#It's just disappointing to see that much potential go to waste...

[localguy2]

Zane being used as a fucking battery for Unagmi to get into the real world, and him walking it off like it's nothing fills me with so much viisceral rage it's unbelievable

What the FUCK do you mean he's fine??! Did you not see him literally pass out and wake up with an immediate inhale like he was drowning or something???

You don't just walk off being used as a battery, and no amount of cartoon logic will make me think otherwise ESPECIALLY seeing also how he seemingly walked off the whole Ice Emperor shit as well (until Quest for the Lost Powers)

Like, at the very least have him go into a panicked terrified franzy because according to him it felt exactly like his Sacrifice against the Overlord

Or if you wanna go all our just have it wipe all of his damn memories and make him start as a person all over again, even then that still works better if you make it a post Ice-chapter consequence

And even those besides, you could do soooooo much with Zane and consequences and the shit he goes through...

[azure-stars]

Every night I Think and piss myself off to hell and then I can't sleep

[hansoeii]

I can excuse a lot when it comes to Doctor Who. But jesus christ, what was that?!? You have the incredible Ncuti Gatwa right there, and you just waste it???? I'm genuinely just so incredibly sad over this. I absolutely ADORE Ncuti Gatwa in this role, but my god, this writing is just...so bad. He didn't even get to face a dalek, cybermen, or the master!!! What is this!! All the incredible stories you could've written, but instead, you do this. You have your first black and very openly queer doctor right there, and you do nothing with it. The stories we could've gotten!!! The potential!!! I'm so SAD.

This show really needs to step away from Disney and start completely fresh. RTD needs to step down and give room for someone else. Someone with new, fun ideas that don't involve any kind of nostalgia bait. We need another fresh face as the Doctor, new writers, and a whole new team in general. I didn't mind the whole bigeneration and loved the specials with David Tennant, but having Ncuti Gatwa sandwiched between both David Tennant and now Billie Piper just feels incredibly rude to me. He's completely overshadowed when he's literally such an incredible Doctor.

I know that most of this mess is likely due to issues behind the scenes. The ratings were incredibly low, and disney didn't want to renew, so Ncuti Gatwa didn't want to be stuck in a limbo and potentially say no to bigger opportunities simply because he had to be the Doctor. And I totally understand him, I would've done the same. But all this could've been avoided if they simply just wrote better episodes from the beginning. They promised these seasons would be a fresh start, something easy to get into as a new fan, and that simply just wasn't the case at all. RTD is way too stuck in the past and way too focused on all these grand, big reveals that no one actually cared about, and that didn't even get resolved in the end. All we wanted were some fun, silly adventures with the Doctor and his companions. We didn't need the Disney budget and all these big villains. All we need is some fun characters with great chemistry. Throw some Daleks and some more silly aliens in there, and we're good. Why give us Sutekh, the Rani, and Omega in there all at once when you don't even have a solid script to justify it?? Just go with the classics and actually make it easier for new viewers like you promised! It's just all incredibly sad to me. So much wasted potential. I was so hopeful when Ncuti Gatwa was announced, and I'm so disappointed that this is how his run ends. He deserved so much more. I hope he knows how beloved he is in this role and I do hope we see him again in some way once this mess is resolved.

[daechwitatamic]

You Think You Might - Chapter 4 || csc

banner by @itaeewon

You Think You Might (masterpost)

Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers?

NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Seungcheol agrees to be your fake boyfriend at your sister’s destination wedding, under the condition that it “stays there”. You didn’t expect it to hurt when he holds you to that promise.

WC: 54k across 5 chapters; this chapter 13k

Status: complete; posting a new chapter each Friday

Warnings: language, angst, hurt feelings, arguments, casual/recreational drinking, a super cringe dm exchange, bad behavior by pretty much everyone except soonchan because they're perfect angels, an almost-kiss

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing and to @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character for me

You don’t see or hear from Seungcheol for days - during which you go from feeling disappointed to confused and embarrassed, which is where you land by the next weekend.

His absolute silence was surprising, and remains confusing, but you’re determined to keep as much of your dignity intact as possible, so when Soonyoung texts you to come hang out on Friday night, you accept.

If you’re praying that Seungcheol doesn’t show up, no one needs to know but you.

And maybe your brother will have some insight as to what happened.

You hadn’t talked to Soonyoung about it at all, yet. You’re sure you’ll be accosted for information immediately on arriving, and you waste a good hour of your afternoon trying to decide what you’ll say. Should you lie and say everything went right back to normal? What if Seungcheol has just been busy, and he reaches out and does want to talk, or see you, or -? No, that won’t happen. Best to just be honest.

By the time Friday night rolls around, you’re still unsure what to say, and still unsure if you’d rather see Seungcheol there and potentially have to face his disinterest head-on, or if you’d rather he not be there there, leaving you wondering about where his head is for another week or so.

You spend all evening turning this over and over in your mind - how tender he’d been with you at the resort, his dimpled grin and airy giggles when you goofed off together, his hands on your body, his music in your ears. And now silence.

Had you imagined it all?

No. You know you hadn’t. There had been something between you. So…what had happened?

Your brother greets you by pressing a beer into your hand, the cold both jarring and grounding, somehow.

“Bless you,” you joke, but really, you mean it. You say a quick hello to the guys on the couch (Vernon, Joshua, and Wonwoo for now) and then you head for the kitchen, for some semblance of privacy. You perch on the counter, leaning back against Soonyoung’s ugly cabinets, and down part of the beer. When you set down the bottle, your brother and his dumb roommate - a brother by proxy - stare at you expectantly from the kitchen table.

“What?” you ask.

Soonyoung levels you with a look. “Anything you want to get off your chest?”

You shrug. “Can’t think of anything.”

Dumb and Dumber exchange a look and then turn back to you in unison. “About Seungcheol? And you?” he prompts flatly.

You struggle with what to say next. You look down at your beer bottle, at your feet, at the floor. Finally, you meet your brother’s eyes, feeling that wave of embarrassment rise up inside you. At the end of the day, Seungcheol left you looking like a fool. You shrug, let this speak for itself.

And he understands, because he’s your brother, and he’s known you as long as he’s been alive. Something in his face crumples a little. “I’m sorry,” he says. He lets this sit for a minute, then adds “I shouldn’t have suggested that you bring him…”

“It’s not your fault,” you assure him. “And I’ll be fine. I’ll get over it. It wasn’t that deep, honestly. I just… feel really fucking stupid.”

“Noona, no,” Chan says, reaching across the table as if to soothe you. “We were all there. We all saw what was going on.”

This should make you feel better, but it doesn’t.

“I just…” you trail off, heels kicking against the lower cabinets, “I’m just… confused, I guess. When we were coming home, I was sure - like - even at the airport he was…”

They look at you with twin looks of sympathy, waiting you out.

You tap the bottom of the glass bottle against the countertop, just to look at something besides their pitying faces.

“I thought something would happen,” you finish quietly. “And I’m just confused as to why it didn’t. But it’ll be okay. It wasn’t that deep.”

The silence drags so long that you do look back up at them, finding them engaging in one of their frequent silent conversations.

Finally, your little brother meets your gaze, a bit cowed. “Would you… feel better, if you understood why? Or worse?”

Your blood runs cold, though you couldn’t say why. You just know by the question that they know something, that there is something to know.

“Tell me,” you demand.

“Have you… seen his insta?” Soonyoung asks timidly.

“No,” you say, heart sinking. “I unfollowed yesterday.”

He slides his phone across the table for you to see, and you’ve got the gist of it before your feet even hit the linoleum: him and Jieun, faces pressed tight together for a selfie.

You freeze in the middle of the kitchen, eyes on the screen, taking in the way he presses his cheek into the top of her head, familiar and affectionate.

It all makes sense, now - how he’d changed his tune out of nowhere. Jieun had said jump, and he’d leapt from his seat, as you’d seen him do for her since you were all still in college.

You wonder at what point during the trip she’d reared her head again - before the flight home? After?

There’s no way to know.

Joshua appears in the doorway, looking around at you warily like he knows he’s interrupting something.

“Sorry,” he says, skirting around where you stand frozen in the kitchen’s center, as if he’s afraid to get too close. “I just needed another beer.”

“No, you’re fine,” you say, making your way towards the table. “We were heading in there in a minute anyway.”

As Joshua exits again, beer in hand, he spots Soonyoung’s phone on the table, the offending image still displayed.

“Yah,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “Here we go again, right?”

You all stare at each other in silence as he leaves.

Finally, you sigh. “Can you just… warn me if he’s coming over?”

Chan frowns. “Don’t leave just because he’s here,” he begs.

“I won’t,” you promise. “It’ll just be nice to have some warning, you know?”

There’s nothing any of you can say to change the situation. You’ll just have to deal, have to move on. It’ll be fine; you just need a bit of time. In the end, you should just be grateful it wasn’t worse, grateful your heart hadn’t gotten in deeper. All things considered, you got out pretty unscathed.

Back in the living room, you all settle in and put on a movie you’ve seen a hundred times so you can talk over it without upsetting anyone. It feels nice to settle back into normal, back with people you consider friends, back with your brother, and you feel yourself relax.

That is, until Vernon’s phone buzzes on the coffee table and he reaches to answer it. “Hey hyung. Yes, at Soonyoung’s. Okay. Sweet.”

He hangs up and tosses his phone back to where it was, obliviously announcing, “Hyung is coming over.”

Even if you weren’t sure which hyung it was, the reaction would answer for you. Soonyoung and Chan look at you so immediately, heads turning in unison, that you feel yourself flush hot. Your stomach twists.

You spend the next ten minutes - you time it - arguing with yourself, trying to talk yourself into staying, trying to convince yourself that you can handle this.

Your cowardly side wins.

“I’m pretty tired,” you lie, starting to rise. Maybe some of the guys will buy it. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

The look Chan gives you reminds you of a sad puppy, but you do your best to ignore him as you wave goodbye, gather your things, and slink out of the apartment.

You’re too late; you spent too long waffling. Seungcheol’s car is parked two spots down from yours, and he seems to be fishing around his backseat for something. You try to sneak to your car, but he spots you, straightening up and closing his door.

“Hey,” he says tightly, and you wonder if he’s nervous, too.

“Hi,” you say back. You don’t mean it to sound like, hi, you asshole, but it absolutely does.

You stare at each other across the cracked concrete, the tension thickening.

You don’t know what to say - you don’t know what you want from him. An apology? An explanation from him instead of your baby brother? Both?

Finally, he closes his eyes and shakes his head, shoulders sagging a little. “I should have texted you.”

It’s neither an apology nor an explanation, so you look at him flatly. “Only if you had something worth saying,” you say, and you can hear how cold it is. You suppose he deserves it, at least a little.

He seems to tuck small into himself for just a second. “So I guess you heard.”

You squint at him. “Could have saved me some embarrassment if you’d had the balls to tell me yourself, but yeah, I was informed.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, quickly - appeasing, insincere, just to get you off his back.

“Sure,” you say easily. “It’s whatever.”

He hears the lie for what it is and goes on the defensive. “It was supposed to stay there,” he points out. “We said - we said it stayed there.”

“We said that before,” you shoot back. Before he’d kissed you in private, before you’d slept together, before you’d stayed up all night talking, before he’d held your hand even when the weekend was over.

“No,” he snaps, taking a step towards you, away from his car. “You don’t get to do that. We agreed that we’d come home and go back to how it was. You don’t get to change your mind because you - because -”

He trails off; he clearly doesn’t want to put words in your mouth, doesn’t want to say because you liked it when you haven’t admitted it yourself.

“But you can change your mind - and let’s both be very clear, that’s what happened here - you can change your mind, just because your ex came sniffing around again?”

There it is - the whole picture, the entire truth, shattered on the feet of pavement between you, shards spraying into the darkness around you.

His expression darkens. “You don’t understand.”

You laugh, once, bitter. “I’ve been around since undergrad,” you bite. “I understand a lot more than you think I do.”

It’s true - you’ve seen it all before, the games Seungcheol and Jieun play to piss each other off: waiting to see who would text first, purposely making each other jealous, being petty and passive aggressive instead of ever talking something out.

Something plaintive crosses his face and he opens his arms wide, beseeching. “Don’t I owe it to her to try?” he asks, voice pained. “What if I can do it this time? What if I’ve… grown enough, or whatever, to be right for her?”

You feel sorry for him - that’s the feeling that overcomes all the others. Because you understand this fear: that not working is his fault, that it says something about his character, that it’s a fatal diagnosis that he’ll never shake.

That if he can’t do it right with her, it means he can’t do it right with anyone.

And you know he’s wrong. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Seungcheol,” you say, instead of answering his question. He lets his arms drop, just stares at you across the pavement. “You’re not broken or irredeemable. And nothing’s wrong with her either.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightens. “But?” he bites out.

“There is no but. You’re both capable of being a great partner to someone. Just not each other. It’s not a bad thing, and it’s not anyone’s fault. You just need someone… different than her.”

“Someone like you,” he says flatly, like he’s clarifying, but the sarcasm isn’t as hidden away as he might have meant. 

You regard him evenly. You still feel mostly pity. 

“I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully. “We didn’t get to find out.”

Then you shake your car key out from the others and head for your driver’s side door.

He calls your name, quietly, but you ignore him. You make a point of not looking for him in your mirrors as you toss your phone into the center console, slide into reverse, and weave out of the parking lot. You don’t want to know if he watches you go. It doesn’t matter either way.

The thing about your brother is that he has tells. Blatant ones, even over texting. So when his picture - an old, grainy one you’d found in one of your mom’s physical photo albums, from the year he was four, grinning in a full-bodied hamster onesie - pops up on your phone with a faux-innocent “hiiiiii” beside it, you frown immediately.

“Hi what?” you send back. You just know, based on years of experience, that he's going to ask you something he thinks you won't agree to.

And he knows you too well, because he knows that being cute about it won't help him. Instead, his next message is just the link to a brewery's website and the question - “Friday night?”

You click it and scroll around - it seems like it's pretty new, and the owners must be trying to drum up young clientele, because the website boasts a number of events (trivia! paint and sip! 90’s night!) and the photo gallery proudly displays images of games like giant jenga and cornhole.

You're still scrolling through the photo gallery when you're interrupted by an incoming call. You go to swipe it away - instinct, naturally - when you realize it says Nayoung. 

You frown, rereading the name on the screen as if maybe it’s a lie. Then, with a bit of simmering anxiety, you slide your thumb to accept the call.

“Hey, unnie. What's wrong?” you ask automatically, sure that she must be calling because someone is dying - nothing short of that ever got her to call before.

Her silence on the other end rings for a second, long enough to make you scared that someone really did die.

“Unnie?” you prod.

“Sorry - hi,” she says, her voice coming to life in your ear. “Nothing’s wrong. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

There’s an edge to her voice and you try to define it - defensive? Irritated?

“Oh,” you say. This whole thing is so weird. “So, then, what’s up?”

“Just calling to chat, I guess.”

“You guess?” It slips out before you can stop it.

She sighs, like she knows you’re right. “I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s weird, right? I just… seeing you made me realize that you’re all grown up now, and I don’t know you.”

You don’t say anything. Every instinct you have is begging you to defend, to dig your shovel into the crumbling, wet earth of years of anger. But you want to see what she has to say before you bury her.

When you don’t answer, she pushes on. “I was just thinking that… if I want to change that… someone needs to start trying. And I guess it should be me.”

You tap your fingers on your desk, uneasy. “I don’t know what to say,” you admit. “I guess I appreciate… that you want to.” It feels stilted at best, completely faked at worst. You need time to process, to decide what you want. You wish this had been a text message so you didn’t have to say anything until you were ready, until you'd scripted it perfectly.

Because, in real time, she asks, haltingly, “Well, what do you want?”

You can’t not answer. You can’t spend six hours asking for help to craft the ideal reply.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

“Okay,” she says, like she’d braced herself for a worse response and she’s relieved it’s only this. “Okay, that’s okay. That’s fine. Just… think about it.”

“Mhm,” you manage. You feel like you’re in a play and no one ever gave you your lines. Then, as you glance sideways at the calendar tacked to your office’s bulletin board, you ask, “Aren’t you still on your honeymoon?”

She laughs, and the tension breaks a little. “Yeah. We’re just hanging out right now. We have two more days and then it’s back to reality.”

“Sorry,” you deadpan, and she laughs again.

“Me too,” she agrees. Then, she adds, “Well, I’ll let you go. I know it’s a workday.”

“Yes and I am clearly working very hard,” you say flatly, just to make her laugh again.

“If you want to call or text,” she says, “you’re welcome to, okay?”

“Sure,” you say, but you know you won’t. Habits of over twenty years are pretty tough to break, you think.

“Are you having a good time?”

It’s a delicate question; you find yourself spending your Friday night at the brewery that Soonyoung had texted you about, and it should be fun - has all the trappings of a good time. The vibe is nice, the live music is great, and you love a good game, so you’ve been playing giant Jenga and connect-4 against Soonyoung and Chan for the last two hours as you knock back different craft beers. All things you like.

But for some reason - which certainly isn’t that Seungcheol is here, and he hasn’t talked to you once, instead staying sequestered with Mingyu and Jeonghan - you’re in a shitty mood, constantly checking your phone to see if it’s late enough that you can leave without being a party pooper. 

You’re not even sure how long ago Chan and Soonyoung abandoned you with the stranger. You’re seated at the bar now, your back facing the games, and you can hear Seokmin’s noisy giggle floating your way.

“Yeah,” you say, because you hate being impolite. “I seem to have lost my friends, though.”

The guy - who, now that you’re paying attention, is actually pretty cute - glances over your shoulder towards the giggler. “I noticed,” he says, turning back to you, “that you are here with thirteen guys. What’s the situation? Are they, like, your sister wives?”

You laugh, and he smiles, happy to have succeeded. “Well, the one about to start crying over Jenga is my little brother, so let’s quickly remove him from the scenario,” you say, and the guy nods, playing along.

“They’re mostly his friends,” you admit. “I just tag along.”

“Ah,” he says. “So no sister wives. Or boyfriends.”

“Ah,” you repeat, because he showed his hand. “No boyfriends or wives. Or partners of any kind, just to cover all the bases.”

He does a valiant job trying to carry a conversation with you, and you try to engage at least to a polite degree, but your heart just isn’t in it. Your bad mood festers, weighs heavy like water-logged clothing. When the clock strikes midnight, you consider yourself off the hook.

You apologize to the guy - whose name you didn’t even get, during this whole time - and extract yourself. You make your way over to where the guys are gathered by the indoor cornhole games. 

“I’m gonna head,” you tell your brother. 

He frowns, glancing at his phone. “It’s only midnight.”

You nod, tight-lipped. You don’t want to speak, don’t want to let it all spill out - that it isn’t fun to hang around trying not to watch Seungcheol out of the corners of your eyes, not fun to push your bitterness down and keep up the mask of someone who isn’t angry. 

Luckily, he doesn’t push it. “Fine,” he says, kind of flatly, and it makes you sad for a whole different reason. You hate letting Soonyoung down. “Get home safe.”

In your periphery, you watch Seungcheol’s head snap up at this. You shift so he’s out of your view, start pulling up the app to get a ride home. 

He doesn’t get the message your body-language is sending, instead sidling up next to you, his own phone in hand.

“Are you heading out?” he asks. “I was going, too, if you want to share a ride.”

Soonyoung gives you a quick pat on the arm and dips, heading back to Chan and the little bean-bags on the cornhole board. You don’t blame him - you wish you could vanish from here, too.

“Fine,” you say evenly. You don’t wait for him or even look back as you tap to confirm the ride. You just head for the front door at a clip.

Outside, you have a few minutes to wait before the car will arrive. You cross your arms, watching the street carefully, determined to engage with Seungcheol as little as possible.

Apparently, he has his own agenda. “You’re leaving pretty early,” he observes, sliding his phone into his hoodie pocket. 

You hum noncommittally, since he hadn’t asked a question. 

“Not having fun?” he prods.

You glance sideways at him. His cheeks are a bit pink. You hadn’t been paying enough attention to know how much he had to drink, but you’re wondering if he’s a little buzzed. 

“Just tired,” you lie, because it’s fewer syllables than the truth. 

He nods. His phone buzzes in his pocket again, loud enough that you both hear it. His face instantly shifts into guilt before he can correct it, and you know it’s Jieun blowing him up. You know that’s why he’s leaving early. You don’t even need to ask.

“Listen,” he says finally, and you lift your gaze to him. You feel absolutely nothing. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask, but your voice comes out hard.

“You know.”

This makes you let out a sarcastic laugh. “If you can’t even articulate it, then I don’t think I can accept.”

He sighs heavily, like you’re being difficult. “I’m not sorry that I chose to try again with Jieun,” he admits. “I think I have the right. But I’m sorry that you got hurt in the process. That wasn’t… what I wanted.”

You choke back the defensive I’m not hurt. “I appreciate the apology,” you say coolly. 

He regards you silently. For a second you’re back at the resort and he’s your knight in shining armor, ready to stand between you and whatever’s upsetting you. For a second, you’re back between his arms in bed, warm and safe and hopeful. For a second, your hand is back in his, accepting his promise to make things better for you.

The car slides up to the curb and you check the license plate against the app before opening the door and getting into the backseat. 

“I hope you’ll actually forgive me,” he says quietly, as the car pulls away. “Even if it takes a while.”

And there he is, your Seungcheol - earnest and quiet. 

“I forgive you,” you say. “I’m just… I’ll be fine. You hurt my pride, but I’ll get over it.”

“I am really sorry,” he repeats, and this time you believe him a little more. 

“It’s fine,” you say, because it’s going to have to be. “We’ve got to move past it, anyway, or things will be weird for my brother forever.”

Seungcheol’s quiet for a minute, thinking. His phone buzzes twice more on his lap, but he ignores it. 

“Do you think we can?” he asks finally. “Move past it? Maybe be friends?”

That would be new, you think. 

“I don’t know,” you say slowly. You’d have to put a lot of feelings away - both the good ones and the bad ones. “Do you think we could?”

He shrugs. “I already consider you my friend.”

You stare at your lap for a minute. “I’ll try,” you tell him, because it’s the most you can offer. 

He sends you a tiny, sideways smile. “I’m glad,” he says. 

That’s the last thing you say for the rest of the ride, until you’re slipping out of the car and calling a goodbye over your shoulder.

August

Time heals all wounds, and while you don’t want to say you were wounded necessarily, things do settle down - the sting ebbs, day by day. It’s replaced with acceptance and a bit of that same unnamable feeling that you always get when you think of Seungcheol and his quest to fix things with Jieun. It’s sort of how one might feel about Sisyphus - you understand his motivations and the good place they come from, but you wish he could step away and let the rock go, move on to more productive challenges. 

But he can’t - can’t step to the side and let the past roll away, can’t stop trying. Love is a curse, right?

“Don’t comets mean, like, disaster is coming?” Joshua asks. 

You’re all on Soonyoung and Chan’s roof - not even just the eight of you, but a bunch of your brother’s neighbors, too, all with the same idea. You’re not sure you’ll be able to see anything, with the city’s light pollution, but it’s one in the morning and you’re all standing around craning your necks, waiting for the promised show.

“Just change in general,” you say.

“Depends on the person, or the culture,” Vernon corrects from somewhere to your right. “To some, it’s a harbinger of disaster. To some, it just means change - good or bad.”

“Ominous,” Chan says, coming up behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder playfully before moving to bother Seungkwan.

You’d all been down in the apartment for a while, drinking and snacking. You’d even created a little themed cocktail you’d named the Comet-kazi, a play on the usual kamikaze made with your favorite tequila. It had been a nice night, even with Seungcheol there. You left each other alone, kept space, but you didn’t feel any of the simmer anything - neither the anger nor the desire. Things felt almost how they used to. Almost.

Now, all crowded together against the concrete wall of the rooftop, you feel a wave of affection for the whole crowd of your brother’s idiot friends - even Seungcheol. You lean a bit on Mingyu, mostly because you’re sleepy and he’s solid enough to hold you up, watching the sky for any flickers or flashes.

Seungcheol’s voice breaks the silence from behind you. “I gotta bounce. Sorry.”

No one answers him for a second, though you feel bodies shift around you as some of the guys look over their shoulders to see him already backing towards the door into the building. Next to you, Soonyoung meets your gaze, his expression flat and knowing - probably mirroring your own. 

It’s Joshua who speaks first. “You sure, man?” he asks. “They said this is once in a lifetime…”

“It’ll be there tomorrow,” Seungcheol says, already halfway through the door. He doesn’t look back as he disappears from view.

“Won’t be as good tomorrow,” Vernon mutters, too quiet for Seungcheol to hear. 

In front of you, leaning against the concrete, Chan sighs heavily. 

“We’ve lost him, lads,” Soonyoung murmurs next to you.

“Again,” adds Seungkwan darkly.

You shift your weight to lean against Soonyoung instead of Mingyu, unconsciously moving to comfort him, sensing his distress. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly.

He gives your elbow a squeeze. “None of it’s your fault.”

You aren’t sure you agree with that. Maybe if you’d been better, more worthy somehow - prettier, more witty, something - he’d have chosen you over the familiar path, and then your brother’s friend group wouldn’t be splintering. 

“There,” Mingyu says suddenly, pointing. You all shut up, turning to follow the line of sight from his finger. A few of Soonyoung’s neighbors press closer to your little group, all trying to see.

It takes a second, but then you see it - a ball of light not much bigger than the blinking planets, moving slowly across the sky. It has no tail, no flashes or sparkles or anything else the media might have led you to expect. But still, your eyes stay on it as it travels. You’re all silent, watching, nearly holding your breath.

Change.

You let yourself wonder what kind of change could be in store for you, let yourself hope that maybe - maybe - the universe could be bringing you something good.

“Did you see the comet last night?”

You switch your phone to your other ear and tuck it against your shoulder, your hands busy chopping an onion for dinner. Your mother’s voice rings, tinny. 

“I did,” you tell her, pausing to push some of the chopped pieces to the side with the blunt side of the knife. “I was at Soonyoung’s with all the guys. It was pretty cool. Did you?”

“Mhm,” your mother answers evenly. Then, “All the guys, hm? Was Seungcheol there?”

Your stomach drops. You hesitate on the cusp of the lie, your hands already starting to sweat enough that you have to set down the knife and wipe them on your jeans before resuming the chopping. 

Your fake relationship was - as Seungcheol had said, back on the night you’d argued last month - supposed to stay there. You hadn’t discussed what would happen after, as far as your story. Should you keep the lie going a little longer, or will it make the situation snowball into a problem?

You hesitate too long and your mother catches it. She says your name, inquisitive, and you sigh. You don’t like being dishonest with her. You push the last of the onion pieces into one pile and rinse the knife in the sink, then turn and lean back against the counter, dragging a hand over your face wearily, trying to decide what version of the story to give.

You settle on something that at least mimics the truth.

