could. The kiss sends a spark racing through me, igniting something fierce and unrelenting in my chest. The fear, the pain, the exhaustion—it all fades into the background, leaving only one undeniable truth in its place: I almost died without ever telling him how I feel.

I can’t let that happen.

Before I can overthink it, my hand shoots up, fingers curling around his jaw. His eyes widen in surprise, and I see the shift—his guard goes up, just for a second, before I tug him down, closing the space between us. His lips are still warm from the kiss on my forehead, but this time, the kiss is mine to give.

He doesn’t pull away. There’s a hesitation, a moment of shock in his eyes before they soften, and then he’s kissing me back. The world outside of this moment ceases to exist—there’s only the feeling of his lips on mine, the pressure of his body against me, the taste of relief and longing. His hand moves to the back of my head, holding me to him like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets go.

When we finally break apart, my breath is shallow, my heart pounding in my chest as if it’s trying to make up for lost time. His forehead rests against mine again, and I can feel his pulse—rapid, frantic—matching my own.

“You’re... you’re still an idiot,” he whispers, his voice a little more hoarse than before, but there’s something softer in his tone now. Something he hasn’t allowed himself to say, something I can feel through the way his fingers tremble lightly on my skin.

“I know,” I breathe out, my voice shaky. “But I’m your idiot.”

He huffs out something between a laugh and a sigh, his lips quirking into a small, lopsided grin. “Damn right you are.”

The weight of everything we’ve been through lingers in the space between us, heavy but comforting, as if we’re both silently acknowledging the unspoken bond that’s been forged through our shared trials. It’s a quiet understanding—one that only the two of us can fully grasp.

Then, without warning, he leans down again, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that’s softer this time, slower. There’s no rush, no desperation. It’s about something deeper, something more meaningful. Every brush of his lips against mine feels like a confession, a promise of everything he hasn’t been able to say. It’s a tenderness I’ve never seen from him before, and it catches me off guard in the best way.

But, of course, nothing can stay perfect for too long.

Behind us, there’s a faint cough—awkward, yet still loud enough to interrupt. Sanemi jerks back slightly, his body stiffening as he glares over his shoulder, his face flushing an impressive shade of red. Mitsuri stands a few feet away, her hands pressed against her flushed cheeks, eyes wide with an excitement she’s struggling to contain.

“I—sorry!” she squeaks, her voice high-pitched and practically vibrating with excitement. “I didn’t mean to interrupt! I just—um—should I get Shinobu?”

Sanemi’s scowl is quick to return, but the harshness of his usual tone is absent, replaced by something softer, more resigned. “Go!” he barks, though his voice is far from venomous. The slight embarrassment in his eyes gives away his true feelings. “Just... go.”

Mitsuri, clearly trying not to burst out laughing, nods eagerly before darting off, her excited giggles trailing behind her like a whirlwind. I bite back my own laughter, my hand still resting gently on Sanemi’s face as I meet his gaze again.

The shift in energy is palpable. What had been a tender, quiet moment now feels lighter, more relaxed, even though a faint blush still colours his cheeks. Sanemi’s scowl softens as soon as he looks at me, and I can see the weight of his emotions finally beginning to settle.

“We’re going to talk about this,” he says, his voice firm, though there’s no anger behind the words—just an undeniable sense of care.

I can’t help but smile, the corners of my lips twitching up as I stare at him. “About what? The fact that I’m still breathing?”

His eyes narrow in mock suspicion, and I can see the mix of affection and frustration swirling in them. “Don’t push your luck,” he mutters, though there’s a spark of amusement dancing in his gaze.

“I’m serious,” I tease, my fingers gently tracing the outline of his jaw. “I’m not going anywhere, Sanemi. Not now. Not ever.”

His expression softens again, and for a moment, it’s like the world outside of this room has stopped spinning. It’s just the two of us, wrapped in the aftermath of everything we’ve survived and everything we’ve yet to face. The unspoken words between us are more powerful than any argument or confession could ever be.

He finally gives a small nod, his thumb brushing across my cheek. “I know,” he says quietly. “I just... I wasn’t ready for it. But I’ll get used to it, I guess.”

I laugh softly, the sound light and free. “Good,” I say, my voice full of affection. “Because I’m not planning on going anywhere either.”

Demon Slayer Masterlist To be made TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

[daisymbin]

13. "i kept this photo of us—don’t laugh." with dk 😂 the photo is from an embarrassing night out where y/n joins dk’s silly antics to make the members laugh

NDHDJS how do u keep coming up with these funny ideas omg 😹

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // seokmin's m.list

fluff prompt #13: "I kept this photo of us—don't laugh."

you hear him laughing before you even reach the bedroom door—a soft, almost giggly sound that immediately makes you suspicious.

“seokmin?” you call, poking your head into the room. he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders shaking as he hunches over something in his hands.

he startles at your voice, looking up with wide eyes. “oh! hey!”

your brows furrow. “what are you doing?”

“nothing!” he says way too quickly, shoving whatever he’s holding into his wallet and snapping it shut.

“uh-huh,” you say, stepping inside. “why do you look so guilty, then?”

“i don’t look guilty!”

“you do,” you insist, crossing your arms. “you were laughing to yourself and now you’re hiding something? definitely sus.”

he shakes his head, his laugh edging on nervous. “it’s nothing, i swear.”

“seokmin,” you say, moving closer. “just tell me already!”

“no way,” he says, clutching his wallet like his life depends on it. “you’ll laugh at me!”

“you’re being ridiculous,” you say, rolling your eyes. “just show me what you’re hiding!”

he groans dramatically, flopping back onto the bed. “why do you always have to be so persistent?”

“because you’re terrible at keeping secrets so its fun,” you reply, grinning.

he sighs, sitting up and holding his wallet tightly. “okay, fine. but promise you won’t make fun of mr?”

“i can’t make that promise,” you tease, earning a pout from him.

“then i’m not showing you!” he declares, flopping back again.

“fine, i promise!” you say, holding up your hands in mock surrender.

seokmin sits up slowly, giving you a suspicious look. “you better mean it.”

“i mean it,” you say, holding back a laugh at how serious he looks.

after a moment of hesitation, he finally opens his wallet, pulling out a small, slightly crinkled photo. he holds it out to you but doesn’t meet your eyes.

“i kept this photo of us—don’t laugh,” he mumbles.

you take the photo, your eyebrows shooting up when you see what it is. it’s from a night out a few months ago, during one of the infamous “try not to laugh” games.

in the picture, seokmin has 2 thick fat stripes of fake eyebrows drawn on his face, holding up a rubber chicken like he's just won the biggest award. you’re next to him, wearing a pair of hansol's alien sunglasses and striking the most ridiculous pose imaginable. the two of you are grinning like you’ve just performed the best performance of your life.

you bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but a giggle slips out anyway.

“hey! you promised!” seokmin says, pouting.

“i’m not laughing at you,” you say quickly, though you’re barely holding it together. “it’s just… this picture! why would you keep this?”

“because!” he says, crossing his arms. “it makes me happy, okay? every time i look at it, i remember how much fun we had that night & how... you aren't ashamed of being like that wild and letting loose in front of everyone with me.”

your teasing fades as you look at the photo again. it is a happy memory—a night filled with laughter, silliness, and the kind of pure joy you only feel with someone who truly gets you.

“that’s so sweet of you,” you admit, smiling softly.

“yeah?” he says, peeking at you hopefully.

“yeah,” you say, sitting down beside him and holding the photo out. “you know, you’re kind of cute for keeping this.”

he grins, his confidence returning. “kind of?”

“don’t push it,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder.

he laughs, leaning into you. “you know, i’m glad we did that game. no one else could’ve kept up with my antics the way you did.”

“somebody had to,” you say with a shrug. “you’re impossible to control.”

“thank you,” he says, his grin turning mischievous.

you roll your eyes, but you can’t hide your smile.

he nudges you back. “you know, i think we should recreate this photo. maybe at the next game night?”

“what ideas do yoy have in mind?” you asked playfully, laughing.

seokmin smiles down at you as he counts his blessings.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

can i pretty pls request a fluffy nash oneshot 🙏🏻

one with banter somewhat similar to how he and libby talk 🙏🏻 (in the tiny moments we get of them 💔)

thank you so much for this request!! I know it was requested a while ago, so sorry it’s taken me this long. I gave it a go, but I don’t think I hit the nail right on the head with what you requested, sorry!!

title: comfort from a cowboy

pairing: nash hawthorne x reader

synopsis: you had a not-so-nice interview and nash comforts you

warnings:

a/n: for @kit4strophe 💖💖

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast

My head rests against the hard wall behind me and I’ve been sat on the floor for so long my bum has gone numb. But I can’t be bothered to get up and move, I don’t have enough energy.

I replay the interview - or should I call it an interrogation - that had happened just a few hours earlier. It’s been on a sort of loop in my brain for a while now. The same blood boiling questions over and over and over. I never want to go through that again.

I hear my door open which is odd because when it’s shut usual no one bothers me, they know better than to. I don’t open my eyes immediately. I play a little game with myself, a silent game - ‘who is at the door’. Jameson? Unlikely. Grayson? Almost a definite no. Alisa? Don’t see it happening. Xander? A possibility. Nash? I doubted it. Avery? Wouldn’t be surprised. Oren? Only if there’s an emergency. Libby? Most likely.

I open my eyes and to my surprise my guess is annoyingly wrong. Usually I’m quite good at guessing games but I supposed today was an exception. Maybe it’s because there’s so much on my mind.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, scrunching up my nose at the sight of a certain texan cowboy motorcyclist.

“Careful,” he warns, the corners of his lips turning up in the slightest way, as he saunters in and sits down beside me, “you almost look happy to see me.”

“What are you doing here?” I repeat, not really in the mood for his games or anyone’s games for that matter.

“Sitting beside you,” he replies simply.

I narrow my eyes and shoot him a look, “don’t be cryptic.”

“You asked,” Nash shrugs, acting so laid back he was nearly horizontal.

“Why are you here?” I rephrase sharply, a tone he couldn’t ignore or twist or make light of.

“To make sure you’re alright,” he answers me earnestly, something in his deep hazel eyes that resembled concern.

“Well I’m fine, there we go,” I say shortly, “end of story, goodbye, the door is to your left.”

I close my eyes again and tilt my head back to rest on the wall, assuming he’d leave at my finalisation.

