#what are bandaids but more practical stickers?

[the-barefoot-hatter]

Relationships: Bill Cipher & Dipper Pines, Bill Cipher & Mabel Pines, Bill Cipher & Ford Pines Characters: Bill Cipher, Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines, Ford Pines

Tags: Bill Cipher Has Issues, Mabel Pines Is Awesome, Dipper Pines is Easy to Mess With, Ford Pines likes the Alien Franchise a little TOO much, Dream Boy High Cine-RAD-tic Universe, minor self-harm, Bill Cipher has a Fork, Post-Theraprism Bill Cipher, Handyman Bill Cipher, Bill Cipher likes blood but not his own, Family Fluff, Bill Cipher has a weird relationship with pain, building better habits, Slice of Life, what are bandaids but more practical stickers?

fork-gettaboudit

Summary

Bill still can't be trusted with forks. (set at some comfortable, everyone's-basically-chill-now point in the Blind Handyman Bill setting)

[asher-agere]

>.< Lil akito hcz?!... /nf

(*shows chu cool sticker collection* :3 arf)

Woah so many cool stickers! Thank you for showing me Ren! Hehe *Takes a sticker and puts it on your nose* Good puppy! Also I think I’m gonna start listing age range headcanons in each post because. My initial ones are like. Y’know 300 posts down-

Little Akito

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⋆ I actually haven’t written much for little Akito? Which I think is crazy cuz he’s just a little guy. I think he regresses to like 4-6! So not really a baby, but definitely in the toddler age range! He’s old enough to like talk a bit and be somewhat coordinated, while still tiny enough he gets overwhelmed and can’t communicate things great! Also chaotic age >:3 But I’ll get into that in a bit hehe

⋆ Akito overworks himself, like a lot. He always insists that he has to be the best, even if literally no one is asking that of him. There’s a lot of times where he pushes himself too hard practicing. Not to mention schoolwork is an additional stress factor, he’s not the best at it… He just gets so stressed out! He gets overwhelmed and it’s a lot easier to just give his brain a break and give in to the urge to be a little baby. He deserves it

⋆ Akito is very fussy! Since he usually regresses from feeling overwhelmed, he gets easily overwhelmed when he’s feeling small! No loud or sudden noises, he needs the right textures, his caregiver has to tell him what they’re doing as they do it. Otherwise it’ll lead to a meltdown! If he has a meltdown his caregiver should just let him cry it out. His household didn’t exactly encourage expressing your emotions, so he really needs this outlet to express them when he’s regressed

⋆ Don’t let the baby do anything! Akito already overworks himself, so when he’s feeling small that’s his time to stop working, even is he claims otherwise. At first he’ll try to do things! He’ll try to dish up his own snacks, set up shows or games. But as he gets deeper into headspace he’ll give in more, by the end of the night he can’t even hold his own bottle. So his caregiver can happily hold it for him, letting the little one just rest and accept being fawned over!

⋆ Akito can be a bit of a brat hehe. Once he gets over his initial angst of ‘I need to be productive’ he’d very demanding! He’ll point to anything and everything he wants, refusing to move. He also wants to be held! But he’s a hypocrite because while he’s cuddling his caregiver sometimes he’ll just sit up and lean away to play with something. He’s allowed to stop the contact, but if his caregiver sets him down, prepare for screaming

⋆ Akito can’t talk that great, but he does know a few select words! His favorite being “No”, he loved just chanting that. He also knows “Bad” and words that aren’t really words? Things like “Yay” and “Yuck”. You might be saying, hey that’s a pretty limited vocabulary, how does he communicate? He screams. If he wants something, if he’s uncomfortable, sometimes even when he’s happy. He’ll just start screaming. Best solution is to hold a pacifier in his mouth until he settles down to start sucking on it, truly a mute button

⋆ I think Akito loves drawing! Some of his favorite memories from his childhood are drawing, whether it’s with Ena or he was drawing after just hearing about it all the time. He was never pressured into it like Ena sometimes was, so he has good feelings around the activity! He’s not a fan of coloring, but if he is coloring for whatever reason he’ll color outside of the lines! For example he’ll give random creatures wings or a unicorn horn, or draw toys on the ground for them to play with!

⋆ Soccer! I always love the fact that Akito played soccer when he was younger, and he was pretty devoted to it too! Things happened and he stopped, but I think when he regresses he’d like to play again! He loved running around in the backyard and kicking around a ball! Sometimes he falls and he’ll scratch his knee or something… But he’s a real champ! Give him a cool bandaid and he’s ready to go! A healing kiss helps a lot too of course!

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

I am so sorry this took so long- I have family coming in soon and things have been chaotic. But it’s here now!

[cloudyskydreams]

On an average day what's in those pockets? UT,UF,US

This one was interesting Edge was the one I struggled the most with but I'm pretty satisfied with it! Enjoy!

Undertale:

Sans: Ketchup packets, a miniature joke book, whoopie cushion, old trash he keeps forgetting to throw away

The ketchup is pretty self explanatory he keeps them as a little snack when he doesn't have access to a full bottle. The joke book he's read a hundred times but he keeps it more out of sentimentality at this point. He and this whoopie cushion have history besides Tori it's basically his best friend at this point. He doesn't like to litter so when he has trash and there isn't a trashcan near by he sticks it in his pockets and he just keeps forgetting to throw it away. Papyrus normally has to clean to trash out on laundry days.

Papyrus: bandaids, monster candy, his wallet, his schedule

Paps is pretty on top of everything and I have a hc that when he goes out with friends he's the mom friend that has a fanny pack with anything practical you need. On regular days he carries bandaids for his human friends and monster candy for both human and monster friends. His wallet is self explanatory he likes to have it on him in case he sees something he'd like for him or his brother while out and about during his day. He also has a bunch of photos in his wallet he likes to look at and show off to people they're of him and his brother, some of him and frisk, him and Undyne. There's even one of him and the queen, he's very proud of that one. I believe Papyrus is a very scheduled person as he likes to fit as much as possible into one day. So he carries around a schedule that has what he's up to that day written out. It has a little pocket with stickers in it that he uses to decorate the schedule and mark what's completed with little stars and emoji faces to mark how he felt about the excursion.

Underfell:

Red: hand buzzer, headphones, snack sized chocolate bars

He likes to trick people with the hand buzzer and thinks it's even more hilarious when he can get people he's gotten before with it. Red actually likes to read but he needs glasses which he is extremely embarrassed about so he refuses to really read in public unless he absolutely has to and then he struggles through. The headphones are to listen to audiobooks when he has free time. Reds a muncher and he loves chocolate so his jacket pockets are stuffed with snack sized chocolate bars, if he likes you enough he might share.

Edge: his cell phone, his reading glasses and washi tape, peppermints or something minty, a pocket knife

Edge is another scheduled person except he keeps his reminders and to do list on his phone. Edge also has poor eyesight but he doesn't care if people see him in his glasses. If he needs to read he puts them on and he thinks he looks extremely attractive in them. Mints help with improved focus and he likes to let them sit on his tongue as he goes about his day. He keeps the pocket knife for protection sure he he also like to whittle at sticks he finds and carve little designs into them to pass the time. He formed this habit when he was younger and used it alot in his traps when making spike pits underground and now just does it on a smaller level to pass the time.

Underswap:

Stretch: Lighter, a box of cigs, some form of hard candy normally lollipops,a notepad and a few pens, a dog treat or two/and edible or two

Lighter and cigs are self explanatory. The hard candy is for when he can't smoke or if he runs out of cigs and can't get some for awhile. I think he'd like to jot down notes throughout the day just stuff that catches his eye or song lyrics he thinks up. He's also a major doodler and half his notepad pages are little doodles of things he finds interesting there's a lot of his brother in there. I'm in between him smoking actual weed and smoking dog treats so I think he's half and half when carrying them around.

Blue: His cell phone, headphones, good luck charm, a special pen that has a little bone charm on it

I hc Blue as a streamer so his cell phone is important to him because he likes to update his fans and blogs throughout the day about what he's doing. He likes to have a soundtrack to his day so he wears headphones alot when he doesn't have to socialize with people (think grocery shopping or simply walking) it helps his mind stay focused and on track better. The good luck charm was a gift from his brother that he sort of started carrying around and never stopped. It's a small rock with a hole naturally worn all the way through he wears it around his neck as a necklace. Stretch found it one day when Blue forced him to go geocaching with him. The pen is in the rare case a fan spots Blue in public and wants an autograph. He likes having a special pen just for that and he carries it around because he's a hopeful person. It's only happened twice and he was so overjoyed he talked about it for weeks.

[starsurfacemortalkombat]

Okay okay!! I was wondering if u could make like cg!havik(specifically for mk1) with like a baby regressor headcanons please and thank you? -🐯

Absolutely!! I hope I got the babyspace part right, I've only written about it a few times!! :D

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

CG Havik Hcs w/ Baby Regressor

🫀 I think Havik would adore a baby regressor, ngl

🫀 This isn't saying he'd love a toddler or a bigger kid less!! It's just that he gets to be really soft with babies, but also act as chaotic as he wants

🫀 Although will keep any gore down to a minimum to basically none, he doesn't want to scare you by accident!!

🫀 Can't do much about his face though . . . But will totally allow you to put on any bandaid or stickers you want!!

🫀 Will try to pep your face with kisses

🫀 Or his version, small clicks or gentle bites

🫀 If either if these make you feel uncomfortable or the first one makes you feel icky, he can settle for putting your foreheads together, another thing he adores

🫀 If your a more softer regressor, he's so totally up for snuggles and tummy time

🫀 But if you like a little bit of chaos, oh boy

🫀 Piggy back rides while running around the house

🫀 Pulling small pranks on others just to grt a giggle out of you, even if you didn't do much to help out other that grab the wrong things and babble

🫀 His little partner in crime, he's so proud 🥺 (Darius off to the side pouting)

🫀 Doesn't really care what titles you call him exactly

🫀 Dada, Mama, Goober, whatever makes you happy

🫀 But definitely has favorite nicknames for you

🫀 Baby-Boo-Boo, my little heart, his little rascal, squishy, precious one

🫀 Although if you have any personal favorite you know he's going to use them almost every other sentence <3

🫀 I could see him absolutely adore peek-a-boo for some reason, ngl

🫀 It's a favorite soft activity, and he can even use some of your plushies just to make it even more fun!!

🫀 If any of your stuffies get hurt or injured, he's gonna fix them right up for you!! (And have Darius sew it, but he totally did it!!! . . . 👀)

🫀 If you can't make out many words or are mostly nonverbal, he's got you!!

🫀 He'll ask all the questions to find out what you want or need

🫀 Babble encourager

🫀 No seriously!! He finds it so adorable when you get all small and can only make sounds

🫀 Will get you regression toys but with his flare 😎 (Darius tells him no half the time >:(

🫀 Has gotten you a paci with a small heart on it and gem stones, made it himself!!

🫀 If he needs to do something or he's busy, he'll let Darius watch you

🫀 But will probably be just as pouty and fussy about leaving you too, your HIS baby >:/

🫀 If your a padded regressor for any reason, he's very encouraging about it

🫀 Whether you have accidents or use them only for comfort, he's with you 100% of the way!!

🫀 Will totally buy you those baby yogurt pelts and then eat half of them himself and chuckle when you get all pouty cause he ate them ALL!! 🥺

🫀 He didn't, but he practically DID!!! (He got you more, don't you worry)

🫀 Doesn't do punishments because rules are silly!! >:/ (and thinks your too small for them, which you are)

🫀 Doesn't exactly do rules but will stop you from hurting yourself

🫀 Like, if you wanna stay up past your ‘bedtime', he's got you!! You two will stay up all night!! 😎

🫀 . . . . Until you pass out on his lap nit even two minutes later because you were too ‘eepy

🫀 Likes pampering you

🫀 Does NOT do self care for himself, have you seen that man? Could probably care less

🫀 But you?

🫀 Your all soft and squishy and precious to him 🥺

🫀 Will let you sit on his lap and brush your hair, doing whatever hair style you want or just messing with it

🫀 And if you wanna brush his? Of course you can!! Even if you wack him on the head repeatedly with the hair brush, he’ll tell you you did an amazing job

🫀 He likes squishing your cheeks because he known you can only whine and try to push him away, but you can't do much, your just a baby after all!! (Will stop if you don't like it or do it only rarely, he might hate rules but he understands boundaries)

🫀 Buys (steals) whatever you want!!

🫀 A new toy? Already off the shelf. More snackies? He's already got three of them in his pockets. A super soft blankie? Well, they're gonna have a fun time catching him!

🫀 Back onto tummy time, he really enjoys it

🫀 Either tummy time is you laying on him and he holds you while rambling about his latest destructive ways

🫀 Or laying beside you on a comfy blankie and watches as you try and chew on your stuffie's hear

🫀 Might even get you one of those baby tummy time mats in a bigger size (He'd make one for you if he has to)

🫀 If you do bottles, he'd love to bottle feed you if your okay with it!!

🫀 Whether he'll cradle you or you just lay your head on his lap

🫀 Can and Will scoop you up and carry you around, he likes showing off how strong he is

🫀 I'm not saying he'll purposely use his powers around you

🫀 But I am saying there might be a few accidents here or there

🫀 If he does scare you, he'll try his hardest to make everything better

🫀 Doesn't like seeing you cry, and doesn't like the idea of you being scared of him

🫀 Over all, he's definitely really fun and accommodating, even with a few minor hiccups

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

*sigh* I actually love Havik, ngl. He was my first favorite MK1 character

[pizzaqueen]

A little more Buckingham for day two of @strangerthingsfemslashweek for the prompt “hurt/comfort”

500 words / Rated T / pre-relationship fluff with Chrissy tending to Robin’s scraped knee

Robin limps through the door to Family Video ten minutes after her shift started. At least Steve is the manager now, and she’s working with Chrissy today.

“What happened?” Chrissy asks as Robin rounds the counter. Her eyes widen. “You’re bleeding.”

“I came off my bike again.” Robin’s face heats. She’s not usually embarrassed by her klutziness these days, but… It’s Chrissy. She shrugs her backpack off, slinging it under the counter, and dips her hand into her pocket for some bandaids.

But then Chrissy says, “Here,” putting down a sheet of lurid ‘weekly’ stickers, and setting her hands on Robin’s shoulders, “come with me.” She pushes Robin toward the backroom, steering her into a swivel chair.

“What are you doing?”

“Fixing you up.” Chrissy looks around, ponytail swishing as she turns. “There!” She comes back over to Robin holding a first-aid kit.

“I have bandaids.” Robin holds up a handful of them.

Chrissy waves her off and actually kneels before Robin, setting the first-aid kit beside her.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I’ve seen worse at cheer practice. I got this graze all down my thigh once.” Chrissy’s nose wrinkles. “And one girl at cheerleader camp lost a tooth. There was blood everywhere.”

Robin winces in sympathy, or maybe it’s the antiseptic Chrissy’s daubing on. “I’ve seen some pretty gruesome things at soccer practice.”

Chrissy smiles up at her, gently wiping the blood and dirt away from Robin’s skin.

Robin’s heart beats hard. She can’t believe Chrissy Cunningham is kneeling before her, tending to her wounds. God. She can’t wait to tell Steve!

Chrissy sets aside the bloodied cloth, wipes Robin’s skin dry, then smooths a yellow bandaid over Robin’s knee. “Is that okay?”

Robin nods, voice lost.

And then Chrissy gently cups Robin’s knee and presses a soft kiss to it. It sets tingles going under Robin’s skin. Chrissy looks up from under her lashes and asks, “Better?”

Robin swallows thickly. “Uh-huh.”

“Good.” Chrissy bites her lip. It looks like she wants to say something, but then someone yells out, “Does anybody work here?” and Chrissy pushes herself to her feet. “I’ll go deal with that,” she says and goes back out to the store.

Robin flops back in the chair, arms falling to either side. “Oh my god,” she says to the ceiling, “I’m so in love.”

Chrissy pokes her head in. “Did you say something?”

“Nope!” Robin gives a nervous smile. “I mean… I said I’ll be right out.” It’s a terrible lie, but it seems to satisfy Chrissy and she goes back to deal with the customer.

Robin sighs, swinging on the chair and hugging her arms around herself. Chrissy Cunningham kissed her! Okay, she kissed her knee, but still! Her lips touched Robin’s skin!

Robin pushes herself to her feet and floats out to the store to help Chrissy with a difficult customer. Usually, Robin would be planning their murder in her head, but even the worst customer won’t bring Robin down today.

[xpeachesncream]

it takes two | one shot (myg)

summary: min yoongi was the one who came to understand you and took you for you. but, when boundaries start getting crossed and priorities begin to change, you start to question if your relationship with your bestfriend is strong enough to make it through.

pairing: athlete!reader x athlete!myg

genre: bestfriends to lovers au, basketball au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 12.3k

warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, protected AND unprotected sex (later on), slight breast play, oral (f. receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, missionary, riding/straddling, mentions of alcohol consumption, dancing, mention of marijuana, sex on the beach kinda?, some heavy angst, insecurities, crying, injuries (like a cut/ankle sprain), yoongi is just kind of an idiot at one point

note: heavily inspired by the movie love and basketball. unedited for the most part, pls excuse any spelling/grammar errors.

tags: @ggukkieland​ @miinoongi​ @bluesharksandfish​ @unicornbabylover​

⏏︎ now playing: triggered - jhené aiko ; sorry enough - chris brown

First Quarter: 6th Grade

You didn't really have a lot of friends in elementary school. Any, actually. Hell, the girls in your class purposely ignored you because you acted different. Dressed different. Enjoyed the shit boys liked, like playing ball and video games. You couldn't relate to their gel pens, Lisa Frank folders, cute binder stickers and bracelet charms. None of that shit was you. But you didn't care, you were fine by yourself. Nobody to please, nobody to care for.

The only person that came to understand you was Min Yoongi and that's because you played basketball with him and his friends during daycare. At first, it came as a surprise because truthfully, you felt like Yoongi only let you play because he felt bad for you. Which, okay, whatever— so be it. But, after the last round during a game of two versus two, you found yourself on the ground, huge gash on the knee from chasing after the ball before it could go out of bounds.

"Ouch! Crap!" You groaned as you sat up and checked out your knee. Yoongi walks towards you and crouches down, examining the bloody gash.

"Come on." He says, holding out a hand to help lift you up. He swings your arm over his shoulder, already knowing that any sudden movements to your knee can make the wound sting. He takes his time and walks with you as you hop on one leg towards the office, not really saying much. Yoongi wasn't the most talkative in class. He hung out with two or three other boys in your class on the daily, but they were quiet. Weren't much troublemakers, didn't cause ruckus like the other boys did. But, he was still popular among the girls because he was a little cutiepie. You remember walking into the bathroom, hearing Angie and her friends tease her about her crush on Yoongi. Then, the following week, one of her friends also ended up crushing on Yoongi and they bickered [weirdly] in the bathroom about it.

Getting to the office, he sits you down on the bench before approaching the office admin to grab some bandaids and ice for you.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Min?" Mrs. Yao comes over to greet him.

"Y/N's hurt. Can I get a bag of ice and a bandaid for her, please?" Mrs. Yao looks over her shoulder and does a head tilt before sighing. She knew you weren't like the girls in your class, always getting hurt one way or another, being more hardheaded and stubborn than the usual. She grabs a bag of ice and hands the supplies over to Yoongi before placing her hands on her hips.

"You think you can take care of Miss Y/N, or do you need me to help?" He shakes his head.

"I got it, thank you Mrs. Yao." He politely says, giving her a small toothless smile. You silently watch as he walks over, crouching down once again to tend to your wounds. "I don't think this will hurt, but stay still so I can put this bandaid on." He says softly as he spreads the small Neosporin packet across your wound. He wipes his finger down on his pants before removing the back of the bandaid and pressing it against your knee. "There. You should keep the ice on it so it doesn't bruise and stuff." He stands.

"Thank you." He nods as he watches you stand and slightly limp before you adjust your steps to the right pressure. He follows you out, coming back to your side with his hands in his pockets.

"Why don't you act like the other girls?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow at you.

"What? Not liking all the girly stuff that they like?"

"Sure, or you playing basketball. You know girls are usually like cheerleaders and cheer the guys on instead."

"Well, I don't wanna be a cheerleader. I just would rather play. What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, it's just weird to see."

"You're weird." You snapped back.

"How am I weird?"

"You shoot weird."

"And you don't? I shoot better than you." He furrows his brows.

"No you don't."

"Fine, wanna play one more time? Unless you're a wuss and can't play cause of your knee." You rolled your eyes at the sudden change of events.

"I'll play you, I'm not a wuss. Unless you're afraid to lose to a girl." You taunt him as you both walk back to the court.

"Whatever, I'm not afraid cause I won't lose." He grabs the ball and checks it in. "My ball first."

"Sure, if you think that'll help."

And that's how Yoongi lost to you, busted knee and everything. From there, it was history. You became inseparable, Yoongi becoming a large part of your days and vice versa. His parents eventually became close to yours after the numerous times you both have been dropped off to hang out, or catching rides home after school. Yoongi lived in a nearby neighborhood, only being a good 7 minute walk, to be exact.

Second Quarter: High School, Senior Year

In high school, it became a little different. Yoongi grew up, played varsity basketball and became a fucking jock even though he claimed he would never. Yeah, bullshit. You too, played on the girls varsity basketball team, and surprisingly, you two kept each other close. It was a blessing and a curse though, because you couldn't see your life without Yoongi. He's been there since the 6th grade. However, girls took note of that shit. Trying to use you as their way in to Yoongi's heart, or pants, or both. You made it very clear though that you weren't interested in being a fucking messenger. Girls thought you were mean, but really, they just couldn't handle you. Hence, why you really couldn't relate and be one of them.

Yoongi was still the only person who could understand you and handle you, bad attitude and all. Tomboy habits and all. Not wanting to make friends and all.

"Jesus fucking christ, the day just started." Yoongi says as he watches you toss your duffle bag and backpack aggressively in the back seat of his car. "What's your deal?"

"Nothing, I'm just tired." You slump in his passenger seat after buckling your seat belt.

"Chill, don't start your day like this."

"Whatever, dad." You rolled your eyes, causing him to let out a pathetic chuckle.

"Are you coming to my game later?"

"Yeah, if I'm not too tired from practice."

"Y/N, I always make it to your games even if I'm tired."

"Do you?"

"The fuck? Yes I do. When haven't I?" His tone raises with yours. "Don't try and justify your shit by coming up with lies."

"Yeah, yeah bighead. You'll have plenty of cheerleaders there for you."

"Yeah and?" He smirks. "You're the one I'll be looking for though." He caresses your chin, making you smack his hand away while he laughs loudly.

"You're stupid." You groan as you sink lower in his seat. The rest of the ride to school, you shut your eyes and enjoy the peace before you're having to walk down those annoying, congested hallways.

People rave a lot about senior year, but it honestly hasn't felt special to you. Maybe because you kept the same routine since freshmen year, or maybe you really just didn't care as much as everyone else did about how "special" it was. You've always been locked in to basketball even if your mom wasn't a big fan of it. She wished you were more into cute, girly shit, like makeup, shopping, manis and pedis and dresses and heels, but she came to accept this was the way it was going to be. Especially because your dad was your biggest fan. You came to love basketball, more than just a side hobby. You joined the varsity team and practiced day in and day out. When basketball wasn't in season, you'd play with Yoongi at the park or sign up for camps and tournaments. You just wanted to keep bettering yourself so that you could play in college and get into the league post-grad. Yoongi was the same, and he may or may not have influenced your passion for ball. Either way, he was always supporting you and cheering for you even if the other females hated it.

His ex for sure hated the relationship you had with him even though you really steered clear when she was around. Wasn't your fucking problem or responsibility to take care of her insecurities. Same with his flings.

"Hey, so later, yeah?" He asks in between throwing nods and smiles to girls passing by.

"Mhm." You hum. "You gonna be free for lunch later?"

"I don't know. I know where to find you though if I am."

"Have a good day, punk."

"You too, bub. See you in English." He turns on his heel, walking towards his friends, aka his team members. Aka his jock ass group. Aka the ones females flock to.

Namjoon, Jimin, Eunwoo, Lucas.

