#dawn writes

[etherrreal]

“spare me the details”

Pairing: matsukawa x fem!reader Genre: angst with a happy ending (i promise lmao), friends to lovers Summary: matsukawa is a good friend, which is why when you ask for his help figuring out what to wear for your date, he agrees without thinking much of it. but the longer he spends watching you get ready, the more he realizes how much he doesn’t want you to go. WC: 10,446 Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, lots of suggestive lines, and on top of it all they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates) A/N: this fic happened because i wanted to write literally one scene of mattsun zipping up reader’s dress and now, 10k+ words later, we’re here :) also shoutout to luna for coming up with the fic title! <3 -Dawn

When you text Matsukawa right after his shift with a series of panicked voice notes and a string of siren emojis to match, he expects nothing short of a bug armageddon. He comes home fully prepared to find you standing on the kitchen counter, broom in hand as you frantically shout for him to get rid of whatever creepy crawling thing has invaded your home, the way he has on three separate occasions since the two of you moved in together.

Instead, when he arrives at your shared apartment, he finds you standing in the middle of your bedroom, heaps of fabric scattered across your mattress and pouring out from your closet. Thankfully, there’s no bug in sight, but you still look far from pleased, scowling at the floral-printed dress you’re holding as if it’s personally offended you.

You perk up when you spot him standing in your doorway, sleeves rolled up around his elbows and tie still half-hanging off his neck. You greet him with a welcome smile and a relieved “oh thank god” before letting go of the dress you’re holding, latching your hand around his wrist and tugging him inside.

That’s about all the warning he gets before he finds himself shoved into the comfort of your desk chair, watching as you turn this way and that in front of your mirror, trying on dress after dress in preparation for your date tonight. Apparently, the cute IT guy you met at your job’s last happy hour asked you out, and you need Mattsun’s help deciding what to wear.

Normally, this is your friend Aina’s job. It used to be Mattsun’s too, once upon a time, but that was before everything that happened your senior year of college, before things changed between you in a way that, for a while, neither of you were sure you’d be able to come back from.

Thankfully, the two of you managed to fix things in the end, but that particular part of your friendship, the part that made you comfortable enough to talk freely about things like romance and dating, was never quite the same. It still isn’t, if he’s being honest, despite the fact that the two of you live together now, despite the fact that it’s been a year since everything happened.

It’s why he never lets his hookups stay the night, why you never say anything about the extra pair of heels you see on the shoe rack that are always gone by morning. It’s why you only ever mention your dates in passing, why he never asks for details.

He’s honestly shocked you’ve asked for his help at all, but with Aina busy visiting her family in Tokyo, Makki off with his new girlfriend, and the rest of your friends stuck at work, he figures he’s all you have left. And because he’s a good roommate and an even better friend, he agrees to help, even though the idea of you going on a date with someone else –cute IT background or not– kind of makes him want to throw up, for reasons he’s not quite ready to explore just yet.

So instead of lingering on the thought, Mattsun decides to focus on something a little easier for him to admit to himself, like the fact that you look really good tonight. Then again, you always look good to him, which he supposes is another problem entirely. He likes to think he’s gotten better at ignoring it over the years, only allowing his gaze to linger when he’s sure your attention is occupied elsewhere, but the way you look tonight has him wondering how much longer he’ll be able to keep it up.

Most of your hair has been pinned up and away from your face –he figures you’re waiting to let it down until right before you leave– and there’s something gold and shimmery on your eyelids and cheekbones that catches the light whenever you move, highlighting your features. Your lashes are long and dark, a deep shade of red staining your lips that the more indecent part of him is tempted to smudge.

And if all of that isn’t already bad enough, you’ve also spent the past ten minutes strutting back and forth in every pretty dress you own. You turn back to him after slipping into each one to ask which looks best, hair all mussed up and fabric clinging to your hips, and all he can think about is how much more useful he’d be in helping you out of them.

But the two of you are best friends, have been since you met during your first year of university, when you ended up sitting next to each other at a bonfire neither of you really wanted to attend and bonded over smores and cheap beer. And last time he checked, you aren’t supposed to have these kinds of thoughts about your best friend, no matter how pretty their eyes are or how tempting they look in a little satin dress. Which is why, for the sake of your friendship –and, he thinks, for the sake of his own sanity– he keeps them to himself.

He likes to think he’s doing a pretty good job of it, too, allowing himself only a quick once-over whenever you step out in a new dress before averting his gaze and giving his opinion, determined not to appear too interested or eager. It helps that he has his phone to distract him, along with a bag of pretzels you left open on your desk that he keeps stealing from every now and then.

It works for the first few minutes, at least, until you’re walking out of your closet wearing what feels like your twentieth option of the night, and all he has to say, after barely sparing a glance at you, is that he likes the color. Never one to be ignored for long, you snatch up the closest projectile –in this case, your stuffed koala– and launch it straight at him, determined to get his attention by any means necessary.

Unsurprisingly, the plushie hits him square in the chest –he and Makki always like to joke you’d make a terrifying wing spiker– and he looks up to find you standing in front of him again, pretty red lips pulled into a frustrated frown.

“Ouch,” he says, feigning hurt as he picks the stuffed koala up and sets it back on your desk, though you both know he hardly felt it. Years of athleticism and routine gym workouts have left him with an impressive wall of muscle, if the appreciative glances you send him whenever he leaves the shower shirtless are any indication. “What was that for?”

“You know exactly what that was for.” You shoot him a flat look, hands resting on either side of your hips. The dress you’re wearing now is made of a red velvety material, with long sleeves and a sloping neckline revealing a generous amount of cleavage that has him nearly choking on his pretzels. “You’re supposed to be helping me through a crisis here, not eating all my food.”

“Hey, you’re the one who decided to have a fashion emergency during my dinner time. Excuse me for not wanting to starve.” He scoops up another handful of pretzels as if to prove his point, tossing them into his mouth while you roll your eyes. “And besides, I have been helping you. Didn’t I tell you the green one you tried on was cute?”

“I’m a grown ass woman. I don’t have time for cute.” You give a little huff of indignation when you say it, which, in retrospect, just makes you look cuter, though Mattsun is wise enough not to bring that up now. “I have time for beautiful, maybe even time for pretty, but definitely not for cute, which means I need you to stop being charming and start project makeover-ing my ass.”

“Ah, so you think I’m charming?”

“I’m walking away now.”

“I’m kidding! Hey, come on, I was just messing with you. I’ll help now, for real.” He’s still grinning when he says it, but he locks his phone to show you that he’s serious, putting it down on your desk and wiping his hands free of any crumbs. “I promise.”

And for what it’s worth, he means it. He knows it’ll be quite the slippery slope, giving his honest opinion about how you look without also giving away the attraction he’s usually a lot better at pretending he doesn’t feel for you, all in the service of helping you get ready for the date he’s still kind of bummed you’re going on. But you’re his best friend, and you asked for his help. And while the thought of you and your IT guy still makes him queasy, he wants to help you, and that’s precisely what he resolves to do.

You’re wearing a different dress now, something soft and smooth made of purple satin that cinches at the waist and clings to your curves in a way that has his mouth feeling dry and his face feeling a little warmer than usual. He watches you fiddle with the straps, snapping them into place against your shoulders.

He imagines his hands replacing yours, fingertips grazing the slope of your collarbone and brushing over your shoulders, sliding down to your sides. He wonders what the satin would feel like against his palms, how the fabric would give beneath his fingertips, shifting as he pushes it up and over your hips–

“Well?” The sound of your voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and immediately he tears his gaze away from where it’s drifted rather unhelpfully down to your ass. He does it just in time, too, because all of the sudden you’re turning around to face him, an eyebrow raised expectantly. “What do you think of this one?”

“...I like it,” Mattsun says evenly, after taking a moment to compose himself, though the sudden dryness in his mouth makes the words come out a little strained. He only hopes you don’t notice it, hopes his voice sounds steadier than the rest of him feels. “It looks nice on you.”

Any other time, you might’ve smiled at the compliment, maybe even poked fun at him for going soft on you, but now you just groan in annoyance, planting your hands on your hips and fixing him with an unimpressed stare. “You’ve said that about the last three dresses, Issei.”

“I meant it,” he tells you, because he did. “You look really nice in all of them.”

“But I don’t want to look just nice.” You’re pouting now, brows furrowing as you smooth your hands over the skirt of your dress. “I want to look hot. Like having him drooling as soon as he sees me kind of hot.”

“Drooling, huh? That’s a pretty tall order.” He raises an eyebrow at you, ignoring the way his stomach starts to twist at the reminder of your impending date in favor of flashing you a teasing smirk. “You sure your IT nerd’s gonna be able to handle that?”

You start to smile, but it only lasts for a few moments before you’re remembering your current predicament and letting out a tired, frustrated sigh.

“I’m being serious, Issei. This is really important to me. It’s my first date in a while, and I want to make a good impression.” You tug at the straps of your dress and tilt your head at him, eyes soft and pleading. “Please help me?”

And though Matsukawa is still far from being a fan of you going off with someone else looking as lovely as you do –though he’s just starting to realize how much he wants to be the one you dress up for instead– in all the time he’s known you, he’s never really been able to deny you of anything, and he’s certainly not going to start now.

It doesn’t take him long to come up with his suggestion. He shifts in his seat, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “What about the one you wore for New Year’s?”

“The black one?” you ask, perking up with interest.

When he nods, you turn to the mountain of clothes on your bed and begin rummaging through the pounds of fabric, pulling out the exact dress he was thinking of with surprising ease. He tries not to look too eager as you do, even though the memory of you in it is a sight permanently seared into his brain.

“Here it is. I almost forgot I had this one.” You hold the dress up to your body and tilt your head, questioning gaze searching for his. “You don’t think it’s too boring?”

“Not even close,” Mattsun replies, completely sure of it. You looked absolutely stunning that night, all bright smiles and silver-framed eyes, and he was far from the only one who noticed it. Looking back, it was probably the closest he’s ever come to telling you the truth about how he feels.

“Don’t you remember on New Year’s, when you walked over to us and Iwaizumi got all flustered and started choking on his champagne, but wouldn’t tell you why?” It takes a moment for you to recall the memory, but when he sees you nod, he continues, “it was because he saw you in that dress.”

You’re quick to wave it off, laughing like you don’t really believe him. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s true,” he insists. “It might not be as intense as full-on drooling, but I’d say it’s pretty close, all things considered.”

“You know what? I’ll take it.” You drape the dress over one of your arms and turn towards your closet, though not before pausing to send him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Issei. I’m gonna go try it on!”

With that, you’re off, disappearing back into your closet to change. It isn’t long after you’ve left that he hears your voice again, the sounds of your frustrated swearing only partially muffled by the door.

He calls out to you, asking if everything is all right, and that’s when the door creaks back open, your head poking out into view. Some of your hair has fallen down and over your shoulders, and you’re using both hands to keep the front of the dress pressed firmly against your body, pretty lips pulled into a frown.

“The stupid zipper is stuck,” you grumble, features scrunched up in annoyance, and somehow it’s both the best and the worst thing you could’ve told him at the same time. “I can’t reach it. Can you help zip me up?”

It takes him a moment to respond, his brain all but short-circuiting at the thought of having you so close to him, at the idea of his skin brushing yours, but eventually he manages a nod, muttering out a “sure” that sounds a bit too strained for his liking and wiping his palms against his pants as he stands to join you.

You step out and walk until you’re facing the floor-length mirror, and he follows until he’s standing right behind you, just a few short inches of space between you that suddenly feel a lot smaller now that he’s caught your gaze in the glass.

He knows the smart thing –the right thing, for both of you and for the sake of your friendship– would be to look away. To pretend it means nothing, even as he feels his pulse pick up beneath his skin, even as his entire body warms at the proximity, but he doesn’t. He can’t, not when you’re finally here in front of him, all bright-eyed and gorgeous, and certainly not when he’s this close to you in the way he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t want to be.

And maybe he’s just imagining it, but right now you’re looking at him like you’re thinking the same thing, like you’re just waiting to see what he’ll do next.

He watches the way you watch him as he gathers and moves the parts of your hair that have come loose, sweeping them away to the front of your shoulder and ignoring the feel of them as they brush against his fingers. He looks away only to locate the zipper of your dress and immediately regrets it, the smooth skin of your back and shoulders on full display making the dryness in his throat from before return with a vengeance.

He takes his time, savoring the moment despite knowing how selfish it is of him, as he begins to zip the dress the rest of the way shut. It catches again somewhere in the middle, his knuckles grazing your skin as a result. You let out a little gasp when it happens, a tiny, breathless sound that makes his skin feel like it’s on fire, one he would’ve missed if he wasn’t standing as close to you as he is now.

Immediately, his gaze snaps up to meet yours in the mirror. You look as surprised as he feels, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, like you can’t believe the sound came from you. The moment is ephemeral, your gaze darting away from his after only a few seconds, but it feels like a lifetime. He knows it’s all he’ll be able to think about for days to come, long after you’ve left for the date he really wishes you weren’t going on anymore.

He zips the rest of the dress up without any further incident, though the tension between you is still there, despite both of your valiant attempts to ignore it. He knows the smart thing –the right thing– to do right now would be to move his hands, to let you go and step away so that you can finish getting ready. He has to, because the two of you are just friends, and he has no right to feel the way he does about any of this, especially after everything that’s happened between you.

But Matsukawa’s always been a little bit selfish when it comes to you, and tonight is no different, especially when he remembers that little gasp you gave earlier, the heated look in your eyes as your gaze met his. So instead of moving away, he lets his knuckles graze your skin again, lets his fingertips trace down the outline of the zipper until his hands are resting on your waist.