“I’m very aware of where the door is,” he drawls, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to use it.”

I internally scream in frustration and then open my eyes to meet his.

“Look I’m not in the mood for socialising right now,” I explain, trying hard not to sound too angry and defensive otherwise me might keep prying.

Nash is understanding. If I told him this, maybe he’d understand a kindly leave me be.

“You don’t have to socialise with me,” he says calmly, the soothing quality of his voice making it almost impossible for me to be mad at him.

“Fine,” I snap, standing up and perching myself on the end of my bed.

I won’t socialise. He can sit there bored out of his mind for all I care, in fact I hope he does. I lay back on the bed my head hitting the mattress with a soft thud. I want to sleep and rid myself of being such a prisoner to my own thoughts but for some reason I can’t bring myself to. And I know that reason is called Nash Hawthorne.

“Say something,” I groan sitting up.

If we have the conversation he so clearly wants, then he would leave, then I could sleep. Simple.

“What?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Just say something,” I exasperate, “the silence is killing me.”

A small smirk plays on his lips, “what happened to no socialising?”

“Just shut up and stay something,” I nearly yell.

“That phrase is one confusing oxymoron,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“You’re a moron,” I reply, snarkily.

He laughs at me. It was a real laugh, not a pity one. His eyes are lit up and the smile fills his face. It is a pretty laugh, I think that’s what annoys me the most. I liked it.

“Tell me something,” I press on, “anything.”

He pauses for a minute. And then another. And then another. Until the pause is so long I wonder if he’s going to talk at all. Slowly he makes his way beside me again and looks deep into my eyes like he can read them.

“You don’t like all this,” he begins, “you didn’t ask for it, you wish you could go back to your old life but feel selfish and guilty to wish that because people would die to be in your situation.”

I try not to betray my shock but I’m awful at hiding my thoughts and feelings. My face probably says it all. Part of me is angry. He shouldn’t know this. I shouldn’t be this easy to read. It’s not fair. The other part is touched that someone care this much.

I fold my arms protectively across my chest and raise my eyebrows, “and who are you to tell me that?”

“An observer,” he says, almost gently.

“Stop observing me,” I tell him, “I’m not a project.”

“Oh I would never dream of considering you a project,” he replies, his voice deep in the back of his throat.

I move in closer, pinning him with an accusing look, “then what do you consider me?”

“Hold your horses, darlin’, I’m asking the questions here,” Nash grins, something about the way the light sparkles in his eyes gets under my skin.

“Says who? And don’t call me darling,” I tell him bluntly.

“Says me,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

He doesn’t add a darlin’ on the end and part of me respects him for that. If I’d been talking to anyone else they probably would’ve tried to piss me off even more. But Nash isn’t like that, he never has been.

“Well I don’t care what you have to say,” I quip.

“I never asked you to care,” he replies, his voice reminding me of a waveless sea.

I glance at him and find his eyes are already on me, I exhale slowly and ask him one more time, “why are you here?”

“To make sure you’re okay,” he answers in an instant. No double meanings, no puzzles, no avoidance, just a straight answer. But it takes me by surprise just as much.

I try to cover my true feelings, “why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I saw it,” Nash tells me softly, apology decadently laced through his eyes.

He was referring to the interview of course. I didn’t know he watched mine like I watched his.

“I told you not to watch,” I scowl.

“I’m not very good at listening,” he shrugs.

“Clearly,” I roll my eyes, playing with the fabric of my jumper sleeve to avoid looking at him.

“So are you okay?” he asks, again his voice stole that gentle tone that made my heart melt into mush.

“I’m fine,” I reply, keeping my tone cold and hard.

Of course I’m not fine. I am anything but fine. But saying you’re fine is so much easier than talking through the hard parts, the truth. And sometimes if you pretend it’s fine for long enough you can trick yourself into believing it too.

“I know what happened,” he reminds me with a tenderness that made my limbs ache to curl against his body.

“And I’m fine,” I say sharply, still in denial, still trying to be too stubborn for my own good.

“Well now you’ve told me twice it makes it all the more real,” he barks out a laugh.

I roll my eyes.

“Why do you care so much anyway,” I scoff.

“You’re important.”

The answer is lightning fast, almost like a reaction. It doesn’t have to be thought about, pondered or even considered. It’s just engraved into his brain as the thing that feels more natural, the most ‘right’ to reply with.

“What?”

“You’re important and I care that you’re okay,” he says.

I don’t know what mix of emotions hit my chest, I just know they hit with an impact that knocks all the air out of my lungs. He cares. I’m important to him. He wants to know I’m okay.

“What are you hiding under that cowboy hat?”

He almost chokes on his own spit in surprise. Then gain composure and leans back, raising an eyebrow, “you’re changing the subject?”

“Answer my question,” I demand, narrowing my eyes.

“What do you mean what am I hiding under my cowboy hat?” he muses with a sweet small smile.

“Well you have it on 24/7,” I explain, “so I presume you’re hiding something.”

“Just because something is covered up doesn’t mean it’s hiding something,” he says ,”and it goes both ways, just because something looks normal doesn’t mean it’s not hiding something.”

I have a feeling he’s not talking about cowboy hats anymore.

“I did what I had to do,” I reply.

“Stayed silent?” he asked.

“It was better,” I press on.

A flicker of rage flashes through his face, “people don’t get to talk to you like that.”

“I know,” I yell back.

“Then why did you let them,” he asks me, annoying not raising his voice to escalate the situation.

I fancy a good yelling match in this moment with all the anger built up inside of me, he can see that and he isn’t giving in. I can’t tell if I like him more for doing that or not.

“Not every battle is worth fighting,” I snap back, “you should know that better than anyone.”

“I do,” he replies, almost cautiously, “but some are.”

“If people see you’ll fight everything you throw at them they will use that against you,” I tell him, “if you act unbothered in the first place you can surprise them one day and fight back.”

“You’re a tactical thinker,” Nash comments.

“Who cares what I am?” I reply.

His voice softens with every feature of his face, “I care.”

And there it is again. That mix of emotions with impact just hurling towards my chest. I never know what to say, it steals all my words before I get to say them. So silence consumes us, as if we’re two eskimos dead in the snow, the frostbite gnawing at our frozen bodies.

“You don’t have to act tough in front of me darlin, I can see right through you,” he murmurs, so softly I wonder why I didn’t just melt on the spot.

“Don’t call me darling,” I snap, avoiding his eyes.

I’m worried if I look into them I’ll tell him everything. And I can’t risk pouring everything out, not when I’ve hidden it so well for this long.

“I’m here,” he says desperately.

I feel as his hand clasps around mine, giving it two squeezes. Reassurance. My heart pounds in my chest. I want to tell him, I want to be free of my problems, I want someone to help me. But I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.

“I know,” I pause for a long while and he lets me, “it’s just hard.”

My voice cracks at the last word. After being so steady for so long it was bound to happen at some point.

“I know,” he says delicately, “believe me, I know.”

I let one tear slip down my cheek but as it rolls down, for my dignity he pretends not to notice. Always a gentleman.!

“I hate people,” I whisper, “they really suck.”

It was all I could manage without completely breaking down.

“I hate people too,” he agrees. I let him put an arm around me and I hesitantly lean into his chest.

I make a strangled laughing sound, “we should start a club.”

He sighs and quietly asks, “do you want to leave this place?”

“No,” I hesitate slightly, “and yes, but I’m not going to.”

“Is that what you really want?” Nash asks earnestly, a kind look in his eyes that is rare to find in any human being.

“Yeah, for now,” I nod.

“Good,” he says, “I’m glad you’re staying.”

“You’d miss me if I was gone?” I look up to him and raise my eyebrows.

“Of course,” he replies, “you’re one of us, your family now.”

I smile, my cheeks warming up to tint a rosy colour. I sniff as I let him wipe my final tear away with the soft pad of him thumb. There’s a moment that we lock eyes and neither of us dare look away. We both are very still. It’s like time isn’t moving.

When his thumb finally leaves my cheek all I can think about is how I want his touch there again. It’s like I need it now. Like how a drug addict craves a needle in their arm. The absence of that feeling of his skin on mine is horrible.

“Besides who will I have to call me a moron if you go away,” he jokes, tilting his cowboy hat towards me.

“You are pure cheek Nash Hawthorne,” I poke my tongue out.

“I’ve heard that one before in many different contexts,” he smirks with a wink.

Who knew Nash Hawthorne looked so good when he winked?

I gape in shock, “who knew you could make crude jokes!?”

“I may be the eldest and most responsible but who do you think taught everything to Jamie?” he asks.

“I’d never thought of that before,” I reply.

He shrugs in a very Nash kind of way, “welcome to the inner workings of being a Hawthorne.”

“Should I be flattered to be so privy to such important information?” I grin batting my eyelashes at him.

He moves in, “that depends on how much you value it.”

Our faces are inches apart. I feel something in my chest. Aside from my heart racing, there’s a feeling deep within my heart. It’s warm and tingly and tender. It’s sweet but bitter at the same time, and yet I still crave it.

“Let’s make a deal,” he whispers, our noses so close they could be touching.

“Is this a Hawthorne kind of deal?” I question in a murmur.

“Well what other kind of deal would it be,” Nash says, pulling back a little disappointing me slightly.

Still, I raise an eyebrow and cock my head to the side telling him to continue

“You don’t put up your wall anymore and you talk to me about your problems,” he proposes.

“A deal has two sides Hawthorne,” I remind him.

“Indeed it does,” he nods, “so name your price.”

“You learn when to shut up,” I say.

“What?”

“When I say I’m not in the mood for socialising understand it and move on,” I reply.

I wouldn’t be having the conversation if he’d just left me alone to start with. Not that I’m complaining, this conversation is rapidly becoming my favourite yet, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Deal.”

We take each others hands and with a firm shake the deal is bound.

“Starts today,” Nash adds, “now.”

“Perfect,” I smile mischievously, “then I think you should stop talking.”

“See I don’t think I-“

“Shhhh,” I shush him.

“But-“

“Shut up.”

“Mouth is shut!” he exclaims trying not to laugh.

“Forever?” I challenge.

“Can’t keep me quiet for that long darlin’,” he drawls.

“I can try,” I reply.

“You’re setting yourself up for failure,” he sing songs.

I put my finger on his lips and this time physically he can’t suppress him smile.

“How does failure taste?” I murmur.

“Like something you’ll enjoy,” he counters, talking against my fingertips. I can’t help but grin.