They were all pretty boys who knew they were pretty boys and used that to their advantage to make big asshole moves. You hated that Yoonks got pulled in from time to time, but shit, it wasn't your life, you were only a small part of his. Sometimes, they also pulled in the football boys, Jungkook and Seokjin. Even the baseball boys, Hoseok and Taehyung. It was all a huge pretty boy, jock, asshole group in the making outside. A big fucking party for a lot of the girls at school, though.

So even if Yoongi was really the only one in your life, you weren't the only one in his. It is, what it is. As long as he doesn't go switching up on you, then whatever, so be it.

The first half of your classes go by quick, being that you enjoyed your chemistry, french and english classes. You had your english class with Yoongi, Namjoon and Hoseok. You had gotten to know Namjoon and Hoseok a little through it, and it was enough to know that they weren't all that bad. At least in this classroom setting.

"You two going to prom together?" Namjoon asks, making Yoongi snort.

"No, what the hell?" Yoongi responds.

"You guys can have fun at prom." You roll your eyes.

"You're really not gonna go?" Joon bites on the end of his pencil.

"No? The fuck I look like?"

"Y/N, I know it'd be weird as fuck to see you in a dress, but it's senior year. You didn't go last year, did you?" Namjoon asks from Yoongi's other side.

"Really, Namjoon?" You give him a look as if it could state the obvious.

"Well shit, I don't know. I know it's not your thing but can't really say I would have noticed either way." Hoseok laughs, causing you to throw your pen at his head before flicking him off.

"Miss Y/N!" Mrs. Maxwell calls you out mid-movie, eyes wide and in disbelief at how you're acting.

"What?! He started it." You slumped back in your seat and let out a sigh.

"Not another word." She says sternly.

"Not another word." You mock her under your breath.

"Aye, stop. You and that attitude boutta get in some trouble the last weeks of senior year." Yoongi puts his hand on your wrist, causing you to shake your head and click your teeth.

"Anyway, you should go." Hoseok whispers as he leans over on the table to look at you.

"No. Besides, with what date?"

"Take the basketball." Joon snickers.

"You're a complete dumbass, Namjoon. Stop talking." You snap.

"Maybe they're right, bub. It's senior year and it's coming to an end quick. I'd hate for you to regret it." Yoongi turns to you and says lowly.

"You know that won't happen." But really, part of you did feel a little bad. You knew it wasn't your scene, and you really didn't care what people thought of you when it came down to it. However, you always wondered what it would be like if someone liked you. If someone wanted you. Crushed on you so hard that they couldn't keep their hands off of you, couldn't stop thinking of you. Your first love. To feel pleasure, pain. Mixture of emotions simply by being in love. You wondered what it would be like to lose your virginity and have good, good sex. Besides, you were a human with needs. But the only person you have ever been close to was Yoongi. For the most part, you didn't see him that way because you knew he definitely didn't. But, you also couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to take your relationship to that point. If it was anyone, he would be the one you'd have feelings for. He would be your first kiss, your first everything. Because Yoongi was comfort and security for you.

But you valued your friendship more than anything.

"Just saying, think about it." He follows up.

"Think about getting an expensive dress and painful ass heals to wear for one night, just to dance around in 'em and take one professional pic with a date? Maybe get railed if I'm lucky?" You playfully wiggle your eyebrows making Yoongi shake his head.

"Don't be such a party pooper for once."

"Mmm. Great reasoning. Really convincing me here." You laugh it off even though in all honesty, you were thinking about it.

The bell rings and thank god it's finally lunch because you were fucking starving. Appetite and attitude on na-na, no doubt. You silently part ways with Yoongi to stop by your locker and grab your lunch. You make your way to the rowdy ass cafeteria, quickly scanning the room to catch a sight of Yoongi. You see him sitting on top of one of the lunch tables with Hoseok, Namjoon, Jimin and Taehyung sitting around him. Clearly, Yoongi wasn't free today.

"Wassup baby? Wanna trade that ball in for me?" Jimin says as you pass by their table to make your way outside to the bleachers. You flick him off before rolling your eyes and pretending to gag.

"Fuck off, Park." The group laughs except for Yoongi.

"Wonder if she's got that bad attitude in bed, too." Yoongi doesn't hesitate to smack Jimin upside the head because yeah, no matter what, he was gonna protect you as much as possible. "Owwww, I'm just kidding Yoongi."

"Don't let me hear you say that shit around me ever again."

"Fuck, I'm sorry. It was just a joke." Jimin winces as he rubs the back of his head.

"Damn Min Yoonks, why don't you take her ass to prom if it's like that?" Taehyung says, chewed up food coming into full view as he smacks loudly.

"Why don't you learn how to close your mouth first?" Yoongi spits back.

"Y/N is really rubbing off on you."

"It's manners, idiot. You should've been learned that." Namjoon says, laughing.

"But foreel, why won't you take her? You both are close, you've never seen her that way?" Hoseok asks making Yoongi shake his head in response.

"She's my bestfriend. I value her just the way she is, no more no less."

"Ah, you must have thought about it at least once." Yoongi keeps silent. Luckily, the group easily gets distracted and starts paying attention to Seokjin and Jungkook coming over as they talk about the dates they've scored for prom.

Yoongi has thought about it. Still does. Just like he is for you, you're the only one who understands him and takes him for who he is. You know the real him besides basketball player Yoongi. You're the only one who keeps it real. But he would rather keep it this way than ruin things between you and him. He'd hate to fuck up with you because he knows he can fuck up, there's no hiding from it. He'd never forgive himself if he lost you.

Practice is hell today for you and fuck, you really wanna just go home and lay down for the rest of the evening. Coach had you all running suicides and conditioning drills on the courts outside and pulling scrimmages against each other left and right. Let's not forget how coach is always on your ass right before a game too. Hell, she catches an attitude way worse than you before game time and after a loss. You wanted to avoid that at all costs. But, to avoid taking the bus home and instead hitching a ride with Yoongi, you throw on a hoodie and haul your ass to the gym in some nike slippers. You take a seat on a free end at one of the bleachers, holding Spalding in between your legs with your duffle next to you on the floor. The game is off to a start in about 5 minutes, Yoongi catches sight of you on the bleachers and nods. You give him a small smile as a gesture of good luck, which he reciprocates.

The game starts off intensely, both teams scoring closely even with the boys putting straight pressure. Towards the end of the first half, Yoongi and Eunwoo are the leading scorers, putting their team up by 10. Halftime is a bunch of hoo-haa, with cheerleaders in their itty bitty skirts, trying to shake their asses as they cheer for the boys. The boys don't even hide the fact that their ogling, and it's clear as day they all want some pussy. Quite frankly, they walk around thinking they deserve it cause of how hard they try to pull some wins and put the school on the map. Student government comes up for a bit too, pulling some kind of skit to weirdly promote prom. It makes you cringe and in all honesty, it makes you not wanna go even more, but it is your senior year. If you can snag a date, then maybe.

"Hey." Terra [not a cheerleader but still a pretty, popular chick] plops next to you with a smirk on her face. Immediately, you want no part in it because you already know what she's trying to do.

"Hi?"

"I'm just gonna cut straight to it. Do you know if Yoongi is seeing anyone?"

"How the hell would I know, Terra?" You furrow your brows at her.

"Because you're close to him, aren't you?"

"And? Doesn't mean I'm telling people his business. Besides, he's not obligated to tell me everything just cause we're close." She rolls her eyes.

"Whatever. Look, can you do me a favor and give this to him?" She tries handing you a little ass piece of paper folded neatly with a pink heart decorated on the front.

"Why don't you give it to him yourself?"

"That's no fun." You scoff and roll your eyes. Really, miss girl? "Be a doll for once, yeah?" She winks and slips the note in between your wrist and Spalding so it stays put. You take the note and eye it, letting out a deep sigh as you shove it into your pocket. You weren't in the mood to be extra rude today so you'll give it to him later when he drives you home.

The game finally finishes with Yoongi making a final three, the boys keeping their lead up by 10. Everyone cheers and showers the boys with love after the team has finished shaking hands and high-fiving their opponents. You stick around until the crowd dies down, watching Yoongi flirt with Terra as you swing your duffle bag strap onto your shoulder before slowly heading down the bleachers.

"Hey bighead, good game today." You lightly punch him against the chest.

"I knew you'd come."

"Shut up. I'll be at your car."

"For what?"

"Cause you're taking me home, punk."

"No please?"

"Please." He shakes his head and chuckles before you part ways to let him gather his things in the locker room. When you finally catch sight of his teeny head coming towards you from the gym, you hear him unlock his car to let you in while he continues to walk over.

"Fuuuuuck." He says, throwing his things in the back before buckling his seat belt and switching the gear into drive.

"You have fan mail." Yoongi looks over and sees you clutching the note Terra gave you.

"What's that, a condom?"

"You're sick. It's from Terra."

"Who's that again?" You make a face at him.

"You were just telling her sweet nothings earlier after the game?"

"Oh, Terra with the tig o' bitties. Got it." He shakes his head. "I wasn't telling her sweet nothings."

"Right. You're an absolute dipshit, you know?" You prop up a leg on the seat while you unfold the letter.

"Give it!" You move it away from his grasp and begin to read it out loud.

"Yoongi, you're honestly so hot. If you don't have a date for prom, I just want you to know that I'm free, and I promise I'll give you a good time if you take me." You cackle. "Boy, what the fuck is this? Ew."

"Shut up." He blushes before laughing along with you.

"Look at her, writing her coochie out on paper."

"She isn't."

"Oh, really? Pfft." You softly scoff. "So, are you taking her or what?"

"I don't know? Maybe, damn. What about you?"

"What about me, fool? I told you I'd think about it."

"Go with Jimin. He still doesn't have a date." He hates to say it with how much of an asshole Jimin can be, but if it meant you'd be at your senior prom then Yoongi will let it pass. He'll make sure Jimin doesn't try any slick shit.

"Ew, god no."

"Look, I'll make sure he doesn't go overboard. I promise."

"Why do you want me there so badly, Yoongi?"

"Because it's our last year in high school together and I'd really like to celebrate with you somehow." You sigh heavily.

"Fair enough. Let me sit on it."

"Better hurry and stop keeping that seat warm."

"Don't rush me." You punch his arm, causing a groan to erupt from him.

- - -

Really, you'd rather be anywhere than at prom with Park Jimin holding onto your waist the way he is for the pictures you're taking with him, Yoongi and the rest of their group and dates. After all the pictures and fake smiles, you feel him slowly slip his hand down your dress to try and get a grip on your ass, but before you could do so, you're grabbing his wrist with full pressure and making him wince.

"Don't you fucking dare or else I'll cut your dick off and throw it in a blender."

"Aish, ah, fuck! Okay, I'm kidding, let me go!" He whines lowly. You let go of his wrist after one more good squeeze, causing him to wiggle his hand to get the feeling back.

"Get me some punch, will you? My mouth is dry."

"You know, I might know something else that can help." Jimin wiggles his eyebrows as he continues to hold onto his wrist.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"Or not. I'll be back." He accepts defeat by smiling from ear to ear before walking off. You sit off to the side, the heels a huge pain in the ass on top of Jimin already being a huge pain in the ass. You lean over on your knees, completely forgetting you have a short dress on, causing boys passing by to whistle and eye at the easy access.

"The fuck are you looking at? Keep it moving." Yoongi says pushing the guys forward before shooting you a look. "Y/N, really?"

"Shit sorry, I forgot. I'm not used to this." You sit up and adjust your dress before rubbing your arms at how self-conscious you suddenly [and unexpectedly] feel.

"Are you having fun at least?" He sits next to you, manspreading on the seat in the navy suit he has on.

"Mmm, sure." You slightly smile at him. "What about you? You actually took Terra, huh?"

"Yeah, it's pretty fun." He chuckles. "Don't lie, I saw you dancing a bit earlier."

"That's when the alcohol hadn't worn off yet." You snort, remembering Seokjin's older brother giving the group alcohol after all the parents were done taking their pictures of you all. Yoongi laughs along with you before he looks over and simply stares at you, hair all done, makeup done perfectly without it being too much. You in a dress.

"You look beautiful tonight, bub."

"You don't look too bad yourself, bubby." You blush before Jimin interrupts the moment with your cup of punch.

"Here, princess."

"You better not be trying anything slick, punkass." Yoongi says.

"Mm, don't worry. I haven't been able to." You kick his shin as you chug your punch, causing him to cough and choke on his own words. "I'd like to peacefully have this slow dance with you at least, damn." You swallow the last bits of punch before you're taking Jimin's hand to the floor. Yoongi watches as you two make your way to the dance floor for a slow dance, slightly regretting that he didn't just ask you to dance.

"Let's dance, babe." Terra's baby voice comes out as she pulls him up from the seat to find a spot on the dance floor. Yoongi is honestly tired of having to keep up with Terra's energy and her clingy ass, but nonetheless, he was happy you were around for prom.

He was really happy you were around for prom, even though you hated this shit more than anything.

He had you in full view ahead, and so did you. He couldn't help but direct his attention towards you and keep his eyes on you. Fuck, he has never seen anyone so beautiful until you walked through Seokjin's doors with Jimin. Look, let's get this straight. Even though you had your own way of expressing yourself, he always loved your natural beauty, your natural glow. He loved watching you on the court and how happy it made you to play ball. He remembers every accomplishment, every milestone you've reached. How you've grown tremendously as a ball player. He would never admit it to you in person, but he definitely admires how you push yourself and how you always do what you can to improve. Hell, you might just be the better player between the both of you. And when you catch him looking over, he doesn't even try and hide it. He doesn't even care that he's still holding onto Terra and slow dancing with her.

Something within you flips. You feel that shit in the pit of your stomach, at the heat of your core.

But, you brush it off and break eye contact first, even if he doesn't stop staring. This couldn't happen, no. This was your bestfriend. You weren't gonna let the things you felt get in the way of that.

Nope.

Suddenly, the song changes to something more upbeat and twerkable, Jimin taking the opportunity to spin you around and grind on you. You really need a distraction anyway, something to rid you of those god awful thoughts about your bestfriend, so you let him and you have fun with it. Everyone around you is having fun anyway, and fuck, you wouldn't have to do this ever again so fuck it.

"Let me get a dance with my bestfriend." Yoongi says to Jimin.

"Go dance with your date!"

"Shut up and switch for a second!" Yoongi says, pushing him off of you so he could get behind and dance with you.

"Yoonks, what the hell?" You laugh.

"Go with it, bub. It's fucking senior year, we're graduating soon." You go with his movements, having the time of your life with everyone around you as prom quickly comes to a close.

When you get into Jimin's car, you knock off your heels as he continues to talk nonstop about the night. Jimin was a cutie but god, you could not stand his mindset for the life of you. You were grateful he had agreed to take you to prom, but damn. Prom was done and all you wanted was some peace and quiet.

"I hope you had fun with me tonight." You give him a toothless smile before slipping your heels back on.

"I did, thank you for taking me. Really." He smiles from ear to ear before leaning over near your seat.

"Can I get just one good smooch for the night?" You look at him before you smirk and lean over near his lips.

"Sure." You whisper.

"Oh fuck, this is actually happening."

"Close your eyes, I know you don't fucking kiss with your eyes open. What are you doing?"

"Right. Sorry." He closes his eyes and puckers his lips. You lean in a little closer, feeling his breath against your lips.

Then you flick his nose.

"Ouch!"

"Peace out, Park." You throw open his door to step out and shut it behind you to quietly walk into your house.

The lights are off and your parents are already tucked into the room for the night, leaving you a note on the fridge reminding you to make sure all the doors are locked before retreating to your room. You do as you're reminded before quietly shutting your door and tossing your heels to the side. You let the pins down from your hair, ruffling it around a bit and relieving any pressure on your head. Before turning away from your dresser, you notice a letter from the one university you had been waiting on. You had been waiting to hear back from Stanford for the longest time, and quite frankly, you had been upset you hadn't heard especially when their scouts were at your game awhile ago.

You had broken down to your parents, to Yoongi, automatically assuming the worst when you heard that other people had already been accepted and scouted for Stanford. Suddenly, you found yourself working harder and harder because you felt like you were lacking in so many areas. You felt low, and like your dream was running miles and miles away from you. Faster than you could keep up.

You take the letter in your hand, but don't want to open it because you don't feel ballsy enough [surprisingly]. You call up Yoongi, not caring that he could possibly be in the middle of getting his dick wet.

"Sup?"

"Are you busy?"

"I was just about to walk into my house."

"Oh, nevermind."

"Need me to come by?"

"I got a letter from Stanford."

"Shit, I'll be there in 2 mins."

And in 2 minutes, he surely was knocking at your window. You slide it up enough for him to climb in, Yoongi still in his prom get-up as well.

"Here." You instantly hand him the letter.

"What, why me? It should be you."

"I can't, I really can't." He sighs.

"Are you sure you won't regret this?"

"No, bub. Please." You sit on the bed and fiddle with your fingers as you watch him rip the envelope open and tear out the letter. You can't even keep your eyes on him as he reads the letter and starts backing away from you.

"Shit."

"What? What?!" You stand, trying your best to keep your tone low. He covers his mouth, causing you to pinch his bicep at how dramatic he was being. "Just say it!"

"You're not going." Your heart sinks, but before you could process it, Yoongi speaks up again. "To any other college because Stanford wants you."

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" You whisper and shove him.

"Congrats, bubby. Guess we'll be together in college too." Your eyes widen.

"Y-you're going? T-to Stanford?" He smiles and nods.

"Yeah, I am."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Look, I just wanted to give you your space. That's all. I found out before you went all cry baby on me."

"Shut up." You say before laughing and jumping into his arms, throwing your legs around his torso while he swings you around. As he sets you back down onto your bedroom floor, your hands linger around his neck, gently tugging on the hair that rested there. He keeps you close, his hands resting around your waist as your chests are still touching. You honestly have no idea what takes over you— perhaps all the feelings you felt tonight at prom taking over, or feeling overjoyed from finally hearing back from Stanford, you couldn't decide. But you crash your lips against his, immediately pulling back after you realized you've just kissed your bestfriend.

You just had your first fucking kiss through accidental causes.

Well, shit.

Was it accidental or no?

Mind is going off on a tangent.

"Woah. I'm so sorry, Yoonks, I—" He doesn't allow for any space between you two, keeping your body flush against his as his lips crash onto yours again to cut you off. To be quite honest, things are moving fast and the kiss deepens quick. You follow his motions, gaining some rhythm as your tongue dances along with his in the [now] wet, sloppy kiss.

"Wait, Y/N." He pulls away as the moment intensifies. "A-are you sure you wanna keep going? To be honest, I don't know if I'll be able to hold myself back and I know you haven't exactly—" He knows it would be your first time and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. I mean, sure, he loved you. You were special to him. But he wanted to make sure your first time was also special, whether it be him or whoever else.

"Please. I want this. I wanna do this with you."

By the looks of tonight, it seems like it's meant to be him.

You press your lips back onto his with the same intensity and start to unbutton his shirt when you feel his hands hike up your dress. He gently pushes you on the bed, crawling over to you as he kicks off his shoes and finishes ripping off his shirt and tie. He slowly removes the straps of your dress down your shoulders and undoes the zipper on the side before slipping it down and leave you in your panties.

You had no bra on.

Yoongi's eyes widen when he realizes such, your cheeks heating up while you watch him stare down your body. You begin to feel incredibly self-conscious so you cover your chest with an arm. Yoongi senses your uneasiness, your confidence shooting down below zero.

"You're beautiful, bub. Don't." He says, gently tugging your arm away and letting it fall limply to the side. You simply nod and let him take the reigns because you had no idea what the fuck you were doing. So many emotions were flooding your mind— you were nervous, you were scared, you were shy, you felt lost and too innocent under Yoongi, even if he knew you like the back of his hand.

And because of that, he could pick up on it with the way your body continued to tense up. He shook off his pants, leaving on his boxers until you were ready for him. Cause fuck, he was ready for you, but he had to take this slow. He had to take care of you.

He lowers himself onto you after the two of you have climbed under the sheets, lowering his head against your neck to press light, feathery kisses along the surface. You felt the tingles shoot down your spine every time his lips made contact, causing you to softly gasp and arch your back at how sensitive you were already feeling.

"If you ever feel uncomfortable, just tell me to stop okay?" He says lowly. You nod in response, Yoongi taking it as leverage to plant a kiss on your lips before moving down to your breasts. He keeps his eyes on you, making sure you don't seem uncomfortable in the slightest bit. But you don't, and it's indicated in the way you bite your bottom lip and arch your back at the way his tongue wraps around your hardened bud. He does the same on the other breast before peppering kisses down your stomach and abdomen.

"Yoongi." You slightly gasp, shy at how unusually close he is to your lady friend.

"What's wrong? Want me to stop?" His thumbs gently caressed your thighs as his head hovered over your pelvis. You shake your head and nervously swallow before speaking once more.

"I-I'm just scared, what if you don't like—"

"Shh." He shushes you. "You're everything to me, you know that. You don't have to change just so I could enjoy you in bed. I'll take good care of you, bub. I promise."

"O-okay." He nods, placing a kiss over your clothed clit before pulling them down to get lost within your sheets. He swipes a finger down your folds, causing your breathing to hitch slightly. You watch as he slowly inserts the same digit inside of you, biting onto his bottom lip watching your facial expressions turn from uncertainty to straight pleasure. "Another." You moan.

"You sure?"

"Yes, please." He inserts another digit, curling his fingers upward as he starts to finger fuck you at a steady pace.

"Shit, you're so wet Y/N." He says lowly before lowering his mouth onto you to get a taste and tease your clit. You gasp at the overwhelming sensation, feeling the pleasure bubbling in your core and you had no idea how to deal with it. He picks up his pace while tonguing your clit and sucking at the right pressure until suddenly, you short circuit and tremble under his grip. You purse your lips together to prevent yourself from moaning too loud with your parents at the other end of the hall [jesus fucking christ], knuckles turning white as you grip the sheets tightly.

Your first orgasm came and washed over you quick.

"Did you just—" He removes his digits from inside of you, drooling at your cum accumulating all over his fingers.

"Holy fuck." You whisper as you regulate your breathing, twitching when Yoongi places a quick kiss on your pussy before coming back up to you.

"How was that?"

"So good. Wanna feel you." You whine, tugging him down towards you.

"I got you, bubby." He says, kissing your jaw, cheek, nose and lips. He reaches over into his pants on the floor, grabbing a condom out of his pocket. You furrow your brow and chuckle, confused if this was something he always did.

"You just carry that around?"

"The guys and I split on a box and carried one each for tonight. Just in case."

"Total fucking assholes." He chuckles.

"Better safe than not, right?" He rips it open with his teeth, spitting the wrapper out onto the floor before rolling it down his cock. He was perfectly thick and long, and it made you a nervous wreck all over again thinking about how this could feel. "Ready? I'll go slow." You nod. You immediately felt immense pressure when you felt Yoongi dip his body and slowly enter you. You winced, Yoongi immediately pausing until you tapped his arm to continue. And so he does, and you continue to breathe through it until he bottoms out and lets out a soft groan against your neck. "Fuck, you're so tight bub. God, you're gonna make me cum quick." He slowly pumps in and out, steadying his pace when he feels you buck your hips up to go along with his motions.

The pleasure skyrocketed; You shut your eyes, letting yourself be in this moment. Feel this moment.

He picks it up a little faster, careful not to bang your headboard against the wall. His forehead is pressed against yours, watching as you let out soft whimpers against his lips.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yoongi-Yoongi—" You whispered. "You're gonna make me—" It was becoming overwhelming, your clit rubbing against him as he steadied his pace and continued to fuck into you. He nods, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"Yeah, that's it. Let go. It's okay." And that was enough for you to reach your second orgasm tonight. Quick, but fuck. Yoongi made you feel so good, and you wouldn't want it any other way. You shut your eyes as you hurdled over the edge, mouth open with silent, inaudible moans being released. "So fucking pretty." Yoongi says as he feels himself reaching his high with the way your walls pulsated against his cock.

God. So, so good.