“We broke up,” you say. You can hear the flatness of your tone, can hear the regret and sliver of hurt in it. Those aren’t a lie at all.

She doesn’t respond for a long moment, and your stomach twists again. You tap your nails against the kitchen counter you’re leaning on, your pulse singing so loud it’s nearly yodeling. Then, she says, “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk about it?”

You hear the question for what it is - what happened?

You chew on your bottom lip, once again toying between the truth and a nicer version - it just didn’t work out, or, I’m not really sure what happened.

“His ex came back around,” you admit. It actually feels kind of good to say it to someone that’s not Soonyoung, something loosening in your stomach, a muscle you didn’t know you’d had clenched. “They’ve been on and off as long as I’ve known him. She’s like a drug he can’t quit, or something.” You pause, heart pounding hard as you trip over the words you’ve kept to yourself for almost a month now. “It was stupid of me to think it would be different now.”

Stupid to think he’d be different, for me, you add silently.

She says your name again, soft and regretful, and your eyes fill at the unexpected understanding and sympathy.

You let out a little bitter laugh, just to offset the unwelcome tears. “It is what it is,” you say, because that’s better than backsliding into being hurt, when you’d finally been putting it behind you.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice going uncharacteristically quiet in response to the stark sadness in yours. “You aren’t stupid for hoping something will work. It’s not stupid to hope that someone will step up for you.”

You busy yourself by digging out the pot you need for the soup you want to cook, just to do something, put your sudden adrenaline towards an action. “I guess,” you say, but you’re wondering if she’s speaking from experience with your dad, all those years ago. Is this a lesson she’d learned after waiting for him to step up, time and time again? 

“He seemed to really like you,” she muses in your ear, and your fingers tighten on your phone as your face heats.

Yeah, you think. I thought so, too. You can’t make yourself say it, so you simply hum in agreement. 

She sighs. “Well, darling, there’s nothing to do but brush yourself off and get back on the horse.”

You scoff. “I think I’ll go inside and watch the horses from the window for a while, actually.”

She laughs, understanding the metaphor. “Well, not for too long, yeah?” she concedes. “Or you’ll forget how to ride.”

You drop the pot, the phone falling from your shoulder as you scramble to catch it. “Sorry - sorry,” you tell her, once you’ve righted everything. “Dropped the phone. I’m trying to cook dinner.”

“I can let you go,” she says easily. “I should call Nayoung, anyway.”

You say goodbye and hang up, and then stare listlessly at the pot and chopped vegetables on the countertop. You suddenly feel too tired to cook, too tired to think.

You close your eyes, press a cool hand against them and breathe. Talking about the situation had felt a bit freeing, it’s true, but it’d also brought some of the emotions back, and you’ve been trying to pack those up tight. 

“Enough,” you mutter to yourself. You reach to turn on the burner, waiting for the flame to emerge, waiting for your hurt feelings to settle back into quiet.

It’s the hottest week of the year when your air-con dies, because of course it is.

You call the building’s super, who tells you that the building’s entire HVAC unit is busted, and he’s got a team coming to work on it sometime in the next week.

You lay on your living room floor in your underwear, star-fished because you can’t stand to have one part of your body touch another, and melt, miserable. Even your pulse and your heartbeat feel like too much work for your overheated body.

It takes you less than twelve hours to crack, using your phone to buy a window unit from the local hardware store (a decision that future-you will regret when your credit card statement comes, but right now you’re too hot to care), selecting in-store pick-up. 

You get the unit into the car without a problem, thanks to the help of a store employee in a blue vest embroidered with the store’s name. It’s getting it out of the car that you realize you hadn’t thought enough about.

You call Soonyoung, who picks up on the third ring.

“What are you and Chan doing tonight?” you ask. You’re standing next to your car’s open back door, staring at the box like it’s a problem you might be able to solve. “I need a favor and I am willing to pay cash.”

“Sorry, but I have a date,” Soonyoung says. “And Chan’s at his parents’.”

“Fuck,” you mutter. 

“Why?” your brother asks, as you crouch next to your car just to keep yourself in its shadow; the sun beating down on you has nearly made you dizzy already. “What’s wrong?”

You explain the situation to him, a bit desperately. 

He hums. “I could ask Seungcheol-hyung,” he suggests.

“Soonyoung.”

“I’m serious. He’d be the most help, anyway. Probably more than Chan.”

You hear an indignant hey! in the background of the call.

“I don’t want you to call Seungcheol,” you say. “In fact, I would rather eat glass.”

But then you think about spending the rest of the day laying like a starfish in your living room. And about trying to sleep - sweat trickling down your back, legs sticky, flopping over time and time again.

There’s no way. You won’t survive.

“God,” you groan, miserable. “It’s fine. I can call him myself. Thanks anyway.”

“Good luck,” he tells you.

You lock your car and head inside - at least you can be out of the sun, and back under your ceiling fan. It’s not much but it’s better than nothing. You go back to starfish position and tap Seungcheol’s name on your phone. 

It rings out and goes to voicemail, so you hang up. Then your phone buzzes in your hand.

You roll your eyes. He’d texted you a “what’s up” instead of answering, which means he’s with Jieun and doesn't want to be on the phone with you in front of her. 

You text him back, need help with something.

Your phone rings almost immediately.

“You okay?” he asks.

Your chest tightens. You love and hate the way he’ll jump to take care of you. It isn’t fair, it promises something he can’t provide. It also makes you feel like you’re being filled with helium, cared for and protected.

“Yeah, it’s not, like, an emergency,” you explain. “It’s just… the air-con in my building went out, and I bought a window unit, but I can’t get it upstairs. I tried my brother and Chan and neither of them are home. I was gonna see if… but if you’re busy it’s totally fine.”

It seems like Seungcheol has pulled the phone away from his mouth; you can hear his voice, muffled, catch the words Soonyoung’s sister. 

You want to smash something. You almost hang up. 

“I can help,” he says, normal volume again. “Do you mind if it’s in an hour or so?”

“You’re doing me a favor,” you point out. “Take your time.”

He laughs lightly. “That’s true,” he says agreeably. “Okay. It might be a bit, but I’ll get there before dinnertime. Sound good?”

When the knock on your door comes, you’re almost dozing - still in the middle of the living room floor. You have to peel yourself off the ground gently, your skin sticking slightly. You make your way to the door sleepily, belatedly realizing that you should probably throw on at least a t-shirt - you’re thankfully not in just underwear anymore, but you are only in a sports bra and a pair of workout shorts. 

Oh well, you think. It’s not worse than a bathing suit. 

When you open the door, Seungcheol takes a small step backwards. 

“Um,” he says, a bit unsteadily, “hey.”

His gaze sweeps over you and then he looks steadfastly somewhere over your shoulder, the tips of his ears going dark.

“Hi,” you say, as normally as you can, as something both smug and bitter swims in your stomach. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, sounding more like himself, though his ears stay red as you step backwards to let him in.

“I did try my brother first,” you say, even though he already knows this. You feel kind of defensive, like you need to be very clear that you hadn’t just wanted to see him or something. 

(It’s nice to see him, just the two of you. It makes you want to sink into his presence, unclench something you hadn’t realized you’d had tightened, lose yourself in his slightly spicy scent. But that’s a road you can’t go down.)

“It’s not a problem,” he says, looking around your place absently. You realize he’s never been here before. 

“Do you want a drink? Water or anything?” you ask.

“Maybe after I carry it up,” he says, pulling on the front of his t-shirt and flapping it to cool down his sweaty skin. “Fuck, it’s hot in here.”

“Yeah, it’s been pretty unbearable,” you say. And it’s hotter now, just because his proximity makes your heart beat faster, your body raising its temperature without your permission. Just because his dark eyes look troubled, and it’s work to fight the instinct to fix it. Just because his smile still cuts through you, even when it’s kind of wary. “Let me just grab my keys and we can…” 

You trail off as you pat around your cluttered kitchen table until your fingers find metal. Then you lead Seungcheol back into the hallway and towards the stairs.

“So, uh,” you say as you walk, the back of your neck prickling under his gaze from behind you, “how have you been? How are things?”

You turn over your shoulder as you ask, which is the only reason you watch his face twist for a second before he says, “Ah, you know. Normal.”

“The face you just made says differently,” you point out.

He shrugs, mouth going into a firm, thin line. “It’s complicated.”

Ah. Of course. Jieun.

“Oh,” you say. “We, uhm. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“We probably shouldn’t,” he says, sounding a bit chagrined. You watch his face carefully - your eyes charting the way his lashes flick as his gaze drops, the down-turn of his mouth flirting with the idea of a pout, his jaw flexing and relaxing like he’s focusing on making it look normal. 

You wish you could squeeze his hand or give him a hug; anything to let him know that someone cares if he’s hurting. But you can’t - he’s not your problem, not your responsibility. Straight-up not yours.

You blow out a quick breath, determined to get your shit together. “I mean,” you say, pausing on the stairs’ landing so you can face him, “you’re not going to hurt my feelings at this point. We did say we’d try being friends. If you want to talk about it and get a perspective that’s not from a twenty-something-year-old dude, I’m offering. As a friend.”

He stares at you for a moment, processing, making a decision. He seems to deflate a little when he decides. 

“It’s nothing really worth talking about,” he says. “Just the usual with Ji.”

Ji. You work hard not to grimace. 

“Are you two… back together?” you ask, your voice kind of small in the empty stairwell.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, eyes finding the ceiling of the stairwell like he can’t look at you while he says this. “Not yes, but not no. Hence the… complicated.”

“Hence,” you repeat with a snort. He makes a face at you. For a second, it feels easy again. 

“So, what’s the problem?” you ask, leaning back against the wall and crossing your arms. The cement is cool against your back, actually feels nice after melting in the apartment for hours. 

“I dunno,” he admits. “We’re talking non-stop, it’s just… no one has pulled the trigger on it. It’s like we’re both waiting to see what the other will do. Neither of us wants to say it first.”

“Why not?”

He laughs once, a bit bitter. “Gives the other person the power, I guess. Gives them the chance to say no. So… here we are. Limbo.”

“So stop it,” you say clearly, like it’s simple. His brows scrunch. “Seriously. Say what you mean - tell her what you want.”

His eyes flick to the floor and then back to yours, something swimming in his brown eyes. “What if she -”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say firmly. “If she says no, if she laughs in your face - it doesn’t matter. Would that be worse than never getting what you actually want? Really?”

He’s quiet for a minute. Then he grumbles, “How come you always have the answer? I really fucking hate that.”

“It’s because don’t think with my dick,” you fire back, and he laughs out loud.

“What’s her excuse, then?” he asks. 

“Not sure,” you say, thinking about this. “But I have a lot of theories. The first one being that she enjoys the games just as much as you do - until they stop being fun.”

He lets out a wry laugh. “That’s no secret.” He regards you for a second, and you swear his eyes sweep your form again. Then he lowers his voice and says, “It’s kind of refreshing, how you don’t. Play games, I mean.”

You flush hot - angry, you think. You open your mouth to scold him, to tell him it’s fucked up to stand here and compare you to her, but he beats you to it.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I just heard what I said.”

Your fury settles, just slightly, but your body takes longer to get the message. Your heart still pounds, your face feels like you need to stick it in the freezer, your pulse thuds with adrenaline as it prepares to fight.

For a second, you’re in that hotel shower with him again, your fingers in his hair. The adrenaline feels the same. The space between you feels charged, suddenly, alive and awake and ready to take what it wants - take what you and Seungcheol both want, it seems.

You’re saved from having to reply - the door at the bottom of the stairs slams open and Mingyu’s voice yells, “Hello? I’m dying out here!”

You look at Seungcheol, baffled, the moment broken.

“I brought help,” he explains. “Come on.”

Before he leaves, as the new window unit blasts into your bedroom, you stop him.

“Be honest with her,” you tell him, voice low so Mingyu won’t overhear and get nosy. “It’s Boyfriending 101.”

Later, you lay on your bed in the dark, your new window unit blowing directly over you. You want to freeze, want to have goosebumps for the rest of your life to make up for how hot your last two days were. 

Your phone lights up with a notification and you glance at it. 

Your sister - mom told me about your break up :( sorry to hear that

You frown. You don’t appreciate your mother spreading your business, don’t want Nayoung getting little peeks into your life that you don’t feel she deserves. 

Another text pops up under the first - want to talk about it? 

Not with you, you think sourly. 

Your real response is nicer. You send back, not really. i’m okay. thanks for checking in.

Your phone rings. You growl, loud and frustrated, then fix your tone. 

“Hey Nayoung,” you say, trying to sound like you don’t want to throw your phone across the room. 

“Hi,” she says, her voice sweet in your ear. You feel bad for being so prickly. “Are you sure you’re okay? It sucks more than normal to lose a boyfriend to an ex. There’s like… I don’t know, an extra hit to your pride in it. I know, I’ve been there.”

You wonder how many boyfriends and heartbreaks Nayoung had after moving out that you didn’t know anything about. 

You wonder what it would have felt like to have a big sister back when you were a teenager navigating your first heartbreaks, having boy problems. But you’re trying to move on from that kind of thought, trying to let go of your anger for decisions decades old, so you let the thought float along instead of clinging to it.

“I’m really fine,” you insist. 

“I just can’t believe it,” she says, and you can picture her shaking her head, hair swinging with the motion. “He seemed head over heels with you. I thought he was crazy about you. And I was only around him for a few days.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Yeah, I was… I was wrong, too. But I’ll be fine. It’s not my first rodeo, you know? I’ll be fine.”

Nayoung is quiet for a minute. “Maybe he’ll come to his senses? Would you even entertain him if he did?”

“I don’t think so,” you say. “He and his ex have been on and off the whole time I’ve known them. I shouldn’t have… I should have known the pull she has on him would… I don’t know. Win. I don’t know if he’ll ever really be able to separate himself from her, you know?”

Maybe your relationship had been a lie, but every word you say now is true.

Nayoung groans dramatically. “That’s horrible,” she laments. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sucks for them, too,” you say, rolling and looking at your ceiling. This is the longest conversation you’ve had with your sister since before you wore a bra. 

She lets out a single disbelieving laugh. “Wow. I would not be so empathetic if it was me.”

“I’ve been around them a long time,” you explain. “Since college. I’ve seen him go through it with her over and over again. Sometimes I just want to yank him off the ride. I thought I had, for a while. But I guess not.”

She sighs. “Maybe there’s hope for him,” she says. “I was… when I was young, I was definitely the toxic ex for more than one guy.”

“You?” you say, surprised. “Toxic?”

She lets out a long breath. “Yeah,” she says, a bit guiltily. “I’m not proud of it. When I first moved out? You and Soonie were so young, you might not remember - it was bad in the house. Mom and Dad fighting was like… a black hole. Nothing else mattered - nothing else could exist except their fighting. I took a lot of my anger into my next few relationships. And then, even when I wasn’t as angry anymore… that was my example of love, right? I picked men who were bone-heads like Dad, and I treated them like… well, like Mom treated Dad.”

You’re stunned into silence. It’s a lot to process.

“Sorry,” she laughs. “Was that too much?”

“No,” you say. “No, not at all. I just… never saw that side of you. It’s hard to picture.”

“I know,” she says, a bit sadly. Then, she seems to steel herself. “I had to learn to do better. Therapy helped.”

Nayoung went to therapy? News to you.

When you hang up after chatting a little more, you sit on the edge of your bed, just thinking. You hadn’t really thought about how things had been for Nayoung before she’d left. You’d only thought about what she left behind.

The thoughts feel heavy. You’re too tired for them. You open social media instead, tapping when you see a message in the corner. 

Your whole body goes ice cold when you see the name next to the picture.

@princess_ji: hey girl. i want to clear smth up if thats ok?

“Oh, shit,” you mutter, standing up and pacing in your living room, despite the cloying heat in there. 

You: hey jieun. ofc, whats up?

@princess_ji: cheollie told me that when he went to your sister’s wedding last month you came onto him and you slept together. is that true?

“He told you what?” you bark, your voice echoing across your empty apartment. You stare at it for so long that you stop being able to feel your hands. Blinking, you set your phone down on the coffee table.

Be honest with her, you’d told him. You hadn’t meant this honest!

He’d told her you slept together. 

And you came onto him? Technically true… if you omit almost every single thing that happened leading up to it.

Jesus.

You stand up and start pacing, pressing your palms to your heated cheeks. Your stomach knots up, nausea creeping up your throat. You pace the length of your apartment six times before you sit back down again, pressing your forehead to your knees and exhaling slowly.

He must have told her he wants to be with her. He must be trying to do it right, starting with no secrets. 

Seungcheol had been there for you. He had held your hand and defended you to your family and held you when you were low. He’d done everything he’d promised and more. 

And then he’d carried your new air conditioner up two flights of stairs.

You owe him.

You: yes, it’s true. he went to the wedding with me as a favor so i wouldn’t be alone. i was going through some hard stuff that weekend and he was there for me. 

You: i was in a bad place and i let myself make a choice i wouldn’t normally make. that’s all it was.

You exhale slowly again, almost dizzy with anxiety as you see her start to type.

@princess_ji: okay… so like… what about now? do you still want him???

You can’t even blame her for wanting to know what she’s walking into. You’d want to know, too, if you were in her position.

You owe him. It’s with this in mind that you send your final reply.

You: it doesn’t matter. he doesn’t want me. he only wants you. the whole time i’ve known him he’s only wanted you.

There, you think, as you turn your phone off completely, sliding it away on the table so you can’t reach it. Now we’re even. 

September

Another Friday night finds you surrounded by your brother’s friends in his dimly-lit living room. It is identical to a thousand Friday nights before - the flicker from the tv, the sound of chatter and video games, beer fizzy in your mouth, the company shifting slightly week by week depending on who’s around. There’s only one thing different.

Seungcheol brought Jieun. 

Things were tense at first - the room going silent for a nano-second when he walked in with her, before everyone burst into noisy fake-normalcy to cover for it. But an uneasy acceptance seemed to fall over the room when you knocked back a bit of your beer and said, “Hey, guys. Either of you need a drink?”

Now, Seungcheol’s on the couch watching Vernon get absolutely destroyed in whatever team game they have on, Jieun’s legs draped across his lap and his arm around her back. You’re on the floor in your usual place. Chan has seated himself beside you, steadily between you and the couple, like a loyal golden retriever standing between you and something dangerous.

You love him a little, this second baby brother.

You chat with him quietly, trying hard to keep your attention on your conversation and not what’s happening across the room on the couch. You feel a little resigned, which is a step closer to acceptance, so you’ll take it. You’re starting to come to terms with the fact that this is just going to be how it is - you’ll move on from Seungcheol bit by bit, but for a while it’s going to continue to sting a bit when he’s in front of you like this. It’s going to be a long time before his presence doesn’t stir up everything you’re walking away from - the affection, the attraction, the sameness. When he’s in the room with you, you’re always going to feel the rush of how much you like him. 

It’ll be easier when you’re not around each other as much. 

And, with time, the rest will get easier, too. 

When Soonyoung calls you from the kitchen to help carry snacks, you rise quickly, happy to be in a separate space even if just for a minute. 

You grab a bowl of chips and a plate of veggies and dip and make your way back into the living room, heading to the coffee table to set down the dishes. As you draw closer to the couch, Jieun leans up, wrapping her arms around Seungcheol’s neck to pull herself closer to his ear. 

“How long do you want to hang out here?” she whispers. “Back to your place soon?”

She releases him, smiling mischievously as he turns to look at her. You set down the food and head back to Chan, so you miss his reply, which is too quiet to catch, muttered low only for her to hear. 

It must not be the answer she wants, because when you glance back at them after settling on the floor near Chan again she’s taken her legs off of his, her arms crossed and her mouth downturned. 

Seungcheol’s jaw tics. He shifts sideways so they aren’t even touching, but then his gaze inexplicably lands on you.

You hold his gaze. It feels like you’re having a conversation, eyes locked and neither of you speaking. You tilt your head just slightly. 

Do better. 

Don’t play the game.

His slides his eyes closed, lets out a slow breath, his chest deflating as the air leaves him. When he opens his eyes again, they don’t look at you. He reaches over to Jieun, gives her thigh a quick squeeze, and murmurs something to her.

You watch her soften, watch her frown slip away. 

You flop backwards on the carpet, so that you can’t look at them even if you’re tempted to. It’s not much longer that they rise, both of them apologizing for dipping out early.

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, giving them a smile as genuine as you can. “The guys don’t realize how boring it can be to sit and watch them play video games.”

“Hey!” your brother objects. “No one’s making you hang out with us!”

Jieun sends you a grateful smile, though. “Exactly,” she says. “I like to hang out with your friends, Cheollie, but I can only watch so many rounds of -” She mimics a machine gun with her hands, complete with sound effects.

Seungcheol scrunches his face at her in adorable, teasing protest and whisks her out the door. 

You flop backwards, suddenly exhausted - from masking, from trying to push through the awkwardness, from being “on”.

“Was that as awful as I thought it was?” you ask the ceiling.

“Yes,” Soonyoung says seriously, as the rest of the room assures you that it was not. 

“It’ll get easier,” he promises. 

Whatever guidance you’d given Seungcheol clearly doesn’t last. When you join Soonyoung and Chan (and whoever else they’ve roped in on this particular Friday) at a dive bar halfway between your places, it’s clear that things have gone sour. 

He gets there late, storming in and slamming himself onto the empty barstool to Mingyu’s left, ordering something that sounds like it’ll burn the whole way down.

“Rough day?” Mingyu asks, one brow arched. 

“Fucking over it,” he mutters, which is somehow both an answer and not an answer. 

He’s too many seats away from you to really carry a conversation with each other, so you turn your back to him and Mingyu. You instead chat with your brother and Chan and occasionally Wonwoo, who’s on Chan’s other side. But you can hear, behind you, the low timbre of Seungcheol’s voice, snapping and dark and so unlike the version of him you’ve known. You can hear and feel the force with which he slaps down his glass each time it’s empty, can feel Mingyu’s back stiffen bit by bit as Seungcheol’s temper gets hotter and hotter.

“I need some air, hyung,” Mingyu says finally. “You want to come with?”

Seungcheol declines, but Dumb and Dumber get up from next to you and follow him, elbowing each other (for no purpose except to annoy) as they go.

Which leaves you alone with Seungcheol one barstool to your left, and Wonwoo two barstools to your right.

With a side, you swivel left. Seungcheol is already looking at you, his expression still stormy.

“Well,” he says sourly, and then drains the rest of his glass, dropping it heavily to the wooden bar like he had his last few. You wince, expecting it to break, but it doesn’t. “How was your day?”

“Better than yours, I guess,” you observe.

He scoffs, lip curling. “Don’t need to fucking rub it in.”

You shrug. “Just stating the obvious. I’d ask what happened, but I can guess.”

His entire face twists, and for a second you wonder if you’ve poked the bear one time too many. Then, he seems to catch himself, takes a breath. He turns to signal for another drink before he responds, which you’re guessing was a ploy to give himself more time to cool off. 

“Haven’t heard from her since Wednesday. Either her phone’s off or she blocked my number.”

“Did you fight?” you ask, even though it seems like a dumb question. 

He raises and lowers one shoulder. “Not a bad one. Not a never speak to you again kind of fight. Not a don’t talk for three days kind of fight.”

You grimace. “Sorry, buddy.”

He mirrors the face back at you. “Don’t call me buddy.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” you ask, fake sweet. 

“You call every guy buddy who’s had his mouth on your pussy?” he sneers.

“Seungcheol!” you gasp, horrified. You glance over your shoulder - Wonwoo is pretending he’s not listening as he nurses his beer, but his ears have gone dark. You whip back around. “What is wrong with you?”

He seems taken aback - maybe at himself. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking at the wood of the bar instead of at you. “I just… didn’t like that.”

“Get over it!” you snap. “I don’t lash out at you or embarrass you in public every time something happens that I don’t like!”

He has the decency to look ashamed. “You’re right. I said I’m sorry. I mean - I am. I’m sorry. Fuck, I need some air.”

He stalks past you - definitely unsteadily - and you lower your forehead onto the bar, groaning with frustration.

“Sorry, Wonwoo,” you mutter, unable to even look at him. He awkwardly pats your shoulder, and then you’re saved by the sound of Dumb and Dumber returning, boisterously arguing about a band they both like.

You’re just starting to lose the heat of embarrassment when a notification pops up on your phone. Your eyes narrow. Seungcheol has tagged you in a photo? That can’t be good. You didn’t take a photo with him today.

Silently, you swipe to open the app. The shot you’re tagged in - along with the rest of the group - is just a blurry shot of everyone’s mostly empty glasses atop of the bar. It’s paired with a selfie he most certainly hadn’t taken here at the bar, but whatever - that’s not the problem.

The problem is you know exactly what move he’s trying to make here.

You release a breath too loudly. Your brother turns to look, alarmed.

“Where are you going?” he asks, baffled, as you grab your shit and stand.

“To fight with Seungcheol, apparently,” you mutter. 

You push your way through the bar, slipping through the door and past the bouncer, scanning the sidewalk for the idiot you know you’ll find here. 

“Hey,” you call when you spot him, leaning against the brick wall, face lit by his cell phone screen. “Untag me in that shit.”

He looks at you, confused. “Why?”

“Because you only did it to make her mad,” you say firmly as you draw closer. “You want her to see that I’m out with you guys and get pissed off or jealous or both. Don’t do that. Don’t use me to play your fucking games with her.”

The silence you’re met with is so stony, you think he’s going to fire back at you. But instead he lets his screen go dark and his arm lowers to his side again, and then he mutters, “Fine. You’re right. Sorry.”

“Tell her sorry,” you grumble.

He scowls at you. “Whose side are you on? She should be apologizing to me.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes a little. “This is getting old, don’t you think?”

“What is?” he asks darkly, a warning in his tone for the first time. You ignore it; he’s pissed you off too many times tonight and you’re done being delicate about all this.

“Me trying to correct the course while you try as hard as you can to steer towards the rocks.”

He pushes himself from the wall, coming to face you completely. A shiver goes through you, despite yourself. You meet his angry gaze just as furiously.

“Why are you trying to steer at all?” he asks, mocking. “You shouldn’t even be on the boat.”

A laugh bursts from you - half from shock and half because he’s right.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding, still smiling despite how fucking angry you are. “I guess it’s just… as your friend… it’s kind of hard to watch it happen. Especially when I know you can do better.”

His expression darkens further, his brows furrowed and his eyes angry slits.

“You know,” he says, his voice low and hard, “I’m getting really tired of your I know everything act, when I’ve spent the last three or four months watching you pretend that if you keep everyone but Soonyoung off your island, nothing will ever hurt you.”

“Excuse me?” you breathe. “I don’t do that.”

He shrugs, all innocence. “Sure seems like it from here. Who else do you let see you when you’re down - your family? Definitely not.”

A dangerous wave of anger washes over you. “That’s pretty fucked up,” you say, voice sounding warped to your own ears, “considering you saw firsthand why I keep distance with my family. I’m not trying to not get hurt, I’m creating boundaries -”

“Creating boundaries that don’t let them close enough to hurt you,” he says, like you’ve proven his point.