“Wanna get out of here for a bit, get some fresh air?” he asks me.

“Do I,” I sigh, dropping my hand from his mouth, relieved he finally asked

“Come on darlin’,” Nash says.

I don’t tell him not to call me darling. In fact it’s growing on me. He holds my hands, they’re warm against my cold palms and gently pulls me off of the bed.

“Where are we going?” I stand up, tilting my head to the side in question.

He flashes me a grin, “how do you feel about motorcycle rides?”

I did my research girl 🤭🤭 a little reread of tig never hurt anyone and the libby/nash content is too cute!! I feel like I didn’t really capture the right kind of banter because it was more sensitive so maybe I’ll do another one with more banter, so sorry about that xx hope you enjoyed anywaysss and thanks for your request

[posting-for-the-void]

So a lot of twins claim to have a sort of twintuition thing where they understand each other easily and often without words, and sometimes have high-level empathetic reactions to things that are happening to the other twin, even if they don’t know what’s happening to the other twin because they are in different locations at the time. There’s obviously not a lot of scientific evidence to back it up, but, eh. It’s a cool concept.

But what if, for the Skywalker twins, the force just ramped that up to 100.

Fic-ish thing below the cut.

Five-year-old Luke is learning the Tatooine slave language. After all, Aunt Beru used to be Beru Whitesun, before she married Uncle Owen, and his mom was Grandma Shmi, who used to be a Skywalker before she married Uncle Owen’s dad. Beru helps the recently-escaped hide in the secret compartment in the wall of their house more often than Owen does, but he claims it’s for plausible deniability, whatever that means. Leia, on Alderaan, begins mixing the harsh, clicking language with Basic subconsciously, but only when talking to herself in private. After all, she is a princess, and they must choose their words carefully in front of others.

Leia at age ten argues with her cousin about whether droids deserve respect, and across the galaxy, Luke is absolutely overcome with the need to thank every single droid he’s ever met for helping him with anything (he did this anyways before but for some reason he has to do it again Right Now).

Luke gets to drive a speeder by himself for the first time at 13 and Leia is practically begging for someone to take her out in a hovercar and go as fast as possible. And if that can’t happen she’s going to get the space equivalent of a Formula One racing sim, goddamnit.

Seventeen-year-old Junior Senator Leia’s heart skips a beat every time someone mentions Tatooine. She isn’t sure why. Obi-Wan lives there, yes, but something in her just knows that isn’t the real reason. Luke, meanwhile, yearns to see the galaxy, and often finds himself outside at night, staring at the sky. His eyes, for as long as he can remember, have always felt drawn towards a specific star. He asked Uncle Owen about it once when he was younger, and he gruffly explained that it was the Alderaan system. He feels like there’s something there, waiting for him. He’s not sure why.

And then they meet in person, and it’s “You’re a little short for a Stormtroope—Luke?”

“Leia?”

“Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so. Can I hug you?”

“Of course, you idiot. You’re my twin brother. You don’t even have to ask.”

“Thanks, Leia. You know, I had the weirdest dreams when I was ten about you and Old Ben.”

“Oh, yeah, that was actually real. I got kidnapped.”

“Cool.”

“Is it true you got nicknamed ‘Wormie’ by your friends?”

“…Yeah.”

And Han is so confused, but it’s fine, and within two hours their conversations are more like, “Hey, Leia, could you pass me the—“

“Yeah, do want the green one or the—“

“No, the blue one, probably. I need it to—“

“Oh, yeah, of course, that makes sense.”

And then Yoda tries to do the whole “Attached, you are,” routine, and Luke is like, “Well, duh. I’m only here so I can teach Leia everything I learn as soon as I get back. I’m just a pilot, which is a lot more replaceable than a princess, so we thought it would be best if I come learn from you instead of her.”

And meanwhile Leia is a lot stronger in the force now, and she meets Vader again and just goes, “Darth Dad, what the actual fuck,” under her breath in the Tatooine slave language, and the hint of Anakin that’s left absolutely freezes. Because Palpatine—Sideous—whatever, he said his kid was dead. He said that Padme died and the kid did too. He lied. And, when he meets Luke later, and he says the same Sithspitting thing, Anakin gets so thrown he accidentally cuts the kid’s hand off. Luke falls, and the shock of it in the force is so strong, and Anakin’s eyes flash blue in grief and love and hope, all at once, and all of the sudden he can think clearly for the first time in years. And his kids’—his kids!—bond in the force is so strong, how did he not notice it before?

And, anyways, I just feel like Skywalker Twintuition would be on a completely other and incomprehensible level.

[hippolotamus]

"Are you going to be okay?" + Bucktommy

No. No, I am not 😭 Please remember this is an angst prompt and that I love you so, so much 💞

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

your smile and the sound of your voice | T | 1.2k

“Are you going to be okay, Buckaroo?” 

Hen taps the neck of her beer against his and nudges his shoulder. 

“Yeah, of course.” He checks his phone again and sees the text he’s been waiting for from Eddie.

Be there in 5

“Yeah,” he says again, brighter and easier. Like he’s suddenly got more room to breathe.

She fondly rolls her eyes, letting him know she’s not buying it but she’s here for him all the same. 

His gut twists with nerves, like he inhaled an entire roll of Mentos and chased it with a two liter of Coke. He’s fine, though. He’s more than likely tachycardic, and he’s sweating like a pig, but he’s good. Honestly. 

Why wouldn’t he be? His family is supporting him through one of the more dramatic moves he’s ever tried to pull off. And he didn’t have to say a word for them to buy into his unhinged plan. They just- did. Albeit with many unvoiced concerns communicated in shared glances and whatever telepathy thing Hen and Chim have going on. Still, they’re here and he’s so, so grateful. He’ll want them to celebrate or if… well, he just needs them either way.

He taps his foot nervously, gripping the karaoke mic tighter and watching the seconds tick by on his watch. And then he sees him. His world stops when Tommy notices him. Their gaze locks across the room like one of those cheesy rom coms that Tommy loves. The kind they’d watch on the couch, or in bed together on a lazy afternoon. Buck wishes it was actually one of those meet cute moments where the main characters have a love at first sight experience. 

Instead, Eddie and Chim are nudging Tommy towards the front of the bar, urging him not to turn and run. All so Buck can cut his heart open and bleed out on the stage for him – for them – and hope he has enough time before his veins run dry. 

Tommy reluctantly sits on the bar stool strategically placed front and center. He’s flanked by Eddie, Chim, Maddie, Hen, Karen and Josh like a group of off kilter secret service agents. And yet he’s still looking at Buck with this mix of adoration and exasperation. Like nothing changed and he’s just here to watch his boyfriend be an idiot.

Buck’s heart pounds behind his ribcage and it’s all he can do to stay standing. He takes a swig of his beer, not that it does much when his mouth feels drier than the Sahara. Hopefully Tommy will understand needing a little liquid courage if only because he knows how much Buck hates singing in public. 

“Ready?” The DJ asks him.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Buck’s eyes flick to the screen, knowing his piece begins immediately. There’s no intro or lead up. Just Buck and whatever’s left of his dignity. 

“If you change your mind-” he winces as his voice cracks, “I’m the first in line. Honey, I’m still free, take a chance on me.”

Christ, it’s so off key but he’s on a roll now and gaining confidence with every note. 

“Gonna do my very best and it ain’t no lie, if you put me to the test, if you let me try!” Buck sweeps his free hand over his torso, peacocking in every sense of the word.

Tommy scrubs at his face, looking for all the world like he wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole. Not that Buck blames him. 

“Please don’t make this harder.” Tommy sighs. Silently begs with a pleading look. 

Buck sings louder to drive the point home. “You want me to leave it there, afraid of a love affair. But I think you knoooow, that I can’t let go.” 

Even with Tommy’s palm covering his mouth, Buck can still see the smile glowing in those blue eyes he always wants to stay lost in. 

He steps off the stage, flirty and confident as his friends make room for him to circle the man he’s over the goddamn moon about. The man he’s so fucking in love with that he’s willing to humiliate himself in front of their colleagues. “You say that I waste my time, but I can’t get ya off my mind. No, I can’t let goooo. ‘Cause I love you so.” 

Buck shrugs playfully, drinking in the embarrassed smirk he’s so familiar with. Just one of the dozens of expressions he’s catalogued over their months together. And tortured himself with in the weeks since Tommy broke his heart. Both of their hearts, really. 

By now, the crowd is clapping and cheering him on as he sings his lungs out, strutting around like the lovesick fool that he is. 

“Honey, I’m still free. Take a chance on me!” 

The song fades out, coming to an end as he slides on his good knee. He stops in front of Tommy, panting and flushed, baring his soul for everyone at the badge and ladder to see. Except he only needs one person to see it. To see everything and not be terrified.

“I know I fucked up before and I- I rushed things. And I know this isn’t how any of this should have happened. But you wouldn’t answer me or- or return my calls or texts.” His jaw trembles, voice breaking as tears drip off his chin. “You can take your time, baby. I’m in no hurry.” 

Buck risks reaching for Tommy’s hand, threading their fingers together. “Tommy. Sweetheart. Take a chance on me. Again. Please.”

It feels like a truce, like a fresh beginning. Like the start of something.

“Evan.” 

Buck’s blood fizzes like champagne, bursting with hope. Tommy smiles, a lopsided thing, and oh Buck can hardly sit still long enough to hear what comes next. But he has to, he needs to be patient. Not impulsive, not like before. 

“Buck,” Tommy corrects. 

The world seems to collapse around him. His chosen name sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Like a sour note in an otherwise beautiful aria. 

A tear escapes, rolling down Tommy’s cheek, past his now wobbly lip. “I wish I could. This is- it’s sweet and no one’s ever done anything like this for me before.” Tommy looks up at the ceiling, just like he did that night in the loft, and then meets Buck’s gaze again. “You are gonna be someone’s once in a lifetime. I just know it. But not-” There’s a strangled sound between them, from god knows where. Maybe it’s Buck, maybe it’s Tommy. Maybe it’s both. 

“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispers. 

In a blink, Buck’s hand is empty and Tommy’s weaving through the crowd. Leaving him all over  again.

“No, wait! Hold on!” Buck drops the microphone, ready to chase after him this time. Like he didn’t before. Like he should have. He apologizes as he knocks into tables and past servers until he’s finally out in the cool night air. He licks the salty tears from his lips, frantically searching in every direction. It hasn’t been that long. Buck was seconds behind. Tommy has to be here. 