And instead of stopping him, instead of pushing him away, you sink into his touch, allowing yourself to lean back just enough that your back can rest against his front. You settle against him like you belong there, so close that he catches the scent of your perfume, the same heat he feels spreading across his skin burning into yours.

It’s easy to forgive himself after that, to bring his mouth to your ear as his eyes meet yours in the mirror.

“There.” He’s so close to you now that his lips graze your ear as he speaks. It makes you shiver, just noticeably enough that he considers forgetting all about preserving your friendship and kissing you senseless right then and there. Against all odds, he manages to resist the urge, settling for giving your hips a light squeeze instead. “All done.”

“...Thanks,” you murmur, sounding as dazed as he feels. “What…what do you think?”

He moves his gaze away from yours long enough to take in the sight of you all dressed up, unsurprised to discover you look just as, if not even more so, beautiful as you did on New Year’s. The black dress is long and form-fitting, with a square neckline and ruched fabric that cinches at your waist and eases over your hips nicely. There’s a slit on the left of it that exposes a bit of your thigh, two thin straps against your shoulders holding it all up. And with your hair swept over your shoulder and that bold look in your gold-framed eyes, you are both breathtaking and completely devastating, the longer he stares at you knowing he can’t have you.

I think you’re the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen, is what he wants to tell you. I think I want you to stay home because I hate the idea of you going out with anyone else who isn’t me. But mostly I think I’m a coward and an idiot for having you right here in front of me all this time and not doing anything about it.

But he can’t say any of that now, because it’s late and selfish and not at all what you deserve, so he doesn’t.

“You look amazing,” is what he says instead, and as he meets your gaze again in the mirror, he can only hope you see how much he means it. “Your IT nerd won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

And he knows he should just leave it at that, knows it isn’t fair to take it any further, but still he tells you anyway, consequences be damned, “...I know I wouldn’t.”

Another murmur of thanks leaves your lips, an uncharacteristic shakiness lingering in your voice that he wonders might mean something more.

You still haven’t looked away. He knows now he doesn’t want you to. And he wonders, not for the first time, if maybe the risk to your friendship is worth it, if he should stop all this waiting and longing and just do something about it–

The blaring of an alarm cuts him off before he can get any further, one he’s sure the more practical part of you set on your phone well in advance to ensure you wouldn’t be late for your date. It shatters the moment almost instantly, leaving you wide-eyed as you finally seem to notice how close the two of you are, how long you’ve been staring at each other.

You swear and move away from him, slipping out of his grasp as you scramble across the room in search of your phone. You find it resting face-down on your desk and silence it with a swipe of your thumb.

You don’t turn back to look at him right away, almost like you’re taking the extra time to steady yourself before you face him again. He’s tempted to laugh, mainly because he’s pretty much doing the exact same thing right now.

When you do finally turn back to him, you find him standing with his hands shoved into his pockets, an attempt at appearing casual, despite the sinking feeling in his chest.

“Guess you should probably finish getting ready, huh?” Mattsun’s chest tightens as the words leave his mouth, lips curving into a smile he can only hope reaches his eyes. “Wouldn’t want to keep your IT nerd waiting.”

“Yeah.” It takes you a moment, but soon you return the gesture with a hesitant smile of your own. “Thanks again for all your help, Issei. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

He manages to choke out a strained “anytime” that he’s sure sounds unfairly bitter. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice it, excusing yourself to touch up your makeup before you go, and because he’s a masochist, Mattsun follows, hovering just outside of the doorway to keep you company.

And as he watches you apply the finishing touches to your look, letting down the rest of your hair and touching up your lipstick, that sinking feeling in his chest grows and grows until he can’t ignore it any longer. Until it makes him ask a question he very well knows he shouldn’t.

“So, how’d you meet this guy again?”

You don’t answer right away, the question giving you pause as you spare him an odd look from the corner of your eye. You know as well as he does that the two of you don’t talk about things like this, at least not anymore. You’ve both learned it’s easier for everyone if you just spare each other the details about the people you’re seeing, and though you never agreed to it outright, it’s a rule you’ve both followed faithfully ever since. He’s not sure your friendship would’ve survived without it.

You seem surprised he’s willing to break it now, and honestly, so is he. Still, you decide to answer him anyway, though the guarded look in your eye makes him think you’d prefer not to.

“I told you, I met him at a happy hour. One of my co-workers introduced us. We talked, danced for a bit, and then he asked me out.”

“Right.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorframe, hoping he sounds casual and disinterested, even though he feels anything but. “And was this before or after your fourth margarita of the night?”

You start to laugh, until you realize he’s being serious. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does. Three-drink you is fun and likes to dance. Four-drink you, however, has poor judgment skills. Remember Aina’s birthday, when you, non-existent upper body strength and all, tried to do a handstand and nearly gave yourself a concussion?”

“Key word being nearly.” You grin, a mischievous glint in your eye nearly identical to the one you’d had on the night in question, and when all Mattsun can think is how endearing it makes you look, he knows he’s in trouble. “Besides, you’re one to talk. The last time you got drunk, I had to stop you from jumping the gate at Aina’s place, and that was only two drinks in.”

“In my defense, I was being chased–”

“By what, her six pound toy poodle?”

“Whatever. That’s not my point.”

“And what, pray tell, is your point, Issei?”

“My point is, what if you don’t actually like your IT guy as much as you think? What if he’s actually a huge creep and four-drink you just didn’t notice it because you had your margarita blinders on?”

He keeps his tone light and easy, hoping he sounds more concerned than jealous, because while he definitely doesn’t love the idea of you going out with someone else, he doesn’t actually want to make you think he’s questioning your judgment. He just wants to get you to reconsider things a bit without actually revealing how much he wants you to stay, how much he wants you.

“He is not a creep,” you say easily, in a firm voice that leaves little room for argument, and Matsukawa does his best to ignore how your words make him feel like he’s being punched in the ribs, how that feeling only worsens when he realizes this guy might actually be good for you. “He’s a sweet, cute, thoughtful guy who wants to get to know me better. He even left me a note on my desk this morning saying how excited he is to see me tonight.”

“So he broke into your office instead of just texting you about it?” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “I don’t know. Sounds like a creep to me. I wouldn’t blame you if you texted him right now saying you have to cancel on him. In fact, I’d even let you use my phone.”

“He didn’t break into anything, you weirdo. He was trying to be romantic, and it worked.” You cap your lipstick and set it on the counter, using a tissue to blot away any excess as you quirk an eyebrow at him in the mirror. “Why are you being so weird about this, anyway?”

“What? I’m not being weird about anything,” he denies quickly, though it’s hardly believable. You cast another odd look in his direction as you toss the tissue away, but still, you don’t call him out on it. And while part of him is grateful for that, there’s another part of him that almost wishes you would. “All I’m doing is expressing my concern for my best friend before she goes out with a man who may or may not have a history of breaking and entering.”

“Yeah, well, lucky for him, I don’t plan on pressing any charges.” You give your reflection one last look and smile, satisfied with your work. That’s when you turn to face him, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as you pass him in the doorway. “So stop worrying so much, okay? I’ll be fine, I promise. Now come lock the door for me. I’ve gotta leave now if I want to get there in time.”

You head back into the hallway, and Mattsun, not having much of a choice, follows, though he’s not exactly happy about it. In fact, he finds himself dreading every step, knowing each one takes you further away from where he wants you to be, further away from him.

You’re by the front door now, dressed in your long coat with your purse thrown over your shoulder. You’re still talking as you remove your heels from the shoe rack and slip your feet inside. You mention something about there still being leftover stir fry in the fridge and how he shouldn’t wait up for you, but he can hardly register it over the sheer longing seizing his chest, worsening with every step you take towards the door.

And Matsukawa knows, long before he even says anything, that what he’s about to do is quite possibly the most selfish thing he’ll ever do in his life. But then he thinks about everything that’s happened between you two up until this point –about the fact that he has a playlist with all your favorite songs on it, about all the times he’s tucked you in after you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder, about the way seeing you smile feels like home– and he figures it’s worth it.

Because the only thing worse than telling you the truth about how he feels and being rejected, he decides, would be keeping it to himself and regretting it later, the same way he’s been regretting it every day this past year.

“Hey.”

He says it so quietly that at first, you don’t hear him. It’s only when he calls your name that you stop, pausing in what you’re doing long enough to flash him a curious look.

And he knows he probably shouldn’t, knows it isn’t fair, but he braces himself and says it anyway, in the softest and most sincere voice you’ve ever heard him use.

“Don’t go.”

You blink, eyes wide as your body stills in the entryway. “...What?”

“Don’t go out with him tonight,” he repeats, stronger this time, firm. “Just stay here.” With me, he wants to add, but doesn’t, at least not yet. But then he watches the look in your eyes change, the confusion giving way to understanding, to shock, and he realizes he doesn’t need to. “Please. Just stay.”

For a long moment, you don’t say anything at all. You just stare at him, stunned, silent, a million emotions passing over your face in the span of a few seconds. There’s definitely anger, along with complete and utter disbelief, like you can’t even begin to fathom the fact that he’s doing this right now. If he’s being honest with himself, neither can he.

All he knows is that watching you walk out that door and smiling like he’s okay with it would’ve been another lie, and he’s so tired of lying to you, to himself. He’s tired of pretending that all the stolen glances and lingering touches you’ve exchanged over the years mean nothing, tired of pretending that he wants you any less than he actually does. He can only hope that you feel the same.

You have to know exactly what he’s trying to tell you, why he wants so badly for you to stay. You’re too smart not to. Still, you refuse to acknowledge it, eyes narrowing and expression hardening as you cross your arms over your chest.

Your reply is terse, stubborn, a question that sounds more like a warning. “And why should I do that?”

“You know why.”

“No, actually, I don’t–”

“Yes,” he interrupts you, quietly, knowingly, because you do. You do know. It’s written all over your face. You just don’t want to admit it, the same way he didn’t want to admit it when you found yourselves in this exact same situation last year. “Yes, you do.”

“No.” Your voice is low and sharp as you speak, the harshest he’s ever heard it, even as your eyes begin to water, even as your lip trembles. “No, I don’t– you can’t– you can’t do this to me, Issei. It isn’t fair. You can’t, not after everything, not when you’re the one who–”

“I know.” And the worst part is that he does. He knows you don’t deserve this, knows that he has the shittiest timing ever, but he can’t help it. He can’t let you slip through his fingers again, not after learning what it’s like to be so close to you, not after seeing the way your eyes met his in the mirror, like you could feel it, too. Like you could want him, like you could still want him, despite all the ways he knows he’s disappointed you. “I know that, okay? I know it’s not fair–”

“Do you? Do you, really? Because if you did, you wouldn’t be doing this to me right now.”

There’s anguish in your voice, thick enough to coat every word you say, a hurt so deep that he hates himself for not noticing it sooner. Even now, you try to hold it back, determined to keep him from seeing it and finding out how strong it is, how long you’ve held onto it, though whether it’s for your own sake or his, he can’t really tell. All he knows is that watching it happen makes him hate himself even more for doing this to you. Guilt coils around him and nestles somewhere deep inside his bones, tightening like a hand around his throat.

“This shouldn’t even be a conversation. Not again. Not now.” You shake your head and blink back tears, the grip you have on your keys tight and unforgiving. “You’re the one who rejected me, remember?”

It’s enough to make Mattsun wince, even more so because it’s true. “It wasn’t like– I didn’t mean to–”

“But you did, Issei! You did. Last year, when I told you I had feelings for you, you let me. You let me pour my heart out, let me kiss you– hell, you even kissed me back, and then? Then you told me it was a mistake, that it couldn’t happen, that you didn’t see me that way and that we were just friends–”

“I know what I said!”

He doesn’t mean to shout –it’s actually the last thing he wants to do, especially when he’s the one who screwed things up in the first place– but that’s what comes out. It stuns you both into silence, though it’s nothing like the comfortable ones you usually share. This one is heavy and tense, weighed down by the gravity of all that’s happened between you, by all the things you’ve left unsaid.

He shuts his eyes, pausing to take a deep breath as he rakes a hand through his hair. When he opens them and starts to speak again, his voice is much softer, though the tension between you is still there, like a fever you can’t seem to shake, a chain that binds you to each other, for better or worse.

“I know what I said, okay? And I lied. I lied about everything. Back then, what I told you, it wasn’t because I didn’t have feelings for you, because I did. I do.”

The confession leaves you both floored, though for very different reasons. Him because of how easily it fell out of his mouth, how right it felt to say it, and you because you can’t believe it, because it’s the last thing you expected to hear.

“You what?” Your eyes are wide, lips parted as you gape at him. “But you told me– when did you– how could you even–”

“How could I not? You’re smart as hell, not to mention confident and unfairly funny. You’re impossibly stubborn, too, especially if it’s something you’re passionate about, and so much kinder than you give yourself credit for. And god, when I look at you? I can’t– I can’t stop looking at you.”

He takes a step forward, bridging the distance between you, and you’re so stunned that you let him. It makes him brave enough to reach out a hand to you, cupping your face in his palm. Your eyes widen at the contact, but you don’t push him away.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” he says, quieter now but still so sincere, as he brushes your cheek gently with his thumb. “So I need you to know, all of those things I said back then– they had nothing to do with my feelings for you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that?” Your voice cracks, a tear escaping your eye and rolling down your cheek, and it does something awful to his heart, knowing he’s the reason for it. “Why did you lie and say that you only saw me as a friend?”

And though the memory of what he’s done and of all the ways he’s hurt you still fills him with shame and regret, Mattsun knows that he owes it to you to tell the truth, so that’s exactly what he does.