He holds onto the headboard and quickly fucks into you until he's spilling his seed in the condom, muffled moans being released against the crook of your neck. It takes a moment before Yoongi raises his head, your hands running through his black hair while he presses a tender kiss against your lips. He slowly removes himself, wrapping the condom in a tissue before tossing it into your trash can. He plops next to you and welcomes you into his arms, caressing you to soothe you from your first time.

"You okay?"

"More than okay." You say, the both of you trying to savor the moment before trying to navigate where to go from here.

What now?

Third Quarter: College, Junior Year (Present)

You bent down, hands resting against your knees as you tried to catch your breath during the timeout Coach Chu had called with 5.2 seconds literally left on the clock. He laid out the play he wanted you and the team to pull off in order to gain the win over Berkeley.

It had to be executed perfectly. No flaws.

Coach Chu had been riding your ass since you were a freshman. But, over the years, you've learned how to work through his tough love and turn it into positives, bettering yourself on and off the floor. It paid off, and he saw the fire in you, finally moving you up to starting point guard right before the season ended. Some team members hated it at first, but eventually, grew to work with it as well.

The plan was to have you come down into the paint and lay up the ball or take a shot at the very last second to avoid Berkeley from getting another chance at scoring. Sometimes you hated the pressure, but you've also learned that a big part of playing ball was thriving under pressure.

Your team closes up the huddle before you and your teammates are heading back out onto the floor to try and get this win. You shake off the nerves, bouncing the ball out of bounds until you check it in with your teammate. After that— it was like a blur. Shit happened so quick, you couldn't even process it. You passed the ball and dashed over to the other side of the court while your teammate put up a screen. You rose your hand as you ran into the paint, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you awkwardly lay up the ball in the position you were in and stumble onto the ground from losing your footing. You turn your head as the buzzer went off, noticing that the ball had bounced off the rim.

You missed a fucking lay up.

How could you miss a fucking lay up?

"Fuck!" You cry as you sit up and smack the floor.

"Aye, it's all good girl! Ain't a big deal! You win some, you lose some! We still got a ways to go!" Your teammate [roommate, and closest college friend] Clarice said as she helped you up. She was right, but every loss to you was a big loss no matter what. Coach was for sure gonna drill you about this too, and you were already mentally preparing.

"Thanks." You mumble. You look out at the disappointed crowd slowly dispersing, wishing you could still catch a familiar face in the crowd.

But, Yoongi hadn't been to your game in years. So you thought. You never caught him if he ever stepped foot into your game.

Your head hung low as the familiar feeling of pain and loneliness came rushing back while you headed to the locker room. Too bad you didn't see him hiding out on the side of the bleachers with Lucas.

"Y/N, a word." Coach Chu says, leading you into his office.

Fuck, here we go.

You shut the door behind you and stand awkwardly in front of his desk, fiddling with your fingers.

"Look, I just want to say that you put on hell of a show tonight, win or lose. We still have plenty of games left, plenty of opportunities to lock in play-offs. Alright? Don't be upset."

"Thanks Coach." You give him a tiny smile.

"Are you doing okay?"

"Uh, yeah. I think so."

"What's on your mind?"

"Nothing coach, just been a hectic couple of weeks." In which, it was no lie. You crammed for test after test, project after project. You barely had any time to breathe this year.

"Well, my door is always open if you need to chat." You nod. "I'll see you at practice. Enjoy your night."

"Thanks again." You say as you exit his office and get yourself showered and into comfier clothes.

Meanwhile, Yoongi heads back to his dorm room alongside Lucas, hands dug deep into his pockets while his head hung low.

"You ever gonna talk to her?"

"I don't know." He sighs. "Pretty sure I fucked up any chance of that."

"Look, dude. You haven't really been the same since you and Y/N fell out." Yoongi stays silent as they slowly climb the steps up to their room. "Why are you just gonna leave it like this? It's been so long already. Doesn't it bother you?"

"Positive she doesn't want me around." Lucas shakes his head.

"You haven't even tried. You just gave up and that shit is cold, to be honest. I know Y/N always held it down for you, I would have expected you to do the same." The words cut through Yoongi so deep, he doesn't even know how to respond and leaves it at that.

As you heavily dragged your body back to the dorms and took your sweet ol' time, your mind began to wander back to Yoongi as well. After he had taken your virginity that night, things took a turn for the worst.

He treated you differently, created this distance that allowed you to grow farther and farther apart from each other until he was no longer in your grasp and vice versa.

You went from Yoongi being a part of your every day to nothing. And fuck, did it hurt you. You cried and cried, until you were so tired of crying. You had to pick yourself up and keep it moving no matter what. Life waits for nobody.

You reminisce on those days of debating over who could really be considered the greatest. Although, you did pay your respects to the bigs, the greats— Kobe, Magic, MJ, Lebron— you paid respect where it was rightfully due. However, Derrick Rose at his prime? Rajon Rondo? Chris Paul?

Hell, even Baron Davis, Monte Ellis. Rookie Steph Curry? Shiiit. They were it for you, and Yoongi used to dog your ass on how unrealistic you were being.

That was all gone.

He must be having a ball watching Steph climb up those charts now, though. You wonder what he would say to you.

The days of going to basketball games, to each other's basketball games, to ordering hella pizza and creating chaos in either house over the dunk contest during the NBA All Star Week or yelling all around the living room and jumping on couches during the NBA playoff season and championship games— All gone.

If you knew this would drastically change you and Yoongi, you would have never let that night happen. You continued to put on your brave face, your thick, tough skin even though deep down, it took everything in you to suppress the hurt, betrayal and confusion. Even after all these years.

He meant everything to you. Did you not to him? You could never understand until this day. How could he dispose of you so, so quickly?

You see him on campus and quickly break any eye contact, or run the opposite way. You were tired of doing this even though you felt like you needed closure. Some explanation. You deserved it. But you weren't gonna initiate that. Even if Yoongi did, you don't even know if things could ever go back to the way it was. He promised he would never hurt you, but he has. He still is hurting you. The wounds— it cut deep. Deeper than he could ever imagine.

"Hello?" You smile, hearing your dad on the other line.

"Hey dad."

"Hey baby! How was your game? I'm sorry I couldn't catch it tonight, work kept me behind." You sigh.

"Eh, it's probably good you didn't. Didn't turn out so well." He picks up on how your voice cracks ever so slightly, enough to indicate that you were trying your hardest not to break down about your performance. "I missed the winning shot."

"Oh sweetheart, you'll get 'em next time. You always do. You still have a couple of games left don't you?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't change the fact that I played shitty as hell tonight."

"There's always room for improvement, only way to go is up from here right?" He says softly, making you smile. "You'll get 'em next time, I have no doubt. You always know how to better yourself even when I think you've already reached your highest potential."

"Thanks Dad. You always were my number one fan."

"I still am." He chuckles. "How's everything else? School?"

"Fine." He always has to stop himself from asking about Yoongi, even to ask if there's been the slightest change to your relationship.

"You sure?"

"Course." You lie.

"Alright, well you know me and your mom are here for you if you need anything."

"I know."

"I'll let you go and get some rest, alright? Don't be so hard on yourself."

"Mmm, I'll try." You chuckle. "I love you."

"Love you too. And hey, baby?"

"Yeah?"

"Always remember that you deserve everything good in this world. If someone can't handle you at your worse, they sure as hell don't deserve you at your best."

"Thank you." You smile as if your dad can see you through the phone before hanging up and unlocking your dorm door.

"Sigma Nu party going on tonight, wanna come and slide through?" Clarice asks as she watches you toss your duffle aside.

"I'm tired, not in the mood."

"So aren't I, but I think we both need it. Come on girl, just for a little." You sigh. Clarice had also been there by your side since you both were freshmen recruits. One day, she came into the room and found you a crying mess, causing her to wrap her arms around you and craddle you until you calmed down. You had spilled the beans about Min Yoongi, especially when he quickly became the talk of the campus as a ladies man and one of the best freshmen recruits Stanford has ever seen. You hated it, but a part of you still found yourself happy that he was getting the recognition he deserved as a ball player.

He wasn't the tallest, or the biggest, but boy had heart and played every game like it was his last. You had been his number one fan, and even though you hated him, that fact would never change.

Anyways, without Clarice, you weren't sure where you'd be. Definitely not here because you'd be too busy running away from your past and all the issues that came with it.

Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and say it. You would be stupid enough to not go to your first choice just because of a stupid boy.

"Fine, fine. I'm leaving as soon as someone wants to start acting up and getting all crazy though."

"Deal." She chuckles. You've learned how to dress up a little more— and by a little we mean baggy sweats, a crop tight fitting tee and chapstick. No way in hell you'd get dolled up for a party. Out of the years you've already been here, you probably went to two parties. One being the party Coach Chu threw at his house for a record-breaking season. The other was a legit party that you stepped foot in for all of 2 seconds before you figured it was time to head home, especially after seeing Yoongi hugged up with some chick and disgustingly tonguing her down while groping her ass.

Shit, you were never gonna get used to it.

The frat house is fucking packed and wreaks of weed even down the corner. You and Clarice push your way through, greeting people who were acknowledging your presence and waving at your other teammates that were also present.

"More basketball babes have arrived, let's go!" One of the frat guys cheers as you and Clarice make your way to the kitchen where all the alcohol is laid out.

"One shot?" She asks as she already has her hand wrapped around the Svedka handle.

"One and done." You tell her. You shouldn't have let her pour the shot though because now, you're stuck with nasty ass vodka near the halfway mark of the cup. "Clarice, what the fuck is this?"

"It's called savoring our one."

"You're fucked up." You joked as you tap your cup against hers and take the shot in three chugs. "Really fucked up." You wince.

"Come, lets go see what the other girls are up to and hang out for a bit." You follow her lead to the corner of the living room, chatting it up with your team before dancing around in the little corner you all occupied— keeping as far away as possible from sloppy and messy dudes.

You turned to eye the crowd at some point, catching Yoongi coming down the stairs, a female following from behind holding his hand. Then, they disappear to the outside of the house. You swallow the lump in your throat, the room feeling hotter than it already was.

Why he still had this affect on you, you had no idea.

Clarice and your teammates are too busy cracking jokes that they don't realize you've slipped away to get some air. You're finding that the crowd has come bigger in the short amount of time you've been here and navigating through it has become difficult. You're having to bob, weave and shove your way out, letting out a sigh the closer you get to the front of the house. You're also really glad you've been able to steer clear from—

"Shit, my bad." You unintentionally bump into someone making your way to the front from the side of the house due to you keeping your head low.

"Y/N?" You whip your head around to see Yoongi raising a brow, dropping his arm from the same chick's shoulders.

"Hi." You give him a fake, tight-lipped smile and rush your way to the front of the house. Thank god you finally make it because you were starting to feel claustrophobic, even being outside. However, you weren't prepared for Yoongi to come after you and grab your wrist the way he did.

"Wait, I didn't expect you to be here." Out of defense, you quickly snatch your wrist away from his grip and furrow your brows at him.

"Yeah, and now I'm leaving."

"Why, hang out for a bit—"

"And what, Yoongi? Watch you be the life of the party? Watch you walk around all fine and dandy like shit never happened between us?" You feel the tears welling up on your bottom lids, but you promised yourself you would never cry over him again. You refuse to. He had already taken up so much of you that you refuse to give him any more.

"Is that what you really think?" He says, the hurt apparent in his expression. To be frank, no. Yoongi really, really never meant to hurt you. And just like he had mentioned before, he would never forgive himself if he ever hurt you. He hasn't forgiven himself. He hasn't forgiven himself for how he let you slip out of his grasp when it was his own fault for pushing aside his feelings for you. He thought the world of you, the only woman who kept it real with him and stuck by him through the highest of highs, lowest of lows. There was no one as special as you, no one who could ever be as special as you, no matter how many times he tried to sink his dick into other females.

No one was real like you.

But, he was also conflicted because of that. He felt like he couldn't give you the love you rightfully deserved, he didn't think he could love you properly. He had so much to learn and he didn't wanna hurt you in the process. It sounds so fucking stupid [because it is] that he thought distancing himself was better than just being honest. He was a dumbass high schooler, he didn't know any better. But, he never meant to make you feel special for one night, then run from it. You were always special to him. You had always been. You always will be. And these past years hurt like a bitch, but he coudn't find the words to explain. Eventually, he just believed he would do less damage if you both remained distant this way.

Although, he longed for you. He really needed you just as you needed him. He always has, always will.

So when the two of you bump into each other tonight, he felt like maybe, it was a sign. Maybe it was time to stop being childish.

God, he missed your face.

God, he was a fucking asshole.

"No, I'm not doing this shit." You shake your head. "Just— continue to stay away from me, okay? I'm better off without you." The words sting you, but it doesn't sting you as much as it stings Yoongi. You glare at him once more before you turn on your heel and begin walking down the street to head back to your dorm.

"Y/N! Wait up!" Clarice calls for you, eyeing Yoongi as she passes him to catch up with you down the street. "Hey, hey. You okay?" She swings her arm around you when she catches you silently crying to yourself. "What did he do, Y/N?"

"He fucking exists, that's what." You groan. "Ugh, fuck! I'm not supposed to be crying over his dumbass, I'm better than this Clarice— Why the fuck am I crying over it?" You break down, crouching down to your knees, causing Clarice to hover over you and pull you into a hug.

"Maybe you just need to let it out and stop forcing yourself to not feel anything."

"I hate him, I hate him, I hate him." You bawled into your arms. "I hate him so much." She caressed your back. "But he still finds a way to mean so much to me."

"I think it's time for you two to talk."

"I can't. It's just better this way."

"Are you sure? Because look at you, Y/N. You're a mess, and this hasn't even been the first time you broke down about him. As much as you want to believe that you're fine without him, you're not. He was your bestfriend and I think you need him more than you even know yourself."

"He's doing fine without me."

"You don't know that, baby. Dudes are annoying as fuck because they can literally go on about their day and mask that shit well. If he's ready, let him explain. Hear him out. You both may be misunderstanding the entire situation." It takes you a good minute before you can finally gather yourself and make it back to your dorm room with Clarice.

She was right.

But you were so angry more than anything. You were angry and you weren't sure how you could get past it.

He left your side. 

And so the next day, you go about your day in class, staying quieter than usual during practice. For the most part, Coach Chu was always on your ass because of how vocal you were and how much you caught an attitude when things didn’t go the way you'd like it to. So, to see you this quiet, almost sullen even, concerns him. But, he already pressed you once and he wasn't gonna do it again to avoid irritating you any further.

You run the usual conditioning drills, practicing play by play before a final scrimmage game for the night. You push yourself hard like you always do, almost coming out of practice dry heaving from how tired you are. It was your bad habit though, you wouldn't quit until you got it right. Until you felt right. And unfortunately, it's another one of those nights where you feel unsatisfied with your performance. So, you take it upon yourself to continue practicing in the empty gym that was set to close within the next hour. You're tired out of your mind, and you know this is probably a bad idea, but you can't shake off the feeling of dissatisfaction. To you, that was the next worst thing. Right behind Yoongi.

You begin to work on your three pointers, lay ups and shots out of range before you start to play a scrimmage game with yourself.

"I'll play you." You suddenly hear, the sweat beads dripping down your forehead at this point. You watch Yoongi as he drops his water bottle off at the side of the court before walking over to you.

"Go away."

"Afraid you'll lose?"

"No, I just don't wanna play your ass." You shot up the ball, only for it to bounce off the backboard and land in Yoongi's hand.

"Ball up. Let's play till 10."

"Why the hell do you wanna play me, Yoongi? Don't you have a random chick to bone?"

"I'm clearly standing right in front of you aren't I? Quit fucking talking and play." He aggressively passes you the ball to check it in, you following suit, making the ball damn near bounce off of his chest with how hard you pass it back. He knew exactly how to rile you up.

You get into the zone quickly, trying to find some kind of redemption for the way you had been feeling lately. Redemption, validation, way to take the edge off— anything, really. It was only until the first person scored to 10, but Yoongi was putting up one hell of a fight, jet black hair parted down the middle and matted to his forehead from the sweat building up. You take the lead, sitting at 8 while Yoongi sat at a sad 6 points.

"Ball." You call out as you scored a layup, ramming yourself against the padded wall with the force you had put up.

"That's 10."

"Ball, Yoongi." You huffed and puffed.

"Stop, don't overwork yourself. You just got—"

"Suddenly you care? Stop being a pussy and pass me the goddamn ball." He furrows his brows as he passes you the ball, crouching down to meet you at eye level to try and guard you. You run towards the right of the court, pulling a pump fake before you pivot to get away from Yoongi's guard. You pivot hard and drive it up to the basket, only to fall on the wrong footing and twist your ankle on the way down. "Ouch, fuck!"

"Shit, Y/N!" Yoongi comes to your side, hand supporting your back as the other is on your ankle.

"I'm fine, leave me—"

"Stop being so fucking stubborn and let me help you." He says angrily. You don't say anything else while you fix your position on the floor. "Can you wiggle it at least?"

"Y-yeah." You wince as you wiggle your foot and roll it around a couple of times. Phew, at least this shit wasn't gone for good. But Coach Chu still wouldn't be happy to hear you sprained your ankle releasing your anger on Yoongi during a dumb game. Yoongi helps you stand, arm around your waist as he throws your arm around his neck and holds you steady by the wrist.

"Try walking on it."

"I can, but it hurts a little." Yoongi sighs.

"You just sprained it. Let's go get you some ice or something at the nursing center before going back to your dorm." You silently nod as you hang onto Yoongi for extra support, careful not to make the situation any worse than it already is. He has you sit on the chair within the nursing center, the nurse coming over to wrap your ankle nicely before giving you crutches and some instant hot compress to pop onto it. She orders for security to drive you two over to the dorm building in their go-cart so that you wouldn't have to do much walking on your foot while you focused on healing.

Yoongi doesn't leave your side, even after you've walked into your dark, empty dorm room, not really knowing where Clarice is at right now [possibly library]. He shuts your door and sits you on the edge of your bed, setting your crutches near your bed side and your instant hot compress.

"You need anything else?" Your head hangs low as you slightly chuckle and shake your head.

"Why are you doing this?" You ask him lowly before looking back up at him, tears clouding your vision. "Hm? Why, Yoongi?"

"You're hurt, why wouldn't I—"

"Hmm." You hum. "I'm hurt? So where the fuck were you after prom night? When I was hurt then, where the fuck have you been?" You began to cry.

"Y/N." His tongue swipes over his lips before he sighs. "I'm sorry." He says, close to a whisper.

"Are you? Because I don't think you really understand how bad you hurt me." You aggressively wipe away your tears while continuing to look at him, his body language soft and full of regret. "You didn't care about me."

"How could you say that? I cared—" He sighs as his head drops for a second. "I care about you more than you know."

"If you did then why the fuck was it so easy for you to drop me the way you did?!" You yelled. "You just don't do that to the people you care about, especially if it’s your bestfriend."

"Look, you're right. I have no excuse for the way I acted, and if I could turn back time to re-do it, I would. But I can't, and the only thing I can do is apologize and do my best to make it up to you." His bottom lip trembles as he steps closer to you, a small frown forming at the corners of his mouth.

"Yoongi." You cried. "I did everything for you, I stuck by you through everything, even during the times you didn't deserve that shit from me. But I stayed! I stood by you because you meant everything to me and god—" You groaned. "I needed you. I needed you and you weren't there! I fucking hate you for doing this shit to me but part of me will always have love for you no matter how fucked up the situation is. I will always drop everything for you. I will always care about you, and it's so unfair." It broke Yoongi's heart and he didn't know what to say, but he wraps his arms around you anyway, keeping you in a tight hug against his chest. He's surprised that you let him, even more surprised at how he feels your body soften under his touch.

"Fuck, I'm so, so sorry bub." He says lowly as he presses a kiss on top of your head. "I'm so sorry."

"Please don't ever go again." You cry against his chest.

"No, I'm not. I'm gonna be right here." He says hugging you tighter. "You're the only one who's ever understood me, who's ever kept it real with me. I don't deserve you, but I know damn sure I'll work hard to make up for letting you go in the first place." He places another kiss on top of your head. "I'm right here. Not going anywhere. I'm so sorry."

- - -

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

"THE STANFORD BOYS TAKE THE CHAMPIONSHIP!" The commentator screams into his mic, Yoongi running a lap around the court before he's cheering loudly with his teammates and joining the group hug. You run down the bleachers, dashing straight into Yoongi's arms while he swings you around.

"That's what I'm fucking talking about!" You squeal and giggle as Yoongi places you back down and plants multiple kisses around your face, hands resting on the small of your back.

"Let's get out of here." He whispers in your ear.

"I'll wait at your car, bighead." You wink, causing him to smile that gummy smile of his that you adore more than life itself.

There's obviously a huge party going on tonight to celebrate this huge achievement, but Yoongi says he doesn't wanna join for once. He's happy, yeah. But the way he wants to celebrate is in peace. After so long, he feels like he can finally say he's content with where his life is at and where it's going. He drives over to the nearest beach, backing into a space so the both of you could sit in the back and try catching all the shooting stars up above. Yoongi leans against the side of the trunk, allowing you to lay your head on his lap while you curled up beside him listening to the waves slowly crash against the sand.

"Saw one." He says, looking up at the sky.

"You're a punk, no you didn't."

"What?" He laughs. "How are you about to say that? I caught it with my own two eyes."

"Oop! I saw one!"

"Now that's a lie. I was looking up too."

"Shut up." You laugh, causing Yoongi to tickle you along the sides before he stops and plants a kiss on your lips. It's silent for a minute while the two of you take in the night view— The sky and ocean coming together as one, forming a view that seemed endless.

"Hey."

"Hm?" You hum as Yoongi's fingers gently brush through your hair.

"You know I love you right?"

"Ew with the sappy shit, Min Yoongi." He laughs.

"Seriously."

"I know." You smile up at him. "I love you too."

"Come here." He says softly, tugging you upwards. You sit up, allowing Yoongi to press his lips against yours. He pulls you in by your shirt, having you straddle his lap while he grips onto your hips and immediately grinds against you. You let out a small moan feeling how quickly he hardened, his cock hitting you in the right places as you continue to grind on him. "Fuck, wanna feel you babygirl."

"Here?"

"Yeah." He chuckles and bites onto his bottom lip.

"What, all of a sudden you're scared?"

"Fuck off." You fire back, releasing his hardened member from its confines as you stroke him gently. He tilts his head back in pleasure before tugging your shorts and panties to the side, enough for him to cop a feel of how wet you are.

"Baby's all wet."

"What're you gonna do about it?" You whisper against his lips, biting onto his bottom lip and pulling back slightly. He hisses at the sensation before he moves your hand from his cock and takes control. He pushes you upward, positioning you enough to line up with your entrance.

"Take this shit off."

"Yoongi, we're in public."

"So, you're all talk and no play."

"I hate you."

"Nobody's here." He groans. "Just take off your shorts, pleeease." He begs as he slowly strokes himself. You toss aside your shorts, Yoongi immediately hooking his finger at the bottom of your panties and tugging it aside in order to push himself into you. He does enough before he lets you do the rest of the work and sink down on his length, a gasp leaving your throat as you take all of him in. He grips your hips tightly, setting the pace as he groans into your neck, your fingers tangled in his hair resting at the nape of his neck.

"Shit, babe." You moan as you tilt your head back.

"Fuck, you always ride me so well." He presses light kisses against your neck before he's nipping at the surface.

"Godddd why do you feel so good?" You whimper.

"You like how I feel inside of you?" You nod. "Yeah? Like how my cock fills you up?"

"Never gonna get tired of it." You moan, Yoongi making you pick up the pace aggressively. Besides the waves crashing, the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin fills the car, along with your soft moans and Yoongi's groans. Your clit is constantly rubbing against him, causing the pleasure to build so quickly it becomes overwhelming. You try to hold off as much as you can but—

"My pretty baby. All I fucking need." He almost growls, the words enough to send you over the edge. You let out a loud moan, not even caring for the houses nearby as your orgasm hits hard and ripples throughout your body, sending aftershocks. Yoongi continues to have you ride him fast and hard, the overwhelming sensation causing a hint of pain to mix with more pleasure until  you feel him feel you up. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He groans as his nails dig into your skin, giving two good thrusts upwards into you to help ride out his high. You both sit in the position for a minute, trying to come back down from your highs. Yoongi gives you a delicate peck on the lips, smiling into the kiss before he pulls away. "Swear you're all I need."