But he’s not. There’s no sign of him in the crowds of people walking by. People laughing and talking and living their lives with fully formed hearts. All of them ignorant to Buck and his despair. 

“Wait,” he rasps, falling to his knees in the middle of the filthy LA sidewalk. “Please wait.” 

[solar4seekstron]

Just a funny short with IDW!Kup x Reader

Original part here.

Kup was currently yelling at the younger wreckers as per usual while Springer took a small vacation on a planet else where. Bulkhead especially was pretty sad since he accidentally broke something.

You’d then walk in with a couple data pads in your cervos as Kup keeps speaking.

The others then see you and give you pleading optics to help them. Even putting their cervos together. Kup notices and scolds them more. “Don’t look at them. They cant always save you. You bunch off-“

He was cut off as you got to him. Grabbing his chin and turning his helm to face you. “Y/N can’t you see I’m scolding them-“ He soon shuts up as your dermas connects with his.

All of a sudden he seems to soon be calm and shuts up. The other wreckers waiting to see if it’ll work.

Once you pulled away Kup seemed almost intranced as he grumbled a bit with a blush as he tried to speak. His optics almost hazy as he frowned. “Y’all can…go”

His helm resting ontop of your chest as you gently held him. You’d then wink at the others with a smile. In a way you became like a carrier to them since then and the others made their way out to have drinks.

”You’re evil..” Kup says. As you let out a deep chuckle and kiss his helm.

”Still works.” His cervos then holds your waist and he stands a little straighter as connects his dermas with yours. Your arms wrapping around his as your both kissed each other. Alone in the room at last….again.

Bonus Ending:

Bulkhead walked over to Y/N while they were making energon. He had some Cybertronian flowers and wished to give them to you. You accepted and you both started chatting.

Eventually he soon took you by surprise. Bulkhead soon asking after being so entranced.

”Please adopt me.” You let out a flattered chuckle after just looking at him. Before the other younger wreckers budding in. “Adopt us too!!!!”

You give them a soft smile and say. “Heh why not.”

The wreckers giving you a big family hug as they say.

“YES!!!!”

Somewhere else in the ship-

Springer and Kup were having a meeting until Kup got a chill up his spine. Springer noticed and spoke. “You alright?”

”No, I just got a bad feeling right now-“

This is just a silly idea that came to mind. I hope you guys enjoy this! As always a repost is appreciated and I hope you all have a good rest of your day!!!!

[maxdibert]

Why do you think Sirius gave up on his family? Do you think he thought they would forgive him for becoming friends with a blood traitor so he just did what he wanted but as the war progressed he realized he has to actually make a choice? Like he took it as a rebellion and angst at the beginning and only later realized how real the pressure was? Did he not love them enough? What was the deal there? (I know you are a Snape account but I love your takes on other characters as well that's why I'm asking for your opinion on this. Btw I read your fic and I love the way you write Snape's internal dilemas)

Well, you can ask me about any character—I don’t exclusively talk about Severus hahaha and i love to rant about things so... Also, Sirius? Can’t stand him. But I like him as a character because I find him so cynical and hypocritical that he’s absolutely fascinating. I’ve always had this love-hate relationship with rich kids from ultra-conservative families who play at being progressives and think they’re these righteous justice warriors but, at the end of the day, are still just privileged kids with privileged prejudices and privileged habits. And I mean that sincerely—no irony intended. I’ve met plenty of people like that in my life, and I think Sirius is a very realistic representation of the cognitive dissonance that people like this tend to have.

That said, here’s something I’ve always thought. Obviously, this is a personal headcanon based on my own experiences with people who fit his profile, but I think it holds water. Usually, people like this—those who grow up in oppressive environments and eventually become atheist anti-religion types, join the communist party to scandalize their ultra-right-wing parents, or turn into crypto bros after ditching the vegan hippie commune their parents raised them in—do this stuff in late adolescence, almost as adults. But Sirius? He starts rebelling really early, as a kid. By the time he’s 11, he already feels the need to rebel against his family.

It happens the moment he meets James, when James establishes that Slytherin is the worst. Sirius comments—offhandedly, without any resentment or anger—that his whole family’s been in Slytherin. He doesn’t seem like he’s at war with them yet, but you can tell he kind of likes the idea of not being in Slytherin just to piss them off. Add to that the fact that he hints in OotP that his dad was a pushover and calls Regulus an idiot—like he was just a fool—but he doesn’t seem truly resentful toward either of them. Sure, they didn’t have a great relationship, but when he talks about them, it’s more with antipathy than hatred. All of this leads me to the same conclusion: mommy issues.

Sirius had major mommy issues—or at least, that’s how I see it. Rich boys with daddy issues rebel by trying to become powerful men, detached from the arena where their fathers succeeded, but determined to surpass them. Rich boys with mommy issues? They turn into psychos. Seriously, that’s just how it works—I don’t make the rules. I think Sirius always clashed hard with Walburga because (and this is my favorite part, because this isn’t just a headcanon; I’m absolutely convinced of this from the little we see of their interactions—or of him with the portrait—in the books) they had the same shitty personality.

Walburga was a dominant, explosive woman with an imposing, even despotic, character. It’s very reminiscent of Bellatrix and, by extension, very much like Sirius. I think Regulus and Orion had similar personalities—the same kind Narcissa shows: arrogant, smug, classist, but restrained and composed. Egocentric, but calm. Walburga, Sirius, and Bellatrix are the other side of that aristocratic coin: the type who believe they’re entitled to everything and everyone, the kind who bulldoze over everything in their path. They’re wild and uncontrollable personalities, especially if someone tries to rein them in.

In my mind, Sirius took after his mom, and Walburga couldn’t stand having someone so much like her constantly challenging her authority. Sirius, meanwhile, couldn’t stand her trying to control him. So at age 11, his rebellion was probably just a tantrum aimed at his mom, a way to piss her off as much as possible. From there—and thanks to James’s influence, as well as the credit Sirius gave James because, spoiler-not-spoiler, James was also a rich pureblood wizard like him—he started adopting James’s worldview. Not because it was rooted in firm beliefs or clear reasoning, but because James had a family that wasn’t insane, so he was probably right. And if parroting James’s ideas at home gave his mom a few gray hairs, all the better.

It snowballed and escalated until the relationship was unsalvageable. James offered him a place to stay if he wanted to leave, and Sirius moved out. But the start of it all? A tantrum aimed at mommy. Sirius has some massive mommy issues he just can’t handle. And the funniest part? He’ll do anything to avoid being like her. He’ll go to any length to do the exact opposite of what she would do. But in the end, because they share the same awful personality, he behaves in the same violent, despotic, narcissistic way she did—just with different victims: Kreacher or Severus, for example.

It’s a brilliant little Oedipal case study.

[aois-amaterasu-painting]

MusiQ vol.13 - Aoi (August 2008)

葵 - the GazettE

Inner Landscapes

"It’s probably different from what you imagine…"

Shining a spotlight on Aoi not just as a member of the GazettE, but as an individual artist and human being—a perspective not easily discerned from his band persona.

THEME INTERVIEW - 1

"Friendship"

― Do you have many friends? "I think I have few."

― Has it always been that way? "Not really. Back in school, it felt like everyone was friends. I used to hang out in big groups. There were three middle schools in our area, but school or grade didn’t really matter. Since we’d known each other since we were little, we called each other by our first names instead of our last names."

― Do you still keep in touch with your school friends? "I do with some, but a lot of people have left Mie, and I’ve lost contact with some of them."

― What does 'friend' mean to you? "A friend is someone you don’t have to act polite around. I’m very considerate and sensitive, so a friendship where we can say things like, 'Aren’t you hungry? Let’s go grab a meal'. Friendship isn’t something you decide, like 'Let’s become friends.' It’s more like realizing one day that someone has always been there beside you."

― Are the band members different from friends? "It’s a bit different. With the members, sometimes I feel like I need to be considerate, and there are things that are hard to say. Sometimes I wonder, 'What do they think?' I think you shouldn’t let things get too casual. If you have a relationship where you just let things slide, it can affect the music… Also, it’s a little awkward. It’s hard for me to talk about a lot of things with the members."

― Do you have friends nearby now? "I don’t think there’s anyone in Tokyo I could truly call a friend."

― Isn’t that lonely? "It is. But I don’t really leave the house much. I can’t even go out to eat alone. During tours, I often just get food from convenience stores. When I go back to Mie, I meet up with my friends there. At home, I’m outgoing and go to various places. But in Tokyo, I can’t quite adapt. I hate crowds, and being a country boy at heart, I still struggle to get used to the city."

THEME INTERVIEW - 2

"Love"

― What are you like when you’re in love? "I’m considerate (laughs)."

― Men and women focus on different things when being considerate. What do you focus on? "Everything (laughs)."

― So, you must be very kind, then? "That’s why it’s exhausting. Honestly, I’m the kind of person who doesn’t want to do anything. I like to just relax and laze around."

― Then, would you prefer someone you don’t have to be considerate toward? "Not really. I think I’d end up being considerate with anyone. Maybe after 10 or 20 years together, it’d be different, but who knows?"

― Do you also pay attention to their emotional state, like asking, 'Are you okay?' "Ah, I do say things like that. Probably to the point of being annoying (laughs)."

― What do you look for in a woman? "I don’t want someone who expects too much from me. Like constantly saying 'Hey, hey!'—I’d rather not deal with that (laughs). I’d like her to keep some distance and not be too clingy. I’d like them to be able to live on their own strength (laughs)."

― So, you prefer independent women? "Yes, that’s definitely easier. Someone who isn’t working is already out of the question (laughs)."

― Not even working a part-time job? "I’d want her to work part-time at least four days a week (laughs). Since I’m often away, being attached all the time would be tiring. I think a person who’s independent, leaves me to my own space, and has her own opinions is attractive."

― Even if she’s a little strong-willed? "That’s totally fine. Though, if they’re outright combative, that’d be annoying (laughs)."

― You prefer someone who’s career-oriented? "Well, if they’re working six days a week, that’s a problem. If we can’t see each other at all, that’d be lonely, wouldn’t it?"

― (laughs) That’s tricky. "I’m waiting for someone like that (laughs)."

THEME INTERVIEW - 3

"Family"

― Can you tell us about your family structure? "My dad, mom, older sister, older brother, and me."