“Because I was scared. We were friends for so long, and the way I felt about you –the way I still feel about you– I’ve never felt that way about anyone before. And all I could think about was if we decided to be something more, and things went wrong, then I’d lose you. And I didn’t– I couldn't risk that.”

The laugh that leaves your throat is bitter and humorless, even as another tear falls from your eye. He’s quick to wipe it away, though part of him knows even before he does it that it’s nowhere near enough to make up for everything he’s put you through. “So you decided to lie to me about it instead?”

He looks down, ashamed. “I’m sorry. I know it was shitty–”

“It wasn’t just shitty, Issei, it was fucking heartbreaking. You broke my fucking heart.”

You reach for his wrist and tug, removing his hand from your face and stepping away from him. The distance hurts you both more than you know, but you’re too upset to think about that right now, voice raw as you snap at him.

“When you let me kiss you –when you chose to kiss me back– you made me think that it was worth it, that you might actually feel the same way, only to take it back and tell me that you didn’t, that you wanted us to just stay friends.”

You’re practically shaking now, all that pain and heartache you’ve tried so hard to bury clawing their way back up to the surface, tumbling out of you before you can stop them.

“And hearing that fucking sucked, of course it did, but I accepted it because it’s what I thought you wanted, because our friendship meant more to me than my own feelings did. And now that I am finally making my peace with it, now that I’m actually trying to move on, you turn around and tell me that it was all a lie? That you actually have feelings for me?”

You shake your head, reeling and incredulous. Your eyes fill with tears while his heart aches to hold you, and it’s like you’re both reliving that night all over again.

Mattsun remembers it all too well, that night your senior year of college, when you, him, and the rest of your friends packed into Aina’s apartment for one of her notorious parties. The two of you stood together on the balcony, nursing lukewarm beers and lamenting your upcoming final exams. Neither of you were entirely sure what your plans were for after graduation, but what you did know was that you didn’t want to end the year with any regrets.

He thinks that’s what brought it out of you back then, what made you turn to him, nervous but brave, and say you had something you needed to tell him. He never would’ve guessed that you’d say you had feelings for him, or that you’d curl your fist into his shirt and press your lips to his only a few moments after.

And you’re right. He did kiss you back. He let you run your fingers through his hair and tug him closer, let his tongue dip into your mouth and his lips trail down your jaw and neck as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He would’ve kept kissing you, too, would’ve kept you breathless and whispered that he felt the same against your lips, the way he’d been feeling for so long, if it weren’t for the fear that planted itself into his head immediately after.

Because Matsukawa’s been in relationships before. They hadn’t all ended terribly, of course –he’s not that much of an asshole– but no matter what terms he and his previous partners had ended on, the truth of the matter was that they never spoke again.

And the thought of that happening with you –the thought of never speaking to you again, of losing you forever– terrified him, leaving him panicked and afraid enough to decide, right then and there, that no matter how much he wanted it –no matter how much he wanted you– this would be a road the two of you couldn’t go down.

So he pulled away. He lied, feeding you some bullshit line about not feeling the same and about the two of you being better off as friends, even though it broke his heart to do so, even though every fiber of his being ached to pull you back to him. Your lip trembled and your eyes watered, but you didn’t cry. You just nodded and accepted it, told him that you understood, that it was fine.

You didn’t see each other for the rest of the weekend. When you did finally meet up, it was for lunch at the campus cafe, a tradition between classes you’d established your freshman year. You agreed to stay friends, and then you never talked about it again.

Until tonight, of course, when he asked you to stay. Until right now.

It hits him, then, how selfish he’s been, how thoughtless. Before, Mattsun told himself that lying to you about his feelings was the best thing for both of you, the only way to ensure that your friendship would remain intact and to keep you from losing each other. Not once did he stop to consider whether or not that was something you actually wanted, and it’s only now that he’s realizing how deeply unfair that was of him.

Even now, he’s still being selfish with you, confessing his feelings an entire year later, as if that makes it better, as if he still has the right. And sure, you leaned into his touch earlier; sure, you let him run his fingers up your back and hold your waist, but that doesn’t mean you still want him that way. It doesn’t mean that you have to forgive him, either, not when he doesn’t deserve it.

Earlier, he thought being honest with you about his feelings was the right thing to do. Now he’s not so sure. All he knows is that he’s really, really sorry. That he hates himself for hurting you, and that if he ever really plans on doing right by you, then the first thing he needs to do is apologize.

So he does.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, soft, sincere, and you know how much he means it. You see it in the way his shoulders slump, in the sad, regretful way he looks at you. “I’m sorry for lying to you and for making you believe I didn’t have feelings for you, even though I did. I’m sorry for hurting you. And I’m sorry for waiting to tell you all of this now, even though I should’ve said something sooner. I’m just– I’m really, really sorry. For everything.”

You don’t accept his apology, but you don’t tell him to go fuck himself, either, which is honestly more than he deserves. Instead, you take a tentative step towards him, folding your arms over your chest. Your eyes are still a little watery, but you’re not actively crying anymore, though a few tears linger on the curve of your cheeks. He wants to wipe them away again, but he thinks better of it and keeps his hands at his sides, unsure of how you’d react if he did.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask, and it’s not angry or sad anymore, just curious, confused. “Say something sooner, I mean.”

“Because it was too late. Because you were dating again, and it would’ve been wrong of me to get in the way of you being happy.” He shifts on his feet, guilty and apologetic, as he averts his gaze to the floor. “I figured you’d moved on. And even if you hadn’t, part of me was still scared of saying something and losing you anyway.”

“Then why risk it now?” You take another step, and his eyes jump back to your face, watching as you tilt your head at him, soft and seeking. “Why is tonight any different?”

“I didn’t think it would be,” he admits, because honestly, it shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t supposed to be, at least, until you gasped when his fingers brushed your skin, the sound embedding itself somewhere deep inside his brain. It did something to him, that sound, woke something up he had almost forgotten about.

“When you told me about your date, I thought I could pretend to be okay with it, that I could ignore it the way I’ve done before. And I was going to, I was trying to, but then…” He lets his voice trail off, lets his gaze lock onto yours the way it did before, warm and wanting. “Then I saw the way you looked at me in the mirror.”

Your eyes widen a fraction, lips parting. Your gaze jumps down to his hands, then back up to his face, and you swallow like you’re remembering it, too.

“I held you, and you let me. And I know it was only for a minute, but it just– I don’t know, it gave me hope, I guess? That it wasn’t too late. That what I was feeling wasn’t one-sided.” He shakes his head and lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, a small, sad smile curving its way onto his lips. “I know it sounds stupid–”

“It’s not.” You take his free hand into your own, and he watches, stunned, as you lift it towards you, letting his palm rest against the side of your face. He wonders if you notice his pulse pounding in his ears, how fast his heart is racing. “It’s not stupid.”

Slowly, tentatively, he wipes away what’s left of your tears, and to his surprise, you let him. You even go as far as leaning into his touch, cheek pressing gently into the curve of his hand. You open your mouth to speak again, a breathless little sigh of his name he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of.

“Issei, I–”

The rest of your sentence is cut off by the sound of your phone ringing. It’s a proper ring this time, too, not an alarm like before. And Mattsun knows, even before you look at it, that it’s your date who’s calling, just like he knows, even before you turn to him with that apologetic look of yours, what you’re going to do next.

Because Mattsun knows you, which means he knows that you’re the kind of person who always keeps her word, who makes plans and sticks to them. And like it or not, you made plans to meet with your IT guy tonight, plans he knows you’re not going to cancel on, no matter how much he wants you to.

His only consolation is that you look really conflicted about it, eyes flickering down to your phone in your hand, then back up to his face. It’s still ringing, but you’ve made no move to answer it. He almost starts to doubt that you will. Almost.

You don’t bother to say who’s calling, because both of you already know. Instead, you take a deep breath, voice heavy with uncertainty as you stare down at your phone. “I…I told him I was on my way. I didn’t think–”

“That I’d be selfish enough to ambush you with all of my repressed feelings before you could make it through the door? Yeah, me neither.” He tries to laugh about it, but it’s forced, hollow. It sounds nothing like him. “And again, I’m really sorry for that. The point is, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. All of this is my fault, anyway, remember?”

You frown at him, looking very badly like you want to argue, but something in his expression must stop you, because you don’t. Still, there’s guilt in your eyes when you meet his gaze again, and though it should make him feel better, he thinks it just makes him feel worse. “I have to go.”

“I know.” He brushes his thumb against your cheek once more before letting his hand fall back to his side. The smile he gives you is pained, sad. It doesn’t meet his eyes. “Be safe, all right?”

He takes a step back, letting you go for the second time in the past year. It feels just as awful and heartbreaking as it did the first, but he refuses to feel sorry for himself. He’s already been selfish enough with you tonight by confessing to you when you were halfway out the door. The least he can do for you after all that is to give you the space to move on.

The steps you take towards the door now are hesitant, unsure, so different from the way you felt only moments ago. It hurts, watching you walking away from him, but this time, he knows better than to stop you.

“Issei?” The sound of your voice draws his attention back to you, as you turn from the now open door to look at him from over your shoulder. “We’ll talk when I get back, okay?”

He doesn’t trust himself enough to speak, so he settles for just nodding. Just like before, you spend longer than you need to just looking at each other, gazes locked, a million things left unsaid between you.

And just like before, you’re the first to turn away, the door shutting quietly behind you.

The sound of your key turning in the lock makes Mattsun jolt up from the couch. He’s been laying there sulking ever since you left, a bowl of popcorn resting on his chest and a lukewarm beer in his hand.

He scrambles to sit himself up into a slightly less pathetic position, discarding the bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table. He considers putting the beer there, too, but ultimately decides against it, knowing you’d chew him out for not using a coaster. He ends up putting it on the floor instead and forces himself to stare at the tv in front of him, an old movie playing on the screen that he’s hardly paid any attention to, too busy stressing out over how your date was going and what the future of your relationship will be after all of this.

A quick glance at his phone confirms that it’s been less than an hour since you left. Forty minutes, at most. He wonders if that’s a good thing or a bad one. Don’t successful dates usually last longer? Or are you back now to tell him that things went so well that you have no interest in talking to him ever again? He isn’t sure, and the uncertainty makes him want to throw up.

The door opens and shuts, and he hears the usual sounds of you settling back into your apartment, the jingle of your keys in the bowl, the click of your heels on the shoe rack. Your feet pad across the floor, and then you appear at the foot of the couch, wearing the dress he picked out.

You look lovely. You always do. You’re a little nervous, too, standing with your hands clasped behind your back, a hesitant look in your eyes as you greet him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he replies, for lack of anything else to offer. He gives a little wave, too, though it hardly does anything to ease the tension between you.

You nod at the couch. “Do you mind if I—?”

“Yeah, sure— I mean, no, of course I don’t mind. Go for it.” He shifts to give you a little more space, and you settle into the spot next to him, bringing your legs up to your chest. It’s tense and awkward, the complete opposite of how things usually are when you’re with each other. He doesn’t look at you when he clears his throat and speaks again. “You’re home early.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be,” is your quick reply. It’s blunt and honest enough to make him smile, despite how weighted things are between you now. “Earlier today, I was planning on spending the whole night enjoying my date, until this guy I know ruined it all by confessing his feelings for me right before I left.”

“That guy sounds like an asshole,” he says, only half-joking, and when he turns back to you and sees the way you start to smile, he figures it’s worth it. He leans back against the couch, running a hand through his hair. “You must really hate him, huh?”

“That’s the thing.” You reach out and take one of his hands, sliding your fingers through his own. It’s something you’ve done a million times before, but it feels different now, warm and deliberate in a way that has his heart racing. “I don’t.”

It surprises the hell out of him, hearing you say that –because honestly, after everything he’s done, you should hate him– but it also fills him with relief, makes him let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Still, it isn’t long before guilt starts to wash over him again, an awful, ugly thing that makes him want to draw into himself, if only you weren’t still holding onto him.

Mattsun looks down at your linked hands. Your grip is firm and tender, your skin warm and welcome against his, and all he can think is that he doesn’t deserve it. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. After everything I put you through, you should hate me.”

“But I don’t. It’s true, what you did was stupid and selfish. You never should’ve lied to me in the first place, but it’s not like you did it to hurt me on purpose. You actually thought you were doing what was best for me, in your own weird way. And yeah, it was dumb as hell, but it’s not enough to make me hate you.”

You hold his hand a little tighter, squeezing your fingers around his. He wonders if you know how much it means to him now, how terrified he was at the thought of losing you.

“I could never hate you, Issei,” you say, and the honest, earnest way you meet his gaze makes him believe you. “I just wish you would’ve told me the truth sooner.”

“I should’ve been honest with you from the beginning. I’m sorry that I wasn’t.” He reaches out to you with a free hand, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. “But mostly I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“I know. I forgive you.” You give his hand another gentle squeeze, brushing your thumb along the back of his skin. “Which is why I never actually made it to the restaurant for my date.”

He blinks, eyes widening. The shock is almost enough to make him drop your hand, but he holds fast, even as his gaze turns incredulous. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, really. I tried to forget about everything that happened before I left, but all I could think about was you. I was halfway to the restaurant when I realized I couldn’t go through with it. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us, but mostly to him. So I called him and told him I couldn’t do it, and then I came back here.”

Mattsun tries very hard to hide his grin, but when you nudge at his thigh and flick his forehead with your free hand, an unamused expression on your face, he realizes he’s probably doing a shitty job at it.

“You could at least pretend to feel a little bad, you know,” you scold him, though there’s no real bite to it. “He’s a good guy.”