"See, I don't know if I could say the same." He smacks your ass as you hike up and off of him to put on your shorts.

"Take it back."

"I'm kidding." You blush.

"My ride or die. Are you with me?"

"Always have been. Are you?"

"You know I am."

"Good. You know it takes two." He smiles before pulling you into another hug and pressing a kiss against your temple.

[myshredda]

Green seems like the kind of kid who has a bike. It's just a normal bike, not a sport bike, doesn't have a basket or anything, no stickers, but he rides it everywhere. Well, as much as he can; there's not really anywhere to go.

He found it in the closet or a long-forgotten shed or smth and taught himself to ride as part of his attempts to escape the world. He saw how poorly Red's car trip went but figured he could make it bc he was smarter and knew what was happening. ...He never even made it to the border; it was too far.

Now that he's not trying to do that anymore, he just rides it in the back and front yards. It's not as exciting bc he's not going anywhere but he doesn't want to go anywhere anymore.

Yellow is jealous beyond all belief. He wants to ride that bike more than anything. At first the adults thought it was because Green wasn't sharing, but he was more than happy to let Yellow have a go at it. The problem is he doesn't know how to ride it. So after dinner, the four of them go out to the backyard and try to teach him how to ride. Green's the only one who knows so he's giving advice and showing him how to move the pedals etc, Red is holding on so he doesn't fall and pushing him along, and Duck is screaming from the sidelines, "More power! Show it who's in charge! Make it respect you!"

Every time Yellow's confident enough he tells Red to let go, he instantly falls. He's just so unbalanced and uncoordinated that he can't do it without Red literally keeping him upright. After literal hours of crashing, Yellow's frustrated to tears and has grass stains and scrapes all over. While they put him in the bath and put band aids on his scrapes, he declares over and over that he hates the bike and he hates biking and he hates people who ride bikes. He's bitter for several days after that but eventually he's content to just run after Green as he bikes around the yard. He still falls over just as much but he just laughs it off and gets back up.

Oh this is so cute. SO CUTE and so so real. Green would have the actual balance and coordination to ride the bike, I'm sure it was fished from the closet or some extra room upstairs had it contained. Collecting dust, maybe next to a long-forgotten kids stuff, some more little clothes pieces with "D" sewn into the tags or written in the back in sharpie. He ignores those because the bike is SO much more interesting. There's no helmet, but he doesn't go very fast, so it doesn't really matter.

He likes to ride it around and think while doing so, it clears his head. Yellow refused to even look out the window at him art first and Red can tell he's sulking so he lets Yellow practice braiding his yarn.

Eventually, they figure out Yellow wants to ride it and can't so they try to help out, with Duck screeching for him to go faster because faster = better. Red's not sure this will end well, seeing as Yellow is the clumsiest person he's ever known on a good day, and Green's trying to be helpful but they just end up snipping at each other because Yellow is kind of embarrassed at how bad he is at it. A few scrapes and bruises and tears later Yellow's in the bath and Green is sitting on the closed toilet and they're not really talking to each other and Yellow's still angrily sniffling as Red helps shampoo his hair. Duck's in the kitchen making 'sorry you're the worst bike rider of all time' biscuits and Green finally says he's sorry it didn't go the way Yellow wanted it to, and Yellow just shrugs and mumbles something about bikes being stupid and he doesn't even want to ride it anymore.

Later, while Duck puts bandaids on both of Yellow's knees, Green sneaks upstairs and searches the spare bedroom for stabilisers. He finds a rusty pair, and stashes them away to show Yellow on a day he's not so upset. He comes back downstairs and Red pats his head and tells him it was very nice of him to share his bike even if Yellow was hopelessly useless at riding it, and it kind of makes the whole terrible day seem a little better.

The biscuits are good, Duck put jam in them, Green and Yellow's favorite. Yellow finally shuffles over and mumbles a quick thanks for letting him at least try out the bike before he flees into the sitting room to watch TV with Doggie.

All-in-all, it's a pretty okay day actually. Even if Yellow was grumpy for a bit after.

[ggukkiedae]

notes: hannah didnt want anyone to find out about her getting cut, but johnny slipped and messaged ten. yangyang just wants to be a good boyfriend. (italic conversations are spoken in english)

setting: sticker preparations

taglist: @1-800-enhypenbibi @strwberrydinosaur @sunflower-0180 @caratinylyfe @1-800-minji @woopetals @kimhyejin3108 @starlighthwa @akshverse

Noise never really bothered Hannah.

In all honesty, she welcomed it. Being in a group with 23 men and having the 20 of them who don’t live there crash in her dorm on a daily basis, it felt weird to not have noise around her. It was some type of reassurance that her members were still there and that they weren’t uncomfortable with her. This was why she welcomed the noise.

Unless it was in a situation like this.

“Where is she?!” Her frantic boyfriend had burst into the practice room, immediately scanning the whole perimeter before spotting her. Of course, he was followed by Ten, who was probably the most vocal a out claiming her as a baby out of all the members.

She facepalmed with her uninjured hand and glared at Johnny, who simply shrugged at her. “See what you did?”

“Hey,” Yangyang’s hands cupped her face before he proceeded to look over her to see if there were more wounds than the one the medic had properly cleaned and covered, “are you okay? Does anything else hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Ten, on the other hand, had shoved Haechan away from her side (playfully or not, she wasn’t so sure) and cradled her head to his chest. She blinked once before rolling her eyes at him.

“My baby is hurt,” he squished his cheek to the too of her head before giving the 127 members a look. “Who let this happen?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she shook her head out of Ten’s grip, “I’m fine! I just have to go to the hospital real quick and get this patched up. Nothing much, really.”

She was met with a silence of everyone staring at her with wide eyes. The last time something like this happened was in 2018, so the feeling of everyone looking at her like she was some type of new attraction at a zoo made her feel unsettled.

“Excuse me?” Yangyang looked at her weirdly. “I got a papercut and put a bandaid on that. That was nothing much. This? Babe, if you’re going to the hospital for this, this isn’t nothing much.”

“Please,” Doyoung snorted, “this just proves she’s the stronger of the twins. Haechannie so much as lightly bumps his head, and he’s crying to Taeil hyung.”

This was followed by a yelp of pain, which Hannah could tell was from Haechan smacking the elder in retaliation for the comment. She chuckled and nodded at Doyoung gratefully just as manager Kihyun walked in and nodded at her.

“Exactly.” A smile made its way to her face as she stood up from where everyone was crowding her and walked towards her manager. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a hospital to go to and a wound to get checked out. Kihyun oppa, do I need to bring anything?”

Her manager shook her head at him. “No, just an id. Oh, and Johnny, too. Technically, he’s still recognized as your guardian.”

A huff escaped her lips as she watched Johnny pick up her stuff and walk towards them. “22 in this country, but I still have to take him with me.”

Her muttering was put to a halt when she noticed a set of eyes looking at her with hope. Well... multiple sets of eyes, but she only really addressed one.

“No, Yangyang. You can’t come. He said Johnny oppa.”

Yangyang turned towards her manager with a determined look in his eyes. Now, Kihyun would have been able to say no to any of the 127 members quite easily considering he had been seeing them for years now. Yangyang, though, her manager had only known and interacted with for a few months.

“Hyung, please? I just want to make sure she’s okay!”

“... I guess there’s space in the car for one more.”

And that’s how Hannah found herself being helped into her manager’s car by her boyfriend who immediately slid in next to her. She gave him a look while he started trying to find ways to make it more comfortable for her injured arm.

“You know I would’ve been fine going without you or Johnny oppa with me, right?”

“Just give this to me,” he pressed a light kiss to her cheek. “You’re my girlfriend, and I will worry about you.”

She couldn’t help the smile that made its way up to her face. “Fine. But never burst into my practice room yelling like that ever again.”

“No promises, Schnucki.”

[whump-town]

Red Fish, Blue Fish

This is for @genevievedarcygranger (i'm sorry you deserve better than whatever this is)

Hank chilling with Hotch but it's sad bc I don't know how to do happy

On Thursday Hank sits out on his front porch with his banana mushed in his right hand and his sippy cup in the other. He waits, as he does every Thursday, for the sound of Hotch’s old Jeep to pull into the driveway. The car doesn’t look like anything he’d drive but it’s one of the last things he has of Haley’s - the Jeep they bought together in Seattle. Her dream car. He drives it now for practicality and because as he gets older silly things make him sentimental. And he just loves this old car.

And Hank loves it even more.

Hank grows agitated - a deep feeling in his stomach making him just as upset as the mashed banana he now wants off his hands. Savannah steps out on the porch with him, having left knowing he’d stay put because he’d never miss Hotch pulling in for anything. She’s got a wash rag and drags the warmed cloth over his face and hands. Taking what’s left of the banana and tossing it into the grass for a bird to eat.

“Come on,” Savannah picks him up. “We gotta get you dressed.” Hank goes even if he’s a little confused. Every Tuesday and Thursday for as long as Hank can remember he’s spent the work day at Hotch’s. Occasionally, (if Hotch has a doctor’s appointment and when Jack has breaks from college) that planning gets mixed up and Hank doesn’t take it well. They come rarely because over the last three years Hotch just doesn’t schedule appointments for those days and Jack is nearly twenty-one and spends his breaks doing other things. Not hanging with his dad.

Hank realizes Hotch isn’t coming when Savannah starts to draw him a bath. He fights her even though he typically loves baths. “No mama,” he tries to push himself out of her arms. He wants to go back to the porch. Hotch can’t come unless Hank is down there to watch for him. “No mama no!” He cries when she’s triumphant and places him down in the tub. “Hops,” he reminds her with fat tears rolling his cheeks. “Hops comin’ mama. Hops.”

She washes the rest of the banana off of him, sighing, and trying not to get upset herself. “Hops isn’t coming baby.” He hadn’t come last week either but Hank had been too distracted by Uncle Spence making a surprise visit to notice. Which was entirely the point of Spencer coming on Hotch’s normally scheduled days. Savannah knew she wouldn’t be as lucky this week. Hank had noticed, he’d realized how long it had been since Hotch came around. And she’d still let him think Hotch was coming this morning. She needed the hour to gather herself, to call Derek, and be certain. To reassure herself of what’s happening.

Hank stops fighting her. His little shoulders drop and he sniffles pitfully as he lets her wash his body back off. “Not comin’?” he mumbles. Hotch always comes. He picks Hank up from DayCare early and they go to the park for ice cream. All it takes is one phone call and, even with other plans, Hotch will diverge his path to get Hank. How many lunches has Hank been to? Eating a banana muffin, seated on the ground, and leaning against Hotch’s leg while he and Emily talk over coffee in some dusty cafe’s bookstore. How many prestigious academy lectures? Laying on the floor and coloring while Hotch guest speaks in one of Reid’s classes.

Savannah stops and looks at her son. His little eyes are full of far too much sorrow for someone so small and typically full of such overwhelming joy. She wipes one of his tears and frowns when he sniffles, rubbing his nose with the back of his chubby fist. “We’re going to Hops’ house,” she tells him, “but you can’t see Hops. Not today, okay?” She cups his cheek, “Hops is sick.”

He didn’t tell anyone. Not Emily the Tuesday after he found out over their weekly coffee. He couldn’t. Not with Hank sitting in her lap and struggling to identify words he recognizes from One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. Not when he’d dropped Hank off knowing the treatment plan he agreed to would probably mean he’d eventually be too sick to take Hank every week. But he couldn’t say it out loud and make it true.

Last Monday he arranged for Dave to pick him up from the hospital after the surgery the oncologist thought would be minimal and a successful measure to get the cancer out of his body. With its success chemo could eradicate the rest and Hotch would manage to get through the whole mess without anyone having known a thing - the best alternative, in his opinion.

But his heart never does well under the stress of anesthesia.

“Sick?” Hank repeats and he turns this over in his head. Sick. He knows what to do. He nods his head, “o’tay. Gonna help?”

Savannah stops and refrains from the truth which is that there’s nothing they can do. This is all Hotch and the doctors. They’re only going over to his house - you know, she doesn't even know why they’re going over there. Dave and Emily have taken up a semi-permanent residence. Garcia’s bringing food and with Garcia comes Reid because he won’t say no to food. Derek’s over to put up a bar in the shower and he’ll be sucked into staying for dinner and wants her there so he doesn’t have to be alone. With all their normal babysitters there, Hank has to come as well.

With a hesitant nod, Savannah agrees. “Yeah, baby, we’re gonna help.”

Hank packs a bag to keep himself entertained under the helpful guide of his mother. He refuses the books she wants him to take and informs her moodily that he wants Hops’ books and not trucks. He can’t read the books at Hotch’s house but Savannah caves and decides that’s a problem for later. With his little bag on his back, he leads Savannah to the bathroom. Asks for the bandaids - stickers, he calls them - under the understanding that ouchies and fevers are the same as whatever is wrong with Hops and a bandaid will help. Savannah lets him take three. They’re just bandaids and it’s not a big deal.

His bandaids in one hand and his sippy cup in the other, Hank lets his mother put him in the car seat with no complaint. He’s forgotten his mother’s statement about not seeing Hotch and grows eager, excited as they take the familiar turns to get to Hotch’s house.

Derek meets them outside, his tension apparent to Savannah. He’s upset and she gets out, leaving Hank in the car out of earshot while they talk softly outside. Derek wipes his eyes of the tears trying to boil over, frustrated with himself for being upset and Savannah rubs his arm. Comforting him where he almost wishes she’d pressure him to pull himself together. She pulls him into a hug, holding him for a moment while he struggles to get a hold of his emotions. He’s scared and it hurts to see Hotch like this but he can’t and he won’t leave the team here alone. It isn’t fair and they could all use a little of Hank’s magic right now.

But Hank could care less about any of them.

He wants one person and one person only.

“Hank!”

Hank Morgan has had four-years to understand what everyone else around him leans blindly into. There is no need to knock, no shout in warning as he runs for the door of his favorite person in the whole world. His father can’t understand it, no one really can, but Hank loves Hotch. And after two weeks of missed Thursdays with no playing in the garden and napping to the sound of nature documentaries voiced by people with weird accents Hank is eager. He’s blind, he’s desperate and despite his father’s tone of voice he still fully expects to throw the front door open and find Hotch.

“Hank -” Derek tries to grab his son by the shoulders and stop his rapid pace towards the house. But even on baby legs the second he’s placed down on the ground, he’s running. Derek needs to give him a warning for what lies ahead but Hanks is on a roll with his excitement leading the pack. He slips right past his dad giving an excited little shout as he goes. It takes him a second to get up the steps, his legs too short to just run straight up them.

But Hotch isn’t standing at the front door.

Uncle Dave meets him instead on the other side of the door and cocks an eyebrow that’s humorous and light despite the way that the dimly lit living room strangles any chance at a good mood. “Where are you running off to short stack?” He’s not given a chance to answer as he’s lifted up, smothered in affections that he only pays half a mind.

Hank lets them kiss at his face. He limply goes into Spencer’s arms and just holds still while the genius squeezes the life out of him. Not even a single comment when Penelope has to brush tears from her eyes to accept him into her arms. He goes from person to person, answering their silly questions and sitting still with the understanding that he’ll end up with who he wants. He gets to Emily though and there is no Hops sitting beside her. No grumbling Hank has grown accustomed to hearing when the two of them are in the same room.

“Want Hops,” he tells Emily softly because if anyone can tell him where to find his rogue friend it’s Emily. In the way that he knows his mom is always with his dad, that Uncle Spence and Penny arrive in the same car, he knows that, typically, where Emily is there will eventually be a Hotch.

Emily smiles - a smile where her sadness is far better hidden than any of the others - and takes on a teasing tone. “Silly old Hops is taking a nap, ” she tells him with a shake of her head. She redirects him, hopes to distract him. “So, why don’t we go get a snack instead? Penny brought cookies and I think Hops has popsicles.” She kisses his forehead and stands, pulling him along with her. “What’re you thinking? Red popsicle?”

Hank turns over her shoulder, looking in the direction of the living room. He spots Hotch’s room, the door closed and the lights off. There he is, Hank knows. He’s in his room.

“Look—” Emily squeezes him, jerks his attention to the open freezer. “You want a squeeze?” She points to the box of GoGo squeez applesauce. The ones Hotch always keeps on hand for Hank. Typically, he can’t refuse them but Hank isn’t bothered with them. Emily sighs, “alright. Here, let me put you down. We’ll see what he has in the cabinets.” The second that Hank is on the ground he’s walking away. Leaving Emily in the kitchen trying to decide if these smiling gummies are half as good as they look.

Hank goes back to Hotch’s office, fingers trailing down the wall as he goes. He’s heading for the books he knows are for him on the lower shelf. He does take a moment to touch the covers of some of the larger books, ones he can only barely reach. Hotch steers him away from them but Hank likes their deep colors and their golden designs. It only makes him more curious as to what lies inside them. Mostly, he just wants to understand. That curiosity he has to know everything he can about the people around him. How his dad works with a hammer - he’s so strong it’s crazy. What Uncle Dave does with all the foods he puts in the pots and how it ends up tasting so good. And, more than anything else, what’s in these damn books.

Hank has his own shelf full of books that were once Jack’s and others that are a collection of books Hank has left here and ones that Hotch buys him when they go to bookstores. Hank decides on Dr. Seus a yellow book with fish - he has a hard time with the color yellow and as he pulls it down to take it to Hotch he’s excited to inform Hotch on it’s color. Though, he thinks it’s green.

It’s not hard to manage to get back to Hotch’s room, no one’s paying him any attention. Penelope is crying again and Savannah is rubbing Derek’s back, all of them listening to Dave talk somberly. They’re odd, Hank thinks, but that’s okay.

He pushes Hotch’s bedroom door open and is disheartened to find it so dark. No matter how many times Derek assures him there’s nothing in the dark and no matter how many times he’s taken a nap in this very room… he’s scared. Hesitantly, Hank steps into the dark back still close to safety. “Hops?” he asks softly. He can see something move on the bed, the hiss of something softly trailing through the room. Something beeps and it makes him jump and Hank bolts for the side of the bed. Running blindly to the side he thinks Hotch is at.

“Hops,” Hank frantically sweeps his arm over the side. He’s just a little too small to make it up the side by himself but he tries frantically. “Up Hops.”

Hotch coughs, squinting into the dark. He’d heard the door open - removed from himself in a distinctly drugged kind of way. In the back of his mind, the seemingly only alert part of him, assumed it was Dave back with more pills to swallow. Tiny fingers grab his wrist and Hank’s pleading, his fear, cuts through the fog idly. Hotch is pleasantly surprised to find Hank - afterall, he’d been more alert this morning enough to try and fight Dave over his typical day. Dave had been right though, Hotch isn’t well enough to watch after a toddler. Hank hits his side and the world brightens, pulled to focus by sharp pain that steals his breath.

“Please,” Hank cries. “Hops?”

Hotch can’t pull himself upright but he can vaguely make out Hank by his side. Little fingers holding onto the blanket. “Easy, ” Hotch whispers. He offers Hank his hand, grunting when the toddler quickly attaches himself to it. He’s sniffling, still crying as he grunts and struggles to climb up the side of Hotch's bed. His legs are a little too short but he makes up for it with determination. “Almost there, ” Hotch praises, moving his hand and giving the back of Hank’s pants a little pull to get him the rest of the way up.

Hank melts straight into him. Pushing his face into Hotch’s side and holding him, both arms around Hotch’s chest and holding tight. Hotch places his hand on Hank's back, rubbing it until his little sobs die down. “What are you crying for?” Hotch holds him close, ignoring the dull ache across his chest. After being stuck in this room, drugged and laying in the dark, he needs all the help he can get. He needs Hank with all his little questions and his snacks.

Hank calms down, sniffling sadly as he pops back up and rubs at his eyes. He looks down at Hotch, taking in this new situation. There’s a tube snaking around him and Hank can’t tell where it goes in or if it does but he frowns because he knows it must hurt and he doesn’t like that. Even the canal running Hotch’s nose. Gently Hank leans forward and touches it, frowning. “Hurts?”

Hotch shakes his head, “no. It doesn’t hurt.”

With a grunt, Hank adamantly accepts this. Hotch doesn’t lie so Hank trusts him but… it looks like it hurts. Hank leans against Hotch’s chest, curled up facing him. “You takin’ nap?” Hank asks.

Hotch nods his head, “something like that…” He keeps one hand on Hank, keeping the boy from getting too excited and rolling off the bed. Hank settles down close to him, scooting as close as he can. Half sitting on Hotch’s left side facing him. Hotch reaches up, ignoring the pull of his muscles, to place his palm to Hank’s face. “You gonna lay down with me?”

Hank grins and shakes his head. “Nuh-uh!” He pulls out his book, setting it down on Hotch’s chest. He scoots himself along the side of the bed, all clumsy baby movements, until he can move Hotch’s arm around him and lean against Hotch’s side. Putting his back against Hotch and laying his head on Hotch’s shoulder. Pulling his hand around him and into his lap. “Read?” he asks, cracking the book open and showing Hotch the page.

He hasn’t got a lot of energy, feels himself slipping with the simple strain of talking and watching Hank move in the dark of the room. He’s ashamed to admit, to even think, that he can’t sit up and hunt down his reading glasses and get through a simple children's book. Not even with Hank twisting around to look up at him like that. “You know the words, buddy.” Hotch has read it to him so many times and Derek even more. He gets a kick out of saying the words before them, and knows what each page says. “Why don't you read it to me?”

Hank frowns, looking at the book, and back at Hotch. He wants to read the book but he doesn’t know how. “You’ll help?”

Hotch smiles and nods, “of course I will.”

Hank settles back down and opens the book. The room isn’t really bright enough but Hank can see the page well enough. He skips the first page. There are big words and not enough pictures. “One fish,” Hank touches each fish as he goes. “Two fishes. Red fish and blue fish.” He looks back to Hotch and he nods, he’s right. “Black fish and blue fish and old fish and baby fish and green--”

“Yellow,” Hotch corrects softly. It’s not important that he’s getting the words wrong so much as the color. “It’s a yellow fish, see?”

Hank nods and repeats after Hotch. “Yellow fish and fish with a car.” He flips the page and lays his head down on Hotch’s side, curling up closer. He sits up, “can I have blankets?”

Hotch nods and Hank cheers softly and sits up. It takes him a moment but he scurries down beside Hotch, tugging the blanket up around him. “Comfortable,” Hotch asks and Hank frowns, trying to figure that out. It takes him another moment and Hank knows what it is - he sits up and pulls Hotch’s arm around him. Letting him lean back and he nods. It makes Hotch laugh a little, smirking. “Good.”

Hank lays his head back down on Hotch’s side and opens the book.

Derek finds them ten minutes later. Hank is just looking at the pictures, humming softly to himself as he traces the fish with his finger. Hotch is asleep, breathing not sounding any better than it had before but the room feels brighter. Things not so dense.

"I wondered where you ran off to," Derek whispers as he steps in.

Hank looks up from his book, "found Hops."

Derek nods, "yeah, I see that." He won't move Hank just yet. It's as calm as Hotch has been since he came home and Hank is being good. It keeps both trouble makers out of everyone's hair. "Will you watch him for me?" Derek asks playfully. "Seems like you're doing a good job."

Hank nods, attention going back to his book. "Yeah, I'm watchin'."

Derek leans over the bed and kisses Hank's head. Stopping for a moment and just looking at Hotch. His face pale and his breathing still not right.

"Hops is okay, daddy."

Derek clears his throat and nods. As he's walking out he hears Hank start the book over. His soft voice reading out, "one fish, two fish--"

[hajimewhore]

Love Letter To You 💌 (Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader)

on [Ao3]

➸Rated T, fem!Reader, 7k+words  ➷Fluff, some angst, humor, confessions, misunderstandings, twins with Tooru   ➷You’ve had a longtime crush on Iwaizumi Hajime, and you can honestly say you don’t recall ever not having a crush on him. He’s your best friend, who also happens to be your twin brother’s best friend.

But that’s the problem, he’s still just your best friend.

What better way to tell him how you feel than through a letter confessing your feelings? Nothing could go wrong with that marvelous plan.

[Masterlist]

You let out a long sigh of defeat, scribbling across the page uselessly.