― Is there a big age gap between you and your older sister and brother? "Yes, there is. My sister is nine years older, and my brother is seven years older."

― What’s something you’re glad about being the youngest? "I’m not sure, but according to my sister and brother, my dad didn’t yell at me that much (laughs). 'Dad told you to at least go to high school, and you went, but when you quit after the first semester, he didn’t say anything.'"

― Were you raised surrounded by love? "Was I? I don’t know. Since there’s a big age gap, by the time I entered middle school, my sister wasn’t at home anymore, and my brother had already moved out. My dad was working away from home, so he only came back on weekends. I was mostly at home with just my mom."

― So, were you a mama’s boy? "Well, I don’t know. I love both my parents."

― Do you think you’ve been a good son to your parents? "No, I’d say I’m still mostly in the 'bad son' phase (laughs)."

― Do you call them sometimes? "I do. When there’s a final live in Tokyo, they come to stay at my place."

― Isn’t that a nice way to show gratitude? "Well, when they come over, food gets stocked up, so I think, 'Great!' (laughs)."

― Does your mom read the magazines you’re in? "Yes, she does. My parents’ house is crazy. When you open the front door, there’s Gazette stuff everywhere—posters, autographs, everything."

― Anything you’d like to say to your mom? "Mom, thank you for everything (laughs)."

― How do you think fans perceive you, Aoi? "Eh? I think i'm probably different from what they imagine. Fans probably think I'm very serious…"

― Are you very serious? "Yeah, well they might think I just sit in front of my PC all the time, making music. But no, no (laughs)."

― So it’s far from the truth? "Completely different (laughs). I guess it's because I only talk about that kind of stuff in interviews. Like, ‘I’m always making music’"

― But in reality? "In reality, I do sit in front of my PC, but I take a break every hour (laughs). I can’t keep my focus for long. I’ll suddenly go play darts and then think, ‘Let’s have some coffee.’"

― I get it. You want to take breaks constantly. "Exactly. I spend so much time on breaks that the day just flies by (laughs). Also, I don’t get started unless there’s a deadline looming. That hasn’t changed since the days of summer vacation homework."

― Like panicking on August 30th or 31st? "I really rush then. That’s why I often say I pull all-nighters, but that’s only when I’m pushing myself at the last minute. I’m making music now, but it’s hard to get started. So, I try to meditate sometimes."

― Really? "Well, it’s more like zoning out while watching TV (laughs). I’m always thinking about music. But unless I solidify the image in my mind first, I can’t start. If I don’t carefully plan it, things won’t fit together, and I hate that. If even one part feels lame, it really bothers me. I want to put out something I’m truly satisfied with. Maybe that’s why people think I’m serious.

― How do you unwind at home? "Basically, any time I’m not sitting at my PC (laughs). I used to work in the living room, but when I turned around and saw the bathroom or other distractions, it was hard to focus. So now I’ve moved all my equipment to a plain room near the front door."

― The bathroom is a distraction? "The bath is amazing, right? Don’t you feel refreshed? It’s great, but if I’m not careful, I’ll end up having a beer after my bath. And then it’s game over—I just go to bed. But I usually come up with songs in the bath."

― Then it’s an amazing space, isn’t it? "Yeah, but it has its risks too, so it’s a double-edged sword. But when I’m in the bath, I think that’s when I’m the most 'in the zone."

― In the zone? "In my mind, yeah. I’m not actually dancing in the bathroom. In my mind, I’m having an intense live performance. Of course, it’s for a new original song."

葵 - the GazettE

Inner Landscapes

"It’s probably different from what you imagine…"

Shining a spotlight on Aoi not just as a member of the GazettE, but as an individual artist and human being—a perspective not easily discerned from his band persona.

― Aoi, you have this laid-back, unique vibe that feels reminiscent of old-school rock musicians. "What, like I’m careless? (laughs)"

― No, no, that’s not what I meant. I heard you learned guitar from your older brother? "Yeah, that’s right. Back in his high school days, during his rebellious phase, my brother was in a band and played guitar. It looked like a lot of fun, so I wanted to join in, but he kicked me out (laughs). Instead, he gave me one guitar, a book with chords and lyrics in it, and said, 'Here, I'll lend you this. Go practice downstairs.' So I started practicing around middle school."

― What kind of songs were you practicing back then? "I practiced songs by X Japan using chords. But it was on a classical guitar, so it wasn't really rock at all (laughs). Then, after my brother graduated from high school, I asked him for his guitar, and that’s when I got my first electric guitar—but it was broken."

― Oh no, so no sound came out even when you connected it to an amp? "Yeah. I had saved up all my New Year’s money and had my dad take me to buy a small amp. I was so excited. But when I got home and there was no sound, I just started crying."

― (Laughs) That’s such a disappointment. "Totally. But from late elementary school to my third year of middle school, I was delivering newspapers. So in middle school, I saved up and bought my own electric guitar. It was the best thing ever! I was so happy that I even slept with the guitar. That time in my life was super busy. I’d deliver newspapers in the morning, go to school during the day, play baseball in the school club, and then practice guitar at night before going to bed. I didn’t even have time to do homework."

― It sounds like you didn’t have much motivation from the start. "Not at all. Kids are busy, you know? (laughs) But after I dropped out of high school, I stopped playing guitar. I wanted to become a professional musician, but my brother told me how tough the reality of it was. It kind of crushed my dream. My brother really loved music too, but he ended up working a normal job. So I thought, Yeah, that’s just how it goes."

― So you decided to take a different path. "Yeah, I was kind of aimlessly drifting along, and at the time, the older brother of a girl I was dating was into surfing."

― (Laughs) Another older brother. "Right. I can’t seem to do anything without someone else’s influence (laughs). But when I tried surfing, I was like, This is fun! Most people say they can’t stand on the board at first, but I was able to stand right away. I thought, I’ve got talent for this."

― Did you think, I’m going to be a pro surfer!? "Yeah, I was aiming for it. The word 'pro' just sounds cool, doesn’t it? Like being a professional baseball player or something."

― So you’ve always been drawn to careers in the spotlight? "Looks like it (laughs). I even entered surfing competitions. Actually, the first time I was featured in a magazine, it was in a surfing magazine (laughs)."

― How long were you into surfing? "About two or three years, I think. I had so much energy back then. I’d go to the ocean in the morning, take a nap at noon, head back to the ocean in the evening, and then work at night."

― Busy as ever. "Yeah, super busy. That was my life. But one night, I was watching a late-night TV show, and they featured an indie band. I got this idea in my head, like, I could do better than them. Once I thought that—well, here we are. In the end I decided, “Alright, I’m going to Tokyo”. Just like that (laughs)."

― But you weren’t even in a band at the time, right? "No, I wasn't. But I thought, If I go to Tokyo, I’ll figure it out somehow. That same day, I told my parents about it. Of course, I couldn’t just quit my job immediately, so I worked for another month, then said, Alright, I’m off. During that month, I practiced guitar like crazy."

― That’s pretty reckless. "Definitely reckless. Even I think I was stupid (laughs). Like, What was I even thinking?"

― But that’s the important part, isn’t it? "Sure, it worked out now, so it’s fine, but if it hadn’t, I’d just be a fool (laughs). So I arrived in Tokyo with no money, no place to stay, and I thought I might just take a live-in newspaper delivery job. But then an acquaintance said, My sister and her husband live in Tokyo—why don’t you stay with them for a while? I thought, This is too good to be true! (laughs). They even helped me find a job, and I worked part-time while putting together a band. One of the people I played with back then was actually the previous drummer of the GazettE."

― That kind of lifestyle must have contributed to that "rock" vibe you give off. "Now that I think about it, my parents were probably the most rock and roll part of the whole thing for letting me go to Tokyo (laughs). They gave me just enough money for a round trip, probably thinking I’d be back in no time. And then seven, eight years went by, and here we are (laughs)."

― What does your brother, the one who taught you guitar, say now that you’ve made it big with the GazettE? "He doesn’t say anything directly. But my brother’s wife showed me a video she secretly filmed, and in it, my brother was playing a cover of a GazettE song (laughs)."

― (laughs) The roles are reversed now. "I thought, "Big Bro, you're doing great!". Maybe you're a little better than me (laughs)"

― (laughs) So, how do you think the band members perceive you? "I’m not really sure. I don't really want to ask or know about it, to be honest. It would suck if they thought weird things about me, right?"

― (laughs) But you’re sensitive, so you must think about things like that. "I think about it a lot. (laughs). For some reason, Uruha seems a bit distant toward me. I don’t know if it’s because I’m older or because we’re both guitarists. Of course, we talk a lot during the creative process, but outside of that, not so much. That bothers me a bit (laughs)."

― A curious sense of distance. "Yeah, like... in a group photo kind of way (laughs). But he’s still within reach, you know? Back in the day, we used to share hotel rooms on tour, and we’d talk a lot about what kind of sound we wanted to create. But now, we’re in separate rooms, and compared to then, we don’t talk as much. I feel a bit lonely (laughs)."

― You could just start a conversation. "But I wouldn’t know what to say (laughs). I see him chatting happily with everyone else, and I think, good for him (laughs). Just the other day, even though I felt awkward, I called him and asked, Hey, Uruha, how do you watch terrestrial digital broadcasts? And he replied, You should probably just ask someone at the electronics store about that (laughs)."

― (laughs) You're embarrassed.

"Well, I’m not gay or anything (laughs)."

― (laughs) I didn’t mean that at all. "Well, lately Uruha is the one I find myself thinking about the most in the GazettE."

― But listening to you talk, it seems like you’re shy. It’s as if you don’t want to be seen as too serious about it. "Shy—that’s a nice way to put it (laughs). There’s just something awkward about being with the members. When we’re doing music, we speak our minds, we get angry, we say whatever we need to. But outside of that, even saying, Let’s grab something to eat, feels hard to say. If they said no, it would hurt, wouldn’t it? I’d regret even asking... (laughs). So I usually invite the manager instead, but when he says no, I get annoyed (laughs). Like, You don’t have the right to say no to me! (laughs). Honestly, though, I’d love to eat with everyone and just talk. I guess this is what being shy is about."

― So that’s why you end up being alone? "Yeah. Maybe I don’t actually like being alone. It might just be that I don’t have a choice (laughs). Am I lonely?! Because of this, when this magazine is released, I’m thinking of secretly buying it and leaving it at the members’ houses (laughs)."