“That’s not the same,” you argue. “And who the fuck asked you, anyway?”

He shrugs. “You seem to have a lot of opinions about my life, just thought I’d return the favor… buddy.”

You very nearly launch at him, your hands balling into furious fists, but you’re saved from yourself by Soonyoung jogging up the sidewalk, calling both of your names.

“What’s going on?” he asks, panting. “I came out to see if you were gonna come back in to close your card. Are you guys fighting?”

“No,” you both say, in tandem.

You start to follow Soonyoung back towards the bar. Over your shoulder, to Seungcheol, you shoot, “Untag me. Got it?” Then you head back inside with your brother, leaving your ex fake boyfriend outside, alone.

–

You’re pulled from a dreamless sleep by your phone buzzing on your nightstand. You reach for it without opening your eyes, mumbling a hello, expecting Soonyoung or Chan.

“Come open your door.”

For a long second, you have no idea who’s talking or what the hell they’re talking about. You blink your eyes open, pulling the phone away from your face to peer at the screen.

“Seungcheol?” you manage to ask. “What do you mean open my door? Wait, are you in my building? How did you even get in?”

“I knocked,” he says simply. “Come let me in before your coffee burns all the skin off my hand.”

“Coffee?” You perk up just a fraction.

You can almost hear the playful eye-roll he gives you. “Come on, it’s really hot. They didn’t give me one of the paper-hand-protector things.”

You hang up and shuffle across your room, grabbing a hoodie from the back of your desk chair and pulling it over your head as you make your way to your front door.

Seungcheol clearly hasn’t slept, is probably nursing a hangover - but somehow still looks great. 

“Here,” he says, holding out a to-go cup from a nearby cafe. “I think I got your order right. Careful, it’s hot.”

You take the cup and regard him silently. You have a hunch that he’s here to apologize for fighting with you, and you aren’t sure how you feel - not sure if you’re going to forgive him or pretend to forgive him or maybe even just keep fighting.

“Can I come in?” he asks, a bit sheepishly.

You twist your mouth sideways. “Won’t you get in trouble for that?”

He smiles ruefully. “She can’t yell at me if she isn’t speaking to me.”

“That’s true,” you murmur, and after considering for a moment, you find yourself backing up to let him in.

He stands near your table, looking around with mild interest, the same way he had when he came with your air conditioner. 

“You wanna sit down?” you ask. Then, “You want half of this? I can pour it into mugs.”

“No,” he says quickly. “That’s yours. I want you to have it.”

This solidifies your guess that this is an apology coffee. But he does sit at your table, gingerly, like he’s scared the chair will break beneath him. 

You sit across from him, sipping at the coffee he brought you, and wait. He came with something to say, so you’ll sit and listen.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says, quietly.

You look at the cup in your hand - it’s easier than looking at him as you say, just as quietly, “Some of it was true.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shifting forward. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean I had to say it. You’re right - I can’t keep inserting you in my bullshit. It isn’t fair.”

You shrug. “I should stop telling you what to do, too. I’m… inserting myself into the bullshit, I guess. It’s just…” You trail off.

He raises both eyebrows, like he wants you to complete the thought. 

You let out a nearly silent sigh, a breath of defeat. “It is really hard to watch you go ‘round and ‘round with her, after all these years. But… even if it’s hard… it’s not my business. I’ll try to stay out of it.”

He nods. “That’s probably… better for both of us.”

“Well,” you say, a bit of awkwardness settling between you, “we can both make an effort to keep me out of it. I appreciate the apology. I’m sorry, too, if anything I said was out of line.”

This was good communication, you think. If you weren’t trying to stay out of it, you’d say so, tell him that this was how partners should talk after a fight.  

You walk him to the door instead, slowly, something weighing on your mind.

“Seungcheol?” you say, as you get within arms’ reach of the door. “What you said outside, last night… about my island…”

He looks embarrassed, shaking his head immediately to deny the truth of it. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It isn’t true,” you say again - firmly, but much more calmly thank you had outside the bar. “I keep my family out of my day to day life because I prefer that.”

He waves his head slowly, like he’s considering what you’re saying. “Sure,” he says after a second. “So, ask yourself why. Why is it preferable, without them?”

“Because they drive me crazy,” you say. “Because I can’t rely on them to support me. Because they don’t consider my needs, or even feelings.”

“Because they’ve hurt you,” he says gently. “And sometimes they still do.”

You purse your lips, annoyed that his point has checked out. 

“And your friends?” he prods. 

“My friendships are fine.” Your tone has gone defensive again.

“You’ve never brought anyone out with us,” he points out. “I’ve known you since college and I don’t know the name of a single person in your life that isn’t in your brother’s living room every Friday night. Why keep your circle separate?” 

“No room left in Soonyoung’s apartment.”

He says your name like a gentle scolding. “Seriously.”

You blow out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know,” you huff. “My friendships aren’t like that - lay around the living room and bullshit over beer. They’re… get brunch on Sunday morning and maybe get a mani-pedi before going home again. It’s just different. They like different things - a plan, an activity. Soonyoung’s is just… sitting around.”

“Have you ever let them see you when you’re ‘off’? Just lounging? Do you ever talk to them when you’re low? Who did you turn to the last time you had your heart broken?” he asks.

You go quiet. It had been Soonyoung, and Chan just by proxy since you couldn’t avoid him in their kitchen.

“I’m not trying to pick on you. I shouldn’t have said it in the first place. But, you asked, so I’m explaining,” he says, a bit pleadingly. 

Your throat has gone embarrassingly tight and your vision blurs. The answer to his question is, no one.

His arms around you are so unexpected that you jump a little, startled. Then, after less than a second of consideration, you melt into his hold, into the safety between his arms that you’ve missed and craved since your sister’s wedding ended.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your head. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You let yourself hold him back, your arms loose around his middle. You don’t know where the line is - is this a friends hug, is it okay to lean on him or do you need to hold your tension yourself? 

In the end, you hover somewhere in the middle until he releases you, stepping back and looking at you carefully, one hand resting on your shoulder.

“I don’t want to be like that,” you whisper.

He gives you a sad smile. “Then you have to let people in.”

 “I don’t… think I know how,” you admit. Your stomach feels like lead.

He nods, face serious. “Yes you do. You let me in, when you needed me. That’s a start.”

And look what you did with it, you think. You were just more proof that my way is, in fact, keeping me safe.

His hand moves from your shoulder, up to your jaw. You startle again, your gaze jumping to his in alarm, a question on your face.

There’s a question on his, too, and he’s still standing so close.

“You should not kiss me right now,” you whisper, voice raw. Because, fuck, you want him to - or you would if he were here fully unattached. And he is very much not.

But that would be a mistake anyway, because even if he was unattached for now, Jieun would show up again eventually. You’ve made the mistake of thinking he can say no to her for the last time.

It doesn’t matter anyway. Right now, he’s with her, whether she’s currently speaking to him or not.

“You’re right,” he says, his own voice rough. His hand is gone from your cheek, but you don’t remember him removing it. “You’re right. Sorry. That was… that would have been a mistake.”

“It was a very good apology until that,” you tell him, reaching for the doorknob. “We’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I’d appreciate that,” he admits, stepping into your hallway. Over his shoulder, he adds, “Thanks. For talking to me.”

“Thanks for talking to me,” you return, and then you watch him go.

–

When your sister calls a few nights later, you don’t feel the spike of frustration or anger you had the last few times. You’d almost been expecting it - at some point.

When she asks what’s new with you, you start to say nothing - just like always - but Seungcheol’s words are still swimming in circles in your head. Nayoung is trying. Maybe you could try, too.

So, you admit, “Kind of had a weird fight with Seungcheol the other night. I dunno.”

Her surprise is clear in her tone. “You talked to him?”

“Oh,” you say, realizing how little your sister knows about your day-to-day happenings. Of course she wouldn’t know that Seungcheol is at your brother’s essentially every weekend, just like you. “Well, yeah. He’s one of Soonyoung’s best friends. He’s always around.”

“God, that’s the worst,” she grouses. “How can you be expected to get over someone when they’re always in your face?” The question seems rhetorical because she continues, “What did you fight about?”

“Him and his ex, at first. Well, she’s not his ex… currently. I’m his ex, currently. But, you get it. Just like… watching him act like a tool with her when… he was better with me.” You let out a sound that’s almost a laugh - at your own expense. Because you can hear how stupid you sound. 

Your sister says it more nicely. “You have to let people make their own mistakes, unfortunately,” she says. 

“I know,” you say mournfully. “It just sucks.”

She sighed. “You’re braver than me,” she tells you. “I don’t think I could date again. If anything happens to Jeongwoo, I swear I’ll be single until I die.”

“It’s rough out here,” you agree. 

“Seriously,” she says. “I really only got in deep with Jeongwoo because when we started talking, I had already known him from college. I knew his character already, I knew his reputation. I’m not sure I could just… learn to trust a stranger.”

You go cold with how much this sounds like you.

“Yeah,” you say slowly, not sure you want to unpeel this truth for her, not sure you want to reveal this ugly part of yourself. But maybe this is the best place to do so - with someone who seems to match. Someone who knows how you grew up, learned love from the same fiery wreck that you did. “I… me, too. That’s the second thing we fought about. He kind of threw it in my face that I don’t let… most people in.”

She laughs once, sarcastic and biting. “You can blame Mom for that.”

This shocks you into silence. “I don’t blame Mom,” you say carefully. “I mean, I don’t fully blame anyone - every day of my life worked to shape me into who I am, no person is responsible. But between Mom and Dad… I wouldn’t say it’s Mom’s fault that I don’t like… sharing myself with others.”

The words come from you unsteadily, like a newborn colt, wobbly and unbalanced. You’ve never articulated this before, never even really thought about it. But you don’t blame your mother - for all of her flaws - for your fear of vulnerability with others. She hadn’t left you behind.

That had been Nayoung - Nayoung, and your dad.

Nayoung makes a sound that seems like the vocal representation of a shrug. “I don’t remember Mom ever feeling like someone I could talk to when I had problems, or when I was upset,” she observes. 

“Maybe,” you say, because, true, your mother hadn’t really been soft and comforting. But - “But at least she was there.”

And there it is. 

Unlike Dad. Unlike you.

You don’t say it, but you think she probably hears it anyway. Nayoung doesn’t respond for so long that you check to see if you got disconnected.

“We’re all a mess, huh?” she muses finally. “All four of us. How’d Soonie end up so normal?”

“Everyone babied him,” you supply, and she laughs, the potential moment of depth successfully swerved - as expected for you, and apparently from your sister, too. 

Still. When you hang up a little later, you feel somehow lighter. Like you understand her better - and maybe you let her understand you better, too. You’d let her in a little bit - just an inch - but it wasn’t nothing.

It almost feels kind of nice.

<- Prev || Next ->

The final chapter will go up next Friday!! Thank you for reading!!

[thenationofzaun]

I always hated the idea of Vander coming back as Warwick, as I felt it would cheapen the impact of his death in S1E3. I'm not a fan of characters coming back from the dead in general. But when I saw Warwick's video game voice lines, I was intrigued. I could definitely see how the show could find a way to make his return impactful and play a very interesting role in Vi's arc. Though I was still skeptical, the game dialogue gave me hope that the show could explore Vander's past and Vi's character in a cool way. Only for Season 2 to throw all that potential away.

"I became the monster I always was. Zaun gave me claws long before you did."

The monster he always was. Because as much as Season 2 contradicts itself and the show writers behind the scenes paint Vander as always having been a pacifist, it wasn't what was established in Season 1. This is told to us by the visuals (Vander attacking Silco in his youth and then killing enforcers on the bridge), Marcus ("You weren't always the peace keeper, were you?"), and Vander himself ("I'm not that man anymore"). All confirmation that Vander had a dark past, one where he was such a violent aggressive man to earn the nickname Hound of the Underground. After his devastating defeat and losses on the Day of Ash, he stamped that violent rage down and made peace with topside. Because he thought it was the only way to protect innocents and keep kids from being orphaned by Piltover. The present Vander we meet in Season 1 has already undergone massive character growth. Then there are his lines to Vi and Jinx.

With Jinx there's faint recognition and despair. And his lines to Vi are so juicy. His disappointment in her! The fact that he made a pact with the enforcers to minimize their crackdowns on Zaun and prevent bloodshed, only for Vi to join those same enforcers and aid in their crackdowns! Causing collateral damage to innocents, orphaning kids, and even getting kids themselves killed. What would make it even more juicy is if Vi's decision to join them was motivated by desire to avenge Vander! And if she excused her class treason by comparing it to Vander's pact with Grayson. Imagine thinking you're honouring your father's memory, then his literal reanimated corpse shows up and says "no girl wtf are you doing". Not to mention his last words to her was "take care of Powder". And now she'd be all uniformed up to arrest her sister for topsiders.

Vi could have come face to face with her demons in the form of Warwick. She could have recognized that she was becoming the rage-filled violent monster Vander used to be, and what he was eventually turned into after his death. Something he never would have wanted for her. She could have realized how much she lost herself. Warwick should have been her kill. Setting Vander free and at the same time killing her own demons and rage. Instead they don't use any of this rich material from the game. Vi gets no major character arc and no introspection. She doesn't even get to piece together Vander and Silco's past, because Season 2 makes the retcon that she apparently always knew Silco. So much potential wasted, and now I feel vindicated in my original assessment that Vander should have stayed dead. If they weren't going to do anything interesting with Warwick, then that furry could have just been omitted the way Camille and a bunch of other Piltover/Zaun champions were.

[seumyo]

DABI | TODOROKI TOUYA ✰ RESONANCE

SYNOPSIS. Todoroki Touya abandoned the bass years ago, unwilling to chase a passion that had only ever led to disappointment. Now a distant but undeniably skilled third-year, he’s pulled back into music when a persistent second-year recruits him for her struggling band. He tells himself it doesn’t matter—but the stage has a way of unraveling the lies he’s built around himself.

PAIRING. [Third Year] Todoroki Touya and [Second Year] Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT. 13k+

CONTENT. Slowburn, Strangers to Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, College AU, No Quirk!AU, Unhealthy Family (because Ende*vor), Angst with Happy Ending, Music as a Metaphor for Feelings, and so on.

AUTHOR’S NOTE. Haha (hides). This took SEVEN MONTHS, oh em gee. I’m never attempting to write long fics ever again (this was so fun). For my dearest, @seneon. Your long-overdue Bassist!Touya fic is finally here. And also @suksatoru, an absolute icon with who inspired me to write for Touya this way from her Carnations series <33 Special thank you to all my beta readers: Ali, Fio, Rinne, my brother—because without you guys, I would’ve just scrapped this whole idea and never let it see the light. I hope all Touya fans are fed with this !!

“Mr. Todoroki,” the professor began, leaning against his desk with arms crossed. “You’re intelligent. That much is clear from your written work. But intelligence without effort will only get you so far.”

Touya leaned against his chair, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. “Didn’t realize effort was part of the grading system.”

“It is,” the professor replied. “That, and participation—which you’re both lacking. I suggest joining an organization—something to engage you beyond sitting in the back of a classroom and coasting through your courses.”

Touya let out a humorless laugh as if he just heard the funniest joke of his life, shaking his head.

“I’ll pass.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s just… not my thing, sir,” he muttered finally, his tone clipped. He didn’t need to say anything else to him.

The professor studied him for a moment, then sighed. “You’re only wasting your own potential, Mr. Todoroki. Though I do understand that you’re still adjusting from just having transferred two months ago. One day, you’ll realize that life isn’t going to wait for you to catch up.”

Touya didn’t respond. He just left the room once he was free to do so and didn’t bother letting his professor’s words linger too long with him.

Potential? What would his professor know about his own potential? As if the word hasn’t already been engraved in his mind from the moment he turned six, haunting him like a ghost out for revenge.

“Stupid professor,” he muttered under his breath. But even as he said it, he knew the real frustration wasn’t with the professor—or the thing that’s been holding him back, or anyone else. 

It was with him.

-

Lunchtime was always so chaotic in this university. Touya didn’t understand what the fuss was all about. But the food was good, surprisingly; he’ll give them that.

He settled into a routine. Sit on the farthest free table and have his earphones in, not because he was listening to anything, but because they were a convenient excuse to ignore anyone who tried to talk to him. He liked the solitude and how students here respected each other’s personal space.

So when a shadow fell over his table, he barely glanced up, assuming it was someone asking to join him at the table or grab the extra chair. You know, the usual stuff that happens in college—where everyone’s apparently too busy with their lives to meddle with others.

“Hey. You’re Todoroki, right?”

The voice wasn’t familiar. It was clear, a little raspy, and full of smugness that just screamed that this someone found the person they were looking for. Reluctantly, Touya looked up, locking eyes with the girl standing in front of him.

You weren’t anyone he recognized—definitely not from any of his classes. Your hands were behind your back, your posture casual yet still somewhat polite.

“And if I am?” he replied, his voice as flat and uninviting as he could manage.

You tilted your head slightly, offering him a smile. “Good. Saves me the trouble of asking around.” You bowed slightly in greeting, introducing your name and the department program you’re in. “Second year, I run the school band.”

He didn’t return the gesture, though he did raise an unimpressed eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Congrats? Do you want a medal or something?”

“I heard you’re good at playing bass.”

The words caught him off guard. Touya’s nonchalant expression is replaced by a flicker of something sharper, something guarded. “Who told you that?”

You shrugged, the motion deliberately casual. “Word gets around. Especially when someone is as good as you supposedly are.”

“Well, whoever said that was wrong. I don’t play anymore.”

Touya clenched his jaw, looking past you toward the window. The question scraped against old wounds he thought he’d buried—memories of playing in his room, of pouring everything into the bass that he’s only ever known.

“It’s not my thing anymore,” he muttered, barely loud enough to hear. “Sorry, kid. You’re years too late to have met me in my prime.”

“Not a kid—we’re probably around the same age,” you quipped. “And I don’t buy that.”

Your bluntness made him pause. He blinked, his head snapping back toward you. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t quit something like that unless there’s a reason,” you answered simply, your tone light but unrelenting. “And honestly? Professor Hamasaki actually forwarded his concern to me, so I think you really need it.”

Of course his professor had to have come up with an intervention for him. He spoke too soon about this new university letting him mind his own business.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means,” you said, crossing your arms and straightening up, “you look like someone who’s got way too much going on up here”—you tapped your temple—“and has no idea where to put it. Trust me, I’ve seen it before.”

Your words hit closer than he wanted to admit, and the smug look on your face didn’t help. He shook his head. 

“You’re annoying—putting your nose in other people’s lives.”

“I—”

He scoffed, raising a hand as if to stop you. “I told you, I don’t play anymore. Find someone else.”

“Can’t.”

“You’re the only bassist worth tracking down. And I’m not just looking for anyone—I’m looking for you. You ever heard of this university’s motto?”

“No, and I don’t care. Leave.” His voice was curt, unwelcoming now.

“Ut Optimi Simus.” That we may be the best.

Touya stared at you, his expression unreadable. You just couldn’t take the hint, could you? That much was clear on his end.

And to drop the school motto? What is he getting himself into? 

What kind of self-obsessed students did this university have?

“Look,” you continued, “we’ve got a spot open in the band, and I think you’d kill it. Just come to one practice. One. If it sucks, you can walk out, and I’ll never bother you again. Deal?”

There was a challenge in your tone, one that sparked something dormant in him. He could have shut you down again, could have sent you packing with another snarky comment. But for some reason—maybe it was the way you spoke or the strange mix of stubbornness and sincerity in your expression—he hesitated.

Maybe you would just bother him again if he refused; who knows?

But Todoroki Touya was screwed before he realized it.

“One practice,” he muttered finally.

“Yes!” you cheered, a bit too loud, which had the other students’ heads turning toward your direction. Touya had to rub a hand over his face. Great. More unwanted attention.

“Whoops—but that’s all I need. Music room, next week, after your class. Building GENM. Don’t be late, Todoroki.”

He stared at the empty space where you’d been standing, then at the table in front of him, where his phone lay forgotten.

“What the hell did I just agree to?” he muttered under his breath, but he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that, for the first time in a long while, he might be walking into something worth his time.

Then again, it might be.

-

The week had passed in a blur for Touya. He hadn’t thought about the band—or you—much since your brief, honestly impulsive encounter. He convinced himself it was just another passing distraction, something to shrug off and forget about, like he usually did with things that demanded more of him than he wanted to give.

And yet, there he was, standing in the dimly lit hallway outside the music room, staring at the door like it might open on its own and save him the trouble of deciding whether to walk in.

It wasn’t like he owed you anything. He’d said he’d come to one practice—only one—and even then, he hadn’t really promised he’d participate. If you had any sense, you’d take the hint that he wouldn’t touch the bass.

Still, something made him turn the doorknob and step inside.

The room smelled faintly of old wood and metal, a mix of familiarity and nostalgia that hit him square in the chest. His gaze flicked around, taking in the scattered instruments, the amplifiers, and the slightly worn drum set shoved into a corner.

At the center of it all was you.

You were perched on a stool, your hoodie hanging loose off one shoulder as you leaned forward over a notebook in your lap. Your hand moved in quick, messy strokes as you scribbled notes, humming softly to yourself. A keyboard sat in front of you, the occasional sound of a chord filling the space as you tinkered with the rhymes and chords.

Your voice was soft, pleasing to hear, the kind of voice that could wrap around someone and pull them in without asking. Sort of like a siren, enchanting—bewitching.

“Damn, still doesn’t feel right,” you muttered to yourself, tapping the pen against your lips before crossing out a line. 

Touya stood there for a moment, unnoticed, just… watching. There was an ease to the way you worked. Quiet and focused. He didn’t know if it was weird to just stand there and watch, but it took him a minute to compose himself.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

You jolted, nearly dropping your notebook. You glance around to face him, your eyes meeting him before recognition softens your expression into a joyful one.

“Would it kill you to knock? We should’ve really put a sign to knock first before entering around here,” you joked, closing the notebook and setting it aside. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

Touya shrugged, slipping his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “Guess I had nothing better to do.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

Your teasing tone was annoying, but it wasn’t enough to make him leave. Instead, he let his gaze wander to the instruments again.

“Is that for me?” he asked, nodding toward the bass leaning against the wall.

“Yup. Freshly tuned and everything. Had to get new strings because the last idiot who used it was just awful.” You stepped aside, gesturing toward it. “Figured you’d want something decent to work with.”

It had been a long time since he’d touched a bass. Too long. But he forced himself to walk over, crouching down to inspect it. His fingers brushed the strings lightly; it felt like meeting something familiar again.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

But before he could even pick up the bass, the door burst open with a loud thud.

“[Name]!”

The shout startled you both, and Touya turned to see a tall guy—not as tall as he is, probably—standing in the doorway, a guitar case slung over one shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. His face was flushed, and he looked like he’d sprinted all the way there.

“Kaito?” you said, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

This guy, Kaito, ignored your question, his gaze landing on Touya briefly before shifting back to you. “We’ve got a problem.”

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “Of course we do. When have we never? What now?”

“One of the judges for the festival just backed out,” Kaito explained, stepping fully into the room. “And the committee’s freaking out. They want all bands to perform a teaser set tomorrow to convince the others to stay on board.”

You blinked. “You’re joking.”

He shook his head, the guitar case slipping slightly on his shoulder. “I wish I was. They’re saying it’s our only shot at keeping everything on track. Rikiyama said so herself.”

Touya raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of you. 

“Festival?” he asked, his tone flat.

You let out a long sigh, finally turning back to him. “School music festival. Big deal, lots of bands competing for sponsorships and a chance to compete nationally. We’re signed up, obviously, but now they want us to play tomorrow. Which is insane, by the way.”

Kaito finally seemed to register Touya’s presence, his head tilting to the side. “Is this the Todoroki you were talking about, [Name]?”

“Our new bassist,” you answered breezily, grinning as if the words were the most natural thing in the world.

Touya shot you a glare, his posture stiff. “Not yet. I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Well,” you said, clapping your hands together, “looks like you’re about to. Lucky for us, huh?”

“Hold up,” Kaito said, stepping closer. “This guy’s the bassist? You’re bringing in someone new now? Do the others know?”

“Relax, they know,” you replied, waving him off. “Oh, and he’s good. Better than good.”

Kaito didn’t look convinced, but before he could argue, you turned back to Touya.

“Guess you’re jumping in sooner than expected.” Your statement was something that can’t be denied; even Kaito caught onto it.

Touya stared at you. He could feel the weight of the bass guitar in his hand, the pressure of the situation finally making itself known to him.

And yet, for some reason, he didn’t leave.

-

The day of the teaser set was supposed to be the day you reclaimed your band’s undefeated title. 

The kind of event that set the tone for the upcoming music festival. To keep spectators and sponsors engaged. Not… whatever was happening backstage.

Backstage was tense. You stood near the edge of the curtain, peeking out at the crowd as they settled into their seats. The band was set to go on in less than ten minutes, but your focus wasn’t on the audience—it was on the absence of one particular bass player.

“He’s not coming,” Kaito said from behind you, his voice flat. He leaned against a stack of amplifier cases, arms crossed, his usual laid-back demeanor replaced with thinly veiled irritation. “I called it the second he said he hasn’t agreed to anything yet.”

You didn’t answer immediately. You let the curtain fall back into place, turning to face the rest of the team. “We don’t know that yet. He might just be late.”

“True,” Haru sighed dejectedly. He’s the one who handles the keyboard and prefers to keep his opinion to himself most of the time rather than voicing it out loud—a second-year in your class.

Kaito scoffed. “Late is still bad. This isn’t some casual jam session, [Name]. This is our shot at keeping the sponsors happy. If they pull out, it’s over.”

One of the other band members, the usually energetic drummer named Yuuma, chimed in. “Kaito’s got a point. If he hasn’t shown up by now, he’s probably not coming.”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “Then we’ll do it without him,” you decided, trying to mask the knot of disappointment tightening in your chest.

Kaito shook his head, clearly exasperated. “This is why I said you shouldn’t go scouting random people at the last minute. You can’t trust someone who’s barely committed. Plus, we could’ve offered the slot to someone else.”

“Kaito,” you frowned, your tone sharper than usual. The entire band looked at you in surprise, and you softened slightly, your shoulders relaxing. “Look, I get it, okay? But we don’t have time for this. We’ve played without a bassist before, and we can do it again.”

He muttered something under his breath but didn’t push further.

The stage manager appeared a moment later, signaling that it was time for your set. You took a deep breath, adjusting the strap of your guitar as the band moved into position.

As you stepped onto the stage, the audience greeted you with polite applause, and the blinding stage lights made it impossible to see the faces in the crowd clearly. You swore someone from the technical team really wanted to blind you and your team one of these days.

You approached the microphone, your voice steady as you introduced your band and the first song. “Thanks for being here, everyone! This is a little something we’ve been working on for a while now.”