Realistically it’s a waste of ink if you’re just going to crumple the page and toss it anyways, but it provides some minor release of frustration at least.

Helplessly, you unlock your phone to google ‘How to write a love letter—‘ before entirely giving up on that idea.

Red faced and slightly embarrassed at the thought of resorting to a shitty wikihow article on love letters, you bury your face in your arms.

Taking that moment to collect yourself, you dive back into writing the confession letter to your longtime crush and friend, Iwaizumi Hajime.

Easier thought than done of course, but you’re sick of dancing around the topic and dragging it out.

You, Hajime, and your brother Tooru, are in your third year now. It’s better to rip the bandaid off, your older sister told you once.

But she’s married, and has Takeru. Needless to say you’re a little bitter to listen to her advice when she’s got everything sorted out, and when her husband was the one who confessed first.

You let out a whine of frustration, she is right in the end, she always is.

...Especially considering you’ve harbored this crush for quite some time now.

You sigh, tapping your lip with the edge of your pen.

Hajime isn’t one for dramatics, so simplicity is best. But there obviously needs to be more than ‘I like you’ scrawled on the page.

Instead, you decide to just write out a ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this but here goes nothing,’ (more like everything).

The line is followed by why you like him to begin with.

His strength, his passion, his humor, the other adjectives that follow suit, the fact he doesn’t let Tooru get away with being manipulative and bad mannered, all the good qualities that made you fall for Hajime.

And well, you’ve liked him for a long time. And you’d hate to let it go without ever having tried to tell him.

“Hey, can you—“

The previously mentioned bad mannered Tooru bursts in your room unannounced, and you let out a squeak in your surprise. You hastily shut the notebook to hide the letter.

“Tooru what the fu—“

“Can you stop yelling for a second? I need a face mask, I’m all out.”

“Can you learn to knock?”

Regardless of your irritation, you shove a face pack into his hands, while pushing him out of your room.

“Jeez, we shared the womb at some point but you cross the line at me coming into your room? We even used to share a bunk bed too! I miss those days.”

He sighs, but it’s cut off by the slamming door in his face.

“Thanks for the face mask!”

His voice is muffled through the door as you hear his footsteps echo down the hall.

Sighing in the relief of his absence, you slip the letter into an envelope and seal it shut.

You’re not even gonna bother to read it over, feeling far too nervous and embarrassed after having actually written out a confession to Hajime. And you don’t want to stress yourself more feeling self conscious about your handwriting, grammar, syntax, and whatever bullshit.

You wish you were bold enough to tell him to his face, feeling the letter might be a bit of a cop out, but you quickly disregard the notion.

Thinking about staring into his dark eyes and professing your love sends chills down your spine, you’re almost positive you’d bolt after barely stuttering out an ‘I like you.’ This way, you’re definitely able to get more than three words out. At least, that’s what you tell yourself to believe this is a good plan.

Now to just get the courage to hand it to him.

When the next day arrives, you find out you never actually gathered the courage to hand it to him.

The morning was spent with Tooru chattering away on the route to school.

Handing a letter to your childhood friend with a heart stamped over it in front of Tooru’s annoyingly perceptive eyes, directly in his field of vision, didn’t sit well with you.

For good reason, he’d definitely be clued in on your crush by the evidence before him. Not to mention Hajime would hate that kind of attention coming from Tooru.

In other words, it was the most inopportune time. You spent the entire walk pink faced and scowling, Hajime eyeing you with a brow raised and Tooru doing his best to lead the conversation for unusually quiet twin.

And that’s why you find yourself shoving it into his locker during practice.

The boys are busy in a set, and the coaches won’t notice you slipping away from your managerial duties for the moment.

“Oh. Oh fuck. I can’t do this!”

You suddenly panic, pressing your hands to your face in mortification.

“What am I doing?!”

But it’s too late, the deed is done, you’ve already gone and slipped the little letter containing all your secret feelings for Hajime between the slots of his locker. And there’s no way you can deface school property by taking a crowbar to the damn thing.

You shuffle out of the locker room, thankfully unnoticed. The last thing you needed in this state of utter disarray was to be caught red faced leaving the men’s locker room.

You just hope Hajime will set the letter aside and you can deal with the consequences later.

Or maybe he’ll set the letter aside permanently and forget of it’s existence entirely. That’d be a good option.

Except for the fact you would never know if he just forgot about the letter, or if he’s just ignoring the contents of it and in turn shutting you down and ruining your friendship and ignoring you for the rest—

The sound of whistle rattles in your eardrums and you jump, startled by the sharp noise.

“Clean up, boys! Head home, get something to eat, and rest well.”

Coach Irihata’s gruffly gives directions, and the team follows with a resounding ‘Yes Coach!’

You spend the entirety of clean up ignoring everyone. Not on purpose, no, but your nerves have absolutely skyrocketed.

When Matsukawa tried to say something to you, you nearly dropped all the water bottles. Thankfully, he caught the end of the box before you could create another mess to clean up.

Whatever he’d said to you went in one ear and out the other, as you caught Hajime’s hard stare at you.

“Sorry about that! Thanks, Mattsun.”

You bow out of the conversation, dipping out before anything else can be exchanged. Mostly so you can physically get yourself out of Hajime’s view, you don’t think you can handle seeing him after he finds what’s in that locker.

You wait outside, contemplating whether you should walk home ahead without Tooru and Hajime. If he stone cold rejects you, you might as well just do that. Knowing Hajime though, he’d never be so callus to you.

There are times he’s reprimanded you for having that patent Shittykawa personality, of course. You hate to admit it, and you’ll never be caught admitting it aloud, but you and Tooru are cut from the same cloth in the end. Though much to your affection, Hajime’s always been more gentle when he raps you on the head. You just hope he retains that same generosity when he inevitably rejects you.

He might just feel the same, though. Thoughts of Hajime pulling you aside to tell you he shares your feelings fill your head. You can almost feel him ruffling your hair, scolding you for being stupid to think otherwise.

The scenario makes you blush, and your hopes rise as you plop onto a bench and resolve yourself to wait.

“Shittykawa better hurry up. I don’t want to have to wait extra time, I swear I’ll ditch him.”

Hajime grumbles, swinging open his locker to pull out his casual wear.

“He said he wanted to talk to Coach Irihata.”

Hanamaki informs, but Hajime just scoffs at the info.

“Probably to get some copies of another team’s match. He’s gonna stay up watching it too, more trouble for his sister to wake him up in the morning.”

Hajime slips a sweater over his head, and the other laughs knowingly at his observation.

“Poor, sweet Oikawa-chan, cursed to be twins with someone as overbearing and overzealous as Oikawa.”

Hanamaki clicks his tongue, pulling a loose tee on, just barely missing the sour look Hajime sends him for the ‘poor, sweet Oikawa-chan’ bit.

“Ah! I-Iwaizumi-senpai, you dropped this!”

Kindaichi is delicately holding some sort of letter, presenting it to Hajime nervously. Why the boy is always so skittish around him he could never understand.

Hajime carefully takes the letter, examining it.

“This isn’t mine.”

He furrows his brow, he’s never seen the thing before.

“It fell out of your locker.”

Kunimi points out, and Hanamaki and Matsukawa choose that moment to tune back in.

“Did an Oikawa love letter get put in the wrong locker?”

Hanamaki teases, and Kunimi chooses that moment to tune out back out.

“What?”

“There’s a heart on it, it’s clearly some girl trying to confess.”

Matsukawa taps the heart sticker sealed over the top.

“Or guy!”

Kindaichi blurts out, and Kunimi rolls his eyes heavily at that.

Hajime goes to shove it into Tooru’s locker, ready to complain about his fanbase diving into the men’s locker room while they’re practicing, but Matsukawa’s swipes the letter from his hands.

“Hold on, you don’t know if it’s actually for Oikawa.”

“Who else would it be for?”

Hajime raises an irritated brow, already wishing he were at home.

“Could be for me.”

Hanamaki winks, tearing the letter open.

“No way, Hanamaki.”

“Oh yes way, Matsukawa.”

The two peer over the contents of the letter with excitement.

Kindaichi mumbles something about invasion of privacy and Kunimi eyes the situation from behind the locker, a little curious after all.

“Dear Hajime,”

Hajime blinks in mild shock at hearing the two words that sound from Hanamaki’s lips.

“Hold on—“

He reaches for the letter in disbelief, but the two swivel to block him out.

“‘I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’ve never done this kind of thing before, but I know you’d understand,’”

Hanamaki reads out, and Matsukawa chimes in,

“That’s cute, she’s embarrassed.”

“‘That’s what I like the most about you. You’re understanding, hardworking,” etcetera, etcetera, haha wait ‘You don’t let Tooru get away with being a brat’,”

Hanamaki practically busts a gut, and Hajime growls out trying to snatch the letter back but Matsukawa’s got it back in his grasp,

“She did not say that.... Hah! She did! Wow, this girl really likes you, Hajime~”

He teasingly refers to him.

“Hey, asshole, give it back.”

“We’re in too deep now, Hajimeee, sorry!”

Hanamaki sidesteps a smack that definitely would’ve left a bruise. Kunimi briefly thinks his senpais should be this level of eager to read in their studies.

“The stationary is really cute too, wish you could see it Haaajiiimee. It’s got little hearts and— no fucking way.”

Hanamaki cuts himself off, and at this point everyone is eyeing the trio’s shenanigans.

“Just give it back, dickhead.”

Hajime glares as Hanamaki points at something on the letter for Matsukawa to see. After a moment of analyzing he bursts into laughter alongside Hanamaki.

Hajime doesn’t think he’s heard Matsukawa laugh this hard about anything, and it’s kind of pissing him off how he’s only choosing now to start being more vocal.

“What the fuck are you laughing about?”

Hajime growls, feeling especially pissed he’s being left out of his own damn letter. The two bumbling, annoyingly tall fools wipe actual tears of laughter away.

“I-It’s not signed!”

Hajime gapes at the response, reaching for the letter again which Hanamaki so graciously allows him to take.

And true to their audio book version of the letter, it writes ‘Dear Hajime,’ at the top, kind words about himself, includes some badmouthing of Shittykawa that he momentarily appreciates, and at the bottom...

“You’re kidding me?”

“I’m sorry man, that sucks.”

Matsukawa pats his back in faux comfort, hiding his snort of laughter.

“And what’s this?”

In his distraction, he didn’t notice Tooru entering the locker room until he’s already plucked the letter from his hands.

“Hey fucker—“

He just got it back, but Tooru is already doing a second rendition of the audio book love letter.

“‘Dear Hajime,’ what the hell? This is so annoying!”

He puts the letter down to glare at Hajime, the look and tone of annoyance send a spike of anger in him.

“What are you on about? You get letters like this all the time!”

He’s ready to beat Tooru’s bratty ass but his response stops him in his tracks,

“Yeah, but not from my sister. I wish she’d write me heartfelt letters like this. But nooo, she’s always ganging up on me with you!”

Tooru angrily pokes him on the chest, but Hajime doesn’t retaliate. His world is spinning.

“What?”

“Oikawa-senpai, that letter wasn’t signed.”

Kunimi informs, very helpfully, and Matsukawa and Hanamaki eye each other with shocked expressions.

“Haaah? You guys are trying to tell me you don’t even recognize your own manager’s handwriting?”

His hands are at his hips, letter clutched between his fingertips.

“Someone as annoyingly perceptive as you might, but the rest of us are still humans.”

Hanamaki bites back, and Matsukawa snatches the letter in place of the dumbfounded Hajime.

“Hey, I didn’t get to read that!”

Tooru growls, but Matsukawa shoves his hand against Tooru’s face before he can lunge for it,

“....I think Iwaizumi’s the only one who should’ve read this.”

He mutters, reaching out to hand the letter back.

You lay seated at the bench, still, elbows to your knees and fingertips interlocked before your mouth. Your leg shakes with impatience and a swell of anxiety.

“What the hell is taking so long!”

You throw your head back with a cry, cupping your cheeks.

In an attempt to resolve the tension you feel coiling in your gut, you slide off the bench to your feet, reentering the gym to a find the stragglers.

Most of the team is already gone, but it’s strange how long the rest are taking. Normally, Kunimi is the first out with Kindaichi following close.

But you’ve yet to see either of them, or Mattsun and Makki.

Tooru is slow as always, that’s a given considering he’s late to practice half the time and late to leave, but Hajime usually keeps him in check.

You haphazardly swing open the locker room door, not caring if any of them aren’t presentable.

“Can you hurry up?! It’s cold out and I don’t wanna walk home by my...self...”

The end of your sentence trails off, losing its bite as you lock eyes with a wide eyed Matsukawa.

Who happens to be holding a letter, a very, very familiar letter.

Your cheeks turn a hot red at the realization, that’s your confession letter for Hajime.

You shift your eyes around the room to assess the damage. Kunimi and Kindaichi are averting their gazes nervously. Hanamaki and Matsukawa look like they want the ground to open up and swallow them whole, guilt written all over their features.

Tooru looks like he’s in the middle of a hissy fit, and you feel humiliated thinking he was here for what more than likely transpired, judging by the open letter in Matsukawa’s hands.

The thing that bothers you the most is Hajime’s slack jawed expression, opening and closing his mouth unsure what to say for once.

You can’t help but take heavy footed steps, the loud stomps echoing the uncomfortably quiet locker room. You feel as if your embarrassment and humiliation is tangible, the sheer awkwardness sitting so thick in the air you could cut it with a knife.

Matsukawa pales when you stand before him, and though he towers over you, he can’t help but feel intimidated by the anger stricken look etched across your face.

You swipe the letter from his hands, the paper sounds with a rip as it crumples in your shaking grasp.

You shift your gaze to Hajime, and Matsukawa almost sighs in relief at the attention being redirected off of him.

You glare, feeling the most contempt and anger for Hajime you’ve ever felt in your life. The petty arguments you had growing up can’t even compare.

“I-I— It wasn’t— I didn’t...“

Hajime can’t come up with anything to say. He’s never been one to stumble over his words, but the misunderstanding is set in stone while the guilt tears away at him.

He doesn’t even know why he’s feeling guilty, he didn’t even do anything wrong. Those lanky bastards stole his stuff from him, and he didn’t even know it was from you to begin with.

But that didn’t stop his heart from sinking when he saw the heartbreak and anger on your face.

“If you didn’t like me, you should’ve just said so. You didn’t have to show everyone!”

You yell out, voice unsteady, covering your face and willing yourself not to cry just yet.

You’re angry that they were reading the letter that was meant for Hajime’s eyes only. Angry that the red blush from the humiliation won’t leave your face, and it only serves to make you more red faced. There’s this sticky hot itch that’s burning at your skin. It’s starting to prickle the back of your neck, you just want to go home.

You thought Hajime would never do something like this, you were almost certain of it. He wasn’t the type to entertain locker room talk and banter about girls with his guy friends. And you definitely didn’t think he’d be the type to let your friends make a joke of you by reading out your stupid love letter.

You should’ve never written it in the first place.

“Hey, we didn’t know—“

Hanamaki tries but you’re quick to interrupt him,

“I’m not talking to you right now Hanamaki!”

He shuts his mouth the second he hears your scratchy voice. You didn’t even bother to look back at him, but he can probably guess the look you have on your face. He rubs the back of his neck, lips pressed into a thin line.

Kindaichi is looking at Hanamaki with a sorry expression, and Kunimi’s eyes have been trained on his locker the whole time, silently wringing his hands together.

You feel a pang of guilt wedge it’s way into your already complex fray of emotions, feeling bad for lashing out so hard on him. Feeling bad for making the first years so anxious.

The feelings are only brief. You disregard them when the image your Seijou teammates laughing about the letter inserts itself into your mind.

You sigh, lips pursing as you shift your watery eyes to your feet.

Why isn’t Hajime doing anything?

“Whatever. I’m going home. And don’t follow me.”

You give Hajime one last hard look before turning on your heel, storming out of the locker room.

You make sure to pitch the letter in the garbage on the way out, cursing the flimsy paper for causing so much turmoil.

You wait to exit the gym before you let the floodgates open.

Tears pour down your face, as you head back home.

At some point you stop bothering to wipe them away, since they just keep coming.

The sounds of the night fill your ears, cars passing by and wildlife calling out, but it’s still so quiet.

The lonely walk leaves you entertaining intrusive thoughts. How could Hajime feel the same way? It was foolish to think there was a chance, you’re his best friend, and his other best friend’s twin.

He must have felt so uncomfortable when he saw the contents of the letter. So grossed out he just had to show the rest of the guys in there.

The things Hajime did that once melted your heart nearly make you cringe, had it been platonic the whole time? And now you’ve misread it and ruined all those special moments, you’ve practically gone and reset your relationship status to strangers.

The head pats and hair ruffles. His rough hand, much bigger than yours, running through your locks or petting your head.

The rare, genuine smile he gives you alone. You swear you’ve only caught it on the volleyball court a few times, but it fills you with butterflies to see it in the comfort of your movie nights.

When you walk home together while Tooru is off gallivanting or practicing, he always makes sure to take you to your doorstep. Something you never understood considering you live next door to him, but it filled you with warmth every time.

The tears pool out harder when you think about how you’re going to lose all of it.

You let the thoughts snowball in your head, wondering how you’ll recover from this, how you’ll get over it, as the hot tears drip down you’re chin to the concrete.

The boys are left to stew in the silence of your wake.

None of them knew what to say, they only just realized it was their manager’s letter to Hajime moments before.

“Kunimi, Kindaichi,”

The two stiffen when they hear Tooru’s voice, his expression is neutral but his usual cheery tone is swapped for a terse, stern one.

“Get home. I know you two weren’t a part of this.”

The two nod tight lipped at their captain, collecting their bags. Kunimi keeps his eyes at his feet, and Kindaichi risks a glance at the upperclassman to see their faces turned down with regret. Hajime looks worse, brows furrowed and clearly distraught. He bites his lip before swiftly making his exit with Kunimi.

“Oikawa, you know we had no idea she wrote it.”

Hanamaki sighs, finishing what he didn’t get to say earlier.

“I don’t care, the damage is already done Hanamaki. You assholes are the reason my precious little sister is walking home, alone, to cry herself to sleep.”

Tooru’s gaze is as harsh as his words, the normal light in his honey brown eyes is traded for a darker look.

Normally, Hanamaki would correct Tooru by saying he’s only a few minutes older, but the current situation and the way his captain neglected to call him ‘Makki’ for once makes him abandon the idea promptly.

“I expect full handwritten apologies from both of you at practice tomorrow.”

Tooru demands, folding his arms across his chest.

“Honestly I don’t think she wants to see another letter—“

Matsukawa quiets himself as soon as Tooru whips his head to stare him down with narrowed eyes.

“Yep. On it. We’ll get to it right now.”

Matsukawa presses his hand to Hanamaki’s back and pushes him forward, briefly wondering if Tooru will let them leave the locker room.

But once their passed him, and out the threshold of the gym, they exhale deeply.

 “You’re awfully quiet.”

Tooru turns his attention to Hajime, and the furrow in his brows and his scowl only deepens.

“I don’t want to be scolded by you right now, Oikawa.”

Hajime’s voice is rough. Tooru merely shrugs, arms still crossed.

“Fine. I won’t then. You look terrible enough already.”

Hajime would glare at him if he had the capacity to right now.

Tooru raises his brow expectantly after a beat of silence, though Hajime doesn’t know what expectations he could possibly have for him.

He’s dumbfounded, shocked, irritated, guilt ridden, honestly feels like dog shit at the moment, but at the same time...

“She likes me?”

Hajime covers his mouth and mutters lowly under his breath, but Tooru hears his realization and rolls his eyes with as much drama as he could muster.

“Did you miss her whole rant?! Or did you not read the letter?”

Tooru huffs, taking a few long strides to pluck the tattered paper from the trash.

“Of course I did! It’s all I can’t think about right now!”

Tooru cuts Hajime off by shoving the letter into his chest roughly. Hajime reaches up reflexively to grab it, feeling a bit somber at the torn state of it.

“I’m going home. Don’t come over.”

Hajime doesn’t think he could face you in his current state anyways, or yours for that matter. He saw your watery eyes holding back tears, and doesn’t think he can handle seeing you cry because of him.

“And get your shit together by tomorrow morning, yeah?”

The way Tooru tacks a smile at the end of that sentence makes Hajime want to hit him, but he knows Tooru’s right to act so bitter. For once.

“Yeah.”

He mutters, carefully folding the letter.

“Oh,”

Tooru stops in his tracks at the entrance to the locker room, causing Hajime to glance up.

“If you break my sister’s heart, I’m beating you up.”

Tooru calls out, tossing the gym keys to him. Hajime catches it with ease, while gritting his teeth.

That’s fair. He’d honestly have to let him, he’d hate to break your heart. He hates that it’s breaking right now.

“And if you date my sister, I’m gonna beat you up.”

Tooru pokes his tongue out and flashes a peace sign. So it’s a lose-lose?!

“Just go home, Shittykawa!”

Hajime spins around to hide the flush growing on his cheeks, willing himself to not beat Tooru’s ass for today.

He sits on the bench gathering his thoughts, giving time for Tooru to get a head start. He’d rather not awkwardly trail a few steps behind him while contemplating his relationship dilemmas.

“She likes me.”

He finds himself repeating, pressing a closed fist to his lips.

“...and she thinks that I don’t like her.”

Hajime groans, covering his face in his frustration.

A knock sounds at your door, and you’re positive it’s Tooru. He has a pretentious way of knocking. You’re also positive you don’t want to see him.

You turn over on your side, burying your face into the plethora of blankets and pillows you’ve huddled yourself into.

If you pretend to sleep, maybe he’ll go away.

“I know you aren’t sleeping!”

Tooru’s voice calls through the door, with an annoying lilt.

Curse this damn twin telepathy or whatever the fuck you call it.

You slide out of bed wiping a few more tears, knowing he’s not going to leave unless he gets his way.

“How’d you know?”

You open the door, giving space for him to enter.

“Hah! How could you after getting so brutally humiliated, heartbroken, and embarrassed?”

He makes himself at home on your bed and you grimace at the sheer audacity of it all.

“I should’ve put on the deadbolt when I got home and locked you out of the house entirely.”

You take a seat beside him, eyes catching the convenience store bag on his lap.

“Kidding, of course. I think it was worse for them. The way you stared down Mattsun? I thought he was gonna pass out. And you shut Makki up real quick too. Ahh, they must feel terrible.”

He eagerly recounts, and you’re suddenly reminded of what a bad personality your brother has.

“Don’t remind me.”

You sigh, after having time to think about it you started to feel a little bad for the way you reacted, they clearly looked guilty, and they’re your friends too.

“Don’t worry, I chewed them out. They’ve got a surprise for you tomorrow.”

You’ve already been dreading tomorrow, but Tooru doesn’t give you time to question what he means by his comment. He’s rustling through the bag, piling your favorite snacks and ice cream flavor onto your lap.

“Ice cream too? I must’ve looked pathetic!”

Though ice cream seems like a classically depressing heartbreak treat to have, you smile for the first time that night.

“You still do! Eat up.”

He cheers, procuring a spoon seemingly out of nowhere. You choose to ignore that comment this time.

“I thought ‘It’s bad to binge junk food, and especially so late at night’!”

You recount part of Tooru’s endless nagging when he caught you and Hajime during a movie night. Truthfully you think he was just jealous and feeling especially spiteful that he wasn’t a part of it.

“It is, but I’ll excuse it this once.”

He turns his nose up bitterly, and you can tell he’s recalling the same memory.

“Thank you, Tooru.”

You’re speak softly, almost brought to more tears at how thoughtful he’s been after the incident.

“Don’t sweat it. And don’t get too bent out of shape over Iwa-chan. You know he’s a good guy. When he’s not hitting and insulting me.”

He frowns, rubbing his arm as if he got a phantom pain.

“He’s the best when he’s doing that though!”

You’re crying again, much to your dismay, and you turn away from Tooru to eat your ice cream in tears.

“Let it out. Tomorrow’s a new day, alright? And at least get some sleep.”

He pats your head, and you feel the bed shift as he stands up to leave the room.

“You too! Don’t think I didn’t see you with those Karasuno and Shiratorizawa match history dvds!”

