#(So far its cover songs I think but linking for anyone who wants to listen!!)

[fuckyeahkagepro]

Jin singing with + introducing to us "younger brother" "tet."!

{The title}: "弟と歌とギター"

#fyeahkagepro posts #fyeahkagepro ref #fyeahkagepro refs #fyeahkagepro jin refs #fyeahkagepro jin #jin refs #jin and tet. #tet. #jin and tet #jins younger brother #jin: 2k23 #(I missed part of this bUT !! !! !) #(So far its cover songs I think but linking for anyone who wants to listen!!) #(PLS LISTEN + SUPPORT AT THE STREAM) #(THIS IS SO COOL IM SO HAPPY FOR BOTH ITS AWESOME) #(EDIT: OK I think its done now it was still going when I saw and Im not sure Kgpr got in but its still awesome and fun to listen!!!) #(Keeping linked here for anyone who wants to listen + pls give Jin and him {“tet.”} Likes at the stream!!!) #(I knew Jin was joking about this last night but I didn't expect an actual stream...!)

[murderofsomeone]

What's up Mos, its me, creature, back with another interview, this time its lemon related

What music (genres and/or specific artists) do the characters like?

Does anyone in funkytown have unique clothing/jewelry?

Who is Garrett talking to in hip hop cherry pop?

What song have you had the most fun coming up with a story for?

What was the first song you came up with a story for?

What song has been the hardest to fit into the storyline?

What arc has been the most enjoyable to write so far?

What are some LD songs you want more people to listen to?

What items are baby lem not trusted with?

What are some items unique to funkytown?

If you could physically eat lemon demon songs what ones would you eat and why?

ironically a large amount of the cast don't really listen to music/have strong opinions on it, LD himself is one of the few denizens to have specific tastes (TMBG, Oingo Boingo, Talking Heads, Faith No More, DEVO, etc etc you know the pipeline). another character with defined music taste is indie cindy who likes lo-fi (obviously), hyper pop, and other scenecore genes.

funkytown is in a constant state of returning to a lack of identity, so as of right now most culture is just taken from human culture, but it definitely gets more abstract the longer something doesn't get interfered with.

zordechai the magnificent (wizard from the view-monster promo) has a side gig on running an ice cream shop, which is loosely based on the film. garrett is aware of zordechai's true identity during the song, hence why he's there to begin with.

lifetime achievement award and completely because the animation in my head is killer.

mold en mono is the reason the ncu exists beyond a simple concept. it was the first time I stylized Neil as he is now, drew the office fruits, "baby" lemon, and lucifer (who fun fact did not used to be a fruit object head, he was a demon in similar appearance as diablo).

I definitely end up having the most issues with bonus tracks (I don't think I used hardly any from damn skippy besides the instrumentals), but those are kinda an outlier since they aren't my focus to begin with. ones I particularly struggle(d) with are: chu chu rocket (got removed entirely since it's a cover), movie night, fire motif, hazel's modus operandi, bill watterson, consumer whore, between you and me, flamingo legs, everybody loves raymond, goosebumps (entirely because I don't read goosebumps), and ancient aliens (it's on its 3rd or 4th rewrite). this does NOT mean I don't like the songs it's just hard to write for them.

dinosaurchestra was complete smooth sailing and honestly my favorite arc, it's a nice change of pace from how serious things become and have been.

oh boy oh boy, listen to these: toy food, bottom line, funkytown (obviously), mold en mono (obviously), matches and nails, pineapple, behold the future, the machine with live backing, creepy, I know your name (crappy 4 track version), and happiest shit ever (some of the links might be broken/link to the wrong somgs my apollo cheese

lemon demon is actually a horrible influence and does not care if he carries any sharp objects, in fact he encourages it. baby lemon is smart enough to not do something stupid but that doesn't make him immune to getting grounded. I think the car keys and anyone else's phone is what he's banned from having access to, but this will not stop him

like I mentioned before, funkytown has an inherent lack of it's own culture, so any unique items would probably be the god relics like the magic 8 ball and spirit phone.

the machine because mmmm sheet metal

#that took awhile to write oops #long post #letterbox to hell mos #lemon demon #something something ncu

[lookalivesunshine2007]

playlist explanation as requested by @r-capa !! 100% this is the most effort i’ve put into a playlist ever and i think it turned out so well. i hope anyone who gives it a listen enjoys it as much as i do. i’ll link the playlist again so people who see this post first wont have trouble finding it. its also decently late for me so sorry about any grammatical errors lmao :)

Starman (David Bowie) honestly this is really just a vibe establishing song that fits better with events that take place pre-movie, but i can't bring myself to get rid of it lol. feel free to skip this one (depending on when you see this it might not even be on the playlist)

Starlight (Muse) the “real” start of the playlist and the initial “we’re in space on a mission wow this is so cool”

Muse’s vibes in general are super space-y i feel. A nice little “before everything went wrong” song. it’s a super upbeat song with rad space vibes, plus lyrics like;

“far away, this ship is taking me far away”

“i will be chasing starlight until the end of my life”

Violet Hill (Coldplay) is Capa reminiscing about earth while sending his message to his loved ones, as well as the rest of the crew doing the same. (Capa specifically because he’s the only one we visually see do it). It’s also partially fitting to be about the crew’s dedication to completing their mission and the state of earth as they left it. Some lyrics that really stood out to me in this song were;

“Was a cold and dark december, from the rooftops I remember there was snow, white snow” among other lines about freezing and winter.

“I don't want to be a soldier who the captain of some sinking ship would stow far below '', basically the crew just refusing to sit around doing nothing while the earth freezes.

The “love” mentioned throughout could fit the crew’s love for earth displayed by their willingness to be a part of the Icarus II mission.

Hysteria (Muse) is when Harvey discovers the emergency beacon from the Icarus I, and they decide to change their course. It also goes into the shield repair scene, and Kaneda’s death. No particular lyrics (besides maybe the chorus very loosely) stick out for me but the overall message and vibe of the song fit so well with these scenes for me. I imagine the solo/bridge of this song is where Kaneda dies. The rest follows not ridgid/particular events.

Icarus (Bastille) Mace, Capa, Searle, and Harvey have just boarded the Icarus I. This song basically covers their entire time aboard the Icarus I. A ton of the lyrics fit so well in my opinion, especially when applied to Capa specifically. This song also covers the four aboard the Icarus I deciding that Capa is the most important, and Capa, Mace, and Harvey crossing the gap between the two ships to get back to the Icarus II. I find the bridge is best for the little quiet moment where they are preparing to take the leap between the ships. I’ll quote the chorus here so you can really get the vibes.

“Icarus is flying to close to the sun and Icarus’s life it has only just begun. This is how it feels to take a fall. Icarus is flying towards an early grave.” SO GOOD. These can be applied to the crew as a whole, as well as explicitly to Capa.

Viva La Vida (Coldplay) With only half the crew left, and the discussion and discovery of the Trey incident, the crew is basically just waiting for their death now. This song is representative of everyone still alive essentially making peace with their fates now that they are aware they don't have enough oxygen to make it home.

Psycho Killer (Talking Heads) PINBACKER. I feel like there's very little explanation needed for this one but i’ll get into it anyway because i LOVE this song. The song is quite literally about a serial killer. The scenes I think fit well with this song are basically just the ones with Pinbacker making his way through the crew LOL.

“I can’t sleep cause my beds on fire” OKAY SUNBURN MAN.

“we are vain and we are blind” fits so well with his views of fundamentalism.

The line “je me lance vers la glorie” translates to (roughly) “I launch myself towards glory” which again, brings us to his fundamentalism characterization and the “holy” mission he talks about throughout.

Apocalypse Please (Muse) The lyrics. OH MAN. It so perfectly encapsulates the final part of the movie, where Capa basically blows the Icarus II and its airlock open and makes his way to the payload, fighting Pinbacker and setting off his bomb. The last minute sounds “sparkly” if that makes sense, which I feel is PERFECT for when Capa does set off the bomb and we see it start to go off, sparkles and all. These are some of my favorite lyrics that relate to these scenes;

“Declare this an emergency. come on and spread a sense of urgency and pull us through. And this is the end, this is the end of the world”

“come on it's time for something biblical”

“proclaim eternal victory come on and change the course of history”

My Way (Frank Sinatra) This whole thing is basically Capa as he “meets” the sun. It's a kind of recounting of the events that led up to this place while time is slowed down. I like the upbeat and triumphant but overall melancholy feel of the song and it just makes it fit super well here.

“and now the end is near and so i face the final curtain” and honestly most of the lyrics. This is just a really versatile song that’s great for cinematic type playlists in general.

Capa Meets The Sun (Underworld) a song from the movie’s soundtrack that serves as a moment for everything to really sink in, and an extra moment before you go on with your day. I loved that this ends with the message Capa sent to his loved ones, and it's a perfect way to end the playlist. I wanted to put the main theme (Adagio in D minor) as the final song, but I felt this one fit the intended purpose better :)

#robert capa #sunshine 2007 #capa #danny boyle’s sunshine #cillian murphy #spotify #theres so much muse on this playlist #playlist #sunshine playlist #playlist guide

[kirafanxx69420]

i need to get this off my chest its been in me for too long

i think deco 27 songs ever since vampire and onwards don't really hit at all excluding salamander, deco really peaked there it was a very nice song

i just finished listening to his latest song, rabbit hole and compared to zombies or journey it's definitely better but it feels kinda idk maybe im just missing his less upbeat style (that's definitely the case) because all these songs feel lukewarm to me at best and i feel like the lukewarm thing can apply to many more

i also think when voca-p's make songs for the sake of prsk it never goes right because they release it in vocaloid with human singing in mind and i was never really a fan of the prsk covers, im sure there are some good ones but so far overall its a very hit or miss thing with most going miss

because i think in most cases vocaloid songs are sang through vocaloid for a reason and it has to be made with vocaloid in mind and majority songs made for prsk felt mid (cosmospice didn't do anything for me despite my overflowing love for Pinocchio-p)

this is a section to commend becoming potatoes YEAH NERU!!!! NERU!!!! NEVER MISSES!!!! neru is so good

i know im sounding like a huge pissed off vocaloid "i think im better than you prsk lovers, i play project diva im a real one" person but dont get me wrong i love how vocaloid is getting a revival through prsk and the new genre/style of vocaloid is booming and i have a profound respect for people who play prsk and are good at it, i can clear up til 9.5 ex/exex songs on project diva all i want but i somehow cant do shit on proseka and watching gameplay is always amazing

i do admit they bang and i like the people who are discovering or even rediscovering vocaloid due to the resurge and i do admit some human covers of vocaloid originals do them justice (ahem miyuu ahem) this is just a very in general observation

im pretty much navigating through multiple topics but another thing im gonna add is nowadays i personally dont see heavy story telling based songs a lot i might be shit at finding them so if anyone sees this and think i am so wrong please prove me wrong with those sweet sweet YouTube/nico nico links but anyways things like the evillious chronicles hell not even that much even things like what hitoshizuku x yama does or the shama series

i also kinda miss how the artists draw the vocaloids themselves for the characters in the story or songs just outright about vocaloids interacting with other vocaloids like a little slice of life but i dont really want to complain too much because seeing individual and iconic designs for songs is also nice

i think thats all, my head stores a lot of thoughts towards vocaloid wait til you see me talking about MEIKO and her tuning and how i grieve for her everyday because I've found so many songs that sound nice but the way people tune her breaks the song but in the cases where she it tuned skilfully i drop down to my knees in amazement and i will stop there because i know i might spiral into this whole separate thing

so yeah i might be a hater at times,i can spend a whole 24 hours shittalking corn (I'll get on that some day) but you know what I'm not a hater of?

schoolmizzy, more people need to know their songs oh my god just amazing shit right there simplistic yeah but good stuff and only 1.6k subscribers im fucking crying man

#xuil rambles #vocaloid #deco27 #deco*27 #im sorry #when i have feelings i need to say it #pinocchio p #neru #prove me wrong (i want to be proved wrong i want to love vocaloid unconditionally again but i developed a certain standard) #prsk #project sekai

[wonjaekook]

Residual Starshine

Pairing:  Soccer player!Yuta x fem!reader

Description: You’ve experienced plenty of irritations in your life. For better or for worse, none of them are quite like Nakamoto Yuta.

Word Count: 19.3k

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers ; fluff, smut, touch of angst

Warnings: my first published full blown smut scene (only one towards the end, nothing crazy), sexual references?, swearing, mentions of alcohol

A/N: Mingyu appears as a somewhat bad character in this, but I absolutely don’t think of him that way. As always, this is entirely fictional. If you want one song to vibe to while reading this, I was listening to Everybody Talks by Neon Trees a lot :-) this is the longest fic I’ve ever written and the first one containing smut that I’ve ever published, so please let me know what you thought!

Taglist: @junglewoos​ @insomni-writing​ @neowritingsnet​

This is my contribution to @/leesmrk’s sports collab, but she deactivated (Dee I miss you) so @lucas-wongs​ has compiled the masterlist in her stead! The link to the master post with all other submissions is in my masterlist.

You didn’t expect to be spending your first morning before classes with your face smashed into your pillow, pressing the cotton over your ears. Yesterday morning had been perfectly lovely - you slept a solid eight hours and you only awoke to the beautiful morning sunshine greeting you through your blinds.  All things considered, it was a very natural wake-up. However, the loud J-rock blaring through the floor from the apartment below you is the exact opposite of natural. Perhaps the music isn’t as loud as you perceive it to be, but you happen to take things quite personally when you’re woken up an hour early.

Except, you don’t take it personally enough that you force your body out of bed. Instead, you allow yourself to let out a loud groan of annoyance before you pull your covers over your head. Thankfully, the music shuts off about five minutes later and you drift back off to sleep.

When you awaken again an hour later, the sunlight coming into your room doesn’t seem nearly as friendly as it did yesterday. Still, this time you do force yourself to get up. You go through your usual routine - bathroom, change into your running clothes, and stretch. You hear no sounds of any stirring from your roommates as you get ready. It’s somewhat of a relief to have the apartment to yourself in the morning. You put your headphones in and step out of the apartment, trying to get yourself in the zone with your workout playlist while also doing a quick look around to see if anyone is out. One set of stairs and you’re at the door leading out of the small complex - a building with four apartments, two on the first floor and two on the second floor. Outside on the step leading to the sidewalk and there’s still no one around. Without a second of hesitation more, you’re off at a light jog. Half of the apartments in this area of your campus are dedicated to student athletes and there’s nothing you dread more than running, quite literally, into someone who’s by far your superior at this activity and who would judge you. As you run, the thought of your lower neighbor comes to you. You wake up early to go run - but they woke up earlier. At that thought, a frown subconsciously makes its way to your face. Shooting a quick prayer to the heavens that you don’t run into anyone, you continue on.

Though you hadn’t started running until this summer, you know your campus well enough in the years you’ve been here to find a nice path. That also means that, when you see pairs of runners ahead of you, you can make unexpected turns to avoid passing them. At one point, you veer out of the way of a pack of people who you assume is the running club. About forty five minutes later, you’re sweaty and more physically exhausted than when you had left, but the energy thrumming in your veins leaves you with a deep sense of satisfaction. You had successfully avoided every person you had come across on your run and-

You nearly open the door of your complex into one of your neighbors. Acting on reflex, you step back and dip your head, avoiding looking at him. “Oh, sorry.”

“That’s alright.” His voice is a smooth rumble and you look up, briefly forgetting about your sweaty and near-unpresentable state. He looks freshly showered, his skin smooth and just slightly sunkissed. Based on his physique, you would have guessed that he’s a student athlete, but his hair seems a little too long to match the stereotype. It’s a bit of a mane, a dark mop sitting atop the throne of his handsome face, and you think it suits him. As your eyes drift from his hair to his eyes to his nose and finally to his mouth, which has been set into the crooked angle of a smirk, it dawns on you that you’re checking him out very openly. Your face, already warm from exercise, turns blazing hot. After all of the hard work you went through to avoid embarrassing yourself this morning… “You’re cute, too, don’t worry.”

Several very intrusive thoughts come to you at once. By his very specific phrasing, he thinks you’re attractive. He also knows he’s attractive. The warmth of the complement fades to indignation at his cockiness. You press your mouth into a thin line and lower your head again, not making eye contact with him as you slip past him through the door. You’re not sure if his gaze follows you as you march back up the stairs to your apartment.

“One of our neighbors is a total ass!”

One of your roommates, Sowon, is lounging on your sofa as you sit at the small table in your shared living room, grinding the pen in your hand into your planner in frustration. It’s well into the afternoon now, the sun casting lines of shadows through your blinds, and you’re still hung up on what happened earlier. Sowon is also perfectly aware that you’re exaggerating, but she encourages you to continue. “The soccer neighbors or the volleyball neighbors?”

“Of course it’s one of the soccer neighbors! The volleyball neighbors would never do this to me.” You huff, eying the nearly empty container of cookies on the table.

“You’re aware that Johnny just brought those over so he had an excuse to hit on Yein, right?” Sowon releases a strand of hair that she had just idly wrapped around a finger, watching it twirl in the air. Your second roommate only sighs at the mention of her name, but doesn’t deny it.

“And Doyoung was the one who actually made them. So, by association, I am entitled to an equal share of cookies.” You consider Doyoung a friend - you shared a chemistry class with him once and he seemed to tolerate your presence, even enjoy it at times. He even sends you the occasional text still. “That doesn’t mean Yein isn’t going to be the one to give the container back, though.”

Yein frowns and opens her mouth but Sowon raises a finger to stop her. “Y/N is correct.”

With a shake of her head, Yein turns her attention back to you. “You were talking about the soccer neighbor?”

After you explain the situation as truthfully and dramatically as possible to them, they look at each other once before looking back at you. Sowon speaks first. “He’s definitely flirting.”

“Or he’s just like that naturally.” Yein counters. “Who flirts at eight in the morning?”

“You’d be surprised.” After you say that, her words sink in. You ran into him at eight in the morning, when he was looking refreshed. He’s a member of the soccer team, meaning he probably exercises in the morning. He also has pretty stereotypical rocker hair. “Holy shit, he’s the asshole who was blasting J-rock through the floor this morning!”

“Okay, never mind. He is a jerk.” Sowon wrinkles her nose.

“Was it at least good J-rock?” Yein prods.

You shrug. “It was alright, I guess. But that’s besides the point!” You slam your planner closed. “I’m giving him a piece of my mind the next time I see him.”

For several days, as classes start, you still get in your morning run and, each day, without fail, you’re woken up by the boy’s J-rock about an hour early. You fail to catch him at any time of the day until, finally, you’re on your way out of the apartment one morning. As you pull open the door, you nearly ram into him once again, though the situation is reversed. He’s the one who’s sweaty and warm, headphones firmly in his ears. That changes as he smirks, popping them out at the sight of you in the door. “So, we meet again.”

“Uh-huh.” You take the position of a displeased mother about to lecture a child, your arms crossed over your chest as you block the door. “You know, I have words for you.”

“Wow, already? People usually don’t have words for me until at least the third time we’ve met. Well, at least not more than a few choice ones like-”

You cut him off before he can inflate his own ego more. “Stop playing music so loud at six in the morning.”

He tilts his head like he’s confused, but the way his lips are quirked up tells you that he knows exactly what you’re talking about. “Baseless accusations. Maybe you should take this up with Jaehyun or Kun. I would never do such a thing.”

“Come on. I know it’s you.” The look you give him is entirely unamused, so he relents slightly, the smile falling from his face.

“What are you gonna do, report me to housing?” Before you can reply that, yes, that’s exactly what you’ll do, he continues. “I’ll tell them about the parties you and your roommates have. I’m sure they’d love coming out here at 3 AM one day just to tell you to keep it down. Almost as much as they’d love to come to my door at 6 to do the same.”

He starts walking towards the door and you turn your body inward, allowing him passage while silently fuming. “You-”

“My name is Nakamoto Yuta. You can say that if you need something to scream.” He gifts you a sly wink as he unlocks his door and lets himself in, leaving you so bewildered that you can’t think of a response at all.

“Stop messing with the soccer boys.” Sowon immediately reprimands you after you recount what happened. “You know the school will punish us before they punish them.”

“Yeah, and if this is your way of flirting, you need to think of something better.” Yein adds from the connected kitchen, tossing the stir-fry in her pan. “I’m not risking getting kicked out because you decided to mess with the soccer team’s star player.”

“To be fair, I don’t think he was really upset about the interaction. He seemed amused by my reaction.” You slump down, your forehead resting on the table. “And I didn’t know who he was until he said his name.”

“Well, he doesn’t know who you are-”

“And I don’t want him to.” You cut off Sowon. “I’ll just… deal with it.”

You get one more peaceful morning of running alone before, two days after you had first talked to him, Nakamoto Yuta comes jogging up to you. You don’t hear him at first. Music blares in your earbuds, drowning out most of the background noise of the morning, and your heartbeat in your ears fills out the parts of your internal sound profile that your music doesn’t quite reach. He comes up behind you, nearly making you jump out of your skin when you see the figure of another person jogging in your peripherals. Your pace falters, but you immediately try to right yourself and regain momentum, praying he’ll just pass by you without saying anything. Except he doesn’t leave. With an internal sigh, you turn your head towards him. He offers you a grin and air-taps over his ear. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you pull out your headphones. “What?”

“Great morning, isn’t it?”

You contemplate shutting your eyes so that you can purposefully trip and eject yourself from this conversation. “I guess.”

“It’s soccer season. You know that, right?” You narrow your eyes at him, but nod. “Our first game is coming up soon.” You don’t like where this is going. “You should come.” “You must be hard-pressed for attendees to be randomly asking your neighbor to come to your game.” You reach for your earbuds again.

“Hold on, hold on.” You pause, then immediately wonder why you’re even giving him the time of day. Still, you relent for a moment. “If you come to the game this Saturday, I’ll stop playing music so loud when I wake up.”

“If you were a kind and courteous neighbor, you would just do that without having to threaten me to go to one of your games. And,” you state flatly, “I’ve already been to enough soccer games for the rest of my life, thank you very much.”

As you jog away, he doesn’t try to stop you again, but you could swear that he seems the slightest bit disappointed.

The next morning is more of the same as usual. The same loud J-rock that wakes you up an hour early, your same run, your same shower and breakfast and classes. You consider shifting your sleep schedule so that you wake up at the same time as Yuta, though you dismiss the idea because why should you change your lifestyle to adjust for his? You’d rather suffer the early wakeup.

Except, two days after he asks you to come to one of his games, the music stops. That first morning, you wake up at your usual time. You’re prepared to be upset at Yuta waking you early again, but when your foggy morning brain processes that you had woken up to your own alarm and not his music, you lie there confused. When you go out for your run not long after, you almost hope that you’ll run into him. There’s no way he’s just being nice is there? He has to be sick or something. To your disappointment, you don't run into him and you’re just stuck in your confusion. This goes on for three more days and each day you become more perplexed.

As you’re returning to your apartment after your classes that Friday, someone holds the door for you as you approach. “Thanks-” you start, then see who’s holding it for you. “-oh! Jaehyun!”

“Hey, uh, Y/N, right?” You smile at him, nodding firmly. You’re almost surprised that he remembers your name because you’d only chatted once before, back when you were moving in. He’s perfectly polite, almost shy-seeming, and completely different from his roommate. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m just getting back from classes.” Thinking of his roommate… “I was actually wondering, um…” He gives you a confused look, waiting for you to continue. “Is Yuta doing okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Why?” Jaehyun hadn’t been aware that you were at all acquainted with his roommate.

You appear equally as confused as he does. “Oh, I… never mind. If you don’t mind me asking, where’s your next game?”

He brightens up at that. “It’s a home game. Tomorrow at six, don’t miss it!”

You return his smile. “Great, thanks, Jaehyun! I’ll see you around?” He sends you off with a wave before you go your separate ways, entering your respective apartments.

Should you actually go to his game? You don’t owe him anything, you never agreed to his deal, but he did stop playing his music so loud. You’re not really doing anything on Saturday either… maybe you’ll bug Sowon and Yein so that they’ll come with you.

That evening, the apartment below yours is particularly busy. All of the soccer boys are home - Yuta, Jaehyun, Kun - and the volleyball and art boys are also over - Johnny, Doyoung, Jungwoo, Taeyong, Ten, and Sicheng. After all, as Johnny says, Friday nights are for the boys. Conversation flows from school to girls to boys to soccer, upon which Jaehyun shares a very interesting observation with his friends.

“By the way, it seems like you have another admirer, Yuta.” Jaehyun says as he takes a swig of his soju, recently acquired from the nearby Korean market and grossly overpriced.

“Sure,” Yuta responds, rolling his eyes, “who would that be?”

“You know that girl from upstairs? Y/N? She asked about you today and then asked me about our next game.”

“We haven’t even had our first game and you’re already collecting fangirls? Come on, Yuta,” Kun chimes in this time, breaking away from his conversation with Sicheng about their shared organic chemistry class.

“That can’t be right,” Yuta says, leaning back into the couch, “L/N Y/N? I’m pretty sure she hates my guts. I tried to make a deal with her to get her to come to the game and she just brushed me off.”

Doyoung narrows his eyes at his friend. “Y/N doesn’t just hate people for no reason. What did you do?”

Yuta raises his hands defensively and half-glares at him. “I didn’t do anything! I was just being myself and she decided to hate me.”

“The star-player, cocky version of yourself or the normal version of yourself?” Doyoung says, looking entirely unamused.

Yuta thinks back to all of the encounters he’s had with you and cringes slightly. “Listen, she was the one who was checking me out first-”

“Stupid.” Doyoung shakes his head before taking a sip of the water he’s drinking. “Some people take well to forwardness, but not her.”

“Are you sure? Because if she’s asked after me, I think that means she likes it.”

“I am going to spike a ball into your head, you-”

“Guys, calm down,” Sicheng says with a rather flat tone. Instantly, the two bickering boys stop, resorting to glaring at each other. Jaehyun gently shoves his roommate to get his attention and the room quickly returns to normal. Later, Doyoung passes Yuta a new bottle once his has run out, so he knows that the younger was never truly angry at him. The small party doesn’t go long into the night - tomorrow’s the first game of the season, after all - and, surprisingly, there isn’t much noise from their upstairs neighbor either.

That is mostly thanks to you. You had convinced your two party-addicted friends to attend someone else’s get together instead of hosting their own, so you ushered them out of the house at around ten in the evening. You know that they’ll come back fine in a few hours, rumpled and with their makeup half sweated off, buzzing with alcohol and the blaring music of whatever houseparty they were invited to, but you still tell them that your phone will be off of silent in case they need anything. Previous semesters, you might have gone with them, but, now, you just want to sleep so you can wake up early and go on your usual run.

The morning comes with your sleep uninterrupted by your roommates. After you awaken, instead of lying in bed and contemplating life for a while, you drag yourself up and to their rooms, where you find each of them peacefully asleep in their beds. Yein bothered to change out of her party clothes and into pajamas while Sowon didn’t, her dress half off of her shoulder and bunched up under her butt. Both of them are snoring away, hugging pillows and blankets.

The relief of seeing your roommates in good condition adds a spring to your step. A few minutes later, after you’ve stretched on the floor of your bedroom, you’re halfway out the outside door of the complex when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You know who it is even before you turn around.

“Y/N,” Yuta says, grinning much too brightly for how early it is. He doesn’t seem like he’s been out yet, which is strange. “Good morning.”

“Is it?” You lift an eyebrow.

“Perfectly!” As he talks, you begin to move farther out the door. Down one step. Down two steps. On the sidewalk. “Do you want to run together?”

“Shouldn’t you be just coming back from doing that?” You pull out your phone.

He quickly matches his stride to yours. “I decided to start running an hour later on the weekends. You know, sleep in a bit since I have the time.”

“I’m happy for you.” You select a song and put one ear of your headphones in.

“Are you coming tonight?”

“Didn’t I already answer that?” In all honesty, you feel like you should be more irritated with him than you actually are. He’s at least amusing to talk to. Plus, he stopped waking you up an hour early without you even promising to come to his game.

“Yeah, but then you asked Jaehyun about it.”

You stop moving, turning to look at him. He has another one of those infuriating smirks on his face and all of your previous enjoyment flies out the window. “Maybe I’m a huge fan of his.”

“What position does he play?”

“I don’t have to answer that!” Now, your face is already warming and you haven’t even begun your exercise. You turn away from him again and begin to slowly jog. “Bye, Yuta.”

“He’s a midfielder! And I’m a forward! You can see today at the game!” He calls after you as you get farther away, his voice getting more distant. Part of you feels bad for your neighbors - the windows aren’t exactly soundproof. You just wave a hand back at him in dismissal. A minute later, you look behind you. To your great relief, and mild surprise, he isn’t following you. He went the complete opposite direction.

“Will you guys please come with me? I promise some of the guys on the team are hot.” You tug on Sowon’s sleeve like a child does to their mother when they want something.

“I thought you hated college soccer because of your brother.” She flips a page in her textbook, scribbling down something in her notes.

“I don’t think this one will be so bad. Our team is supposed to be really good this year, right?” You look hopefully at her.

“How am I supposed to know? How is anyone supposed to know? Today is their first game.” She stops attempting to study, looking at you. “Also, I’m messing around. I’ll go with you.”

You look at your other roommate, who is in the middle of the very exhaustive task of sitting on your sofa and scrolling through her phone. She gives you a thumbs up. “As long as I can put on face paint!”

A couple hours later, you find yourselves in the bleachers surrounding the soccer field. It’s a modest stadium, not a stadium at all but just a normal soccer field with bleachers on either side and some decently sized flood lights for night usage. Not too far away is a moderately sized building that is a shared locker room space for all of the school’s athletic teams. Your school never invested much of its funds into soccer until recently, largely thanks to Yuta and some of the other members who are in their third or fourth year playing who made a name for your university in the sport. You also suspect that they probably talked the ear off of the provost so that he finally agreed to give them more funding, but that’s just a personal guess.

From your place on the home side of the bleachers, you have total vision of the field. Both teams are running warm-up drills and it’s easy enough to spot the people you know: someone from your physics class named Mingyu, someone you remember from a party named Baekho, and your lower neighbors, Jaehyun, Kun, and, of course, Yuta. His hair is pulled back from his face in a small ponytail at the back of his head and a small version of your university’s lion mascot stands out proudly on his red jersey.

You purposefully make a point to look for him last, only to find that he’s completely focused. Though it’s just shooting drills, he seems like he’s entirely in the zone, his eyes sharp and calculated. From what you can tell. The physical distance between you isn’t huge, but you can’t read his expressions that well from this angle.

The sharp scream of a whistle being blown indicates that there’s five minutes until the start of the game. The teams both do a bit of last minute stretching as they gather around the coach, a man you recognize as a biology professor. Finally, just as the clock hits six, they squeeze closer together, arms slung over each others’ shoulders in a tight circle, and do some sort of indistinct chant that ends in something like “Go Lions!”

After they break away, you can see the shift in atmosphere. Everyone is completely serious. It’s the first game of the season and they aren’t going to destroy the reputation they’ve built up for the last three years. You watch as Jaehyun moves to his position as a midfielder, Kun moves to his position as defense, and Yuta lines up in the position of forward center. A coin flip gives the kick-off to the away team, a school with a hawk mascot. Everyone shifts slightly on their feet and, for a moment, the world seems to be silent. The crowd leans forward in their seats.

Then, the whistle is blown.

The game gets to a roaring start. From how cautiously the other team is playing, they seem to know the reputation of the Lions - a team that shot up out of nowhere and suddenly has one of the best forwards in college soccer. You find yourself grinning as the ball barely makes it past your team’s defensive midfielder Mingyu before it’s in the Lions’ metaphorical hands. Your midfielders carefully juggle the ball between them, passing and passing and passing, before it reaches Jaehyun at center midfield. He does his job quickly and efficiently, making it almost look easy, and the ball meets the half-tip. From there, the ball is stolen by one of the Hawks’ defense at a failed pass to the second striker, Baekho. The ball shoots all the way to midfield.