Yuuma gave the count-off, and the music began.

The first song went smoothly. Kaito’s electric guitar filled in the gaps left by the missing bassline, and your vocals were working overtime to keep the audience engaged. The crowd seemed to enjoy it, clapping along during the choruses and cheering loudly by the end.

But something felt off.

The music was fine, technically speaking. You hit all the right notes and kept the rhythm tight, but it lacked the depth that a good bassline could bring. It was like there was a hollow space in the sound, a space that Touya’s presence could’ve filled.

It should’ve felt like a victory. To be able to perform without a bassist.

You also noticed the way the judges whispered among themselves, one even talking to the university’s president.

“Well, that wasn’t a complete disaster,” Kaito murmured, though his tone was less than enthusiastic as you all returned back to your practice room.

“Could’ve been better,” Yuuma muttered, packing up his drumsticks.

“I guess,” Haru pouted, flicking his wrist back and forth.

You didn’t say anything. You set your guitar down carefully, your movements slow and deliberate, as if everything wasn’t real just yet.

Kaito noticed your silence, obviously, and leaned back in his chair. “You’re not seriously still thinking about him, are you?”

“I’m not thinking about him,” you replied quickly.

He hummed faintly, clearly unconvinced, but he let it drop.

As the rest of the band packed up their gear and got out of the room, you stayed for a minute. You found yourself staring at the bass leaning against the wall, untouched and waiting. For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what it would’ve sounded like if Touya had been there, if his bassline had woven seamlessly into your music and added the missing piece to tie the whole performance together.

But then you shook your head, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter,” you muttered under your breath, the words more for yourself than anyone else.

“He already made his choice.” You did sound a little bummed out about it, though.

With one last glance at the bass, you left the room, making sure to lock it on your way out, determined to push Todoroki Touya out of your mind. This would be the last time you’ll ever think of him.

Or so you told yourself.

-

The aftermath was everything but light. It was merciless.

The following week wasn’t as pleasant as you thought it’d be; you couldn’t walk two steps without hearing the agitating murmurs.

“I thought she said they had a bassist?”

“What happened? Did the guy just dip?”

“Damn, imagine embarrassing yourself in front of the whole school like that.”

You clenched your jaw and kept walking, ignoring the sting that settled deep in your gut. You had been prepared for some backlash, sure, but you hadn’t expected the weight of it—the way the entire school seemed to know, the way the student council president looked at you with thinly veiled disappointment when the secretary and treasurer greeted you down the hall.

You had been so sure. You had told them, had promised them that you finally had a full band, that you were ready to compete. Just like once upon a time. And now, you had nothing to show for it.

Now you seem like a liar.

And Touya just… disappeared completely from your radar.

It was your fault; you knew that now. The man hasn’t even known you for longer than two weeks, and you expect him to do something as big as perform for a teaser set? You must have been so entitled to have thought of that.

So selfish to have only thought about what you want and never thought about what he wanted.

The meeting with the president later that afternoon only made it worse.

You sat stiffly in the office, your hands clenched into fists in your lap. Across from you, the president and a few teachers sat with unreadable expressions, while the event’s organizers and two members of the student council looked far less amused. Haru and Kaito flanked your sides—Yuuma called in sick on the second day of the week.

The president sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Ms. [Last Name], I’ll be honest with you. This situation has put us in a difficult position.”

You forced yourself to stay calm. 

“We do have a band,” you said evenly. “We just had an issue with our bassist showing up. But it’s temporary. We’ll fix it.”

One of the organizers, a woman in a navy blazer, exchanged a look with the student council members. “That may be, but you don’t have a bassist right now,” she pointed out. “And without one, your band does not meet the minimum requirements to represent our school in competition. The sponsors and judges of high authority weren’t too thrilled with your performance last week as well. We had to compromise some of them to stay for the music festival.”

Haru sighed softly. “Then what will happen to us?”

The president hesitated, as if reluctant to say it out loud. “We’re giving you until the end of the month,” he said finally. “If you can’t secure a bassist by then… I’m afraid we’ll have to dissolve your band.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Disband? Just like that?

Kaito shot up from his seat, palms flat on the table. “You can’t be serious. We’ve been working our as— very hard on this since last year, please.”

“We are very serious, Mr. Watanabe.” The president's voice was firm but not unkind. “The school’s music program is already under pressure for funding. With many bands making themselves known each year. If we can’t prove that your band is viable for competition, we can’t continue allocating resources to you.”

Haru exhaled sharply beside you, shifting in his seat.

You could feel the walls closing in, the weight of their situation pressing on your shoulders.

One month. That was all you had.

Your mind raced, going over every possible option, every potential bassist you could reach out to. But the truth was, other bands had already scouted most of the available musicians at school. If there were any other bassists capable of keeping up with you, you would have known.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part?

You already had the right person for the job.

You had found someone who could play at the level you needed—someone so good that even Kaito, with all his attitude, had begrudgingly acknowledged his skill.

But he was also the same person who didn’t want to play anymore. And you can’t force someone to do the things that make them unhappy.

You sucked in a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“We understand,” you said finally, forcing your voice to stay calm. “We’ll find someone. Thank you for your kindness.”

The meeting wrapped up shortly after, but the weight of it didn’t leave you, even as you stepped out into the hallway. It felt like your heart was lodged in your throat, rendering you silent.

The moment the office door clicked shut, Kaito exploded.

“This is bullshit,” he snapped, running a hand through his hair. “All because some spoiled rich kid couldn’t be bothered to show up just for one gig?” He let out a bitter laugh. “Unbelievable.”

You didn’t say anything.

Kaito turned to you, eyes sharp. “Tell me you’re not still thinking about him.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m thinking about where we’ll find a good bassist. That’s all.”

Kaito scoffed. “Right. And who exactly do you think is good enough to replace him on such short notice? The others combed through almost all musicians in school.”

“Easy, Kai,” Haru told his friend.

You had no answer.

Because no matter how much you hated to admit it, there wasn’t anyone else.

Kaito must have caught the hesitation in your silence because his expression finally relented. “No. Let’s not think about it anymore.”

You adjusted the strap of your bag. 

“We’ll figure it out,” you said, sidestepping the subject entirely.

Kaito sighed.

“She’s right,” Haru said. “We don’t have a choice.”

You nodded once, more to yourself than anyone else.

One month.

One month to fix this.

One month to… figure things out for better or worse.

And unfortunately, there was only one person who could.

And you were sure that he no longer wanted to see you.

But you had to talk to him one last time. For closure.

-

It was late. Touya’s classes usually stretched to 7 in the evening on Thursdays.

Touya was halfway down the stairs of the main building, hands shoved in his pockets, his steps unhurried. The night air was crisp, but he barely felt it. He had done what he always did—attended just enough classes to stay off his professors’ radar, killed time, and now, finally, he was going home.

But then he saw you.

You stood near the entrance, arms crossed, your bag slung over one shoulder. You weren’t blocking his way, but you didn’t move when he approached, your stance solid like you had been waiting for him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were the waiting type.”

You didn’t react to the teasing. Not even a glare.

“I get it,” you said instead, your voice unnervingly steady. “You don’t want to play.”

Touya slowed to a stop, tilting his head.

Something about the way you said it made his neutral expression turn to a simple frown—because there was no anger, no frustration, no accusations. Just a simple statement, like you had already accepted it.

Took her long enough.

He shrugged. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, and for the first time, he noticed how exhausted you looked. Not physically—no, you were still standing tall, still looking him in the eye—but there was something in your expression, something worn down at the edges.

“I know.”

Your hands are clenched at your sides, knuckles tight.

“You could’ve just said no. You could’ve told me in the practice room that you weren’t going to do it. That you actually didn’t care. That you were going to let me stand up there and make a fool of myself in front of the entire school—because at least I would’ve been prepared.”

Touya’s smirk twitched but didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I never promised you anything.”

Your shoulders stiffened.

“Because you didn’t refuse that day, when Kaito asked who you were. You picked up the bass, played a few chords, and stayed an hour or less than you intended to. You let me hope. And maybe that was entirely my fault.”

Touya didn’t respond.

Didn’t shift, didn’t look away, but something in his posture went unnervingly still.

You let out a breath, closing your eyes for half a second before opening them again. “Do you have any idea what it was like?” you asked. “Standing up there, knowing everyone was laughing at us? Knowing the only reason we even got to play was because the judges were being polite?”

He had heard.

He hadn’t gone to the teaser set, but the rumors had found him anyway. Your band had been the first to perform to keep the judges on board—only to be the one band without a bassist.

A missing piece in an otherwise well-practiced performance.

A joke.

The sponsors and judges weren’t happy at all.

Your laugh was quiet, bitter. “We were supposed to set the standard, Todoroki. We were supposed to show them why the school backs us—that’s why we were the first to perform. And instead, we just… gave them every reason to doubt us.”

Touya’s jaw tightened just slightly, but his expression remained neutral. “That’s not my problem.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the city beyond the school gates filled the silence—the distant rumble of a passing car, the buzz of a streetlamp overhead.

Then, finally, you straightened.

“But I was happy,” you admitted. “To have seen you play in person. To have known that I was one of the first to approach you for your talent before anyone could even connect the dots with your name.”

Touya was quiet as you spoke, allowing you to tell him how you truly felt about the situation.

“Thank you for taking your time to visit our music room. And… I’m sorry, really sorry if you felt pressured to play because of my persistence. I know that now.”

Well, that took a turn, Touya thought to himself.

“I’m not going to bother you anymore,” you continued. “But I do really—genuinely appreciate you giving us your time.”

Touya felt something in his chest shift, but he ignored it.

You bowed for one last time and turned on your heel without another word.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t say anything as you walked away, disappearing into the dimly lit street.

Didn’t watch as you left him alone with the cold and the distant echoes of everything you had just said.

-

The house was silent when he got home.

It always was.

Touya kicked off his shoes in the entryway, not bothering to turn on the lights. Everything was still—too still.

His siblings wouldn’t be home for another hour.

The scent of old wood and polish lingered in the air, clean and sterile. The housekeeper must have been here earlier, tidying up everything that didn’t need tidying. It felt suffocating, the way nothing ever changed here.

His steps were slow as he made his way up the stairs, fingers dragging along the smooth railing. The portraits lining the walls were familiar, but he didn’t spare them a glance. Family pictures. Moments frozen in time. He knew what they looked like without having to see them—his siblings, perfect and poised; his mother, distant yet present; and his father, always standing in the center like an immovable force.

Touya wasn’t in most of them. 

Who knows what he must’ve been doing—or what he’s done for him to not be included?

His fingers curled against the wood before he withdrew his hand.

At the end of the hall, his bedroom door stood half-open, just as he had left it that morning. He pushed it open fully, stepping inside.

The room was clean, untouched, just like the rest of the house seemed to be every time he came back. Sometimes he questions if a family truly lives in this house. A house, because it never felt like home.

His gaze flickered across the shelves first. Medals hung from carefully arranged hooks, ribbons still tied neatly around them. Gold, silver, bronze—some gleaming, some dulled with time. A display case lined with trophies sat against the wall, their engraved plates catching the little light from his window.

They were proof of what he had once been.

A prodigy. A name whispered among teachers and musicians alike.

Someone who had been going somewhere.

But none of it had mattered.

His eyes landed on the bass guitar in the corner.

It rested against the wall, still in its worn case, the handle covered in faint scratches from when he used to carry it everywhere. He could almost feel the weight of it in his hands again, the familiar press of strings against his fingertips.

But it had been years since he actually played.

Years since he had felt anything when he looked at it.

Touya’s throat felt tight as he stepped further into the room.

At first, he had tried so hard. He had thrown himself into music with everything he had, drowning in it, desperate to carve out a space for himself in a family that never had room for him.

And for a while—just a little while—he had been good enough.

His teachers had praised him. His instructors had fought over who got to mentor him. People had noticed him.

But then his younger siblings had grown up.

And suddenly, his achievements weren’t enough anymore.

His father had never said it outright, but Touya had known. He had felt it in the way the encouragement faded, in the way the compliments grew fewer, in the way Enji barely looked at his trophies anymore.

You should focus on something more practical, his father had said once, as if music had been nothing more than a hobby. As if Touya had wasted all those years for nothing.

So he had stopped playing.

What was the point? What was the point of pouring himself into something that didn’t matter? What was the point of trying when no matter how good he got, it would never be enough?

Touya exhaled slowly, his gaze dragging back to his bass.

Even now, even after years of refusing to touch it, something in his chest twisted at the sight of it.

He told himself he didn’t care anymore. That it didn’t bother him.

But then your words came back to him, quiet but sharp.

You let me hope. And maybe that was entirely my fault.

His jaw clenched.

You looked so—tired. Not just angry, not just frustrated, but done. Like you had spent everything you had trying to reach him. 

To reach something that could never be reached.

And for what?

Because he couldn’t face his own ghosts?

Touya let out a quiet scoff, running a hand down his face.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He turned away from the bass, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You weren’t entitled to his skills.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that it used to mean everything to him. It didn’t matter that he used to love it. It didn’t matter that for a few years, music had been the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely.

None of it mattered.

Not anymore.

And yet—

Touya lingered in the doorway, staring at the bass for one second too long before finally walking away.

-

Dinner was quiet that night. 

Touya sat at the far end of the long table, arms crossed, eyes heavy-lidded with the kind of exhaustion that never seemed to leave him these days. The air in the house was the same as always—too clean, too cold, too silent. 

He propped his elbow against the table and rested his chin on his knuckles, watching his father from across the room. Enji Todoroki, a powerhouse of a businessman, always the center of everything, even here. He ate in silence, posture rigid, movements deliberate.

Touya barely touched his food.

Natsuo sat two seats away, quiet but visibly tense. Fuyumi kept sneaking glances at him, her fingers fidgeting against her utensils. Shouto sat at his usual place, unmoving, eating mechanically like he wasn’t aware of the thick tension hanging in the air.

Touya let his gaze drop to the table, to his own reflection faintly visible in the polished wood.

It was funny, in a twisted sort of way.

He used to sit here as a kid, hanging onto every word his father said, desperate for even the smallest ounce of approval. He used to listen to Enji talk about Shouto’s lessons, about the weight of responsibility, about greatness.

And for a while, he had been a part of that.

For a while, Touya had been someone his father actually looked at.

The kid who could play with instinct, who picked up the bass and made it sing like he had been born to do it.

And back then, Enji had actually acknowledged it.

Not praise, not exactly, but recognition. His father had seen the way Touya played, the way his sponsors praised his name, the way his name had spread through competitions like wildfire, and for a short while—Touya had mattered.

Until he didn’t.

Until his siblings started excelling at everything else. 

Natsuo was an academic. He soared through school with ease, outpacing everyone in his classes. His teachers raved about his intelligence, his potential.

Fuyumi was diligent and capable, always responsible, always steady, the one who excelled in sports. Swimming, volleyball, badminton—you name it, she could probably learn how to do it within two days maximum.

And Shouto—

Shouto was the golden child. The one their father had molded for years. The one meant for greatness, destined to surpass even Enji himself. He had a fragment of each of his siblings’ greatness.

And Touya?

Touya played music. And suddenly music wasn’t as great as academics, or sports, or arts.

One day, his father had simply stopped asking about his lessons. He had stopped attending his performances. Had stopped looking at the trophies he brought home, the medals he placed on his shelf.

And Touya knew then.

Knew that to Enji, he had already been left behind.

He swallowed down the bitterness clawing at his throat, his fingers curling against the table.

The silence in the room was unbearable.

So he broke it.

“You know,” Touya said suddenly, voice slow and deliberate, “I’ve been thinking.”

Enji didn’t look up. “About what?”

Touya tilted his head, watching him carefully. “About how pointless everything is.”

That got his father’s attention. Of course, it would. Enji finally met his gaze, brow furrowing slightly.

“Watch your tone,” he warned.

“Or what?” His voice was light, careless. “You gonna scold me? Ground me? Tell me that I’m throwing my life away in studying politics?”

Fuyumi’s lips parted slightly, like she wanted to interject. Natsuo tensed. Shouto kept eating, but Touya knew he was listening.

Enji exhaled slowly, setting his chopsticks down. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Touya dragged a hand through his hair, breathing in sharply. “Alright. Fine.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I spent years playing the bass. I was good at it. No—scratch that. I was the best at it. You know that. My teachers knew that. Everyone knew that.” His voice hardened. “And you let me. You let me believe that it mattered, that it was worth something. And then one day, just like that, you decided it wasn’t.”

Enji remained impassive. “I never told you to stop playing.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He could still remember it. The shift. The subtle, almost imperceptible way his father’s attention drifted. How the words of encouragement—rare as they were—had faded. How the pride that once flickered in his father’s expression whenever he won had dulled until it was nothing but disdain.

Because music wasn’t important. Because it wasn’t a legacy. Because Touya playing the bass isn’t important. Because music wouldn’t help him become a candidate to rise to the business world.

And that had killed something in him.

“Do you even get it?” Touya’s voice rose slightly, sharp and bitter. “Do you know what it feels like? To pour everything you have into something, to love something so much it becomes a part of you, only to have it tossed aside like it’s nothing?” His fingers clenched against the table. “What was the point? What was the point of me trying? What was the point of all the competitions, the trophies, the lessons? What was the point of any of it if you were just going to decide it wasn’t worth your time?”

Enji was silent.

Of course, he was.

Touya’s laugh was louder this time, almost incredulous. He shook his head, his grip tightening. “I should’ve known, huh?” His voice was quieter now, something bitter curling around the edges. “The moment my siblings started excelling, I should’ve known.”

Enji’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t refute it. Didn’t deny it.

Because it was true.

Because Touya had spent years waiting—waiting for something, anything, that told him he still was important. That he wasn’t just something his father had already discarded.

But Enji was as quiet as ever.

And that told him everything he needed to know.

His fists slowly unclenched. His expression smoothed over into something colder. He exhaled, pushing his chair back with a quiet scrape of wood against the tile.

“Forget it.”

He stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Fuyumi called out his name softly, but he ignored it. Natsuo watched him leave with something tight in his expression. Shouto didn’t move.

And Enji—

Enji didn’t stop him.

Touya didn’t look back.

Because what was the point in arguing with a wall?

But Touya knew the conversation was far from over.

-

“We need to talk.”

Touya let out a slow breath through his nose, already bracing himself. He didn’t stop to acknowledge him right away, just leaned down to untie his boots, drawing out the motion. He knew how this worked. Enji didn’t like raised voices, didn’t like drawn-out arguments, and didn’t like things disrupting his carefully maintained order. If Touya ignored him long enough, maybe he’d just drop it.

But, of course, Enji Todoroki never dropped anything. Especially not after the stunt he pulled earlier.

Touya sighed and finally straightened, rolling his shoulders as he turned. “Yeah?” He blinked lazily, voice laced with dry amusement. “What groundbreaking wisdom do you have for me this time?”

“You need to stop this,” Enji said, tone clipped.

“Stop what, exactly?” He tilted his head. “Speaking my mind?”

“Throwing a tantrum.”

“Ohhh. That’s what we’re calling it?” He let his voice drop into something almost conversational. “No, you see, I thought I was just telling the truth. You did say honesty is the best policy.”

Enji’s expression didn’t change. His silence pressed against Touya’s ribs like an iron weight.

Touya rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. Lay it on me. What’s the lecture this time? That I’m being unreasonable?” He snorted. “That I should be grateful?”

Enji exhaled carefully. “I never told you to stop playing music.”

“Oh yeah? You sure about that?”

“I told you not to rely on it,” Enji clarified, tone flat.

Touya clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Keep it as a hobby. Something to do on the side. Something that wouldn’t distract me.” His voice dipped into something laced with mockery. “Because that’s what you always do, huh?”

Enji narrowed his eyes slightly. “Touya—”

“No, seriously.” Touya let out a sharp, humorless chuckle, stepping closer. “First, you push me into it. You tell me I’ve got talent, that I should hone it, that I should train.” His voice dropped into something razor-sharp. “And I did.”

His gaze burned, unrelenting.

“I played,” he continued. “I trained. I performed. And I was good, wasn’t I?” His voice was laced with something bitter. “I was great.”

Enji didn’t deny it.

“But then one day, you just…” He snapped his fingers. “Checked out. Like it didn’t matter anymore.” His jaw tightened. “As if playing music was the most disappointing thing any of your children could’ve done. Or maybe that case only applied to me?”

Silence.

Touya inhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “But, hey, that wasn’t enough, was it?” His lips curled into something sharp, his voice laced with venom. “No, because after making it real clear that music wasn’t worth your time, you decided to shove me into something else instead.”

His eyes burned.

“Business administration.”

Enji’s face hardened.

“You actually thought I’d be like you.” Touya laughed. It was a clear joke to him. “Like I gave a single shit about your business.”

Enji exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “You’re intelligent, Touya. If you had stuck with it—”

“If I had stuck with it? Are you kidding me?” His voice rose, heated. “I never wanted that, old man! You wanted that!” He gestured wildly. “And you shoved me into it like you do with everything else because you thought it was better than me playing music!”

He took a slow, measured breath, voice lowering into something cold.

“And the worst part? I still tried.” His lips twisted. “I spent two years in that goddamn conservative, traditional university, forcing myself to study something I hated just because you thought it was acceptable.”

His fingers curled into fists. “And the second I transferred out, you had the audacity to act like it was my decision.”

He dropped his voice into a dead-on mimicry: “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? How could you waste two years?”

“Like you didn’t push me into it in the first place. You do that with everyone—Fuyumi would’ve still been competing today if you hadn’t discouraged her, Natsuo and Shouto as well.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Touya inhaled sharply through his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but no less bitter.

“I didn’t even want to just play music,” he muttered. “I had a plan. I was gonna study law. Be a lawyer.” He scoffed. “Did you even know that?”

Enji’s brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

Touya scoffed. “Yeah, I didn't think so.” He shook his head. “I wanted to help. I wanted to be something. And I still wanted to play, still wanted to keep music as a part of my life—because it was with me for almost all of my life. But you made me feel like that was stupid. A childish dream that I was bound to let go of.”

His throat tightened.

“You made me feel like it wasn’t worth it.”

“Touya, you needed direction.”

“No,” Touya snapped. “I needed a choice. I needed support. But you never gave me one.”

Silence.

“You forced me into music. Then you forced me into business. And when I walked away from both, you just acted like none of it ever mattered. Like I had humiliated everything that you had built for this family.”

Enji’s expression didn’t change.

“No surprise, though, huh?” He tilted his head, voice dropping into something dangerously quiet. “Because Shouto could finally fill in my shoes.”

Enji’s jaw tightened, just slightly.

“Yeah, that’s what it is, isn’t it? Did I hit a nerve there, Dad?” His voice wavered, barely perceptible. “You didn’t need to focus on me anymore, so you didn’t.”

Touya’s fists clenched.

“I should’ve known better.”

Enji remained silent.

“Forget it,” he muttered, stepping out. “I’m going back to my dorm.”

And so, it did.

-

What used to be a room full of noise was now uncomfortably quiet.

You stood in the middle of it, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over the half-empty space that had once been yours. It didn’t feel real. The shelves where you used to stack your equipment were bare. The walls, once lined with posters and setlists, were empty now—just blank, peeling paint and old tape residue. The air smelled like dust and memories you weren’t ready to let go of.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and forced yourself to keep moving.

Yuuma was coiling up the last of the cables, his usual easy grin nowhere to be seen. Kaito crouched near the amplifiers, wrapping them up carefully like they weren’t just equipment but something precious. Haru had already taken down the band’s old posters, stacking them in a neat pile like he couldn’t bring himself to crumple them up or throw them away.

It was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that came with the weight of finality, of something ending when you weren’t ready for it to.

You bent down and picked up a box of loose sheet music, flipping through old setlists and unfinished lyrics scrawled in fading ink. Some of these songs had never made it past rehearsals. Some of them had performed on your biggest nights, your loudest wins. And now?

Now they were just scraps of paper.

You exhaled softly and shoved them into the box.

A few feet away, Haru stacked another case onto the pile by the door and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think the next band’s gonna do anything with this place?”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to answer.

Yuuma snorted softly. “They won’t be us.”

No one disagreed.

Because it was true.

You had been the best. The best. Your band was the one that had carried the university through every local competition, every festival for a year straight. You have been known for your energy, your chemistry, and your sound. You were the band that made people stay even after the headliners left. 

The absolute blueprint.

But now?

Now, you were just another band that fell apart because people moved on. Your former bassist chose to focus on his internship, which you respected. The others started quitting as well due to some other conflicts, and only Kaito, Yuuma, and Haru stayed. You were thankful for that.

Kaito let out a slow breath and leaned against the table. “We really thought we could hold out, huh?” He smiled, but he was tired, resigned. “Guess we were all kinda stupid.”

“Not stupid,” you corrected. “We just… we wanted it to last.”

And for a while, it had.

For a while, it had felt invincible.

Until it wasn’t.

Kaito didn’t argue. He just nodded, pushing another box toward the door.

You glanced around, taking in the room one last time. The cracked stool where Kaito used to sit when he got too tired standing. The corner of the room where Haru always left his water bottle. The space near the set of drums where Yuuma used to zone out between rehearsals. The spot where you had spent so many late nights rewriting lyrics, surrounded by the sound of your friends messing around, playing half-finished chords, and making stupid jokes.

It was hard to believe that by next week, another band would be standing in this same space.

That this room—your room—would belong to someone else.

“Alright.” You clapped your hands together, forcing a small smile. “Let’s finish up.”

No one argued.

Because there was nothing left to fight for.

So you worked.

Packing up the remnants of what used to be something grand.

-

Touya wasn’t used to asking for things. Not from other people. Not from institutions. Not even from himself.

But here he was, sitting in the suffocatingly sterile office of the university’s administrative staff, pushing down every instinct that told him to just walk out and let things be. He couldn’t let things be.

The chair was stiff. The air was too still. His leg bounced impatiently under the desk, but he forced himself to keep his voice even.

“I’m here about the band that oversees the music club.”

The staff member—a woman who looked about one budget cut away from quitting her job altogether—barely spared him a glance as she shuffled through a stack of papers. “The band that was dissolved?”

Touya clenched his jaw. Yeah. The one I fucked up.

“…Yeah,” he muttered.

The woman sighed, rubbing her temples. “If you’re here to file a complaint, I’ll stop you right now. The rules are clear—without a complete lineup, the band can’t maintain active status, but the club is still available for students who want to learn to play instruments.”

“No, no. I’m not here to join the club,” Touya exhaled slowly, fingers twitching against the fabric of his jeans. “And I’m not filing a complaint about the band,” he said. “I’m fixing it.”

That got her attention. She gave him a once-over, unimpressed. “You’re fixing it?”

“Yes.” His fingers dug into his palm. “Reinstate the band.”

The woman stared at him for a long moment, then let out a dry chuckle. “It’s not that simple, kid.”

Touya hated that. Hated how she dismissed him so easily, like he was just some desperate student throwing a last-minute plea.