You call out through your sniffling teariness, and he sticks his tongue at you before leaving the room.

You set the snacks aside with a sigh, leaning back against the wall.

Your head is practically swimming, feeling overwhelmed by the events in the locker room as well as Tooru’s kindness (and semi-crypticness).

You tried to heed Tooru’s advice for once and attempted to get some semblance of rest, but you ended up sleeping rather poorly.

And to top it off, you’re lacking extra sleep considering you woke up earlier than normal. That was intentional though, entirely so you could skip walking to school with Tooru and Hajime.

Especially Hajime. You’re not sure you can face him just yet. The thought alone makes you want to explode.

You toe your shoes on at the door and sling your school bag over your shoulder, braving yourself for the day that awaits you.

When you swing the front door open, in some grand cosmic scheme the universe has against you, who do you see sitting on the steps before your house?

Iwaizumi fucking Hajime, of course.

“Iwaizumi fucking Hajime.”

You huff, just who you absolutely did not want to see.

Your name leaves his lips in his surprise. Upon hearing his own name being so bitterly called, he quickly stumbles to stand up.

Hajime averts his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hey.”

Is what he comes up with.

“Hey? How long have you been sitting out here?”

A frown tugs at your lips, and you try not to let your eyes water at the sight of his face alone.

“I figured you’d try to leave early, I wanted to catch you before then. So... maybe an hour?”

He runs a hand through his hair, and you try to hide your shock at the information. Upon closer inspection, it looks like he hadn’t slept much either. Though, somehow, he still manages to look that rugged type of handsome. You kick that dangerous line of thinking to the curb before it continues.

“An hour?!”

“I didn’t get the chance to talk to you last night, after... yeah. I wanted to give you some space.”

He trails off and you bite your lip, readying yourself for the rejection speedily approaching.

You simply nod for him to continue. You don’t think you can trust your voice right now, and you feel your knees turn to jelly, shaking from the anxiety resurfacing.

“Your letter,”

You glance up when you hear the ruffling paper from his pocket. When he unfolds it, you see that it’s been smoothed out and the rips from having been recklessly snatched from Matsukawa’s hands have been carefully taped.

Your heart swells at the sight of the repair, but you bite down the hope that’s starting to peak.

 “You didn’t sign it.”

. . .

“Hah?”

You blink at him, jaw dropping dumbly.

“You forgot to sign it. I didn’t know it was from you at first.”

He grins at your animated reaction, and you’re once again caught up in how handsome he looks with a smile on his face.

You quickly shake that thought, physically and mentally. Your cheeks bloom pink as you grab for the letter.

“I didn’t?!”

You’re eyes scan to the bottom of the page, and you notice that you in fact did not sign the damn letter.

How could you be so careless?!

You suddenly recall Tooru clamoring into your room for a face mask like some heathen that has no respect or morals for personal boundaries. You also remember that it caused you to scramble to hide the letter. After you’d been interrupted, you just sealed the note away.

“Tooru...”

You growl out, hiding your face with the page in your embarrassment.

Hajime laughs lowly at that, he doesn’t need any context to believe it turned out to be Tooru’s fault.

“Matsukawa and Hanamaki we’re dicks to steal it from me and read it, but we didn’t know it was from you until Shittykawa busted in and ranted about your handwriting.”

“Tooru...!”

You’re a broken record now, actively cursing your brother for his transgressions.

Hajime plucks the letter hiding your face to get a good look at you.

You’re mind practically soft resets at the cool expression and his dark green eyes.

“I’m sorry. This probably could’ve been avoided if I had just confessed to you first.”

He mutters softly, red starting to creep on his features.

“No, it’s not your fau— wait what?”

You must be hallucinating. That, or you’re unconscious and the part of your brain that handles dream production is being a huge asshole right now.

Hajime sighs, nervously running his hand through his hair again,

“I should’ve just told you I liked you sooner. Honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed you had more guts to do it first.”

“You like me?!”

You step closer, peering up at his face to find any tells for a lie or signs of a really convincing Iwaizumi Hajime imposter.

“It’s what I said, isn’t it?! Don’t make me repeat myself a third time.”

He presses his palms to your shoulders to take a step back, the proximity of your blushing and eager face is making him short circuit.

The fabric of your uniform sadly prevents any contact with skin, but you still feel yourself heating up at the touch of his hands resting on your shoulders.

“I... really?!”

“I think I’ve liked you for a long time, but I only realized it this year.”

It’s cute you can tell how hard he’s trying to maintain eye contact and keep a straight face.

You break out into a grin, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Hajime! You even said you didn’t want to say it a third time, but you did anyways!”

You hold him tight and he stutters a ‘Shut up!’ at you, the normal bite behind the retort is completely lost.

You pull back a bit to catch his eyes, and his lips turn down in that usual scowl. You laugh softly, the expression is severely displaced in juxtaposition to his now brightly colored cheeks.

You stand at the edge of your toes and pull him close, lips catching his. The sound of his shock from the abrupt, bold action is muffled.

Hajime quickly leans into it, his wide eyes slip shut as he moves his hands to caress your neck.

Your lips part from his so you can peak through your lashes to see the expression on his face. You’re only briefly able to admire Hajime’s handsome features and rosy colored cheeks, before he chases the kiss to reconnect your lips.

It’s more than you ever imagined, and you’ve definitely imagined what it would be like to kiss Hajime multiple times.

His hands are steady, thumb delicately brushing your jawline, he’s leaned close to match your height, and he kisses so intensely, showing a rare sweetness that Hajime can only reserve for someone he trusts.

Before it can escalate any further while you’re both on the Oikawa doorstep with the Iwaizumi household next door, you separate with a content smile.

You’re eyes are practically glittering, arms still rested around his shoulders. His impassioned gaze stares intently at your every feature,

“You’re so perfect, how did I get so lucky?”

And you’re almost drawn into another kiss but—

“Are you two gonna block the doorway all day? We have school you know.”

Tooru decides to make his entrance then, and he would’ve wacked you with the door if Hajime hadn’t been quick to pull you closer.

“What are you gonna do? Beat me up?”

He gives a knowing look to Tooru, a shitty grin crossing Hajime’s features.

“...if it were any other guy, I probably would. But I’m glad she chose you.”

Tooru steps around the two of you with a soft smile, leading the way to school.

Hajime stutters, and let’s out a huff at Tooru’s unusual display of sincerity.

“That brat is trying to act like the better man. He sure changed his mind overnight...”

Hajime stalls for a moment, before deciding to slip his arm from around you and his hand into yours, threading your fingers together.

“Tooru will be Tooru.”

You shrug, enjoying the feeling of his larger hand laced with yours.

“You mean Oikawas will be Oikawas. You’re both brats with bad personalities.”

He snorts, walking forward and gently pulling you along.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

You retort, and Tooru, embarrassingly enough, happened to say the same thing in perfect unison.

Hajime laughs loudly at that, and despite the tease you find yourself laughing with him.

Leaning into his shoulder, the constant smile is starting to make your cheeks sore, but you find yourself looking forward to feeling it more often now that you’re with Hajime.

Bonus:

Hanamaki and Matsukawa stand before you the second you enter the gymnasium.

“Wha—?”

“Oikawa-chan. We’re very sorry we read your letter,”

Hanamaki starts and Matsukawa continues,

“It was wrong of us to do, and we feel really guilty about it,”

They simultaneously produce letters from their pockets,

“Please accept our apology.”

They say in unison, and you can’t help but let a laugh burst from your lips. You’re bent over and clutching your stomach, nearly in stitches when you see their deadly serious expressions.

“Did you guys practice this?!”

You snort, this must be what Tooru meant when he said these two tall bastards had a surprise for you.

You accept the letters nonetheless.

“I’m guessing this is Tooru’s doing.”

You carefully open the letters, pulling Matsukawa’s first.

“Who else would it be?”

He grunts out.

“I see you two did your homework!”

Tooru calls from the door, entering the gym alongside Hajime.

“They really did it, huh.”

Hajime slings his arm around your shoulder, and you feel warm at the comfortable gesture.

“We’re men of our word, of course we did.”

Matsukawa shifts on his other foot, resting his hand on his hip.

“Right, of course. You don’t mind if I read this out loud then, do you Mattsun?”

You’re eyes glint with mischief and Tooru cheers excitedly, Hajime muffles a laugh beside you.

“Actually, I do mind—“

“That’s weird I’m already reading it out loud DEAR OIKAWA-CHAN,”

Matsukawa rolls his eyes, the irony cuts deep here.

“What is this, a love letter?”

Tooru jabs and Hajime immediately sends Matsukawa a sour look,

“She’s taken.”

You almost stutter reading aloud the apology when Hajime’s grip tightens around you.

“So this is karma.”

Matsukawa mutters with a light blush of embarrassment, feeling thankful he kept his letter concise so he didn’t have to sit through much more of that.

“Ahh, you don’t have to read mine right now. Practice is starting soon. Look, Kunimi and Kindaichi are ready to start!”

Hanamaki thinks he’s being sneaky, dragging his underclassmen into the matter, but he honestly just made this so much worse for himself.

“I’ll wait.”

Kunimi gives a bored expression, face tucked into his track jacket lapels. Kindaichi just stutters his agreement beside him.

Hanamaki sends him a look that probably translates to something like ‘you little bastard I’m gonna make you work so hard this practice’.

“Well go on dear sister, I wanna see what Makki came up with.”

Tooru wraps an arm around Hanamaki, who’s feeling very tempted to throw Tooru off of him for making him and Matsukawa go through this mockery.

“I’m invested now.”

Hajime voice sounds close to your ear as he leans close, you glance up and smile softly to see him peer over your shoulder at the letter.

“It’s genius, really. I put my heart and soul into it.”

Hanamaki tries to brush it off, but you bark out a laugh immediately after.

“Hey, don’t laugh at my heartfelt apology!”

Hanamaki complains, but you can’t stop the laughter erupting from you.

“Yeah, don’t laugh at his heartfelt apology.”

Matsukawa aids, already having been on the receiving end of the jests.

“I’m sorry Makki but... you forgot to sign it!”

You point at the letter, and Hanamaki stutters as he reaches to give it a once over. Matsukawa just rubs his forehead at the irony doubling.

“Tsk, Makki, Makki, rookie mistake.”

Tooru pats his back comfortingly, but it feels more like he’s mocking him than anything. Which he definitely is.

“How could I have known it was from you?”

You stick your tongue out at him teasingly.

“You didn’t sign yours, you know.”

Hajime pokes your cheek and you flush. The absolute betrayal, from your new boyfriend no less.

“Hajimeeee, I know! But we’re supposed to be making fun of them, not me! I was humiliated enough last night! They need to feel it too!”

You point accusingly at the two in question, and they raise a brow at your display of contempt.

“Not everything has to be turned into some revenge plot, Oikawa twins.”

Hajime pinches your cheeks and glares at Tooru for good measure.

“He’s right, you know.”

Matsukawa points out, feeling especially inclined to agree considering him and Hanamaki were at the butt end of the counter humiliation scheme.

“The audacity—“

Tooru starts, and you chime in,

“The nerve, my own boyfriend!”

“My best friend!”

“You should be encouraging me.”

“You should be encouraging her, but also me—“

“Enough already, you brats!”

Hajime smacks Tooru in the gut, before gently tapping you on the head with his knuckles.

“Iwa-chan, that’s blatant favoritism!”

Tooru coughs out, clutching his side.

“Get used to it.”

He grunts out, and despite being reprimanded by Hajime, you gently touch the spot on your head he tapped with a soft smile.

You preen at the soft way he scolds you. The warmth of his arm wrapped around you, his gentle looks of content to you when he thinks no one is looking, it sends the butterflies in your stomach crazy.

It’s all for you, and it’s hard to believe that Hajime is finally your boyfriend now—

“THIRD YEARS, STOP LOITERING AND GET PRACTICING!”

A/N:

Tada! 🎉 my first official fic!

Hope you enjoyed! If you could tell, I love drama. And humor. My asks are open, so shoot me a message! ▼・ᴥ・▼

[Masterlist]

[darklesmylove]

your secret is safe with me | jurdan

as requested, here is some jurdan fluff like you guys wanted! but specifically dedicated to @illyrianbeauty because i killed rachel with the last jurdan angst prompt oops

enjoy! <3

tags: @danieldesario @thomasscresswell @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @nomattertheoceans @kazhewbrekker @twili-al

***

Considering how often they frequented the mortal world, largely due to Cardan's overenthusiastic whims about various explorations and romantic fantasies, Jude had figured taking him to get a flu shot was most the practical thing to do. She had no idea it was going to be such an ordeal, having to practically drag him by his pale, lean bicep to even get him over the threshold of the doctor's office. 

Now they sat in relative silence, Cardan visibly anxious, knee bouncing up and down in a staccato rhythm that was steadily working at Jude's nerves. That combined with the overly harsh lights and the unpleasant sterile smell coating the building tempted her to just give up and walk out now in defeat.

"Cardan Greenbriar?"

It seemed that the nurse made her decision for her, smiling wanly over her clipboard plastered with cheerful stickers as she and Cardan stood up expectantly. 

"Right this way, you two," she gestured lazily with one hand before turning on her heels and heading back into the maze of rooms. Cardan walked practically on top of Jude, his shoulder bumping against hers and his breath so close she could feel it brush over the curl of her hard cheekbones. Despite everything, his coal black eyes still held a glimmer of catlike intrigue, greedily drinking in every last detail that passed him by. No one would have suspected he wasn't from this world as she had dressed him up in seemingly appropriate black skinny jeans and an old band t-shirt that made him look startlingly human.

"Can you act normal please and not gawk at every doctor that passes you by?" she hissed softly, covering it up with a tight smile. His gaze flickered down to her, lingering for a brief moment before going back to examining his surroundings with slightly less intensity than before.

"I can't help it, wife, your world will never cease to be completely and utterly fascinating." 

The wonder in his tone kept her from biting back a clipped response, the annoyance dimming as they finally followed the nurse into an irritatingly white room, the walls so bright with cleanliness that it burned her eyes. 

"Take a seat, and I'll be right back with your shot," the nurse smiled, again with the same significantly lackluster smile that arguably seemed to convey that she was really, in fact, completely dead inside.

The door clicked shut, immediately prompting Cardan to flash Jude a helpless, utterly terrified look of panic.

"Is it going to hurt? Should I be scared? What if it kills me? Are you sure we should be doing this? Can we just get out of here while I'm still alive and breathing?"

The questions were peppered in rapid fire succession, more frantic as he continued on. She reached up a hand, pressing her fingertips over his soft, full lips in a physical attempt to quiet him down. It was surprisingly successful, though his doe eyes still regarded her in pleading misery.

"Okay, first sit down," she sighed, bracing her hand against his shoulder and pushing him into one of the exceedingly uncomfortable looking chairs. She took the one next to him, her palm flattening out against the smooth, hard line of his collar bone, her touch warm against his cool skin.

His heartbeat pounded against her fingertips, throat bobbing as he swallowed. 

With a tentative casting of his eyes downward, he asked quietly, "Can you hold my hand?"

She softened.

Her hand slid into his, their fingers intertwining in a way that always felt so startlingly natural, like puzzle pieces snapping into place.

"It'll be okay, I promise, Cardan," she canted her head slightly, affectionate amusement now pulling at the corners of her rosy lips.

A firm knock at the door made him practically jump out of his seat, the nurse stepping into the room again with her array of supplies clutched tight.

"Okay sir, pull up your shirt sleeve please," she blandly instructed, pushing her glasses up her nose with a blue gloved finger before beginning to prepare the needle and injection with a level of ease and efficiency that silently told she had most likely administered thousands upon thousands of vaccines up to this point. Cardan ran a tongue over his slightly chapped lower lip before pulling his sleeve up, rolling it once so the cotton fabric stayed bunched at the crest of his shoulder.

His fingers tightened through hers, almost painfully so, as the nurse pulled out the needle. Jude had to admit it did look daunting, the thin metal gleaming wickedly in the fluorescent lighting. The nurse swabbed his arm with alcohol before picking up the vaccine, raising a brow. 

"Ready?"

Cardan nodded, squeezing his eyes shut in preparation, his breaths shallow and taught in his chest. Jude leaned into his side, pressing a chaste kiss at his jawline. He relaxed a visible amount. The nurse eyed the both of them in slight annoyance before bracing one hand against his arm and injecting the needle into his skin with the other. He grimaced ever so slightly, his nose crinkling in that adorably cute way she loved and adored so much. 

Then the nurse was done, tossing the empty syringe into the hazardous waste bin and snapping off her gloves. Another few moments and she had slapped a Disney princess bandaid over the minuscule blemish, uttering a quick you're free to go before disappearing into the hallway.

Cardan's eyes peeled open, lips pouting ever so slightly. "Why didn't you tell me it wasn't even going to hurt? I thought I was going to be bleeding out all over these disgustingly polished floors."

She rolled her eyes, unable to help the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "What, are you regretting begging for me to hold your hand now?"

He let out a whine of annoyance that also could have passed for a soft growl, especially with his Fae canines on display as his upper lip curled.

"It's okay, my lovely husband, your secret is safe with me," she grinned, fingers splaying over his jaw before her mouth pressed against his in a sweet, if not slightly taunting, kiss.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Dragon Egg (Parts 14-18)

If she knew that that night would be her last good night, she might have savored it more. Oh, Agni, she would have smiled wider and laughed more freely. But how could she have known that she would be smiling again.

.oOo.

Azula holds her hand against the swell of her belly. It has grown more prominent, seemingly overnight. Pregnancy test or none, morning sickness or peaceful awakenings, mood swings and unstable hormones; until the bump she had still been able to pretend like it wasn’t real, that she still had a chance.

She can’t see her father anymore, not unless she buries herself under bulky layers of sweaters and jackets. Even then her father will know that something is amiss. She used to never wear baggy clothing, of the opinion that it looks sloppy and lazy. He’d surely question why she has traded her crop tops and--formerly--form fitting dresses for loose fitting t’s and sweatpants.

She is some five months along now and certain that it is far too late to terminate the pregnancy. Her window for making that decision has come to a close. As have the window to keep it a secret. Trying to pass it off as a few extra pounds no longer cuts it and even if it did, it wouldn’t earn her a much better reaction than the truth would.

Spirits, what was she thinking, keeping this baby. She should have just ripped the bandaid and told her father. Should have dealt with the screaming and scolding, perhaps a good slap. Those things would have come to pass. The guilt over terminating the pregnancy would have come to pass. She would have given such a stellar performance at Audio of Agni that he’d be forced to forgive her, to love her, and to recognize that she is still his perfect, talented, gleaming star.

This, she runs her hand along the bump, won’t come to pass. It will be with her forever, should the delivery go smoothly. Spirits, she doesn’t want to think about the delivery. And, Spirits, what if she finds herself in the hospital during Agni of Audio? She is certain that her due date will fall around the same date as the performance.

She rakes her fingers through her hairline. Fuck, she doesn’t even know her fucking due date. She is a mess and it is her fault. She can’t even be sure that she and this baby are healthy. She isn’t sure that her diet has been good for the baby, isn’t sure that her lifestyle is safe for it. She knows that the stress can’t possibly be doing it any favors.

She feels her phone vibrate and unlocks it to confirm that they are still on for practice. It won’t be a practice so much as a meeting and, by, Agni she isn’t ready. Not even slightly, but she has to tell someone. She has to tell Chan specifically. Maybe she should talk to Seicho first. Maybe she should speak with Chan alone.

She closes her eyes and taps her phone against her lips. She will assemble all of them and speak with Chan first. It is time to stop delaying. Time to stop stalling. Time to grow up faster than she already has been.

.oOo.

Mai still refuses to speak to him outside of practice. Other than a curt reminder that he is lucky that she was generous enough to snatch her mother’s money and pay his bail, thus incurring the woman’s wrath.

Zuko is certain that Michi’s wrath is nothing like that of the magazines and morning shows. The ones that won’t let his arrest become old news even months later. Somehow they always find some fresh new angle to talk about it from. Some brand new perspective. Seldom are do any of these perspective’s paint him in a good light.

The boy, Kei-Lo, has been getting more attention than he. What started off as a ridiculous clickbait video titled ‘Almost Killed By My Idol!!’ grew into an entire platform. He has been on talk show after talk show, retelling the story of how he almost got ‘murdered’ by the lead singer of From Ashes To Phoenix. He recounts have gotten more and more absurd--“for humor’s sake, I promise!”--to the point where Zuko had allegedly picked up a chair after splintering his guitar. And when that hadn’t worked, he’d allegedly begun trying to stab Kei-Lo with the splintered end of his guitar.

And somehow the media has latched onto that image, churning out t-shirts of him wielding his guitar like some sort of stone age brute and foils stickers of his enraged expression. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so horrible if he were receiving a cut of the cash. Or, at the very least, if the publicity were doing him any good.

No, it is only kickstarting Kei-Lo’s career as a comedian and talk show host. And in the wake of his goals, From Ashes To Phoenix is taking the fall. Even Azula hasn’t so directly kicked him down to lift herself up. At least Azula could say that she was bringing him down on talent alone; that she is simply better without having to make him worse.

Zuko’s brows furrow, when he comes to dwell on it, Azula has been rather quiet lately. Quiet, even after being the subject of talk shows herself. Raava and Vaatu of the Tui La’s and Wan Shi Tong have only been raving about she and the rest of Blue Talon. It has only been fantastic press for her. And she hasn’t even sent him a link to remind him of that.

Maybe she is simply too busy to do so; too important to bother with even mocking him anymore. He balls his fists, if he grips his pencil any tighter, he might break it. And he hates her with more fury than ever. He picks up his phone to tell her off. Why not? He needs an outlet for the anger brewing within him. And she is perfect for it, she could do with someone telling her that she isn’t so great.

He pulls her number upon his phone. He cringes all over again when he sees that he has already messaged her. At least several times and with variations of the same few messages; ‘You think that you’re so great don’t you? You’re so perfect. That’s fine, it’ll make it better when everyone else realizes that you aren’t’, ‘dad start beating you you yet?’, ‘oh so you’re too famous to insult me now’, and one final comment about her one failure, ‘how’s it feel to be in the tabloids, fatass?’  It is a wonder that she hasn’t blocked his numbers. Likely she sees that as a weakness. Likely, she finds his insults laughable, a sign that he’s doing worse than ever. Likely, it entertains her. He rakes his hands through his hair. He doesn’t even remember sending those.

A lot of things are fuzzy these days. He writes songs, he even records them, but he forgets to include Mai and TyLee in them. And on the days that he doesn’t wake up there, he forgets that he has gone to the recording studio at all.

He rubs his hands over his face. His heart is beating so fast and, no matter what he tries, he can’t stop shaking. He can hardly breath, the room feels so small and the more he thinks about those texts and the other things he has forgotten, the smaller the room seems.

He raps the heel of his hand against his forehead.

He should try to sleep, that might do him some good. He hasn’t slept in a while. He is damn certain that, even if the coke wasn’t making him restless, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Every time his head hits the pillow it seems to whisper to him, telling him that he is a waste. His life is a waste. That he is no better than his father.

And the pillow--his own inner voice is right. Just because it isn’t alcohol, doesn’t mean that he isn’t the exact person he hates. He wonders how he’d let this happen, all he needed was a small boost of energy, a shot of confidence, and euphoria when he couldn’t produce it on his own. He supposes that, that is the problem exactly. He never can produce it on his own.  

He was just going to use it until he had his first singles out. He wishes that the plan hadn’t worked so well. He wishes that he would have had a trip so horrible that he’d never want to do it again. But he had pumped out singles at a rate that Azula would envy--that she did envy when she saw that he had released his new singles before she did.

And just like that, ‘only until I finish my single’ became, ‘I will only use it until I finish the album.’ By the time he finished the album he found that he couldn’t stop. That he needed the extra kick. He can’t produce anything worthwhile without it.

And now he can’t function without it. Oh, Agni, he wants to function without it.

He slaps at his forehead again. He is more useless than ever and the press is finally catching onto his horrid habits. He wishes that uncle were here to offer him advice, and yet he can’t bring himself to tell the man just how much trouble he is in. He wonders if an hour long video chat a day is enough for him to be able to tell.