For a few tense minutes, you watch the players run back and forth across the field, their eyes never leaving the target. The game pauses every so often when the ball gets kicked out of bounds, but it always resumes with just as much vigor. About a quarter of the way through the game, Yuta finally has his breakthrough. Jaehyun lands a kick directly in his direction, giving him the perfect opportunity. The strike is clean and so fast that you would have missed it if your eyes weren’t glued to the movements of the ball. All of the people on your side of the bleachers launch to their feet in roaring cheers as the ball sails past the opponent goalie’s right side and into the net. You’re standing alongside everyone else, your hands cupped around your mouth as you yell in excitement. It’s not often that you see such a well done shot from a college team.

The boil of the crowd’s blood dies down a bit as the game continues, but soars back up whenever something particularly exciting happens. In the third quarter, the Hawks manage to land a goal on your team, but Yuta comes in clutch a few minutes later and scores two easy goals almost one after the other. The final score is deeply satisfying at 3:1.

The opposing team try to be good sports about it, but they’re obviously sulking when they shake your team’s hands. After they break away, they’re all gloriously sweaty, which you’re sure Sowon is excited about. Some of the spectators immediately rush out of the stands and make their way down, friends and significant others of the players, you presume. Part of you wants to go down there and be a part of the excitement. Luckily enough, a distraction comes in the form of some of your other neighbors before you’re forced to make any decisions.

“Hey, Yein, Sowon, Y/N!”

When you turn, you see Johnny and Doyoung approaching. Yein stiffens slightly and you nearly start laughing at your friend’s embarrassed behavior. Sowon greets them first. “Hi, guys.”

“I didn’t know you guys were into soccer?” Johnny asks, his eyes shifting easily from Sowon to you to Yein, where they remain.

“Not really! But Y/N wanted to go today.” In her nervousness, Yein easily exposes you.

“I wasn’t the only one who wanted to go,” you huff, crossing your arms. Doyoung and Johnny exchange a look that makes you want to change the subject. “I guess you guys are here to support some friends?”

“Yup, Yuta, Kun, and Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, looking towards the field, where some of their other friends are already gathered around the star player. “They played really well. It’ll be a good season.”

“I hope so,” Sowon says, also watching.

“Well, we don’t want to keep you guys from them,” you say, wanting to eject yourself from the conversation before it turns in a different direction. To your displeasure, Johnny is a master of knowing exactly what you don’t want and then doing it anyways. You’ve never really talked to him before, but it seems that he’s similar to Yuta in that way.

“Why don’t we all go say hi?” The tall boy says, grinning. “You guys can tell me how those cookies were, too.”

There is no escape. Now, as you follow them down the bleachers, you reflect Yein in a way. She no longer looks quite as nervous, eagerly chatting with Johnny, while you grow increasingly more fidgety. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to Yuta. You just don’t want to give in to whatever game the two of you silently decided you were playing.

Then again, it is much more fun to play along than it is to outright reject him. Plus, today’s actual game was good. You’ll give him that.

Trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, you join the small crowd surrounding Yuta. If you thought he glowed normally, he absolutely shines now. There’s something about him being in his element at the very top of his game that makes you forget your irritation with him for a moment. In that instant, he’s a star. In that instant, he reminds you of your brother. Then, he spots you and opens his mouth.

“Y/N!” As he calls out to you, the girl he was talking to before you arrived seems perturbed, but he ignores her, pushing his way closer to you. “You actually came.”

You turn your nose up at him slightly. “No one ever said it was for you.”

“Of course not. You and I both know the truth, though.” The wink is nowhere near subtle or sly and you scoff at him. He seems unbothered. “This was your first Lions game, right? Did you enjoy it?”

You nod hesitantly. “I heard you guys were good, but I didn’t know how good. You played a near perfect game.”

The self-satisfied smile drops from his face. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“What do you mean?” Tilting your head, you match his somewhat grim face.

“There’s always better plays to make, better places to have been. You know.” He quickly tries to play it off like he’s uninterested rather than deeply bothered. You’re not sure you know what the truth is. You haven’t talked to him nearly enough to know. This is the first hint of something serious that he’s shown you. It almost makes you want to talk to him more to find out.

“Dude, shut up, you’re good.” From the side, Johnny butts in, elbowing his friend. You’re glad for the interruption, as you once again didn’t know what to say. The mood raises, with some of Yuta’s friends reenacting the best parts of the game, joking about his long hair, betting on what next week’s game will look like. A few minutes later, the Lions’ coach shouts for all of the team members to go shower and get changed, so the crowd slowly disperses.

After you’re alone with your roommates, Sowon and Yein can’t help but give you playful shoves as you walk home. Sowon is the first to verbalize her amusement. “I thought you hated him?”

You grumble under your breath, not saying anything in particular.

“You played a near perfect game.” Yein mimics, making your face burn.

“I do not sound like that! Also, I know a good game when I see one and I know when to admit it!” You kick your shoe against the pavement as they giggle at you.

From then on, it seems like you run into Yuta far too often for your own good. Every few days, you bump into him when you’re either about to go run or when you’re coming back from running. When you go with Yein to return Johnny’s cookie container, Yuta is in his apartment, lounging on the sofa and chatting with Jungwoo, your third volleyball neighbor. Once, when you’re studying at the school library because you need a change of scenery from your apartment, he runs into you. That time, you snap at him.

“Are you stalking me or something?”

He places a hand over his heart, pretending to be offended.  “What do you mean? If anything you’re the one stalking me. I come here every Thursday after practice to study.” He huffs. “If you’re talking about when I was in Johnny’s apartment, I was already there before you even arrived. Unless you’re accusing me of being psychic, too.”

Your shoulders slowly lower at the guilt you feel. Cringing slightly, you raise your hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to imply…” You sigh. “Sorry. Can I buy you a coffee or something to apologize?”

Only after Yuta’s mock hurt shifts to a triumphant look do you realize the implications of your words. You’re really on a roll with implications today. He grins. “If you really want to.”

As you pack up your things, Yuta tells the few teammates he had come to study with that he’s going, and you walk out of the library side by side. Luckily, he actually makes for easy conversation and good company. You don’t know why he insists on the flirting and cockiness in your shorter interactions. As you walk to the campus coffee shop, you learn that he’s a studio art major. He learns that you’re a physical therapy major. You learn that he’s taking a statistics class that you had already previously taken - he put it off while you got it done in your first year - and, without thinking, you offer to help him if he needs it. After you order both of your coffees, finding out that he likes a lighter roast, you sit at a table in the shop with him. Silence comes and goes as both of you do some of the studying that you intended to do at the library. Every so often, he asks you a question. Usually, you answer him. You always return with a question of your own. You find out that his favorite of the bands that he used to blast through the floor is One Ok Rock.

“Sorry,” he finally says, appearing genuinely remorseful with the sheepish look on his face, “I didn’t have upstairs neighbors last year. I didn’t know you could hear it through the floor.”

“It’s fine. Sorry I snapped at you back then.”

It’s very strange to be on perfectly good terms with Nakamoto Yuta.

A few days later, when your brother sends you a ticket for the local professional soccer team, the Ravens, you almost feel like you should ask for a second so you can bring Yuta. Figuring it would be too much to ask, you plan to go by yourself, thankful that the game falls on a day the Lions aren’t playing. Plus, you can’t imagine what your roommates would say if you chose to go out of your way to take him with you.

You’ve taken to hanging out with the long-haired center forward, helping him with his math when he needs it and just… generally enjoying his company. That doesn’t mean you’re all sugar and smiles to him - it’s much more fun to mess around a little, make him think that you don’t like him quite as much as you actually do. The only thing you can think of that would personally offend him would be to say you’re going to one of his games and then failing to do so.

On the bus ride over to the stadium where the Ravens are playing, you’re thankful that you don’t recognize anyone from your school. You’re in the team’s colors, silver and forest green, and it would be clear to anyone where you’re going. Only after you get off of the bus do you realize just how many came to watch. The stadium is full, packed to almost capacity. That’s probably why your brother hadn’t gotten you tickets earlier - all of them were taken. He probably gave tickets to the earlier games to your parents. They would have thrown a fit if he had only invited you earlier, even if you are his favorite.

As you make your way to your seat, you remark on how strange it is to see your last name printed on the backs of the shirts of a bunch of strangers. The vibe of the crowd is completely different from that at your school’s field. While college students are excitable and energetic, these spectators are rabid. At any moment, there’s one hundred people yelling, someone trying to start a chant, someone screaming just for the sake of it. The air is buzzing with the anticipation of the crowd.

There’s a moment of sudden thick silence, like the moment before a dam is about to burst, where the crowd is silent. Then, both teams are stepping out onto the field and the stadium explodes. In the middle of the line of the eleven Ravens players, like he’s trying to blend in even though half of the crowd is chanting his name, is your brother. There’s a coin flip and it’s decided that the Ravens will start. He gets into his position, forward center, and the audience takes another breath.

You’re on the edge of your seat. Half of the game you’re standing. There’s a thrill about the experience that makes you so invigorated and proud beyond belief. If it had been strange seeing your last name on the backs of fans’ jerseys, it’s just as weird hearing the announcer say your brother’s name as he scores. If Yuta had been residual starshine, your brother is a shot of pure gold. He has long given up trying to make himself small where he glows the brightest, smiling as the whistle is blown for halftime. His teammates slap each other on the back when they go for water. Just as the game is about to resume, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket once. You figure that whoever is texting you can wait.

The other team makes a comeback in the second half, scoring on the Ravens and tying the score. You feel a bit bad for the goalie, a guy you know as Kim Yongsuk, who your brother had introduced you to in the past. He’s probably beating himself up over it. Still, the team doesn’t falter, doesn’t repeat their mistakes. It’s a hard game - from how close you are, you can almost see everyone breathing hard. Finally, with just a few minutes left to spare, the ball travels smoothly from the Ravens’ defensive line, to the midfielders, to the offense. Once it’s in your brother’s possession, it’s over. He shoots and he scores.

To be fair to the other team, they try to recover, but it’s just not enough. Time is called and it ends 2:1. The Ravens have won. You find yourself clapping and cheering with the other fans, shouting your elation to the huge stadium. As things begin to wind down and the teams shake hands, people begin to trickle out of the stadium. A satisfied hum is in the air, leaving a smile on your face, too. Perhaps soccer games are the reason you like parties, too. The warm, excited atmosphere, the noise, forgetting about the outside world to become absorbed in something else.

Finally, reality calls again after all of the players filter out to their respective locker rooms. You pull out your phone, about to send a text to your brother. However, when your phone comes to life, the first thing you see is a text from Yuta.

NaYu: Are you at the Ravens game??

An instant later, right on cue, you hear his voice. “Y/N!” Upon looking up, he’s bounding down the aisles towards you, also donning forest green and silver. Watching him weave through the rest of the people trying to leave, you wouldn’t be surprised if he would have slid down the railing if there weren’t other people there. Nonetheless, it doesn’t take long for him to reach you. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why not?” You tilt your head, smiling slightly. You’re in too good of a mood to outright lie to him.

He blinks. “I thought you hated watching soccer.”

You hold your hands behind your back, swaying playfully. For once, he’s the confused one. “I don’t know what gave you that impression. I really enjoy seeing the Ravens play.”

“But… you said…” He furrows his eyebrows. “Didn’t you say you’ve seen enough soccer games to last your whole life already, or something?” “I changed my mind.” Your phone buzzes in your hand.

B/N: You still in the stands? I’m coming up.

At that, you freeze. Yuta nudges you. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” You’ve kept the fact that your brother is the Ravens’ star striker away from everyone, besides your roommates, and you can’t even begin to imagine how Yuta would react if he found how. What would he think of you? “You can head out without me, Yuta. I’m waiting for someone.” The concerned expression doesn’t leave his face. “Are you sure? It’s kind of late-”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine, I’m-”

“Y/N!”

You turn just in time to see your brother jumping the gate blocking off the entrance to the field from the stands. Most of the stadium has cleared out by now, ushered out by staff, leaving very few people. Your brother has a hoodie on with his team’s colors, the hood up and partially blocking his face from distant onlookers nonetheless. You cringe internally as he jogs up to you, not seeming tired at all, and you greet him as he engulfs you in a warm hug. “Hi, B/N.”

“I’m glad you could make it. It’s not often that I get to play for my favorite sibling.” You’re looking at your brother, but you’re sure that Yuta has a shocked look on his face as he connects the dots. Now that your brother has directly stated who he is to you, there’s no avoiding it. He looks past you and realizes that you’re not alone. “Who’s this?”

“I…” Now that you’re actually looking at Yuta, you realize he’s entirely starstruck. He looks like he’s stuck in one place, his eyes wider than normal and full of awe.

You take over for him. “This is Yuta. He’s my friend from school and our team’s center forward.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m B/N! Since Y/N finally decided to show her face at her own team’s games, I heard you guys are doing well this year. Go Lions!” He raises a fist, giving Yuta a sunny smile.

Yuta blinks hard, looking almost like he might pass out. “Y-yeah. We’re doing alright, I guess. Thank you for your support.” He reflexively dips into a shallow bow, making your brother chuckle.

“You don’t have to be so formal. Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” He elbows you not-so-gently. “Y/N! Tell me next time you want to bring him. I’ll throw in a second ticket.”

Yuta unfreezes a bit and looks at you. “You don’t bring Yein or Sowon?”

You shrug. “I don’t like to bring only one of them. It feels unfair to the other.”

“Still, I’m glad to see that you’re not lying about having at least one friend.” Your brother gives you a wicked grin and heat fills your cheeks.

“I have friends!” You insist, clenching your fists at your side.

“Do you?” Yuta teases, making you press your lips together in a look of indignation.

Before you can counter him, your brother interjects. “I hate to part with the two of you, but I have to leave.” He steps back, waving a hand at the two of you. “See you!” “I hope you stub your toe on the way out!” You shout back at him as he retreats.

“Hey, this toe is worth a lot of money! Love you, too!”

There’s a period of silence as you watch your brother disappear. Yuta clears his throat. “Do you want to go back?”

“Yeah.” You follow him wordlessly for a while, making your way out of the stadium. He walks by your side, his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t seem upset, just a bit shocked still. As you approach the bus stop, you finally speak up. “Did you come with anyone else?”

“Some of the guys from the team. I told them to go ahead without me so I could talk to you.” Of all the things he’s ever said, that makes your heart feel strange. A tiny flutter of a butterfly’s wings, if you will.

Then, as you make it to the bus shelter, you turn to him, grabbing onto the edge of his sleeve. “Yuta, promise you won’t be weird after this?”

He blinks, not fighting your grip. “Why would I be weird?”

“Just… I don’t really tell people about my brother. I don’t want you to think any differently about me because of it.” This level of vulnerability isn’t something you usually show and it feels foreign, unfamiliar. When you told Sowon and Yein about it, it didn’t feel this way. Yet, standing under the shelter with Yuta, his deep green sleeve in your hand, his eyes on yours, the light of the city falling faintly on your faces, you feel your heart pound even harder in your chest.

“I already liked you before I ever knew that.” He reaches up oh so slowly. You don’t know what he’s going to do. Touch your cheek, pat your head, kiss you? Before you can find out, the bus pulls up with a loud exhale, spewing exhaust. The doors open and the driver looks at you expectantly as you turn and get in. Yuta follows you, silent. Both of you pay your dues and sit down, side by side, his sleeve brushing yours.

You know exactly what it is about him that drives you insane. At the same time, you have no idea. While you don’t want things to be different with him after tonight, you also desperately wish for the opposite. You’re tempted to slap yourself in the face to try and wake yourself up from whatever strange dream you’re happening, but you don’t know how the boy next to you would react.

The ride passes excruciatingly slowly, as does the short walk back to your complex. Finally, as you’re standing in the stairwell, about to part ways with him, he speaks. “Do you want to study together tomorrow?”

At that, such a normal suggestion, you smile. “Sure.”

He reflects your expression. It’s a familiar look on him, which you’re grateful for. “I’ll text you. Goodnight, Y/N.”

The next day is entirely ordinary. It’s like the previous night never happened. Yuta is perfectly normal, perfectly flirty, perfectly infuriating. In fact, the entire week after is normal. You go to the Lions game, cheer on your neighbors, and pretend to be difficult with Yuta after the game. He’s always so hard on himself after his games, remarking on what he believes are the many things he could have done differently to play a better game, despite scoring all of the team’s goals and securing wins every time. You hope that you talking to him afterwards raises his spirits just as much as you enjoy it.

Then, one Saturday, you’re out running when Yuta jogs up to you. Once again, he scares the shit out of you, making you nearly trip. “Hey, Y/N.”

You tear out your headphones, giving him a look. “Have you tried not jumpscaring me?”

The shrug he gives you looks strange, as he’s jogging slowly next to you when he attempts to emote. “It’s kind of funny.” You grumble under breath about showing him what’s funny, and he continues. “Do you want to run together on the weekends?”

“This again?” You say, frowning.

He rolls his eyes. “Listen, I know you’re lonely. Since you come out to my games, I thought I should do you some sort of favor in return.”

“I also help you with your statistics homework.”

“Anyways, you’re in luck because I also don’t have a running partner. It’s a lot easier to set a pace and keep moving if you have someone with you.”

You know he’s right, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. When you’re running, you’re at your most vulnerable - sweaty, tired, out of your element. There’s plenty of reasons you shouldn’t want him to run with you. “You have to run so much faster than I do. I would just slow you down.”

“Not really,” he says, looking at your feet as you jog next to him, “see? We’re both doing fine right now.”

You realize that he’s right. You keep moving wordlessly for a minute, until you speak quietly. “Would you really not mind?”

You focus on his hair bouncing as he takes each step for a while before you look at his face. In the morning sunlight, he gives you a pure smile. “Not at all.”

On Saturdays and Sundays, he’s waiting for you just outside of the complex at seven in the morning with his hair tied up to keep it out of his eyes. He easily matches his pace to yours. He’s always much more awake at that hour than you are, but the quiet encouragement he whispers whenever you slow down help perk you up. It takes you a little while to realize that he’s doing something very similar for you to what you do for him after his games.

It’s a cloudy Sunday morning. Usually, you don’t talk a ton while you’re running together, but it seems that his curiosity has gotten the best of him. “What made you want to start running?”

“Hm?” You hum, snapped out of the world that was just your feet thudding against the ground and the sound of your breathing in your ears. “Do I have to have a reason?”

“People usually don’t just randomly start doing it. Maybe they want to get stronger or lose weight. Maybe they want to impress someone.”

“It’s not about impressing anyone. I’m doing this for me.” You say it firmly, confidently. His pace stutters and he watches you continue forward. There’s something in your voice that makes him incapable of moving, and all he can do is stare at you for a moment, his heart speeding up in his chest for reasons other than the running you’re doing. When you realize he isn’t following, you turn towards him, jogging in place. The way your face is illuminated by the sunlight being cast upon it makes him sure he’s never met someone as incredible as you before in his life. “Are you coming?”

You don’t know what’s up with him. His expression is something you’ve never seen but can’t quite place. He catches up in a few bounds and you resume your run.

The next Friday, you receive a strange text.

Unknown Number: Hey, is this Y/N?

You contemplate whether or not you should respond, but you get a second text.

Unknown Number: This is Mingyu from physics

Now, that’s strange. You start to type out a reply.

Y/N: Hi! What’s up?

Kim Mingyu: I was wondering if you could help me with the lab report from last Friday? I’m having some trouble

Y/N: Sure, do you want to meet in the library later?

Meeting up with someone who you’ve never really talked to before is strange. Mingyu tries to joke with you, but something about them falls flat. You try your best to laugh and help him anyways, figuring it’s just stiffness from interacting with someone new. Though it’s nice to finally have a physics buddy, you’re almost relieved when you go home.

As you approach your complex, you see a small group formed on the lawn outside. Sicheng and Ten are standing on one leg, holding the other leg up and trying to knock each other down. A small smile comes to your face when you realize that Yuta is in the group, cheering for his friends. Around the same time you see him, he sees you and his eyes light up. He’s quickly getting to his feet and bounding towards you. Taeyong calls after him with a frown. “Yuta, you’re next!”

Still, he sidles up next to you as you walk closer to the circle. “Y/N! Where are you coming from?”

“Just the library. Actually, I was meeting up with one of your teammates, Mingyu. We were working on physics.”

The smile he wears twitches downwards for a moment. “I didn’t know you had a class with him.”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning. I never talked to him before today.” You shrug, shifting the backpack on your shoulders. “What are you guys doing?”

“One-legged fight. You should join.” He suddenly has a sadistic gleam in his eye and you take a tiny step away from him.

“And give you an excuse to push me on the ground? No thanks.”

“Aw, Y/N, I’m hurt. You don’t think I would just push you if I really wanted to?” At his proclamation, you shake your head, trying to force down a smile but failing miserably. “I’m kidding, of course. I would never.”

It’s almost sunset and he looks glorious in the golden light, the sun reflecting off of his dark hair and making his eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheekbones. If you were bolder, you might say something about it. Instead, you let out a snort of laughter, looking away from him. From the circle a few yards away, cheers erupt. Ten is curled on the ground, dramatically bemoaning his loss to Sicheng, who stands proudly over him. Taking that as his cue, Yuta gives you a small wave and rejoins his group.

When you enter your apartment with a small, content smile on your face, Yein looks up from her cooking. “Good day?”

“You could say that.”

The next morning, thankfully, is a Saturday. Yuta is waiting for you, looking just as fine in the morning sun as he did in the evening rays. He’s stretching as you approach him. “It looks like it’ll be good weather for the match today.”

“It better be.” He says it lightheartedly, but you can really imagine him threatening the weather. He’s told you that he hates the rain, partly because it makes it unpleasant to play but also just because it dampens his mood. The team is lucky they’ve gotten good weather for the season so far.

As you’re running, you remember what something you needed to ask Yuta about. “Hey, are you free on Wednesday night? My brother offered me two tickets for his game.”

His eyes light up. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, trying to keep your pace steady. “He said he would pull through, so he did. You made a good impression on him.”

“I am totally free. Completely. Did I tell you how free I am that day?” The child-like excitement in his voice makes you smile in return.

“Wow, with how not free you are, I guess I should invite someone else,” you tease and he lets out an uncharacteristic whine.

“Y/N, I know you’re messing with me, but if you take someone else after asking me, I will never forgive you.”

Now it’s your turn to pretend to be offended. “I see how much our friendship means to you, Mr. Nakamoto.”

He sighs dramatically, bringing a hand to his forehead as he acts like he’s going to faint. “You’re so serious.”

You stick out your tongue at him. “You’re such a fanboy.”

“I can’t help it. Your brother is just so cool. I don’t know how you don’t try to hang out with him literally all the time.”

That gives you pause. You feel your feet connect with the earth repeatedly for a minute, thinking about your brother and your complicated but not complicated relationship. You trust Yuta with so many things, so you may as well tell him. “A few weeks ago, when I said I was only doing this for me, I lied. Just a little.” You say, not looking at him. You’ve never really admitted it out loud before. “I want to get good enough to run with my brother. I almost never see him these days, but if I can start getting up to run with him sometimes… it’ll be like when we were kids. Or something. I don’t know.”

“He’s important enough to you that you want to change something about your life to spend more time with him,” Yuta says quietly, keeping pace with you. “I hope he knows how much you care about him.”

“You don’t always need to change to show you love someone. That’s why it was only partly a lie when I said I’m only doing this for myself.” You flash Yuta a smile, which he returns. Though your lungs burn and your legs ache, the air you breathe in is cool and fresh. “I’ll race you back.”

His eyes flash. “Challenge accepted.”

The next time you see Yuta is later that day, at his game. He’s serious, as usual, in the zone. As the season goes on, the bleachers fill up more and more with students eager to see the Lions throw sparks. The games continually get harder, but they manage to clutch this one out with a final score of 3:2.

Despite the win, Yuta still seems somewhat down. Afterwards, you’re about to go up to him to describe the glorious moment when he slid between two of the opponent defenders and scored, but you’re stopped by a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, Y/N.” To your surprise, Mingyu is the one approaching you. He doesn’t take his hand away.

“Oh! Mingyu, hi.” You try to smile at him, but your eyes wander over to Yuta briefly. “Good game today! You guys played solidly.”

“Ha, thanks. Could’ve been better on my part, I’m always looking to improve, you know.”

“I get it,” you respond, nodding.

“Are you possibly free on Wednesday night? We have a lab due on Friday and I just think it would be easier to do if we can work together, ya know?”

“Oh, um, I’m actually busy then.” You force yourself to not look at Yuta. “Does Thursday night work instead?”

“Sure, whatever. I’ll see you then.” The way he squeezes your shoulder once before stepping away to talk to some of his own friends makes your stomach turn. Why is he being so… weird?

Shaking your head, you turn back to who you had intended to greet in the first place, only to find that he had been looking at you already. What’s with the look in his eyes? Why is everyone being so weird? Ignoring the feeling, you join his circle. Yuta moves closer to your side, his arm looping around your waist as he does so, pulling you in slightly. The touch is brief but intimate, sending a bolt of electricity through your body. You swear that you can almost feel the heat of his skin through your clothes. Then, his arm is back at his side like nothing happened. You want to speak up, say what you were planning on saying before, get your mind back on a normal track, but you find that Johnny, Ten, and Jungwoo are already recreating the scene, making Yuta smile through the veil of whatever emotions he’s experiencing right now.

When the entire team heads over to the locker rooms to clean off the shine of sweat and dirt that had been accumulated through the game, you can’t help watching him. As he goes, you catch flashes of his smile while he congratulates his teammates. Something stirs in your heart.

That night, you dream of healing smiles dressed in a lion’s mane of black hair. That same visage is waiting for you the next morning when you go out to run but, here outside of your head, he’s solid, real, more than heated touches and soft caresses. At the same time, he is those things. Or, so you wish him to be.

When you study with him the next night, he is as he usually is, theoretically. Sometimes it feels like his eyes linger longer than usual, his hand rests a little closer, he smiles a little wider. It’s nothing you can confirm because, to any normal gaze, he seems entirely the same. Perhaps you’re confusing yourself into imagining things. Has his flirtatious nature finally tricked your brain into thinking he likes you?

Sometime that evening, you go to the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. You pat your face rather harshly to try and drive some sense back into your brain. You should tell him. This new boy who has become so close to you. Why are you afraid of it going wrong? You emerge from the bathroom with the same feelings that you entered it with and, there he is, looking up at your return.

The next day, Tuesday is a brief reprieve from the torture of trying to figure out his feelings through his actions. Then, your brother’s game comes. Your chatter fills the space between you on the bus ride to the stadium, him telling you about the anime he’s watching, you talking about the drama you’re watching in response. He jokes about culturing you by getting you to watch a show with him.

Watching your brother’s game with Yuta at your side is an entirely different experience. While you think you normally have pretty good commentary on your own, he provides an extra edge, excitedly explaining why some players choose to do some things or making observations about small moves that you ordinarily wouldn’t notice. Both of you absorb the atmosphere of the stadium, bursting into cheers whenever something incredible happens, screaming extra loud when your brother scores.

During halftime, when the roar of the audience is less deafening, you realize that you’ve never asked Yuta about his background with soccer before. You nudge him. “Hey, Yuta? How long have you been playing?”

He taps his chin, trying to think back. “Probably since I was five?”

“No wonder you know so much,” you say, “I’m talking to an expert right now.”

“You know too much for just a casual viewer,” he says back, snorting, “don’t tell me you don’t have some experience.”

“I only played a bit when I was younger, but I wasn’t any good. It was always more fun to watch B/N. I ended up just taking care of him whenever he pulled something or fell and scraped his arm… you know.” A wistful smile forms on your face. “It started off as just kissing bruises like my mom would, but then it turned into intense Googling whenever I couldn’t immediately figure out what was wrong with him.”

“Maybe you can kiss my boo-boos whenever I get hurt, too, then.” He’s smirking, the ever-familiar gleam of mischief in his gaze.

You force yourself to roll your eyes at him, ignoring the feeling of your heart jumping in your chest. “You’d better not get hurt, Nakamoto.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

A few minutes later, the game resumes. This matchup is considerably more difficult than the game you had attended before. Each time the Ravens seem like they’re close to scoring, the opponent defense sends it back towards your end of the field or the goalie successfully blocks it. All the same, your defense and goalie do their jobs, too, leading to a brutal back and forth. By the time the game is over, the only goal that had been scored was the single one your brother got in the first half.

“Ah, that was tense. They almost took it back there for a second.” You stand, stretching your arms behind your back to loosen them up a bit. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, sure.” Yuta gets up as well, following you as you begin to climb the stairs. “Is your brother not coming to see you this time?”

“He told me he has some press deal after this.” Once you’re in a more open area, Yuta walks next to you instead of behind. You can now see that he’s frowning.

“Does he keep you a secret on purpose?”

“I asked him to.”

“I can’t imagine keeping someone like you hidden like that.” At that strange comment, you stop, looking at him. He seems to be taking the issue very personally.

“It’s easier this way. No one prying into my life, no one asking me for autographs from him all the time. People know who our parents are. What’s so important about an unknown sister?” Is there something else he wants you to say? The look on his face is something you’ve only seen maybe once or twice. He’s in a strange mood, that’s for sure.

“I get it, it’s just…” He sighs, looking at the ground with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Yuta.” He finally meets your eyes. “It’s important to me that what people think about me is what I show them first. I don’t want to be a reflection of my brother, no matter how much I love him.”

“Is he the reason you didn’t want to talk to me at first?” There’s amusement in Yuta’s voice again, that strange seriousness gone.

You start to walk again and he keeps pace. “No, that was just because you woke me up at six in the morning.”

“I guess both of us have experiences that precede our reputations then, huh?”

The bus comes not much later. The previous reminder of how you met has him offering you one side of his earbuds, saying that this would be a better introduction to J-rock than the one you had before. As you listen, you’re tempted to lean your head against his shoulder or take his hand, which is resting oh so close to yours. Instead, you just sit still and look out the window.

After you get off of the bus, the topic of shows you both like makes a return.

“I will take it upon myself to expose you to great art. Are you free tomorrow? We have to start immediately.” Yuta begins to pester you, practically bouncing as you walk.

“Actually, I’m busy tomorrow. I’m working on physics with Mingyu again.” He doesn’t initially not react to your first statement. However, when his teammate’s name comes out of your mouth, he frowns.

“Of anyone…” The sudden change in his attitude catches you off guard. “Why him?”

“I don’t choose who’s in my classes. What’s wrong with you? I thought you got along with your teammates.” You’re nearing your complex at this point. The lamp posts bordering the sidewalk cast long shadows on the ground as you walk.

“In a team context, they’re fine. Usually. Just, that guy…” He’s scowling now, making you frown deeply in return.

“What about him?”

“I don’t know, Y/N.” He pauses, but then his feet stop moving a moment later. “Fuck it, I do know. He’s not a good person. He’s a manipulator. He’s a good manipulator, but he’s bad at lying when you actually confront him-”

“Yuta, you’re being ridiculous. Even if he is, I’m strong enough to take care of myself.”

“Y/N, he was with me at that first game! The one where I found out about your brother? What if he saw? He’s the type to use information like that to get what he wants. What if he-”

“What if he what, Yuta?” You glare at him, anger muddled with some other hurt now filling you. “He hasn’t done anything. He isn’t going to do anything. Our ‘secret’ isn’t going to get out. I can take care of myself.”

With that, you brush past him, into the complex, into your apartment. Thankfully, your roommates aren’t in the common area, so you safely make it to your room. Once you’re there, you shove your face into your pillow. You consider screaming into it, but you know he’s probably in his own room, where he could hear you. Instead, you just heave breath after frustrated breath.