“Hey, I do feel bad.” The doubtful look you give him makes him reconsider his answer. “Sort of. Not really.”

You roll your eyes, muttering something about him being too smug for his own good, but you don’t stop him when he wraps his free arm around your shoulders, letting him pull you into his side.

“Honestly, I’m just happy you came back,” he says, soft and vulnerable, the way you always seem to make him. “I was really scared that you wouldn’t.”

You rest your head against his shoulder and shrug in a noncommittal fashion, though the way you nuzzle into him and squeeze his hand is nothing short of comforting. “Yeah, well, it was either that or find a new roommate, and honestly, in this economy, it just wasn’t worth the trouble.”

Now it’s Mattsun’s turn to roll his eyes, pretending to be annoyed, even as his lips curl into a smile. “Yeah, yeah, we get it, you’re hilarious.”

“Damn right I am. What was it you said again?” You lower your voice, teasing and playful, delivering an impression of him that’s not even slightly accurate but still makes you throw your head back and cackle like you’re the funniest person in the world. “Oh, baby, you’re so smart and confident and unfairly funny, I can’t stop looking at you–”

Mattsun’s entire face goes red, and he has no choice but to tackle you, the rest of your sentence fading into a gasp which is quickly followed up by a protest as he wrestles you on the couch. All of a sudden, you’re on your back, body pressed between him and the cushions as he hovers over you.

Then his hands are at your sides, tickling you into submission. You gasp and laugh as you try to roll your way out of his grasp and into freedom, and pretty soon he’s laughing, too, and all that tension and anxiety from before disappears, leaving behind the comfort and familiarity you’re used to, the one that feels like home.

Eventually, he takes pity on you, and your wrestling match turned tickle war ends, allowing you both to catch your breath. Still, he doesn’t let you go, easing himself up on his forearms to keep his weight off you, face hovering only inches above your own.

“I meant what I said before, you know. I really am sorry. For everything.”

“I know.” You brush your thumb along his jaw, eyes tracing the movement before flickering back up to meet his own. “So where does this leave us?”

“Wherever you want. I never should’ve lied to you, no matter what my reasons were. And I definitely shouldn’t have waited so long to tell you the truth. It was unfair of me to make that decision for the both of us in the first place. So whatever happens next, wherever we go from here, it’ll be up to you.”

He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in. You seem satisfied by his response, if the way your eyes soften is any indication, and nod for him to continue.

“If you want me to walk away, then I will.” It’ll break his heart and hurt like hell, of course, but he’ll do it, if that’s what you want, because he meant what he said. What happens from here on out will be on your terms, not just his. “If you want to stay friends, then we will. And if you want us to try dating, I’ll be outside your room door at 7 tomorrow night to pick you up.”

You pause to consider it for a moment, tilting your head, and then the bright look in your eyes, the one he’s always loved, darkens just a bit, turning into something wanting, something deliberate. Something that looks like desire.

“And what if I want you to kiss me?” you ask, in that bold and daring way of yours, the one that drew him to you in the first place.

Mattsun’s eyes widen, heart nearly careening out of his chest at your words. Every bone in his body urges him to lean down, to close the distance between you and press his lips to yours in the way he’s been wanting to all night.

Still, he finds it in himself to pause, drawing back enough to meet your gaze and ask, “Are you sure?”

You end up closing the distance for him, teeth grazing his bottom lip and making him groan. “Very sure.”

He doesn’t hesitate anymore after that. He tilts his head and presses his lips to yours in a way that has you both sighing, mouth moving in tandem against your own. Your hands tangle in his hair while he uses one of his to grip at your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin as he lifts your leg and guides it to wrap around his waist.

You’re both breathless when you pull away, lips smudged with red, pupils blown wide. Matsukawa thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful. Your hands move from his hair to cup his face, thumbs brushing against his jaw.

“You gonna run away this time?” you ask.

“Never again,” he swears, turning his head just enough to press his lips to the inside of your palm. “I promise.”

And it’s a promise, you’re pleased to note, that he never fails to keep.

Written by: Dawn

#matsukawa x reader #mattsun x reader #matsukawa issei x reader #haikyuu x reader #matsukawa imagines #haikyuu imagines #matsukawa x y/n #matsukawa x you #haikyu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #hq x reader #our writing #matsukawa angst #haikyuu angst #dawn writes

[mycelium-menace]

Happy holidays @yoshiintheweb !!! This is my gift to you for the @mcytblrholidayexchange. I hope you enjoy!

I saw Vampire Fwhip in your requests and got very excited, because I have been obsessed with Dracula this year. I hope you enjoy this Roseblings/Wither Rose Alliance vampire au! The playlist has songs that are vampire-coded (to me), as well as songs that just fit the vibe. The fic is epistolary like the original Dracula novel. It's sometimes serious, sometimes silly, and hopefully a lot of fun to read. Fic under the cut :)

Fwhip’s Diary, Sept. 17

So, my teeth are definitely getting sharper.

That shouldn’t be a surprise, but it’s definitely going to take some getting used to. You don’t just wake up to your teeth being different and say “Oh yeah, that’s not weird at all. Totally fine. Already adjusted to it.” Like, you don’t realize how well you know your teeth until they’re wrong. Ugh.

It is fine though… I think. We still have time before the transformation is irreversible. Between Gem and I, we’ll figure it out soon. That’s what we’ve always done.

It’ll be fine.

Right?

Gem’s Diary, Sept. 22

I finally got my hands on that book on vampire lore! Who knew the occult section of our local library would be so popular? (And to that, who even knew our local library even had an occult section??)

It has the best recipe I’ve found for a blood replacement meal for Fwhip, and this one doesn’t even need any sheep’s blood or expensive coconut water! Fwhip seems to like it pretty well too, which is an added bonus.

The rest of the book was pretty useful, beyond the basics (avoid sunlight, garlic, wolfsbane, silver, giant stakes in the heart, you name it.) It had some pretty good tips on how to slow the transformation, and of course what to do when we find the vampire who started all this.

We still don’t have any leads on said vampire, but I’m optimistic. It’s most likely they’re in this town or the next town over since they usually have to rest in their original grave during the day. Honestly it’s not surprising, all things about our local history considered...

Fwhip’s Diary, Sept. 30

We finally told Sausage. He wasn’t really buying my “sudden garlic allergy” story to begin with, and he was asking a lot of questions, so we figured we might as well let him on it instead of keeping secrets from him. And he’s taking the news pretty well actually! It turns out one of his cousins is a werewolf, which is… not quite the same thing? But his heart is in the right place.

He’s really enthusiastic about helping us with all this, which is helpful because he’s the only friend we know with a car. We want to drive to Dogwood Grove to investigate one of their graveyards. It’s the oldest one in the county, with a proper mausoleum and everything. Maybe we’ll find that vampire’s hideout and get him to turn me back. Maybe we won’t even have to use the crossbow I’m building.

Gem’s Diary, Oct. 2

This isn’t strictly related to our research, but I thought it was interesting. The author of that vampire lore compendium, X. Thorn, also wrote a book on demonology, and I was curious enough to check it out too.

Apparently Thorn was an expert on all things occult, but also just a little… weird. I suppose that comes with the territory. He wanted to summon a demon army and conquer the world. Or maybe become a demon? It wasn’t super clear by the end of the book to be perfectly honest. He was kind of obsessed with some demon called Xornoth that he wanted to summon (or maybe it was his demon-sona? it’s not really clear which of those it was, and he published these books like a hundred years ago so we can’t exactly ask him.) Incidentally, Thorn was from right here in Rivendell. I wonder if we’ll come across his name any more during our search.

Fwhip’s Diary, Oct. 3

Well, Sausage was the only friend we knew with a car. Now we’re all out of luck.

Last night we were coming back from a research trip to Dogwood Grove when a white fox ran out onto the road in front of us. Sausage swerved and luckily missed it, and his car wound up in the ditch. We’re all safe, if a bit shaken, but his car is totaled.

It’s weird… I didn’t know we had many foxes in these parts, much less arctic-looking foxes? I mean, I guess that’s not the absolute weirdest thing about this town (I’m literally turning into a vampire right now), but it’s still unusual.

In any case, we need to figure out a new ride soon. The recipe Gem found for substitute blood is fine, but I’m starting to get thirstier. A lot thirstier...

Gem’s Diary, Oct. 5

I’ve noticed Fwhip isn’t sleeping much anymore.

He stays up most of the day when we’re doing our research, although he can’t go outside without SPF 1000 and my old floppy beach hat. At night I usually find him in the garage working on his inventions. He’s always been a gearhead, but he only ever throws himself into his work to this extent when something is seriously bothering him. When I ask him how he’s taking all this he insists he’s fine, but… well, I’ve known him my whole life. I know when he’s lying.

There have been a couple recent incidents at night when I wake up in the small hours to find him standing at the bedroom window just staring. I call out to him, but he doesn’t hear me. It seems like he’s sleepwalking, which is something he’s never done our whole lives. After a few minutes he turns, looks at me with eyes that look right through me, and silently goes back downstairs. I ask him about it in the morning but he doesn’t remember any of it.

Fwhip’s Diary, Oct. 9

Good news, we found someone with a car who’s willing to help us get around! Bad news, it’s Sausage’s cousin… the werewolf.

Gem’s Diary, Oct. 9

Don’t get me wrong, Pearl seems really nice, and I’d probably get along with her great in any other circumstance. The problem is, well, the circumstance. I guess vampires and werewolves don’t exactly get along? It’s hard to describe the feeling I get around her, but I’m just so uneasy. I mean, for her part she’s polite to me, even if she might feel the same as I do.

I guess it’s good to have her on the team, and anyone to help us fight the vampire who turned me is good to have along. I just don’t want to have her around any more than we need to for right now. I’ll talk to Gem about that in the morning when she wakes up, hopefully she’s on the same page as me.

Pearl is the coolest person I think I’ve ever met. She has a van called Gilda that’s covered in sunflowers, she lives on a farm, she’s a classically-trained fencer, and she’s a werewolf?! I love her. I want her to join our group and also stay forever.

Fwhip’s Diary, Oct. 13

Gem found something in one of the books about hypnotism, and we decided to give it a try. It’s supposed to help slow the transformation process, which would be good because I feel less and less like myself every day.

The thing is, when I was in the trance I kept getting these visions. There were shapes I couldn’t make out at first, and a smell of somewhere damp and musty, and the sound of stone on stone. But then I saw myself standing in a cemetery, right in front of an old mausoleum. There was an angel statue next to it which was pointing at the doorway, and a great big oak tree behind it. I really get the feeling that I’ve seen this before. I just can’t remember where.

I’m not really sure if the hypnotism is working to hold off the transformation. My teeth – fangs, really – are sharper than ever before. And last night I dreamed I was flying through the night sky on dark wings. At least, I hope it was a dream.

Gem’s Diary, Oct. 18

We found the mausoleum from Fwhip’s vision! And get this, the family it belongs to? The Thorn family. That’s right, the same X. Thorn who wrote all those occult books. Somehow I knew he would come back up.

I did some more reading, and it looks like Thorn had a half-brother named Scott. Scott was actually one of Rivendell’s mayors, and he and his brother had a couple of public clashes that led to him stepping down from his mayoral seat. Then a few years later, he just apparently disappeared without a trace. In one of his last journal entries before his disappearance, he lists a bunch of symptoms eerily similar to vampirism: aversion to sunlight, sudden allergies to nightshade-family plants, and he couldn’t bring himself to enter the cathedral he had once attended regularly. If I’m right that Thorn was behind those incidents, we may have a solid lead. I’m going to see if I can find a picture of him to show Fwhip. That may help to confirm it.

I think we’re getting very close. I just hope we’re quick enough.

Fwhip’s Diary, Oct. 18

As soon as Gem showed me a portrait of X. Thorn, I knew that was who we’re after. It was just an old painting, but it sent a chill down my entire body. I would know that face anywhere. That’s the face that keeps me up at night. Those were the eyes I saw that night. The eyes of Xornoth, Dark Lord of the Night.

I know what we have to do now. Even if it destroys me, which the books say is about a 50/50 chance, we have to stop Xornoth for good.

I won’t let this happen to anyone else.

Gem’s Diary, Oct. 27

I’m starting to agree with Fwhip about garlic to be honest. We just had to buy, like so much. Garlic cloves, garlic flowers, garlic salt, garlic powder. It’s all for the binding ritual, which will hopefully go off without a hitch and get Fwhip back to normal without complications.

With the garlic, we have everything we should need now. Fwhip has his contraptions, I have the charged crystals, and Sausage got us some holy water. The only thing now is to wait for the next full moon.

Fwhip’s Diary, Nov. 6

Tonight was the night. It took a while for us to prepare everything, but we finished right before dusk. We all waited just outside the mausoleum door until we heard the scraping of stone against stone. Not long after, we heard an unearthly growl. That was our cue.

We found him trapped in the binding circle, spitting and hissing. When he saw us there, he got quiet for a second, and then started to laugh. This is the part I’d like to say that we were super cool and didn’t cower at all… and you know what? This is MY diary, and I want to keep my cool image. So yeah, we were like, “Hey Xornoth, turn me back into a human NOW or else we’ll send you back to your grave.” And he was like, “Oh no, please spare me! You’re too cool and that crossbow is super sick and-”

Gem’s Diary, Nov. 6

That’s not what happened.

Fwhip’s Diary

Yes, it totally is!

Gem’s Diary

Oh my god.

Fwhip’s Diary

Alright then, how would you tell it?

Gem’s Diary

Sausage screamed and your voice cracked when you were trying to confront Xornoth. And then he laughed at you. Pearl had to be the one to force him into starting the ritual to turn you back.