― (laughs) Got it. Lastly, the GazettE is currently working on new material, right? "Yeah, we’re really diving into it. When we worked on the last single, Guren, it was during a tour, but now we’re in an environment where we can fully concentrate, so the songs are really powerful. It’s not so much about the style of the music, though."

― Is it influenced by the energy you got from the tour? "Yeah, that’s part of it. The band is really in an aggressive mode right now. We’re sharp, you could say. So, if you’re not careful, you might get taken by surprise. If you underestimate us, you’ll get burned. Right now, we’re fired up. And if it turns out to be a ballad... Then, well... my bad (laughs).

― (laughs) "But honestly, I’m really excited right now. We’re putting everything we have into making these songs. Everyone’s gotten super dedicated, so I think there will be some intense clashes in the studio. At the very least, I’m planning to bring the heat."

― You’re usually so considerate, though. "When we’re creating, though, there’s no room for being considerate. If you compromise in music, then it’s over. I really believe that."

― Aoi, you also get various comments about the songs and phrases you come up with, right? "When I’m working on the basic elements, I take in feedback. But once the song moves to the next stage, I present it by saying, This is how the song is, and this is my vision. But especially with Uruha, I get nervous. If he says, Yeah, it’s good, it feels like I’ve won. I’ll do a little fist pump in my mind (laughs)."

― You’ve also got a live show at Fuji-Q Highland Conifer Forest on August 23rd, right? "Yeah, it’s our first outdoor live in two years, so I want it to feel a bit like a festival. Last time at Tokyo Big Sight, we had fireworks and food stalls, so this time, being at Fuji-Q, it’ll be a completely different atmosphere. We’re looking forward to it, and I’m sure you all are too, right?"

― So, better finish your homework early. "Yeah, that's right. If I don't finish it by the 30th, I probably won’t be able to show up at our live show properly (laughs)."

A band is nothing without live shows

What a rock band should be

~the GazettE~

Written by Hiroko Yamamoto

I hardly know anything about the GazettE's indie days. The only thing I remember is seeing them perform at an event when Shibuya’s O-WEST was still called ON AIR WEST. However, I vividly remember that time. It felt almost like a spell. Perhaps it was the atmosphere on stage, including the fanaticism of the fans, that gave me a sense of fear.

Although it’s not included in this interview, Aoi mentions that during the early tours, even when they went to Hokkaido, they didn’t have the budget to stay in hotels. He recalls sleeping in the car during the dead of winter and being warned by a police officer the next morning, "If you sleep here, you'll freeze to death." In the DVD, he also says that the GazettE is a band that took the long route. In an era where you can search anything with a cell phone or a computer, opting not to take shortcuts but instead relentlessly performing live across the country is, in my opinion, a lot more demanding than it would have been for bands active 20 or 30 years ago. After all, when you start drawing a crowd, temptations are everywhere.

When I asked during an interview for their single Guren why they continued to play so many live shows, their response was crystal clear: “Simply put, a band is all about performing live.”, “If you neglect that, it’s like denying everything.”, “If people don’t come to see us live, there’s no point.”, “Even interviews and photoshoots are ultimately connected to our live shows.” This stubborn and resolute attitude hasn’t changed at all, even as they enter their seventh year as a band. I believe that even when the GazettE celebrates their 10th or 20th anniversary, they will still give the same answer. They describe themselves as awkward, but perhaps they’ve always been focused on what truly matters, while eliminating anything they consider impure.

One result of that is their grand final shows at Osaka-jo Hall and the two-day performance at the Yoyogi National Gymnasium. The overwhelming, thunderous cheers they received were proof that their fans were thirsting for the GazettE. The heat and energy in the venue were so intense that the microphones set up for recording were nearly toppling over. In the midst of that incredible atmosphere, the GazettE stood tall, poised and composed. They played their music and exchanged energy with those who needed it. There was no pretension, nor any forced attempts at unification. Everything unnecessary was stripped away. What remained were songs and performances that stirred the soul—the essence of what a rock band should be. No matter how common downloads become, no matter how advanced technology gets and how perfectly crafted recorded music becomes, it will never compare to the immediacy and thrill of a live performance. The GazettE probably knew that long ago…

Review

Highly acclaimed! The writer's “post-interview” review.

葵 (the GazettE)

Aoi’s first solo interview. He had analyzed himself as a sensitive and thoughtful person, which was absolutely true. Although he was a little shy during the questions, he still made me laugh and was very attentive to the atmosphere of the conversation. Still, that doesn’t mean he came across like the “friendly older brother” type. The unique aura and sensuality of a true rock musician were unshaken throughout the interview—something that left a lasting impression. I knew about the GazettE’s fierce dedication to their music, where heated arguments are commonplace, but I was surprised to learn that in everyday conversation, Aoi finds it awkward to even say, “Wanna grab a meal?”(laughs). His shy side as a guitarist shines through, even as he sneakily sends messages (or pleas?) to his bandmates through the magazine.

―――――――――― ―――――――――― ――――――――――

Scans cr: The Archive Translation: ChatGPT

[isak-dot-gov]

Someone Who Isn't Me

Pairing: Kelsey Plum x Reader

Word Count: 1360

My Masterlist :)

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The bright lights of Las Vegas pulsed outside the bar as Kelsey stood frozen in place. It was a rare moment where she was caught completely off guard, and she couldn't tear her eyes away. There you were, sitting at a table in the corner, laughing with someone else. Her heart twisted painfully as she realised that the someone else was a date, not her.

A year had passed since your breakup, but the feeling of regret hadn't faded. In fact, seeing you here, looking happy and confident, made her stomach tighten in ways she couldn't explain. The last time she'd seen you, things had ended badly. She hadn't realised it then, but now, in the quiet hum of the bar, she couldn't ignore the truth anymore: she had messed up. 

The Aces had just wrapped up another offseason celebration, but tonight, Kelsey’s mood was ruined. Her mind was racing, the regret overwhelming her. 

The rest of the team noticed her distance as the night wore on. Jackie Young was the first to approach her, noticing the quiet storm brewing in Kelsey’s usually upbeat demeanour.

"Hey, Kels, what's up?" Jackie asked, raising an eyebrow as Kelsey fiddled with her drink, her gaze drifting back to you.

Kelsey exhaled, but before she could come up with an answer, Jackie smirked, clearly seeing through the distraction. “Come on, what’s really going on? Who’s got you looking like that?”

Kelsey didn’t know why she hesitated. Maybe it was the comfort of Jackie’s bluntness, or maybe it was the steady gaze of her teammates, but she finally let the truth slip out.

“She’s here. And she’s with someone else. Someone who isn’t me.”

The quiet that followed her words felt thick, almost suffocating. Her teammates exchanged glances, but it was Chelsea Gray who spoke first, her tone sharp yet gentle.

“You mean Y/n?” Chelsea asked, her voice full of surprise. “I thought you two were...”

“Yeah, we were,” Kelsey murmured, her voice low. “We were a thing. But I couldn’t—no, I didn’t—let anyone know. Not even you guys.”

There was a brief silence, and then A’ja Wilson, who had been quietly listening, gave Kelsey a knowing look. “Kels, you have to know how much you messed that up. I know you thought you were protecting yourself—or protecting her, but you weren’t. She deserved better.”

Kelsey felt the guilt start to seep back in, but this time it wasn’t the guilt of being caught. It was the guilt of realising just how much she had hurt you, someone she had cared about deeply.

Jackie leaned forward, speaking with an intensity Kelsey didn’t expect. “You should reach out. You owe her an apology. A real one. Maybe even more.”

The words stung, but Kelsey knew they were right. The thought of you—happy with someone else—made her heart ache, and she knew she couldn't let the chance to apologise slip away. If she was being honest, it had never really been about protecting you. It had been about protecting herself, from the pressures of her career, from the attention that a relationship with you would bring, and from the fear of being vulnerable.

“I will,” Kelsey whispered. “I will.”

One Year Ago:

The argument had started quietly enough. Just another late night after practice, the two of you in her apartment, tangled in quiet conversation that had somehow taken a turn for the worse.

“I don’t understand, Kelsey,” you said, your voice trembling with frustration. “I’ve been asking for months. Why can’t you just be open with people about us? Why does it feel like you’re ashamed of me?”

Kelsey, sitting across from you, looked down at the floor, the guilt twisting in her stomach. She couldn’t even meet your eyes. “I’m not ashamed of you, okay? It’s just… complicated. I don’t want everyone in my business. We have to keep this to ourselves, for now.”

“For now?” you repeated, your voice rising slightly. “How long is this ‘for now’ supposed to last, Kels? Because right now, it feels like I’m just your dirty little secret, something you hide away from the world like I don’t even matter.”

Kelsey flinched at your words, though they stung with truth. She opened her mouth to protest, but no words came. She couldn’t explain it to you. She couldn’t tell you that she was terrified—terrified of the extra pressure, terrified of being scrutinised, and terrified of letting anyone see just how deeply she cared for you. She was afraid of it all crumbling beneath her feet if she didn’t keep control. 

But the more she kept quiet, the more you began to retreat, the more the space between you grew.

“I need more than this, Kelsey,” you said quietly, your eyes wet with unshed tears. “I need to know that I’m not just someone you hide. I need to know that you want me, in the open, with your friends, with your teammates… with the world.”

Kelsey’s heart cracked as she saw the pain in your eyes. She reached out, but you pulled away.

Her face softened, but she didn’t say anything. Silence lingered between you, and the pain in your chest grew as each second passed.

“Do I even matter to you, Kelsey?” you whispered, feeling your heart break a little as the question left your lips.

“Of course, you matter! Don’t say that,” Kelsey replied, reaching out as if to comfort you, but her hesitation was clear. “I just… I can’t do it right now. Not with my career and the way things are.”

“No,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I can’t keep doing this. If you can’t give me what I need—if you can’t let me be a part of your life in the way that I need to be—then I think it’s better if we just stop. For both of us.”

Kelsey’s world felt like it was crashing down around her, but she didn’t know how to fix it. The words you said—*I can’t keep doing this*—replayed in her mind over and over, and she knew you were right. You were right to leave, because she hadn’t been willing to fight for you in the way you deserved.

And so, you left. 

Present Day:

Now, as she sat across from you in the coffee shop, the years of regret felt heavier than they ever had before. Kelsey took a deep breath, the words she’d been holding in for so long finally escaping her lips. “I know I messed up. I should have never let you walk away like that. I kept us hidden because I was scared, and I hurt you in the process. I’m so sorry. I should have fought for you.”