But, to be fair, he was desperate. He’s never been this desperate before, but the moment he saw another band in your practice room, he couldn’t leave it as is.

He swallowed back the frustration rising in his throat. “Look, we need a full lineup, right?” He met her gaze evenly. “They’ve got one. I’m playing bass.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “You?”

Touya nodded.

She tapped her fingers against the desk, considering. “…And this isn’t just some last-ditch effort to get back on a technicality?”

“No. I was just… a little late due to some… personal conflicts.”

She gave him another long look, then sighed, shaking her head. “If the band can prove they’re competition-ready by the end of the month, we’ll consider reinstatement on a probationary basis.”

Touya exhaled, relief flooding his chest. “I’ll take it.”

The woman slid a stack of papers toward him. “Then fill these out.”

-

The first thing Touya did after leaving the office was find you.

It wasn’t hard—because he asked a few students from your department where you usually stayed. The rooftop, they all said.

“What now, Todoroki?” you asked, not even bothering to look at him.

“I was going to play.”

The words were soft. Too soft for him.

Your hand stilled, pausing from rewriting your notes.

Touya let out a slow breath, stepping forward, leaning against the railing a few feet away from you. He didn’t look at you. Just stared out at the view below, where the campus stretched out in the afternoon light.

“I was ready,” he said. “That night. Before the music fest. I had my bass; I was going,” he admitted, shaking his head. “And then my old man showed up.”

Touya rarely talked about his father. Much less to anyone—especially you. You had heard things, of course—whispers, rumors, the kind of stories that floated around when a family name like his carried a reputation. But you never asked. It wasn’t your place.

And your priorities lie elsewhere.

You stayed silent, letting him speak.

“He told me to drop it. Said there was no point. That I was wasting my time.” Touya’s fingers curled slightly against the railing. “And I don’t know why it got to me. I thought I stopped giving a shit a long time ago. But right then, it was like I was a kid again, standing in that room full of trophies that didn’t mean anything to him.”

His voice was quiet. Not bitter, not angry—just honest.

“And I got scared.” His jaw tensed. “Because what if he was right?”

You blinked at him as he turned to face you, though you were quick to avert your gaze.

“What if I was wasting my time?” Touya said more than asked. “What if I walked into that music fest, got on stage, and realized I didn’t have it anymore? What if it wasn’t worth it?”

He got a bit closer to where you sat.

“So I didn’t go.” He glanced up at the sky. “I stayed home. Didn’t answer my phone. Figured it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

You stared at your notes, but the words were starting to blur.

“You were right,” Touya mused after a long pause. “Giving you hope was the worst thing I could’ve done.” He sighed. “You should’ve hit me for that one.”

You finally turned to look at him, and for the first time, he actually met your gaze. His eyes weren’t cold or distant, not laced with sarcasm or carelessness.

They were just… open.

You swallowed and looked back down.

“You used to love it,” you concluded. It wasn’t a question.

Touya gave a slow nod. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I did.”

The wind was the only thing that spoke for a while.

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say to that. To him.

But…

You could hear it in his voice. The regret. The way he hated himself for it more than anyone else ever could.

That didn’t change much. Your band was still dissolved either way. And you’ve been drowning yourself in your studies to ignore the ache.

But maybe—

Maybe it meant something.

His hands were still in his pockets, his shoulders tense like he wasn’t used to saying things that actually mattered. Like he had already braced himself for whatever you were going to throw at him—anger, disappointment, indifference.

But instead of waiting for you to say anything else, he spoke first.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” His voice was steady, quieter than usual. “And I’m not asking you to.”

You blinked, fingers tightening slightly around the edges of your notebook.

He sighed, shifting his weight. “But I talked to the organizers, professors, and staff. The university president, too.” He glanced at you, searching for a reaction, but you just stared, waiting. “The band’s registered again.”

Your breath hitched, barely noticeable—but he caught it.

“As long as you want to have a band,” he continued, his tone more certain now, “it’s yours. I’ll play.” He tilted his head slightly, something almost pleading flickering in his gaze. “I should’ve played from the start. So if you’ll let me, I’ll do it now.”

He was serious.

There was no sarcasm, no deflection, no half-hearted attempt to make it seem like he wasn’t doing something that mattered. He wasn’t trying to be cool or detached.

For once, Todoroki Touya wasn’t running.

“And if I say no?”

Touya smiled slightly, but there was no arrogance in it—just something quiet, maybe even hopeful.

“Then I guess I’ll have to find a way to convince you.”

You looked at him, your knuckles white where they pressed against your closed notebook. The wind picked up, rustling the pages slightly, but you didn’t move. You barely breathed. Forgot to, maybe.

God, you hated him.

You hated how genuine he was being.

But more than anything—

You hated that you wanted to believe him.

“You really think it’s that simple?” you ask. It’s soft this time around.

“No.” Touya’s voice was level, calm. “But it’s a start.”

“You don’t get it.”

“Then tell me. I’ll listen.”

You couldn’t tell him.

Because the truth was, you believed him.

And that was the worst part. You’re too hopeful again, and what if this time around, the damage would be even more severe?

“You don’t have to do this.” Your voice was steady, but underneath it was something raw. “You don’t have to do all of this because you feel bad. Because you suddenly decided it mattered to you again.”

Touya didn’t flinch. He just listened.

You wanted to scream at him. Hit him. Something. Because how dare he stand there so calmly while you were unraveling all over again?

“I believed in you. Even when I knew I shouldn’t have. Even when everyone told me not to.” You had to clasp your hands together and take in a steady breath.

Touya was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly—

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” His voice was lower this time, more certain. “I know because I did the same damn thing to myself. To be scared of something inevitable, I chose to run.”

That stopped you cold.

This made you realize—

This wasn’t easy for him, either.

The exhaustion in his posture, the way his hands curled into fists in his pockets—

He wasn’t just standing there expecting you to forgive him.

He was waiting for you to tell him no.

Waiting for you to tell him he had lost his last chance. To tell him to stop bothering you.

To leave you alone.

And you should.

God, you should.

But then there was the way he looked at you—

Not with pity. Not with indifference.

But like you were the only person in the world whose opinion could ruin him.

And you had never seen anyone look at you like that before.

-

Practice ran late. Not that anyone was really complaining—well, except for Kaito, who kept muttering about how his fingers were cramping up, but nobody paid him much attention. You were all riding the high of a solid rehearsal, the kind where everything clicked, and even though Touya would never admit it out loud, it felt good.

Really good.

It had been so long since he played in a group like this, since he let himself enjoy it instead of overanalyzing every note.

And then Yuuma, with his usual lack of impulse control, had to break the comfortable silence.

“Okay, but seriously,” he said, spinning a drumstick between his fingers as he leaned against the wall. “How the hell did we get you?”

Touya, who had just been double-checking the tuning pegs on his bass, glanced up with a raised eyebrow. “Huh?”

Kaito grinned. “He’s got a point, man. You’re Todoroki Touya.”

Touya frowned. “Yeah. I know my own name.”

“No, but seriously,” Yuuma insisted, gesturing vaguely. “You’re like—this mysterious, untouchable figure on campus. The guy who doesn’t show up to class half the time but still somehow passes. The guy who sits in the back of the room and barely talks to anyone. And now, suddenly, you’re our bassist?”

Touya exhaled through his nose. “You make it sound like some divine intervention.”

“It is,” Yuuma said, completely serious. Then, without missing a beat—“Do you have a girlfriend?”

…

“What?”

“Yeah,” Kaito snickered. “That would actually explain so much.”

You, on the other hand, were completely distracted with your phone to even pay the boys any attention.

Haru, who had been silently observing the conversation like he was watching a wildlife documentary, finally chimed in. “Are you implying that Touya was bribed into joining the band?”

Yuuma nodded sagely. “Exactly. Like—imagine he’s secretly dating some hardcore musician chick who was like, ‘Touya, babe, you need to do this for me,’ and he just couldn’t say no.”

Touya gave him the flattest look imaginable. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“So you don’t have a girlfriend?” Haru asked, adjusting his glasses.

Touya sighed, already regretting all of his life choices. “No.”

Yuuma snapped his fingers. “Damn. There goes that theory.” Then, after a beat, he turned to you. “By the way, do we have a budget for a talent fee?”

You glanced up. “Huh?”

Yuuma jerked a thumb at Touya. “I mean, we basically landed a celebrity. Should we be paying him or something?”

Touya scoffed. “You can’t afford me.”

Kaito snickered. “Damn, that’s bold.”

“What?” Yuuma grinned. “I’m just saying, we might as well treat him like a high-profile guest artist.”

Touya smirked. “You should be honored.”

“This is dumb,” you laughed.

Yuuma, still grinning, slung his bag over his shoulder. “But for real, you’re actually sticking around this time, right?”

Touya hesitated.

The question felt heavier than it should’ve. Because a few months ago, the answer would’ve been an easy no. Why would I waste my time? This wouldn’t matter.

But now?

He exhaled, shifting his bass case higher on his shoulder.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “All the way.”

Kaito whooped, slapping him on the back. “Hell yeah.”

Yuuma smirked. “Good. Because if you did bail again, I was fully prepared to start charging you a dropout fee.”

Touya snorted. “You wish.”

You, who had been watching him carefully, finally exhaled and gave him a slight nod. “Then don’t be late tomorrow. Same time.”

Touya smirked. “No promises.”

You gave him a knowing look.

Yuuma grinned. “Alright, then—welcome to the band, officially.”

And for the first time in years, standing there with his new bandmates, feeling the weight of his bass strap across his shoulder and the lingering buzz of rehearsal in his fingertips—

Touya actually felt like he was home.

-

With the recent turn of events, jealousy is an apparent feeling for those who aren’t as privileged to have snagged Todoroki Touya.

And it all started as whispers.

Small, snide comments whenever you walked past the other bands in the music hall. Barely-there smirks, little glances, and the occasional scoff from some second-rate bassist who thought they were so much better because they had never once lost a performance slot.

You ignored them.

You had better things to do. Your band was back, and with Touya as your bassist, things were better and stronger than before. You were making up for lost time, running setlists late into the night, writing new songs, fixing old ones. The fire was back in your chest, the thrill of the stage creeping closer.

But the whispers didn’t stop.

And eventually, they weren’t whispers anymore.

You were passing by the courtyard, Touya trailing half a step behind you, when a group of students—members of another well-known band—let their conversation just slip into earshot.

“She’s lucky, isn’t she?”

“Right? If we had a prodigy like Todoroki, we’d be unstoppable.”

“I mean, let’s be real, he’s the only reason they even got reinstated.”

“I wonder if she realizes how much she’s riding on his talent. Kind of embarrassing if you think about it.”

Your steps faltered, just for a second.

But you didn’t stop.

Didn’t give them the satisfaction of giving them your time.

Touya, though—he did stop.

You had taken another step before you realized he wasn’t beside you anymore. You turned, frowning, just as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and tilted his head at the group, expression unreadable.

“Oh, sorry,” he drawled. “Didn’t realize I had groupies.”

The students stiffened. “What?”

“You’re talking about me like I’m not right here.” His tone was light, almost amused. “That desperate for attention?”

One of them scoffed, recovering quickly. “We’re just saying. It’s obvious [Last Name]’s band wouldn’t stand a chance without you.”

You clenched your fists, but Touya—he laughed.

It wasn’t a friendly laugh.

It was sharp and unimpressed.

“Yeah?” He raised a brow, amusement fading into something colder. “Then why is it that even before I joined, they were the best band on campus?”

The students shifted uncomfortably.

“I mean, that’s what pisses you off, right?” Touya continued, taking a slow step forward. His presence was overwhelming, gaze sharp as he looked them over. “They were already winning before me. [Name] built that band from the ground up, and everyone knew they were the ones to beat.”

No one said anything.

He smirked. “But if it makes you feel better to pretend it’s all me, go ahead. Must be easier than admitting you just suck.”

One of them clenched their jaws. “What’s your deal, man? You don’t even care about bands or competitions.”

Touya rolled his shoulders, casting a glance back at you.

You hadn’t said a word, but he could see it—the way your grip on your bag had tightened, the way your jaw was locked. You weren’t going to defend yourself. 

Which was fine.

Because he would.

“I didn’t care,” he admitted, looking back at them. “Didn’t give a fuck about any of this.” His smirk widened, but his eyes were sharp. 

“But I do now. And you know what I found out?”

The weight of his words sank in, and no one had a response.

“I actually kind of like it,” he hummed. “So try to keep up. Because for the remaining two years, we’ll never lose as long as [Name] and I are onboard.”

With that, he turned back to you, nodding toward the path ahead. “Come on. We’ve got practice.”

You stared at him for a beat longer, then let out a slow breath and walked beside him, leaving the others behind.

They didn’t talk about it and didn't bring it up again.

But as you headed toward the music room, Touya nudged you lightly with his elbow.

“They’re just jealous,” he said, voice quieter now. “You know that, right?”

You exhaled, then, finally, nodded just a little.

“Obviously.”

-

“Alright,” Yuuma had said one afternoon, spinning a drumstick between his fingers, “hypothetically, if you were going to make it up to [Name]—properly, not just half-assed—what would you do?”

Touya, who had been tuning his bass, barely spared him a glance. 

“I already apologized.”

Kaito snorted. “Yeah, and she tolerated it. Barely.”

“Then what do you want me to do? Write her a sonnet?” Touya asked. 

Haru, from where he was perched on top of the amplifier, added, “Not a sonnet. A song.”

“Excuse me?”

Yuuma grinned. “Dude, it’s perfect. She’s all about the band, right? Music’s what she actually gives a damn about. So if you really want her to believe you’re in this for real, show her through music.”

Kaito nodded. “Exactly. Words don’t mean shit to [Name] unless there’s proof behind them.”

Touya frowned, fingers idly running along the strings of his bass.

Writing a song.

It had been years since he’d tried—since he let himself create rather than just play. Back then, his notebooks had been filled with half-finished compositions, lyrics scratched out and rewritten over and over again. He had loved it once.

He was conflicted.

Yuuma clapped him on the shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You in?”

Touya exhaled sharply. “…Fine.”

Yuuma grinned. “Good answer. It’s sooner or later that you’ll learn that we actually can’t take no for an answer here.”

-

The first problem?

Touya had no idea where to start.

Sure, he knew how to write—he knew chord progressions, rhythms, and structure. But what the hell was he supposed to say?

It wasn’t like he was about to write some sappy, ‘I’m sorry for being an asshole.’

The actual writing process was a disaster in itself.

Yuuma wanted a fast tempo—something that hit hard and kept the energy high.

Kaito argued for something more melodic, something with room to breathe.

Haru, the only one thinking practically, kept reminding them that it had to fit your vocal range.

Touya, meanwhile, wanted to strangle all of them. It’s hard to believe that he and Yuuma were in the same year because the latter acted so childish—so energetic.

It took days of back-and-forth, of testing out different riffs, of scrapping entire verses because they weren’t good enough.

But eventually, they had something.

Something undeniably theirs.

Now all that was left was playing it for her.

-

Practice started like any other day.

You arrived on time, as usual, already flipping through your notebook and mumbling about setlists before anyone could even say a word.

Touya, despite knowing what was about to happen, stayed silent.

It wasn’t his place to introduce this.

It had to be them. All of them.

And, sure enough—

“Actually,” Kaito cut in, casually adjusting his guitar strap, “we’ve got something new to go over today.”

You tilted your head to the side. “What?”

Yuuma grinned. “Surprise.”

“If this is another one of your pranks—”

“It’s not,” Haru assured you. “Just listen.”

You sighed, clearly not in the mood for their antics, but you leaned back against the chair anyway, crossing your arms. “Fine. But if this sucks, we will proceed with the hardest entry as our warmup song.”

Touya smiled. “Noted.”

And then they started playing.

The first few notes were soft, subdued—a simple melody carried by Haru’s keys, the kind of sound that felt like waking up from a long dream. Then the bassline came in, low and steady, grounding everything. Touya’s fingers moved instinctively, muscle memory taking over, like the song had always existed in him, just waiting to be played.

Kaito’s guitar layered over it, bright and sharp, a contrast to the weight of the rhythm section. And then Yuuma’s drums kicked in—fast, insistent, alive.

The song had movement.

Had feeling.

It wasn’t an apology.

It was a promise.

By the time the last chord faded into silence, [Name] was staring.

Not in shock, not in disbelief—

But something Touya couldn’t quite name.

He adjusted the strap on his shoulder, avoiding your gaze. 

“Well?”

“…You wrote this?” you asked.

Touya nodded, feeling strangely exposed. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause, and for a second, he thought maybe this had been a mistake. That maybe you’d say too little, too late.

But then—

“…It’s good,” you told him, laughing quietly. “Is this our entry for the Music Mayhem Event?”

Yuuma grinned. “Hell yeah, it is.”

Touya smiled, nudging at you a little. “So. Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“I… actually forgave you when you sought me out on the rooftop.”

“Wait, really?:

“Yeah, I— really don’t hold grudges for long.”

Yuuma clapped him on the back. “Dude, that’s so romantic.”

Kaito laughed. “Congrats, man. You got to apologize twice and wrote a song for the competition. Killed two birds with one stone.”

Haru just nodded, satisfied. “Saves us the trouble and time, then.”

Yeah.

Looked like it was.

-

The venue was packed. 

Touya rolled his shoulders, gripping his bass a little tighter than necessary. The strap dug into his shoulder, grounding him, reminding him that this was real. No running this time. No excuses.

You were beside him, your fingers tapping against your mic, an old nervous habit you refused to acknowledge. You exhaled through your nose, a slow, measured breath, but Touya could see it—you were excited. No, more than that—you were ready.

Kaito was tuning his guitar, barely holding back a cocky grin. Yuuma stretched his arms, rolling his neck, hyping himself up under his breath. Haru was calm, adjusting his keyboard settings with precise movements, unreadable as always.

“Make sure your voice doesn’t crack, Todoroki,” you commented.

Touya chuckled. “We’ll see.”

Then the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers:

“Next up—give it up for—”

The crowd erupted.

Lights flooded the stage, hot and blinding.

And then, it was just them.

-

If you told Todoroki Touya that he’d be playing the bass again after eight years, he would’ve laughed right in your face.

(Mm, yeah, I know how this goes…

You stand in the light, I fade in the smoke…)

He would’ve told you that he didn’t care how good he used to be. He’s lost interest, to put it into simpler terms.

(Didn’t ask you to chase me down—didn’t need another fight…

But there you were, reckless and loud, saying we could get it right…)

He would’ve told you that he had better things to do. 

But now, he did. Touya was playing the bass.

Touya didn’t just play—he felt it. His fingers moved on instinct against the strings, like they had a mind of their own, like he was carving out something raw, something familiar, something that had been trapped inside him for too long.

Then came the pre-chorus. The tension built.

And that’s when he came in.

(Yeah, I left you hanging, left you cold—swore I’d never play that role…

But damn, you still play me like a note…)

His voice was rougher, rasping with emotion, clashing with your smoother tone in a way that shouldn’t have worked—but it did. You turned toward him, stepping closer, your voices winding together like opposing forces caught in the same storm.

And then—

The chorus hit.

(We’re smoke and starlight, burning too bright—

Falling too fast, getting lost in the night!

Say you don’t need me, say you don’t care—

But we both know I’m still hanging there!)

You and Touya met in the middle of the stage, mic stands forgotten. 

You were fire; he was smoke.

Then came the second verse, and it was yours to claim as his voice faded into the background.

(You don’t beg, you don’t plead—

But I hear it in the way you breathe…

Sick of ghosts and dead-end dreams—

But somehow, you still look at me…)

Your gaze caught his. And Touya—he didn’t look away. He looked at you because you were the only one he could see—that he wanted to see.

The music dipped again, shifting into the bridge. Everything stripped back—just the bass and your voice.

(You don’t get to walk away, not this time…

Not after leaving me behind…

You play ghosts, I play fire…

But even flames need something to burn inside…)

The way you sang it—low, steady, sharp as a blade—it sent a shiver down his spine. It tugged at his heartstrings in a way that didn’t feel like him.

Then—

The build.

Drums creeping back in. Guitar humming under the surface. The energy climbing—

And then everything crashed into the final chorus.

(We’re smoke and starlight, burning too bright—

Falling too fast, getting lost in the night!

Say you don’t need me, say you don’t care—

But we both know I’m still hanging there!)

It was undeniable. It was everything.

As the last note hit, ringing through the venue, the whole place seemed to hold its breath.

And then—

The deafening eruption.

Viewers screamed. Hands shot up. The cheers were deafening. Even the judges looked impressed, their quiet conversation lost under the sheer force of the audience’s reaction.

You stood at the front, chest heaving, sweat beading at your temple, but your eyes—your eyes—burned with something victorious.

Touya, gripping his bass, let out a slow breath.

This was it.

For the first time in a long time, he felt it.

Not just the music. Not just the stage.

But the want.

The need.

The need to keep playing.

You had done it.

Done this to him.

And it was only the beginning.

-

Todoroki Touya never thought he’d come to this point.

His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, sweat dripping down his temple, his adrenaline spiking so hard that he could barely stand still. The entire band was high off the energy, voices overlapping as they half-shouted, half-laughed at each other, Yuuma swinging an arm around his shoulders while someone shoved a bottle of water into his hands.

“That was insane!” Your guitarist, Kaito, was saying, practically vibrating with excitement. “Holy shit, did you see how the crowd lost it when we hit that last chorus?”

“Dude, [Name] killed that bridge,” Yuuma added, shaking his head in disbelief. “And Touya? Bro, your bass solo? I felt that in my soul.”

Touya barely registered the words.

Because across the room, you were glowing.

To Touya, you had this look about you, the way you always did after a performance—flushed cheeks, the slight sheen of sweat on your skin making you radiate under the dim backstage lights. You were standing just a few feet away, laughing breathlessly, one hand gripping the back of your neck as you spoke with their events coordinator, your body still thrumming with the rush of the performance.

Touya swallowed.

There was something clawing up his ribs, something tight, something desperate, and before he even realized what he was doing—before he could stop himself—he moved.

His fingers curled around your wrist, firm but not rough, and you barely had time to react before he was pulling you with him, slipping past the others and into the dimly lit hallway behind the stage.

“Hey—Touya, what—?”

You didn’t finish.

Because the second you were out of sight, the second you two were alone, Touya turned, one hand still gripping your wrist, the other lifting without hesitation—

And he kissed you.

It was instinct, thoughtless and reckless, but it felt right.

You went rigid.

For a single, heart-stopping second, you didn’t move, didn’t react—so still that Touya almost panicked. Almost pulled away, almost started to stammer some kind of half-assed explanation, almost—

But then you inhaled sharply, and your fingers curled into his shirt, gripping him like you were trying to ground yourself.

And that was all it took.

Touya’s grip tightened, his palm cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing against your cheek. His lips moved against yours with the feeling of overflowing feelings that are just too good to put into words.

The music, the rush, the way your voice had wrapped around his on stage like you had been made for this, for each other.

Whatever this feeling was, it had been simmering beneath the surface, lingering in the way he always found himself seeking you out, the way he stayed just a little longer after practice, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

And now—now—it was spilling over, like an overfilled cup, impossible to ignore any longer.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless; Touya didn’t move far. His forehead rested against yours, his hand still cradling your face, fingers brushing along your skin.

You were staring at him, wide-eyed, your lips parted in shock, chest still rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath.

“Huh..?”

Touya exhaled sharply, trying to steady his pulse, trying to make sense of the mess in his chest.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice rough, strained.

His thumb brushed against your cheek, his breath still mingling with yours, but one thing’s for sure.

“But I think I wanna do it again.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wayward 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Duke!Steve Rogers (Medieval AU)

A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story

Summary: you accompany the court to a foreign kingdom for a tournament of four kings and find yourself entwined with a staunch duke.

Note: Finally digging into Steve's.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

"Posture," your father jabs your side meanly.

You push your shoulders wide and raise your head. You're gown is soaked with sweat. The heat is sweltering, permeating the layers around you. A week thus far and you cannot take the Wakandan weather.

Your father huffs and sends you another derisive glare. He never has much more for you than that. You can hardly blame him. You've offered nothing but disappointment.

Your older sister, Agnes, his favourite, could not travel for her condition. Wed and awaiting her first child. Halina, your younger sister, wed as well, remains at home as well. Her husband did not earn an invite upon the travel party. Why your father brought you, you cannot fathom. Your mother would not say either. He hardly has a mind for you as he spends much of his time in the king's ear.

You peek over at the man. One of four kings expected. The resident ruler of Wakanda, T'Challa, sits upon a seat made of bone. You could not guess a creature so large as to have a skeleton so gargantuan. Then there is King Thor of Asgard, wearing a sleeveless tunic of red as his thick arms glisten with sweat, his golden hair drawn up in a top knot. He looks to fair about as well as you in the climate.

Then, King Tony, your own monarch, in black and gold, unamused as he faces down a fourth man. One who is not a king. Duke Steve Rogers stands upon his introduction, unfazed by the disappointment of his audience.

"What do you mean he isn't here?" King T'Challa asks with a tilt of his head.

"He will be."

"But his banners are here. His men?" King Thor wonders as he wipes his forehead of sweat.

"He travelled separate due to... some unforeseen circumstances." The duke responds evenly. His thick hair droops forward and he flicks his back. His beard is just as dense along his jaw.

"Might we know of these circumstances?" King Tony challenges.

"He will arrive shortly," the noble answers, unaffected.

"You might stand as his agent but you are not king," Tony retorts. "Mind your tongue."

"I've said nothing to deserve remonstrance. I act upon my king's will, not yours. If that doesn't please you, then it is not my issue at hand," Rogers folds his hands neatly before his tunic. "We've come as promised. We are ready for the tournament and we bring our offering for the prizes. And we will supply some staples for the feasting. I believe we have more than met our obligations."

Tony scoffs and T'Challa stands. He comes down from his seat on the platform and opens his arm to the duke. "You are welcome here in my kingdom," the king declares. "As all kings have sworn, we meet on common ground. In peace. We will await King Bucky and we know it will be worth the delay."

He embraces the duke. They part and Rogers looks around. Thor stands and bounds across to him.

"I might be the only gladdened by your arrival. Let us go and see the plains. You will not believe the wild cats," the large man herds the duke away.

Your father clears his throat. The noise draws the eye of your king. Tony gestures with his fingers. Your father growls under his breath.

"A waste," he mutters. "That damnable king does as he might and keeps us all waiting." He faces you. "Come, there is no purpose for us until he arrives." He looks you over with a curl of his lip. "Perhaps in the meantime, you might have your gowns tailored for the heat. No gentleman can admire a lady dripping like a sieve."

You wipe your sweaty face with your sleeves, "father, most sorry. It is very hot--"

"We all suffer but we do not all whine," he snaps his hand like a beak. "Go back to your chambers. I have business still."