Fwhip’s Diary

Well, you also screamed.

Gem’s Diary

I’m not denying that! I’m just trying to keep you to the facts. Geez.

Fwhip’s Diary

In any case, the process worked! I have a reflection in the mirror again, and my teeth are slowly going back to normal. And we managed to banish Xornoth, or Thorn, or whatever you want to call him, back to his grave for good. A win all around, I’d say!

The one thing left that’s bothering me is, I think we’re missing one of the vials of blood replacement from the fridge. Gem was meticulous when she made those, with a date labeled on each vial so we could track my intake. The only other people who knew about those are Sausage and Pearl, and both of them swore they didn’t touch it. I just hope no one drank it. It has nasty consequences if you’re not already a vampire.

Well, that’s a problem for another day. At least we know none of our friends were dumb enough to drink it, right?

...

...

Sausage’s Diary, Nov. 7

I’M A VAMPIRE NOW??? THIS IS SO AWESOME!!!!1!! I CAN’T WAIT TO SHOW PEARL!!! :D

#dawn writes

[thunder-at-dawn]

Yearning

word count: 2,311

summary: sometimes, you don’t realize how much you miss something until it’s right in front of you.

this fic is a bit different then my usual ones! i played around with my writing style, and it’s pretty much half tickle fic, half me exploring characterization stuff. it’s a tad bit messy but whatever. anyways i haven’t written any eternalduo fics since last year, and that is too much time for me to not write about them. enjoy! :D

warning: this is a sfw tickle fic! don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable :]

extra notes: this fic takes place a couple of days after c!foolish joined the smp, in january of 2021. also, this fic is platonic. if you tag this as romantic i will fight you in a denny’s parking lot at 3am /neg

Foolish didn’t think he would ever see her again. And he still hasn’t, in a way.

When the totem of death had met Eret, she was a powerful being. She could defeat anyone in battle, yet still had the most relaxed, carefree, whimsical personality out of anyone that he had ever met. It was a perfect balance of light and darkness.

When the totem of life had met Eret, she was frantic. Uptight. Cautious. And he didn’t really blame her. She was a king, after all.

He just wondered what had made her this way.

So, here he was, in her castle, wandering and looking for the royal. Foolish wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to speak to Eret. He didn’t even know what he was going to talk about. He just… yearned for her, supposedly.

Some familiar humming could be heard around the corner, and Foolish saw the door to the castle library wide open. Taking a peek inside, he could see Eret walking amongst the bookshelves, a stack of books in her arms. It didn’t take long for her to spot him.

“Foolish?” She questioned.

“…Eret!” He said, stepping inside the room. “Uh, are you busy?”

“Not really. What’s up?”

Foolish paused, wondering what to say next. He didn’t know why, but she seemed to not really know who he was. From her perspective, they had known each other only for a few days. But from his perspective, they had known each other for a whole lifetime.

And he wasn’t sure if “We were best friends years ago and fought against monsters along with a wither cult together, except you don’t seem to remember it or me at all” was the best conversation starter.

“I just… wanted to check in.” He shrugged, walking to her. “How have ya been?”

“I’ve been alright.” She nodded, giving him a soft grin. “How about you? How have you been adjusting to your arrival here?”

Instead of answering right away, a thought crossed his mind. Why was she acting so formal? It was just the two of them…

“It’s been pretty good, yeah.” He said in response.

“Can I help you with anything?” Eret wondered aloud.

“Not particularly, but… is it okay if I stay here for a little bit?” The totem asked, hoping to not intrude.

“Oh, of course!” She nodded. “My castle is a home to all who pass by. You don’t ever have to ask, Foolish.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He smiled as Eret turned back around.

As she went back to stacking books on the bookshelves, Foolish looked around the surrounding area. The walls were sky-high, decorated with paintings and glass mosaic windows. Yet, the library felt small, but not in a bad way. It was homey, in a sense. Multiple chairs were set around a table, an ottoman couch aligned itself against the wall, and the lit fireplace emitted warmth into the library.

Foolish sat down at the table, which had various books and papers scattered about it. “So, what exactly are you doing right now?” He asked.

“Oh, just some organizing.” Eret called back to him.

“You seem like the organizer type.” Foolish thought.

“Hm, I suppose I could be described as such.” Eret said with a light chuckle.

Wait, did he say that out loud?

“It just helps me keep my mind off of things, I guess.” She continued. “I enjoy it, it keeps myself busy.”

Foolish nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes drawn to what was on the table. He could see books open to pages about historical events, and he saw a couple of photos of people he had and hadn’t met yet. Eret walked over, giving Foolish a soft, comforting smile as she placed some books onto the table, and grabbed the ones that were already there. She turned around and started walking away, and Foolish quickly stood up to follow her.

“This castle is really big… did you build it all yourself?” He asked.

“Mostly, with a bit of assistance here and there.” Eret nodded.

She had always had a passion for building. Foolish remembered times of back in the day, when Eret would always talk about large building projects she wanted to do, but didn’t have the time for.

Even with how much she’s changed, it made him happy to see that this passion of hers had stayed the same over time.

Eret hummed to herself, quickly walking amongst the bookshelves and finding the right places to put the books in. Foolish was low-key amazed with how easily she did it, even if it was relatively simple.

“You’re quite intriguing, you know.”

Foolish looked to his friend, who was looking back at him. “…I am?” He raised an eyebrow, confused.

“You are.” Eret nodded, turning back to the shelves. “I know we only met a couple of days ago, but I felt drawn to you, if I’m being honest. I’m not really sure why… it could be your personality, or that we share similar interest in building things… I don’t know. It’s just… you’re a very interesting person, Foolish.”

Foolish kept staring, unsure what to say in response. The royal turned back to see his surprised face, her lips curling into a small, awkward grin.

“Sorry, that was very sudden. I just felt like I should say it.” She apologized.

“No! No, it’s fine! I appreciate it!” Foolish reassured. “Really, I do.”

Eret nodded. “Well, it’s true. You’re very interesting, I’ll admit.”

“…I’m not really surprised that that’s what you think. I mean, they don’t call me “Foolish “Most Interesting God Alive” Gamers” for nothing.” He joked around, knowing no one had ever called him that. The joke made Eret smile, and then it made her laugh. She shook her head, laughing softly at the other’s silly behavior.

As they stood, Foolish’s emerald eyes looked out the window, seeing the dark night sky. “Oh- wow. I didn’t realize how late it was.” He pointed out.

Eret turned, noticing the darkness as well. “Oh my. It doesn’t even feel like you’ve been here for long.” She sighed, turning back to her friend. “Well, you know what they say. Time flies when you’re having fun.”

The totem grinned, happy to know that Eret enjoyed his company.

“I should probably get going.” He said, unsure if he wanted to leave, in all honesty.

“Well, you get a good night’s rest.” She nods. “And like I said earlier, my castle is home to anyone that steps inside. You’re welcome to come and visit any time.”

“I’ll be sure to, Eret.” Foolish nodded in return, leaning forward and placing his hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze, as if to say, “I’ll definitely be back.”

However, Eret let out a startled noise, stepping away and placing a hand over her mouth.

Foolish stared at her, intrigued. “What was that?” He asked.

“I- Nothing. It was nothing.” Eret said, looking away and placing one final book on it’s shelf.

“Nothing?” Foolish repeated. “It didn’t seem like nothing, it-”

Oh.

Oh.

In that moment, Foolish had remembered one small, tiny detail about his friend.

And by the looks of it, it was a detail that had stayed the same about Eret, even after all these years.

“Eret?” Foolish questioned, this time, with mischievous intent that was obvious to the other.

“Foolish, I thought you said you had to get going.” Eret said with a nervous grin.

The god huffed out a breath. “You know what? You’re right. It’s getting dark. I had fun spending time with you, though.” He exclaimed, holding his hand out to Eret. She looked a bit confused at first, but slowly reached towards his hand to give him a handshake. And then…

BZZZT!

As a small spark united between them, Eret burst into giggles, pulling her hand away. “Whahat the hell?!” She asked Foolish, who held a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Gotcha!” He giggled along with her.

“That… that felt weird.” She said, looking at her own hand.

“Weird how?” Foolish smirked, knowing the answer. Eret looked up, giggling with a nervous smile on her face.

“Oh, come on, pal! You were all chatty with me earlier, and now you’re not answering my question! Kind of rude, don’t you think?” He poked at her side a couple of times, watching her flinch and squirm away.

“Fohoolihish-” She snickered, returning to covering her mouth with her hand. She felt the other’s hands wrap around her torso and squeeze at her sides, and she didn’t have time to properly think before her body went limp like jello.

“Oh goHOD!” Eret melted in his hold, uncovering her mouth and letting her laughter flow free.

“Awww, there’s that smile!” Foolish cooed, squeezing up and down and up and down again. He noticed that Eret was losing balance, so he slowly lowered her to the ground, following her down and continuing his playful attack.

“You’re not even fighting back!” Foolish noted out loud, to which his friend let out an embarrassed, giggly whine into his chest. While keeping one hand squeezing away at her side, he surprised her by using her other hand to scribble at her stomach. Eret let out a sudden squeal, her squirming increasing almost instantly. She continued to laugh until she grabbed onto Foolish’s wrists.

“O-Ohokahay! Thahat’s eHEnohough!” She giggled as Foolish’s hands came to a stop. They were looking right at each other, and he could see her smile.

Now, for the past few days of knowing each other, Eret had smiled at Foolish. She had given him small, welcoming, smiles and warm grins. This, however, right now? It was a smile. A large, goofy, genuine smile.

It was the smile that Foolish had recognized from seeing it years ago. It was the smile that would be on Eret’s face whenever exploring a hidden temple. It was the smile that would be on Eret’s face when she was laughing too hard to be able to get out a full sentence. It was the smile that was Eret’s face when she and Foolish had realized that they had defeated the wither cult for good.

And right now, it was the genuine smile that Foolish had longed to see. He didn’t realize how much he wanted to see it. How much he needed to see it. All of those years of memories were flooding back to him, and it made him feel warm inside.

However, his thoughts were interrupted by a shriek of his own laughter.

“EHERET-! Wahait! WaHAhait!” He squealed out, feeling fingers start to dance along his sides. “Thihis ihisn’t faHAIHIR!”

“Oh come on, I’m just doing what you did to me! And I, for one, think that’s completely fair!” Eret grinned, swiping her nails across his belly and making him giggle like mad. “Wow, it looks like you’re a lot more ticklish than myself.” She teased.

“NohOHOhoho!” Foolish whined. “Ihi’m nohot!”

“Really?” Eret smirked evilly, more than willing to test that theory. She increased the speed of her fingers, wiggling themselves all around his side and stomach.

“And you’re not even fighting back, either! How adorable…” She smiled, giggling as she watched Foolish’s face become pink with embarrassment. In this moment, her hands trailed down to his hips, lightly scratching along them. Foolish’s laughter went up a whole octave, and he covered his face with his hands.

“Is this a bad spot?” Eret teased, her movements light and taunting. Foolish shook his head no, and the two of them knew that was a lie. She squeezed at his hips and used the tips of her nails to add light scratching to the sensation. The shark hybrid let out a loud snort, laughing and grabbing onto her wrists as she had done with him earlier.

“OKAHAY! Okayokayohokahay! Tihime ohout!!” He insisted, watching as Eret laughed and pulled her hand away. The two of them sat together on the floor, looking into each other’s eyes and letting leftover giggles fill the air.

“I should prohobably go, it’s pretty dark out.” Foolish stated, standing up and helping Eret stand up as well.

“Alright.” Eret sighed, grinning as she held onto Foolish’s hand. “…Foolish, I know we’ve known each other only for a couple of days, but… I have a feeling this friendship will last for a long time.”

We’ve known each other only for a couple of days.

Those words rung painfully in Foolish’s ears. They had a lifetime of memories together as best friends, and she didn’t remember a single one of them.

And before he realized he had done so, Foolish had pulled Eret into a tight hug.

The library that was filled with the joyous sounds of laughter just a few minutes ago was now filled with a cold silence.

Eret paused, surprised, but she hugged him back after a moment. Her warmth made Foolish feel a familiar feeling that he had not felt in a while.

He felt at home.

Eret pulled away, smiling. “I suppose I’ll see you soon?” She asked.

“Yeah… yeah.” Foolish nodded, giving her one last look before walking towards the door. “Night, Eret!”

“Goodnight, Foolish.” She said, following him until he had left the room, and then gently closing the door behind him.

Foolish walked down the halls of her castle, heading towards the entrance to leave. As he walked along the wooden floor, he couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit upset. He didn’t know what had caused Eret to lose her memories, and he wanted to know. However, the sadness was quickly replaced with a feeling of hope. Hope for a bright future with his friend.

It was just as she said. Even though Eret had only known him for a couple of days, they were already very close.

Maybe one day, they would become as close as they used to be.

#dawn writes #dsmp tickle #switch!eret #switch!foolish #lee!eret #lee!foolish #ler!eret #ler!foolish #c!eret #c!foolish #they’re so scrunkly #eats them both /pos #👑 eret: eyeless monarchy #🦈 foolish: totem of undying

[cupandquillcafe]

Is it Strange?

Does it hurt? They ask. I don't know why they ask; Can't they see the needle?

I'm confused. Is it supposed to? They laugh and say that I'm strong. Is it strength to take a prick?

The adults asked if I was ok, Said I was so strong and so brave! Have a sticker. The other children didn't ask; To them, it wasn't strange. It wasn't strange to me, either.