You don’t know why you snapped at him. Actually, you do. It’s the fear that he’s actually doing what he accused Mingyu of. After every word you’ve exchanged, every conversation, you should be confident that he’s not like that. But, you���ve never been in this situation before. What if he…

It’s a stupid notion and you know it. That’s just the surface. Another layer of your feelings peels away. You hate when people are too protective of you. You want to make your own decisions, to learn for yourself. You hate when your brother is too protective of you and you hate when Yuta is.

That’s not even all of it. Finally, you reach the root of your aggression. What right does Nakamoto Yuta have to try and be protective of you when you aren’t even together? Was that the concern of a friend or the concern of a jealous lover?

You curl in on yourself even more tightly, breathing through the pillow under your face. No one has ever flirted with you as much as he has. You’ve never been so ridiculously on and off with someone before. Still, neither of you are willing to answer the question. You’ve never actually fought like this with him before.

Perhaps he hates you now that you’ve thrown his warnings back in his face.

The next day, after your classes, you force yourself to go to the library to meet Mingyu, Yuta’s words heavy in your mind. As you work, you can tell he’s still trying desperately to get on your good side, even emanating Yuta in a strange, off-balance way. It’s not amusing when he does it.

Finally, the subject you’ve been dreading comes.

“Are you a fan of the Ravens? I think I saw you at one of their games once.”

You swallow back disappointment. Mingyu is the worst fear of your insecure self and you finally have to come face to face with it. “I guess you could say that.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t take it farther than that. If Yuta’s right about him, then it’s probably just one piece of a larger goal. Though you never cared much for Mingyu, it doesn’t feel good to see things begin to unfold.

Not seeing him for two days in a row brings your mood down more than you’d like to admit. At the same time, you’re not ready to apologize yet. You don’t know what exactly is happening on his end, you never know, so when you go outside to run at your normal time on Saturday, you half expect him to be there.

He isn’t. And you don’t run into him on your way back, either. The game it is, then.

As the day progresses, the sky gets increasingly cloudy. In the evening, when the Lions and their opponent team are out on the field running final drills, it’s easy enough to tell that a good number of people had looked at the forecast - the crowd in the bleachers is much thinner than usual. The sky could open up and pour its soul out onto all of you at any moment.

You don’t even bother pretending that you’re not watching Yuta. As he steps off the field for their usual pre-game pep talk and chant, you swear he makes eye contact with you. Normally, he wouldn’t even bother looking, because he’s usually confident that you’re there. You’re not sure what the look in his eyes is now.

The coin toss decides that the other team will start with the ball. That might have been the first omen about the game. Then again, maybe the other team is just… better. Their defense is at least tighter than yours. At halftime, they have a point up on the Lions, 0:1. Yuta seems to take this very, very personally. Within ten minutes of the game restarting, they tie the score back up.

At about three quarters of the way through, it begins to rain. The referee deems that they’ve played far to stop, so the match continues. Almost like they take the poor weather as a sign, the rival team scores nearly immediately after.

You pathetically huddle under a single umbrella with Sowon while Yein shares one with Johnny. The ball slips rather than flies around the field, back and forth, back and forth, until, finally, with barely any time to spare, it’s at Yuta’s feet. The world seems to move in slow motion, then. His right foot moves backwards. It swings forwards. He makes contact.

He misses.

You try not to gasp. Yuta himself seems to be in shock, with how he goes stiff for a moment. Then, he’s back in action, targeting where the goalie had thrown the ball. This time, it’s not enough. A minute later, after another brutal back and forth, the scream of the whistle soars above the sound of the rain. It’s over. The Lions have met their first loss of the season.

The two teams barely wait around to shake hands before they’re rushing off to the locker rooms, away from the rain. Yuta moves slower than the rest, seeming to drag his feet through the muddying grass. Ahead of him, all of his teammates are moving quickly, but moping nonetheless. From your position, you see Mingyu kick the shins of someone you recognize to be one of the younger players. You see Kun’s mouth move as he tells him off, but they’re far enough away and the rain is loud enough that you can’t hear. If you hadn’t been displeased already, you are now.

Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

“You guys can go back,” you say, taking a step out from under the umbrella after you’re out of the bleachers with your friends. When Sowon tries to shove her umbrella in your hands, you push it back. “I’ll be fine! It’s only a short distance.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“Don’t worry.” With a sigh, she turns, reluctantly walking back behind Yein and Johnny.

You take off running, trying to outpace the raindrops pelting you. By the time you make it beneath the slight sheltered roof of the locker room building, you’re damp, but not entirely soaked. It’s enough to be an annoyance, your clothes sticking slightly to your skin.

You wait outside for a good few minutes. Small groups of players from either team leave, the opponent players giving you strange looks as you lean against the wall and shiver, Baekho and his group giving you an awkward acknowledgement, and, finally, Mingyu emerges.

“Y/N?” He seems confused, but somewhat excited. As if you’re there to meet him.

“Mingyu. Answer one question for me.” You say it wearily, expressing it like the chore it is.

“What are you acting so weird for?” The excitement you glimpsed before dies.

“Were you going to use me to get in good with my brother?”

The rain is the only sound you hear for a couple solid heartbeats. “Y/N, listen…”

“He was right…” You grumble to yourself. You glare up at him. “You can do your physics labs by yourself. Delete my number.”

He stands before you for a moment more before he realizes that you’re serious. He turns and walks away, into the haze of the downpour. A minute later, Jaehyun and Kun emerge from the building.

“Oh, Y/N,” Jaehyun says, seeming surprised. “Are you waiting for Yuta?”

“Is it that obvious?”

The two of them exchange looks and smile. Kun speaks next. “He’s probably not coming out for a while. He usually gets all depressed when we lose a game, but I’ve never seen it this bad. He’s been standing in the shower for like fifteen minutes.”

You glance at the door. Jaehyun nudges you. “He’s the only one left in there. I wouldn’t tell anyone if you, say, went in right now.”

“A bonafide cupid right here,” Kun says, swinging the bag he has slung over his shoulder around so he can dig through it. He produces something, offering it to you. “Here.”

“What is…” You trail off as you take it from him, your face warming as you realize exactly what it is. “Kun, what is this?!”

“I don’t want any miniature versions of him running around. I’m always prepared.” You stare at Kun incredulously a beat longer before you shove the condom in your damp pocket.

“Good luck!” Jaehyun calls back to you as they begin to walk off, leaving you standing under the overhang. Taking a deep breath, you push open the door and walk inside.

Unsurprisingly, the place has a somewhat sweaty smell to it. The rows of lockers are labeled with names and a little image depicting the sport the owner plays, as all of the school’s teams use the same locker room, and the occasional miscellaneous socks, gloves, and other things are scattered about. A row of sinks is against one wall and past the sinks is an entrance into the shower area. You make your way there.

As you get closer, the distinct sound of one shower running gets louder. The only curtain that’s closed is a middle stall, all of the others open and empty. Parallel to the shower stalls is a long wooden bench. “Yuta?” You call out. He doesn’t respond, so you try again. “Yuta?”

“Go away.” This time, the response is sharp and harsh. He certainly is in a mood.

“Yuta, it’s me.”

“Y/N?” His voice is significantly less negative now. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.”

You can barely hear him sigh over the sound of the shower running. “You couldn’t wait until after I was done?”

“No.” When you say that, the water shuts off. A hand sneaks out to grab the towel hanging from a hook affixed to the partition between the stalls. You don’t see anything revealing, but you look away anyways. The scraping of the rings being drawn back tells you he has emerged from the stall.

“You can look at me, you know.”

“I didn’t want to be rude.” You look back, greeted with the sight of his gloriously wet hair and bare torso. He emerged quickly enough that he didn’t have time to dry much of the water dripping off of him. The only part of his body that’s covered is his waist and thighs, though the towel still reveals a tantalizing v-line. You forcibly swallow your thirst.

“Blatantly checking me out again? I get it, but would it kill you to be less obvious?” The comment throws you back to a simpler time, when you were just irritated with him for his cockiness and blasting music through the floor.

“Speak for yourself.” You cross your arms. It was obvious enough that he was enjoying the sight of you in a wet t-shirt and shorts.

“Why didn’t you wear something warmer?” He says, frowning. He steps closer, leaving little space between you.

“I didn’t think it would cool down this much.” You look away, not able to face his bare chest quite yet. The room still has a certain steam about it from the hot shower he was taking that makes it a little harder to breathe. Then again, maybe that’s just him being mostly naked in front of you. He reaches out, touching the hem of your shirt.

“You’re soaked,” he says, rubbing your shirt between his thumb and index finger.

“You’re just making me wetter.” Your face burns something fierce as you say it, contrasting the chill that had settled over your skin from standing outside. “You would think you’d dry yourself off more before getting out of the shower.”

“I was just eager to see you, I guess.” You finally have the courage to meet his eyes again.

“I missed you this morning.” You almost pout while saying it, feeling small under his gaze. It’s not an uncomfortable smallness, but one that makes you feel closer to him.

“I figured you didn’t want to see me.” He reaches out, brushing his fingers softly over the side of your face. His touch is blissfully warm. “Or, I think that you did want to see me, but you would only be angrier if I showed up.”

The thought almost makes you laugh. It would be one of the few times he’s been wrong about your feelings. But, if he always knows so much… “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I talked to Mingyu a few minutes ago and you were right. I should have trusted you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you handle it on your own.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. “You’re strong enough to deal with assholes like him. You don’t need me.”

“I might not need you, but I do want to keep you around.” The small confession has your bottom lip quivering. “Did I mess up your game today?”

“It was mostly the rain.” He sounds so nonchalant, but you can tell he’s still bothered. “Not you. But, if you do feel bad about it, Miss Physical Therapy, there is something you can do for me.”

His eyes have shifted away from their darkness into a different sort of moodiness. You step closer. “What is it?”

He moves back, taking a heavy seat on the bench. “I’m quite tense. Give me a massage.” His eyes bore into yours. “If you so choose.”

You step behind him. The thrill of what you feel like he’s implying thrums in your veins. The muscles of his shoulders and back are hard under your fingers, showing years of training and toning. You’re almost surprised at how well built his upper body is for a soccer player. His skin is beyond perfect too, and the little droplets of water from his steamy shower that settle on his skin glisten temptingly in the low light of the locker room.

“Sorry my hands are cold,” you practically whisper.

“It’s fine. Feels nice.” He wasn’t lying when he said he was tense - you can feel the knots leaving his muscles as you press down on them, dissolving into smooth flesh that’s soft to the touch. As you work along his back, one particularly tough knot has your thumbs pressing harder into him, drawing a low groan and a curse from his throat. “Fuck.”

The sound turns you on more than you’d like to admit. As you finish his back, you become even more hyper aware of the little noises he’s letting out, the space between you becoming noticeably warmer. Slowly, reluctantly, your hands leave his skin and you circle back towards his front, not quite wanting to look him in the eye. “Is that better?”

“Much.” The air feels heavy. “But you’re not done, yet.” Ordinarily, he’d be smirking so hard you’d be able to hear it in his voice, but there’s only a low command to his tone now. He reaches out, guiding your dominant hand forward so that it’s resting on the front of his shoulder. There’s no hiding from his eyes now. You decide then - if you’re going to do this, you might as well go all out. Sliding onto his lap, your knees pressing into the wooden bench on either side of him, makes you feel both powerful and small at the same time. His face is only a breath away from your own. You swear you can see his eyes flicker to your lips. Trying to play innocent, despite the fact that you can basically feel his dick hardening under his thin towel, you shift slightly, putting your focus on his shoulder and pectoral muscles. Every so often, you readjust yourself, purposefully bouncing slightly on his lap, almost grinding down on him. He doesn’t crack, remaining still and keeping his expression flat. The only signs he gives of being aroused are the slight shiver to his breath and the prominent bulge you’re now certain you can feel. That, and the hands he has on your body, one on your hip and one on your thigh, fixing you in place.

The process is slow, arduous, but you eventually finish with his pectoral and shoulder muscles. You pull your hands away, placing them in your lap and then sitting back, unmoving on his lap, reveling in the way you’ve very clearly made him feel. “Is that all?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips again before boring into your own. “You missed one spot.” Wordlessly, he reaches up, tapping his own lips.

You could walk away right now. His hands aren’t so tight on your body that you couldn’t just get up and leave, go back to your apartment and forget this ever happened. But why would you want to? You’ve been dreaming of his lips for weeks. Finally, you’re about to get a taste. Still, there’s an edge of apprehension digging slightly in your gut.

You’ve sat in silence for long enough that he’s opening his mouth, an apology about to leave his lips, when you swoop forward, pressing your lips to his.

Where he had given you the choice to initiate, he’s the one who really leads. He almost instantly deepens the kiss, dragging you even farther up his lap, pressing you hard against his barely-shielded dick. You feel his fingertips against your skin, under the hem of your top.

“Do you want this?”

“Yes, but-” Where his hands had stilled under your shirt they begin to move again. “Yuta, wait.” He freezes once more, looking up at you. If you didn’t know better, you could swear you see a little bit of fear in his eyes. A shaky breath leaves your lips. “I won’t fuck you unless you tell me you actually have feelings for me. Did you mean what you said back then? After the games?”

“Is that a requirement for all the guys you sleep with or am I special?” You can feel his cock throbbing under you and your own insides ache in response. Of course, he’s delaying what both of you want by being coy. The frustration building up in your gut and in your heart makes you feel like you’re going insane.

“Yuta…” You mean it to sound admonishing, but your tone is more akin to a whine as you lightly drag your nails down his chest. His breath stutters slightly in his lungs at the motion, but in that moment, a sort of gentleness you’ve rarely seen takes over his facade.

“You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” he breathes out, eyes locked with yours, “how could I not have feelings for you?”

You kiss him, sweetly, desperately. His hands begin to move once more, his fingertips digging ever so slightly into your skin. When his hands make it to the edge of your shirt, giving you a suggestion, you cover them with your own, guiding him to take it off. As soon as the garment is out of the way, his lips are on your neck, your collar, the soft skin of your chest. He can feel the hum of your voice through your breast as you speak. “I really like you, Yuta. More than I’ve ever liked anyone else.”

His fingers nimbly unclasp your bra and it falls to the ground somewhere. As his touch ghosts over your breasts, you arch into his hand, drawing a warm chuckle from him. “That’s good,” he says, thumbing slow circles over your nipples, “because I feel the same way about you.”

You pull him back to your mouth, pulling him as close as you possibly can, breathing him like he’s air, tasting him like he’s food. His tongue is slick against your bottom lip, against your own tongue. Almost unconsciously, you rock your hips against his bulge as you move. Impatiently, he tugs at your shorts, pulling you out of the kiss.

“These have to come off.”

“It would kill you to go slow for once,” you laugh, getting off of his lap on shaky legs.

“I go slow for you all the time,” he responds, shifting the towel at his waist, which you realize is barely holding onto him from all the grinding you were doing on his lap, “I’ve been going slow for months now. Isn’t it time to speed things up?”

You roll your eyes, but shimmy out of your shorts, leaving you in your panties and him in his towel. From this angle, he can truly appreciate you. Every curve, every beauty mark, every fold and crease on your body. He leans back, his hands bracing him against the bench. Then, he shifts forward abruptly, taking the opportunity to snap the elastic of your underwear against your skin.

“Yuta!” The cry is half an admonition, half a laugh. You move to push his shoulder gently and he catches you by the hand, pulling you on top of him and kissing you once again. Before you realize it, he has a sneaky hand slipping into your panties, touching you where you’re most sensitive, making you jolt against his hand.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs the words against your lips and you nod, trying to focus on kissing him through the pleasure of his fingers. It’s been far too long since anyone has touched you like this and you’re not used to it.

“Mm,” you moan back, “more than okay.”

He had said he wanted to go faster, but it seems like he’s just going so slow, making you fall apart on his hand, first with just a thumb on your clit, then two fingers pushed more deeply inside of you than you could ever reach yourself. At some point, you’re no longer kissing him and your cheek is pressed to his instead. You nip at his ear, which you now realize is pierced, and the damp spikeyness of his hair rests against your temple.

His free hand rests over your breast, rhythmically squeezing it as you ride his fingers. Oddly enough, you feel like he predicts your climax before even you do, working you carefully through the release of pleasure as you shudder against him and clench around his fingers. Before you can fully regain your senses, he’s kissing you again and removing his hand, wiping his sticky digits against the towel slipping from his waist. You figure you’ll finish the job, reaching down to untwist the cloth so that it falls open against the bench.

You continue kissing him as you take his dick in your hand, your thumb sliding over the precum beading at his tip. It’s his turn to shiver, his cock twitching in your hand. Giving it slow, purposeful jerks, you watch him become perfectly uncomposed under you and you grin, leaning closer to press a kiss to the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He’s stiff, but remarkably soft to the touch, veiny and thick enough that your mouth waters. A couple minutes pass before he’s encasing your hand in his own, slowing your movement.

“I don’t want to come in your hand.” You stop, looking at him with faux-innocent eyes. He blinks desperately at you. “Please.”

“Can I suck you off later?” The words leave your mouth unexpectedly. You hadn’t even really been thinking about the later, but you figure you’re safe to assume that there will be one.

“Of course, pretty girl.” He strokes your hair and you can just think about him holding it back in the future as he-

Trying to distract yourself from the later and focus on the now, you slide off of his lap once again. He almost seems confused, made lonelier by the tiniest distance you put between the two of you. It’s almost a funny image, him half pouting at you while his dick is out, standing up against his abdomen and completely exposed. You let out the smallest exhale of a laugh. “You showed me yours, so I figured I would show you mine.” Your panties fall to the ground, where you kick them in the general direction of the rest of your clothes. The sight of your shorts reminds you of another important thing. “Oh! Also!”

You scramble over to them, reaching into the pocket and producing the little foil packet. Yuta stares at you. “You’re… prepared? I didn’t even think this far ahead and half the time my brain is controlled by my-”

“Kun gave it to me before I came in here,” you say, waltzing back over to him. He takes the packet from your hand, tearing it open. You… give him a hand as he rolls it on. “He’s awfully ready for a great many situations, isn’t he?”

“I think he was expecting this to happen a lot earlier than it actually did, honestly,” Yuta responds, pulling you back on top of him for the third time. Once again, your knees rest on the hard wood bench. “Can we not talk about my roommate, please?”

“I can agree to that.” You smile, kissing him. “Can we talk about how much I like you instead?”

“We can always talk about that,” he says, one hand on his dick, one on your hip, “are you ready?”

The mood dips, making your body shiver in anticipation again. “Yes.”

The way he positions his cock and begins to push into you makes both of you let out noises of relief, a groan from him and a sigh from you. You sink down onto him further until he’s fully sheathed inside of you, hard and pulsing and ungodly warm. He gives an experimental buck of his hips, pulling a moan from your lips and shaping his into a cocky smirk. “Already feel that good?”

“Shut up,” the complaint dies in your throat as you lift yourself up on your knees and sink back down again, bouncing on his lap slightly. You focus on the feeling of him inside of you, the sensation of him hitting your G-spot, the touch of his fingers on your clit again. His breath mingles with yours whenever he takes a break from kissing you. Your hands wander the smooth planes of his chest, your thumb briefly ghosting over his nipple, your palms getting sweatier as you hold onto him. It’s not long before you let your head fall back, your thighs tense as you hold onto his shoulders and move up and down on top of his cock.

His lips are hot as he mouths your neck. You’re not usually the type for marking, but, honestly, the thought of wearing his hickey on your skin sounds beyond appealing. He introduces the slightest bit of teeth, grazing them over your pulse as you ride him. The trail of tiny nips goes down past your collarbones to your breast. Your heart beats loudly in your ears and the desperation of chasing your orgasm makes the passage of time feel fuzzy, but in the sweet, bubbly way a soda does rather than the heavy, blurry way a cold would.

“Yuta,” you whine, the knocking of your legs against the bench growing painful, “can you…”

“I got you, baby.” With a grunt, he stands, lifting you by the thighs. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close. A breath later, your back is pressed to the wall and he’s pushing into you once again. The new angle is a change, and it’s a good change. Every one of his thrusts hits exactly right, pushing you further and further until-

“Yuta, you’re gonna make me...” you pant against his mouth, breathing the same air as him. At some point, after he had picked you up, you had reconnected your lips, and he swallows the little noises you let out hungrily. You clench and unclench your fists behind his back, as your arms are slung over his shoulders.

“Mm, good. That’s my girl.”

All you can think as he pounds into you is Yuta, Yuta, Yuta. You come undone with a final swipe of his thumb and a choked cry of his name. Once your own orgasm has stopped burning quite so bright, lowering to a comfortable simmer in your gut, his hips slow with each thrust until he pushes into you and stays there. You can feel him throb inside of you even through the condom.

Your skin feels like it’s glowing in the aftermath of his love, warm like coals after a fire has just ceased to burn. Warm with the promise of more flames in the future. You lean your face in the junction of his shoulder and neck, breathing love onto his skin. His deep, uneven breaths slow over time as he presses gentle kisses to the exposed flesh of your shoulder. The silence between you is only interrupted by the ambient sound of water flowing through pipes hidden in the concrete walls of the shower part of the locker room. That’s enough of a reminder for you to groan, clutching onto him tighter. “I can’t believe we just confessed and fucked in your sweaty locker room.”

“From my perspective, it’s more ‘wow, I can’t believe we finally confessed and fucked, even if it was in my sweaty locker room.’” That, at the very least, makes you smile. Slowly, he begins to pull out, separating from you with a sticky, wet sound. He backs up, turning so that he can place you gently on the towel still lying on the bench. He disposes of the used rubber quickly, throwing it in a trash can at one end of the room.

Now that he’s no longer touching you, it feels so much colder. “I feel bad for whoever has to clean this place. I hope they don’t find that.”

He shrugs. “I’m sure they’ve seen worse.” He makes his way back to you, naked body still on full, glorious display for your eyes only. “Wanna shower while we’re here?”

You groan. “Yuta, I’m tired. No funny business.”

“Who said anything about any ‘funny business?’ I just suggested we clean off the sweat from all that physical exertion.” He’s smirking, not even pretending to be innocent.

“You’re insatiable.” Still you get up, joining him in the shower stall that he holds open for you. If any follow up activity happens while you’re in there, the only way anyone on the outside would be able to tell would be from the quiet sounds that are mostly drowned out by the noise of the shower.

As you finally redress, accepting the hoodie that Yuta had in his locker so that you don’t have to put your wet shirt back on, he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, like he’s afraid you’ll go away. The environment between you feels different, but the same. After you’re both fully dressed and start walking out the door, you reach out to take his hand. He accepts the action, interlocking his fingers with yours. Both of you stop under the overhang of the building. By now, the sun has set and a few street lights shine along the walkways of the campus through the haze of rain. “Yuta, are you my boyfriend?”

He blinks a couple times. “Wasn’t that implied?”

You turn away, suddenly shy. “I mean… I just… wanted to clarify…”

“You’re too good for me.” He laughs, then kisses your cheek. Both of you stare out of the rain, as if it’s going to suddenly stop just because you’re politely waiting for it. “I meant it. Every time.”

“Hm?”

“Every time I said I liked you, or that you’re amazing. I was just afraid of- I don’t know. That I’m not honest enough or nice enough, or even good enough at soccer. I just-” He seems so tired as he says it, so brutally truthful, so terribly self-doubting.

You squeeze his hand. “Yuta, it’s okay. Honestly, all this time, I thought you’re too good for me. You’re so much more than the things you say you are. You’re a star.”

“I’m not. I can be an asshole, and jealous, and not serious even when I should be-”

“Yuta, if you like me despite all of my ridiculous bad qualities, I’m pretty sure I can deal with a little jealousy. You’ve shown me who you are and I still like you. You’re loyal and funny and romantic and so many other things. I like you.”

He sighs sweetly, like he was holding in a breath for so long and is finally letting it out. He’s holding your hand so tightly, it feels like he might never let go. Right now, you think you might be okay with that. “Sorry. I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”

You peer into others’ eyes for a long time, content to just look. Then, the cold finally gets to your legs and you shiver, scooching slightly closer to him. You look out. The rain isn’t getting any better. “Do you want to run? To make up for us not going together this morning?”

He doesn’t even respond. He just glances at you, winks, and tugs at your hand, starting to go. The rain pelts you as you go, utterly soaking you, getting in your shoes, darkening your borrowed hoodie. His hair sticks to his forehead, making him look a bit like a wet kitten. Maybe a lion, more accurately. Still, in the passing lights and the sheen of the rain, he glows.

“Yuta?” You say between shallow breaths.

“Yeah?” He keeps going, keeps tugging you along. You have to work to keep up with him, pumping your legs hard.

“Do you want to go professional?”

He looks back at you quickly, but then turns forward. “I would.”

“I really think you could do it!”

Then he’s laughing, truly, mirthfully. “That’s the second best thing you’ve said to me today!”

At that, you’re laughing too, though it slows your pace, though it makes your lungs burn, though it helps rain water run into your mouth. When you make it to your complex, soaked through, looking like you just took a swim in your clothes, you don’t want to let go. Reluctantly, both of you part ways to change clothes in your respective apartments with the promise to meet soon and start Yuta’s effort to culture you with anime.

Sowon and Yein tease you relentlessly, both when you enter your apartment leaving puddles on the ground and when you leave again ten minutes later completely dry. They tease you for the next week whenever they catch you leaving if they know you don’t have classes. The next Friday, you end up staying up far too late watching one of Yuta’s shows, which you admit are at the very least fun, and you fall asleep in his bed. You’re sure you’ll never hear the end of it from your roommates, even if Yein has been staying in the volleyball boys’ apartment every other day for the last month.

In the morning, a mere three hours after you and Yuta went to sleep, you wake up in his arms to a strange blaring of J-rock. He reaches over you to slap his phone and shut it off. You stay awake just long enough to comment on how strange it is hearing the music next to you and not through the floor.

When you wake up around noon to Yuta staring at you, his bangs half covering his eyes, you flip over, checking the time so that he can’t see the absolutely embarrassed look on your face. “You’re so weird.” “Why are you being all shy? I’ve seen you naked. There’s nothing more to see.”

“There’s plenty more of me to see, thank you very much, Nakamoto Yuta.”

“I know there is, darling.” His arm is still slung over your torso like it was when the alarm went off and he tries to wrestle you back around to face him. You squirm in his hold.

“Darling? You’re so weird. Why are you so weird?”

“Weird? I thought I was romantic and funny and-”

“And weird!” You wiggle more until he flips you onto your back, straddles you, and pins your hands to the bed. It’s quite an incredible sight, him pinning you down with his raven hair a complete mess and no shirt, where you can faintly see marks that you may or may not have left on his chest earlier in the week. “No fair. Home ground advantage.”

He leans in, looking ever so charming despite his disheveled appearance. “You know what makes for great morning exercise?”

“You’re weird and a horndog and-”

“Running! Let’s go.” He suddenly rises up, taking one of your hands with him and pulling you into a sitting position.

“Yuta, it’s noon! There are going to be people out everywhere.” He tugs on your hand and you move so that you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. “And it’s Saturday, so there’s going to be even more people…”

“You don’t need to worry about people judging you. If anyone gives you any funny looks, I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Punt a soccer ball at their heads?” You’re standing now, looking at him uncertainly.

He shrugs. “Sure. But, seriously. I promise that you have nothing to be self conscious about. You also have me. That part most importantly.” You would smack him if the smile he gives you doesn’t have you reluctantly agreeing.

He’s right, of course. The run is completely fine. At least, you’re distracted enough by your boyfriend for it to be fine. When you return, you split off to take showers in your apartments. After you emerge from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your body, you find him waiting in your room. You register him saying something about the tables turning and “great afternoon exercise” before he practically pounces on you.

Afterwards, through your sex-high haze, you hear a loud knocking on your front door. Groaning, you move only so much as to press your face into Yuta’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna get up…”

“Did I make you feel that good?” His voice is a warm rumble, teasing, though full of the same tiredness that yours has. You’re about to jab him lightly in the side when his hand shifts down, two of his fingers running through your folds. Shivering at the suggestion, you wiggle closer to him, hiding your face even more.

“Let me rest, you sex-fiend.” Before he can reply, there’s a few more insistent knocks at your door. “Ugh…”

“Were you expecting someone?” You shake your head against him. He reaches over and grabs your phone. “I heard this going off earlier while we were busy.” You make no move to take it from him, so he turns it on, his eyes scanning the recent chain of texts you’d just received. “It’s your brother.”

You immediately bolt straight up. “What?” Your mind ticks back to the previous day before you’re scrambling out of bed. “Shit, shit, shit, I forgot he was coming today!” As quickly as you can, you try to throw on the various items of clothing that had gotten scattered around the room in your - Yuta’s, more accurately - haste to move them off of the bed, where you had laid them out for after your shower.

Yuta stretches lazily. “Glad I could remind you.”

“Asshole, get clothes on! He’ll kill you if he figures out what we did!”

“Ah, to be killed by L/N B/N. You say ‘what we did’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“He’s my older brother, for God’s sake!” You throw a shirt at him, smacking him in the face. “He will murder you! If he doesn’t murder me for forgetting our plans first…”

“And your plans are?” He slips his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, slipping it on.

“I’m taking him to see your game. Maybe meet the team. Who knows? You won’t be able to see it if you don’t move your ass.” You finish putting your jeans on.

“I’ve never escaped through a window before, but it sounds fun.” He’s still smirking, clearly amused. You’re certain he would actually do that if you let him.

“On second thought, just stay here. I won’t let him into my room.” Your phone lights up with your brother’s face and number and starts to buzz. You pick it up. “Sorry, I’m coming! I was napping.” You hang up. “Please, Yuta?”

He steps into his own jeans. “That’s what I was planning on. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to incapacitate myself before the game.”

With that reassurance, you close the door to your room and head for the apartment door. Your brother, clad in a hat, hoodie, and jeans, weirdly normal for him, is standing in front of your door, his phone in his hand. He narrows his eyes. “Hi, Y/N. For a second there, I really thought you forgot about our plans. Who takes a nap on a Saturday afternoon?”

You step aside, letting him in. “I was just tired today for some reason. Sorry.” “You’re lucky you’re my favorite.” He walks in, sliding off his shoes next to yours. “Are your roommates home? It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”

“No, but they’ll be at the game later. You won’t miss them.” You stand there, swaying somewhat awkwardly. You’re sure that he’s noticed that you’re acting strangely. “Who let you into the lower doors?”

Your brother steps inside casually. “Your neighbor Jaehyun. Nice kid.”

“Y-Yeah. He’s one of our midfielders.”

“I guess I’ll get to see him in action soon, then. Where near here is good for something quick? We only have an hour and a half until the game.”

You’re thankful for a change in subject. “Depends what you want to eat! Think about it while I run to the bathroom?”

As you head there, you glance at your closed door. You feel kind of bad for leaving him in there, but it’s for his own protection. When you get back to the door, your brother is in the same place, staring at the shoes around the entry. He points at a pair of men’s shoes, which you realize with dawning horror are Yuta’s.

“Y/N? Whose shoes are these?”

“Oh! Those are, um, Johnny’s. Yein’s boyfriend.”

He deadpans. “Johnny. Your neighbor. The one who lives right across from you. Who is dating your roommate who isn’t here right now.” When you don’t respond, he sighs. “Y/N, it would be a lot easier to lie to me if you didn’t tell me so much in the first place. Who’s in your room? I know you hate closing your door if you’re not sleeping.”

Reluctantly, you walk to your room, cursing observant soccer players. Yuta looks mildly surprised to see you, and you walk over to where he’s sitting on your bed, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him over to your brother. If he’s afraid of your brother, he doesn’t show it.

“Yuta, was it?” He’s still expressionless. “I’ll have you know that there’s a few rules.” Before Yuta can even ask about the rules, he’s launching into a detailed explanation about consequences, saying something about maiming and making it look like an accident.

“B/N, you’re a professional now. You should really try not to say such scary stuff. Also,” you say, frowning, “I can handle myself. You know that by now.”

Yuta breaks his silence. “She really can. She’s strong enough to deal with anything.”