You hide your agitation. It isn't you who asked to come along to this place. If it were up to you, you would be back home, wiling away the hours in the garden. You will settle for being away from him.

🛡

Gertrude pulls you by your arm. You try to slow her as your elbow feels ready to come out joint. Your soles slip on the floor.

"Where are we going?" You tug but she doesn't relent.

"I met some awfully nice ladies. So beautiful," she says. "It's terribly dull around here."

"So it might be but my father--"

"He is rather too busy, isn't he?" She challenges.

"Hm, I suppose."

She tugs you out into the sunlight and you wilt. You shield your eyes as you she drags you around the castle to the courtyard. There's a cluster of women sitting upon a silken blanket. They weave each other's hair in pairs.

"Zolana," she cheeps as she lets you go. "I've brought another."

There are other women from your kingdom. You know many by name thought they don't often speak with you. Gertrude does but only because she is younger.

"Oh little fox," one beckons to you. "Look how you melt like butter."

You don't know what else to do so you approach and drop down to your knees. You tug at your skirt as it catches under you and sweat glosses over your lashes.

"Come, let me."

Her skin is supple and rich. You admire the dark hue as she reaches for you. The tear at the seam of your sleeves makes you gasp. With a small curved blade, she cuts through the thread and strips away the fabric from around your arms. You cross them defensively as you stare at the ruin of your dress.

"Much better," she takes the fabric and tears it, "now, here, put your back to me."

You bat your eyes and obey. It does feel lighter without the extra burden. You sit and look off at the emerald and gold horizon.

"I am Sefu," she says. "And your name?"

You answer as she sweeps the cloth over your hair and wraps it around snugly, hiding your hair so that it stays away from your face.

"Very good." She moves around you to check the front. "Beautiful."

"Oh, thank you," you touch the fabric.

"Mm, yes, the lost cubs need some help through the brush," she smiles.

You smile back. Your father will be upset to find you gone, more so at the state of your dress, but for now, you will bask in the relief. You know whatever spurred him to bring you along, will soon unfold.

[jasmines-library]

Good Enough

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

WHUMPTOBER DAY FIFTEEN :Prompt: Childhood trauma/"i did good, right?"

Summary: After Bruce rescued you from an abusive family and adopted you into his own, you worry that you haven't done well enough for him on your first patrol.

Warnings: mentions of an abusive family.

Word count: 700

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER 2024

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

You had been training for this your entire life. Or at least your entire life with Bruce Wayne. He had taken you in from a young age. He had seen your potential and rescued you from an abusive situation. He took you from your lowest; from a place where you were unappreciated, to one where you were loved and cherished. Bruce had trained you hard over the years, helping to build up your abilities brick by brick. He had given you something to work towards. And you had finally gotten there. But you felt like you had to repay him. Like you had to live up to the expectations cast down on you from the generations of previous Robins. 

An anxious feeling simmered in your chest as you shadowed Batman through the city. This was your first patrol, and the anxiety had forged together with this unexplainable excitement that bubbled up inside you. It was exhilarating. Darting across the rooftops was all that you had imagined yet so much more at the same time. It was supposed to be a nice, quiet and easy night based on recent activity in Gotham. But of course nothing is ever simple and soon you and Bruce were dashing over to the other side of the city to stop some thieves from robbing a high end jewellery store. 

You skidded to a halt at the sound of smashing glass under the blaring of the sirens. You could see the thieves halfway down the street ahead of you, their bags full as they sprinted away. You were hot on their heels forcing your legs to go faster as you tried to keep up with Bruce and to catch them. The pair turned a corner down an alleyway. This was your chance. You knew the streets well; you had been studying them as part of your training. So, instead of following them you continued on straight before taking a left coming out in front of them. 

The thieves didn’t notice you at first and proceeded to hop the fence before landing straight in front of you. You readied your weapon and adopted a fighting stance like you had been taught. You were ready to fight. But the minute they straightened up, you were hit with an immense sense of fear. 

They looked like your parents. 

Tall and lean, the figures now resembled your birth parents as they loomed before you. Their words rang in your ears, telling you how much of a disappointment you were. How you were a waste of space. Ungrateful. You froze. Lost for a moment as you were struck with all of your childhood trauma. But then you caught a glimpse of Batman’s cape and were reminded of why you were out here. Reminded that you were loved. 

Raising you weapon you lunged forwards first. Landing a quick blow to the shorter criminal’s side, you tackled them down to the ground. Very quickly, Batman joined in the fight and the alley was filled with a flurry of punches and rouge kicks. It didn’t take long before the two were on the ground and in handcuffs, ready for the GCPD to take away. 

Batman straightened and placed his hands on his hips as he took in your work. He then turned to you, his gaze impossible to tell from under his mask. He could tell that there was a slight hint of fear underlying the look you had plastered on your face. So, he crouched down to your level, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. He could tell that something was up, but he wasn’t quite sure what. 

You swallowed thickly before asking nervously “I….i did good, right?”

Bruce’s face softened almost sadly. He knew that you had been through a lot. Far too much for anyone to go through, let alone a child. “So good, kiddo.”

“...you mean it?”

He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze before deciding to just pull you straight into a hug. “Of course. I’m so, so proud of you. You did amazing, kiddo. Better than I could have ever asked for.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

<- DAY FOURTEEN ⛧ DAY SIXTEEN ->

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

TAGS:

@hearts4robs @kingshitonly @alicedawitchbish @hell-o-kittys @azure-drag0ness @harleycao @thewhispersofthewaves @batfamsstuff @xxrougefangxx @rosecentury @noisymutantherelol @killxz @rhiodes @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @canthavetoomuchchaos

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[sxorpiomooon]

How will your fs family or ancestors react to you? A pac reading

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Pile 1-

This is HILARIOUS bc I see them stressing out so bad there will probably be issues in you guys getting married or together something about being unconventional I am suddenly reminded of nobody wants this the new netflix show? The story is basically of how a woman who runs her sex podcast gets together with a guys who's rabi. I see their ancestors panicking bc they will be like omL tHiS IS TERRIBLE THR WORST THING THAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED to .... Um wait..... It's actually not that bad? I see them panicking then finally catching their breath like oh.. oooohhh it's not that deep I heard "we're fine, we are fine" lmaao it's gonna be so hilarious. Do watch that show guys

Pile 2-

This is extremely rude and outrageous but they might feel as if their son has wasted his potential I heard "years of hard work going into the drain" there will be a lot of drama I also feel like this is possibly mainly the mother of your fs very dramatic and doing all that for no reason sort of lady. She will probably be causing issues and trying to bring you down every chance she gets. Instead of they i keep thinking of a she again and again it's def their mother. They will feel as if they have lost and will be extremely disappointed. Oml so much drama lord I can hear an old woman crying for no fucking reason. She might give alot of taunts such as "oh irs mt fault I raised you wrong this is my failure" blahblahblah I heard old hag LMAOO so yes, don't listen to that old hag my pile 2<3

Pile 3-

Finally a good pile🙏

I think they'll be quite stressed I got Italy for some reason I also think you'll be randomly revealed to them so it might take them as a surprise like huh? They might have not been aware of you before which will cause them stress. But later on I see them loving you so much especially the mother. I see the mother being the most stressed first and then ending up loving you the most. One of the parties might travel to meet the other? They will welcome you in their home very warmly. I see them treating you like their own never making you feel like an outsider lmao very close it's like they are your parents now too. "I'm coming home I'm coming home tell the world I'm coming home" i keep hearing this song again and again I'm also hearing stand by you by rachel platten. I'm even seeing wings for some reason haha. Something that I see is that they will also admire the love that you are your fs will share. Very beautiful family lord I'm seeing orange colour sunset too. Suddenly saw that super famous cute kid rustyn too.

Pile 4-

Hell naww, they will 100% try to persuade their son/daughter to leave your behind. I see them pulling dirty tricks😭 They might even manage to cause a rift between the two of you but I see y'all coming back together eventually again. I keep seeing someone travelling via boat in the water maybe they will quite literally try to separate you by sending them to some foreign lands but I do see both of you getting together again and them realising that they won't succeed. There might be this financial or class divide between the two of you which is why they'll do it. This reminds me of this webtoon that I was reading recently "the child that looks just like me" give it a read if you wish to.

Thankyou!!

[gay-dorito-dust]

How about something about being a very soft and feminine person, strong independent in their own way, with Mizu. I like to think she is joins the party and acts as the “woman” for the group, and she just genuinely is a good person. I just want to see Mizu with someone who just cares about them.

This was way too long and whatever else you wanna call it.

‘You’ll die.’ Mizu puts bluntly.

‘I don’t care. I’m coming with you whether you like it or not.’ You shrugged, mind made up as you already have packed your essentials for the departure overnight.

Mizu closed their eyes, sighing deeply through the nose before opening their eyes once more to look directly at you with their usual stare. ‘I won’t be held responsible if you were killed unawares.’ They said but the fire of excitement and adventure within your eyes hasn’t faltered once.

Mizu can only wonder how they attract people of similar natures in one way or the other to trail after them like a little horde of stubborn ducklings; A question they’ll couldn’t quite find the answer for.

You have been prone to leave Mizu perplexed since your first met after healing them of their wounds after a particularly heinous fight. Your soft touches and kind encouraging words brought about uncertain feelings within Mizu. Making them feel as though they have somehow ventured off into unfamiliar territory, immediately sending them to act out in self defensive tactics.

Constantly looking over their shoulder, hand clutching at the hilt of their sword, ears and eyes honing in on every snaps of branches and the rustling of bushes, waiting for a potential ambushes or ransacking attempts. Anything that would put their life in any and all levels of risk.

Mizu found themself in a battlefield they weren’t well versed in whenever your face shone with a bright smile upon seeing them in the mornings, presenting them with the clothes they’ve entrusted to you to sew up the worn and torn fabric, seeing as how only you were the one with the tools and the experience for the job. Or how you would often help fix up breakfast for everyone but always end up making yours last, when Mizu asked about this, you just shrugged and told them that you’d rather survive off of scraps if it meant others having full, warm and satisfied bellies.

Mizu only scoffs at this, not thinking too much into your words, but their sharp eyes would immeditly notice the difference in the amount of food you gave them before looking at your own proportions; which was enough to satiate your hunger for the time being but it was obvious that you gave larger portions of food to them. Their eyes would soften somewhat at the gesture, knowing that your words were more than just words, only to harden afterwards when catching you given them frequent side glances.

You would also patch up reopened words that were in harder to reach for Mizu or Tiagen to get to by themselves , much to Mizu’s dismay at the thought of being in such a vulnerable and open position for sabotage. However under your watchful eye, Mizu had learnt over a long period of time to put their trust into you and your seemingly never ending well of talents.

‘Stop doing stuff that’ll only reopen your wounds,’ you scolded, finishing sealing up the last of Mizu’s wounds with a final stitch. ‘I’m staring to run out of thread and alcohol to disinfect the needle with the rate you and Taigen are going at!’ You added, putting your hands on your hips like a disappointed parent.

‘If it displeases you so much to waste resources, then why bother healing me in the first place.’ Mizu responded straightforwardly as they slowly refitted their clothing on their body whilst trying not to reopen any wounds as to not waste the effort you put into putting them back together again. You huffed, knowing that Mizu was still a little on edge with you and the kindness you went out of your way to give them.

You didn’t blame them for being the way they were and only accepted this as their way of acting the only way they knew how and went to sit down next to them, remembering to keep some distance for keep Mizu from unwarranted contact. ‘It’s not the resources that I’m worried about. It’s you.’ You admitted, seeing Mizu look at you from the corner of your eye, looking as though they weren’t expecting that type of response to come from your mouth. That reaction only hurt your heart knowing that a concerning about of people lacked empathy towards their fellow man. It genuinely disgusted you at how easy it was for them to show you their back the moment you’ve outgrown your usage.

‘Me? Why?’ Mizu asked.

You chuckled humourlessly. ‘Is it a sin for me to be concerned about you? To worry about you whenever you come back from where ever you wander off to, suddenly unable to stand on your own two feet without collapsing from immense blood loss?’ Mizu reminded silent and so you took that as a sign to continue. ‘Am I expected to just stand there and not do anything? I’m sorry but I’d rather wast every resource I own on you because if it meant bettering your chances of survival, even if by a margin, then I’d do anything to make that possibility into a guarantee.’ You finished with a smile before getting up to your feet and leaving the room to give Mizu privacy and time to process your words.

Meanwhile Mizu was back to feeling those foreign emotions. They weren’t use to someone caring for them to the extent that you did, not without wanting something in exchange but Mizu noticed that you haven’t even once asked for anything in return for making them breakfast, sewing up their clothes, gifting them sharping stones for their sword nor patching up their wounds. All you did was take care of them and their every needs, so much so that they felt a weird warm within their chest at the memory of your bright smile that you gave them after everything.

You were sweet and soft but strong, firm in your beliefs and posses a strong independence. A true diamond in the rough in regard to everything they’ve bore witness to since childhood. Your attitude towards them was an extreme contrast to everyone else’s, it often caught Mizu off guard in the odd occasion but it wasn’t until now did Mizu come to realised how much their body ached to be tended and cared for by someone like you. They’ve persevered through the hardships they’re forced to call life and bore the scars of said hardships in a multitude of places upon their body, both new and old.

Mizu was use to being alone but now that you entered their life, they were starting to think that they don’t wanna be alone anymore but was a tad hesitant to make the first move on their own accord. If Mizu was grateful for one thing in life, it was the fact that you were in it and by their side for the indefinite future.

[zosan-secondchances]

The Pirate King of the North: Part 4

Main Themes: Villain Sanji, Alternate Universe, Zosan Ship

Warning: Long post ahead with One Piece spoilers. Contains strong language and explicit content.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 (Special) | 19

Three days after the call, Sanji follows Zoro’s instructions to the book and waits for him at an island with a bustling town in the middle of the day. The blonde is well aware of the local Marine base in the area but he ignores this fact and turns up at the townsquare just as he promised, not wanting to disappoint his, hopefully, future fiance. Unsurprisingly, he is met by navy officers who tell him to come along quietly.

Law had refused to use The Polar Tang to contain their guest as he didn’t want to risk his submarine and crew to suffer any potential consequences as a result of the interrogation that they're planning. Zoro had to pull strings to borrow a room at the Marine base, stating that it’s for an official Warlord business. He and the doctor had been waiting for over half an hour overtime for the soldiers to return with Sanji. Zoro sends additional troops to investigate the delay. After another suspicious amount of time of having received no news, the two decide to investigate the matter themselves.

Zoro and Law make their way to the townsquare where the swordsman had instructed Sanji to be. Upon arrival, it was clear what had happened to the navy soldiers that he’d sent out. Deep red and severed body parts taint the white tiles throughout the block. A few had somehow made their way on top of trees and the shops’ window sills. Some float lifelessly in the fountain right in the middle–its sprinkling water had changed to a scarlet red. Liquid splatters grossly against the white marble sculptures that decorated the water feature.

Law grits his teeth, his knuckles turn white from gripping his sword tightly.

Zoro all but rolls his eyes. He hates the fact that he’s used to Sanji doing this sort of thing.

Zoro

What a waste.

They follow a trail. It’s not hard to find where Sanji had gone given how much blood there was, and Zoro had a sneaking suspicion that the blonde had purposely left his stained footprints to show where he’s going. He enjoys Zoro chasing him this way after all.

While walking, Law sends a message through his own den-den mushi to his crew, ordering them to check in on the citizens and make sure that everyone’s safe. Not long after, Bepo reports that the citizens are unharmed–extremely shaken but they’re untouched. The polar bear adds that a few witnesses say that it was only the Marines who tried to force the Pirate King into cuffs that had been torn apart. Some had apparently been allowed to flee.

Law looked to Zoro, as if expecting him to have a reasonable explanation as to why the Pirate King behaves the way he does. Cutting down local town Marines seems a bit too excessive in his opinion. The swordsman confesses that he's just as confused, and that over the years he'd just accepted that he's just mad because it's just the way he was born.

Zoro

All the more reason he deserves to die.

Zoro stops in his tracks, standing on the wooden pier of the docks. It looks like the rest of the bloody footprints lead right through to the very end. Looking at the ocean, he sees a distinct murky area of red on one spot. A head of blonde and white hair pokes out from the middle, the sun shining beautifully over it. Zoro felt–

Zoro shakes his head at the thought. 

Law follows Zoro's gaze, ending the call on his transponder snail when he sees who's in the water.

Law

Speak of the devil….

 

Zoro

OI!!!

The blonde turns to look at the source of sound.

Sanji

MELLORINE!!!

Sanji waves enthusiastically at the duo staring at him.

From afar, Zoro could tell that the man practically had heart eyes bulging out of his eye sockets.

Sanji takes a plunge into the water, swimming away from the murky area then reappears next to the wooden pier just under where Zoro was standing. His head pokes out gracefully, then gives the swordsman a warm smile.

Zoro takes a step back to distance himself, suddenly feeling like a girl whose skirt is being perverted on.

Zoro

Don’t give me that, idiot. Your outlash may have cost me some pull from the Marines.

Sanji

Oh? Has it occurred to you that that may have been my plan?

Zoro’s eye twitches, clearly infuriated at being toyed with. He pulls himself together internally and lets out a defeated sigh.

Zoro

Is this for not meeting up with you in person like I said I would? I got stuck with all the bureaucratic paper bullshit.

Sanji

I don’t know…

Sanji had a teasing tone behind his voice. He effortlessly pulls himself up to sit at the edge of the wooden planks, shakes his head and starts wringing his hair over his shoulder.

Sanji

Next time, don’t make promises you can’t keep.

Zoro lets out an offended huff.

Zoro

Next ti–? NO! There’s no next time! We're enemies. And what, is this your way of punishing me? To make me feel guilty? By murdering a bunch of Marines?

Sanji

Oh please, it was out of self-defense! They came onto me first….

Sanji calmly stands on his feet. Slowly, he begins to strip off his top, revealing his lean but muscular figure.

Zoro’s eye trails from Sanji’s scar across throat, down to the defined v-shape below his waistline. He recognises the cuts and burns from their battles, and some he guesses are from his own volition. When the blonde turns to fix his hair, Zoro eyes a small red tattoo, located below the nape of his neck. For some reason, he’s never noticed it on him before–a red circle with four triangles, arranged to look like the claws of a dragon. It has a cluster of messy scars over it, as if it'd been attempted to be removed by means of violent scratching. Like all else, he’s wondered what the story behind this is–

Zoro almost slaps himself to shake the thoughts out of his head. He makes an effort to look the blonde in the eye before he notices him staring.

Sanji gives Zoro a side glance before squeezing the damp clothing in his hands to dry it. He closes his eyes and his mouth curves into a cheeky smile. He gives his top one last flick before tossing it over his shoulder.

Sanji

I gave them a chance to apologise but some of them didn’t have any manners and charged in. Really, they were quite rude.

Zoro

You could have just knocked them out. Some of them were fresh blood. They’re probably just trying to prove they can do a good job to impress their seniors.

Sanji

By overdoing it. And now that fresh blood is all over my poor clothes. All because they tried to force me into those…heavy, rusty fuckin’ pieces of– 

Law clears his throat.

Zoro and Sanji look at him, annoyed at the interruption.

Law

If you’re done bickering like an old married couple….

Zoro’s eye visibly twitches, his brows furrowing angrily at Law's poor choice of words.

Sanji practically swoons, his hands slap his own reddened cheeks while the rest of his body squirm comically.

Sanji

OH, YOU–stop that! We’re not married yet, you bastard!

Zoro

WE’RE NOT GETTING MARRIED. PERIOD!!!

Law could practically feel the veins in his forehead pop.

—

They start the trek back to the Marine base, purposely taking the longer way through the shoreline to avoid panicked citizens after Sanji’s onslaught.

Sanji

Marimo-kun~!

Zoro ignores the man, and concentrates on walking quietly. He attempts to put his mind in a meditative state.

Sanji

Ma–ri–mo-kun~?

The shade under Zoro’s brows darkens. He focuses on his breathing–he inhales, holds it, then exhales. He repeats it several times more.

Sanji crumples his heavy damp clothing into a ball then throws it at the back of Zoro’s head, causing the other man to stumble.

Sanji

I SAID “MARIMO”, YOU ASS!!!

Zoro grabs the wet top and throws it hard onto Sanji’s face square on, knocking the man down on his butt.

Sanji

THAT HURT!

Zoro

DON’T THROW GROSS THINGS AT ME! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!

With a blink of an eye, Sanji’s demeanour changes. He bites his lip and looks up to Zoro with a large puppy eye.

Sanji

Why is he here? Isn’t this a date?

Zoro

Fuck off. I never said it is. We’ll tell you when we get to the base.

Sanji

Hmm…no, then I’m not going.

Sanji crosses his arms stubbornly. His legs do the same, planting himself firmly on the ground.

Law

Zoro-ya, can’t you just tie him up and drag his ass along? I just want this over and done with.

Zoro

You’ve seen what happens if you force him into things, idiot.

Sanji

Yeah, idiot.

Zoro

I’m not talking to you.

Sanji

Then do, otherwise I’m not coming along. You're taking me into a Marine base after all. I'd be at a disadvantage as soon as I step inside. You have to give me a good reason to go with you.

Zoro

You said you'd help me.

Sanji

You? Sure. I was hoping to gain your personal favour. Him? Ehh…. He's not exactly my type.

Sanji looks at Law, slowly dragging his eyes down his frame.

Sanji

Hmm…I guess he could be if he's willing to play.

Law nervously takes a step back, feeling hot and bothered.

Zoro sighs. He considers for a moment, trying to come up with a way to make sure that Sanji cooperates with them peacefully for as long as possible without sacrificing anyone to indulge in whatever sexual fantasies are in his head. After a time, he speaks firmly.

Zoro

Tra-guy, tell him everything you told me.

Law

Here? We’re doing this right here, right now?

Sanji

I'm glad you understand, Marimo.

Law

I… I don’t know.

Sanji

I don’t need the whole sob story, Trafalgar D. Water Law.

Law blinks in surprise that Sanji knows his name. Sure he had a bounty but he didn’t think it was anything noteworthy. He certainly wasn’t aware that the Pirate King would care enough to know about it. He opens his mouth as if to say something but gets interrupted.

Sanji

I have eyes and ears everywhere, love. What I don’t know is why the Surgeon of Death is looking for Doffy.

Zoro

Doffy? The same guy who gave you your new weapon?

Sanji

Aww! You remembered?! …Are you jealous?

Sanji gives Zoro a suggestive wink, taking the swordsman aback.

Zoro

Don't be ridiculous.

Sanji

If you like, I can call off my affairs with him and just make it exclusive with you….

Law

As much as I want to kill that monster, I don’t think I can right now. Not at my current strength.

Sanji snaps his gaze to Law, giving him a dangerous look.

Sanji

You’re right. You can’t.

Law

I’m just looking for my friend. It’s…it’s his brother, Donquixote Rosinante.

Sanji raises a brow.

Sanji

Corazon has been dead for years.

Law

Then you better check your sources, Mr. Prince-ya. Because I have letters from him from the last several months.

Sanji stands on his feet and approaches Law slowly.

Sanji

Show me.

—

Back at the Marine base, Sanji and Law escalated into a heated argument in the interrogation room. Sanji insists that if they truly want his insight into Donquixote Rosinante, the doctor should show all the letters that he claims to have.

Naturally, Law refused to show the blonde, stating that it’s all too personal.

Zoro knows he shouldn’t, but for once, he feels relieved that someone else is dealing with the mad king’s temper. He hides a smirk behind a bottle of sake, taking a swill.

Sanji

Don’t be an idiot. I don’t give a flying fuck what’s in them!

Law

Then there’s no reason for you to see a single one.

Sanji clasps both of his hands together, and gently sets them down the wooden table in front of him. With a deep voice, he speaks.

Sanji

Enlighten me then, how do you truly know it is him?

Law

If you must know, all his letters have…details that only he and I know.

Sanji firmly presses his fingers down the table, then speaks slowly but clearly.

Sanji

All the more reason that you could be in bigger danger than you think, doctor.

Law frowns.

Sanji

You're far too enamoured to think straight. How do you know it’s not just someone else messing with you? Hmm? Someone like Doffy?

Law crosses his arms then leans back against his chair, listening intently.

Sanji

Think about this… very… carefully.

Sanji shuffles in his pockets and fishes out a pack of cigarettes. When he opens the box, his eyes furrow in disappointment, seeing that all of his smokes are heavily damaged from water and blood. He throws the pack over his shoulder then snatches Zoro’s bottle of sake as the swordsman was about to take a drink.

Zoro

Oi!

Sanji takes three big gulps before slamming the bottle down on the table.

Sanji

Given how touchy you are about the idea of me reading them, I’m guessing you’ve become quite emotionally attached to the letters, haven’t you? Just consider, whoever wrote them knows an awful lot of details about you. What’s more, they know where to find you, and how to find you.

Zoro raises a brow at that. He notices that the doctor is starting to lose his composure slightly as a tiny bead of sweat falls on the side of his face.

Law

You assume it’s being sent to me.

Sanji

A trail, then? He’s leaving you clues and you’re more than happy to follow it.

Law

That’s…

Sanji takes another big drink, then explains his point further, waving Zoro’s bottle in front of him as he makes hand gestures to emphasize his speech.

Sanji

What if it’s a trap? If someone, say…I don’t know–like Doffy–is pretending to be Corazon, then you’d have been sold out for a fool.

Law slams his hand aggressively on the table, cracking its surface where his fist landed.

Law

You’re wrong!

Sanji stares at him unimpressed but doesn’t say anything, as if allowing him the chance to explain himself. He leans back against his chair.

Law

Look, I just know, okay? It’s him. I’m sure of it.

Sanji

You just know…?

Law

Yes.

Sanji

Then you’re hopeless.

As Zoro attempts to steal his sake back, the blonde slaps his hands away and takes several more swills from the bottle, as if telling the swordsman that he’s not done with his turn yet. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand then returns his focus back to Law.

Sanji

And how is it that you just know?

Zoro

Tra-guy, he’s not going to stop until you show him.

Law

You’re on his side, Zoro-ya?

Zoro

Look, you don’t have to show him everything, just show him one–like the bit where you’re stuck. It was enough to convince me.

Law pinches the gap between his brows.

Law

What you’re basically telling me…is that I should trust him with this information? That I should trust this mass murdering fucker with something extremely important to me?

Sanji

I told you, I don’t give a shit what’s in it–

Law

That’s what worries me! Because I care–a lot! I….

Law’s ears visibly reddens in embarrassment. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, averting his gaze.

Law

He was… is… very important to me. The letter is from him. I’m sure of it. And if you don’t care about it then I’m not letting you get your hands on it.

There was a moment of silence. Sanji watches Law in his vulnerable state. After a while, the blonde takes another drink from the bottle and sets it in front of Zoro.

Zoro grabs the bottle enthusiastically. He raises it above his mouth and nothing but a single drop falls onto his tongue. His smile vanishes, and his shoulders droop sadly until his arms and face melt onto the table. He sets the bottle down, pushing it away from him.