#a poem a day keeps the demons at bay #dawn writes #writer #poem #original poem #childhood illness #chronic illness #writing #i watched gremlins in the hospital every friday for two years (shut up im not autistic you are)

[willgraham-manwhore]

The Murder Husbands except they're Domestic Husbands headcanon:

They leave passive aggressive messages to each other with alphabet fridge magnets when they're mad :3

#will waking up covered in sweat to write this on the fridge then going for a run at the asscrack of dawn #murder husbands #hannigram #will graham #will grahams sass #hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannibal shitpost #hannibal fancomic

[summerdawning]

TRAGEDY & THE MINUTES INSIDE IT

new substack piece!! <3

#dawn.txt #writeblr #prose writing #thoughts #dawn writes

[tinukis]

day 5 - little brother

so incredibly self indulgent but yeah anyway... little brother w his three older brothers

(please more asl + uta/asul bros please)

#yes uta is a brother !! #doesn't matter what she's called bc they're a family no matter what #modern au #but also... #uta stays on dawn island au #pleas i just want them all as siblings #ok but imagine ace meeting up w shanks #how funny would that be #but also sweet #bc it means uta had another person that looked after her #even though uta and ace def fought A LOT #i can't write but i think abt ASUL a lot #one of my fav aus #one piece #luffy week #luffy week 2024 #monkey d luffy #portgas d ace #revolutionary sabo #sabo #uta #uta one piece #tin art

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

j word coded

TO BE CLEAR: I am NOT claiming that this other game (Ikemen Villains) is a "rip-off" of TWST; I'm pointing out parallels between them because I think it's entertaining to see how different games interpret the same or similar fairy tales.

Please also note that although nothing I say in this post is explicit, IkeVil itself is designated as 17+ and contains dark content. If you decide you want to try the game out for yourself, BE AWARE OF THE AGE RATING AND TRIGGER WARNINGS.

ARE THESE NOT JUST J WORD IN A BLACK WIG AND CONTACTS (the last one looks like a blend of Jade's sus face + Idia's sus face) 😭 His face looks so similar… and they're both "attendant" characters that act polite but are more manipulative than they appear at first glance... (although Alfons has Floyd's hedonism rather that Jade's restraint!)

More of my first impressions of the characters of IkeVil below the cut!! Again, there's nothing explicit, I just wanted to keep this post not too bulky.

And not just him (Alfons) either, ashldbiasydefpaei there's a Trey-lookalike and a Silver pre-hair color change in the same game! Roger has a rifle and is cursed by Snow White's huntsman, so I joke that he's Rook and Trey's test tube baby... and Elbert has Vil's keen eye and desire for what is beautiful!

There are also characters that don't look like an TWST ones, but definitely have personalities that remind me of a few! For example, Liam's laid-back affability is Che'nya and Chenya Cater-esque, Jude speaks in a gruff but aristocratic manner like Leona but is a tough businessman like Azul, and Ellis seems like a mix of Malleus's obsession with happy endings + Idia's gloomy demeanor…? No clue if he actually is gloomy or not, he just gives me gloomy vibes.

Victor is Crowley-adjacent! Like they're both overseeing this group of powerful men with magic so you'd think they're serious types--but they aren't. They're silly and use their own skills to do frivolous things like doing magic tricks or making cake fancier. They also both seem to be hiding a secret...

Harrison doesn't remind me of anyone in particular, though I do see little bits of our typical "lying" characters in him. He has the chill of a Che'nya but also Floyd's flippancy and lies as easily as like... I don't know, Cater?? Not sure on this one.

abfhbyoafvadpiadgo OKAY OKAY BUT THE FUNNIEST ONE TO ME IS WILLIAM BECAUSE HE'S "THE QUEEN OF HEARTS" CHARACTER... Most of the time when you have a character with this inspiration, they're controlling and easily angered (*stares at Riddle*), but William is NOTHING like that???? In fact, he's got a strong sense of justice and often encourages others to be honest and to act freely, even if it means disregarding the rules. Every time William opens his mouth... I picture Riddle shrieking and sobbing/j

#twst #twisted wonderland #ikemen villains #ikevil #Jade Leech #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Riddle Rosehearts #Cater Diamond #Floyd Leech #Tweels #Dire Crowley #Octavinelle #Azul Ashengrotto #Idia Shroud #Malleus Draconia #Leona Kingscholar #Silver #Dawn Knight #Rook Hunt #Trey Clover #Vil Schoenheit #notes from the writing raven #book 7 spoilers #william rex #harrison gray #liam evans #elbert greetia #alfons sylvatica #roger barel

[amyjsoba]

#it’s true #am writing #writing #c.s lewis #the chronicles of narnia #voyage of the dawn treader

[twelfthellies]

「 ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ʷᵉ ʷᵒʳᵏ. ʷᵉ ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵇᵘᵗ ʷᵉ ᵈᵒ 」

#wednesday #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #wenclair #wednesday netflix #the addams family #gif set #this is really bad quality but i made this during lunch break #i need to write a thesis about these two (im mentally ill) #no but seriously netflix let them be together or we attack at dawn

[beanghostprincess]

I will forever love seeing Luffy and Nami holding Zoro's swords. He's so protective of those three but it's not even because he fears something might happen to them, but because he's scared something might happen to the crew and himself if he doesn't have them with him. They're like extra limbs. The ones he uses to fight and protect and breathe. He feels uneasy whenever his swords aren't around him, and that is just a fact. You can't deny that he feels comfort in having them by his side at all times, knowing that he'll be able to protect the crew from any dangers. They're tied to his heart and soul in a way that if he loses sight of them he might actually lose himself too. So he does not enjoy seeing his swords in somebody else's hands. They can disappear, he will find them. They can run away, he will follow. They can break, he trusts them not to but if they do, he will keep going carrying their bond with him still. But he doesn't like seeing them in somebody else's hands because those are his swords. His limbs. His heart. His soul. It's just not right. It never feels right. But.

But.

But sometimes Luffy acts like he knows what he's doing and actually asks for permission instead of just taking what he wants. As if crossing Zoro's boundaries would be unforgivable, when he knows Zoro would give him anything he wanted to take from him. But he asks. He asks, with a careful, polite, deep voice Zoro isn't used to hearing. But it always ends with the softest of smiles and the petition reaches a place inside of Zoro's heart that he just knows has also touched his swords. So he lets him, because how could he not, and he runs his fingers through all of them. Amazed. Astonished. Respectfully talking to them as if they could hear him. And they can. Zoro knows they hear and feel and love and crave and long for his captain's touch. He knows, because he does too. Because who wouldn't? Luffy holds them in a way he never holds anything else- Carefully. Like they aren't his. Like befriending somebody he fears might reject him. Like taking hold of Zoro's heart and holding him so gently in case he might break him. He worships them as if he weren't the god in this relationship. He looks handsome, too. Not pretty. Not cute. Handsome. Mature. His hat covers his adventurous gaze but leaves his mischievous grin for the whole world to see. And yet, the swordsman trusts him enough. Without any look or any word. He knows Luffy's face by heart, he realizes, now that he can picture his eyes quite too perfectly under his hat. His skin glistens under the sun and his tender fingers hold the sword with so much clumsiness it looks dumb. He doesn't know how to hold them, yet they don't want to move away from him. It's clumsy but it takes over them. Maybe it's his haki. Maybe it's the effect the future king of the pirates has. Zoro thinks it's just him. Luffy. And his heart stops the second Luffy smiles, as if he had just heard the sword respond to him. He wants to kiss him. Bite him. Let him bite back and draw blood and eat him. Let him hold him the way he holds the swords but tighter. Closer. Maybe he's in love. Zoro. With Luffy. It's not a maybe. Who is he trying to trick? He knows he is in love. With the way he smiles and the way he holds and the way he wants but respects and loves. It's funny like that, the fact that Luffy keeps being so careful when Zoro would let him tear his heart apart and eat it if he so desired. It's funny that the swords love him with such gentleness when they often demand power. Perhaps kindness is the most powerful weapon of all or, at least, Luffy's most powerful skill. Zoro hates it when somebody else holds them because they don't own them. They don't own him. He doesn't even own his swords, anyway. Nobody can. They're his the same way he's theirs, just with a bit more dominance and respect. But Luffy isn't owning them. He's praying to them. Talking to them. Befriending them. Loving them. And they would bow to him if he so desired. Zoro knows they would, as fierce as they are and violent as they seem and as sharp as they cut. They'd bow to him because Zoro would too. The uneasiness does not exist when Luffy is the one to hold them because, if Zoro had to give out his soul for somebody to take care of, that would be Luffy. And if he has to be unprotected. Naked. Bare in front of a thousand soldiers. He will if it's Luffy the one fighting instead.

Sometimes Nami wants to hold them just to feel what it's like to be in Zoro's shoes. It's a stupid reason. He refuses to let her do it as an instinctive reaction at first. She doesn't seem as interested in following the protocol as Luffy is, but she knows where to stop and she knows what to say to get on Zoro's nerves, anyway. She's equally as fierce. Equally as sharp. He won't let her hold any cursed sword, but it's not like she wants to. She's smarter than that. Careful and respectful but not that interested in the swords and what they mean, more in how they feel. Zoro gets it. Kind of. Somehow. She says something about always letting them eat her precious tangerines, so he should humor her by letting her hold Wado at least. She isn't pushing him. He knows she wouldn't. She's just teasing because she knows. She always knows. She knows he will say yes. Because he always does what she says, although he keeps demanding a bit of respect to not be treated like a dog. But Nami never forces him to do anything. He could refuse. She would give up at some point. But there's just something about her- Stubbornness. Strength. Love. So much love and care and worry and anger. And Zoro likes her. She's selfish, too, like a pirate should be. Stronger than Zoro in the ways that matter. Smarter, too, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. But she leads the way and he follows, not because that's a dog's job, but because he wants to. He trusts her. Something he never thought he would. But he does. She's smart. She leads the way. She knows where they're going. They somehow are the same and totally different at the same time. Zoro grounds Luffy when he gets lost. Nami leads them both so they won't. So there's something about her curiosity that makes him soften. He never knows exactly why he does what she says. Why he indulges her like that. But it's satisfying, for some reason he refuses to read within himself, the satisfactory and pleased grin on her face when he hands her Wado. She's careful with her. Awful at holding her. Bad posture. Great smile. Horrible movements. Beautiful eyes. It's okay, though, he thinks. Wado likes her because Zoro likes her. Nami loses interest within a minute, complaining about the weight and the sudden realization of "you always have this thing in your mouth" which makes her want to give her back. But she stares at her for a whole minute. It isn't her thing, but her eyes spark when the sword is returned to Zoro. Trust. A smile. Thankfulness. Her bangs are getting a bit longer and one strand of hair gets in the middle of her teasing smirk. She says she prefers her clima-tact, but swords are fine, "I guess". "She's pretty" she says. Zoro thinks she is pretty. Nami. In a way he can't quite describe because he has never really been good at that. But she is. Like a blade. Sharp. But in the right hands this time for her not to cut the ones she loves anymore. She hands him a tangerine next, every time he lets her hold his sword. An exchange. "I give you something that matters. You give me something that matters". Zoro wants to say it's not the same, but the tangerine is sweet. Juicy. His fingers then smell strongly of citrus. Almost as similar as steel. If he can feel Nami's heartbeat in every bite, he wonders if she has been able to hear his in the hilt of his sword. Calm. Peaceful. Safe.

Zoro doesn't like seeing his swords in somebody else's hands because those are his swords. His limbs. His heart. His soul. It's just not right. It never feels right. But.

But sometimes it does.

#romance dawn trio my beloved #btw it's not meant to be romantic between zoro and nami they're besties and love each other deeply #however it is meant to be extremely romantic between zoro and luffy zoro is very very gay #what is this? idk. why did i write this? idk. #this maybe does not make any sense and i do not care okay #i am just vibing here #as you can see this was supposed to be a short post. it wasn't #i just think there's something about zoro letting nami and luffy hold his swords it makes me soft #this was supposed to be about ALL the crew but the bond these three have is important to me so let's leave it like this #one piece #roronoa zoro #monkey d. luffy #cat burglar nami #nami #romance dawn trio #zolu

[etherrreal]

“kismet”

Pairing: kuroo x fem!reader Genre: fluff, kinda a meet-cute (?) but it’s a little gross lmao Summary: the first time you meet kuroo involves a house party, a line of rose bushes, and quite a bit of vomit. WC: 6,066 Warnings: mentions of vomit and the consequences of drinking too much, too fast A/N: work’s been beating my ass (hence my unofficial hiatus) but i feel like it’s very in character of me to return just to drop something for kuroo <3 -Dawn

The first time you meet Kuroo involves a house party, a line of rose bushes, and quite a bit of vomit.

The vomit, thankfully, does not belong to either of you, though it is still pretty gross. Instead, it’s being provided courtesy of your respective friends and the copious amounts of alcohol they’ve managed to consume over the course of the evening. That same alcohol is rather violently exiting their systems now in a frenzy of hacking and groaning, the result of a string of bad decisions and too many shots of cheap liquor.

You’re standing outside, holding back your friend Misaki’s hair while she hurls into a rose bush you’re sure has seen better days. You have no idea whose house this is –you think it might belong to someone on the baseball team or maybe the basketball team, you’re not entirely sure– but you pity them all the same. The clean-up for tonight’s party is probably going to be, for lack of a better term, one giant shitshow, if the red solo cups littering the lawn and the glass you heard shattering earlier are any indication.

Misaki, at least, had the decency to step outside before reverting back to her fragile-stomached, freshman-year self and puking her guts out, though it has less to do with her being considerate and more to do with you strong-arming her through the crowd. You had to struggle quite a bit to get her here, dodging grinding bodies and sloshing drinks on the way, but somehow you managed to get her out the door before she could ruin anyone’s night by throwing up on them.