“You really believe that?” Your brother’s gaze is unyielding.

“I do.”

“Well, then.” He suddenly lightens up, smiling at the two of you. “Want to join us for dinner? I’m thinking noodles.”

“I actually have to get to warm-ups soon…” Yuta says regretfully.

“That’s a good boy. See, Y/N, I trust your judgement. We best be off, then.” Abruptly, your brother turns, putting his shoes back on. You scramble to join him, grabbing your things and putting your own shoes on.

“I’ll see you later?” You say to Yuta, who’s simply staring, somewhat shell shocked that he survived the encounter.

He blinks, then gives you a sort of smirk. “How about a kiss for-”

“Don’t push it.” Your brother cuts him off, standing in the doorway. He starts down the stairs. When he’s not looking, you lean over, pressing your lips to Yuta’s cheek. Before you can turn around, he sneaks one of his own onto your lips. You run after your brother.

He thoroughly grills you about Yuta during dinner, but you don’t mind. You keep out the parts about sex and the specifics of the relationship coming to fruition and he seems satisfied. You barely make it to the game in time because of your brother’s interrogation, but you still get there early enough to see some of the drills. In work mode, he crosses his arms, making approving comments about Yuta’s footwork. Your boyfriend is in a similar mood, already focused in.

Then, the game starts. The other team starts with the ball, but it makes no difference. The Lions take it back, sending it back and forth across the field, gaining and losing it, until Yuta, as usual, scores, redeeming himself from the previous week. Your brother says something under his breath about potential and skill. Through the game, the Lions make great plays and you find yourself cheering for all of them, even Mingyu. The rival team stands no chance - not for lack of skill, but simply because your team is determined. By the end of the game, the score is a solid 3:0.

You’re one of the first onto the field after the teams break away from shaking hands. You meet Yuta in the middle, jumping on him in a hug when you reach him. You can’t stop the outpouring of praise, telling him how well he played, how brilliant he was. He just laughs, telling you he did his best. It’s the most positive thing you’ve heard from him after a game.

When you let go of him, willing to let the rest of his friends surround him now, you step away in search of your brother. To your surprise, he’s chatting up the Lions’ coach, who seems somewhat flustered by the Ravens’ striker speaking to him. Before you can get close, the coach blows the whistle he has around his neck, getting the attention of everyone around him, but particularly the team.

“Boys! Gather round, we have someone here with something to say to you.”

It doesn’t take long for them to recognize who your brother is.

It’s funny seeing the team rush to your brother, some pretending to be cool, some openly fawning over him. But, there’s one person who isn’t looking at him. From across the mob forming around your brother, you make eye contact with Yuta. And, in the midst of the stars shining in the form of the Raven, the Lion’s light falls on you.

#yuta smut #yuta fluff #nct smut #nct fluff #neowritingsnet #nct angst #yuta angst #nct one shot #yuta one shot #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction #yuta imagine #nct imagine #yuta fanfiction #yuta fanfic #sports collab #i hope everyone enjoys this :) #apologies for lateness #wonjaekook

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 11

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: Nope! Notes: Here we are, a breath away from the end. This features not one, but FOUR songs written by myself. If you only choose to listen to one of them, listen to the final one (Cradle of Heaven), as it is a duet I wrote specifically for this fanfiction, as something that the reader wrote to play together with Daniela. The links to these songs will be within the fanfiction itself, at relevant times. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato, Pt. 9: Berceuse, Pt. 10b: Hymn AMAB

Chapter 11: Cadence

(Cadence: Two chords that mark the end of a song)

The stage is set, the lights are dimmed, your heart pounds within your chest, and the world is yours. Soon, it will be Daniela’s. She is right by your side, as ever, hand gently taking hold of your own. There’s a silent reassurance in her grip, a reminder that the two of you have overcome a plethora of challenges. A promise that this will be no different. Both of you take a deep breath, in sync, before exchanging a quick kiss. All of your hard work has been leading up to the coming moments. Although you are beyond confident in your lover’s abilities, there is a shadow of doubt in the back of your mind. Not for her sake, but surrounding the expectations held by her mother, the standard against which you would be measured.

“Come hell or high water, Songbird, I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise,” Daniela whispers, squeezing your hand again, eyes unblinking as they stare into yours. “You’ve made every right choice, worked harder than anyone I know, and there is nothing more I can ask of you… except another kiss to celebrate afterwards, that is.” Giggling in response gives you the moment you need to relax, nerves fading into the background of your mind. “Now let’s put on a show the likes of which my mother has never seen, mhmm?”

THREE HOURS EARLIER:

“Here, you can borrow my brooch. It’s been in the family for generations, since before we even came to the village, passed down starting with an ancestor who crafted it himself, from materials he scavenged while fleeing his home country,” Daphne rambles, helping you attach the jewelry to your shirt. Thankfully, her hands do not tremble nearly as much as yours have been for the past hour. “I’m more than sure that Lady Daniela will tell you this much, but I feel the need to repeat just how good you look right now. I don’t know where the hell they’ve been hiding this version of our uniform, but damn do I wish I could get one for my next date with Ygritte. Seriously, if you can get one in my size, please do me that favor.”

“Anything for my best friend. Especially after all the times you’ve saved my ass these past few months,” you reply, pausing to give her shoulder an affectionate pat. If not for her constant interference running, someone would have certainly found out about your relationship with Daniela. “Speaking of that… of my life being on the line, I mean… no matter what happens today, no matter what Lady Dimitrescu decides, take care of yourself. You’ve gambled with your own blood to keep me safe, but what I’ve done, what I’ve risked, those were my choices. My consequences. The last thing I’d ever want is for you to pay for them, somehow.”

Rolling her eyes, Daphne gives you a playful shove to the chest, before smoothing out the fabric of your dress uniform. Now she refuses to meet your gaze, a familiar mistiness taking over her brown eyes.

“Nobody around here is stupid enough to think you’ll die today. You managed to get Lady Daniela, of all people, to stay focused long enough to learn some absolutely beautiful pieces of music. You have proved, time and time again, that you are a talented musician, teacher, and ‘servant’. So get out there and kick some metaphorical ass, my friend, because you are ready,” she finally says, offering you what seems to be a handshake. But as soon as your hand meets hers, she’s pulling you in for a hug, holding you tight for a solid minute. When at last you part, you give her what may very well be the last smile she’d ever see gracing your lips.

---------------------------

A hand’s edge against xer forehead, parallel to the ground, kept perfectly flat. From anyone else, it would be mockery. From xer? Honest salute, solidarity in a traditional form, accompanied by a sharp-toothed grin. Mimicking the expression, you wave at Ava, glad to see that xe would be awake for your concert. After your first night with your girlfriend, Daphne had helped arrange for someone to be your “cover story” for sleeping outside of your usual quarters. With Daniela’s input (and jealousy), only one candidate had revealed themselves, in the form of a (conveniently) mute butler with an inconsistent schedule, love of mischief, and somehow the respect of the Dimitrescu family. Now, xe appeared ready to escort you to the location of your trial by fire.

“Are you sure our mutual friend won’t be upset to see the two of us together?” You teased, knowing full well that Ava was one of the only people that Daniela trusted 100% around you. In response, xe gives an exaggerated shrug, then quickly links xer arm with your own. Together you march onwards to your destiny, amused by the way xe practically skipped down the hallway. Maybe there was a certain wisdom to xer shenanigans, a carefree philosophy that encouraged laughter in the face of death, and you embraced the thought with a smile.

Before long, however, the two of you encounter another unlikely pair headed towards the same destination: Lady Cassandra, looking somewhat embarrassed, with an unfamiliar maiden at her side. Their hands are clutching each other desperately, although neither of them dares to look at the other. Instead they both watch you closely from where they’ve paused in the corridor. Oddly unfazed, Ava gives them a short bow of acknowledgement, earning xer a brief nod from Cassandra. Seeming eager to move on, she addresses you quickly before gesturing for you to keep walking.

“Good luck. Don’t fuck this up for Daniela, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” she growls, doing her best to downplay her obvious concern. Wanting to let her keep up with her facade, you merely give a nod as you resume walking towards the concert stage. Soft footsteps behind you let you know that the strange pair are accompanying you. Still walking alongside you, Ava repeatedly glances behind you, putting out xer hands in the shape of a heart, giggling all the while. If you didn’t know any better, you would almost assume that xe wanted to get hit by Cassandra.

“Ava, please calm down. If you’re not careful, she’ll throw something at you. If she does that, you’ll probably dodge, and then I’ll probably end up getting hit, and then I’ll miss the concert, Lady Dimitrescu will kill me as punishment, Daniela will be sad and whiny about it, and none of you will have any peace for, like, a month. Three weeks, bare mims,” you tease, nudging xer in the ribs. Emphasizing a pout, xe sends one last look at Cassandra and her ‘friend’ (whose hand she was still holding onto like a lifeline), mouthing words you couldn’t parse. Based on the way Cassandra groans, it was something ridiculously cheesy. Regardless, xe behaves the rest of the way there…

ONE MINUTE TO SHOWTIME:

“I love you, Firefly, and I know that you’re going to do absolutely amazing out there. I’m so proud of you,” you murmur, pressing a feather-light kiss to Daniela’s cheek. As dearly as you wish to stay behind the curtain, in her arms, you know that the show was inevitable. With one last nod to your beloved, you part the fabric shielding you, stepping into the spotlight. Imaginary crowds grow hushed at your appearance, a sea of faces greeting you warmly. In truth, there are but five members in this audience, each gazing upon you with veiled interest. Donning you best presentation persona, you set this final act in motion. “Lady Dimitrescu, Lady Cassandra, Lady Bela, and Mx. Caldwell, it brings me great pleasure to present to you, on this day, a concert performed by your own Lady Daniela. For three months now I have acted as her instructor, and these three months have been, perhaps, the most rewarding of my entire life. I could not possibly be any more proud of her than I already am. Now, without further ado… let us begin!”

Stepping to the side, a tug of a rope has the curtains parting entirely, revealing your beloved, waiting ready at the piano. All at once your audience (including Cassandra’s partner, acting as a mere servant in the background) sits up with wide smiles. They look Daniela over, taking in the sight of her fanciest dress, and the way her eyes light up with joy. By the time her fingers begin dancing away at the keys, there is not a single ounce of anxiety in your entire soul. This first song is a relic from your past, a representation of an abandoned idea, yet she plays it like a celebration. It’s fast, hits hard, a bold take right out of the gate. Admittedly, it is also somewhat short. Nonetheless, it serves its purpose, igniting a spark of excitement in those present. Once the song ends, Daniela is surprised by the intensity of her family’s applause. In the back of her mind, she trembles with excitement, knowing that the best was yet to come.

Riding this wave of pride, she immediately settles into the next song, something slower but far grander. Affection thrums inside your chest as you watch your pupil perfectly execute another piece. You can only imagine what her mother must be feeling, to see just how far her daughter has come in such a short amount of time. A quick glance in Alcina’s direction reveals the barest hints towards her being impressed. For now that was enough to satisfy you. Soon enough her face would twist in surprise, as the second song ended, and a new face steps up onto the stage: Lady Bela. Wordlessly she retrieves her violin from the back of the stage, then turns to the front with a mischievous smile.

“Now, a duet! Presenting the ever-talented Lady Bela, to join Lady Daniela for a rendition of an original song, dubbed ‘Northern Lights’. Enjoy!” You call out, before once more taking your place at the side. While Daniela did not need you to count her in for her solo performances, this feels ever so slightly more important, and as such you do your best to conduct for the duration of the song. If either of the performers need it, they hide it well. Honestly, you weren’t sure if your girlfriend had looked your way even a single time so far. ‘Twas incredible to witness her. Akin to a siren, near glowing, taking to the stage as if born to grace its center. Even with Bela working her own magic, Daniela is ever the star. Together they weave a lovely song, notes rising high into the air, swirling around an enchanted audience.

When it ends, both performers give a bow, as if the entire affair had come to a close. Without hinting at what was to come, you switch places with the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. A deep breath rattles your ribcage as you find your center, reaching out to take Daniela’s hand, the two of you raising your arms upward in a display of union. For the first time this evening, Lady Alcina narrows her eyes in what feels like disapproval. But you pay her no mind. Instead you sit alongside your beloved, quietly settling into your practiced position.

There is no introduction for this song. No announcement, no showmanship, nor even a countdown into the symphony. Simply, like exhaling a breath, the two of you start to play. Your phrases echo hers, and vice versa, calling and answering, accompanying all the while, natural as anything holy in the wild. ‘Tis the second shortest song of the night, only long enough to showcase the degree of your partnership with Daniela. As the song crescendos into an ending, you manage to meet the gaze of your employer. Perhaps it is merely an illusion of hope, or a reflection of lights above, but you swear you see tears in her eyes.

“Outstanding, incredible,” she praises, rising to her feet alongside her other daughters, clapping all the while. Once again you rise to your feet, hand clasped with Daniela’s, bowing as deeply as you can manage. Before you can even process what’s happening, your girlfriend is being pulled away from you, swept up into the arms of her mother. Desperation digs like a knife into your heart, as you ache to celebrate with her, but you remain ever in the guise of a professional. “You did amazing, my dear. I cannot begin to describe how proud I am.” The family gathers around each other, buzzing with affection fit to make the hardest of hearts melt. You are left on the outside, awkwardly waiting, without a hint of acknowledgment.

Even if this concert was a measure of your skill as a teacher, Lady Dimitrescu had never bothered to consider you more than another servant. This night was about Daniela. About your secret girlfriend, the brightest star in all the skies. That is not something that bothers you, nor does it surprise you. All that makes you wish to weep is the desire to kiss her. To sweep her into your arms, with celebratory kisses, singing her name as a praise to higher powers. In the end, it takes several minutes for Daniela to pull away enough to move back to you, and even then she cannot give you the reaction she yearns for.

“I’ll come by to talk to you tonight, I promise,” she whispers, as she gives you the weakest hug you have ever felt. Then she is returning to her family, clinging to her mother with a massive grin. Soon enough you are left alone on stage, quiet surrounding you, mixed feelings gnawing at the pit of your stomach. Something feels… wrong. You cannot put a name to it. No one has hinted to you what your beloved has planned, for none but her even have a clue. As soon as she is alone with her mother, as soon as she has the smallest sliver of an opportunity, she knows what she must do. “Mother… we need to talk. I... I have a confession to make.”

#daniela dimitrescu x reader #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #avaskian caldwell #cliffhanger #sorry folks #not beta read

[starilicious]

der lagi lekin (hunter x force-user!gn! reader + ep. 8 fix-it)

》 summary: tbb episode 8 fix-it featuring a force-user reader who used to be a jedi. reader is a part of tbb and in a relationship with hunter, but the squad–nor hunter–knows that reader is a force-user. (disclaimer: all of this was written before episode 9 was released! see a/n for an explanation ^_^) (another disclaimer: if you want just the hunter x reader comfort, please let me know and i'll finish it up and post it!)

》 word count: ~8k (yeah, it's a lot LOL)

click here to read on AO3

》 warnings: in-universe swearing, mental breakdown, some slight sensory overloads, pretty mild panic attack, light canon-typical violence, angst + some comfort, survivor's guilt from surviving order 66, no use of y/n, slightly plot heavy because i got way too carried away in writing (whoops?) [if i should add more warnings, please let me know!]

》 spoilers: major ones for tbb episode 8 "reunion"

》 a/n: okay look, i gotta confess: this wasn’t supposed to be an episode 8 fix-it. really. i’m actually glad cad bane won because we get to see that the clones don’t always win every fight... i think it makes for a better and more complex story. anyway, i started out writing just reader and hunter comfort after episode 8 ended. but i’m weak for omega because she reminds me so much of my younger siblings and i ended up writing a wholeass fix-it to save her (even tho cad bane is a downright badass). i kind of liked what i did with building up the plot so much that i might continue this story of force-user!reader with tbb. but that’s a tangent we can deal with later. if you would like a part two with the hunter x reader comfort this was originally intended to be, let me know!

as i said in the summary, i wrote all of this before episode 9 came out–just be aware of that. because it’s so long, it took me a while to edit, which is why i’m posting after ep. 9 was released. but without further ado, i hope you like it! <33

》 misc. notes:

• title of the fic is from the hindi song "der lagi lekin" from the film zindagi na milegi dobara. i linked the song in blue and linked the english translations in green in case you're curious! it's not necessary to listen or understand the song, but i thought it went well with the fic :)

“Everybody get down!” Wrecker yells. You and the squad immediately do as he instructs, diving towards the ground and covering your head. Stars, I hope this works.

The charges the six of you placed around the gigantic cone that surrounds the core cylinder explodes in a deafening blast. You curl into the tightest ball you can manage, breathing so hard that the HUD inside your helmet temporarily fogs up. Metal shards of the explosion rain down on you hard.

For a moment, it seems like nothing happened. But then you hear the telltale, ear-grinding creak of the durasteel and the squad is roughly catapulted forward from the force of the cone beginning to fall down.

You struggle to stand up as you lurch this way and that, trying to regain your balance and stabilize as Tech calls out, “Hold on!”

You quickly glance at the rest of the Bad Batch, trying to see if any of them were hurt. Other than the absolutely terrified look on Omega’s face, all is well considering the circumstances. The metal groans and begins its descent, taking your feeling of being grounded with it. The weightlessness is uncomfortably familiar to say the least, but you ignore it as the six of you scramble to hold on to the side of the cone. You certainly did your fair share of acrobatics back in the war, but feeling it hum around you...it’s too much. It’s too much. You elect to push it back into the depths of your brain. But it doesn’t leave.

It never really does.

Omega’s anxious whimpers come in faintly through your thick helmet and you whip around, frantically trying to find where she is. But before you can find her, the cone lands vertically on its head and the force is so violent that your stable hold on the durasteel is broken. Panicked, you quickly fire a grappling hook towards the ledge where you were previously hanging on. The hook catches and you stop abruptly, the jerky movement almost wrenching your arm out of its socket.

You look down to see Omega falling from someone’s grip and into Hunter’s arms. You can barely tell where anyone is thanks to the lack of light and the incessant motion.

The cone begins to topple onto its side and suddenly, your wire snaps from the tension. You let out a scream of surprise as you plummet downwards, wind rushing past your helmet. ForceIdon’twanttodieohmyMakerohno–

But you never hit the ground, instead being flung sideways as the cone tears into two. On trained instinct, you tuck yourself into a ball to try and roll in order to break your fall instead of using it. That time is long gone.

You land with a sickening thud and hiss in pain as your back hits the metal hard. You hear something crack, but whether it is your armor or something internal, you have absolutely no idea, and don’t have time to check before you black out.

✧✦✧

You jolt awake, a sound making its way into your consciousness. Finally, the damn place stopped moving. You take a few minutes to try and relieve the painful pressure in your chest, reaching up to rip your helmet off because you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe.

You tilt your head back as you struggle to take in air and let the adrenaline subside. You hear voices in the distance and you strain your ears to pick up on the sound as you quickly check yourself over. As far as you can tell, nothing major is broken, and at this point, that is all that matters. Though, your head is pounding, and for more reasons than one

“–nter.. port side... what… status?”

You can’t tell who is speaking, the message too far away for you to hear. But the bits and pieces are enough for you to know that it’s someone from the Bad Batch and that you weren’t unconscious for long. You stand up and dust yourself off before slowly walking to where you believe the origin of the sound is.

“–engine… got company.” A blaster sound and then an explosion rings through the quiet.

Your eyes widen and you quickly pick up the pace, getting your blaster ready as you pick your way through the sharp metal that is jutting out from the ground.

You click on your wrist comm. “Echo, you there?” A faint crackle before his voice comes through, but the signal is scratchy. You frown in frustration.

“–are you? Hunter is... port side,” Echo says and you smack your commlink to try and get the electronics to work, but it’s no use. The device is broken, most likely from the fall, you deduce.

“Meet… Marauder.”

You don’t bother to answer, knowing Echo would probably not even be able to hear what you had to say anyway. Without a signal booster or repeater, there’s no way you can get your transmission across the channel frequency.

It takes a few minutes, but you eventually find the night sky of Bracca blinking down at you at the end of the ripped off cone. You run out to find that you’re in the middle of where the cone broke in half. Okay, new plan. I need to find Hunter. Hunter will know what to do.

You scan your surroundings. The HUD isn’t picking up on any lifeforms near you, and you realize with sinking dread that you have no more options. Whichever piece you climbed through to get to your squadmates, it would take too long for you to search for them since you don’t know their coordinates and your comm isn’t working. Frankly, the Empire–Crosshair–would find you first. You have to use it.

You have to use the Force.

A wave of nausea overcomes you at the mere thought of it and you sway. In an attempt to ground yourself, you tear off your helmet to breathe some fresh air and end up keeling over as the bile rises in your throat. Nothing comes out. You can’t tell if that’s a positive or not.

You could have saved them. Someone. Anyone.

It itches at you in the back of your head, wishing to be let out of its cage. But you can’t. You can’t do it. What’s the use anyway? All you would be doing is saving yourself. The choice of surviving it all has haunted you ever since. Your head pounds in agony.

You saw it happen. You could have helped them. And you ran like a coward. Only ever concerned about yourself.

You inhale sharply as the scene flashes before your eyes, clones shooting at you and the other Jedi. The blaster fire. The confusion. The screams.

How pathetic.

The last statement, an echo of Crosshair’s words, bounces around in your brain. You clutch your head as you let out a heartbroken sob, knee deep in the dirt and metal and grief. Tears create clean tracks down your face as you finally break down, the flood of emotions bursting the dam open. At this point, you don’t know if the emotions are yours or the ones you previously felt through the Force, all of them swirling and blending into one. The bottled up anguish merged together when you attempted to cut yourself off from the Force after the clones–your friends–attacked.

The pain of their death is perhaps the worst of all. Horror courses through you as you finally process your friends and mentors dying around the galaxy, their deaths, their distress, their fear reverberating heavily throughout the Force. Each one cripples you further as you once again struggle to breathe.

It feels like light years pass when you finally calm down to a practically numb state of being. The scenes stop replaying behind your closed eyelids and the echoing shrieks die down to a faint, hollow whisper. You’re suddenly exhausted, limbs heavy and energy sapped. It was almost relieving to finally let the Force once again flow through your body, your nerves lightly tingling with potential despite how tired you feel. You collapse onto the ground and try to recenter yourself.

But despite finally acknowledging the loss, it doesn’t feel right. You didn’t get to say goodbye. You hadn’t been able to even think about them, much less honor them, too focused on going on the run to concentrate on anything beyond the next day’s survival. Even once you joined the Bad Batch, you were paranoid about their chips, about your friends turning on you at any moment. You were always extremely reluctant to engage in the Force, even at the worst of times.

With a start, you realize that you don’t need to worry about your squadmates. Their inhibitor chips are now gone. You… you are safe.

You let out a shocked laugh as it sinks in. A glimmer of hope, of peace. I’m safe.

You sit up then, criss-crossing your legs as you survey the broken landscape of Bracca. Despite the planet being a graveyard, you feel lucidly alive. Perhaps something died in you, that wretched day. But something else, slowly but surely, began growing in its place. It’s meek, but it’s there.

You let out a breath and close your eyes, reaching for the Force like it’s an old friend. It accepts your invitation with hesitation, joining hands with you as if you did not try beating it to death for days on end. You sink into the gentle lapping waves of the Force, extending into it and widening your scope.

There’s something that lurks beneath the surface, in the deep. Dark and sinister and so utterly painful. It calls to you, quiet and low. Enticing. Tempting. And something in you knows that it’s the reason for your previous life’s demise.

But you can feel Hunter’s–and Omega’s, you realize–presence near you in the Force. Even with your relatively damaged connection to the Force after Order 66, the Bad Batch’s Force auras were something you could always hone in on. You let yourself direct your focus to the duo, letting their emotions be your beacon to the acceptance of the Light side of the Force.

In a split second, you decide to not dive deeper into the Force. This isn’t the place nor the time to discover what is prowling in the endless yawning of the Force, to discover why everything happened. So you direct your concentration to the beings on the planet, feeling and breathing your way through the Life Force.

You freeze. There’s something here. No… someone. Your eyebrows furrow as you divert your attention away from your friends and other organisms to the peculiar source. Something about this person strikes you as familiar.

Your eyes snap open and you gasp. I’m not alone. A Force-sensitive. Someone survived. Giddy beyond belief, you snatch up your helmet and begin trekking your way across the wreckage in the opposite direction of Hunter and Omega before pausing. Whoever this person is doesn’t know about your presence on the planet.

And despite the fear you felt emanating off of them in the Force, you somehow knew they were safe, at least for now. And they would remain so if you have anything to say about it. Maker forbid anything that jeopardizes this person’s fragile safety. After all, you know best what it’s like to constantly flee scene after scene.

Staying away is the best thing to do. I’ll come back for you, whoever you are.

You double back and make quick work of getting across the debris as you focus your concentration on Hunter’s and Omega’s Force signatures. As you get closer to the port side, you hear Omega’s high voice. Through your HUD, you can see her small form. You grin. She disappears then, and on closer inspection, you figure she jumped through some broken cargo doors.

The entrance she and Hunter took is too high for you to jump up to, even with the aid of the Force. Combined with your wariness of probe droids, you decide to take a different route from the right side, climbing up the broken ship. The slick oil mixed with the water still present on the metal makes for a difficult trek, and you slip more times than you would like to admit.

Hunter’s gruff voice floats up towards you and you scramble the last few meters to the edge of a hole in the ceiling before pausing. The Force is itching at the back of your head. Something’s wrong.

You peek over the edge of the giant slab of durasteel that created the hole to see bodies in white armor littered everywhere–clones, you realize. Your heart pangs in sadness at the sight.

Slightly to your right, a blue figure and a techno-service droid stand in front of a ship and a frightened Omega stands behind a defensive Hunter. Your mouth drops open. Kriff.

Cad Bane.

A memory from near the beginning of the war hits you in full force. You and Anakin had taken some time on Coruscant to catch up with each other after you passed your trials and were promoted to Jedi Knight. He told you about a mission where he had to stop a bounty hunter who successfully stole a Jedi holocron. You remember how surprised you were when you heard the bitter disgust in Anakin’s voice. The ruthlessly cunning bounty hunter not only threatened to kill Ahsoka, but he murdered Master Ropal.

Judging by the looks of it, Hunter doesn’t know who he is. If the Anakin Skywalker had a difficult time with Cad Bane, there is no way in sithhell Hunter can take him on, even with his enhanced senses. Frankly, you seriously doubt you can either, especially with how rusty your Force skills are now. And that means this isn’t going to end well.

You watch carefully as you tune into the conversation.

“Ain’t you smart?” Bane smirks. “The kid’s got it all figured it out.”

“You’re in trouble now!” the droid exclaims, pointing at Hunter and Omega. You grit your teeth in annoyance.

“Who hired you?” Hunter asks. Stalling. Not a bad move, Hunter.

“Son,” Bane sighs, already done with the brief conversation. “That’s confidential information. Now hand her over.”

Omega stays behind Hunter, taking a knee as Hunter walks forward protectively. You bristle. How am I supposed to help from up here?

“She’s not going anywhere.”

Your eyes drift over the scene in a panic and you take in the fallen clones again. An idea pops into your head. It is desperate, but at this point, you don’t have much of a choice.

Bane mimics Hunter’s movement, walking forward and putting a hand near his belt. The tension is as thick as duracrete.

“That’s unfortunate… for you.”

You grab the long barrel piece from your belt, fitting it over your blaster hurriedly as the showdown begins. Out of the corner of your eye, you see them staring each other down and you can’t help but roll your eyes. Men.

During the war, Crosshair helped you re-engineer your weapon so you could put together various pieces in the field to make a blaster gun that loosely resembled his own sniper. Seeing the clones reminded you of him. A wave of sadness washes over you, but you shake your head. Now is not the time.

You screw on the telescopic sight and set up your makeshift sniper. You peer through the viewfinder and find Bane’s chest. Your finger tenses over the trigger.

You let yourself sink deep into the Force, let it guide your actions. Inhale. Exhale. I can do this. As you relax, the mellow warmth you missed so dearly washes over you, gently eroding the torment in your mind and heart, guiding your focus to the here and now. Trust in the Force.

Wait.

Wait.

Now.

You fire two bolts straight into your target the same exact moment Bane and Hunter shoot each other. Hunter’s shot hits the droid, breaking off its leg. Bane’s shot hits directly in Hunter’s chest, as yours did Bane. Both men immediately fall backwards and slam into the ground.

“My booster!” Oh. So not a leg. Got it.

“Hunter!”

Kriff kriff kriff. You jump down nimbly from your hiding spot in the ceiling and immediately sprint towards the duo. Is he dead? You would unapologetically release sithhell on Bane if he killed the man you love.

Omega panics as she tries to wake Hunter up, continuously calling his name before taking a glimpse of her surroundings. Before you can react, she grabs her bow and pulls it taut, aiming at you. She looks petrified.

“Whoa! Omega, it’s me!” you exclaim, holding your hands up in surrender. She takes a moment to actually look at you before sagging in relief. Suddenly, the droid comes speeding out of nowhere and Omega shoots, the energy bolt whizzing past your waist and straight into the droid before it can attack you from behind.

The shot rings true and the grumpy robot falls. You turn around to grab at its exposed parts under its head and yank them out to make sure it can’t power on again.

“Thanks, Omega. I owe you one,” you say and Omega gives you a proud smile.

You place a comforting hand on her shoulder before kneeling down to shake Hunter awake, but it doesn’t work. You take a moment to analyse Hunter’s Life Force. It’s a bit dimmer, but it’s constant, meaning he’s out cold and doesn’t have the life draining out of him. You let out a sigh of relief. He’s alive. You glance back to see Bane still not moving. Good.

“What’re we gonna do?” Omega whispers as you both peer down at Hunter. His armor is smoking from Bane’s blaster shot and you exhale through your teeth, trying to come up with a plan. You slip off a glove to check Hunter’s pulse–it’s strong. You don’t want to leave Omega alone, even if Bane is unconscious, but you aren’t sure you have a choice.

“Well we can’t carry him to safety, neither of us are strong enough for that,” you think aloud, gears churning in your head. You would have to wait for help, even if you were sitting ducks.

Briefly, you entertain the thought of taking Bane’s ship. The only problem is you don’t know what trackers or other gadgets are in there–it’s too costly of a risk and a price you weren’t willing to pay. You sigh, resigned.

“Omega, you try to comm the others and see if you can wake Hunter up. I’m going to go inside this guy’s ship and see if I can find something that can help us. We have to get out of here before the bounty hunter wakes up,” you instruct and Omega nods, youthful determination flooding back into her eyes.

You leave her to it, walking cautiously towards Bane’s ship. You look down at him. His armor is smoking in two places from the shots you fired. Based on what you see, he’s still unconscious, and his Life Force reflects the same conclusion. How long that would remain, you don’t know. Which means you need to work fast.

You board the ship while you remove the sniper attachments from your blaster and clip them back onto your belt. You keep your guard up as you look around. No droids. Guess that techno-service droid is his one and only.

In an effort to slowly re-familiarize yourself with the Force, you send out a quick pulse through it to see if there are any lifeforms aboard the ship, relaxing when you find none. You rummage through all the cabinets that you discover, looking high and low as you try to locate something of use. The secret compartment in the cockpit proves to be the fruitful reward to your search. With a wave of your hand, you unlock it with ease. Bingo.

Credits. Bags of them. And they’re unmarked creds, which make your score even better. Hopefully, it would be enough to pay off your debt to Cid and give the Havoc Marauder some much-needed upgrades.

Usually, you would feel bad about stealing from someone, but considering this was a bounty hunter – Cad Bane, no less – you figure you can risk treading the grey area of your moral code.

You grab as many bags as you’re able, stuffing them inside your backpack and clipping the rest onto your belt. At this moment, you’re incredibly grateful to Tech and Echo for designing a sturdy utility belt that fits you well. The standard ones were for clones and you definitely were not a clone.