Sanji

I apologise, doctor.

Zoro and Law both look at Sanji in surprise.

Sanji offers a warm smile to Law.

Sanji

I’m afraid I’m not so good at these things. I’ll help you however I can.

Zoro stares at him in disbelief, cocking his head on the side against the table, processing the genuinity behind Sanji’s tone. He detects no ill will or malice behind it. He tells himself he’s just a bloody good liar.

Sanji

However, I still need to see a letter–just one will do, like the swordsman said–so I can study it. I promise I’ll take good care of it. If it resembles Doffy’s writing in any way, I will tell you. If it’s not, I’ll see what I can deduct from it, given that you’re apparently…”stuck”.

Law

I…thank you, Mr. Prince-ya.

Sanji slightly bows his head at him in acknowledgement.

Law

However, there is one thing that still bugs me….

Sanji

Oh?

Law

Why the interest in Corazon? You seem very keen to find out if he’s really dead or not.

Sanji

Corazon was–is…Doffy’s brother after all. His death shook a number of undercover Marine agents, enough to blow their covers.

Zoro

How would you know that?

Sanji

Because it all happened under wraps, which I make it my business to know. Your precious World Government made sure to cover it up nice and snug to keep up appearances.

Meanwhile, everyone else who actually did the work started pointing fingers, accusing each other of who ratted out your mate, afraid that they’re next. Ultimately, they hunted each other down. Now, while I don’t give two shits about the Marines, this whole ordeal should not be taken lightly.

Sanji leans forward on his seat.

Sanji

If he is alive, then Doffy has lied to me, which violates the rules of our country’s alliance. I’ll need to look into this matter personally to keep this quiet. If you let me help you, this will be beneficial for the both of us, I assure you.

Law takes a moment to process everything that Sanji had laid out for him. Reluctantly, he nods. Thinking it takes a criminal to know one. He reminds himself that he just needs advice and nothing more. He leans forward and shuffles in his pockets. He pulls out a folded piece of paper but before he could stretch his arm to offer it to Sanji, the blonde raises his hands in front of him.

Sanji

Let me just wash up. I still have Marine blood on me and I don’t want to get them all over your letters.

Sanji stands, then walks to the door.

Zoro’s eyes follow him. His expression softens at the blonde’s thoughtfulness and unexpected change in character. It must just be the single sip of the sake that clouds his own thoughts. He makes it clear to himself that it’s just acting–no doubt to get on Law’s good side then at the last second stab him in the back.

Sanji

Marimo-kun, the door, please?

Zoro

Ah. Right.

Zoro unlocks the door, then hollers for a couple of Marines to take the Pirate King to the washroom, instructing them specifically to “be nice” if they value their lives. Hesitantly, they do as he says, even with the odd request, too scared to do anything out of hand especially after learning what had happened to their colleagues in the townsquare.

Law kicks back on his seat, placing his hands behind his head.

Law

He’s not what I expected.

Zoor closes the door behind him, and turns to the doctor, glaring at him.

Zoro

That may be the last thing in your head if you let your guard down. Remember what I told you earlier.

Law

His mind is his real weapon, not his claws. I know. But he–

Zoro

As soon as he charms you, he’ll make you do things you’ll regret. Luffy would kill me if he gets to you.

Law

You sound like you talk from experience….

Zoro

Don’t even go there. Have you forgotten that he’s just murdered a bunch of Marines not far from here?

Law

I…you’re right.

Zoro approaches Law, jabbing a finger on his chest.

Zoro

Don’t forget what I said.

Moments later, Sanji returns to the interrogation room, escorted by a couple of trembling Marines behind him. They bring him inside, then rush out the door, locking it behind them in a panicked state. The blonde looks and smells a lot cleaner this time, and his hair is damp again–presumably after having borrowed the navy’s shower room. Zoro and Law also can’t help but notice that he’s completely changed out of his blood-stained clothes, and is now sporting a Marine officer uniform worn with the coat buttons undone and no shirt underneath, keeping his front exposed.

Sanji saunters, twirls gracefully, then strikes a pose to show off his new outfit proudly. Zoro can’t help but let out an unexpected hearty laugh.

Zoro

That looks awful on you! You didn’t just pry it from the dead, did you?

Sanji

Goodness, no. They had spares. I admit, it’s a little loose, but you don’t have to be so mean.

Sanji flicks his hair, keeping his other hand on his hip. The small spray of water from his hair strands makes it look like sparkles in the air with the way the room’s light shone on it. He looks down at the swordsman, making the other man stop in his fit of laughter.

Sanji

Besides, I feel fantastic in it.

Hey, tattoo guy, let’s do this. 

Sanji is back on his seat. The look of confidence he usually wears on his face has dithered away. He looks dumbfoundedly at the piece of paper that Law had given him. He flips the paper to check its back, looks at the front again, then flips it once more.

Sanji

This is it?

Law nods. His face had gone red.

Sanji

It just says “I love you.”

Law pulls out a stack of the similarly sized papers of varying shades from his breast pocket and lays it down in the middle of the table.

Law

Now you’ve seen one, you’ve seen it all. But uh… you can’t touch these.

Sanji slaps his forehead with the palm of his hand.

Sanji

I don’t know what I expected. THEY’RE NOT EVEN SIGNED!

Law

It’s something he’d do, okay?! You wouldn’t understand.

Sanji

No, I don’t!!! This is ridiculous! Is this seriously it?!

Sanji stops abruptly. His eyes stare at the stack of papers, shifting left and right, as if suddenly deep in thought–and he’s thinking fast. He inspects the one closely in his hand, then holds it close to the stack on the table, comparing the two.

Sanji

These papers are all not from the same place.

Law

Why does the paper matter?

Sanji

Because, my dear, this means that you’re always in his thoughts–or whoever’s writing it anyway. They didn’t write this all in one go then went about scattering it. They took their time, and wrote down a new letter each time they thought of you with whatever they could get their hands on.

Law freezes. Whatever thoughts he has, he keeps it in his head but it’s noticeably making his hands and lips tremble. After a few quiet moments, Zoro breaks the silence to help him out.

Zoro

Tra-guy, show him the other thing.

Law

Right….

Law pulls out a long envelope the length of his arm. He carefully places it in front of Sanji

Law

This came with the letter that you’ve got in your hand.

Sanji tilts his head curiously. He carefully sets down the letter he’d been given earlier, then gestures towards the envelope.

Sanji

May I?

Law nods.

Sanji gently lifts the flap, then pulls out a delicate feather from the envelope.

Law

The letters always come with a clue where to go next. My crew and I have been travelling for several months now, mostly in the Grand Line. This is the latest, and the reason why we thought Doflamingo may know something, or has got Corazon locked up somewhere. But we haven’t been able to track him down for quite some time.

Sanji pinches the hollow shaft, spinning the feather to admire its features.

Sanji

Hmm…I don’t think it’s Doffy. Though this would make a nice feather for a hat.

Law

What makes you say that?

Sanji claps his hands excitedly.

Sanji

Ooh, I’m glad you asked! There’s this hat that Zoro’s dad wears everywhere. It’s got this gorgeous white feather that makes it stand out nicely with–

Zoro

Not about the hat, stupid! Why do you think it’s not Doflamingo?

Sanji

Rude. But that’s a simple question. Doffy’s coat is pink. This is more purple-pink. Hmm… I think this might be from a South Bird. They’ve got a big body and an even bigger personality. They’re native to Skypiea.

Zoro’s brows shoot up.

Law

Skypiea? The legendary island in the sky? Isn’t that just a tall tale? 

Zoro

I remember those birds. I can see why there’d be some confusion now.

Sanji

Have you been there, Marimo-kun?

Zoro smiles softly at the feather, then reaches out for it. Sanji obliges, handing it to him by the hollow shaft gently, their fingers brushing each other. The swordsman runs his hands through its soft barbs.

Zoro

Sure have, while travelling with my old captain.

Sanji watches Zoro admire the feather, taking notice of his brightened expression and hazel eye. He wonders what sort of tales he has in store. He doesn’t speak much of his old captain to him. Then again, he doesn’t really share a lot of things with him because why would he?

Only now did Sanji realise that he hasn’t really taken his time to admire the swordsman’s features up close. He makes a mental note to plan a sneaky peek under a different light–maybe outside during dawn or dusk when the colours of the sky would bring out his eye colour more.

Law

How do you know for certain that it’s from a South Bird, Mr. Prince-ya? I don’t recall you being an aviary expert.

Sanji

Oh, I’m not claiming to be a scientist in any way. But I have this thing for feather coats since Doffy likes to use it for sex.

Zoro drops the feather from his hands.

----------

Here's a more polished art to make up for the longer chapter.

[shini--chan]

Would the allies kidnap their darling?

Yandere Allies - Persephone

Trigger warnings: kidnapping, obsession, stalking, coercion, murder

I actually see all the allies willing to kidnap their respective “lovers”, if certain criteria would be met. So let's delve a bit deeper. 

America would kidnap you to save you from yourself. At least, that would be his depiction of affairs. Perhaps you would be a nation drifting too close to communism, or your morals and societal structure wouldn’t be compatible with the liberal ideologies in other ways. Perhaps he tried to give you the fire of enlightenment only for you to coldly reject his graciousness. In his eyes, you would just have so much more potential and you would waste it by not accepting his help. Furthermore, you would obstruct his grand plans to bring about the end of history and create a garden of eden on earth with your stubbornness. As such, he’ll have to force you to bow to his will. 

There could be a long prelude to your kidnapping, or he would directly go for the kill. Your time in captivity would be spent moulding you to be the perfect spouse. The base circumstances could be different, mind you. You could be a willful mortal that enchanted him, and he would kidnap you because you wouldn't follow the romance playbook he'd have ingrained in his mind. If his interest would wane, then the end result would be the same as the scenario described above. 

Canada would kidnap you to preserve you. It would be like a naturalist wanting to preserve an ecosystem and all the wonder that it would contain. The outside world is so lethal and corrupting and tainting, that you would have to be protected from it. Family would end up disappointing you and friends would one day betray you, but he would also be there for you. However, why go through all the pain and learn that the hard way when he could simply shield you from all that suffering?

Just like some endangered species, you would have to be observed, conserved and shielded from those that would harm you or alter you or bring about your extinction. For a large part, he would wish to preserve you as you are, like scientific specimens are kept intact by putting them in formaldehyd bath. He would do his best to trim any negative developments that would form, and he would see you acting out or trying to escape/kill him as such. Something as perfect and pure as you must be protected at all costs, even from your own wrongs. 

China would kidnap you to keep something precious with the person that would appreciate it the most. With all his years of wisdom and trials and hardship, wouldn’t he be the person most capable of cherishing you? Besides, having you would be like possessing an accolade to all his successes. You would be a testimony to all his power and prowess and competence, the sign of all that he can achieve. Asides from that, he would want you to achieve your full potential, and who better to assure that than his steady and sure hand?

You would be put in a gilded cage so that he could return home after a long day and be guaranteed the comfort of your presence. Your schedule would be managed tightly by him and he wouldn’t allow much time for idleness. After all, your true beauty would lie in your actions, and he would want to witness said beauty everyday. Yao would also be a very strict taskmaster and some days it would feel more like he kidnapped you to fulfill the fantasy of being a personal trainer/private tutor or something of the sort. Surely you wouldn’t have to worry about not being able to pick up a new hobby, or becoming bored with him!

England would kidnap you out of pure selfishness. Of course, he could just continue murdering your suitors and making your loved ones disappear, yet it would just be so much more cost efficient to keep you close by. A personal project such as moulding you into the ideal spouse for one Arthur Kirkland would require close attention and set parameters. Besides, he wouldn’t want anybody else enjoying your affections, if he can help it. Arthur would be a jealous man to his core, and you would have to deal with the negative consequences of those feelings more often than not. 

As such, he would require you to spend your day in his presence more often than not. You wouldn’t even be required to interact with him - just being in the same room would often be enough. It would be up for debate whether sending time in his line of sight would be better than spending it alone or not. On one hand, if you don’t stick to his side you would have more freedom to do what you’d please, but he would interrogate you about your going-ons in his absence. On the other hand, he would always have his half his mind on you when you’d be by him - observing you, listening to what you doing - but his conversations with you wouldn’t be so invasive. Pick your poison. 

France would kidnap you to heal you or also your relationship with him. Perhaps you would be struggling or he would deem you as fighting with repressed trauma. You would be a fragile thing in need of a knight in shining armour, and he would enthusiastically fulfil that role for you. Thus, you would be isolated from the rest of the world to ensure your wellbeing and to tend to the wounds. Should somebody have wronged you, in his perception, then he’ll ensure that justice is served. 

Or, the relationship would have lost its luster and his solution to that would be to kidnap you. That, or you’re trying to pull away from him. That wouldn’t sit well with him - once you’ve entered a relationship with this yandere, you’re settled for life, whether you like it or not. As such, squirreling you away would be in order to fix your loyalties.

Russia would kidnap you to preserve your loyalty. Ironic, yet that is how it would work in his mind. Faith is good, control is better could be the leitmotif of his actions. There would be little seeds of doubt that would juvenate due to you keeping secrets or distancing yourself from him. Ivan would start to worry about you not liking him not that much anymore, and then his thoughts would start to spiral. That, or he would have the suspicion of somebody recruiting you to use you against him. In order to ensure that you wouldn’t betray him or leave him or harm him, he would just have to strip you of that power by kidnapping you. 

He would very well understand that you wouldn’t take it well, and he would do his best to calm you. Nevertheless, he would think that you’re overreacting. You would be secluded in a St. Petersburg apartment or in a far off cabin until you could behave yourself properly, then you might be let out into the public again. Though even that isn’t completely guaranteed since he would be a jealous man. 

All that aside, they would all move to coercion or kidnapping if you’d reject their advances long enough. They are yanderes here, after all.

[fastandcarlos]

Not So Insulting : ̗̀➛ Logan Sargeant

summary: although the fans around you don't seem to have logan's back, you most definitely do

You could see watching Logan from afar, his shoulders were low and his expression blank. His eyes kept glancing to a group of people stood just to his left, almost as if he was tuning into their conversation and not exactly enjoying what he was hearing. 

After a few moments, you walked across and stood in front of Logan, distracting him from what was around him, heart breaking at the disappointed expression that you saw on his face. 

Ever since it had been announced that Logan would be leaving Williams it almost seemed as if people suddenly had the freedom to say what they wanted. There had always been some conversations, but now they seemed to be getting louder with people relieved to see the potential end of Logan’s career in Formula 1. 

Yet, as you stood there too, things didn’t change, if anything their voices became louder, almost as if they wanted you to hear exactly what they were saying, 

“He’s been a waste of a seat for the past two years,” one of them spoke, immediately getting your back up. 

A faint sigh came from Logan, his eyes shutting as he tried to block out what was happening around him. You reached forwards and took a hold of his hand, reassuring him that you were there, trying your best to distract him once again from listening. 

“We might actually see Williams be successful again now,” another added, another stab into Logan’s back. 

“They must have been desperate back then to ever think about signing someone like him.” 

As much as Logan tried his best to not let you see how much the comments were getting to him, this time it was obvious. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you, his teeth bit down hard on his bottom lip as he tried to keep his emotions in check and not let people see how bothered he was.  

You stood and braced yourself for the next comment, but luckily for you both it didn’t arrive. You could still hear their giggles though, finding the funny side of berating Logan and his career together.  

It wasn’t the first time, and it wasn’t the last time, you’d had to stand back and listen to Logan be criticised from the moment he walked through the door, and it seemed it was going to carry on until he said goodbye too. 

You’d spent the past two years having to stand back and do nothing, but with your loyalties only with Logan now, there was nothing to hold you back from doing what you had wanted to do for the past two years. 

“Are you proud of yourselves?” You loudly asked. 

The figures in the group all looked around, neither of them knowing what to say as they spotted you, a nervous looking Logan just behind you, anxiously watching as he tried to figure out what you were doing. 

After a moment you cleared your throat, staring them down. “You’re supposed to be professional journalists and this is how you behave? Would you ever write what you’ve all just said in an article and deliver it to your boss?” 

Logan reached out in an attempt to take your hand, but you shrugged him off, knowing that you’d both let it slide for far too long. 

“I’ll be happy to write up about this in an article, the headlines would love this.” 

“Do it, see if I care. I’m sure if your boss knew how you spoke about other drivers then you probably wouldn’t even have a career anymore, right?” 

“We speak the truth.” 

“Do you? Because the Logan that I see is a hardworking, talented driver who has dedicated himself to that team over the past two years and it’s about time all of you saw that in him too.” 

A couple of them went to speak again, but before they could, you took a hold of Logan’s hand again and spun around, walking as far away from them as you could into a much quieter part of the paddock where you could be alone. 

Logan stumbled behind you as he tried to come to terms with what he had just seen, stunned by how you had come to his defence, finally managing to silence his critics, even if it was just for a few minutes. 

The two of you sat down behind the Williams garage, Logan’s arm immediately wrapped around as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, letting go of the heavy breath that he had been holding onto. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” he whispered closely into your ear. 

Your head shook, dismissing Logan. Having spent the past two years standing back and doing nothing, it was a now or never as to whether you were going to truly have Logan’s back. 

Logan smiled back to you as you looked across and met his eyes. “No one seems to be standing up for you these days, so that’s where I step in. I’m not going to stand back any longer, we’re not tied down to anyone anymore.” 

“I guess I’ve just gotten used to fighting for myself.” 

“You don’t have to look nice for Williams anymore,” you reminded him, “the only person you need to think about is you, that’s the only person I’m thinking about.” 

You felt guilty for taking so long to stand up for Logan but you never wanted to get in the way of his career. Now, you didn’t care, there was very little Williams could do soon, they didn’t have a hold over you like they once did. 

If they decided to post about your confrontation, you didn’t care.  Being posted about for protecting your boyfriend was never going to be a negative in your eyes, you were just wanting to show everyone else what they should have done for Logan too. 

“I don’t want them to forget how amazing you are Logan.” 

“I definitely don’t think you’ve let them do that,” Logan chuckled, kissing the top of your head once again. “Honestly, it just feels pretty cool to have finally had someone have my back, even if I’m not racing next year at least I’ll have you by my side to cheer me on.” 

In a way, you were glad to see Logan walking away from Williams, a team that had rarely bothered with Logan or showed him any support for such a considerable time. 

“You’ll be racing, somewhere, I’m sure of it,” you assured him. “The right time will come along, a team who see how brilliant you are and want to have your back too.” 

“Do you think a team will be able to handle the protective girlfriend that comes with signing a contract with me?” 

“As long as they help you and stick up for you, they won’t even know I’m there,” you laughed, “however if they treat you like nothing, I’m not going to stand back anymore.” 

Logan’s smile was wide as you spoke, his heart full knowing that you were there, even if no one else was, Logan could absolutely always count on you. 

“I’ll make sure to warn them,” Logan teased, nudging against your side. “They’ll probably make you sign a contract to make sure that you stay quiet.” 

If there was one thing you were definitely not going to do, it was stay quiet about Logan. You’d spent two years having to stand back out of the spotlight, but not this time around, wherever it was that Logan ended up going next. 

“Thank you for having my back today, well, every day. I love having you by my side and knowing that I’ve got you right there with me.” 

“I love you, I’ll always be there for you.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[crystalflygeo]

Last of her kind Emperor!Alpha!Zhongli + Slave!Omega!Dragoness!Reader-

cw/tags: mentions of slavery and past sexual abuse on fem!reader, A/B/O dynamics, mating bites, fingering, scenting, pet names, zhongli has a knot and alpha fangs and is not afraid to use them lmao, some nip and clit stimulation ig?? emotional roller coaster ngl.

notes: So remember a loooong time ago when I held a poll and one of the options was "dragon" and it WON?? well actually it was this, (dragon READER heh) it just got WAY out of control. 5.6k words and now I wanna make it into a whole series //head in hands// anyway ye have this weird lil funky AU I poured my sweat blood and tears into (also my heart and soul) idk why I am just so attached I love it so much plsss I have ideas fot other scenes with them already aaaaaaaaa &lt;3

Partially inspired by some of @silentmoths' fics holy shIT I LOVE DRAGON READER AND I LOVE OMEGAVERSE NOD IF YOU AGREE!!

Last but not least if y'all wanna be part of my pinglist uhh I'm making one now so :3c

Part 2 ->

Strange yellow leaves fall around you all over the courtyard…

“Fix your clothes, you have to look appealing… well, as appealing as a creature like you can be.” The voice of your Master calls out harshly, pulling and tugging at details in your outfit. It was a flimsy and silky thing, mostly see-through, rather elegant, but very revealing.

You’re used to it.

“And stop looking so miserable! You better smile and please this Alpha. He’s not just anyone, you know?”

You nod meekly, trying to hide the slight trembling on your body. This will be just another bonding attempt. Nothing else.

It will fail. Just like all the others before.

Silver chains clink and tug the collar at your neck, it shakes you back to the present as you stumble forward.

Master guides you through a maze of corridors, with sleek surfaces of dark wood, decorative lanterns and paper screens. They’re strange, covered in even stranger symbols that look nothing like the ones back in the desert. Your bare feet, used to rough hot sand, now walk along polished wood with your draconic tail dragging behind. Everything looks so lavish…

You’ve been brought all the way to Li- Liu-… Li-yue? A foreign country, to meet a potential client. Well, a client to your Master. You are just the merchandise: a dragonblood Omega. Rare, unique even, “exotic”.

But defective.

Your fists clench in nervousness. How rough will this Alpha be with you? You dread to find the answer. Alphas were cruel, ever since you remember you’ve been taught to please, be gentle, obedient and look pretty, but they were never any of those things. Alphas just took their pleasure and used your body as they wanted, usually until you were crying and screaming, begging for mercy. You just hope this Alpha would give you some pity and be quick… or give you time to rest in between attempts.

Though you had learned since long that your wishes don’t tend to come true.

What a disappointment. After I spent so much money and resources on you.

Such a waste of time, what use is there in an Omega that can’t bond?

Why do I even bother with you? You’re just good for the reproduction camp. Maybe that way you can produce another dragonblood.

This is your last chance, mutt. If you fail again, I won’t be bothering with you anymore.

You feel anxiety creeping on your chest, heart jumping to your throat as the dark thoughts invade your mind. Last chance… your last chance at bonding. At proving you’re not useless and stupid. At serving your purpose as Omega. What was happening to you was fair. You deserve to be punished and you should be grateful you have one last chance after all your failures.

You just want to… to…

Tears prickle at your eyes and you breathe in deeply, trying to contain your distress and hugging your own tail, rubbing your face on the fluffy tip.

Whatever happens today, your fate is going to be sealed.

The nest room is nice.

Like the rest of the place, it is rather elegant, dimly lit with neutral colors and wooden walls, filled with pillows and blankets that had a very subtle flowery aroma to them. Small cabinets to one side with some decorative objects on top and a full-length mirror on the other side. So much different from the barren cold stone walls and tents from the desert camps.

“Hm, pretty fancy.” Master says taking off your collar, your soft unblemished neck now on display, free from any claim. “Now…” He pulls at your hair and you wince, whining and lowering your ears on a submissive display. He wouldn’t hurt you right? You have to look pretty. “The emperor will be here shortly. Make sure to do anything and everything he wants. And you better smile, I told you.”

“E-Emperor?” You pale, eyes widening.

He scoffs and pushes you back, you stumble back into the mess of pillows. “That’s right. I don’t know why but he was very adamant to see you it seems. Perhaps he just wants the prestige of owning the last known dragonblood, hm? Another novelty for his collection, I’m sure. You should consider yourself really lucky. So…” He flashes his Alpha fangs at you with a growl and you whimper again, cowering. “I would suggest you do your best and don’t disappoint this time, he’ll pay a pretty penny for you.”

And with that he leaves, muttering something and almost slamming the strange sliding door.

And so, you’re alone.

Immediately your brain goes into overdrive. An emperor? You had been presented to various Alphas of high status before, wealthy merchants and high-ranking tribe members, but this… this was probably a whole other level.

An emperor had to have an empress, right? Someone of noble birth and high status such as himself, not a lowly sand lizard like you, with weird ears, scales, horns and a tail. Why would he want to see an Omega like you? Perhaps Master was right, he intended to keep you as a trophy in his collection, another pretty thing.

It was humiliating.

But anything was better than being doomed to the reproduction camp…

Maybe the emperor had a harem? You’ve heard of them before, some Alphas liked to boast having many Omegas bound to them. Living in this luxury, not having to worry about much anything except looking pretty and pleasing him once a while. Hell, maybe he wouldn’t even pay attention to you, you’d be just a glorified pet.

You could… do that.

Without noticing, your tail starts swaying after you, this could be a chance. Your chance. You just had to make him like you. Forget the bond. Don’t think about it. All you have to do is please him.

You start frantically arranging the sheets and pillows around, building the comfiest nest you ever had with all the extra material, scenting it with excited happy pheromones. You could do it, this was your chance.

You won’t fail this time. You’ll be pretty, obedient, submissive, the ideal Omega. You’ll let him use you to his heart’s content, sure you may be a little sore but it’ll be worth it if he chooses you. He won’t even care about the bond.

…Right?

You jolt when you hear the door slide slightly open again, your heart leaps to your throat as someone walks in.

Oh.

Is… he the emperor? … He’s handsome.

To be fully honest, you expected some fat pompous middle-aged man not this… perfect specimen of an Alpha.

Your tail sways a little with curiosity.

He looks only slightly older than you, tall, wearing elegant robes in brown and golden hues. His eyes are like a sunset: golden, warm, almost glowing. A red liner accentuating them. Long chocolate hair faded to amber at the tips. His scent was earthy and pleasant, subtle unlike most Alpha musk. Almost comforting and… familiar?

He seems to stare back at you with the same surprise, frozen for a moment, eyes slightly wide, he says something you can’t quite hear and it shakes you out of the spell. You suddenly feel a little self-conscious, curling your tail around you, ears down and resisting the urge to brush (hide) the scales at the corners of your eyes.

It occurs to you that you’ve been just staring like an idiot, you don’t know very well how to address him, nor know his foreign tongue. So, you simply lower your head in respect. “My Lord…”

You suddenly feel nervous. This is it.

You turn around, following the motions ingrained in your brain. Body splayed on the nest, arms tucked in, head down. Submissive, obedient. Your hands are shaking, you feel dizzy, heart thrumming in your chest, blood rushing in your ears.

You lift your butt just slightly, tail curling elegantly over your back, out of the way to expose the flimsy fabric covering your privates, properly presenting to the Alpha. You focus on trying to control your pheromones, letting out just whiffs of a needy sensual scent, worried of mixing in your anxiety and fear and displeasing the emperor.

You had to be pretty, enticing, compliant, and he would, h-he would…

A rather awkward cough has you tense. “There is… no need for that.”