You were only able to get her as far as the bushes, but you suppose it’s better than letting her puke directly in front of the front door or, worse, on some poor soul’s shoes. Inside the house, the party rages on, music blaring so loudly from the speakers you’re surprised it hasn’t been shut down by the cops yet.

Any other time, you would be in the middle of the dance floor or showing off your skills in a game of flip cup, but tonight your presence is needed elsewhere, the hand you have on Misaki’s back the only thing keeping her from falling face-first into her own puke. You start to wonder if maybe saying “if we die, we die” during the pregame before downing all of those tequila shots with the rest of your friends wasn’t such a great idea after all.

Oddly enough, you aren’t the only ones in this situation tonight, which is strangely comforting despite the general grossness of it all. There’s a pair of guys three bushes down who seem to be having the same predicament.

One of them, like your friend, is puking his life away, while the other stands behind him in a similar position as yourself, patting his friend’s back gently. You don’t know who either of them are —the one who’s throwing up is too deep into the bush for you to see much of him, and the one who’s helping him looks only vaguely familiar, the way most of the tall, athletic types at your school do to you— but you feel a strange sense of kinship with them both, particularly the latter. You’re sure the two of you, unlike your puking friends, are way too sober for all of this.

You pull out your phone, sending a quick, one-handed text to the group chat to let the rest of your friends know where you and Misaki are in case they go looking, though you doubt any of them are actually checking their phones right now. The twins are probably still playing beer pong inside the house, while Haruto and Aina are off securing their dick appointments for the night. That just leaves Eri, who you’re pretty sure is in the middle of drunk-calling her ain’t-shit ex, despite you and the rest of your friends’ constant urging for her to block him.

Still, you figure you might as well let them know anyway, so they don’t worry about you later. Last time you left a party without letting them know where you were, they blew up your phone and nearly turned the house upside down looking for you, only to find out you had just gone outside to get some air.

The memory makes you smile, even with Misaki throwing up as background noise.

After your text message is sent, there’s not much else for you to do out here besides pat Misaki’s back and wait for her to be done so you can drive her home and have her sleep it off. As you wait, you find your gaze once again drawn to the young men a couple of bushes down.

You still can’t see the one who’s puking —and honestly, you don’t think you really want to at the moment, having reached your maximum threshold for handling vomit about five minutes ago, when you first walked out here with Misaki— so you focus on his friend instead.

He’s handsome, you notice, tall and easy on the eyes, wearing dark jeans and a jacket with the sleeves rolled up that cling to every muscle in his surprisingly defined arms. He’s vaguely familiar, too, the more you look at him, though you can’t quite place where you’ve seen him before. His shoulders are broad, and his hair is dark and sticking up and out in all different directions. On anyone else, you imagine the hairstyle would look pretty ridiculous, but somehow, he manages to make it work.

In short, he’s exactly your type. If you had seen him inside the house, you would’ve definitely danced with him, maybe even given him your Instagram after flirting with him for a bit, assuming he wasn’t a total creep or weirdo.

And maybe, if you liked him enough, you might have even dragged him into a dark corner to make out with him, because he’s really hot and you’re really single, and because honestly, after the exhausting week you’ve had —back to back exams, multiple papers, and misplacing your student ID again— you feel like you deserve the fun, even if it doesn’t amount to anything in the end.

You find yourself letting out a wistful sigh, lamenting the missed opportunity. Maybe next time, you think, only a little bit longingly. Assuming, of course, you ever see him again. University students bring their off-campus friends to parties all the time, so there’s no telling if he even goes to your school at all, though part of you hopes he does, on the off-chance it means you’ll run into him again.

You’re so distracted by your thoughts you don’t notice him turning his head to look at you until it’s too late. He catches you staring, and you feel your face heat up, knowing you’ve been watching him way too long for it to be considered anything besides weird.

To your surprise —and relief— he doesn’t seem freaked out by it. Instead, he offers you a wave, along with a charming smile that does things to your heart that you’re unfortunately too sober to blame the alcohol on.

“So,” he starts, and heaven help you, even his voice is attractive— god really does have favorites, doesn’t he? “You come here often?”

It’s meant to be a joke while also being so ridiculously lame that you actually scoff out loud. But his smile is warm and his eyes are pretty and bright even in the glow of the flickering street lamps, so you laugh, too.

And maybe it’s because it’s probably the corniest line he could’ve approached you with, or maybe it’s because your night has already been pretty ridiculous so far, but suddenly you can’t stop laughing. Which, of course, inevitably ends with you snorting so loud even Misaki and her vomiting bush neighbor have to pause in their endless upchucking to wonder what the hell just happened, because that’s how unexpected and just generally unappealing it sounded.

You slap a hand over your mouth instantly, embarrassment burning a path across your cheeks and all the way up to your ears as the unfairly attractive and no doubt taken aback stranger blinks at you. Your gazes lock, the two of you almost comically wide-eyed —him in surprise, you in mortification— and then he’s grinning at you, letting out a cackle that is somehow louder and even more embarrassing than yours. You’re not sure if he does it to comfort you or if your snort was really just that hilarious, but it makes you giggle all the same.

For a moment you wonder what kind of sight the two of you must make: smiling and laughing together like you’ve known each other for years while your friends continue to throw up into the bushes only inches away from you. Then you decide you don’t really care, because this little exchange has already been more fun than you thought you would have tonight, and you haven’t even spoken to each other yet.

When your laughter finally dies down, he offers you another smile that has no business being as attractive as it is and introduces himself. “I’m Kuroo.”

You’re quick to tell him your name in return, smiling when he repeats it to himself carefully, as if it’s something pretty, something he wants to remember. If anyone else had done so, you would’ve rolled your eyes at them, but coming from him, it just sounds really sweet.

“Nice to meet you, Kuroo,” you say, pleased to note that you actually mean it.

It’s at that exact moment that Misaki lets out a particularly loud gag, groaning as she retches into the bushes once more. Kuroo’s friend seems to follow her lead, and pretty soon they’re both dry-heaving in unison, a soundtrack of grossness you swear you could’ve gone your entire life without listening to.

“Well,” you correct yourself with a laugh, wrinkling your nose, “as nice as it can be, considering the situation.”

“What?” Kuroo gives you a playful look, barely masking his grin as he raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re telling me you don’t normally spend your time comforting your friends while they throw up in the bushes?”

“Are you kidding? I’m here every Friday night,” you joke, waving your free hand dismissively.

He plays along, snapping his fingers together as he hums. “See, I knew I’d seen you around before.”

The two of you share another laugh, this one as easy and natural as the first. You follow his gaze as he nudges his chin towards Misaki, who’s dry-heaving and groaning into the bushes as you rub circles into her back with one hand and gather her hair with the other. “So how’d she end up here?”

“Oh, this one decided mixing light and dark liquors would be a great idea before proceeding to shotgun two beers in a row, all because some dumbass basketball player said she couldn’t.”

“And I’d do it again, too,” Misaki slurs purposefully as she sits up, momentarily lucid, before dropping back down into the bush to resume vomiting.

You and Kuroo can’t help but laugh at her declaration, sharing an amused glance as you smile at each other.

“It’s been a bit of a hard week for us. We had a lot of assignments due and a chem test that kicked our asses,” you continue. “We went out tonight because we wanted to celebrate getting through it all.”

“No shame in that. Chem kicked my ass this week, too,” he replies. “Though I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Shiro-san isn’t exactly known for being a generous grader.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” You make a face, suppressing a shudder as you recall your own semester of horror, where Shiro-san was the star of all your nightmares. “I had her last semester for bio. Every time I went to her class, it felt like both my sanity and my GPA were fighting for their lives. I basically begged my advisor to make sure I wouldn’t have her again.”

Kuroo flashes you a sympathetic look, and you can tell he wishes he’d done the same. Beside him, still obscured between two bushes, his friend lets out another groan, followed by a hacking sound that makes both you and Kuroo wince. It serves as a reminder that as nice as it’s been talking to him, neither of you are exactly out here by choice. It also makes you wonder what landed the two of them here in the first place.

“What about your friend?” you ask curiously, once the hacking has mostly ceased, though you have no doubts both Kuroo’s friend and Misaki will be starting it up again soon. “How’d he end up here?”

Kuroo grins and clears his throat, as if he’d been waiting for you to ask. He pats his friend on the back, using his free hand to lift a finger at you.

“Now that, my friend, is a tale of bravery, friendship, and stupidity,” he announces sagely, in a faux-serious voice that you can’t help but giggle at. “Mostly stupidity.”

His friend, apparently more lucid than he seems, mumbles something you don’t quite catch but assume is meant to express his indignation at Kuroo’s storytelling, swatting at him. Kuroo dodges the swipe, as if he was expecting it, though it’s not exactly difficult with how slow his friend’s arm is moving.

“Ah, ah, ah, none of that,” he scolds his friend with a playful frown, not at all serious. “You literally admitted how stupid it was before we came out here, so I don’t want to hear it.”

His friend only groans in response, which both of you decide to accept as a sign of surrender. Kuroo, ever the reliable friend, pats the other man on the shoulder to placate him once more before turning his attention back to you.

“He and another one of our friends had a contest to see which one of them could down the most shots in under a minute,” he explains, which, as he mentioned before, is quite possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard. The knowing look in his eyes as he returns your incredulous glance reassures you just how much he agrees with you. “Needless to say, he won. Guess this is his prize.”

Your gaze flickers briefly to the winner in question, who retches loudly as if to confirm the story, Misaki mirroring the action from where she’s kneeling into the bushes in front of you. “Kind of a shitty prize, if you ask me.”

Kuroo laughs, an unfairly charming and pleasing sound that makes your heart flutter. “Yeah, well, it took him a minute, but I think you’ll find that he agrees with you. Isn’t that right, Bokuto?”

“Wait, Bokuto?” Your eyes widen, the name sparking immediate recognition in you, considering the fact that it belongs to one of your very own friends. “Bo, honey, is that you?”

You decide to take a look, rising up on the balls of your feet and peering over the bushes to get a better view, and sure enough, you’re greeted by the sight of one Bokuto Koutarou, all 6’1 of him sandwiched between two rose bushes you’re now positive are never going to recover. He’s barely visible from where you’re standing with Misaki, broad shoulders hunched over and head hanging above the dirt, but that black and white hair is unmistakable, even in the dim lighting of the street lamps that hang overhead.

And if the hair isn’t confirmation enough, as soon as he hears your voice, he lifts his head and lets out a groan, followed by a slurred mumble that sounds suspiciously like your name. You coo out a few words of comfort for him, hoping to reassure him, though it’s hard to tell if he hears you over the sounds of Misaki’s retching starting back up again.

You know it’s not your fault he ended up here, but you can’t help feeling a little bad about the whole thing. When Bokuto texted you earlier, saying he’d probably see you later tonight, you thought he’d meant at the party, not in the damn bushes.

But nope, turns out he’s been out here with you the whole time, puking his life away with as much vigor and misery as Misaki, and you didn’t even realize it, too busy flirting with his friend to take notice. Granted, Kuroo is a very distracting, very hot friend, but still.

Said distracting and hot friend looks a bit surprised now, glancing back and forth between you and Bokuto and raising an eyebrow. “You two know each other?”

“Misaki introduced us our sophomore year,” you reply with a nod, gesturing down at your still-vomiting friend. “The two of them had math together. I ended up tutoring them both.”

He makes a little “aha’ sound, recognition dawning on his features, as if this is a story he’s heard before, which, now that you think about it, you suppose he has. “You’re the one who helped him pass calc.”

“And you’re the roommate he’s always talking about, the one he told me he was going to introduce me to tonight.”

You can’t help but laugh at the irony of it all, though now it’s accompanied by a warmth in your chest, a giddiness you can’t ignore. Earlier, you thought Kuroo was your type just by looking at him, and it was a belief that was proven true almost immediately after you began speaking to him. Coming out here with Misaki should’ve derailed your meeting, especially with Bokuto also being out of commission, but you and Kuroo ended up bumping into each other anyway, almost like it was fate. Like it was meant to be.

And right now, Kuroo’s looking at you like he’s thinking the same thing, a warm smile on his face you’re sure you’re going to be daydreaming about for days to come.

“No wonder you look so familiar,” you say. “I’ve seen you on Bo’s Instagram story like a hundred times. He told me he had a feeling we’d get along.”

“Did he tell you anything else?”

You pretend to think about it, flashing him a cheeky smile. “Well, he did say something about you having funny hair.”

“Hey, at least he gave you a warning.” He shrugs, seemingly unbothered by your teasing, though the mischief in his eyes makes you think he’s not going to let it go that easily. You’re proven right approximately two seconds later, when he follows up with a knowing look and a shit-eating grin on his face, “I, on the other hand, had to find out about your horrifying snorting all on my own.”

“Hey!”

You gasp, free hand flying over your heart in feigned offense while he cackles like he’s the funniest person in the world. You’re tempted to elbow him, but he’s too far away right now for you to reach, so instead you settle for narrowing your eyes and sticking your tongue out at him, which just makes him laugh even more. And though you try to commit to staying annoyed, his laughter is contagious enough for you to forget all about that, and pretty soon you’re laughing with him, too.

It’s almost enough to make you forget why you’re out here in the first place, until the tug of Misaki’s hand at the bottom of your jeans reminds you. She’s looking up at you, almost like she wants to say something, and for a moment, you start to believe that maybe the worst of it is over, that maybe the two of you can finally escape these damn bushes for good, until her face pales and her cheeks fill.