You exit the cockpit and head to the second level of the ship to see if there’s anything else you can find. A stack of crates sits in the corner across from what you assume to be a prison. You scrunch your nose in disgust as you open one to find medical supplies. Bacta patches and gel, vitapaste, rations, water, gloves, sanitary napkins–it was all there. Delighted, you close the crate and click the repulsor to make it levitate. Oh how you love technology.

You turn around and walk back up the stairs to leave the ship. You freeze at the exit ramp. You have got to be karking kidding me.

“Sorry lil’ lady.”

Cad Bane stuns Omega in front of your eyes before rounding on you and immediately fires. In a desperate attempt to save yourself, you throw your hands up and the honeyed power of the Force rushes through every fibre of your being. The blaster bolts slow down to a snail-like crawl and your eyes widen. How did I…?

Never mind how you argue with yourself. Time to get out of here!

You tiptoe around each bolt, the effort of keeping them in stasis becoming more difficult with each passing moment. You grit your teeth as your arms shake, but you keep going until you are finally off the ramp. You lower your arms and the energy hits the inside of the ship, spazzing out the blinking controls inside.

Bane turns to you in surprise, astonished at how you’re suddenly in front of him. You don’t give him the luxury of processing the event and immediately punch him in the face with as much strength as you can muster. Bane pitches backwards and collapses onto the ground, just as he did the first time. You grab your stun blaster and shoot him as extra assurance. You really did not want this to repeat again. Hopefully he never wakes up with a memory of what I just did...

“Now stay down,” you mutter to a knocked out Bane, cradling your now injured hand. You have no idea how Wrecker ever does this because wow your hand is killing you.

You have to say, you’re pretty proud of yourself for being able to render him unconscious not once, but two times. You wish you could tell Anakin–the thought saddens you. He’s probably dead too.

With that vividly cheery thought, you stagger back from the ramp in exhaustion, weary from the sudden surge of the Force still ebbing and coursing through your body.

None of the Bad Batch knew you used to be a Jedi–not even Hunter. It was something only a few of your closest Jedi friends and the Jedi Council knew about.

But after what happened today, with Rex helping your squadmates get their inhibitor chips out, with you finally letting the Force in… maybe it is time to tell them. The secrecy wouldn’t be needed anymore now that you were sure you were safe around your friends. But clearly, the universe wanted to throw a nasty vibroblade in your plans by knocking Hunter and Omega unconscious and having the best kriffing bounty hunter in the galaxy be hot on your heels.

You take a few seconds to get your breath back and regain your mental energy. You aren’t out of the woods yet. You run inside Bane’s ship to grab the crate of medical supplies before sprinting back out towards Hunter and Omega.

You lean down and pat Omega’s cheek gently, trying to wake her up, but she’s out cold. Why is everyone around me unconscious? Frankly, you’re equally amused and terrified by the situation laid out in front of you.

You sigh, looking around to see if you can find some cover. There’s a giant sheet of durasteel to your left, big enough to act as a barrier in case trouble comes knocking. You bend down and pick Omega up before placing her down cautiously, leaning her small body against the metal. You repeat the action with the crate you found.

The third time proves to be much more difficult. Hunter certainly isn’t as muscular as Wrecker, but he sure as sithhell isn’t as light as Omega. You tap your foot nervously, trying to figure out a way for you to lift him. Yes, you could use the Force, but you don’t want to alert the other Force-sensitive on the planet. If they knew about your existence, it could put them in danger, and that was the last thing you wanted.

Giving up, you place your hands underneath Hunter’s armpits and effectively drag him all the way over, propping him up as you did Omega. You cringe at the sound of his armor grating the floor. There are sure to be dirty scuff marks on it now. Sorry Hunter.

Just as you’re about to sit down next to him, heaving deep breaths from the exertion, you pause. A warning is practically blaring in the Force and you tense, urgently trying to figure out the cause.

“Not again,” you mumble under your breath. You can’t handle any more action today. With Hunter and Omega both down, and your extreme fatigue from engaging in the Force, you don’t know how much of a fight you can put up. Not to mention you never trained as a soldier. There was a reason why you left the military planning strategies to the Bad Batch.

You hold your blaster close to your chest as you scan the environment. Bane is immobile and so is the dismantled techno-service droid. So what’s wrong?

Ten nerve-wracking seconds pass before you get your answer. Clone voices waft up to your hiding spot and you bite your cheek in frustration as your head continues to pound. Your headache still hasn’t stopped.

There is no way you can fight them all off, especially if Crosshair is with them. They are too far away for you to get a read on how many there are, and frankly, you’re much too scared to even peek around the durasteel to count.

One of Tech’s previous statements floats through your mind. About three attack shuttles worth.

You can feel your heart thumping wildly in your chest, blood rushing through your ears as anxiety ties your stomach into knots. I can’t do this, I can’t do this, Ican’tdothis.

You take deep breaths, doing your best to clear your mind and focus. You had to do this. There is no other option other than surrendering or dying. No, damnit, you would go down fighting until the Life Force left you.

You peer just past the edge of the metal to see at least twenty clones heading your way. Certainly not ideal, but you bide your time. If you started shooting now, you couldn’t use the element of surprise to your advantage and they would easily overwhelm you. But once they’re close enough, you hope you can at least take a couple out before having to resort to using the Force. It isn’t ideal, but it’s all you have.

Honestly, you don’t know if you could get out of this one alive, much less protect Hunter and Omega too. Maker help me.

It throws you off when they finally come into sight–you see how plain the clones’ armor looked without paint. You never really noticed it before since you were always running for your life in those circumstances. But now that you think about it, you are so used to seeing bright blue or green or yellow that the alabaster white just seems so… odd.

“Looks like a big fight happened here.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. All these men are dead.”

Now.

You whip your body around the metal and immediately begin shooting as fast as you can pull the trigger, trying to make every shot count. The troopers hesitate for just a moment, most likely due to their surprise of you being there. But that second is all you need.

You take out the three men closest to you before jumping back behind the metal as their barrage of fire rains down on you. You do your best to shoot back and manage to take out one more clone, but they’re beginning to gain too much ground too fast. I can do this. I have to do this.

As far as you can tell, Crosshair isn’t with the clones attacking you, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t set up shop somewhere nearby, waiting to shoot you.

You shudder. It’s a chilling thought.

You grab one of your last detonators from your belt and hurl it as far as you can. The rapid beeping rises quickly in pitch before the charge explodes. Anguished cries reverberate throughout the area, and you briefly feel sorry for having to take such drastic measures as you feel their Force signatures dim swiftly. But you don’t have a choice.

Peeking around the corner, you count around eight to ten clones down. Not bad considering the circumstances.

You continue shooting as much as you can but now the troopers are much too close for comfort and you’re feeling overwhelmed. The durasteel you are using for cover isn’t meant to take this kind of damage, and the integrity of your shield is quickly waning as told by the constant creaks and groans. You don’t know what to do. Will we make it?

In your haste of shooting first and panicking later, you don’t notice Hunter groaning, finally waking up. And before you have time to even glance at him, the familiar hum of the Havoc Marauder and its lights shine down on you. Your sag in relief. Looks like Omega was able to comm them after all. Never before have you been so glad to see the beat-up hunk of junk. (You would never say that to Tech though–the Marauder is his baby, his pride and joy.)

Echo, Wrecker, and Tech all race off the ship, guns ablazing. Wrecker and Tech stand guard, serving as cover fire while Echo bends down to help you out.

“Hunter, wake up!” Echo hisses and smacks his helmet lightly. Hunter mumbles in pain as he starts to move, trying to look around as his HUD boots back up. Seriously? Now you wake up? you think sarcastically. But you’re much more relieved at the fact that he has actually woken up.

“What happened? Where’s Omega?” Wrecker bellows, worried.

“She’s right here, I’ve got her!” you shout back at the same time Echo says, “He was shot in the chest plate.”

You pocket your blaster and gather the young girl in your arms with every last bit of strength you have left. You aren’t strong enough to hold her in one arm and shoot with the other. That is much more up Wrecker’s alley.

“We have to get him on board!” Tech exclaims as he helps Echo support Hunter. You pick Omega up in both arms and bolt for the ship as fast as you can while yelling at Tech to grab the crate of supplies.

“Incoming!” Wrecker calls out as a fresh wave of troopers advance towards the six of you. You grunt as you deposit Omega in a chair near the controls before pulling out your blaster and helping Wrecker shoot down the men racing towards you.

“Got him. Tech, fly us out of here!” Echo commands while Wrecker makes a gesture for them to get on the ship faster. Hunter stumbles as he does his best to upright himself.

“Go go go!” Wrecker exclaims. Tech shoves the crate next to Omega’s seat and makes a beeline for the cockpit as you continue shooting, moving to the side to make space for Echo and Hunter to come on board. Wrecker quickly climbs in right after them and the ramp closes shut.

Tech immediately pilots the Havoc Marauder up and away from the scene. You vaguely hear the sound of blaster fire hitting the bottom of the ship while you drop your blaster on the ground and wrench Hunter’s helmet off in a panic. You take his face in your hands as you scan him quickly, trying to figure out if he’s hurt or not.

Hunter bats your hands away. “He... he took Omega,” he says and you shake your head. Wrecker pipes up from behind you to respond.

“Who? Crosshair?”

“The bounty hunter,” Hunter mutters as he rubs a hand over his face. Before Wrecker can answer again, you step in.

“No, he didn’t. I took him down. And no, he’s not dead,” you tack on quickly when you see Echo open his mouth. Echo shakes his head fondly and you just grin at him.

“She’s right here,” Echo says instead, pointing to Omega’s sleeping figure. Hunter turns in surprise to see that his brother is indeed telling the truth.

“How...?” Hunter’s voice trails off. Echo and Wrecker look at you expectantly, and Hunter follows suit. You sigh and take off your helmet, setting it down on the ledge next to the controls. You don’t look at them.

“It’s a long story.”

You don’t have a chance to elaborate any further because Tech walks in, interrupting the conversation.

“I’ve made the jump to hyperspace. There was a cruiser in the atmosphere, but I was able to quietly go past them by disguising our ship as a bounty hunter’s. They didn’t interfere. I put in the coordinates for Ord Mantell. I estimate our time of arrival to be five hours and thirty two minutes,” Tech reports and Hunter nods while you voice your thanks.

“Looks like we got time!” Wrecker says cheerily, pulling out an extra chair. Tech looks to you in confusion.

“Did I miss something significant?” Tech asks, concerned about the information he did not receive as he adjusts his goggles. You shake your head but now, all eyes are back on you.

“She was just about to tell us how she saved Omega,” Hunter supplies helpfully and Tech nods in understanding. He grabs a chair as well and sits down, interested in hearing what you have to say.

You look around the room, realizing you can’t get out of it. You are exhausted and just want to sleep but based on the looks you are getting from the boys, there is no way you can leave without giving a sufficient answer.

You sit down on a chair in between Omega and Echo and begin explaining.

“When the cone fell, it separated. I got knocked out when I hit the ground, but I don’t think I broke anything,” you quickly reassure as Tech grabs a datapad to scan your vitals.

“After I came to, I tried comming Echo, but my commlink was broken – I could only hear bits and pieces of what he said. There were some voices near me so I just followed them and–” you pause, not sure if you should tell them what happened. What you experienced, what you found out. “–I saw Hunter and Omega. The ledge I found was way too high for me to jump to, so I climbed up the side of the wreckage to see them and the bounty hunter facing off,” you say, choosing to leave the detail out. It was too personal. You still needed time.

All of them are listening intently, hanging on to every word you’re saying. Hunter’s gaze on you is heavy and loaded with questions. Tech is still tapping away on the datapad, but you know you have his full attention. Multitasking may not be possible for regular humans, but it definitely was for Tech.

“When I saw the bounty hunter, I knew Hunter wasn’t going to win,” you mumble sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. Hunter winces at your statement and you rush to explain why.

“Hunter, you have to trust that I genuinely don’t doubt your abilities. You are much more of a soldier than I will ever be. But this bounty hunter is one of the best, if not the best in the entire galaxy. He’s gone against the Jedi, and won. Based on what Anakin told me at the beginning of the war, Cad Bane is ruthless. He tortured Master Ropal and killed him. Believe it or not, I think he tried to abduct Chancellor Palpatine. Even Anakin had a difficult time fighting him.”

A tense quiet settles over you all as you mentally revisit your conversation with Anakin, and later with Ahsoka. She told you how it was one of the first times she was genuinely afraid that she was going to die, or at least get hurt very severely.

Echo’s rough voice shakes you out of your reverie. “How do–did you know General Skywalker?” he asks, clearly confused at how you referred to him on a first-name basis. You mentally facepalm yourself. How did I forget he served as part of the 501st? You feel incredibly stupid.

You could make up a lie, of course, but it wouldn’t be worth it. Hunter’s enhanced senses and Tech’s vitals scan could probably pick up on your biological signs, not to mention you would feel terribly guilty about not being honest. I promised myself I would tell them…

You blow out a nervous breath, deciding to at least give them something. They deserved that much.

“I’m–well, I was a Jedi,” you admit, staring down at your feet. You can’t bring yourself to look at them, feeling almost… ashamed.

The boys are shocked into silence and you cringe. There was probably a much better way for you to say that, but now it was out there. Yet the pressure that had been weighing down on you since you let the Force back in didn’t lessen.

“What?” Wrecker questions, thrown completely for a loop. “You’re a Jedi?”

Before you can answer, Tech pipes up. “When I reviewed your medical data, there was no note about an elevated midi-chlorian count or any sort of connection to the Force. Additionally, there is no documentation of you serving as a General or a Commander during the war in the Republic military records. How were you a Jedi? And why aren’t you one now? You used past tense in your sentence,” Tech adjusts his goggles as he attempts to register this new information that conflicted with his previous knowledge.

You sigh, drumming your fingers on your thigh. “I left the Jedi Order before the war ended. I promise I’ll explain everything in detail later, but for now, you have to understand that I’m just a Force-user. I trained as a Jedi, but I’m not a Jedi, not anymore,” you clarify, lifting your head up to make eye contact with each of them.

“Aw man, that’s so cool. You have to show us your cool mind tricks sometime!” Wrecker smiles and you agree to his request. It warms your heart to see him so excited.

“It makes sense. You must have seen the regs turn on the Jedi but didn’t know why. When you started traveling with us, you didn’t know if we would turn on you too, even though we’re not regs,” Hunter realizes, and you nod in affirmation. You’re secretly relieved by the fact that he doesn’t seem angry, just… just thoughtful.

“And then when I saw what happened to Crosshair, I knew I couldn’t risk ever telling any of you. But when Rex told us about the chips…” you trail off.

Echo picks up your sentence quickly. “You figured out you would be safe with us if we got our chips removed. No wonder you were so insistent on following what Rex said.”

You smile at the last part, a bit embarrassed. He wasn’t wrong. You were probably even more insistent than Rex was on telling them to get their inhibitor chips out. Better to be safe than sorry you told them. Though at the time, you hadn’t even thought about how removing their chips would impact you and your abilities. You were too focused on keeping the Force out of your body to entertain that thought.

Wrecker suddenly gets up and gathers you in a bone-crushing hug. “Well you don’t have to worry now! We got those stupid chips out of our heads, which means I promise we won’t kill you!” he says cheerfully and you can’t help but laugh as you hug him back, the knot in your chest beginning to unravel. You could always count on Wrecker’s wonderfully big heart to raise your spirits.

“You’re right, big guy. It’s honestly a relief. One less thing I have to worry about.”

Wrecker lets go of you and you pick up where you left off. “As I was saying, Cad Bane isn’t a bounty hunter we can take lightly. Crosshair helped me re-engineer my blaster to turn it into a pseudo sniper with attachable parts during the war. Because I was so high up, I could get a clear shot of Bane. From that vantage point, I shot him at the same time Hunter and Bane shot each other.”

Echo’s mouth drops open. “Damn.”

“What I didn’t expect was for Hunter to be rendered completely unconscious. So I told Omega to try to comm you guys while I went on Bane’s ship to see if I could find anything. And I did.” You pull off your backpack and dump out the contents. Bags of credits come tumbling out. You unhook the few bags on your belt and toss them into the pile.

“Bane had a secret compartment with a lot of credits. So I took them and that crate I yelled at Tech to get,” you explain as you reach into the bag to show off the Imperial credits.

Tech’s eyes widen as he lifts up a bag to inspect it. “I will have to calculate how much you took and mark it in the inventory, but based on my initial deduction, this may be enough for us to upgrade the Marauder and provide sustenance for at least a few months.”

“Nice one!” Wrecker compliments and you grin in response. “What’s in the crate?” he asks, walking over to lift up the top.

“Medical supplies. We barely had any left so I figured I might as well take that too,” you shrug as Hunter gets up to join Wrecker to peer at the contents.

“What happened after that? You said you told Omega to comm the others, which means she was awake. Did she get hurt while I was out? Is that why you look so exhausted?” Hunter inquires, astute as ever.

You bite your lower lip. “When I was getting off his ship with the goods, he had woken up again. Before I could do anything, he stunned Omega and then immediately shot at me,” you pause, wondering if you should elaborate on how you got out of the situation. You decide to come clean on this part.

“I… I don’t know how, but I was able to stop the blaster bolts and keep them – and Bane – in stasis with the Force. The problem was that it took a lot out of me. After not really using the Force for so long, my energy reserves were pretty much gone,” you sigh, absentmindedly rubbing your arms. Your muscles are still sore from the event.

“After that, I punched him and knocked him out again. I dragged you and Omega away from the ship so that I could protect you, and I ended up using that giant piece of durasteel as cover to fight off those clones. Then you guys came and rescued us and that’s that,” you finish, suddenly fatigued from the conversation. You slump back into your chair, perfect posture be damned.

“Wow,” is all Echo says, surprised by your strength. It took some serious stamina to be able to withstand so much for so long. Echo remembered seeing Commander Tano and General Skywalker be exhausted after some especially intense missions where they constantly had to use the Force.

“Yeah,” you mutter, massaging your dominant hand. It is still throbbing from the mean hook you threw at Bane. You don’t have any regrets. You glance at Omega’s sleeping figure and soften. The things I would do for this girl.

“Looks like I taught you well!” Wrecker laughs and you smile. When you first met the Bad Batch, Wrecker took it upon himself to teach you basic self-defense and how to overtake an opponent intelligently. Even though you already learned how to fight as part of your Jedi and military training, you couldn’t say no to him when he looked so excited. But it paid off because he’s right. Wrecker did teach you well.

“You did. You basically saved my ass out there with your amazing teaching skills,” you chuckle, glancing down at your hand. You think you’ll probably have to cover it in bacta gel to speed up the healing process before having yet another realization. (You seem to be having a lot of those today.)

I can just Force-heal. Before, you couldn’t Force-heal because it would look suspicious if something healed too fast. But now that they know, you don’t have to solely depend on medical supplies anymore.

Tech, as always, is right on cue. “Is your hand alright? For you to render Bane unconscious must have been no easy feat. Not to mention that according to the medscan I just took, you have a mild concussion, most likely due to your fall. I can run a medical diagnostic test to start and then run more specific tests to combat your pain...” Tech mutters the last part to himself, brain running light years faster than his mouth as his fingers fly over the datapad.

You debate it for a moment before nodding. “That would be great, Tech–thanks. But right now, I’m exhausted, so I’m going to go and crash in my bunk. Wake me up if I need to punch someone again,” you joke before shuffling away from your squadmates. You ruffle Omega’s hair affectionately as you pass by her and pick up your blaster from the ground before climbing down the ladder. You don’t notice Hunter’s troubled gaze or how his Force signature sours a bit as you leave.

You quickly clean up and throw on some bacta patches on a few nasty bruises. You sit down on your bed and pull the privacy curtain before deciding to open up your secret compartment next to your mattress. You stare down at the objects, the only things you have left as a reminder of the past. You reach down for one of them, about to touch it when you stop.

You shake your head and shut the drawer. Deciding to finally, finally hit the hay, you’re out like a light as soon as your head hits the pillow. Dealing with the Force and healing yourself could be done later. Not even your constant pain and crippling worry about your family friends could keep you up any longer.

please consider reblogging! it really helps me and is super encouraging ^_^

#the bad batch #bad batch #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #star wars tbb #tbb #tbb hunter #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #star wars fic #starwars x reader #clone x you #clone x reader #hunter x reader #echo #omega #crosshair #hunter #tech #wrecker #im sorry for the amount of times i said please let me know in the beginning notes LOL #i hope u guys liked it #i spent way too much time on this hehe...whoops #i can't decide if i should continue the hunter x reader comfort wip so if u want it... #say it with me kids... #please let me know!

[snackzimmerman]

Nursey leaves poetry all over their room.

This wouldn’t be A Big Deal (even though a year ago, there would have been a reckoning so great that not even pie could smooth it over) except for the fact that it’s.  Well.  The sappiest thing Will has ever read.  He hasn’t brought it up yet, but -

“It’s weird, right?” he asks, fidgeting with a pencil.

Chowder draws another shark doodle in the margins of Will’s notes.  It’s a small price to pay.  “We’re seniors, dude.  I’d write lovestruck poetry over Cait, if I thought it would turn out well.”

“Your poetry is terrible,” Will informs him, and is promptly hit in the face by a notebook.  “I’m saving your relationship!”

“I’m just saying, graduation makes people sentimental!”  Chowder retorts.

Will rolls his eyes.  “There’s plenty of time until graduation.”

“Dex,” Chowder says suspiciously, “you’ve started your senior thesis, right?”

“Yes,” Will replies, because he has.  Kind of.  He’s got a rough outline.  “I’m not Bitty, Cap.”

“No, you are not.”  Chowder sighs, both in relief and disappointment, and waves a hand at him.  “Now make me some pies, Bitty replacement.”

“Technically, the captain made pies last year.”  Will grumbles, but he climbs off Chowder’s bed and leaves him alone.

“Nobody wants me to make the desserts, Dex!”  Chowder calls after him.

Considering the poetry is Nursey’s, it’s pretty good.  As far as Will can tell at least - words have never been his strong suit.  He can’t even consistently string sentences together in his own head.  His roommate listens to classical music and musical theater and songs that have messages instead of easily repeatable choruses.

What is the point of listening to something that takes you hours to memorize.

Will thinks the issue is that Nursey and romance have rarely been linked together in his mind, because all he seems to do is date someone for a few months, avoid introducing them to anyone on the team, and then get dumped.  Then Will and Chowder have to throw him a pity party, which Nursey inevitably seems to enjoy more than the relationship.

Those are the facts.

However, the newest fact is that Nursey is writing sappy poetry, which he’s never done before, and there’s been absolutely zero mention of anyone new - secretive weirdo.  He’s always at least told them there’s someone, in the past.  Will knows for a fact that Nursey would be pissed if he pulled this kind of shit.  Probably because he has.  Last year.  Whoops.

“Seriously, Dex, I think six months is enough time to tell us!”  Chowder complains, crossing his arms in an attempt at anger.  The pout he’s sporting ruins the effect.

Nursey throws another eraser at him.  Will is fairly certain he bought a new pack just for this purpose, which is cheating, because now Will can’t steal one of those erasers every time he needs one.  “Chyeah.  Very unchill.”

“The word chill has lost its meaning,” Will says sagely, and the offended look Nursey gives him almost quells his urge to murder.  “But we broke up.  End of story.  I’m telling you about him now.”

“Why not before, though?”  Nursey sulks.  He’s not even throwing his eraser.

“Oh, like you can talk.”

So.  Interrogation it is.

“Nursey.”

“Dex.  Chowder.”

Muffled whispers.  “He didn’t leave me with anything to say.”

“Stick to the script, Chow.”

“I really don’t see why the cop light is necessary,”  Nursey speaks up, unimpressed.  Wordlessly, Will switches it off.

Chowder slams a stack of papers down on the desk.  “Derek Nurse, as your captain, I demand you tell us who you’re writing about.  There are papers everywhere.”

“Everywhere?” Nursey frowns.

Will pulls another few papers from his pockets, slapping them down one after the other.  “Dining table.  Blender.  Couch.  Shower.  Oven.”

“How did those even get in there?”  Nursey mumbles, and Chowder presses his index fingers to his lips.

As much as Will wishes he could take credit for stashing them in enough places to create a problem, Nursey’s done that all on his own.  Chowder being on his team just outweighs the distress at baking a pie that came out covered in flaming paper.

Possibly out of guilt, Nursey had fearfully eaten an entire piece as Will made aggressive, angry eye contact.

Will grabs Nursey’s face in his hands and shakes it.  “Please.  I have read so much more than I ever wanted.”

“You’ve read them?”  Nursey yelps, at the same time Chowder points out “Nobody’s making you read them.”

“Also,” Will says slowly, scanning the latest poem.  “If she has hair this short, and she wears flannel, and - is the red hair natural? - dude, she might be a lesbian.  Like, totally not judging, but that’s kind of a style.”

Nursey looks like he wants to die.  Chowder looks like he wants to kill him.  “... how many of these have you read?”

“Maybe…” Will thinks back to when the poems started, months ago.  “A hundred?”  

As Nursey slowly pulls his hoodie over his head, Chowder stares at him with deadened eyes.

Gradually, Will starts to realize that this may have been a serious breach of privacy, in which case he’s a dick.  “I don’t mean to, but they’re in our room, Nurse.  Our shared room.”

Nursey lets out a high keening sound.

“... I’m really sorry?” he tries, and Chowder pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You should be,” he says, and leaves.

Nursey shows no signs of reemerging from his sweatshirt cocoon, so Will hesitantly settles in the seat next to him.  “So.  Freckles?  That’s kind of a lame thing to write so much about.”

“I like them,” Nursey grumbles, and Will feels.  Hmm.  Warm.  His face is warm, that’s gross and he hates it, okay then.

Nursey’s hypothetical person probably has nice, controlled ones across the bridge of their nose.  That’s always cute, even if Will himself doesn’t look for it.  He likes… something else, that’s dangerous to think about.

He rolls his shoulders, as if he can roll the thought out of his mind.  Nursey groans, emerges from his hoodie, and blinks up at Will like he’s mad.  “You suck.”

“What have I done now,” Will deadpans, “beside invade your personal privacy and interrogate you about something I have no business knowing.”

Nursey always looks at him like he’s looking at his whole face, instead of just his eyes.  “Figure it out.”

“Very mature.”

“Chill,” Nursey drawls, corners of his mouth poking up, and Will watches the shift.

Uh.  Okay.  Maybe Nursey and romance are tied closer together in his mind than he thought.

“Yeah, sure, why not?” his mouth manages, and Nursey blinks at him.  Stupid betrayer of a mouth.  “Could I - guess who it is?”

“Oh my god.”

“Do they have glasses,” Will starts, and Nursey pushes him out of his seat.

“No,” Nursey says through gritted teeth, “because they are stupid and take care of their eyes and are you.”

Will blinks up at him.  “Actually, I might need glasses in a few years.”

Then he grabs Nursey’s arm, pulls himself up, and flicks the string of his hoodie.  “I’m ‘like a tiger lily’?  Had to look that one up, by the way.”

“Fuck off my similies,” Nursey moans, and Will links their arms together to prevent his escape.  “I had written a lot.”

“This creates unfair expectations,” Will informs him, “because now I have to code, like, two hundred programs that somehow express affection.”

“Or,” Nursey suggests, “you could just go out with me.”

“Very poetic,” Dex says, and runs out the door before Nursey can tell him that the correct word is ‘eloquent’.  “Meet you at Annies!”

#i can't write nursey well bc/ he reminds me of myself #here i am back again #this one was too short to put on ao3 #god i love chowder #everything is dex centric here #where is bitty i miss him and am sobbing #why do i never write bitty centric ones #i am offended on his behalf #nurseydex #omgcheckplease #omg check please #omgcp #check please #HAHAHA #EVERY TIME I WRITE 'i am offended' #SOMETHING ABOUT BITTY COMES UP #my writing #omgcp ficlet

[laurfilijames]

Wild Horses- Part 2 (Prequel to Slow Burn)

Pairing: Modern AU Fili x Female OC Prim

Words: 3682

Summary: Fili and Prim enjoy a night out with Kili and Tauriel playing pool and singing karaoke. Prim attempts to make Fili see how much she’s grown to care for and want him since they met a year ago, but something is holding Fili back.

Warnings: Rated M. Alcohol consumption, swearing. Mentions of intercourse. Discussions of masturbation. Unwanted advances. A punch and bloody nose/hand. Mentions of war/military/deployment. Slight dom/sub suggestion.

A/N: This was so enjoyable to write, I had so much fun building the dynamic between them and adding to that slow burn. But be warned, angst is ahead in the coming chapters!

The song that Prim sings is linked below if anyone wants to listen to really get a feel for the chapter. (The original song is by the Divinyls but I like this cover better).

Thank you again to @guardianofrivendell for editing, listening to my struggles and always giving wonderful advice and endless support!

—————

“It’s your round this time!” Prim whined.

“No, no, I got the last one remember? It’s definitely your round,” Fíli argued.

She did remember, she was just hoping he wouldn’t.

“Fine. I’ll make you a bet, whoever loses this game has to get the drinks,” Prim wagered.

“Deal!” Fíli moved around the pool table to line up his next shot. Before he did, he looked up at Prim and smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But the loser also has to go up there and sing a song.”

“You bastard! You’re only betting that much because you know I’ll lose and you won’t have to sing.”

He grinned at her, amused at upping the stakes.

“Exactly,” he said, sinking his shot as he did.

Prim was awful at pool, leaving her questioning exactly why she would make a bet with him, knowing it would result in her buying the drinks and now apparently also singing a song in front of the entire bar.

She focused as she lined up her shot, praying she was successful in landing the ball in the intended pocket but faltered when she felt Fíli’s body cover hers from behind just as she attempted her hit, missing her shot completely and losing the game.

“See, you should’ve aimed more over there-,” Fíli teased, laughing as she whipped around and smacked him hard on the chest.

“I would’ve got that in if it wasn’t for you!”

He looked at her doubtfully, and although she was pissed at him for making her lose the game, she enjoyed the proximity of his body to hers. His hand remained on her waist in an almost claiming way, probably making them look like lovers to people who didn’t know them.

Prim reluctantly stepped out of his grasp and gave him the most devilish look she could as she walked over to the stage where the karaoke machine was set up. There were large speakers surrounding it and a single microphone standing in the middle, waiting for its next performer.

Prim couldn’t help but grin despite the embarrassment she felt, watching Fíli clap and hoot loudly at her as he leaned against the pool table, Kili and Tauriel following suit from the table where they sat.

She knew exactly which song she was going to sing, something that would hopefully turn Fíli on while also letting him know how she felt about him.

After spending so much time getting to know each other over the last year, Prim knew without a doubt that he was the only one she could ever want. Their relationship so far was effortless, friends who could make each other laugh and were able to share anything with each other, the good and the bad, all traced with whispers of an eagerness for more.

She adored his family and they welcomed her without hesitation as a part of their own. Prim especially admired the relationship between the two brothers, as well as the one they shared with Thorin.

It made her wish she could say the same about her own family, but this found family was all she needed.

And Fíli… Fíli was incredible. He still treated her as sweetly and with as much care as he had the day they met.

He evened her out. His calm manner balanced her fiery ways. Nobody else’s personality had ever complimented hers more and he made her feel instantly happy just by being in the same room.

So it didn’t come as a surprise to Prim when the inevitable happened: she fell in love with him.

But it was almost as if an unsaid agreement to take things slow stood between them, both of them knowing at some point they would be more than just friends, but Prim was growing increasingly impatient. She had often tried to hint that she wanted more, that she was ready to take it to the next level, but Fíli wasn’t budging. Maybe Prim wasn’t as conspicuous as she thought she was.

It was about time she started to make things a little more clear for him.

The music started up after she selected the song and she readied herself before the mic, willing courage from her three glasses of wine to grace her.