You were quiet for a moment, your gaze fixed on her, as if searching for something in her eyes. “I was so confused, Kelsey,” you said softly. “I loved you, I still do, and I thought you loved me too. But when you kept pushing me away, it felt like I wasn’t worth the risk. Like I was just something to hide.”

Kelsey’s heart broke at the words, but she knew they were true. You deserved better. You had always deserved better. 

“I do love you,” Kelsey replied, voice thick with emotion. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to realise it. I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to be with you—out in the open, for everyone to see. Because that’s what you deserve. You deserve to be loved proudly. Not hidden away like a secret.”

A slow smile spread across your face, and Kelsey couldn’t help but feel a weight lift from her chest. “If we try again,” you said quietly, “it can’t be the same as before. No more secrets. No more hiding.”

Kelsey nodded fervently, her hands reaching across the table to find yours. “No more secrets. I promise.”

And as the two of you sat there, hands entwined, the world outside felt a little brighter. Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something better—something built on honesty, vulnerability, and the love they both shared but had been too afraid to fully embrace.

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[suigetsusunny]

Temporary Whispers Of The Heart ⊹₊⟡⋆ | Sosuke Aizen X Reader Chapter 7 | Use Your Heart

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Fuchsia petals twirled and twisted in the breeze of spring, detaching from the sakura trees that lay outside the Karakura district office. A delightful marker of spring, or for the working, a more… unfavourable signal to begin the working year.

The elevator door chimes gleefully, hardly serving to uplift your fallen spirits as your heels slam against the floors of the hallway to the office. Your hand clasps around the office door’s handle, swinging it with force towards you as you proceed to barge in.

Who does she think she is? Claiming she’s your sister after so long. Sure, she might be wanting to fix things with you, but she's failing. Miserably. So hard that her good for nothing boyfriend has to step in and-

Caught up in your thoughts, you abruptly bump into a firm surface, wincing as a man’s chest clothed with fashion at prices you could only dream of greets your nose. Immediately reaching to cover your squashed nose, your eyes trail up to meet the stare of a stern yet charmed brunette.

“I see someone’s quite thrilled to see me.” Sosuke gives an amused smirk, and you give an unamused frown in return.

“Don’t humour me-”

You suddenly perceive the cut on his neck left by that night beginning to bleed once more, your eyebrows creasing in worry. The silver star hair clip you had on must have scraped against his neck when you bumped into him…

“It is only a scratch, you can halt your perturbed gaze. I won’t die.” A hint of softness flashes across Aizen’s usual stoic gaze, almost mocking to your worried demeanour. You scrunch up your nose in response to his assumption of your concern, scowling. “I don’t care whether you live or die. You can’t walk around the office with that. The new interns are arriving today. I had hoped you held some sort of shame and would have tried to not look like a monster…”

“Ah, but that is where you fail… And even if I wished to cover my terrifying gash that you presume will petrify the new interns, I cannot.” Almost humorously, Aizen lifts his cuffed wrists, giving them a slight shake to enunciate their jingles while grinning at you, like a child giddily bringing a dead bird to his mother in pride. You scoff, shaking your head in amusement and bewilderment. 

“Chained up again? My poor birdy. Did Icarus fly too close to the sun again?” You snicker, slightly groaning while meticulously observing the bleeding gash on his neck with your index. Considering his tightly bounded wrists, it was your responsibility to clean this up. You already had to host a special threat in the office to farm his spiritual energy, if that didn’t scare away the new employee’s, his bloodthirsty appearance definitely would.

“I prefer to compare myself to Lucifer, actually. A fallen angel. Considering my beauty and brawn, wouldn’t you agree?”

Rolling your eyes, you take his wrist and lead him to the office kitchen, his obedience and silence surprising you. A benign chuckle simply emitted from his slightly parted grin as you moistened your handkerchief under the sink. 

“Where did this gash come from, anyway?” You grumble as you tenderly caress the enigma’s adams apple with a damp cloth, dabbing the blood trickled unto his pale neck. 

“It’s of no importance. Worry about yourself.” Aizen responds by tucking a strand of loose hair from your neat bun behind your ear intimately, and you swat it away immediately.

“I don’t worry about you. I’m simply irritated at this unfortunate turn of events and the fact I have to mother you. Can you really not do this yourself?”

“Does it look like I can? You’re less smarter than you look, Miss Y/N.” Aizen raises a hazel eyebrow, his leer unentertained.  “Don’t call me by my first name.”

“Why? Does it make you hot and bothered?” “Oh absolutely, my panties immediately soaked at just the sound of your voice. A man of nothing but filth just called me by my common name. Is that what you want to hear?”

Aizen laughs contentedly in response, his head lightly rolling forward causing his cocoa locks to fall gracefully around his face, chuckling at your snappy attitude while his gaze transfixes on you. You could feel his hazel eyes burning through your face as you clean up his gash and search for a bandaid in the kitchen drawers. As you fail to find one, in desperation, you decide to fish around your own pockets for one, exhaling in relief as you feel one brush against your fingers. 

Sosuke’s eyebrow hooks upward, a complacent yet stunned look on his face as he discerns the bandaid you had decided to force onto him. You too, stare at the medical aid held between your fingers in disbelief, sighing sharply. No choice, I guess.

Aizen lets out a gruff exhale as you softly spread the baby pink hello kitty bandaid on his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows in humiliation. “May I be bold to suggest that your sense of style is too… cute for an office setting?” 

“I don’t have anything else. It’s my last resort.” You huff, looking into his eyes despondently. 

“Alright then. I will appreciate your thoughtful gift.”  

You purse your lips and feel a slight tinge of heat on your face as you watch his lips curve into a mischievous grin. A grin of satisfaction too, as you could tell he knew how your heart fluttered at his sight and decided to torture you with it. As you two lost your sanity locked in each other's eyes, the line drawing hate and love blurring further, a knock at the door snapped you both out of your daze. Slamming your handkerchief against his chest, you strut off before he could notice your blush and tease you further. Yet the feeling of a fervent gaze stabbing into your backside did not disappear as you left him alone in the kitchen. 

“Act as normal as you can, please.”

Another three melodious knocks done with rhythm on the door signalled the arrival of your General Commander, alongside the chatter of many new and jubilated employees. You smoothed out your black pencil skirt and the slight creases on your ironed white button up, your thin and tight, knitted dark grey sweater showing off your form in a sleek and stylish way. 

Shunsui gives a slight smile after you slide open the door, a strand of dark curled hair resting gracefully on his face as he gives you an approving nod.

“Good morning, Miss Y/N. I take it that I can entrust these in your care now?” You nod adamantly, grinning and displaying the most exultant form of yourself that you could manage at 9 in the morning. 

“Of course, please follow me.” Your cheerful voice reverberates throughout the building, as you notice a couple familiar faces present in the new intern intake. Karin, Ururu, Jinta… Most were high school students looking for work experience for a few weeks or Academy students looking for work in the human world. Regardless, you put on the most professional attitude you could whilst also ensuring they felt welcome and accepted. 

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

As you guide the interns through the office, assigning their duties and detailing where to find everything and who to look for help, you discern Sosuke leave his office. Most interns froze in bewilderment, albeit they had been informed of your humble guest, it must still be jarring to witness his existence in person.

“If you require help, my office is located at the back left. Ah, and this is… Sosuke Aizen. He is serving his sentence here as the Muken has been damaged so we can farm his spiritual energy. Don’t… worry about him. He is tightly bound and knows not to do any harm.” 

You flash the most exuberant and reassuring smile you can as you walk up to the smug brunette, taking his hands in yours and holding them up to jingle his tightly bound wrists in a similar fashion to how he did before to assure your new interns.

“Good morning.” Aizen gives a cunning yet honeyed smile at the new students, amusedly watching a tinge of heat rush to your cheeks. His gentle morning voice you could never get sick of, no matter how hard you begged your mind to loathe it. Swallowing and nodding anxiously, the interns return collegiate nods before being promptly dismissed by you to begin their new assignments. 

“I feel like a pet.” He abruptly states, grousing as he returns the same fervent stares back to the students eyeing him. “Thanks for being… Somewhat normal.” You scoff at him, looking up to see his eyes already locked on you through the strand of cocoa hair splayed on his face. 

“Why? Do you find me abnormal? Unique, even?” Sosuke jests, grinning deviously as he crossed his arms over his chest and over the expensive, dark navy blue blazer and white button up he had on. “No, I find you fake. Every interaction we have ever had was fake.” You rebut, dragging your eyes away from admiring his sharp and sleek jawline crossed with his sepia locks stylishly slicked back. He unfortunately looked like a Hollywood star even with all those seals bound to him and his murderous eyepatch enunciating his monster-like appearance. “And who told you that?” 

“Quite literally everything you do. You only care about yourself.” You tsk, rolling your eyes slightly as you turn away. “Self proclaimed God.”

“Isn’t it simplistic to assert that a God cannot care? If anything, compassion is the mere foundation of becoming one. The purity of being able to love and nurture.” He states back, ignited blood reigning his veins as he gazes at you.

“You really assume I haven’t loved and cared before?”

Perplexed by his metaphors, you shake your head and dismiss him with a wave of your hand. “Let's not get into it.” 

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

As you lean against the wall of your office, eyeing Aizen like a hawk attempting to pour himself a cup of tea in the kitchen outside, a buzz arising from his soul pager in his office goes off. You swiftly turn to grab the phone off of his oak desk, staring at the message in your grip.

EMERGENCY STABILISE THREAT WITH REIATSU: TAKESHITA RD. 108 092 NOVICE REAPERS INJURED: 4 YOU ARE THE CLOSEST IN THE AREA GO ALONE

DO NOT TRY ANYTHING ELSE OR SERIOUS PERSECUTION WILL FOLLOW

You look to your own soul pager, only to find that you had not been given the same message. What…?

Even after refreshing the screen, you hadn’t received it. You had only been given a measly message, instructing you to take care of the interns queries in the office whilst he was gone. There’s no way they’re trusting HIM to take this job alone. Without me. You couldn’t trust him to do this. Forget you, how could anyone trust him to do this job? How could the Shinigamis at the accident site trust him? They would surely attack him in fear. And you wouldn’t blame them.