He wishes that he were home and not sleeping on a tour bus or in some sketchy motel, where dealers make exchanges in the alley over. He wishes that he hadn’t dragged Mai and TyLee into this one with him.

He has let Mai down; he thinks that she is falling out of love with him and in love with TyLee. Has let TyLee down; she is scared to be alone with him. Has let uncle down; he just doesn’t know it yet. He has let himself down; if he had the opportunity to walk out on himself, he probably would.

He always lets everyone down

He sits in his room, pencil in hand. He can’t seem to write songs when his head is so turbulent. When his hand is so twitchy. When his arms are so soar and bruised. And yet he can’t stop himself from putting down the pencil and taking up a needle.

He has let everyone down and he is doing it again. He can’t stop doing it. His band is a lost cause.

He can hear in his head, his father sneering about how he’d told him so; he told him that he would never make it big. He can hear Azula’s dainty little laugh, “oh, Zuzu, you’re pathetic, Tom-Tom can upstage you by banging on pots and pans.”

He cups his hands over his head. He just wants to succeed. He just wants a chance. He just wants to be happy.

.oOo.

For a moment she allows herself to hope. Perhaps everything will just be okay. Maybe father will handle it better than she anticipates. Even if he doesn’t, she has made a name for herself. She is revered by the metal masters. She has a strong voice, a sharp mind, and the tools to make something of it. Even if he doesn’t, she has her bandmates. She won’t lose everything. Perhaps her father will take well to knowing that there will be someone to inherent the family legacy, another little prodigy to teach.

Perhaps, Chan will make a good father. Perhaps the Blue Talon fandom will find a baby dragon to be precious. She should know better than to get idealistic. It never does her any good.  

She swallows hard before pushing the door to the recording studio open. As things are, she is the first to arrive, it is just as well, she can use a few moments to prepare herself. She inhales and exhales several times, until at least some of her nerves settle.

Azula is more than relieved when Chan arrives first, it makes speaking to him in private that much easier. She waits for him to prop his guitar against the wall before greeting him. He looks her up and down. It is the first time in a long while that she has worn something that isn’t baggy. He keeps his thoughts tactfully to himself. “Yes, this is what I want to talk to you about.” She clasps her hands over her bump and clears her throat. “We will proceed with practice, but first I have to tell you something.”

“Are you…? You’re not…” He sputters, his eyes are fixed on her belly. She finds herself growing heavily uncomfortable under his stare. She swallows, the look on his face tells her that she is in for a difficult time. That he isn’t going to take this well at all.

“I am.” She confirms. “I have been for the past five months.” She looks up from her hands. “It’s your baby, Chan.”

He shanks his head. “No. No way.”

She nods. “I’ve only ever…” she trails off. “You’re the only person I got that close to.”

He rubs his hand over his face. “I can’t be a father!” When he pulls his hands away from his face it looks as though he has aged several years. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I wanted to make sure that there were no distractions along the way to battle of the bands. Now that we have a stable standing…”

He shakes his head, “you’re only telling me this because you can’t keep it a secret anymore. Why did you keep it!?” He is pacing rather frantically now. “I don’t want a baby! I don’t want to be tethered to you for the rest of my life!”

Poor word choice or not, it comes like a forceful kick to the teeth. She furrows her brows, “we’re in a band together. And if we make it big we’re going to be spending plenty of time with one another anyhow. If anything, Lo and Li can watch the baby. They took care of me after my mother died.”

The laugh Chan gives is unsettling. “I’m not going to be a father. I have a career to focus on.”

“So do I.” Azula hisses. “You don’t get to just walk away from this.” But that’s just the thing, he very well can. He can walk away in a way that she can’t. “You...we don’t have to keep it. But you’re not going to pretend like it isn’t your baby.”

“Do you know what my dad will say if he finds out?”

“Do you know what my father will do when he finds out?” She isn’t even certain of this and, spirits, does she dread it. She needs someone to be there even if that someone is the asshole who put her in this position in the first place.

“It’s not my fault that you got pregnant!”

“I don’t know if things have changed since I last looked at a biology textbook, but from what I remember, this is a two person job.”

“What’s with all of the shouting?” Zirin grumbles.

“We have a band whore, that’s what.” Chan declares.

Azula’s face colors, a cross between outrage and mortification. “It’s your baby.” She insists through gritted teeth. “Who else’s would it be?”

He turns from her and appeals to Ruon and Zirin instead. “Who knows how many people she’s had backstage.”

“That’s not exactly characteristic of Azula.” Ruon mumbles.

“Neither is party sex.” Zirin shrugs.

“Chan is the father.”

“Just own up, dude.” Ruon frowns.

“Let’s say that it is mine. What the hell am I supposed to do about it? Her dad’s wallet can cover everything, she doesn’t need my help.”

Her eyes narrow, he has missed the point entirely; it isn’t money that she is seeking. She is yearning for something that her father will most certainly deprive her of--something that he has never been that good for in the first place. She craves comfort. She needs reassurance. And yet she is hesitant to ask for either. “Do you really think that my father is going to take this news very well?”

“I can’t do anything about that!” Chan throws his hands up.

“No, I suppose you can’t.” In the silence to follow, she thinks to just walk away. What more is there to say? And, really, what had she been expecting? That Chan, immature Chan, who draws phallic imagery on restaurant menus and attempts keg stands, would readily embrace the responsibilities of having knocked someone up. “Forget it. I’ll deal with it on my own.” She mumbles. “Let’s just get on with practice.”

Ruon seems to cringe.

“Really, I can deal with it on my own.”

His expression doesn’t change. If anything he is flinching harder still. “Azula, should there even be a practice?”

She furrows her brows, “What? What are you talking about, of course there should be a practice.” She thinks that her voice has raised a pitch or two.

“You’re pregnant.” He says gently, carefully. “Should you really be focusing on music right now?”

She swallows, feeling almost nauseous with nerves. “I can do both. I’ve been doing both. I can think about two things at once.”

“Realistically,” Ruon begins, “are you really going to have time to tour?”

She nods almost frantically, “I’ve been managing.”

“You haven’t been going to the doctor.” Ruon points out. “That takes up time.”

“If Zuzu was able to manage school and being in a band, then I can manage being in a band and one appointment every now and again.” She rolls her eyes, “are you really underestimating me now?”

“Am I? Or are you overestimating yourself?” Ruon asks. “Being in a band is a lot of stress and pressure without a baby…”

But he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand how essential being in the band is. Doesn’t understand how every aspect of her life hinges on it. On how well she performs at Audio of Agni. The competition will be the make or break moment of her life. Things have fallen into place so well and so neatly, she can’t imagine that she will have another chance at it. “Ruon, I can handle it.” She punctuates every word.

“Well maybe we don’t want to.” Zirin throws in. “Every fucking time it’s all about you. What you want. How being in this band effects you. I need this band too, and I can’t afford a wild card.” Her eyes wander to Azula’s bump.

“It’s not a wild card, I can plan…”

“Even if it’s not a wild card, it’s a risk. Zirin can’t afford risks right now.” Ruon replies. “She needs to be able to get out of that home and this band is her way out.”

And Azula is reminded of each time that Zirin has wandered into the recording booth with a collection of fresh bruises on her arms and legs, on her ribcage and back. “Which is why I need to be here. I can get where we need to be and Zirin will be able to…”

Zirin shakes her head. “You don’t get it do you? You’re still making this about you.”

“You’re not the only person in this band who has talent!” Chan speaks up again. “Zirin can sing too. I can sing. You aren’t creative and you need to be creative to be an artist.”

“I am creative.”

“No, you’re good at planning and organizing. You’re good at taking our ideas and fine-tuning them. Anyone can do that. Ruon and I write the lyrics and concepts for our videos.” He pauses for a breath. “You shoot down any ideas that aren’t copies of what we’ve already done. You refuse to try new sounds and styles.”

“I wrote the last few songs.”

“And they sound like everything else that we’ve ever done! Fine. Maybe surf rock isn’t it, but we need to change our sound somehow. We need to try something new. And you’re holding us back.”

“Holding you back, I--”

“And you’re going to hold us back more and more the further along you are.”

She clutches her belly, unsure of which emotion has the strongest grip on her--anger, distress, hurt, or anxiety. She can feel the baby kick, adding another layer of pulsing to the unsavory emotions already throbbing and throbbing within.

“Chan, that’s enough.” Ruon puts a hand on his shoulder.

He shakes it off. “Is it? She’s been giving us demands, talking down to us, and blaming us for setbacks this whole time! And this whole time she’s been carrying a bigger setback than any of us.”

“Because of you!” She hisses. She is nearing her compousre’s very end and she isn’t sure what is going to tear out when the last of it is worn away.

“We’ve been pushing along and pretending like nothing is wrong. Something needs to change.”

Her stomach sinks even further and the queasiness in her tummy grows, twice so with the shifting of the baby. “And what needs to change, Chan?” Her voice has dropped so dangerously low. Not that it can vocalize anything more than an empty threat. She is outnumbered and out of cards in a hand that wasn’t even winning to begin with.

“The lineup of this band.” Zirin puts in. Chan nods in agreement.

She waits for Ruon to tell them that that is ridiculous. She looks to him, letting her mask slip long enough for the plea to reflect in her eyes. He only turns his head. “Ruon?”

He sighs heavily. “I’m not saying that I agree with everything  Chan said just now. But I do think that it might be a good idea if you...took a break from Blue Talon.”

“Ruon!?” Her composure splinters further and her voice cracks.

He takes her hand, she knows that he means it as a comforting gesture but she doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want to be touched right now. She snatches her hand away.

“I guess I can’t tell you what’s best for you but I don’t think that being in the band is good for you right now. How are you going to handle the headlines and the bad press? It’s going to be a lot. I don’t think that I’d be able to deal with it very well.”

“I’m not you, I can handle it just fine.”

“You can’t even adjust to changing the band’s style, how are you going to adjust to…”

Ruon cuts him off.

“How far along are you right now, Azula.”

‘Five months.” She answers, her voice so small and quiet now.

“From the looks of it, by the time Audio of Agni comes around, you’ll be expecting to have your baby at any time.”

She swallows hard, tears are finally starting to well up behind her eyes. Because he is right. Even if they don’t kick her out of her own band, she is almost certain that she won’t be in any shape to perform, especially not to the degree she would like. It was a lost cause from the start. A losing battle that she tried to fight single handedly anyways. What is the point in wasting her energy on a battle that can’t be won; perhaps it is time for a while flag. Perhaps the time to wave one is well overdue.

She takes a deep breath, regaining as much composure as she can and mustering all of the poise as she can manage. “Good luck with Audio of Agni.” She picks up her microphone stand and hastily strides away.

The slamming of the recording studio door is the closing of the door to her aspirations, her future.

__________

She wonders how long it will take for the tabloids to tear her self-esteem to thinner ribbons than it is already in. How long it will take for them to churn out headlines officiating her departure from the band. She supposes that she could save herself some dignity and post an open letter of sorts on her social media before the other three can. 

If only she had the drive. 

If only it mattered. 

She is already simmering in shame, what’s one more layer?

Anyways, she has to conserve her planning and word play for when her father comes home. And her time is running thin, his vacation expires two days from now. She has a feeling that there is no adequate dialogue; that even the most seasoned authors, poets, and intellectuals wouldn’t be able to scrape up a speech that would satisfy Ozai. 

She longs to pull her knees up to her chest and bury her face in them. This is just one more thing that her baby gets in the way of. She settles for leaning her head against the wall and rubbing her hands over her face. 

Her phone vibrates again. 

She ought to put it on silent. 

Once or twice the doorbell had rung.

She wouldn’t have answered even if she had the willpower to do so. 

The phone vibrates. This time it is only a text. She has a growing list of missed call notifications. A steady steam of names; mostly Ruon and Seicho but Chan and Zirin are in the mix. There is one or two from her father and a voicemail message from Zhao. 

She doesn’t answer any of their calls or texts. She doesn’t want to. They are just like Mai and TyLee. Perhaps worse. She’ll leave it to them to explain her departure to Zhao. Chan has left her with a mess to clean so she will leave him one. 

Her phone lights up with an incoming call, Seicho’s name appears on the screen. 

She should answer it.

It would have been better if she did. But her life has been reduced to one mistake after another, just what is one more anyways?

.oOo.

The empty pouch lies several feet from her. She hadn’t meant to. But she is at her wits end, her sanity’s very edge. And she hates to admit it, but she loved it. She loved it so much. She hadn’t felt that energetic and inspired in a very long time. For a time, her appetite hadn’t been so horribly ravenous. And by Agni, conversation had come much easier when she finally got around to responding to that stream of missed calls. It was a sublime half an hour. She finds that she can no longer blame Zuko at all for craving the drug so furiously. 

She can’t quite remember what she said to everyone. She doesn’t think that it matters anyways.  She is so thoroughly drained, so much so that she can’t fathom leaving her bed. Can’t fathom anything at all. And this is a mercy to what comes next. To the slap of awareness that comes the next day.

Azula hasn’t felt so dreadful about herself since seeing her pregnancy test marked positive. She thinks that she might feel worse now than she had then. Her mind is a whirlwind of shame and guilt. She wishes she could pretend that she hadn’t done cocaine but she had been too lethargic in the crash to have even discarded the pouch. 

It sits upon her dresser amid a light dusting of the powder, reminding that she is a failure just as miserable as her brother. That she is more so. At least Zuko never had a chance. She had all of the cards in line for her, all of the game pieces set in place and she still has managed to lose. 

The noise that tears from her throat is hideous, tortured. The product of a failed attempt to conceal a sob. She used cocaine. 

There is a baby in her belly and she used cocaine. 

Spirits, she has probably killed it. She digs her nails into her hairline. She didn’t want to kill it. Whether she wanted it or not the baby is still hers. It is still a part of her. It might be the only thing that she will have left. And she might have just killed it or poisoned it. 

She can’t stop the tremors and shakes that run through her body and she isn’t sure if it is an effect of the drug or if she is simply an anxious mess. Can cocaine give someone the shakes after one use? She trembles harder still.

She needs help. 

She should call someone.

She is scared.

She has no one to call.

She wipes it her nose, she can still feel tingles and tickles. A faint static dancing on her nostrils and it won’t go away. No matter what she does or tries to think about, it doesn’t go away. The feeling builds in her sinuses until she is overtaken by an urge to claw at her nose. 

It is ludicrous, the power is not there anymore--she has been to the mirror five times over to check. 

She rubs her hands over her face. 

She hears her phone vibrate. 

She covers her ears. 

She still hears it vibrate and it vibrates in unison with the static. 

She slides onto the floor and bunches herself up as much as her bigger belly would allow. She finds that she is no longer even allowed to take comfort in bunching herself up. And so she lays there, strewn haphazardly, on the kitchen floor, tangled locks of hair fanning out around her. 

Maybe she should lay there and die. Maybe she should go fetch the rest of her father’s stash and hit it all in one go.  Maybe it is a mercy that she has probably gotten her baby killed. It doesn’t need to be born into a world that will emotionally rip it to tatters. It doesn’t need to be born to an inept mother...an inept person like her. 

She should get off of the floor. 

She can’t.

She is terrified.

She still has no one to call.

________________

Azula doesn’t remember opening the door. She doesn’t think that she had. But Seicho is there all the same. There and cradling her tightly, running her hand over her hair. Azula feels so, so weak. Weak and somehow more drained than she had even before.

“What happened, Azula?” She mumbles into her hair.

“They kicked me out of my own band.” She says softly, her voice straining as she tries to choke back a fresh batch of tears. “Chan got me pregnant and they kicked me out. It’s my band. My father is the one who…” she loses it at ‘father’, her words falling into the sob that she tried to suppress. “He’s going to...Agni, he’s going to disown me. Just like he did to Zuzu.” 

Seicho’s brows furrow. “He’s your father, he wouldn’t…”

Azula shakes her head. “He’s a drunk, Seicho! I found the drugs in his desk.”

“You took drugs!?”

Azula grits her teeth. “I…” she what? There is no excuse. “I fucked up.” 

Seicho squeezes her tighter and mutters, “let’s get you to the doctor.” She helps Azula to her shaky feet. “You should have seen one months ago, anyways.” 

“What’s wrong with me, Seicho?”

“You’re stressed and pregnant and stressed because you’re pregnant.” 

“I can’t afford to see a doctor. My father isn’t going to pay for that. I only have so much money saved up from the band…” 

“Let’s just get you to this first appointment.”

Azula sucks in a deep breath. Seicho is right. She needs to regain rationality and start figuring out what to do. Really figuring it out as she should have done in the first place. Seicho helps her into the car.

.oOo. 

Watching a dragon lose its wings is worse than finding out that her idol is the sort of asshole who would abandon his daughter for drugs and then abandon her twice over when she makes a mistake of her own. 

Azula had been such a proud woman, head held high and vibrant. She is pale now, her eyes baggy and bloodshot, hair in a state of disarray and her clothes unkempt. She is softer, her face rounder. But there is no warmth in it; there is no glow of pregnancy. There is no glow at all. It is hollow and grey. 

She squeezes Azula’s hand as she lingers in front of the door. It is as though walking in will put the final nail in a coffin that has been sealed for quite some time now. “Come on,” she implores softly, “I think that you’ll feel a lot better once the doctor tells you your options.”  

Azula nods. 

“How far along are you?” Seicho hears the receptionist ask. 

“Five months.” She sounds so small. 

“And you haven’t seen a doctor yet?”

She shakes her head.

“Why have you waited so long?”

“I didn’t want to tell my father…”

The receptionist sighs. “I’m sorry, we can’t take you as a patient.”

Azula’s dreary eyes grow that much more dismal. “What do you mean?” Her voice is caught somewhere between distress and anger. Seicho thinks that it is pure shock. “Why not?”

The receptionist has the decency to cringe. “You’ve already missed several important screenings, tests, and milestones. You’re also very young…”

“So?”

She flinches back further. “You’re a liability. There are a lot of risk factors and most physicians don’t want that liability.” 

Azula grows paler still. “I-I don’t know what to do. I need to see someone.” 

“I’m sorry, Ms. We can’t accept new patients that are this far along.” 

Azula doesn’t speak another word. Stiff and tense is her walk back to the car and all Seicho can do is rub her hand in small circles on her back as they walk. Azula lays back against the headrest, almost limp in defeat. “Is there anywhere else we can go?”

“We can try the next place over.” Seicho suggests. And she suggests it again and again until she has to look up clinics she has never heard of. Azula finds one, a small practitioner. And they drive there. 

.oOo.

Azula is under the impression that they have only taken her as a patient as a good will gesture. That the receptionist had taken one look at her dejected state and called for the doctor herself. Azula shifts uncomfortably in the chair as the woman looks her down with a smile that is much too big. 

“Geez, that Joo Dee woman is creepy.” Seicho whispers. 

Azula shrugs. “At least she’s giving me a chance.” She will stomach the creepiness as she stomachs everything else that is thrown at her. At last a woman appears, she is terribly old with bright white hair and fierce blue eyes. 

“Azula, is it?” She greets. 

Azula nods. 

“My name is Hama.”

“You’re going to take me as a patient.” 

“You’ve come unorthodoxly late.” She clicks her tongue. “But I’ve been doing this for a very long time so I’ll see what I can do for you.” 

Azula exchanges a glance with Seicho. One that is not missed by Hama. “You’re nervous.” 

“I am not.” 

The old woman chuckles. “I suppose it’s strange to be in a place like this instead of some facility that smells like ammonia. But I think that better births happen in a relaxed environment. Hospitals are not relaxing. Nothing comforting about giving birth when someone is dying just down the hall.”

“No, that’s not comfortable at all.” Azula agrees but it is no less comforting to be in what looks like someone’s house. “Do you even have…” “The medical equipment necessary to deliver a baby?” She quirks a brow. “I get asked that all the time, girl. I certainly do and if you will follow me I can show you. Forgive me, I know that I just criticized the scent but it does smell like disinfectants back here.”

Azula doesn’t think that there is anything to forgive. It is a comfort to know that the woman is properly sanitizing everything. She supposes that, that is a good sign. The room Hama leads her to is much like a standard doctor’s office, save for the wallpaper, a helping of potted plants everywhere, and a faint odor of incense that cuts through the disinfectants. 

“Please sit. We have quite a lot of things to go over. Namely your situation with your father, Joo Dee informed me that he is not aware.”

“He isn’t, no.” 

“This first visit will be free of charge, dear.” 

For the first time all day, perhaps in months, she feels a refreshing current of relief. She could very well cry. 

“Thank you.” 

“Because you are coming in so late, I need you to sign a waiver. There could be complications that are...difficult for me to work with, things that haven’t been detected because…”

And she hasn’t even told the woman about her cocaine use. She isn’t sure that she should, Agni forbid she loses her last chance. She reads the forms over and signs them. Hama hands her more of them. “I need you to fill out your medical history. Allergies, past illnesses, the usual. After you do that I will give you a general check up and we can schedule your first real appointment.” 

“What if I can’t pay?” 

Hama considers for a moment. “I will work with you, dear. My daughter is a fan of your music. Perhaps you can sing for her some time.” 

.oOo. 

Azula looks better, if only a little, now that she is sitting in the car with a rather clean bill of health; a healthy heart rate and body temperature, no fever nor infection, and a body weight that is rather typical for someone at five months. 

She looks better still to see that Ozai’s car is still not in the driveway. 

“Spend the night with me?”

“I can do that. Just let me text my parents.” Seicho smiles.  

_________

It is a mercy that her father is so late to return home, she thinks to call and ask him why he hasn’t come home. She is beginning to wonder if the man has overdosed in his hotel room. Drank himself to death and yet to be discovered. More likely, he has heard word of her departure from the band and is leaving her to fester in her dread for a while.

Still, it is better this way; she had needed the extra time with Hama unable to get her in for another three days. It is just as well, the cocaine should be out of her system. It has been decided that she will pay for the treatments using her band savings, it isn’t as though she has any use for them anymore, anyhow. She still feels awkward sitting in Hama’s chair. Though the woman has been more than friendly.

Seicho lounges in the corner while Hama lifts Azula’s shirt above the bump. The ultrasound gel that she applies is cool on her belly, uncomfortably so.

“We will call you with the results of your blood work as soon as we receive them.” Hama says as she carefully sweeps the transducer over Azula’s bump.

“Alright.”

“So far, it looks like your baby’s development is on the right track.”

She wouldn’t say that if she knew about the drugs.

“It’s a girl.”

“A girl.” She repeats distantly. At least she can stop calling the baby an ‘it’ now.

Hama cleans the gel away and pulls Azula’s shirt back down. “Based on what we’ve discussed I’ve given you a care plan going forward. I also have a list of foods and drinks to avoid. I’d like to see you again in two weeks.”

.oOo.

Ozai’s car is in the lot when Seicho pulls into the driveway. Her throat constricts.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Azula shakes her head. It is better if she faces him alone. It is better if she is alone when she is shamed. She takes a deep breath and steps into the foyer. She looks to the recliner that he usually occupies when he is seeking to yell at her. It is vacant.

She finds him at the dinner table, with a bottle that is already half empty. She feels nauseous but she forces herself into the room. She tries to be quiet about it when she pulls out her chair but it still squeak and scrapes upon the floor. Not that she isn’t in plain sight of her father anyhow. Even still she feels as though she should take her seat with a stealthy silence. As though sound will break whatever peace there is left. She shifts uncomfortably in her chair.

Her father looks her over, taking her in. And she realizes that it has been several weeks since he has seen her. She wonders how she looks to him with her belly swollen and her sad eyes. She braces herself for a good scolding but he doesn’t say anything at all. Somehow this is so much worse. She clears her throat, “father.”

“Don’t call me that.”

The lump in her throat grows, swelling until she can barely breathe. “I can fix this.”

His expression says it all. She has made a perfect fool of she and him both. He wants nothing to do with she and her baby. He simply lifts his arms and slides the sheets of paper that were underneath them over to her. She picks them up and looks them over, they are printouts from various online newspapers.