“I love myself

I want you to love me,”

The crowd erupted in cheers, realizing what she had selected.

“When I feel down

I want you above me

I search myself

I want you to find me

I forget myself

I want you to remind me,”

The look on Fíli’s face was priceless, full of surprise and curiosity and maybe even a hint of lust as he pushed his tongue in his bottom lip, so Prim continued, her eyes locked on his as she began to run her hands down her sides and over her breasts,

“I don’t want anybody else

When I think about you

I touch myself

Oh, I don’t want anybody else

Oh no, oh no, oh no,”

Encouragement from the crowd kept her going, but not as much as the expression on Fíli’s face did. Prim continued her seductive dance as she sang, carding her hands through her hair and down her neck to her chest, still managing to sing despite the huge grin on her face,

“I close my eyes

And see you before me

Think I would die

If you were to ignore me

A fool could see

Just how much I adore you

I’d get down on my knees

I’d do anything for you,”

When the song ended, Prim bowed to the standing ovation given to her by the entire bar. She hopped off the stage and walked back over to Fíli who was shaking his head in disbelief.

“Wow,” was all he managed to say, his eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

“I don’t think after that performance I should still shout the drinks,” she suggested.

“Um, no, that wasn’t the deal,” he corrected her, standing close enough she could see his pulse thumping in his neck. He stared at her like he was trying to figure out what she was up to, and also like he could kiss her. His eyes lingered on her lips as though he was about to consume them and Prim thought how she would sell her soul to have him do it.

Did he still not know how badly she wanted him?

With the adrenaline from her performance still coursing through her body, Prim was about to confess her feelings to Fíli. She wanted to tell him that the song was indeed dedicated to him, and that the lyrics applied to her when she thought about him, but was interrupted by Kili and Tauriel coming over to congratulate her.

“Prim you never cease to amaze me!” Kili said, gripping his hands on her shoulders from behind.

“I think you have every man in here worked up!” Tauriel added.

As appreciative as she was for their compliments, the only opinion she really cared about was Fíli’s.

“Yeah, you are incredible,” Fíli praised her, still regarding her peculiarly.

Her stomach flipped. He thought she was incredible, not just her karaoke skills.

“Oh, I had some inspiration,” Prim admitted, staring into Fíli’s eyes and willing him to figure out just how much she longed for him, but not able to say it with Kili and Tauriel standing beside them.

“Well, the drinks are on me!” she declared, walking over to the bar to complete her end of the bargain. Kili followed her, wanting to order food, or so he said. Kili had a tendency to get involved in things that weren’t necessarily his business, and whatever was happening between Fíli and Prim was no exception.

“I can’t help but feel like there were some underlying messages in your performance,” he inquired without looking at her.

“It was just a song, Kili,” she denied.

“Yeah, one about masturbating to thoughts of my brother!”

She looked at him fiercely. Was it so obvious to everyone but Fíli?

“See, you can’t even deny it!” he laughed.

“I’m not trying to deny anything,” she told him while peeling the label off of an empty beer bottle, beginning to get annoyed by his interrogation.

“Well, I bet he thinks of you whenever he touches himself,” Kili said point-blank, popping a chip in his mouth.

“Kili!” Prim said with alarm, smacking his shoulder. Although part of her did hope it was true.

Once Kili stopped laughing, Prim sighed and continued her thoughts out loud.

“It’s just so frustrating! I feel like I do everything but literally throw myself at him and nothing happens.” She placed money on the bar as the bartender handed her their drinks, “I just really care about him,” she admitted.

“I know you do. He knows you do- knows you love him even. He’s going to kill me for telling you but he does feel the same, he told me himself,” Kili explained.

Prim shot her head up to look at him, “You better not be joking right now, Kili,” being fully aware of the pranks he was capable of.

“I’m not, I swear!” he raised his hands in defence, and threw a quick look over his shoulder towards his brother before he continued, “He fancies you, he always has. That’s why he’s still single, and you are too, I reckon. You’re both just too stupid to do anything about it,”

“Oh, thanks for that,” Prim glared at him and took a chip from his plate, making Kili slide it closer to him protectively so she couldn’t steal any more of them.

“I’m not saying you’re stupid, Prim, but one of you needs to admit it or someone else is going to come along and ruin it. You see how women look at him,” he pointed out, and Prim’s heart sank at the thought.

Of course she saw how other women looked at him, and she couldn’t blame them. He was perfect.

Prim didn’t want anyone else and she hoped what Kili had said about Fíli’s feelings towards her were true. She grabbed the drinks and walked back to the table, her head reeling from the information.

Fíli beamed at her as she approached, his dimples revealing themselves beneath his facial hair, making her melt for him once again and forget the threat of anyone coming between them.

Fíli could hardly believe the act he’d just witnessed. He had run his hand over his face a few times to try and disguise his flush, beads of sweat appearing on his temples as he watched Prim’s risqué dance on stage, making him throb for her all over again.

He wondered if she truly felt what she’d sung in those lyrics, that she wanted him and only him, that she imagined him when she pleasured herself.

The thought alone drove him mad.

Her eyes had been locked on him the entire time she was up there, there was no disputing that.

Fíli enjoyed making her feel as frenzied and desperate as she made him, but it was getting increasingly difficult to keep resisting her. She knew how to play him as well.

And even though he really didn’t want to resist her anymore and simply give in to the yearning want, he knew he couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

Thorin and Kili were leading a special ops mission and although Fíli as a trainer was now exempt from having to deploy, he refused to sit at home while his uncle and brother went head first into danger.

He was going too.

Fíli had been deployed countless times since he was in his early twenties. He had seen battle and horrific things that people could never even begin to fathom. The thought of going to war again filled him with dread, but he needed to protect his family.

If he pursued things with Prim, he wouldn’t be able to stand being with her for such a short period of time and making her anxiously wait for him to get back. It would break both of them. It wouldn’t be fair to her, so they would just have to wait until this mission was over before they could give each other everything of themselves.

He watched her now as she leaned against the bar, talking and laughing with Tauriel, finding himself automatically mimicking every upturn of her mouth.

But her expression quickly changed when a man came up to her who was obviously a fan and hoping her words were directed at him. Prim politely shrugged him off, turning back to face Tauriel.

Fíli remained in his chair, carefully watching the interaction. He wouldn’t step in unless he needed to, and he prayed the idiot wouldn’t do anything stupid.

“That song was about me, wasn’t it doll,” the man slurred, stepping closer to her.

Prim laughed and said over her shoulder, “Don’t you wish,” and Fíli could tell the man was starting to get on her nerves.

It was difficult for Fíli to hear all that was being said, but the man seemed persistent in getting her attention. Prim said the odd thing to get him to leave her alone but tried her best to remain focused on Tauriel and ignore the pleas from the drunk.

Kili sat beside him and could see the fury rising up through his body. He patted Fíli on the back, “Easy brother,” he said, trying to assure him that she would be fine, knowing what damage Fíli could do to the other man if provoked.

It wasn’t until the man grabbed her ass and she flew around to punch him that Fíli stood from where he was seated and quickly made his way over. He knew Prim could hold her own, and judging by the way the guy was holding his bloody nose, she had done the job. Regardless, he needed to give this asshole a piece of his mind.

Fíli took hold of the man’s collar and held him upright after being folded over from Prim’s punch, his feet now barely touching the ground.

“Touch her or go near her again and you’ll regret ever laying eyes on her, mate,” Fíli spat in his face, his rage ready to erupt at any second.

The man nodded in a terrified manner, and scrambled away as soon as Fíli released him from his grip.

Fíli brushed his hair back out of his face and turned to Prim, who was shaking her hand out and looking slightly unsettled.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his anger now turned to worry, never wanting any harm to come to her.

“Yes, I’m fine. He’s just a prick.” She didn’t meet his eyes, her gaze cast down to observe the damage to her hand. Her knuckles were red and split from colliding with the man’s face and blood was beginning to creep up slowly.

Fíli took her hand in his and brushed his thumb lightly over her wounds before bringing his lips to kiss them gently.

The way she looked at him made his heart clench, almost like she was surprised at his affection towards her. He wanted to tell her he would do anything for her, would give her the world, and that it made him feel terrible that he allowed that guy to touch her like he did. But he couldn’t.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve stepped in sooner,” his voice full of regret at how he handled the situation.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Fi, you’re my hero,” she said with a mischievous look in her eye, her fire back and immediately replacing his anger and regret with desire for her.

“I can usually handle my own, but I don’t mind you protecting me,” she said playfully.

Her eyes were filled with lust as she looked up at him through her eyelashes, and he was reminded once again of what he wanted to do to her.

Before he acted on pressing his lips against hers, Fíli called to the bartender for some ice for her hand, as well as a shot of whisky for them both.

They all managed to enjoy the rest of the night, no one harassing Prim other than with lustful glances from multiple men, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was having too much fun and a good buzz was keeping the pain in her hand at bay.

She stuck close to Fíli, often touching him playfully on his arm or chest, and even occasionally on his thigh. Her hand landed there now, causing him to stop talking mid-sentence to look at her delicate fingers resting on his jeans.

Fuck, she was going to be the death of him.

His jaw hurt from clenching his teeth so much, a habit to keep his increasing thirst for her at bay.

The bar announced the last call, and they all were quite drunk aside from Fíli. He typically managed to stay sober whenever they went out, wanting to ensure they all got home safely and didn’t have to pay and wait for cabs to take them all to different places.

With Kili and Tauriel dropped off at Tauriel’s place, Fíli was now on his way to take Prim to her own apartment. She was definitely drunk, but not sloppy, in more of her usual flirtatious state that had tried to lure him into her bed on more than one occasion. Tonight was no exception.

She laughed as she fumbled with her keys in the door, dropping them onto the mat. Fíli stooped to pick them up and when he straightened himself Prim was leaning playfully against her door frame.

“You want me and it’s killing you,” she boldly stated, revealing a part of him that he wasn’t ready to divulge to her yet.

He shook his head and chuckled while he unlocked the door, not wanting to have this conversation with her now.

She waltzed in ahead of him, her body language full of confidence from the drinks she had consumed.

“Do you want a nightcap?” Prim asked, trying her best to get him to stay.

“No, thanks. I’m going to head out so you can get some sleep.” He had to fight to get the words out, wanting so badly to stay.

Prim squinted her eyes at him, annoyed at being rejected.

“Are you ever going to give me what I want, Fíli?” she asked, her voice laced with bitterness.

He couldn’t help but grin, desperately wanting to tell her just how badly he wanted her. How he wanted the same things as her. How easy it would be for him to roughly pull her pants down and slide into her, fucking her until she screamed his name over and over.

Especially when she acted like this.

He took a step toward her so he was hovering slightly above her body, and he saw the fearlessness in her eyes change to a softness, like she would submit to him in a second if given the chance.

“The problem is, Prim,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he stared into her, “If I kiss you now, I won’t be able to stop.”

She faltered for only a moment before lifting her chin up in an act to reinstate her poise.

“Then don’t stop,” she challenged him.

It took every fibre in his being to pull away from her, not wanting to do anything while she was under the influence of alcohol.

“No,” he shook his head and laughed when she threw her head back and growled in frustration.

“Why?” she snapped, her distaste at being rejected clear.

He never wanted to make her feel this way. She had to know she was his greatest desire, his biggest temptation.

Fíli remained in place, not daring to go close to her again.

“Because I want you to be fully aware when I do the things that I have planned for you.”

He watched her shift, his words sinking in and probably helping to sober her up. It was a promise of things to come. A hint at his intentions to explore her body.

“Are you good?” Fíli asked in a normal tone, needing to change the subject and wanting to make sure she was okay before he left.

“I’ll be good when you’re putting your hands all over me,” she countered, her voice raspy and still persistent in trying to get her way with him.

He chuckled at her determination, making his way to the door despite her wishes. She was relentless.

“Goodnight, Prim,” he called over his shoulder, not able to look at her knowing if he did she would draw him back inside.

He sat in his truck for a moment before driving away, his thoughts solely on how much he wished to tell her he wanted to be with her.

Fíli toyed with the idea of establishing the relationship with Prim anyway, being selfish for once in his life and indulging in her for whatever amount of time he could before he left, but quickly decided against it.

He loved Prim. And he only wanted to love her in the way she deserved, and loving her and then leaving her was not it.

He smiled at how easy it was for her to tempt him into almost doing things that were so out of his character. But once he was back home he would give in to anything and everything she offered, because fuck did he want to.

Fíli knew without a doubt that they would end up together someday, so what was waiting a couple of more months in the grand scheme of things? As far as he was concerned they had all the time in the world.

But right now all Fíli could think about was how Prim was probably getting into bed and fantasizing about him while she extinguished her fire, her hands exploring her own body in search of a high that one day would include him. He palmed at the growing tension in his pants, knowing that he was going home to do exactly the same.

—————

#fili imagine #fili durin #fili the hobbit #fili #fili x oc #wild horses #series #slow burn #fili fanfic #fili smut #smut #oc #modern fili #modern au

[thepriceofbeingaroseisloneliness]

Toshiya Interview 「PHY」Vol.17 Translation  1/2

He talks about the negative parts in human beings that the world has no choice but to look straight at. Also, he talks about his own melancholy. “The places, the time, and the people I cherish are not eternal, rather, they can be destroyed in an instant…. that resignation…no…I wonder if there is an awakening about that”

Note before reading: This is the first part of Toshiya’s interview in  「PHY」Vol.17 released last 19th. This part covers half of the interview.  You can already read the second part here. You can get the magazine at Cdjapan if you live out of Japan. Please buy and support it if you can. Feel free to correct me if you spot any mistake or any confusing parts. Links or credits to this post when the content is reposted or captured in other SNS is appreciated :) ----- It was the kind of interview that made me believe in them forever. DIR EN GREY's first digital single, 'Ochita koto no aru sora ', it’s a song like a warning bell that appeals to live without looking away from this restraining reality, as well as the desire to bet on a band of five members.  Of course, there,the feelings of how each member feels about Corona are included there. In this solo interview with Toshiya (Bass), he talked about the melancholic feelings he is having facing the current situation of the world. In his own words, he feels sometimes hesitant to say his own thoughts, the conflict, the indecision, but at the same time, he revealed the reason why a strongly man like him felt the necessity to be in this band. Text by: Higuchi Yasuyuki Photos by: Sasahara Kiyoaki Hair&Make-up : Yamaguchi Atsushi “Putting their problems aside, we have lived mediocrely. Then, facing this situation, we are unable to compete. But that's the negative part that we have been facing for a long time” -The other day, I was allowed to hold an event at a certain place. T: Thank you.  You were really helpful. -It's been a while since I witnessed the scene of the 5 of you reunited together. Your presence in the dressing room at that time, felt like a person who was really at home. T: What do you mean? (laughs) Well, I haven’t been meeting  people. -It’s a time that it’s stimulating (meeting people)… T: It’s scary, isn’t it? If you get infected, you will affect those around you, moreover, if you get someone else infected…..you think about those things after all. -Staying all time at home made you feel depressed? T: Not really. Basically, because in the first place, my life is the same as when we are doing our underground activities. -The other members believed the same (laughs) T: So, it wasn’t depressing. These activities were rather normal or even plain. Well, if I had to say something that was different than usual…. thanks to having more time than usual (the single), it was completed very smoothly. -It seems like that. T: Originally, we were planning to record while touring but the postponement of the tour gave me some time and it was very smooth. -Are you always on a tough schedule? T: It’s already rough. And at the very end I always feel like I’m compressing everything so in that sense, it was every easy to do (the single) this time. -If you had made it between tours as planned, wouldn't the single have a different style?

T: There is a possibility. However, I don't think it would be completely different…. I don’t really know. -That's right. Personally, when I listened to this song, I thought about how you would perceive the current situation as a band that can’t see what lies ahead. It’s a song with a lot of power and energy, are you worried about the future of the band? T: I see. About what your personal thoughts…. I think this band will be fine as long as the members are living, like, the band will continue on as long as the members are alive. It might be an extreme reasoning but that's what I think myself. Regardless of the Corona and what will happen after it. -Because you don’t  think that just because of this situation…. T: Yes. Because I think Dir en grey is consisted by these 5 people. Well, until now, I used to say it with words in interviews and so, but maybe recently I really came to think that. -It could be. T: In the past, being honest….when I was thinking about the band….of course I know I'm a person that would be in a band but I thought that there was no reason why it had to be these five people. -That way of thinking its not only limited to you, that’s a thing you think when you are young. T: It’s not only related to bands but also to human relationships. For example, let’s say that you insult someone on the internet. Of course, there might be a reason behind why that person got insulted but rather than insulting them, don’t say anything. You accumulate those things inside (the attacks/insults) and eventually that person will….like….* *He is is making a subtle reference to the recent news of Hana Kimura’s suicide after being harassed online. -There was this sad incident…. T: The places, the time, and the people I cherish are not eternal. A word that has no meaning at that time, the words of someone who doesn't understand the true meaning of what they are saying. With a single word that dances around with collective complicity, important things can be broken in a instant. That resignation…no… if you don’t have that awakening, that you don’t need to insult someone or do just as you please…. -Do you think you are the type of person that lets those things accumulate  in yourself? T: How should it be? But I want to cherish where I am, I know that this position is only possible with these five people, so I sometimes I don’t express my thoughts, but it’s like that for all  human beings, right? - When you started the band, you were more self-assertive but you had to change that in order to be able to continue in this band. T: That's right. After all, I'm basically a very selfish person (laughs), so I feel like I'm going to destroy the place I'm in if I'm a selfish person like I was in the past. Isn’t that scary? - You have that kind of trait rooted in yourself. T: When I was a kid, I was always selfish and selfish, for example, even if I played soccer with my friends, if I had the ball, I would go to the score goal myself. I didn’t pass it  to anyone (laughs) -But team playing is an important thing in sports…. T: I had no spirit of cooperation. I was often told that by my parents. Like “As you are not cooperative, you’re better off doing things alone than doing it with others”. -And such a person has been in the same band for over 20 years (laughs) T: That's right. That's why I feel that the band has given me spirit of cooperation with others. If not, I would still be running to the score the goal with the ball (laughs). -But that kind of person is doing the bass in a band called Dir en grey, so I think it’s a perfect balance. T: Is that so? - The members in charge of bass and drums tend to be less self-assertive and more cooperative than vocals and guitars. I think that's probably because rhythm is related to the fundamental base of music and it’s created by the instrument that play it. T: In the past, that was the impression, right? About the bass. Like being a step back from everyone and playing silently. -But you are not that type of bassist. In the first place, each of you asserts themselves on stage. T: I agree. I mean, I've never though that "because I was  the bassist I had to take a step back" (laughs) -That’s what DIR EN GREY is. I thought that it must be hard for the band to have a bassist with such a strong presence when I saw the current shooting. T: What it’s hard? -I meant that the individuality of each one of you collides violently. You can’t take pictures like these with 5 people, right? T: That's right. In a good way, it's also the band's mood. That's why I've been playing in this band with a mysterious sense of balance. I'm not going to take a step back, and while I have a desire to go forward, I'm also conscious of not going too far. “I feel that the band has given me spirit of cooperation with others. If not, I would still be running to the score the goal with the ball (laughs).” - You said that you have acquired that kind of balance in this band. T: That’s what I think. And that doesn’t apply just to me, but also to the other four members. Like, everyone is looking properly at others, not only themselves. It’s the same at lives, and of course what you want them to see it’s your playing but what I really  want them to see the most is the sight of these five people standing there. That’s what the image of a cool band might be and on top of that, each of us can shine in their own way. - As I said earlier, I think you are really a strong person. And I think that's something that all the members of this band have in common. T: That might be true. - So, your personalities collide violently, and that friction is what creates your sound. However, on the other hand, there are some moments in which you have negative thoughts, or you are not confident in yourself. T: That's right. After all, I don't have self-confidence. - Especially in your case, I feel that you often make statements like that in interviews. T: Is that so?......mmmm…..I wonder why….but it’s like... I think that saying that kind of things doesn’t matter in some cases?.... -What do you mean with “it doesn’t matter”? T: Well, like  they ask “are you confident?”  and you are, but saying those things openly/loudly isn’t something that is bothering? I think it's only me who knows in what I am confident and in what aspects I am not. But then, do you know yourself well? If you ask me, I don’t know the answer at all. In short, you probably shouldn’t believe the words you are told. -You don’t believe in those words? T: Yes. Everything is a lie or a false image. Words, including lies and truths are mysterious. After all I believe it’s like that. Also, I think of myself as just a shallow/miserable person. Next part

#dir en grey #toshiya #phy vol 17 #phy magazine #translation #toshiyatranslations

[spectacularlyignorantt]

From the dining table

March 2017

Louis sat in the kitchen looking around, dust covering every possible surface. Princess Park, their first home, the place they bought together without telling anyone and then never sold after the breakup. Maybe because they couldn't see each other and not end up in bed, regretting it in the morning. Maybe because they both knew this time apart meant nothing. They were destined to be together, a love no one could understand, right?

The last time he saw Harry was after the presentation of his single Just Hold On on the X-Factor, but they had not been a proper couple for around a year. If you didn’t count the sex, of course. Louis didn’t. Sex didn’t mean much, not when he knew what it felt like to be in a relationship with Harry Styles for 5 years. They would have stopped seeing each other when the band started the hiatus if it wasn’t for his mom's health getting worse. Harry stood next to him all those months, giving him comfort, keeping her company when Louis was too tired to stay awake. Harry was part of his family, after all. And Louis knew Anne, Gems and Robin felt the same way about him. 

The reason for their break up was a mystery for everyone, a question never answered. They belonged together, no one could say the opposite after expending time with the couple for 10 minutes. Either you were blind or disgusted by their love, in a cute way. 

Louis knew, of course. It was a decision, more than anything. They felt like the only thing holding them together was the band and decided to take a break to figure out if there was more than that. So they never sold their first home because there was no chance they weren't going back together. 

Lately, Louis wasn’t so sure about that. To be honest, he wasn't sure about anything. The sky was pouring like it should be, for mood purposes. The lump in his throat made breathing hard, the weight in his chest holding him down in the chair. He closed his eyes, he wasn’t going to cry. The promise he made to his mother was still clear in his mind and it was killing him. Because lately, it felt like Harry had forgotten about them. With his solo music, the movie, all that pr girlfriends Louis knew he hated. All that glamour, all those lights. Why would he be thinking about Louis? Maybe they were right, maybe it wasn’t destiny but circumstance. 

Things got worse recently, after Niall went to his flat a couple of days before, wearing that big old tee and Louis told him he smelled like Harry. He wasn’t jealous, not really. It was Niall, for god’s sake. But Niall was around his baby a lot, they had a close friendship not many knew about. Something about the unusual sadness in Niall's eyes told him much more than the calls Haz never answered. Harry didn’t want him anymore. They were done. 

The pressure in his head felt compressive like the one in his heart. All those shots, pints and pot weren’t a good combination. Neither was that boy with curls but the wrong shade of green when he woke up that morning in a hotel room, unable to remember much about the night before. But what else could he do? How could he go to Harry right now and tell him he was sorry for his insecurities? For ruining everything without a good reason? How could he tell him he was sorry? Liam and Oli said he needed to give it time, but everyday felt a little bit more far away from home. So he came back. 

There was a notepad where they used to write the grocery list sitting on the counter, next to the fridge. He took it and the pen on the table, the dim light coming from the closed window. He didn't know what to do, how to get out of this pain, this love. How to be himself again. 

So Louis did the only thing he felt like he could do right: he wrote a song. It was more of a letter, really. But it was shaped like a song, that was his strong suit after all.  And Harry loved to see him write, once upon a time. Used to dance with him in that kitchen, used to make him pancakes in the morning. They used to talk and fuck and chat for hours between those walls. 

To Harry: 

Woke up alone in this hotel room

Played with myself, where were you?

Fell back to sleep, I got drunk by noon

I've never felt less cool 

We haven't spoke since you went away

Comfortable silence is so overrated, Harry

Why won't you ever be the first one to break?

Even my phone misses your call, by the way

I saw Niall the other day

He said you feel just fine

I see you gave him my old t-shirt

More of what was once mine

I see it's written, it's all over his face

Comfortable silence is so overrated

Why won't you ever say what you want to say?

Even my phone misses your call,

And by the way

Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me that you're sorry too

But you, you never do

Woke up this boy who looked just like you

I almost said your name

We haven't spoke since you went away

Comfortable silence is so overrated

Why won't you ever say what you want to say?

Even my phone misses your call

By the way…

 He stopped there, unable to continue. His hand was shaking, the tears were smushing the ink on the paper. What a fucking cliche, crying after promising himself he wasn’t going to do it. Nothing could hurt as much as losing his mum, nothing could compare. So why was he crying? Why couldn’t he just fucking stop?

Louis got up from the chair and walked away from the dining table, leaving the notepad there. He knew deep in his broken heart that the next time he came back it was going to be there. Left and forgotten, just like that house and those memories. Louis left it there next to his allowance to feel sorry for himself. He needed to grow up, get away from those parties and false people. He was going to get his shit together, write away his feelings and find his sound. 

And if Harry didn’t want him in his life, then there was nothing left to do, right?

May 2017

 The recording of Back to you was finally over and now they need it to work in the music video and he wanted to film it on Doncaster. It felt right to go back to his ‘home’, if he couldn't go back home, you know what I mean? It went well with the theme. 

Louis was driving back from the studio to his flat when a notification popped out in this phone: Harry’s album was out and apparently, people thought a couple of songs were about him. Louis wasn't going to be surprised if they were, both wrote about each other a lot along the way. And the fans loved to link things, made up theories about the Larry situation. Something he wished he could out and say ‘yes it was true but it's over now, please stop tagging me, it hurts’. It didn’t. not as much anymore. 

Or that’s what he thought until he heard track 4, Two Ghost. He knew those lyrics, Harry had written them years ago. That is what they used to call each other’s public images: ghosts. Images without a soul. What a young and dramatic pair they used to be, back in 2013. 

He didn't cry with that one, maybe because of its familiarity. And he wasn’t even mad about the songs about girls, he knew Harry better than that, even after all this time. 

Next was Sweet Creature, the one everyone was speculating about, and honestly Harry, ‘two hearts, one home’? The song felt different. Maybe because he thought that Harry didn’t really remember about their lost home, about being young and in love. Too young to know, most people used to say. What a fool he was for listening. Now he knew, and it was too late. 

Kiwi was funny in the most depressing way for him, Woman felt like an anthem, it felt like Harry’s jealousy, his deep and most dark possessive behavior. But then, when a chord from a guitar came in he went to his phone to check the name. He wasn’t quick enough, tho. The first verse stopped him right there. It was a good thing he parked in his apartment building a couple of songs ago. 

Because there, in the shape of the last song of H’s first album, it was Louis' letter. His feelings in a notepad, in the shape of an awkward song. Almost word by word, Harry’s voice filled the car with calmness and longing, a branch of olive. He was giving the first step. If those little easter eggs along the album weren’t enough, he took Louis letter from two fucking months ago and put it there. He probably had to push the label to do it, with such short notice. Harry went out of his way to let him know it wasn’t over. 

Harry went back to Princess Park, just like him. He went back home. 

 ----

His friend picked up the phone after two missed calls. 

‘Oi Lou, how ya doin?’ the thick Irish accent wasn’t enough of a distraction. 

‘Hey lad, I’m fine. Sorry to bother but I need to ask you something’ he could hear the urgency in his own voice. 

‘Never a bother mate, whatever you need’ Niall, always the optimistic. Louis loved him. 

‘Is Harry staying here? In London I mean’ 

‘What? What's going on?’ and then ‘Oh, the album is out, innit?’ 

‘Yeah…’

‘Okay, well, Harry was going to be with Nick today so yeah, he must be doing press shit’

‘Of course, makes sense, thank you mate. I will explain later ’

‘Sure, use protection’

Louis rolled his eyes but didn’t deny the implications. The car came to life once again and he started driving to Harry’s house. The one they used to spend time in when they had some time between recording and touring. He didn’t even feel annoyed by the traffic, listening to the album all over again. Letting his body welcome Harry once again.

Of course, he still had his keys, drowned deep in the glovebox. He wasn’t going to enter the actual house, but it wouldn’t have been smart to stay outside on the street, someone could recognise him. 

So once he parked in front of the building and noticed Harry wasn’t home, he closed his eyes and took a breath after what felt like hours. The next time he opened them there was a hand taping on his windows, he had fallen asleep.

It was a big hand adorned with rings and some nail polish. Louis knew what it felt to hold it more than he knew his own face. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Harry was waiting outside, a small smile making just one dimple appear. It was the first time they had seen each other in months but Louis felt like no time had passed. And if Louis was going to turn into an idiotic helpless cliche then it better be because of a boy as wonderful and beautiful as him. There was no one else. Harry was it. 

‘I thought it was going to take you longer ’

‘To listen to the album or to get my shit together? ’

Harry seemed to consider his answer for a second, the dramatic little shit that he was. Then he smiled and Louis forgave him immediately. 

‘Both’

Louis laughed and took a step closer to the love of his life. 

‘I’m sorry, baby, I'm really sorry ’

‘Me too’

‘If you let me kiss you right now I’m never letting you go again. It's your choice’

‘Never wanted you to go in the first place’

‘Right answer’

And then they kissed because there wasn't much left to say. At least not right now. The conversation could wait for the next morning, once they had sex, pancakes and maybe a little dance in the kitchen. For old times sake.

----

Soooo, I wrote this because I couldn’t get the idea of Louis writing this song out of my head. And like, it sounds so much like Harry’s writing, this is not a theory at all. But I liked the idea so yeah. It’s probably gonna be my first and only fic about Larry, hope you like it. 

All the mistakes are mine and its noy my first language, sorry if the grammar is trashy. Thanks. 

#larry #larry stylinson #larry fic #larry fic rec #larry fanfic #fanfic #harry styles #louis tomlinson #canon compliant #but fiction #i don't think they broke up #and if they did is not my bussiness #just so you know

[kitkat1003]

Tower Tales

6: I’ll be home for Christmas....you can count on me...

AO3 link

@asilcorner

(also recorded myself singing the song in this chapter, listen here!)

Their first Christmas in the tower is on the horizon, and while they try to remain optimistic about it all, it’s hard to be happy when you’re living in a prison.

Yakko, as usual, is shoving down his own sadness with ease.  Wakko watches, with sharp eyes behind the veneer of dull suspicion, as Yakko cheerfully pulls out a Christmas tree from nowhere, has them all put up the ornaments one by one, instead of just throwing stuff on there.  To elongate the process, perhaps, to force them to focus on the action rather than the lack of an escape.

Wakko sees, sometimes, Yakko’s eyes dart to the water tower door.  He hears, at night, Yakko, going to the door and trying to wrench it open.  Some nights Yakko spends hours, sometimes minutes, and sometimes Wakko hears Yakko stop, sit, and cry into his knees.  He’s very quiet, but so is the tower, at night, and they have terribly good hearing for toons.

Yakko’s always smiling in the morning, with breakfast.  Wakko worries.

The first few months after they’d figured out them being locked up wasn’t some prank, they’d thrown anything they could at the door to try and get out.  After they’d ran out of ideas and materials, they’d quit, because it was more depressing to try, hope, be constantly disappointed than just to forget.

Or try to forget.  Wakko guesses that Yakko can’t.

And Dot isn’t exactly thrilled, either.  Wakko thinks she misses the outside more than she lets on.  He vaguely remembers her, on days they felt like wreaking havoc would be boring, taking them on a picnic.  The stock market hadn’t crashed yet, and then it did, so they didn’t have a lot of money.  They did have the ability to steal, but even then they didn’t do it much because it wasn’t fun or right to steal from people who were already going bankrupt.

They’re mischievous, not cruel.  Wakko wonders if the people who locked them in here knew that difference.

“What are we gonna do for Christmas?” he asks one afternoon, during lunch.  “Do you think Santa can get in here with the door locked?”