Perhaps this message was given to the wrong device. Even if all they required was spiritual pressure to immobilise the threat before help arrived… You wouldn’t have minded draining yours. If it meant for that thing to not induce any potential harm. Whatever it was, you knew in your heart to not let him, a special threat, venture out alone into the night freely. Regardless of all of his new seals.

“I’ll be back, I have to handle something… Take care of the office while I’m gone.”

Aizen gives you an unamused look, nodding and simply humming in response before returning to toss an empty sugar sachet in the bin.

Snatching your leather coat off of a hanger by the door and your Zanpakuto, you leave your Gigai and emerge as a new woman, draped in your signature shihakusho. 

Staring at the buzzing screen, you perceive that this emergency was gathering some attention as more Shinigami’s were falling suit to whatever hollow they were facing. You promptly unsheathe your Zanpakuto, utilising flash step to arrive at your destination faster. 

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

The gaze of the evening stars greets you as you perceive the eerily deserted street, a couple Soul Reapers lying on the ground, injured. A figure’s chains dragged disturbingly across the asphalt of the empty avenue, before its molten eyes fixate on you. 

Covered by the shadow of the night, you could not discern what sort of hollow the enemy was nor the origins of it. The only characteristic you register is the daunting black marks stained on its back and face.

A creature from Hell.

Your eyes widen and you immediately brought forth your Zanpakuto, its blade glimmering against the moonlight. With a precise flick of your blade, a crescent of reiatsu slices through the air, aimed at its behind facing you. The hollow promptly blocks you with a raise of its arm, the force pushing it back yet leaving it hardly scathed. You decide to stop holding back, releasing your spiritual pressure tenfold as you wait for others to handle the situation. Your mission wasn’t to overexert yourself yet, the nature of the monster sent familiar chills down your spine.

It retaliates, chains snapping forward like vipers hunting for desperate prey. You twist your body, narrowly avoiding the snakes as one whips past your face, slicing through the fabric of your sleeve. You begin to slightly heave, your slowly depleting spiritual pressure and physical exertion starting to toll on your body. For a second, you shut your eyes to focus on suppressing the monster ahead of you.

The hollow snarls and takes the chance to attempt to latch onto your Zanpakuto with its chain. You barely register the movement when a sudden sword greets the chain as it was about to slam into your chest.

Looking to your left, your eyes broaden at the sight of Sosuke Aizen, still dressed in his office attire and defending you effortlessly even with both hands bound. In an instant, the monster retreated into the portal in which it came from as a result of Aizen’s crushing reiatsu compressing its insides. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” You groan as you see him shoot daggers through his menacing leer. 

“What do you think you’re doing? You just ran off? I had to track your spiritual energy to try and find you.” Sosuke glares at you, spitting venom with his words. 

“Clearly I'm doing a mission.” The brunette rolls his eyes subtly, tsking at your incompetence. “With my Soul Pager? Are you aware that maybe your reiatsu capabilities exceed the demands of this situation?”

“I’m a Lieutenant. Don’t make me laugh.” You fire back, scoffing in amusement at his assumption of your abilities. “This job was forced onto me to do. Why did you take it?”

“I don't trust you? And anyways, I was not going to waste any time returning back. All you had to do was take care of the office for a little while.” You spew at him, grunting at his inability to understand your apprehension surrounding him.

“And what if something had happened to you? Had the thought not occurred to you that perhaps this was appointed for me and not you for a reason? You cannot exert your spiritual pressure with ease like mine without straining yourself.” He reprimands, an unfamiliar hint of concern present in his tone. “Mr. Aizen, I’m not a little girl. I don’t need you looking after me!” 

“Y/N. Sosuke.”

You both synchronise in turning to look behind you, your heart sinking as you perceive a cross Shunsui with both his hands in either pocket of his hakama glaring at you two.

“Come with me.”

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A slight berating followed by dissatisfied grumbles ensued from Shunsui, as you stand in front of your company building while your commander chastises you in front of Aizen. 

“I was disappointed to be informed by an intern that neither of you were anywhere to be found.”

The brunette parts his lips to speak, yet shuts them promptly and instead returns an unamused stare to the commander. Kyoraku momentarily looks towards him leaning candidly against the building, sighing. As much as he wishes to berate him, the technicality of the situation deemed him as fairly innocent. 

“There is a reason why he received the message and not you. If you were to stand there and suppress the hollow with your spiritual pressure, it would have drained you and taken much longer than it would’ve for him.” “But why did you send him alone?” You rebuke, unwilling to accept this outcome. You would receive whatever punishment you were ordered with pride yet, you just wished for a simple explanation to who in their right mind decided to instruct him to go alone. “It was presumptuous of me to trust him alone, I know. But you had your duties in the office to look after the interns. You are to only stick to whatever duties are assigned to you. Do you know how difficult it was to quickly get Matsumoto to cover for you?” You hang your head in shame, sighing as you fumble with your fingers. It was a foolish act from you, but could anybody blame you? Trusting the enigma was like walking over a vat of tar on a thin piece of string. 

“I can't just stroll in here whenever you mess up, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” You state in a low voice, slightly bowing in shame to the bearded man. Softening up, Shunsui couldn’t help but walk up to you, patting your shoulder comfortingly. Over the years, he had grown to warm up to you and to think of you almost as a daughter.

“Fine, you don’t trust him, I understand that. Which is why I’m letting you go this time.” Your gaze slowly trails upwards with glistening and appreciative eyes, the tightness in your chest slightly relieving itself as you manage to drag your eyes to his neck. 

“You don’t have to trust him, but trust me. Trust the devices I have implemented myself to weaken him.” The raven haired man places his pointer on your chin, making your solemn gaze finally meet his. “Can you do that for me?” 

You melt at his words, warming up to a father figure you had so desperately searched for your whole life treating you with such kindness. A father figure you had been robbed of so viciously and mercilessly in the past. His tenderness always healed something in your heart he had never broken.

You nod sincerely yet avidly, keen to not disappoint him again. He gives a final scruff of your hair, before leisurely strolling towards the sleek black limousine that had arrived at your building. Kyoraku chuckles before shaking his head, allowing himself to be guided by the Shinigami serving as his body guard opening the door to the vehicle.

Adjusting his hat, he gives one last remark before stepping into the expensive car. “Ah... You and Nanao. You’re both so similar.”

As you silently watch your commander drive off, a loud and obvious clearing of someone's throat snapped you from your daze. You turn pensively to face an oddly sincere Sosuke, his sour scan of your being sending cold chills down your spine. 

“I believe thanks are in order.” He sneers, jesting at you. You chuckle in response, defeatedly suspiring. “Thank you. And… I’m sorry.” You mumble the last part, trudging past him to reach the entrance of the building. However, you were yanked slightly back by a slender hand clasping around your wrist.

“Apology not accepted.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, confused at what he was getting at. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of his sepia irises glimmering, reflecting the moon ever so beautifully in their wake. 

“What?”

“I can tell you assume I think you are weak.”

You look away in shame, a slight tinge of bashfulness present in your demeanour. “I know you do. I constantly mess up, it can only be described as undignified and weak…”

“You aren’t weak. I’ve hardly been able to witness your new power but you’ve flourished into a strong woman. My words did not mean to undermine your strength. I apologise if I’ve done so.” You raise an eyebrow to his sudden altruism, it was strange yet… Not unwelcome. He takes a step closer towards you, leaning his face closer to yours, causing heat to pulsate throughout your body in response. “Remember, the soil that is rained on strengthens.” Looking up at him with tender and shimmering doe eyes, you softly laugh as you unclasp his hand around your wrist and step away bashfully. “Thank you. Someone’s feeling nice today, huh?”

“I’m simply stating facts.” He grins, a sense of satisfaction overwhelming him as your pupils dilate jovially and a smile was brought to your face once more by his own work. You strut off, looking back endearingly at him as your hair flowed graciously in the wind.        

“Shall we?”

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Familiar strawberry blonde locks greet you two as you both emerge from the lift to the building, Rangiku’s booming voice calling out to you from across the hallway.

“Y/N! You silly girl!” Your best friend rushes up to you cheerfully, pinching your cheek teasingly as she envelops you in a loving hug. “Ugh, you don’t know how much these interns were pissing me off…” You look up at her, perplexed. “Really? They seemed quite shy and sweet in the morning...” Rangiku gives a slight wave of acknowledgement to Aizen before looping her arm in yours, facing you with crestfallen features. “Okay well, most are fine, it's just… Jinta and Ururu keep arguing with each other. It's truly such a bother trying to separate them. Oh, and did you see Kurosaki’s sister?” You nod, you did notice the young Shinigami’s sister join your branch. “Yeah… It was a pleasure to see a familiar face after so long.” “She looks just like him… Just with black hair. It's crazy, isn't it?” 

Ah, and speak of the devil, as the very young and sweet girl you were chatting about had walked up to you three. “I’ve finished my assignment and colour coded every training schedule for you, Miss Shihoin.” She gleams at you, and you raise an eyebrow, impressed as you take the file in your hands and return a grateful beam.

“Oh wow, really? Thanks so much…” 

“And Mr… Aizen… I ordered your … New Zanpakuto sheath…” Karin apprehensively states, bowing slightly to Sosuke as she hands him a picture of the new sleek black leather sheath she had bought. The enigma slightly grins in amusement, a heartfelt smile was the last of what you had expected his reaction to be.

“I appreciate your efforts. And, no need to act so reserved, I won’t bite. At least, I’ll try not to.” He beams jestingly, and you slap his shoulder promptly. “Shush! Don’t scare her away.” He sneers, chuckling as he slid his hands back into his pant pockets. “I’m simply humouring you, don't fret.” 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. A/N

as always, comments and criticisms are always appreciated !! :p

happy reading!

- sumi <3 @noirfan12 @hon3ysun @muzansfangs

[sandersontheside]

contrary to what you may think “I Won’t Say I’m In Love” from Hercules is not the Disney love song for prinxiety. the titular track from Beauty and the Beast is. not only because the lyrics hit:

“barely even friends/then somebody bends/unexpectedly/just a little change/small to say the least/both a little scared/neither one prepared”

“bittersweet and strange/finding you can change/learning you were wrong”

but also because Virgil is initially perceived by the other sides as a villain, as monstrous, and his arc is all about acceptance both from them and from himself, learning both to love and to be loved. Just like Adam/Beast. and because Roman is Belle coded—head in the clouds and obsessed with stories, craving adventure and desperately looking for something more than this provincial life. you get it.