You blink for a moment, taken aback at the rich deep baritone of his voice, so hypnotizing you almost don’t register his words. He speaks common tongue, but still, what does he mean? Isn’t this just… standard protocol for bonding? Isn’t he going to mount you?

You dare peek over your shoulder and see him sitting elegantly over his knees at the floor. He’s outside of the nest range.

He’s also slightly pink at the cheeks and pointedly avoiding looking at you.

Is this a trap? Is he testing you to see if you’ll misbehave? Your hands clench, nails digging at your palms, your breathing and heart increasing pace.

“I just want to talk, I promise.” He tries.

You hold the position.

He sighs, and then-

“Omega, relax.”

You almost squeak at the Alpha command. His voice, his will, seeps into your skin, your nerves, your very bones. You feel your muscles loosen up, tension leaving your body like a bowstring snapping and you lie on the sheets sideways.

Right right right, you’re tense, you have to be soft and pliant-

You look over at him and he’s… heading over to the little cabinets. He picks up a kettle of some kind and little cups that sit on the top, moving around calmly and elegantly as he seems to prepare something. Your head tilts and you gingerly sit up straight. Tail and ears down, curled up not unlike a wounded animal.

“Do you speak the common tongue?”

“Y-Yes!” You nod. “A little…”

“Good.”

The emperor seems… pleasant, he is calm and unguarded, so different from the cold intimidating Alphas you’ve met who like to show off, who immediately order you around. He even used an Alpha command on you but it felt… grounding. There is something equally eerie and entrancing about him and you feel yourself as much drawn to him as terrified of his imposing aura, and you couldn’t explain why. It’s a bit unsettling but also comforting at the same time.

He pours two cups and turns to you. You stiffen and he offers you one.

“Qixing tea is one of the most refined Liyue teas. It tends to be very bitter but this blend has a more pleasant taste, a little floral even. It is also said to help relax one’s mind.”

You carefully take the cup, not wanting to insult such gracious offer, though you’re utterly confused, shouldn’t you be the one serving him?

The cup is warm.

You stare at the golden liquid, small black dots sit at the bottom. This has no alcohol… right? It can’t be worse than snake wine at least.

You carefully take a sip, trying to imitate how the emperor is holding his.

It is… nice, a strong sharp taste but not bad, and very aromatic.

He’s looking at you expectantly and your tail and ears twitch. “I-It’s very good. Thank you, my Lord.”

He smiles and your heart skips a beat. “I am glad. Some say Qixing tea is for older people, but it’s frankly one of my favorites.” He stares at his cup with a somewhat nostalgic gaze, as if it brings him fond memories. “Ah, you can address me as Morax.”

You nod quietly and take another sip. Past the tea’s powerful flowery scent, you can now sense his Alpha pheromones, with him being so close and the air less tense. They’re strong but not overwhelmingly so, sharp and tantalizing, a refined foreign scent you can almost taste in the back of your throat. It stirs something in you, something warm and alluring.

“Do you know where were you born? Who are your parents?”

The question takes you by surprise for a moment as you shake out of your thoughts. Ah, he must be inquiring about your dragonblood. “I-I’m…. I’m not sure, my Lo- um… L-Lord Morax. As far as I know my mother worked at a-a heat house… no one knew who my father was and she passed away when I was very young.”

“I see… so you have no idea where you got your dragon traits from.” It was a sentence rather than a question and you shake your head meekly, taking another sip from the tea, ears lowering back.

“Apparently it could be due to recessive genes.” You once again repeat the same words you’ve heard all your life. You hate bringing attention to your dragon features, people either treat you like a rare exotic creature or a dangerous one. You didn’t know which was worse.

“Hmmm…” Lord Morax seems pensive for a moment, also drinking some of the tea. “Have you been with your caretaker for long?”

You look down. “Master has been in charge of me ever since I… p-presented as an Omega.”

“Does he treat you well?”

Your eyes widen, the question catching you completely by surprise. T-Treat you well? You are… treated like any other slave omega, if only being singled out by your draconic traits. He feeds you, he gives you clothing and education, he arranges the best matches he can for bonding, he even got you here in the first place. You owe him everything, you’re nothing without him.

So then… Why do you find yourself thinking back on all the harsh words, all the punishments, all the screaming and crying, all the… t-touches…

You gulp. “M-Master ensures I have the best living conditions and opportunities I can.” Is what you settle for.

He hums.

There is silence for a moment and lord Morax settles down his cup.

“I don’t think you’re aware of how special you are.”

Just when you thought he couldn’t surprise you anymore, he utters those words and makes your heart speed up.

Is this anxiety? Fear?

“Judging from what your Master has told me, you’re treated like quite the novelty, an exotic half-blood not unlike the Valuka Shuna or Kätzlein. Here in Liyue however those with traits like yours are called Xiānshòu.” The foreign word rolls off his tongue. His golden eyes fix on you and you freeze. “Also known as illuminated beasts. With immense power and longevity, even the half-bloods. They’re well respected and looked up to, why, some are even revered as deities...”

You? Such a fantastic creature? That can’t be…

“Seems to me like things are different in the deserts of Sumeru, however.” His eyes narrow and for the first time you notice his diamond pupils. They look like a snake’s. The same eerie glint he had a few minutes ago is back darkening the bright golden eyes. Yet, for some strange reason you don’t feel scared this time.

A shiver travels down your spine as you feel your instincts purr in delight. Protective… for some reason lord Morax is being protective of you. You don’t know why or how but you can feel it and it made your inner Omega preen inside. An Alpha wanted to protect you, care for you.

“Such a shame.” He adds, sounding almost disappointed but there is something darker underneath. Word simmering with… frustration? “You are such a lovely dragoness, worthy of every praise and prayer they’d sign in your name here.”

You’re very glad your cup rests at your lap, blushing furiously with trembling hands.

For the next few moments, he continued to ask some more questions. What you like or dislike, what you do in your free time, even something as innocuous as your favorite color. Time seemed to stretch into infinity as you grew a little more comfortable with your answers and the whole situation, as though you weren’t talking to an emperor, or even a potential master or Alpha but rather… someone who saw you for who you are.

You liked that. You liked him.

You wanted to stay with him.

You wished to-

“Alright, I think that’s enough. I will have a talk with your Master and we’ll settle things.” He stands up and dusts his attire a little.

Your breath stops.

He is leaving.

He is leaving.

Did you do something wrong? Didn’t he say he liked your appearance? Are you such a failed disgraceful omega? Your last chance at bonding. You didn’t even get to impress him. You want to call out to him, do something, anything. Panic rises in your chest, drowning you, freezing you. You can barely think, instincts screaming, begging, wailing in despair for him. This kind Alpha, this gentle, patient, imposing, majestic Alpha who’s too good for you and yet something deep inside you yearns for him…!

“I am very glad to have met you little xiānshòu.” A small smile tugs at his lips. Then, he turns and heads for the sliding doors.

So, you do the first thing that comes to your mind.

The empty cup falls from your hands, your footsteps thump loudly on the wooden floors, soft fabric clenches between your fingers.

As soft as the lips you crash yours onto.

…

It only lasts a few seconds but when you back just a little, ears low and tail curled up in apprehension, you realize what you did.

You’d kissed him, you’d kissed the emperor.

You’re shaking like a leaf, clinging to him for dear life. He stares at you with wide surprised eyes but you’d rather die right here for your insolence than live the rest of your days in regret.

His scent takes on an alluring hint to it and your inner Omega is overjoyed. Up so close it is almost irresistible. His face remains impassive, if a little tense, but you can see in his eyes something you identify very well… hunger, desire.

“Lord Morax… t-the nest… please.”

“Y-You don’t have to-”

“Please! Allow me to please you, allow me to show you…how…” You whisper against his lips, leaning in again as your eyes flutter close.

And suddenly his hands wrap around you and pull you close, cupping your face, curling at your waist, there’s something possessive in it and you feel slight vibrations as he growls deep from his chest against your mouth. But there is also something sweet, something delicate…

And for once, you want more. You want this.

How did you end up here? In the most beautiful nest you’d ever constructed, with the most handsome, kind, caring Alpha you’d ever met?

His kisses are deep and slow, completely unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You lie on the soft sheets as he looms over you, exploring your mouth with an unhurried pace, hungry yet not forceful, letting you timidly do the same at your own pace.

This is nice…

His hands run along your body, caressing your skin through your flimsy attire. His touch curious but gentle.

“May I?” He asks, tugging at the fabric off your shoulder.

You shiver, at his voice, as the pure want in it, in his eyes, in his scent.

“Y-yes my lord…”

“Hmm…” His kisses trail down your jaw down to your neck as he starts pulling the garments off. Careful, instead of simply ripping them apart, your heart skips a beat. “If we’re going to do this, you can use my name and not just titles…”

Your top falls off and goosebumps litter your skin, nipples pebbled as one of his hands cups your breast.

“M-Morax…” You try, shakily, as if testing out the word alone on your lips.

“No, little one. Zhongli. That is my name.” He kisses down your shoulders, nipping at the skin.

“Ah!” Your tail flickers around and you purr.

You take the initiative to kiss him this time, and your hands start roaming his foreign clothes, fumbling with knots and pawing at the fabric. He chuckles at your frustrated whine. You want more, more of this feeling, more of him. To touch his skin, cover him in kisses, worship him.

(Show him what a good Omega you can be.)

No…

You want to make him feel good and please him.

Elegant fabric falls down discarded as he shakes off the layers of his top and you blink surprised. The fabric was bulky and covered up his figure. Lean but muscled, tantalizing like honey. You immediately latch onto him, nosing, scenting, nipping and kissing, feeling the faint outline of his abs and muscles twitch under your touch. He smells so good, he feels so good…

Your Omega instincts are starting to cloud your senses more and more.

Suddenly one of his hands gently squeezes a soft breast and you moan at the sudden touch “O-Oh!”

“You’re sensitive here, do you like this?” He asks, massaging your chest.

You whimper and nod frantically, tail wagging behind you. You had never been this responsive to having your chest played with, though then again, it was rare… but his sensual touches were quickly undoing you. Wetness pools at your gut and you rub your legs together.

Lord Mor- Zhongli… leans down then and something wet flicks over your nipple making you gasp, before warmth surrounds your nub. You cry out even louder. He sucks and laps at it and you instinctively tangle your hands on his hard dark hair, your legs wrapping around his waist.

You groan again, too many layers on the way.

“C-clothes… off, please!”

“As you wish, my dear dragoness.”

He continues squeezing, kissing, caressing and lapping at your skin, leaving a couple of hickeys along the way and teasing his Alpha fangs against you as his attention descends through your body once more, continuing his trail of kisses along your hip. His fingers dip down the waistband of your mesh pants and when you raise your hips to help, he pulls them down.

You’ve been naked in front of others more times than you’d like to count. But there’s something oddly intimate and special about this situation right now.

Your ears lower in apprehension, and your tail flicks by your side, resisting the urge to cover up. Lying down with your legs slightly spread around him. Already flushed, sweaty and panting.

“…You’re gorgeous.”

Huh?!

“I’m so lucky to have found you.” Zhongli nips at your hip. “So lucky that you want me too.” He kisses at your inner thigh.

Your breath hitches.

You’re the lucky one. Completely overjoyed that this Alpha likes you, desires you.

The first touch at your core has you mewling.

Zhongli strokes at your folds, still gentle, finding you soaked as your slick coats his fingers. Your body jolts and you moan “A-Ah!” He smirks against your thigh and nips there again as his fingers move in circles, teasing, testing, before moving to your clit. A finger pad stroking it just so, making your whole frame tremble, like every nerve in your body is being stimulated.

“Mngh- please!”

His fingers travel between your folds. First one sliding in rather easily, pumping steadily as you shudder in pleasure, and then two, making you writhe, bucking your hips against the touch, pushing them deeper, chasing that feeling.

Your body feels hot, too hot. Every sensation blocked except that warm wet feeling down there, in your new heaven. Your hands claw at the sheets, a pleasant fog setting in and you can feel yourself slipping into your most primal needs. But oh, oh, not like this.

You want him. Need him.

“You- y-you! please my lord!”

Something snaps in the Alpha’s eyes and Zhongli growls. Golden eyes dark, swallowed by lust and need and you whine when his fingers leave you. You vaguely hear rustling noises and before you can protest again, he pulls you up back on his lap and oh…

He’s big.

His erection stands proud between your bodies, rubbing against you and you shuffle impatiently, nuzzling against him.

Yes, yes…

Zhongli helps positioning you, gives himself a few strokes, and you feel his cockhead kiss at your entrance, you whine and stare at him rather confused. “L-Like this? B-But I have never- This is n-not how-”

He kisses your forehead, your nose, and pecks at your lips. “I can imagine this is very different from how they’ve taught you Alphas mount Omegas, but I my dear, intend to make love to you.” He whispers, hot breath fanning your cheeks as he nuzzles you, so close, so intimate. Your heart hammering wildly in your chest. “Like this you will have more control. I want you to relax, enjoy, my sweet dragoness.” He kisses at your cheek, down your jaw to your neck. “May I?”

You can feel your eyes water. No one had ever told you that. No Alpha had ever been this patient or even asked your permission before. Words die on your throat as you stare mesmerized at Zhongli. Grateful. Incredulous. Completely enamored.

You nod, and he guides you down.

It’s different like this. So much different.

You bite your lip and whine a little once you start to move, his hands hold your hips as you raise them and sink back down on his cock, inch by delicious inch. You feel… full, but warm, good. Your insides clench around him and he groans.

Oh… you could get used to this…

“Hah… ah! … m-my lord... I’m…” You feel dizzy but in a good way, your body tingles all over and it’s exhilarating, addicting.

He leans forward a bit, nosing at your collarbone, soft kisses tickle your skin and he… he’s almost purring in delight, inhaling your scent. “I told you, you can just call me by my name... Would you let me hear it?”

You buck languidly on his embrace, enjoying this…sensual experience, these new feelings and sensations. His tender closeness, his intoxicating pheromones, his deep baritone.

Him.

“Zhongli…”

His name comes out as a needy cry and he growls, Alpha pride clearly satisfied. His hands roam your body just enough to shift position and pull you even closer, hips rolling in tandem, picking up speed, his fangs grazing your shoulder.

Your head is swimming in pleasure, fuzzy like stuffed with cotton, small little “Ah… ah… ah!” moans punched out of you. You’re vaguely aware of your nails digging onto his skin but you can’t even stop yourself, you need to hold onto something, anything.  

Even your tail subconsciously curls around his ankle (and he doesn’t even seem to mind), like every cell of your body is screaming at you to hold onto him and never let go.

Zhongli’s own breathing comes out in harsh puffs and satisfied groans as he buries himself in you over and over, the sound of skin slapping on skin becomes more prominent.

And then, he hits a spot that has you seeing stars.

Your eyes snap open (when had you closed them?) Back arching as if struck by lightning and letting out a high-pitched moan. H-How did he do that?! What was that? You don’t remember ever feeling like this in previous bonding attempts.

“M-more?” You mewl in delight.

Zhongli looks at you with a satisfied smirk and it only fuels the fire in your belly.

“Gladly.”

That same wonderful feeling travels up and down your body again and again as your moans and whimpers rise in volume, calling his name over and over. Zhongli kisses you, deep and passionate. Whispers praises and sweet nothings on your flickering dragon ears. Touches you so soft and reverently. Your body feels so hot, your mind going blank, you can feel the base of his cock swelling with his knot and the familiar coil of pleasure tightening as you anticipate it, crave it, more intense and satisfying than ever before.

And just as you reach that high, his fangs sink into you.

You come with a squeal, body tensing, clinging onto him, clenching on him as he lets out a deep satisfied groan, knotting you. Wet stickiness coats your insides and thighs. And everything feels right, just right. Perfect even.

It takes a moment to come back to your senses, and it’s to Zhongli’s hands rubbing circles at your back comfortingly, while he laps and kisses at the bonding mark he left on you.

And then the high comes crashing down.

The bonding mark.

Tears well up in your eyes and start rolling down your cheeks, your tail uncoiling from him and curling around yourself protectively, ears down.

Please no… this can’t be…

Please stay…

Please.

Zhongli immediately notices your distress, in your actions and your scent, completely different altogether. His own instincts going wild at the lack of a happy sated mate scent. “Darling, what’s wrong? I’m sorry did it hurt that much? Did I… harm you in some way or did something wrong?” Oh, he sounds so genuinely concerned.

You shake your head desperately. Of course he hasn’t.

But you will.

Your body will. Betray you as always.

No bonding mark has stayed in your neck for longer than a few minutes. They all fade.

Just like the alphas that place them in you.

And then comes the anger, the guilt, the disappointment, the despair, the loneliness…

You can’t take it. Not this time.

“S-stay… please…” You sob.

Your voice sounds so broken, so weak and tiny, absolutely heart wrenching.

And Zhongli embraces you.

“I will, my dearest dragoness. I promise you.” He kisses one of your horns.

You want to believe him but you can only cry harder…

The room is dark as your eyes flutter open. It takes a few minutes to adjust and for your mind to catch up. Where are you…? You look around at the wooden walls, nestled in comfy sheets, you see some wooden cabinets and a tea set-

…!!!

You jolt awake, tumbling some pillows from your fancy nest. Your last chance at bonding. The emperor. He was leaving, and then…!

You slap a hand against the junction between neck and shoulder and feel something there, a bandage… you try to stare at it confused, though it’s impossible from the angle. And then fear consumes you. What if… it’s not there…?

Your body is still naked, though you have been covered with a thick fabric while sleeping, as it now pools at your lap, your Omega scent and that of an Alpha mixed together pleasantly, you turn around.

The Emperor. Lord Morax. Zhongli.

He sleeps peacefully by your side, on your nest, after having mated you.

He stayed.

You stare at his handsome features, fair skin, dark long hair, strong jaw, muscled arms. His lips slightly parted as he breathes evenly. So at ease.

You want to reach out and brush at his hair, touch his face, kiss him.

You want this moment to last forever.

Looking up slightly you see the large mirror, see yourself. A tiny thing, with freaky ears, horns and a tail.

It was… good, while it lasted. Almost like a dream.

Tears start falling down your cheeks again and you try to be as silent as possible as you pull and lift at the bandage in your shoulder. And there underneath it is… something?

Your fingers trace a mark, a wound, it stings and you hiss.

No way. There is no way.

Hope flutters in your chest, your stomach flips and you feel dizzy, nervous. A bonding mark? Is it real? Is it still there?

You shuffle out of the nest as fast and stealthily as you can, standing in front of the mirror. Hair a mess, eyes wide, pale in fear.

And there it is. The clear mark of an Alpha bite, still rather tender. A claim. A bond.

You start sobbing as you trace it, touch it, feel it. It must have been hours, there is no way…

It’s there, it’s there, for real. You want to laugh, to cry, you’re still nervous, scared, hopeful, happy, a million things at once.

But how? Why now?

“Hnng… darling? Are you crying again?” You stiffen as you hear the voice, deep and hoarse, laced with drowsiness. You turn and see him sit up and yawn carelessly like a rishboland tiger. Elegant and intimidating like one too with his bright golden eyes, Alpha fangs and muscled figure. Still naked as well, you note.

“T-the bonding mark… it’s still there!” You exclaim to him, gesturing to it.

“You should let it heal nicely.”

“Y-You don’t get it!” You huff. “My Lord… it’s still there! I’m bonded, I’m yours!”

He chuckles. “Rather, I would say we belong to each other, now.”

Belong to each other.

That sounds nice.

You turn back to the mirror, still staring at it, poking it with a finger softly, as if afraid it’ll disappear, as if it was an illusion, a dream.

But it’s there.

“For years… for years I thought I was doing s-something wrong, that there was something… wrong… with me…” You cry softly. “No Alpha had even bonded me…”

Suddenly you feel strong arms curl around your frame, a chin resting at your shoulder where it kisses your skin, and then brushes over the mark. It stings but you welcome it.

It means it’s real, all of this is.

Zhongli inhales, taking in your scent. “Well you see my dear, a dragonblood… a xiānshòu like you, can only be truly bonded by one of its own kind.”

The words take a moment to process, to sit on your brain, and you frown confused, staring at him from the mirror. And then your eyes widen.

Golden antlers crown his head, majestic and almost glowing, small scales appear under his striking amber eyes, the color of burnt ocher. A large tail, even bigger than yours in golden and brown hues, sways lazily behind him, before finding yours and intertwining with it, the feel is foreign but not unwelcome. Like holding hands.

You turn around so fast you almost trip if it weren’t for his hold. The dragonblood features are still there, in plain sight.

Your throat feels dry.

“You… you’re…”

He raises a finger to his lips and shushes you, then smiles. “I am yours my dear. Just as you are now mine.”

You cling to him and hide your face on his chest as you cry. Overwhelmed, relieved.

Yes, this is where you belong.

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [MAYDAY] ❞

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader. summary: you've never seen hotchner so mad at you. but maybe it's a good thing. content warnings: power imbalance. age-gap. suggestive. most of these are more of a if you squint kind of deal. word count: 800+ a/n: not the best but i'm not gonna keep working on it whateverrrrr

You fucked up and you knew it, a terrible mistake, a rookie mistake at that. Prematurely telling a victim's family the squad had found and detained the Unsub and then having to deal with a father getting into the precinct gun in hand when it was leaked said unsub was getting released without any charges.

Containing him took all of your strength and Derek's help, but having to admit to Hotch's angry face, brows furrowed, that you were the reason that it happened... That was soul crushing. Your legs had been trembling from the moment he asked, his we'll talk later in a tone you've never heard directed at you doing nothing to help your nerves.

The ride back to the hotel after the actual Unsub was captured was a quiet one, so quiet you almost think you're off the hook. Aaron looks almost serene while driving, but you should've known better, you should've known he was just holding off.

The minute his hand gripped your wrist and followed you into your room you knew it though, he really wasn't the type to say something and not follow up on it.

"What were you thinking!?" That's probably the first time he raises his voice at you and your heart sank. What were you thinking? On how to bring some comfort to the family. So you weren't really thinking, not the way that you should have. You don't reply, it makes his eyes darken even more, as if you not trying to defend yourself made it worse. "Innocent lives were almost lost today because of your lack of professionalism!"

Lack of professionalism? Supposed to be a nicer way to tell it was because of your big mouth, but it somehow made you feel worse. You were a good agent, you did a good job. You wouldn't have been transferred there two years prior if that wasn't true. He was making you feel small, when usually working by his side made you feel like a superhero of some sort.

"I'm sorry, Hotchner, I don't know what else you want me to say." Your voice is much lower than his, your arms are crossed in front of your chest as you rub your hands on them, trying to find some sort of comfort in yourself as you dealt with the disappointment coming from the man you secretly harbored only the sweetest of feelings for.

He notices it of course, Aaron always notices the small ways your body shows what you're feeling, so his hands go through his hair and he's frustrated so he huffs loudly and he should just drop it off, he knows it, but you're his soft spot and he has to remind himself of that to avoid letting you slip up, you have too much potential to let it go to waste. "Being sorry doesn't save lives."

"I know that I—"

"You have to follow protocol." The way he interrupts you makes your eyes water and you know soon enough you're going to be a sobbing mess if he doesn't stop talking. You're not even a crier, so that's about to become much more humiliating if it happens in front of him. "They exist for a reason, you can't just do whatever you want, especially if it's something st—" it is your time to interrupt him.

But with a kiss.

Your arms are dropped to your sides, your feet slightly tipped to reach his lips with yours in a act of courage, yes, but mostly despair.

He could not see you cry. Seeing you mess up so bad was enough. You couldn't let him think you couldn't handle the job, the scolding.

And that was definitely not your brightest idea, but the way he doesn't even flinch before kissing you back with much more hunger than yourself, his right hand to your throat and the left pulling your waist shows you that maybe you should've done this much earlier.

You melt into his arms and you can feel every muscle on his body tense up when your hands grab onto his waist. His lips only leave yours when he can sense your trouble breathing, but Aaron doesn't do anything else that could separate you two, his hands stay glued to you, his eyes almost hypnotized by yours as you work on catching your breath.

"You're really terrible following rules, huh?" His mockery is followed by his teeth pulling on your lower lip ever so softly, but it still earns him a quick moan from you.

"Yeah but..." You stop yourself to gather just a bit more of courage before closing in on him, your lips brushing against his face as you got closer to his ear, your voice a whisper only, as if it made your following teasing less wrong. "I'm very good at following orders."

"I'll be the judge of that."

[epicyonbeforeidie]

I don’t usually write rants like this, but I need to get this off my chest.

With Cyrene who is clearly an Elysia expy coming to Honkai Star Rail, I sincerely hope she won’t be too much like Elysia. I wouldn’t mind if she shared some conceptual similarities, as long as it’s done right this time. But honestly, my hopes aren’t high.

I have a lot of thoughts about Elysia, and none of them are positive. At best, I see Elysia as the biggest disappointment in the entire series at worst, I outright despise her.

The thing is, I love “perfect savior” characters. They usually come with deep emotional arcs, internal conflict, and explorations of both the good and bad sides of humanity. That’s why Elysia frustrates me so deeply.

She’s portrayed as this flawless, idealized being loved by all of the characters, and even the writers. The narrative constantly screams at you: “She sacrificed everything for humanity! She is perfect! She loves humanity! She married humanity! She’s your wife too! - Don’t you love her already?”

But it all feels empty and shallow. Her so determination rings hollow because she never actually struggles. She doesn’t make mistakes. The story tells us she’s witnessed humanity at its best and worst but we never see this. Everyone worships her, and the moment there’s even a slight hint that she might doubt herself as a Herrscher, the writing bends over backward to reassure her that none of it matters because she’s just that perfect.

She doesn’t fight her nature. She doesn’t question her convictions. And because she never experiences genuine negative emotion, her “goodness” has no weight. She’s like a cardboard cutout that is sweet to the point of blandness.

What makes it worse is that there was potential. There were hints she could have been more than just a flawless goddess — maybe even morally ambiguous. But those hints go nowhere. It’s a waste of setup and a complete letdown.

Perfect characters can work, when their perfection is shown to be inhuman, and even evil and dangerous in its incompatibility with humanity.

Maybe I’ve been spoiled by Fate a series full of complex savior figures like Morgan, Castoria, Kiara, Jeanne d’Arc, and all of the Beasts. Each of them is unique, carefully written, sometimes heroic, sometimes terrifying. They struggle. They question themselves. They feel. The writing doesn’t beg us to love them it just shows us who they are and lets us come to that conclusion on our own.

I still cling to a sliver of hope. The Amphoreus arc is written by a different team than the Elysian Realm, and they gave us Phainon a brilliant example of a savior archetype done right. He’s full of doubt, hiding his negative emotions behind a mask of perfect deliverer. He’s broken, lost, and empty yet he still fights to find his convictions and protect the world.

So I beg let Cyrene, who seems to be another “savior” type have real flaws. Let her feel, struggle, and have a opinions on the world around her. That’s all I ask.