The question has Dot suck in a sharp breath.  She looks away, upset, and Yakko gives him a look, the one he gives whenever Wakko says something tactless.

Wakko doesn’t have a lot of tact.  He thinks he might’ve eaten it, whatever it is.

“Santa can get in anywhere,” Yakko replies, hands on his hips, confident.  “And we’ve been pretty good, despite the circumstances, so I think we’ll be getting plenty of presents from him.

That’s something that Wakko worries about.  Presents.  What is he even supposed to give his sibs that they can’t just create with toon powers?  Making cards seems lazy, even if he would put all his effort into them.

Yakko, he’s sure, already has an idea.  Because Yakko is smart.  Dot probably has them figured out too.

“I thought you were off Santa’s nice list,” Dot says with a grin.  “You know, for being a hypocrite?”

“I think he’ll find it in his heart to forgive me this year,” Yakko shoots back, hand on his chest, before standing up to put his plate in the sink.  Wakko will lick them clean with his tongue, and Dot will put them in the dishwasher, and one of them will put them away when they’re done depending on when it finishes.  They’re efficient, kind of.

“Should we decorate?” he asks, because so far they only have the tree, and the tower looks a little barren.

Dot’s eyes sparkle at the idea, and Wakko knows he is going to regret asking.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the end of the next day, the whole tower is put together, tinsel and twinkling lights that flicker hanging from the walls and ceiling.  Dot puts mistletoe over every doorway they’ve made, and every time they happen to be beneath it, she makes sure they either give her a kiss on the cheek or she gives them one.

Yakko thinks it’s cute, if silly, and Wakko just shrugs it off.

They make a fireplace, with a chimney that they aren’t sure goes all the way through.  Wakko tried climbing it, but halfway up he found himself shot back down, rolling across the floor covered in soot.

He couldn’t even try and argue to not take a bath that day.  Yakko had dunked him in and hadn’t let him out until the black stopped coming off on Yakko’s gloves.

His hopes for Santa visiting are dashed, and he can see Dot deflate too.

“Who needs the guy, anyway,” he hears Yakko mutter, and Wakko wonders.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dot is very, very sure that this Christmas is going to be great.  She knows it is, despite the fact that they don’t even know if Santa can come see them, despite the fact that they won’t be able to go anywhere to see snow, despite how the world around her wants to tell her it won’t be.

She will spite that because she refuses to let anyone take this season from her.  She and Yakko and Wakko start a food fight in the kitchen when making cookies, and cookie batter splatters all over the wall.  Wakko ducks behind the kitchen island, with her, and holds out his hand.

“Truce?” He’s wearing an army hat, comically large on his head, with the straps hanging down past his shoulders.

If she wasn’t astronomically cute herself, Wakko might give her a run for her money.

“Let’s give our brother a wet new coat,” she agrees, and Yakko becomes the color of cookie batter in seconds.

“Betrayal!  By my own siblings no less!  Is nothing sacred?!” Yakko cries, leaning heavily against the stove with the back of his hand placed dramatically against his forehead.  Dot and Wakko giggle, coming around to face him.

“I don’t know, I think this is a good look for you,” Dot gives him a once over and hides a laugh behind her hand.  Wakko reaches out a finger and swipes a bit of the batter off of Yakko, sticking it in his mouth to taste.

“Mmmm,” he grins, and Yakko gets a mischievous gleam in his eye.

“You know, you’re right Dot!  I ought to share my new looks with you, don’t you think?” he reaches out and sweeps them into a goopy hug before either of them can escape, and all three of them share the wealth of the batter that was supposed to go in the oven.

Dot takes a bath, then Yakko does, and Wakko licks himself and the kitchen clean.  He’d offered to lick them clean, but they politely declined.

“Slobber just isn’t a good look on me,” she’d told him, and Wakko had shrugged and eaten the demolished mixing bowl.

After that, they actually make cookies, because as tasty as the batter was to Wakko, they might want some warm, chocolatey goodness.

They make milk-free ones, too, even though Yakko says they don’t have to, because they want him to have a good time too.

Besides, the cookies taste fine without milk.  Who needs lactose?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That night, Dot is sitting at her vanity, and she looks in the mirror and is ever aware of the background of cold metal.  The decorations look gorgeous, she put them up, she did everything she could to make the Tower become the season she loves.  

(Well, she technically loves the spring the most, with its gorgeous flowers and sunny days for picnics, but still.  Who doesn’t love winter?  It has Christmas!  And, now, it has Yakko’s birthday!)

But, even with all the decorations and fun, even with the mistletoe and the letters to Santa she can’t send, she feels...

Miserable.

She wants to go outside.  She wants to play in the snow.  She wants to harass street carolers by messing with the lyrics of their songs.  She wants to be out there, with people, in the world, instead of sequestered away.

She sighs, remembering a tune from their previous Christmas.

I’ll be home for Christmas.

You can count on me.

Please have snow, and mistletoe,

And presents under the tree.

Christmas Eve will find me,

Where the love light gleams...

She trails off and sighs again, resting her arms on the vanity, and then her head on her arms.

She doesn’t notice the figure peeking from the third floor, frowning down at her in concern.  Doesn’t notice the lightbulb appear over his head, before he ducks back upstairs.

She just sits there, thinking of the last time she saw a single snowflake.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wakko locks up the third floor, a week and a half before Christmas.

When they ask, he tells them it’s a surprise.  Because it will be.  He finally knows what his gift for them, for Christmas, will be, and he can’t let them ruin it, because he really wants to see the pure surprise on their faces when they witness it.

He spends the days up till Christmas Eve working on it, finishing it Christmas Eve morning after breakfast and before lunch.  He’ll have to double check it before showing it to them, but that’s fine.  It’ll be about ten minutes security and then he can show them the magic he has in store.

Dot has swapped out her typical character modeled dress for a long sleeved one, with white fuzz trim on the hem and where the sleeves end.  Yakko has a pair of deer antlers, and keeps calling himself Rudolph, whoever that is.  Yakko says it’s going to be a hit a few years from now.

Wakko just puts on a Santa hat on top of his baseball cap and calls it a day.  Dot calls him lazy, and he shrugs, cause that’s a fair assessment.

Christmas Eve is as fun as it is weird, because they don’t have anything anywhere to do to celebrate, but they cut out little paper snowflakes and angels to hang up and then watch and see how much eggnog Wakko can chug at once.

The answer is around 6 gallons, give or take, because Yakko capped him off there, worried.

“You’re such a mother hen,” Dot snickers, and Wakko tilts his head to the side with a hiccup.

“Isn’t a male chicken a cock?” 

Yakko laughs.

“Goodnight everybody!”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They meant to stay up, but they’re kids, so they fall asleep eventually.  Wakko, kicking and squirming in bed, because even asleep he can’t stay still, wakes to the sound of frantic whispers.

“Please, just-just for tonight,” Yakko’s voice is quiet and pleading, and when Wakko blinks away the sleep from his eyes he turns into see Yakko, standing in front of Santa, hand gripping Santa’s coat.

And Wakko doesn’t have the time to process the fact that Santa is here, and real, because Yakko keeps talking.

“Please-just take them out, I’ll stay inside.  We-just for the night, just let them see the sky again, some snow, it’s been months, please,” Wakko can’t see Santa’s face, but he does see the shake of his head.  

Yakko’s voice cracks when he speaks.

“Just one ride?  They’ll be good-I-,” Yakko pauses. “Okay, maybe they won’t be, you know them, but I’ll make sure they are, okay?  They-they don’t deserve to be locked in here.  It’s Christmas, so just for tonight-please.”

There’s something so young about Yakko’s voice, then.  Yakko doesn’t sound like a kid, sometimes, and Wakko doesn’t always either, but for him it’s for laughs and for Yakko it’s because he’s tired.

Santa says something, puts a hand on Yakko’s shoulder, and Yakko deflates.  Wakko doesn’t even notice that there are new presents under the tree yet, because he’s too busy trying to be quiet enough to hear.

“Just go,” Yakko’s voice is hard, and quiet, and cold, and sad.  Santa pulls another present from his bag and sets it beneath the tree, and disappears up the chimney.

Wakko watches Yakko tremble in place, for a good two minutes.  He counts the seconds in his head, because it feels like they go so slow.  Yakko finally stops, takes in a deep breath, and sighs.

“Who needs the guy, anyway,” he hears Yakko repeat, and he pretends to snore as Yakko walks back to bed, and buries his face in the pillow.

It takes a long time for him to get back to sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wakko wakes up on Christmas to the smell of peppermint hot cocoa at the crack of dawn-at the very least, it feels like the crack of dawn, because it’s earlier than he’s woken up in a while, but the elation of Christmas!!!! has him up in an instant.

There’s a large stack of presents beneath the tree, their names written in pretty cursive of the same handwriting.  Dot is all cheer, and he watches her skip towards the kitchen.  He shuffles over himself.  Yakko sets two cups of hot cocoa on the table, and swirls the top with a large helping of whipped cream, before sprinkling some peppermint on top.

“Merry Christmas, sibs,” he smiles down at them, and it almost makes Wakko forget about the night before.  “My gift to you is your menu of choice.  The whole day, a la carte menu.  Whatever you guys want, I’ll make.  So, what’s for breakfast?”

Wakko’s eyes are blown wide. Yakko has no idea the can of worms he’s opened with that open ended gift.  Or, maybe he does, because he puts on a chef’s coat and hat, and sets up the stove, and a grill, and the oven.

“Bring it on, little brother.  But, uh, let me make Dot’s first?  Something tells me hers will be a biiiiit quicker to make.” Wakko bites his tongue at that request, and Dot prattles off a normal order, because she’s boring.

By the time Yakko is done with Wakko’s order, he’s out of baloney in his slacks.

“I’ll put some more in there later.” He shrugs it off, and Wakko finishes off plate thirty seven with a grin. 

After that, they open up the presents under the tree.  Yakko gets some notebooks, a set of fancy pens, and a very expensive looking leather belt.  He also gets some books, and a perfect replica of a Shakespearian outfit.

He seems happy, but his smile is strained.  Wakko thinks he knows why.  Yakko is getting better at hiding it, though, because he almost didn’t notice Yakko was sad at all.  There’s still a trace, though.

Wakko wonders if he’ll start forgetting to look for that.

Dot gets the latest model of hair straightener and curler, and a wide breadth of makeup products, as well as a poetry book that she regards with half suspicion and half curiosity.  She gets a notebook and pen, too, one with a feather plume sticking out the end.  She uses it to brush underneath her chin, giggling.

Wakko gets some chew toys, some that he doesn’t see himself devouring just yet, and a necklace with a chew on too.  He puts it on and nibbles on it as he opens up the others.  He gets an engineering book, called “Building Without the Math,” and it sounds right up his alley.  He also gets a tool kit, which he places in his gag bag for safe keeping. 

The other items are mostly random toys they hadn’t known existed because they haven’t been outside.  Wakko uses the propeller of a toy plane as a fan, and then spits in it to see the drool droplets hover.

“Eugh,” Dot growls out, looking away, before she sighs and reaches into her dress pocket.  “This leads to my gift.” She hands both Yakko and Wakko a set of flash cards on a ring.

“Coupons?” Yakko flips through them, and then snickers.

“You two can do things that...,” Dot struggles for the world.  “Make me uncomfortable.  Cause you’re boys.” She rolls her eyes. “But you like to do them ‘cause they make you happy, not because they make me annoyed, so these are your passes for that.  Valid for a year.”

There are ones like “Can lick me” and “Allowed to not bathe for 2 weeks” that Wakko thinks are specifically targeted at him but hey, why not?  Baths are dumb, and he licks to show affection!  He sticks the cards in his cap.

Yakko rips one out, hands it to her.

“Thanks, Dottie,” he stresses her least favorite nickname, and she bares her teeth in a very strained smile, snatching the coupon from his hand.  But Yakko laughs, and soon enough, they all are.

“I’m also going to put away the decorations, no extra charge,” she waves a hand.  

“Sounds good to me,” Wakko hops up, fidgeting with his long sleeves.  “I...have to prepare my gift for you.  Can you guys wait on the second floor?”

Yakko and Dot share a look, and then nod.

Wakko vanishes up to the third floor, heart in his throat.

He hopes this works.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He makes them put blindfolds on, pulling them up the stairs.  Yakko holds Dot’s hand in one and Wakko’s in the other, helping Dot up as Wakko drags him along.

“What’s with the secrecy, Wakko?” He asks, and Wakko bounces in nervous excitement, tail curled around his leg.

“It’s a surprise,” he insists, and sets them up perfectly, on the mark he planned out.  He’d checked, double checked, triple checked.  If this doesn’t work he is going to lose it.

He turns off the lights, and pushes his contraption to the back of the room.

“Wakko, I would like to see sometime today,” Dot calls, and Wakko fidgets.

“Almost done!” The ice is in, okay, now just push the button.

There’s a series of clanks, and then a loud, grinding sound.  Dot and Yakko shiver, and Wakko is glad he used scarves for blindfolds.

There’s a loud FWUMP, and Wakko bounces on his toes.  His feet make indents in the ground.

“Okay, you can look now!”

Dot and Yakko pull down their blindfolds, and Dot gasps.

They’re surrounded by snow.

There’s a model of a crescent moon up by the ceiling, that acts like a lamp, and glow in the dark stars that glimmer pasted up on the ceiling, with constellations they find familiar.  From the machine in the back, snowflakes are shot out, drifting slowly to the ground.

“I, uh, I made snow,” Wakko shrugs, a little self conscious.  “Since we can’t go outside, I thought...,” What is there to say?

Dot takes one step into the snow, like she can’t believe it, and squeals when her feet crunches into it, jumping around.

Yakko is still dumbstruck, until Dot comes around and shoves snow down his pants.  He jumps up comically high with a shriek, ears brushing the ceiling, and when he falls into the snow it makes a perfect imprint of him.

“Oh, that’s it!” he picks up some snow and throws it at her.  Dot throws some back.  Wakko runs into the fray, nailing Dot in the face, and she takes her revenge with deadly precision, before sprinting over to him and tackling him into the ground.

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you!” she shouts so loud that Wakko’s ears ring.

“Merry Christmas?” he tries, and she laughs.

“I knew you were my favorite brother!”

“Hey, I’m offended!” Yakko sprints over, but he’s laughing too, and he drops on top of them, wrapping his arms around them and rolling over in the snow, so they’re on top of him.

He nuzzles Wakko’s nose with his own.

“Nice job, little brother.  Think you got us beat with this gift.” Wakko blushes, looking away.

“Wanna make a snowman?” he responds, because you’re welcome seems too formal.  

“Heck yeah!” Dot jumps up and runs over to a large pile of snow.

“Watch your fucking language!” Yakko barks without heat.

“You’re not the boss of me!”

Wakko giggles, and Yakko sits up.

“C’mon, let’s not let her have all the fun,” Yakko picks him up and sets him off to the side, and Wakko is off like a shot the moment his feet touch the ground.

He thinks about the night before, of Yakko’s words.

Who needs the guy, anyway?

Beneath the fake moonlight, where the snow still sparkles like Wakko remembers, with Dot giggling up a storm as they make the largest snowman they can, with Yakko looking lighter than he has since they got stuck in here, Wakko can’t help but agree.

Who needs Santa anyway?

He can hear the tune from before, in his head, and hums it as they work, smile widening when Dot and Yakko join in.

I’ll be home for Christmas

If only in my dreams!

#animaniacs #animaniacs 2020 #kitkat1003 #yakko wakko and dot #yakko warner #wakko warner #dot warner #christmas fic #tower tales

[wormstacheangel]

Almost: Ch7

Hello! This is the 2nd to last chapter. So tomorrow you will get the final chapter. So excited for all of you to read this and thank you for all the love I’ve been getting on it!

Summary:  Dean was locked up in a room full of hot-headed Novak siblings while they read Chuck's last testimony out loud. Lucky for Dean, Cas doesn't mind being used as a pillow. Unlucky for Dean, Cas's siblings are assholes.

Read on Tumblr: Ch1 link | Ch2 link | Ch3 link | Ch4 link | Ch5 link | Ch 6 link

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Word Count: 2893  More Under The Cut

The room was way too stuffy. 

That was the feeling throughout the whole will reading. After the first half-hour, Dean was sure that Chuck just wanted them there to bore themselves to death. Cas was busy listening and even taking notes - that big nerd. Bobby was sitting on his own chair beside their shared couch. He looked like he was paying attention but Dean could already read the glossy far away look in his eyes. The old man was falling asleep with his eyes open again. 

Not a bad idea. Dean tilted his head down to rest on Cas’s shoulder and crossed his arms over his chest as he made himself a little more comfortable. He thought for sure Cas was going to say something about it. About him being an idiot and he should sit straight and listen but nope. Instead, Cas moved his pen to his left hand and reached his right hand to gently pat Dean’s hair. 

The involuntary shiver that ran down his body as he leaned into the soft touch was embarrassing but fuck did he really like this. Cas’s finger softly ran through his hair and scratch at his head. It felt like before. Like they were in a college lecture again and Cas would tell him to go to sleep. That he would take notes because he knew Dean had a long day at work and only had maybe 3 or 4 hours of sleep. 

Then he felt Cas’s head tilt down to rest upon his and for fucks sake if this wasn’t the most relaxed he has felt all week. 

Even in this room filled with boring words being spoken - Chuck never really was a great writer but he sure as hell writes a lot - and a tense Novak family, Dean could feel like he could fall asleep right here. 

“Mr. Winchester?” Dean blinked open his eyes as Cas gently patted his face. 

He sat up straighter as he looked up at the lawyer who was practically glaring at him. To be fair it felt like everyone was. “Um, yeah?”

He heard Raphael groan in annoyance and Dean tried hard not to glare at Cas’s brother. 

“We’re ready to talk about what you are getting from Mr. Chuck Novak. So if you’ll kindly give me your attention.” The lawyer calmly stated, sounded like a creepy old man from a damn Scooby-Doo episode. Actually, he kinda looked like one too. 

“Sure.” Dean nodded once. Feeling Cas squeeze his knee and then everything went to hell.

The words sounded almost far away when the lawyer guy said them and it wasn’t until Bobby was tugging at his arm to stand up that Dean got on his feet. His legs were shaky and he turned to look at his Uncle and Cas who told him to go. 

All he had to do was walk up to the lawyer. To take the pen to accept the gift. Shit. He didn’t even accept those expensive headphones Charlie gave him last Christmas and he was supposed to accept this? 

Fuck. He’s gonna throw up. 

“Dean?” He heard Cas call out to him, the concern was clearly there but Dean didn’t turn to look at him. 

Didn’t really look at anyone really - too busy looking down at the fucking pen he had to pick up. So maybe that’s why he never saw it coming. Saw Mike get up from his chair and land a punch on his jaw. 

Everything after that was kind of a blur. 

It wasn’t until the security came and everyone froze that he saw Cas standing over Dean. Cas’s fist was pulled back, ready to land another punch on Raphael, while his other hand was grabbing his brother up by the collar. Mike and Luci were still arguing with each other in a wrestling match about who was Chuck's actual favorite son - pathetic for these grown men to be fighting about. 

Gabriel was sitting, rolling his eyes about all of this, while Bobby and Anna waited outside the office. Yelling at them to stop before the cops showed up.

“Now,” The lawyers spoke up after they all sat back down. “Will Mr. Winchester please sign the papers so we can continue?”

Cas shoved Raphel back and he fell back on his ass. He then turned around and held his hand out for Dean to take and help him up. 

“Sign them.” Cas' voice was firm as he motioned towards the papers with his chin. Dean was just a little too distracted by his face. It was bloody and his hair was all ruffled. Fuck, bad timing to think Cas looked hot. “Dean.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat and quickly took the pen out of the lawyer’s hand to finally sign on the dotted line. The room went quiet again. “There.”

Half of the Novak fortune was now his and thankfully so was Bobby’s Garage. Yeah, he’s gonna throw up. 

The drive to Cas’s hotel was a quiet one. 

Cas was in the passenger seat with his head against the window. His eyes were closed with bloody tissue up his nostrils and an ice pack balancing on his cheek. Dean could see Cas’s foot still taping to the music, he probably didn’t even realize that they were parked outside the building now. 

Dean took the chance to just look at him. Enjoying the view of Cas sitting passenger side. He looked so relaxed considering what they just went through and if it wasn’t for the foot taping Dean would think he has fallen asleep. His suit jacket was draped haphazardly on the back of the bench. Remembering Cas getting in the car with an angry huff, loosening his tie, and undoing the top few buttons of his shirt after he slammed the car door shut. 

The bruised knuckles and blood speckled shirt didn’t stop Cas from doing his old car routine. Getting angry when his mixtape was not found inside the box but let out a little, “Oh.” when he realized it was already in the tape deck. He quickly rewinded the tape before slipping it back in.

“Dean. I need you to turn on the car.” He told him. Voice low and gravely more than usual because of his frustration. 

Dean just did what he was told. Turning on the car and backing out of the parking space as Cas pressed play to let Tangerine fill the car. 

Now Kashmir was playing its final beats and they both knew it was the last song on the tape. Dean drove slow - he even took the long way and tried to hit as many red lights as he could - but it was time for Cas to get out of the car and leave this calm. Leave this safe space. 

“You sure Bobby isn’t mad for leaving him with Gabriel?” Cas didn’t look at him as he asked. His arms just wrapped tighter as he hugged himself. He was stalling and Dean really wished he didn’t have to leave the car at all.

Dean nodded even though Cas wasn’t looking at him. He relaxed against his seat with a heavy sigh and when he nervously licked his lips he could taste the dry blood on them. The split on his bottom lip was apparently much smaller than he imagined but still burned like a motherfucker. 

“He likes Gabriel - surprisingly enough - so I’m sure he’s fine.” Dean reaches over to hover his fingertips over his throbbing cheek and he lets out a small chuckle. “Never imagined this is how today was gonna go.” He throws his head back to rest against the bench seat. “Fuck my face hurts.”

He sees movement out of the corner of his eye and then he feels an ice pack gently being pressed against his lip. Cas scooted closer to him on the bench, tucking his feet under himself so he could kneel beside Dean, and look down at him with such wide sad eyes. It was heartbreaking to see those baby blues look so broken. Almost empty. 

The anger clearly faded and now Cas was left mourning not only his father but a life he just can’t afford anymore. 

Dean covered Cas’s hand with his own and slowly lowered the ice pack just as Cas scrunched his lips together to hold back his cry. 

“Cas,” Dean looked up at him and carefully reached to wipe the stray tear that escaped. “It’s okay.”

Cas nodded as he smiled through the tears he was now freely letting fall now. Landing down on Dean’s own cheeks. “I know.”

“Then why are you crying?” Dean didn’t move from where he was looking up at Cas. Letting his thumb make small circles against Cas’s bruised up cheek. “You know I wouldn’t ever leave you to fend for yourself. You’re too stupid for that.”

Cas laughed, it was mixed in with a sob but his eyes looked brighter. That was good. Dean can’t stand looking at those still icy eyes any longer. He wanted him warm cause that is what Cas is. He’s warmth. 

“Are you mad at me for accepting?” Dean quietly asked as he took the ice pack from Cas and raised it up with his free hand to press against Cas’s eyebrow bone where a ring must have cut him. Dean’s other hand was still carefully tracing his cheek. If he could only have these touches for this short time then he is sure as fuck going to take advantage of them. Of these soft touches. Quiet whispered voices. This closeness. 

Cas has to go back to Mick but right now Cas was his. In this car, Cas was his. 

“Course not, Dean.” Cas closes his eyes with a wince. “I’m glad you accepted. Dad never really liked me so I was surprised I was even mentioned in the testament at all. I am fine with what I got. Then again,” Cas opened his eyes and raised his bad brow only to wince harder. “Fuck, that’s gonna be annoying.”

“Control your damn face.” Dean chuckled as Cas stuck his tongue at him. “Then again?”

“Ah, um, then again I didn’t expect you to get the big price.”

“You sound mad.” Dean looked back at him with a wary look and Cas reassured him with a smile. 

“Confused is more accurate.” Cas took the melting ice pack from Dean and now it was Dean’s turn to get his bruised face iced. “I just wish we had more closure. Like what the hell does it mean that you were the only one doing what you were supposed to be doing?”

“Fuck if I know, man, but...I’m sorry, Cas.”

“Don’t be, dumbass.” Cas chuckled as he carefully dabbed at his lower lip. “I’m happy for you, Dean. Truly. I’m glad that you were there for him when none of us were. Even if he was difficult at times.” Cas sighed and leaned back on his legs. “I’m glad he was just as fond of you as I was. It’s nice to know I had that in common with my Dad.”

Dean made a face. “Dude, hopefully not the same way.”

Cas threw his head back to laugh. It was loud and his eyes crinkled on the side. His dumb nose scrunched up as he leaned forward to grin back at Dean. Eyes so bright and warm that Dean could feel his breath catching in his chest. It was such a beautiful sight that Dean sat up and stretched his neck until their noses were nuzzled together.

Dean could feel Cas’s gasp out in shock, his breathing coming out shaky and heavy against Dean’s lips. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What is he doing? 

“Cas?” Dean watched as Cas slowly closed his eyes. He answered with a soft hum before swallowing hard. 

Dean’s hand reached to cradle the back of Cas’s neck as his heart pounded in his chest. It felt so damn heavy and scary because Cas was so close. He could kiss him right now. Fuck, he can have those damn sweet bruised up lips against his own for another second. He can have him like this one final time. 

Feel the burn of his mouth against his own and let that be enough. Let it be the only thing that had him floating above water or it could finally be the thing that drowns him. Be the thing that finally takes him under and he’ll have no choice but to fight for his life. Fight to finally have Cas. 

“Dean.” Cas’s voice was shaky and desperate. It sounded like an agonizing plea while he felt Cas shuffle closer. Then Dean’s eyes dropped closed as he felt just the slight brush of their lips. 

He felt Cas’s full-body shiver as he sighed and Dean wanted to see more.

A whimper escaped between Dean’s lips as he felt his whole body heat up and he knew - fuck he knows! - how stupid this is. How much this will hurt when he eventually ends up getting fucking pulverized but he can’t think of that right now. He can't think of the damn consequences when Cas is right here. When he is slowly crumbling against his touch. 

Dean tilted his head forward again to brush their lips together to finally-

The loud knocking on the roof of the car made them jump back. Cas quickly crawled back to his side of the bench only to jump back when Mick was at the window. Clearly forcing a smile. 

Clearly, he saw the whole thing.

“Cas.” Dean tried reaching for him but Cas was already opening the car door. 

Mick looked like he was about to scream but his face froze as the anger faded to concern. “Castiel! What - what happened?!”

“Can we talk inside?” Cas closed the car door and Dean flinched in the driver's seat. 

“Sure.” Mick took Cas’s hand and Dean couldn’t see their expressions anymore but he saw Cas stiff shoulders as they walked away from the car. Hand in hand they didn’t look back and Dean was left alone.

Again.

Cas didn’t pick him again. He knew it too and it still fucking hurt like a son of a bitch. 

He hit the steering wheel in frustration a few times, letting out screams before he quickly turned on the car to start to drive. 

He can’t go home. No. Home kind of walked away from him again. But he’ll stay at Bobby’s. 

Just the idea of walking into his cold apartment shatters him. So he’ll go and bother his little brother. He’ll just...he’ll take the long way home. 

-

Dean spent most of the next day bussing himself with work. If he wasn’t under a car then he was in his office - pulling his hair mostly - finishing paperwork that felt never-ending. He ignored his personal phone - putting it on do not disturb with the exception of Sam, Charlie, and Bobby - while he tried to think of anything but Cas. 

He did it for five fucking years so why was it so hard now? Why can’t he just push him back and out of his mind again?

Dean let his head fall and bang against the desk. Maybe it’ll knock some sense back into him. 

“Why is it that you’re always doing that when I walk in?” He heard Sam’s voice and Dean’s response was just to flip him off. He heard Sam laugh and then two chairs scrape against the floor. He looked up to see Charlie was also there.

“What do you two want? I told you I still don’t have the money.” He folded his arms on the desk and let his chin rest on them. “I promise I’ll call you so you can see the number.”

“It’s dinner time, stupid.” Charlie pushed the paper bags on the desk where Sam was cleaning up. Stacking papers on one side and making room so they wouldn’t dirty anything. She smiled down at him, it was sad again. “You didn’t eat breakfast and barely finished your lunch.”

“Not hungry.” He shrugged as if they would buy it.

They shared a look with each other and Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Well, we are. So eat with us.” She said while she opened the paper bags to hand him the food they got him. “We even went across town to get those curly fries you like.”

“Yeah and look!” Sam gives him a black styrofoam take out container. “We got you that berry cobbler you like! With ice cream.”

Dean lifts his head up and accepts the cobbler. “Fine. But it better be warm.”

They were about to start eating when they heard a soft knock at the door. Dean sighed as he called out, “It’s open!”

The door slowly opened and then Cas popped his head in with an awkward smile. Those sad eyes front and center again.

Dean quickly stood up but then he noticed Mick was standing beside him with his arm around Cas’s waist.

“Um, hello everyone.” Cas smiled at them and there was a hard tug on his lips. He swallowed hard as he awkwardly shuffled his feet before stuffing his hands in his pockets. Then his eyes looked up to meet Dean’s. “Dean? Can we talk?”

No. No. It sounds broken. Sounds like he’s about to say...goodbye. 

Tag List p1: Ask to be added or removed! It’s chill. I post way too much lol

@galaxycastiel @superduckbatrebel @slipper007 @ar-bi-trary @winchestcas

@imlivingliferightnow @bi-bi-marie @nguyenxtrang @dancerdovegirl

@chocolatecakecas @trasherasswood @celestialcastiel @castiel-is-a-cat

@readeroftheimmortalbooks @marichankitty @confusedisaster

@castiels-bitch @destiel-bitches @tearsofgrace @wigglebox

#Destiel #Deancas #Supernatural #SPN #A More Profound OTP #Dean #Dean Winchester #sharing braincell with his brother #Cas #Castiel #main braincell #My Writing #WormstacheWrites #chapter fics #happy ending fic #angst #mutual pinning #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #fanfic

[agent-cupcake]

Cupcake!! Do you listen to music while writing? If yes what kind?

Yes! I absolutely do! I really love music, I’d say it’s secondary to literature as far as my choice of creative input so this is also just my personal recommendations regarding music as a whole with explanations and unwanted commentary because I’m dumb and this is one of my favorite things to talk about.

Firstly, my ongoing(ish) story Beastie and the Bard is musically driven so here are some songs I have on my playlist for that. I tend towards pieces that are melancholy but melodic. Entrancing, perhaps.

Lolita by Ennio Morricone - Contextually, I realize this is a bizarre (even tone deaf) pick given the source material, but... Whatever. This song, in general, just reminds me of Dimitri. Although a heavy, militaristic march might suit him better, the heart rending sound of this song just works for me when I think of him. The piano sets the tone immediately, lingering on some notes in a wistful, sad way. And it is sad, the cello and flute join in to make that clear. But, at a certain point, the instruments begin to dance around together, opening up and almost seeming like they want to resolve the song and create something happier, or at least something bittersweet, only to be drawn back into the uneasy tragedy of the main motif. I dunno, for me, it just absolutely aches like betrayal. 

Shallan’s Lullaby by treefin / Black Piper - This music box rendition of Shallan’s Lullaby from Stormlight was the melodic inspiration for my bootleg lullaby that reader writes for Dimitri (perhaps not the first part as much as the way it shifts around 1:07). It’s haunting.

Isabella’s Lullaby from The Promised Neverland - Pretty self explanatory, I think. This one hits the sweet spot of beautiful and sad, from the harp to the vocals it just fits. 

Howl’s Moving Castle Merry Go Round of Life original and the cover by the Grissini Project - Both versions are incredibly special pieces of music and I’d be surprised if you hadn’t heard this theme before, very good for the more whimsical parts of the story (not that there’s gonna be any more of that).