Now that she has seen the headlines she is grateful that she had been too busy fretting over appointments to seek them out and pay them any mind at all. Surely there are article that lament her departure, sympathize with her, or wish her a safe pregnancy. But the ones that Ozai has selected for her to read are brutal and merciless; ‘Blue Talon to Enter a New, More Creative Era Following Departure of Lead Vocalist’, Blue Talon Vocalist Lets Down Fans’. ‘Disappointing News: What Losing Their Vocalist Means for Blue Talon and Audio of Agni.’ The ones addressing her pregnancy are worse still; ‘Tour Bus Sex: Blue Talon Vocalist Pregnant’. They quite bluntly imply that she is slut, that she is easy all the while they try to speculate who the father is.

There is an interview with her former bandmates. She only needs to read Chan’s denial of being the father to decide that the article isn’t worth reading.It is teeming with lies and stirs the rumors. And she has missed her window of merit; to tell her side with some scrap of believability. Chan has ruined her and she thinks that he probably knows it. She supposes that it is better her than him in his mind. She can’t say that she wouldn’t do him the same if the roles could be somehow swapped.

She looks up from the printouts. She opens her mouth but she doesn’t trust herself to speak without choking up or sobbing. She waits for Ozai to begin yelling. She practically yearns for it as the silence drags on.

“I finished reading them.” She manages finally. Maybe now he will begin his tirade, now that she has a full understanding of how disgraceful she is, he will elaborate. He still holds his tongue. She shifts in her chair, absently and nervously rubbing circles on her belly. He reaches for his bottle and takes a swig, he refuses to look up from his phone. But he finally speaks, “get out.”  He noisily clatters the bottle against the table top.

She swallows. She must have misheard him. He wouldn’t just kick her out without a discussion. “What?”

“Get out of my sight.” He says it with such finality that she can only rise shakily to her feet and hope that Seicho will answer her phone. Her mouth is dry and her fingers shake as she punches Seicho’s number into her phone. She can barely see the numbers with her eyes as misty as they are.

She makes her way to her room and tosses her favorite clothes into a suitcase alongside her microphones and critical recording equipment. She takes her comb, her toothbrush, a bar of soap. Her fingers hover over her first musical award and her invite to Audio of Agni. She retracts her hand, they will only take up necessary space in her suitcase.

Upon gathering everything that she needs, she drops onto Ozai’s recliner  and sits there, shaking, until she sees the headlights through her window.

“What’s going on?”

Azula shakes her head. She isn’t sure where Seicho is taking her, she isn’t sure that Seicho knows where she is driving to. Right now she is just driving. Right now Azula wants to just drive. Right now Azula wants her to drive into a lake.

“Are you alright?”

She is anything but.

“Please tell me what happened.”

“He...he told me to leave.”

“Like, just for tonight, or…”

“He doesn’t want me back.”

And Seicho’s parents want nothing to do with her. They want their daughter to have nothing to do with an influence so negative; with the sort of tramp who would find herself knocked up at sixteen.

Despite scathing protest from Seicho, they evict her from their daughter’s car. She finds herself wandering down the streets, suitcase in hand. She finds herself a park bench, the metal is too cold for sleep but she can’t imagine herself getting any anyhow.

She opens her phone; Seicho is already apologizing profusely, making promises to find a way to see her. Right now she doesn’t have the optimism to believe that she will be able. She scrolls through the names on her phone; Chan, Father, Mai, Mother, Ruon, Seicho, Tylee, Uncle… She scrolls all the way to the bottom, her finger hovered over Zuko’s number. She can’t bring herself to enter it.

She can’t think of anything else to do so she decides to return Zhao’s call. Maybe he can help her work out how to salvage her musical career and her reputation. She finds that he can do no such thing; he is no miracle worker. She needs a miracle worker but she will settle for a samaritan.

It isn’t ideal by any means, but she doesn’t see any other options so when his car pulls up she gets in. Her head is dizzy with many scenarios, many unsavory possibilities. She braces herself to just deal with them, take whatever ugly things life throws at her.

Of all of the dark stories she has written in her head, she could have never anticipated what did happen; she is greeted by three children and a rather plump woman with gentle eyes and a warm smile to match.  She kisses Zhao’s cheek and welcomes him back home as his children fuss about at his feet. “Misaki, this is Azula. She is going to stay with us.”

She is so inexplicably relieved that the worst discomfort that Zhao gives her is informing her that her options are the floor or the sofa.

__________

While they get better, she gets worse. Blue Talon rises and Azula falls. They rise on her material, on her story, on her hardwork and soul.

She doesn’t know why she has taken to keeping such close tabs on Blue Talon. There is nothing to be gained from watching each new live performance. Nothing to be gained from stalking about their social media and viewing their announcements about introducing a brand new sound.

Nothing to be gained but more self loathing, a heavier heart, and a renewed hatred of her former friends. She can’t even be sure if she can call them that; were they ever her friends, they would have the decency to stop performing songs about her abuse. Bad split or not, they can afford her the respect of not letting Ruon sing her story, her pains.

It is a mockery, a hollow rendering of the person wrapped in those lyrics. Really there is nothing she can do; though it is fully hers, Blue Talon has the right to those lyrics, to that story. She doesn’t have the legal backing or the funds to take them back.

Azula supposes that she shouldn’t be surprised, she doesn’t have the ability to reclaim the story she has yet to tell either. And so she clicks the next link.

She does this for hours, an endless stream of mindless scrolling. Her only comfort comes in the form of radio silence from From Ashes To Phoenix. An arrest and then total silence is never a good sign. At least she is not alone in her failure. At least it, like most sufferings, is a family activity but without the bonding that could make it worthwhile.

Late in the night, she shuts the computer down. She drags herself to her suitcase and finds herself a pair of pajamas. She curses herself for--in her moment of distress--forgetting to make sure that she grabbed pajamas that would fit. It is an extra kick when she needs it the least to find that she has packed only one set of pajamas designed for pregnancy and only a few accommodating day clothes. She sinks to her knees and grips the sides of her head, nails digging into her hairline--it is just one impulse disaster after another, ranging from minor to major.

She’ll deal with the awkwardness of asking Zhao’s wife to take her shopping or borrow clothes in the morning. She slips out of her day clothing and into the pajamas, they are just snug enough to let her know that these pajamas she had brought during month four.

She lays herself down on the couch. Agni, she wishes that they didn’t have a mirror hanging across the room from it. Now that her eyes are locked on her reflection, she thinks that it would have been infinitely healthier to have kept her eyes fixed on the computer screen. It is so much better to hate her old bandmates than it is to hate herself.

Her life is a mess and her entire being reflects it. In her life she has never looked so dreadful. Her hair is such a mess--she hasn’t bothered with it in several days--it frames a face that seems swollen and puffy to her. Her entire person seems swollen, no doubt, the result of eating for two. She wraps her hands around her middle only to be dismayed by the way her shirt stretches over her chest. It doesn’t feel right and her only comfort comes from the knowing that the occasional tenderness in that area has already reached a peak and subsided. She should tear her eyes away from the glass but they have already locked on patches of discolored skin. She furrows her brows, unsure if this is normal. She supposes that, that is just one more uncomfortable question that she will have to ask Zhao’s wife. Each and every one of her birthmarks and freckles seem to have darkened as well.

To some degree, she has trouble recognizing the haggard person who stares back at her as herself. She could reach out her hand but she doesn’t want the extra confirmation.

But worse than her bump, her softened face, her swollen chest, and those unsightly discolorations is the inky blue dragon curling around her bicep. Its blue talon stretches out to remind her of what she no longer has. She brushes her fingers over it, with a sudden impulse to claw it away. To rake her nails across her skin until scar tissue engulfs the whole of the inkwork.

She resists the impulse and swaps it for another. She punches Seicho’s number into the phone and screams at her until her voice goes raw and her mind numb to the point where she can’t even remember what she had said. She knows that at least part of it had to do with yelling at the girl for tattooing her with no questions asked.

Lucidity only comes back in with a slap when Seicho, tearfully from the sound of it, shouts, “my parents were right about you!” The line goes dead before she can even begin to explain why she’d called in the first place. Before she could even try to articulate some sort of apology.

In that one end call tone, she knows that she has no one left. No one and nothing.

[jemfisch]

⌠ MASON GOODING, 21, CISMALE, HE/HIM ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, JEREMY “JEM” FISCHMAN II! according to their records, they’re a SECOND YEAR year, specializing in ADVANCED ENCRYPTION & “MACGUYVER” SURVIVAL SKILLS AND NAVIGATION; and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (old hip hop blaring from headphones, a broken crtv with the cords ripped out and repurposed, the smell of spray paint graffiti, brightly colored shirts with 80s patterns). when it’s the (cancer)’s birthday on 06/23/99, they always request their ICE CREAM SANDWICHES from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. ⌿ kati, 24, she/her, est ⍀ @gallagherintro

STATS / PINTEREST / CONNECTIONS / CLASSES

INSPIRATION

fox mulder (the x files)

hogarth hughes (the iron giant)

will turner (pirates of the carribean)

robin hood

george weasley (harry potter)

aladdin

spike spiegel (cowboy bebop)

mark watney (the martian)

BACKGROUND + CLICK FOR BIO

his parents were high school sweethearts and married just before they attended college at harvard together, securing careers at the kennedy space center. 

jeremy fischman sr dies under mysterious circumstances in a lab accident and ellen is twenty-eight and left alone to raise baby jem. things only go downhill from here. jeremy was the love of her life and she becomes obsessed with his disappearance and all kinds of conspiracy theories, blows a bunch of her money. it doesn’t take long for her to be fired, savings blown on expensive equipment or sunk into internet hoaxes

they move to a rough neighborhood in gainesville where jem grows up. he likes jem, not jeremy, jeremy is his father. he’s never experienced the perfect life his parents used to live, the white picket fence, the shiny space shuttles. he’s only got this, and honestly, he doesn’t hate it. 

the neighborhood’s rough, but there’s a lot of fun characters, and his mom is practically his best friend – aside from his next-door neighbor, NOAH WARD.

jem’s mom does odd hacking jobs from the comfort of their home. some of them are shadier than others, she makes connections with a lot of private investigators in town and looks into people’s cheating husbands and tracks down birth parents and missing people. she does pro bono work too, a kindhearted woman, she can never say no to those in need, even if she’s not so fortunate herself. as jem gets older, he learns everything that he knows from her

every summer vacation growing up, jem and his mom would pack their bags and make home in a camper van, traveling across the country. in some ways, this was great mother-son bonding, but this wasn’t why they did it. his mom never gave up looking for the truth about her husband,  but hacking into secure, top-secret government databases is nothing like hacking into the gainesville city hall, it’s hard work, and they travel around the country methodically so that their signal cannot be traced. every summer they get close, but never close enough.

when noah moves away for college, jem stays home. he’s not comfortable leaving his mom. 

he keeps up with hacking jobs and keeping up with looking for his dad on the side. he doesn’t think they’ll ever find him, his mom holds out hope but jem is eighteen years old and a bit more jaded now, he figures the guy’s just really dead and well, the conspiracy of it all matters less and less when he knows that either way, he’s still grown up without him. 

a lot of jem’s social life is online, whether it’s friends from hacking forums or via soundcloud.

when he’s not hacking, he’s making music. his passions of technology and music mix and he creates his own beats and soundcloud, mashing together songs, and even putting together a popular meme track or two used on tiktok. 

it’s actually a bit lucrative, but that’s not why he does it. doesn’t even really use his name, catch him on soundcloud…username? uncutjems.

every time he and his mom get close to finding his dad, there’s just more to do, and it’s almost like someone KNOWS what they’re doing. 

jem’s right about that – he is being watched. since noah’s admission to gallagher, recruiters have been aware of the boy who taught her everything she knew. 

when gallagher makes the choice to start allowing male students, an agent shows up at his door offering him a once in a lifetime chance at a free education. 

jem doesn’t have any strong ambition to go into espionage, per say, but he won’t say no to advanced classes taught by some of the world’s brightest minds – and a chance to reunite with his best friend. however, he hasn’t stopped trying to get into the government’s records and still has ambitions of going into music production.

PERSONALITY. 

INTUITIVE. jem has a natural intuition about things and he trusts himself and his own opinions about things. i suppose you could perceive this as confidence, but honestly he’s just really SMART, good at absorbing facts even subconsciously and putting things together about people or situations. in a sense, he has a habit of being correct – he definitely comes off as intelligent, even though his grades in school have never been very good. he just has different priorities. 

LOYAL. make a friend out of jem and you have a friend for life, he’ll take your secrets to the grade and he’s pretty trustworthy. he’s the type of guy that gets along with pretty much everyone but he has a few select, close friends because he is somewhat intentional about the company that he keeps. he’s friendly and kind, but he keeps his inner circle of people he trusts close and somewhat exclusive. 

PROTECTIVE. kind of has papa bear energy, you know ? maybe the dad friend of your friend group, but in a laid back way, he might not seem like he’s the type to spring into action but call someone close to him a rude name and you’ll see his fist coming at your face. he’s protective but not possessive, i guess is how i would describe it, but i think he gives pretty good advice as well because he’s really hoping the best for ppl. 

MALINGERING. jem is kind of a SLACKER! at least, that’s what teachers have called him in the past, he simply does not dream of labor. he’s just kind of doing his own thing, will fake sick to skip a class, whatever else, even though he likes producing music he doesn’t really have a great ambition for anything, spy or otherwise. as long as he has a good computer setup, then he’s fucking chilling. 

MOODY. he’s laid back to the umpteenth degree when it comes to work or obligations, but he does have sort of mood swings, i guess he’s the sort of person that you would describe as grumpy at times ? definitely NOT a morning person and when he’s in an off mood, he can be hard to interact with or snap out of. 

DISORGANIZED. the sort of person to throw his stuff across the bed or leave piles of clothes on the floor to deal with later, maybe he’s not your favorite roommate for this reason. he has a habit of losing things that he just set down or whatever, things like that. 

HEADCANONS.

tbh you can think of him like...beca in pitch perfect ! he’s here bc he was offered a free education and he’s cool with that, but he’d rather be pursuing a future in music. a damn good hacker, though, and the gallagher recruiters are hoping that with some ‘ambition’ he’ll want to work for the government someday. 

played baseball throughout middle and high school and he’s fairly athletic – he can get pretty competitive when he plays, it kind of brings out a side in him that most people don’t expect to see because he’s fairly chilled out most of the time 

a boss with a slingshot. there is no reason for this, but he had one as a kid and he used to chase squirrels away from the bird feeders outside their home. he has great eyesight and his aim is great, but it’s literally the only weapon he’s proficient in

he’s not tiktok famous for his face, but he has two tiktok famous songs...he’s made like 12k in record deals for selling the rights, it’s just the kind of shit that he does goofing around in music software and he has a good ear for what is going to be catchy

he’s NOT a morning person, definitely a late night kind of guy, will stay up until all hours just fucking around on the computer and then he’ll sleep until 1 or 2pm, at least. getting up for morning classes is a struggle for them and he has slept through them on occasion.

funky sweaters, crazy socks, fun-patterned shirts, he dresses a bit like a circus tent at times, but you can’t say that he doesn’t have style – he dresses well, but it’s like he’s stepped out of a 90s cartoon or something

if he makes u a playlist he either wants to be ur friend so fucking bad or he’s head over heels in love with u

really likes making new things with old technology, he loves taking the macguyver courses and learning new things and he’s actually built his own computer and a lot of his own musical instruments 

usually has a couple bandaids because he’s a bit accident prone or can lose his focus when working in the lab. when he gets in his own head while working on a project, he literally cannot hear anything else – sort of selective hearing

likes fucking around with spray paint, if he can, he’s got a bit of an artistic streak and he doodles stickers on sticker paper sometimes. you can probably catch his tag around campus or even stuck to the latops of his close friends, it’s just a little man with a tv for a head. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

HACKING JOBS – if you STILL need a hacker for any of your wild backstory connections, jem is a great bet. he’s been doing paid jobs for people professionally since he could type, and he’s sort of an ace at getting in and out without leaving a trace...and he’s no gossip. so, your secrets would be safe with him. 

SMOKING BUDDIES – people that he can smoke up with, talk about life, talk about the bullshit of gallagher, but also people he can laugh with that don’t make him feel stressed or concerned about the future. 

MUSIC MAKING BUDDIES – if your character makes music, maybe they can collaborate on something...we’re about to drop the hottest mixtape of all time right here at gallagher academy i will teach myself garageband for this shit...jk but maybe

EX ON BAD TERMS – someone he dated last year...i’m imagining it was their first year and things were really great for the first semester, but shit fell apart second semester along with the school. maybe all the drama on campus caused distance, maybe he wasn’t there for them when they needed it, or maybe they got jealous of the way he always prioritizes noah ? a combination of things, we can hash out the details since i know some of you had some pretty angsty things going on second sem, and maybe it’s awkward now because it feels like there’s unfinished biz. 

EX ON GOOD TERMS / LOVERS TO FRIENDS – maybe someone that was a rebound and things didn’t really work and they saw that, maybe he wasn’t over his ex or whatever but they were able to stay friends ? it’s up to you how your muse feels about it but i want an ex that jem also has no hard feels about and actually is maybe sort of protective of them and cares a lot about them finding happiness, they bonded hardcore. 

EX-FLING – idk maybe they were hooking up for a while and then one of them started seeing someone else or one of them caught feels so they don’t hook up any more but it was super fun when they did !! also down for it to have been like a summer fling and once the summer ended. 

BROS – idk i would like for him to have a squad or something for him to just fuck around with <3 but it’s wholesome and they respect women

ONLINE FRIEND (ANONYMOUS) – he spent a lot of time on forums online and stuff so i’d love for him to have an online friend !! maybe cute if they just know each other by their screen names rn and we can do a bunch of text chats and maybe they both know they go to gallagher but they simply. haven’t met idk

ONLINE FRIENDS – also friends he met online that aren’t anonymous they could’ve met through any number of forums but probably have similar interests like music or hacking so they’re long time homies , someone he’s known almost as long as noah

ONE NIGHT STAND – self explanatory. maybe they’re super good friends and now it’s kind of awkward now and they want to get back to a place of normalcy but it’s simply not normal, maybe they fucked things up by breakin the tension on like. halloween or some shit. 

FRIENDZONED – someone jem accidentally friendzoned and maybe he doesn’t even realize it himself but they had a thing for him and he really just didn’t realize it bc he can’t tell unless you spell it out for him.

CLASS RIVALS – someone who tries really hard and cares about class a bunch vs. jem who doesn’t give a fuck but he keeps making the grade without really trying, so they’re ? bitter about it ? and so the two really do not hit it off because of that and they go back and forth , i just rly want a classroom rivalry. maybe even this rivalry and them nagging him actually motivates to try in the class just to piss them off 

 ENEMY – this person shared a secret with jem and then it somehow got out on the gossip blog idk ! they think jem told and now they hate him. 

anything pls let’s chat !

[lovequinn]

march 3rd

i see a lot of people on my dash and in the tag writing about how they felt when it happened, and how they’ve felt since. i thought i’d do the same. it could be cathartic. but i’m not entirely sure where to start.

i was a senior in high school when season three was airing. i remember being stressed from sats and college applications and projects and i remember sitting through my classes every day, counting down the hours until thursday nights when i could watch the 100. it was the main thing i looked forward to every week. i remember sitting in my video production class every friday morning, squealing about the latest episode to my best friend and recounting it to her because she never got to watch it until the next day.

i remember the day 3x07 happened. i remember that we had deduced from all the leaks and hints that it was the episode where clarke and lexa finally got together. i remember bouncing up and down all damn day in excitement, i remember barely being able to get through my lacrosse practice because i was so impatient and wanted to get home. i remember racing through my dinner. i remember turning on the tv. i remember setting up my camera for a reaction video because oh boy, i was probably gonna FREAK OUT when they had sex. and i remember thinking how lucky i was to have a show that made me as happy as this one did.

there’s a video way back in my archive on this blog of my reaction to lexa’s death. i watched it today, and it felt like taking a knife to the chest all over again. because i’ve never seen myself like that before. i was inconsolable. it was like every bit of strength i had built up was ripped away from me all at once. i went to school the next morning and i was despondent. my best friend asked me in class, as per usual, how the episode was. i burst into tears. she didn’t get it. no one really got it.

like most of you guys, i used the sadness to fuel my anger. i plastered our student lounge in “lgbt fans deserve better” flyers. i donated to the trevor project fundraiser. i tweeted companies to stop advertising during the 100. i posted essay after essay about how jason rothenberg was a garbage human (he was and still is).

in my senior yearbook, right under my picture, is the quote “life is about more than just surviving. - leksa kom trikru.” on the wooden table in the stage manager’s booth at my high school’s theater, the words “lexa deserved better” are carved into the leg. there’s a sticker on the back of my laptop that features lexa and says “we deserve better.”

i tried to put a bandaid on my heart the best way i could. to this day, i still don’t think it’s worked.

it wasn’t just that i lost my favorite fictional character that night. it was that lexa’s death completely changed me as a person. i can’t enjoy any piece of media without being deathly afraid that i’m going to end up feeling the way i did in march of 2016. i have to be wary, i have to be critical, and i can’t trust. i have to never let myself believe that i’m going to see a lesbian have a happy ending. because when you let yourself believe, you just get the rug pulled out from under you. i don’t think i’ve really loved something the way i loved clexa since it happened. i don’t think i’ve been able to let myself.

i don’t want to get in to the whole thing with jason and twitter and shawna benson and the lesbian fan forums, because that’s not what this post is about. but that’s also a big reason i now have trust issues. and i wonder sometimes if they ever regret the abhorrent things they did. i doubt they do.

i thought that after three years, it would be better. i sent a few memes about it to my friends last night and this morning. i thought the wound was healing. but on my way home from work, i was listening to one of jamie brown’s clexa songs. and it was like a visceral reaction. i burst into loud, uncontrollable sobs. because the pain and the sadness and the despair never really went away, even if i manage to bury it down for most of the year. this day still hurts. it hurts so fucking much. maybe it always will. it was so much worse than it seems to the people who just weren’t there to experience it.

i don’t know if any of this made sense. i just needed to get it all out. reshop, heda. may we meet again.

[edits4thosestuckathome]

Oh wow! That’s practically perfect! I just want to ask to adjust a couple of small things:

- it’s my own fault about not explaining the Peter Pan collar. Think of those vintage cottagecore dresses. It’s kinda hard to describe admittedly…

- this was also something that slipped my mind, but could you make Mituna smile? I think he had a fang stick out from each side of his mouth. And add colorful stickers and bandages across his face and arms! He always had so many stickers and silly band-aids.

- ah, little detail. My horns were basically ram horns, they just curled weirdly (less round more triangular and they went more up than out?), and I was associated with Foxes hence why I said they look Fox-Like

That’s about everything, sorry for making you do more work about it! But I love this edit so much!!!

~ 🍡 anonny

hey! sorry about the mistakes. i just fixed them up for ya. sorry about there not being many stickers, since i wasn’t sure what to add, but there’s plenty of bandaids. if i missed anything or messed something up, don’t hesitate to ask. :]

[honeyandraisins]

wolf & goblin - chapter one

the engine of their beat up 1986 check pickup truck rolled toward the mountains. the sounds of rock dinks against the truck doors and small bumps filled as ambient noise to Wolf and Goblin's drive.

Goblin nodding in and out of sleep, head vibrating on the crest between the window and the door. while Wolf counted the white dots in the sky, as he practiced how he would introduce himself when they finally arrive.

Goblin suddenly woke and immediately tried to bite the white dots as though they were right in front of us. Wolf never had the heart to tell him that they were beyond our plain of touch.

looking forward, at nothing in particular, Wolf said, "I am a star." gurgled spit and all, Goblin replied, "but, in what way?"

a pause, farthest from awkward, fell over them both and the humming of the engine left room for thought. "not in that way." Wolf said as his chubby bandaid ridden fingers pointed to the sky beyond the front windshield. "more like that" he continued, as his hand went rom the sky to the floor of the truck.

minutes passed until Goblin's blurred eyes and distracted attention focused in on the gold sticker that has crusted into the original, hadn't been washed since 1988, carpet right below his green paws. Goblin dropped his tongue down to the floor and slurped the sticker up, swallowed it whole, and smiled at Wolf. Wolf laughed. "It's weird how much you love me bro, we gotta work on boundaries."

Wolf grabbed Goblin's head and patted him back into sleep as the truck rolled and buzzed into the night engorged mountains.