Shadows of the Lowlands from Xenoblade 2 - While I’m about to recommend this entire soundtrack, this vocal piece is stunning. This guy’s vocals, no joke, sound like a Tolkien Elf. We Are the Chosen Ones is done by the same vocal group and soloist so it’s also making this list although the tone is def a bit different. 

Okay now I’m just gonna point out my favorite soundtracks. For all of these, I have COMPLETELY LEGALLY downloaded most of these from other sites, I’m linking youtube just based on superficial searches to hopefully give you a taste and maybe encourage you to NOT BREAK THE LAW and acquire these soundtracks on your own

Fire Emblem Three Houses - This is obvious and I’m sure you’ve all heard it, but go have a listen if you haven’t. but first, is anyone else disappointed about the Three Houses official release soundtrack? Considering the delay I guess I kinda expected more. Granted, the soundtrack IS phenomenal. Not so much in its entirety, which is emblematic of the game as a whole in some ways, but the set pieces? Unforgettable. This soundtrack is a case study in how powerful a small pool of musical motifs and set-up/pay-offs can be. The little promise of God Shattering Star at the very beginning of the game, Those Who Sow Darkness giving a taste of Shambhala, and then the use of the main melodies of Season of Warfare (Main Theme) and Song of the Nabateans. For the most part, both melodies are used in dramatic songs, creating this unbreakable musical connection between Edelgard and Byleth. Or, if you think about it, Edelgard and the Rhea. For example: the thunder version of Funeral of Flowers doesn’t have the game’s theme, but the rain version does (those two songs were WRITTEN to be layered I stg). And then there’s that somewhat bastardized version of the main theme in At What Cost, highlighting the intended twisting of the usual heroic take on that melody. I do have a potentially unpopular opinion, however. The Apex of the World is boring and tonally dissonant with the final battle in Azure Moon. A lot of people really like Edelgard-Dimitri likes Edelgard! There’s very little heroism in that mission, at least to me, and a song like At What Cost would have fit SO MUCH BETTER. I mean, that is also Edelgard’s theme so hearing that being twisted up into this decidedly more dark song would be thematically appropriate to her ultimate choice. The title also just seems like it suits her and Dimitri. Edelgard claims that she has weighed the cost of war, she believes she is capable of taking on the cost of victory without really knowing what it would be. Dimitri's whole story was him trying to find revenge no mater what the cost and now that he has it, he’s fully understanding what it will cost him. I understand why they would use the traditional hero song to cap the route, but it seems weird that they’d be willing to subvert so many other aspects of tradition while holding to that for a song that, in my opinion, is the least interesting of all the final battle songs. As you can probably tell, At What Cost is a song that is very tonally inspiring to me. I also love Funeral of Flowers (Thunder and Rain separately and layered together), The Long Road, and Roar of Dominion for getting hyped to write.

Final Fantasy VII Remake - Ever since I got this soundtrack, I’ve been addicted. I really don’t have much to say on this one other than just to recommend you give it a listen if you’re even passingly interested in orchestral video game music. There’s some misses for me (specifically the Wall Market stuff and anything that gets into the weird electric guitar/techno stuff) but it’s overwhelmingly fantastic and can work for active listening music and for background music while you write. I’d follow up recommend you get ahold of the Acoustic Arrangements soundtrack. I can’t link you on this one but it’s worth the extra legwork to procure it COMPLETELY LEGALLY. 

Final Fantasy Distant Worlds - I was actually able to see the Distant World’s tour when it swept through Houston and at that point I had no idea what the fuck a Final Fantasy was. At all. However, seeing One Winged Angel live is not something I will ever forget. Ever. This soundtrack is great for some background listening and although it is often too upbeat for my usual tastes, it’s good when I need something easier. Okay. Real talk. I was about to recommend to you a bunch of FFXIV music (the MMO), choice selections from FFXV, and try and dig up some songs that are only available in live recordings. If you like Final Fantasy music, I recommend all of these things. The games are a clusterfuck but the music is even moreso and it’s worth your time if you like this kind of thing.

Xenoblade 2 - See? Told you I was gonna recommend this. Actually, ranking wise, I would say that I like it more than Final Fantasy. This soundtrack is magical. I cannot stress that enough, there is a level of whimsy and beauty that went into this soundtrack that all at once draws upon the genre and being it’s own thing. Like, I get it, there’s a lot of misses. The electric guitar is jarring and annoying. Listen to Sea of Clouds, like, actually listen to it. Listen to Desolation. Pay attention to the motif used in connection with Elysium and then the other songs that its used in. The Power of Jin. This is a sometimes sad but mostly beautiful and whimsical soundtrack that is good for listening and for using as background music. 

Xenoblade 1 - I don’t have as much to say about this one, I don’t feel as if it’s as emotionally resonant as my other recommendations. BUT it is gorgeous. The area themes are wonderful and perfect for setting tone. 

Hollow Knight - Hollow Knight’s soundtrack takes one step back from the drama of the others and revels in its depressive simplicity. There are songs with a more cheerful tone, and the magical whimsy of Xenoblade 2 is very much brought to life in many of the pieces, but for the most part the soundtrack is as gorgeously melancholy as the game itself. One of my favorite things in music is when songs are given new life through new context and the White Palace --> Pale Court transition is haunting. 

Diabolik Lovers - OKAY I KNOW I KNOW hear me out. This soundtrack has no right to be as gorgeous, emotional, or quality as it is. This song, Lovers, is the younger sibling of Lolita’s theme, okay? Thematically, that’s kinda hilarious, but I mean it. If you like that song, give a few of the songs from this OST a chance.

BioShock, BioShock 2, and BioShock Infinite - BioShock 1&2 are different from Infinite. A lot more grungy, a lot more angry and discordant, the strings buzz and there’s a lot more horror to it all. Infinite, on the other hand, is very pretty. Infinite’s soundtrack is about the characters and their journey and feelings. The first two game’s soundtracks are about the ruined city of Rapture. It depends on what you’re in the mood for. I write using Infinite’s music more often, but there’s pieces in the first two that capture this empty, yearning feeling that is good for setting mood.

Pathologic - “Half Life’s soundtrack directed by Genghis Khan.” It’s bizarre. It’s grungy. 

Void (Typrop) - Basically the same deal. I dunno man, I like being inspired by horror.

Outlast - It’s an orchestral horror game soundtrack. Like the game itself, there’s a lot of horror movie inspiration. 

Dishonored 1 and Dishonored 2 - This is mostly background music. It’s a stealth game so it’s kinda uneasy, but I think there’s something really unique. Maybe the instruments? There’s a lot of weird sounds used. 

Higurashi - This is a compilation of horror themed songs from the anime soundtrack, but the VN soundtrack and the non-horror stuff is pretty good, too. Michishirube is my favorite.

Madoka Magica Rebellion - The main anime soundtrack is gorgeous. The bells, the strings, the drama... I’m recommending Rebellion specifically because it’s the more cohesive and story-driven soundtrack. This one is not as horror-ish and weird than the others, it is very beautiful and nice to listen to. Sad, in some parts, too. 

Code Geass and Resurrection - Brass? Got it. Dramatic strings? Got it. Bombastic set piece songs? Triple got it. This soundtrack oozes style. In some ways, that makes it not good for writing, but in others it can. Depends on what you’re writing. I think the melodrama can be incredibly useful for getting my mind in that frenzy state. 

Okay I’m done. Thank you for bearing with me. 

If we’re talking what songs inspire specific things, the Ferdinand piece was accompanied by a lot of the Diabolik Lovers soundtrack and Final Fantasy. When I wrote my sad Felix piece, it was all about Hollow Knight with a spot of Bloodborne and Dark Souls.  

#personal #wow it's four pm and i have done nothing with my day #what a distraction #i love music

[hargrove-mayfields]

this is part two of this fic if you want to read that first!! warnings in the tags!

When they finally make the leap out of Hawkins, they move into a one story in Oregon, of all places. It’s not California, but it’s close by, and the doctors say that for the sake of Billy’s lungs, he needs a more mild climate than he’d have there. Besides, Billy insists that anyplace is home enough for him as long as Steve’s with him.

After a few months of living there with a nagging sense that something was missing from the space, they’re able to complete their new home when they find an upright piano for next to nothing on the side of the road to replace the old grand they had to leave behind at Steve’s parents place.

It’s much less sophisticated than what they’re accustomed to, the finish had long ago chipped off and half of the yellowed keys played the wrong notes, but they’re able to fix it up with some work.

Once it’s presentable, shined up and once again functioning properly, it sits like a trophy in the corner of their dining room, a symbol of what they could do with music. That graceful ability to grow and to change and to heal that they were so familiar with, and of the love that developed between them on the bench.

Billy plays more than Steve does, to keep himself occupied when he’s on his own and itching to get out there and break every rule of his recovery laid down by his doctors.

Even after he regains most of his strength, his hands no longer shaking from the simplest of tasks, the piano never loses its power to keep him out of his thoughts, chasing away nightmares and rampant fears so he can feel like himself.

The sounds of Billy’s playing carrying through their houses, the soft twinkling of keys as the first rays of sunshine cut through curtained windows is like an alarm clock, has Steve waking up in a bliss each morning.

Even in the winter, when the cold is especially hard on Billy’s body, his scars sore like they’re still new and his joints stiff and aching, he’s guaranteed to be up to play at the first rays of the morning sun, usually before Steve is even up for work.

One particularly snowy morning, when Steve wakes up to the usual melody of Billy’s playing with the sun in his eyes, he takes a moment to just stay in bed and revel in the warm music drifting in the room before he realizes he’s slept through his alarm.

He panics for a moment, shoves his glasses onto his face crooked and stumbles out of the bed fast enough he almost trips over the comforters still wrapped around him, but in his effort to stay upright he notices a note on the nightstand.

In Billy’s shaky handwriting it reads, “School’s cancelled. Thought I’d let you sleep in -B”

Steve chuckles to himself over the mix-up, and peeks out the window past thick curtains to see a few inches of snow that wasn’t there when they’d gone to bed the night before. He’s not one to say he hates his job, or even dislikes it, teaching is what he’d always wanted to do, but a thousand times over he’d rather be given the chance to stay at home with Billy.

Without bothering to change out of his pajamas, he pads down the hall into the kitchen, focusing on the song drifting in from the dining room, one he doesn’t think he recognizes, as he starts to make their morning white tea.

Billy would’ve rather it be a morning coffee, but that much caffeine is bad for his heart, so they settle for tea with honey and a pinch of sugar.

“Mornin’, Stevie.” Without looking up, he acknowledges Steve as he enters with two steaming mugs. “Did you get my note?”

“Wouldn't I be out the door by now if I hadn’t?” Steve sets their teas on the corner of the dining table to cool, and sits down so he’s straddling the bench. He situates himself so he can wrap his arms loosely around Billy’s braced torso, and rest his cheek against his shoulder so he can watch scarred hands as they glide across the keys.

Billy chuckles, smiles down at the keys. “Touché.”

Once he’s settled, Steve sighs through his nose and asks, “What’s that you’re playin’?”

“S’a song called When.” This tip of Billy’s tongue pokes out just between his teeth, his concentration on what he’s playing intense. He acknowledges Steve again when he reaches a slower part of the song. “You wanna hear it?”

An answer isn’t really necessary, Billy knows undoubtedly that Steve is interested in anything he does, but he gives a confirmation regardless. “You know I do.” He shifts until he’s comfortable against Billy’s side, and Billy starts into the song.

His voice is much better than before, now that his throat is healed. It’s still a little gravelly, gets deeper when he sings where Steve’s gets higher, but it’s smooth and warm and just about Steve’s favorite sound in the whole world.

Closing his eyes, Steve focuses on just listening to the magical sounds that Billy can make, on feeling the soothing vibrations of his voice as he works through the piece.

With words the song is vaguely familiar, and it’s truly a beautiful thing.

It’s a ballad to nature, ironic for someone who spends most of his day confined to indoors or his own backyard. The song is gentle, full of pretty trills to accentuate even prettier lyrics, but it takes on a melancholy tone, given the context.

Appreciation for life, for the world and everything good within it is something anyone can relate to, but apply it to a sick man and it changes the meaning drastically. Gives it more a sense of longing for these things, and it’s got Steve feeling overwhelmed by its sincerity.

Typically, Billy favored songs he thought were fun like The Bitch is Back and piano covers of songs far too hard core for the dainty instrument, so it’s surprising, hearing him pouring his heart out through an actual ballad, but Steve is glad for it, that fond and warm feeling growing in his chest at hearing Billy’s song.

The song trills one more time into a slow crescendo, and finishes off in a way that Steve couldn’t have been expecting with the words, ““When the whole world is filled, with Mother Nature's noises… that's the time to stuff cotton in your ears!”

The change of tone in the song is so abrupt it makes Steve open his eyes again and pull away from his hold around Billy’s waist, keeping his fingers linked but leaning way back to look at his face. Billy’d duped him, had him feeling all emotional before revealing his cards, his normal sense of humor.

He’s wearing a smile, crooked and relaxed as he takes in Steve’s reaction, the confusion at the pace change. Despite the humor twinkling in his eyes, he asks innocently, “What?”

“Nothing.” Steve can’t help but smile back, even if he shakes his head at Billy’s choice of song.

Still smiling, Billy kisses him, soft and slow in a way that has always made Steve feel like it was the first time, his heart doing backflips while he melts into the bench.

They pull away for a breath, and the moment passes bittersweet, just as many do these days. Giggle almost always turn to tears anymore, and Steve feels his lip start to tremble, feels Billy put a hand on the small of his back so he can pull him closer and sigh into his hair.

Billy’s dying.

The doctors say he’s only got a few years left in him, if that. His heart is worn out from too many surgeries and medications to keep the hole in his chest closed.

They can’t fix it for fear of doing nothing but speeding up the process. They’re stuck with the recommendation to take him home and make him comfortable that nobody ever wants to hear, especially not now, when they’re still young, supposed to be living their lives to the fullest.

He’s already lived longer than they initially estimated when his body started rejecting the transplanted lung a while back, but he’s sick, getting sicker all the time.

The weight he’d been able to put back on in the years following that initial hospital stay was gone again, and his lung capacity was worse every day to the point that even with the oxygen tubes he felt breathless and dizzy, and he was coughing up blood.

Steve doesn’t know what he’ll do when Billy’s gone. Doesn’t know if he’ll keep teaching, if he’ll leave the area, he doesn’t like to dwell on it too much.

But what he does know for sure, is that the house will never be silent, and the piano won’t be covered. Won’t be forgotten in that corner or left unplayed after he goes.

It will stay just where Billy left it, to commemorate him and all he’d done with it, to honor and remember his music through Steve’s own.

Moments like these, fleeting as they are, are everything to Steve anymore. When Billy isn’t here anymore, all he would have were the memories of mornings like these and every second together with him, sealed in a box in his heart where nobody could touch them.

To lose the person behind that, there are no words that can describe how hard that’s going to be. Loss has never been easy for Steve, and having time to anticipate it did nothing but draw out the pain of knowing what was coming, what he’d have to let go of.

But it wouldn’t hurt forever.

Of course he would allow himself the time to mourn, how couldn’t he, when he’d be losing the only person who’d been able to take every wish and dream he could ever have possibly had and make them all come true, who’d ever really loved him. But he promised Billy, and himself, that he wouldn’t let himself be sad.

Because he refuses to remember him by his lows, all the countless days spent in the hospital, sleepless nights when he’d have coughing fits and be in so much pain he couldn’t sleep, the teary eyed panic attacks when something triggered a bad memory. That wasn’t Billy.

When the time comes, Steve wants to keep making music. To use the very tool he’d given Billy after government conspiracy and more than a year in the hospital, back then to offer him an outlet to feel better, to now keep his memory alive. Give him a legacy.

In the moment, Steve lets Billy wipe away his tears and pull him closer still to kiss the top of his head. He chokes back a sob listening to that wavering heartbeat from where he’s drawn close, and tries to chase the thoughts away.

Because they’re here now. Billy isn’t gone yet and Steve isn’t letting go. Right now, there’s still time to create more moments to hold onto, to create something beautiful, melodic, powerful.

Steve taught Billy to play the piano, but Billy taught Steve how to live in the moment, how to care for someone with all of his heart. More than anything, Billy taught Steve how to grieve.

#harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #tw character death #just a little heads up #nobody dies but it’s referenced that it’s going to happen sometime soon #like mourning a death that’s inevitable I suppose #ej writer #story by ej! #sorry to get all depressing on you guys

[farfromsugafanfic]

This Christmas

Genre: Producer!Yoongi, Fluff, Angst, slight enemies to lovers, Christmas-y

Pairing: Yoongi/Reader

Warnings: Portrayal of an abusive relationship (not involving Yoongi)

Synopsis: Yoongi doesn’t wanna work with a bubble gum idol like you. Especially not after your scandal where your and your manager’s relationship was revealed. And definitely not for a Christmas song.

✦✧✦✧

"You want me to what?" Yoongi asked. If this were a cartoon, his eyes would be bugging out of his head. The CEO of the company cleared his throat and looked at Yoongi over his glasses. It was obvious that despite being a high-level CEO of a successful music company, he was nervous to pitch this to his most successful producer.

"Listen, Yoongi, I know you're not happy about this. But, Y/N's comeback is crucial for her career. You know the scandal she had last year and this is her first comeback since then. We need this song to be everywhere. This why we need you to produce it."

"Okay, but like, a Christmas song? I know Y/N had a pretty pure image, but isn't that a bit much? Even for her?"

"Her scandal broke on Christmas Day last year. We thought having her do a Christmas song would help address that she moved on and wants to focus on her career."

Yoongi remembers your scandal a year ago. You'd been dating your manager. It was said you used his fondness of you to move up in the company. It was why you were a soloist and not in a group, why you didn't write your own songs but still got all the best ones, and why you had your good girl image. You were the role model for school girls everywhere in your pale pink skirts that matched your lips.

He'd never worked with you before. You were always so clean-cut, so bubblegum. It wasn't the type of song he wrote or worked on. In fact, despite working at the same company, and you being one of the largest idols signed with them, Yoongi didn't remember ever meeting you. He'd seen you passing, your manager placing his hand on the back of your skull to shield you from the camera flashes. Your hood up and a mask pulled up to cover most of your face.

"I've never done one of her songs. Why this one?"

"After the last year, it's impossible for Y/N to go back to her pure image. It just isn't believable. We need you because you don't do typical sounding songs."

Yoongi thought for a moment. An edgy Christmas song? Certainly possible, but could you really pull it off?

"It will be a new version of Last Christmas. We want it to be heartbreaking. Address the scandal without directly commenting. You have a knack for subtly that she needs."

"All right," he said. He knew he had no choice in the matter and it was only one song. Yoongi hadn't made his name as a producer doing bubblegum songs, but the company allowed him to release his own music under their label as long as he produced all the other artist's songs they asked of him. "But I'm not going to be like the other producers she's worked with."

✦✧✦✧

The night before your and Yoongi's first recording session he pulled up a playlist of your songs. You had a good voice, Yoongi would admit. He listened to a few seconds of each. You had the sweetheart image with mostly upbeat pop songs with a few heartbreak ballads mixed in. They were all written by the best songwriters at the company, except for Yoongi, of course. He'd never written for you, although you had considered one of his songs once.

A few emails exchanged before you ghosted him. "Wine" ended up going to another soloist and had won Yoongi an award, he really didn't care. After the scandal, you had the spoiled brat look. And, honestly, it didn't surprise Yoongi. Everyone knew you came from a well off background and went to a private school that the company commonly scouted at.

Girls like you always had talent, but you always ended up destroying yourselves. He was surprised you were even trying for a comeback instead of taking the money you'd made so far and setting yourself up to live off royalties until your name was forgotten enough to re-invent yourself.

When the scandal broke, Yoongi had just released a new mixtape. It affected the entire company, causing the sales and streams of his album to plateau. He silently cursed your name as he tweeted album links.

✦✧✦✧

Yoongi sat in his studio. The hood of his black hoodie pulled over his head and slightly crouched in his chair, he worked on your song. While he didn't have your vocal yet, he could easily work on the instrumental. It was tricky. "Last Christmas" was an iconic Christmas song that needed to be recognizable, but he also needed to make it different and stand out from every other cover.

His phone vibrated. It was you.

Y/N: I'm heading down now

You were most likely heading downstairs from the dance studios. He took off his headphones and soon heard a gentle knock on the door. He kept a lock on his studio to prevent anyone from bothering him while he worked. Only a few people had the code. And only to make sure Yoongi left every couple days.

Opening the door, he first saw your small smile. All lip, no teeth, yet still friendly. Behind you stood your manager, the one with who you'd had the scandal. Despite your break up being publicized, he was contracted as your manager for another year. Yoongi had no idea why you didn't just buy him out and let the poor kid get on with his life.

"Hi," you said softly, bowing politely before walking inside and leaving your shoes by the door. Your hair was up in a ponytail and you wore a blue sweatshirt three sizes too big. "It's nice to finally meet the famous Suga."  

He returned a tight-lipped smile and reached out to shake your hand, but your manager stepped in front and shook took Yoongi's hand instead. "I'm Kwanho, Y/N's manager."

Yoongi nodded, giving the man an odd look as you skirted to the side. He noticed the way you balled up your hands in your sleeves and looked down at the ground when the other man pushed you out of the way.

"Nice to meet you," Yoongi said. "If you give me your number, I'll call you when we finish for the day or if we need anything."

Yoongi motioned to the recording booth and you walked in, putting on your headphones and immediately taking your place. You seemed to relax as you prepared yourself in the booth, beginning to test the microphone and adjust the cords around your feet.

"Oh, no, I actually stay in the studio with Y/N."

Yoongi paused. "Uh, well, I tend to work better when it's just me and the artist. You know, so I can kinda get a feel for them and get the best vocals."

"She's more comfortable when I'm here."

Yoongi glanced over at you in the booth. You seemed much more comfortable by yourself in the recording booth than you had with your manager and ex-boyfriend.

"She seems fine. Listen, this is my studio and it's a bit small. I really don't like people getting in the way."

Your manager fumed, his hair beginning to stand up and his face growing red. His fists clench around the water bottle he carried and he sighed.

"Fine," he said. "Just let me give this to her."

Kwanho walked into the booth, his form completely hid yours as he stood in Yoongi's view. He saw the man hand you the water bottle. Even after you took it, the man loomed over you for a few extra seconds.

Knowing he had an audience, your manager soon left the booth and the studio. When Yoongi heard the lock click shut, he turned on his mic to talk to you.

"Y/N?" he asked. "You ready to get some vocals. Need to warm up at all?"

You shook your head. "No, I warmed up while we were waiting."

✦✧✦✧

It had been nearly a year since you'd recorded anything in a studio. Yet, nothing felt foreign. You had immediately adjusted everything to your preferences. Taking a sip of water as Yoongi started the music, you began singing. Your phone was full of practice runs from the night before. You didn't want to embarrass yourself in front of the famed producer of your company.

You had no idea what he'd said to Kwanho to make him leave, but your stomach had untied its knots when you saw him leave the studio. Even with Yoongi's critical gaze, you were used to tough producers.

"That was good," Yoongi said. "But, I listened to some of your tracks last night and I know you can do better. Think you could lower your voice a bit on the chorus."

"Lower it?" As a soprano, you were used to coaches and producers pushing your voice to its highest notes and octaves. Rarely ever did your lower range get explored. "Uh, I can try. But why?"

"Well, this comeback is supposed both your vulnerability and strength, right? if we explore the range of your voice more, it will show a different side of you. Plus, if your vocal isn't perfect it might show some of the vulnerability we want."

Your eyes widened and you nodded as the track started again.

4 Hours Later

Yoongi was growing frustrated. Your vocals were fine, but only that. They weren't anything special. He couldn't entirely blame you. You weren't used to singing in your lower register and it seemed your vocal coaches only cared about cultivating your voice for the cutesy songs of your past.

He sighed and rubbed his temples. "All right, let's take a break," he said. "I think we both need it."

You came out of the booth and almost immediately held the phone to your ear. His brow furrowed as he wondered who you were calling so immediately.

"Hey, we're taking a break."

Based on the quick response and hang up, Yoongi knew exactly who it was.

"Is he bringing you lunch?"

You nodded and sat down on the small loveseat Yoongi kept at the back of his studio for the artists or few visitors that came in. Pulling your knees up to your chest, he couldn't help but notice how much smaller you looked. When he'd seen you before the scandal, you looked healthy and filled out all your tight skirts and dresses.

Maybe it was just the oversized sweatshirt, but you looked thinner. Your collarbones stretching your skin and your cheekbones more prominent. He walked over to where he kept an electric kettle and started heating water.

"Want some spicy noodles?"

You shook your head.

A knock sounded and you got up. Letting your manager, Yoongi cause his hard gaze. He handed you a bag and refilled your water bottle. "Remember you're on a diet, okay?" he said.

You nodded.

"So, how's it going? Got enough for the song?"

"Not yet," you said. "We're working on it. Yoongi is really pushing me, but I think it will turn out well."

"I hope he's not working you too hard."

"Of course not, I love being back in the studio."

Yoongi poured the hot water into the instant noodles. "I think we'll need another day. Clear her schedule tomorrow."

Kwanho blinked twice. "Y/N is talented. I have every confidence it will only take one session."

"How long have you been her manager? Surely, you know it can take multiple sessions to get everything I need."

"I haven't recorded for a while, Kwanho. It's just cause I'm out of practice."

Your manager sneered and dropped the water bottle. "Fine," he said. Leaving the studio in a huff, he didn't seem to realize he'd spilled the water all over Yoongi's studio.

"I'm sorry," you said, looking around for something to soak up the mess. "He's just protective and doesn't like leaving me alone."

"Didn't you two break up?"

"Yeah, which I think made it worse."

Even if the two of you were still dating, Yoongi sensed something wrong. He pulled out paper towels from a nearby drawer and dropped to his knees to help you.

"He's kind of a dick."

"He wasn't always. Would you believe he was once really sweet?"

"Maybe he acted that way."

The two of you ate in relative silence, only piping up to discuss the song or the general happenings of the company. Yoongi finished his noodles and you finished your salad. After a few sips of water, you walked back into the recording booth.

✦✧✦✧

It wasn't until nine o'clock that night when you and Yoongi finally agreed that enough progress was made. Yoongi waited for Kwanho to pick you up and he watched as the light he'd seen in you when you recorded slowly dimmed.

He didn't knock this time, opting instead to text you. You answered the door and he walked in. Without a greeting, he met Yoongi's eyes. "She's free tomorrow. But let's make sure to finish this up tomorrow. We only have a few weeks before we have to release."

"Last I checked you weren't my boss," he said. "I understand the timeline and the song will be done in time."

Yoongi turned to you. "If you record anything good tonight, you can text it to me. If it's good quality, we might be able to use it."

"Wait, you have his number?" Kwanho asked, grabbing your bicep.

"Yeah, I've had it since I showed interest in his song a year ago." You glanced at Yoongi quickly before bringing your eyes back to your manager. "We're working together. I don't see why it's a big deal."

"If you need to text him recordings text them to me and I'll get them to him."

You scoffed. "Kwaho! Stop being so jealous, this is ridiculous."

The atmosphere came to a boiling point and all Yoongi could focus on was you. The way you puffed out your chest at your ex-boyfriend and called him out. But, he noticed the fear in your eyes, the way you flinched when Kwanho let go of your arm.

"Let's go, Y/N. We can talk about this later." Opening the studio door, Kwanho motioned for you to leave before him. "And, you," he made sharp eye contact with Yoongi. "Delete her number."

You and Kwanho disappeared through the door and Yoongi locked his phone, placing it back in his pocket.

✦✧✦✧

Yoongi stayed in the studio after you left. It wasn't unusual for him to stay until the early hours of the morning. Sometimes, he would even sleep on the couch and get a few hours of sleep before continuing in the morning.

The deadline for your song didn't warrant such actions. Instead, he just sat in his studio and read back through his notes from the day. There were a few bits of your backing vocals from the day that he wanted to include on the final track, but the main vocal still needed work.

Thinking back over the day, he was surprised at how different you were from what he believed. You were soft-spoken, polite, and good to work with. You took direction well, but pushed back when Yoongi got too caught up in the production that he made a bad call about your voice.

Kwanho--on the other hand--wasn't the loyal manager you took advantage of. At least, not from what Yoongi had seen today. He'd heard others at the company say you deserved it for using your relationship to get special treatment. But something didn't feel right about the way your manager still held control over you.

✦✧✦✧

It rarely snowed in November in Seoul. Yet, as Yoongi stepped outside around midnight, he was met with cold, wet snow that soaked the ends of his hair. He walked towards his apartment that was only a few blocks away when his phone rang. It was you.

"Suga?" you asked, and Yoongi realized he hadn't even told you his real name.

"Yes," he said. "What's up? Did you get a good recording?"He heard sniffles on the other line and he stopped walking. "Y/N? What's wrong?"

"We fought after we left and I finally fired him. But now I have nothing," you said. "He took everything. My apartment, my money, everything. I was wondering if I could stay in your studio for the night until I can figure something out."

Yoongi looked up at the snow and felt it soaking through his clothes. "Where are you?"

"I'm outside the company building. I don't have my ID."

"I just left. I'm on my way."

✦✧✦✧

Yoongi handed you a cup of coffee. You wore his sweatshirt and a pair of his sweats. It felt a little embarrassing and you knew what the tabloids would think you were taking advantage of yet another at your company.

"I don't have creamer or anything, sorry," he said.

You smiled. "Suga doesn't have any sugar." You took a sip of coffee and felt his gaze on you. When you looked up, you saw him smiling at you and holding in his laughter until you met eyes.

"It's amazing that you can make jokes when your life is changing," he said.

"The lawyers will handle everything," you said. "Plus, what can I do now other than finish the song?"

There was a pause, but unlike when you were in meetings with the company executives, or when the silences between you and Kwanho led to explosions, it was content.

"I need to apologize to you, Y/N."

Your brow furrowed. "Why? You've been so nice to me."

"I judged you. I believed the press, too. Even up until yesterday, I believed you were entitled and the one taking advantage of Kwanho, not the other way around."

"There was no way you could've known, Suga. But I appreciate it."

"Yoongi," he said. "Call me, Yoongi."

✦✧✦✧

"What if we change the song?" Yoongi said, halfway through the next day when nothing was coming together like both of you wanted.

"What do you mean?"

"Instead of focusing on Last Christmas, what if we wrote a new version that focuses on how you've changed for the better."

"This Christmas?" you said, your voice rising in pitch.

"Actually, yes."

✦✧✦✧

BREAKING: Y/N RELEASES NEW CHRISTMAS SONG PRODUCED BY SUGA THAT DETAILS PAST RELATIONSHIP ABUSE

Today, Y/N released her first song following last year's Christmas Day scandal that revealed that she was dating her manager. She is due to have her first comeback stage later this month.

The song, "This Christmas" discusses how when the news broke that it had been an attempt to control her. Her ex-boyfriend and manager leaked the news himself to prevent the singer from breaking up with and firing him. It focuses on the strength this experience brought her.

Y/N and her ex-manager are currently involved in a lawsuit that alleges that her manager used his privileged position on her staff to access her bank accounts and important documents. He then used this access to steal from the singer and commit various other crimes against her. Additionally, Y/N has told other sources that she was frequently controlled and emotionally abused while in the relationship.

This new song has already performed well on the charts and shows a new side to Y/N and her music. Famed producer, Suga, produced the song and spoke out in support of Y/N. The two have since been seen together on multiple occasions following the release of the song. A new Christmas romance for Y/N?

#bts #btsimagines #bts imagines #yoongi #btsfanfic #bts fanfction #yoongi fanfic #suga #suga fanfic #bts fan fiction #yoongi imagine #producer yoongi #fan fiction #originally posted on wattpad #farfromsuga