That’s about all the warning you get before she’s leaning back into the bushes and throwing up all over again. You scramble to keep her from toppling forward, using one hand to hold her by the shoulder and the other to brush back her hair. A few bushes down, Bokuto finds himself in a similar predicament, letting out a whole-body cough that sends him nearly barreling into the bushes, Kuroo’s hand shooting out at the last second to catch him.

After that, you and Kuroo make the mutual decision to pour your efforts into focusing on your ailing friends, though that doesn’t stop you from stealing a glance or sharing a flirty smile every now and then. He pats Bokuto’s back comfortingly while you stroke Misaki’s hair and talk her through it at as reassuringly as you can. You take the water bottle out of your purse and help her waterfall some of it so she can rinse her mouth, tossing it over to Kuroo when she’s done so he can do the same with Bokuto.

It takes about another five minutes or so —three of which they spend simply dry-heaving— but eventually, they settle down enough that you and Kuroo are no longer worried about them actively throwing up on anyone. It makes you feel confident enough to move them, and you resolve to begin the trek back to your respective dorms, one you can only hope is filled with a lot less vomit.

You’re quick to offer the boys a ride back to campus, having already resigned yourself to playing designated driver for the night the moment you saw Misaki pick up those extra beers. Kuroo is hesitant at first —the last thing he wants to do is impose or inconvenience you— but you insist, promising it’s no trouble at all. Besides, you reason, Bokuto’s your friend, too, and you want to make sure he gets home safe. He doesn’t need much convincing after that, and soon the two of you are lugging your friends to their feet and making your way to your car.

You’re parked across the street, which, had you all been sober, is a distance you could’ve cleared in less than five minutes. With Misaki and Bokuto all but deadweight in your arms, however, the walk feels like it takes forever.

You have Misaki’s arm thrown around your shoulders, one of yours wrapped around her waist, supporting her body with your own. She’s doing her best to help you, drunken babbling and all, but whenever she gets any alcohol in her system, it’s like all of her weight becomes concentrated in her head, which is awful for both of you, considering it means she goes face-first with all of her steps. More than once, Kuroo has to intervene to keep both of you from toppling over, even though he already has his hands full with Bokuto, who has more muscle and height than both you and Misaki combined.

You’re sweating by the time you make it to your car with Misaki in tow, but at this point, you’re too relieved to care. Kuroo helps Bokuto into the back first, putting on his seatbelt and leaning his head against the window with a gentleness that makes your eyes soften, a smile you don’t bother to hide curving its way onto your lips.

He helps you with Misaki next, which you immediately find yourself grateful for. You’re honestly not sure you could’ve gotten her this far on your own without having to call your other friends for backup. She doesn’t make it easy for him, either, slurring her words incoherently and somehow managing to trip over her own two feet in a way that nearly sends her careening into the dashboard. Together, though, you manage to tuck her safely into the passenger seat without any further incidents.

She expresses her gratitude with a pat of Kuroo’s shoulder and an earnest “thank you, Rooster-Man” that you can’t help but snort at. He handles it with grace, though you’re almost positive he heard you laugh, reaching over to buckle her seatbelt. As he does, she winks at you from over his shoulder —though in her inebriated state, it looks more like a really long blink— and flashes a thumbs up, the quickest seal of approval she’s ever given for any potential guy in your life. And honestly, after tonight, you find yourself agreeing with her.

Kuroo gets in the back with Bokuto while you take your seat in the front, and once you make sure everyone’s settled in safely, you begin the drive back to campus. You’re only fifteen minutes away, but you and Kuroo spend the whole time talking, the babbling of your drunken companions serving as your background noise in lieu of the radio.

You learn that he and Bokuto played volleyball together in high school, albeit on different teams, and that he loves cats just as much as you do. He tells you about his favorite songs and about the time his older sister pretended he was invisible for a week straight, and you tell him about how much you love painting and about the time you scraped your knee trying to save your ice cream cone.

The conversation is natural and effortless, every bit as easy as everything has been between you, and pretty soon, you find yourselves back on campus. You’re almost disappointed you didn’t run into any traffic. You’d give anything to get to talk to him a little longer.

You end up convincing Kuroo to just leave Bokuto to crash at your place, mainly because he started snoring almost as soon as you loaded him into the car, and you’re honestly not sure the two of them can make it to their dorm on the other side of the quad in one piece. Kuroo, after taking a moment to ask a sleepy Bokuto for his input, agrees, and the two of you head into your building with him and Misaki in tow.

After a lot of teamwork —and a lot of laughter— you make it to your and Misaki’s dorm, which, thankfully, is only on the second floor. You tuck her into her own bed first, slipping off her shoes and throwing a blanket over her body, while she gives a grateful hum and burrows her face into her pillow. She’s smiling now, still a little dopey from all the liquor, but you know she’s going to feel it tomorrow in the worst way, which is why you leave a glass of water and some aspirin on her nightstand for when she wakes up in the morning.

You shut off the light and close the door behind you, a spare blanket for Bokuto draped over your arm. You return to the living room to find him already snoring on the couch, one arm hanging off the side and his cheek smushed against a cushion.

Kuroo stands at the foot of the couch, helping tug Bokuto’s shoes off to make him more comfortable, though the ace hardly notices it, continuing to snore away peacefully. Again, you find your heart softening at the action, that same warmth from earlier spreading across your chest and increasing tenfold when Kuroo glances over his shoulder and smiles to greet you.

You tuck him in together, easing the blanket over his body before tiptoeing out of the room silently so as not to disturb him, though you doubt you even could, what with the way he’s currently snoring like his life depends on it.

You end up leading Kuroo back to the front door and find yourself dragging your feet, knowing it means that the night is drawing to a close. And maybe it’s crazy of you to feel this way, especially so soon, but the truth of the matter is that for all your teasing, you don’t actually want to say goodbye to him yet.

“Thanks again for driving us back, and for letting Bo stay with you,” he tells you, standing in your open doorway, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. “I’m sure it’s not how you wanted to spend your night.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that, really,” you say easily, waving it off. “I would’ve spent my night like this regardless. At least this way, I got to help more than one friend.” You smile, tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear. “Besides, it’s not like the night was a complete bust. In fact, I even got to meet someone.”

“Oh?” That piques his interest enough to make him lean forward. His bright eyes take you in as he stands over you and raises an eyebrow, playing along. “And what’s your verdict?”

You tap your chin thoughtfully, pretending to mull it over. “Well, from what I’ve been able to gather so far, he’s tall and smart and kind of annoyingly funny. His hair’s a little bit questionable," —that part makes him laugh, that same laugh does something funny to your heart, even now after hearing it so many times tonight— “but his heart’s in the right place. In fact, I’m starting to think that’s my favorite thing about him.”

“What a coincidence. See, I met someone like that tonight, too.” This time, it’s your turn to play along as he speaks, tilting your head with barely concealed interest. “Granted, her hair’s a little more on the boring side,” —he’s standing close enough this time for you to elbow him without any worry, which you don’t hesitate to do, even as his words make your heart flutter and your cheeks warm— “but she’s got these really beautiful eyes, and a really great laugh. And it doesn’t hurt that she’s a really great friend, too.”

It’s a wonder you’re able to look at him at all, what with the way your heart feels like it’s racing in your chest, but you manage it just fine, nothing but sincerity in your voice as you tell him, “I’m glad I got to meet you tonight, Kuroo.”

“I’m glad I got to meet you, too,” he says, and you can tell from the look in his eyes and the softness in his voice that he really means it.

It’s obvious that neither of you really want to, but you say your goodbyes, Kuroo promising to return at some point tomorrow to pick Bokuto up from your care. It’s only after he’s gone, when you’re scrubbing your makeup off your face and changing into your pjs that you realize you never actually exchanged numbers.

The realization is enough to make you smack your forehead with the palm of your hand, the sound echoing throughout your apartment and reminding everyone in its immediate vicinity that despite what your GPA may say, you are, in fact, a huge moron. You suppose it’s just a testament to your own stupidity that you spent the entire night flirting with someone who is quite possibly the most attractive person you’ve ever met and had it reciprocated only to end up completely fumbling the bag by forgetting to ask for his number.

You know Bokuto has it and that if you really want it, all you have to do is ask him, but you also know he won’t be up until the morning, maybe even the afternoon. And maybe it’s silly of you, but you don’t actually want to wait that long.

It’s with that thought in mind that you find yourself standing from your bed, shoving your feet into the closest pair of slippers you can find and throwing on a cardigan as you make your way to the door. You pull it open, keys and phone in hand, and you’re surprised to find Kuroo already standing there in front of you, a hand lifted up, as if he was just about to knock.

It’s hard to say which of you is more surprised to see the other, both of your eyes wide and expressions mirroring one another’s. In the end, you’re the one who recovers first, greeting him with a little wave. “Hi.”

It takes him a moment to respond, frozen as he is at the sight of you in front of him again, but eventually he snaps out of it, lowering his hand and breathing a nervous but nonetheless genuine, “Hey.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to bother you. I know you were probably about to go to sleep, but I— I think I might have left my phone on your coffee table.”

“Your phone, huh?” You watch in amusement as he shifts on his feet, nodding towards him with a knowing look in your eye. “You mean the same phone that’s sticking out of your pocket right now?”

“Oh, shit.” His eyes widen, eyebrows all but shooting into his hairline as his gaze follows yours to where his traitorous phone peeks out of his pocket. He scrambles to shove it away, face burning red with embarrassment at the realization he’s been caught, while you do your best not to giggle at how endearing and adorable he looks while he’s all flustered. “Wow, would you look at that— and I didn’t even notice— you know what, on second thought, I’m just gonna go—“

He turns around quickly, no doubt ready to bolt away, but you stop him with a gentle call of his name. Slowly, he turns back to face you with downcast eyes, that embarrassed blush from before spreading from his cheeks all the way up to his ears.

You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the doorway, raising an eyebrow at him. “Did you seriously pretend to leave your phone behind so you’d have an excuse to see me again?”

“Maybe.” He lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, a sheepish look on his face. “Is that lame?”

“Only about as lame as rushing to put on a cardigan and bunny slippers just for a chance to see you again.”

He blinks, eyes flickering down to stare at your bunny slippers, then back to you, his whole face lighting up at your confession. “Wait, did you really—“

“Yup.” You wiggle your bunny-clad toes, tugging on the sleeve of your cardigan. “Guilty.” But you don’t sound like you’re ashamed of it, and when he grins at you, you realize he isn’t, either. “So how about next time we want to see each other, we make it easier on both of us and just text about it?”

“Works for me, but I don’t actually have your number.”

You extend your hand towards him and open your palm, wiggling your fingers with a knowing smile. “Then I guess I’d better give it to you, huh?”

He scrambles for his phone where it rests in his pocket, nearly dropping it at your feet in the process. You both end up laughing about it as you take it from him, putting in your number and sending yourself a quick text so you have his.

When you’ve finished, you hand the phone back to him, though it’s obvious as you meet each other’s eyes, just like it was a few moments before, that neither of you are ready to say goodbye just yet. It’s why, this time, instead of parting ways, you offer to invite him in for some tea. And, to your sheer delight, he accepts, giving you a smile that makes your whole chest light up as if it’s on fire.

The two of you spend the rest of the night sitting at your kitchen counter and drinking tea, talking about everything you can think of. And though it too eventually comes to an end, later you’ll remember how warm it felt, how right, like it was the start of something new, something good.

The start of us, you both think to yourselves, though neither one of you is brave enough to say it yet.

But then he shows up at your door the next day with hangover food for your friends and your favorite iced coffee, a smile on his face you can’t help but return, and you realize there’s no need to say it at all.

Because both of you already know, and you can’t imagine anything better.

Written by: Dawn

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu x reader #kuroo imagines #haikyuu imagines #kuroo x y/n #kuroo x you #haikyu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #hq x reader #our writing #kuroo fluff #kuroo tetsuro fluff #haikyuu fluff #dawn writes

[thoughtkick]

I like how our hands seem to have their own conversations, apart from our mouths. I like how we tell things we can’t seem to say out loud. In these spaces between, our fingers meet and they fit. Perfectly. There were no walls. No secrets. I like how our hands knew how to be together at times we can’t seem to.

Dawn Lanuza

#Dawn Lanuza #motivation #quotes #poetry #literature #relationship quotes #writing #original #words #love #relationship #thoughts #lit #prose #spilled ink #inspiring quotes #life quotes #quoteoftheday #love quotes #poem #aesthetic

[inoreuct]

thinking about zoro being the crew's main protector.

it’s quite literally his role amongst the straw hats; luffy's captain, usopp's their sniper, sanji cooks, nami navigates, chopper's their doctor, franky's their shipwright, jinbei's their helmsman and brook's their musician but zoro? zoro's their swordsman. zoro’s their guardian. his job is to be the first line of defense and protect everybody else so they can focus on doing their own thing and sure, none of them really need protecting— but they don't have to worry about defending themselves, either, because whoever they can't or don't want to handle zoro will finish up (if he hasn't gotten to them first).

like imagine a bunch of idiots cornering one of the crew (bad idea.) and picking nami because she's the woman without a devil fruit, as opposed to robin (BAD idea.). they've got her surrounded in the dead end of an alleyway and have somehow neutralised her clima-tact and she’s not worried, she’s not.

but against twelve men and with her weapon essentially now just a regular staff, she might be panicking. just a little. she’s gotten a couple of them good enough that they’re down for the count before a chain wrapped around her ankle trips her. it pulls at enough memories, faded but never forgotten, to bring up a sickening wave of fear and anger— and nami decides that she’s had enough of the bullshit.

she takes a deep breath and screams. “ZORO!”

the silence afterwards is deafening. the wind shifts, gently lifting the pieces of hair stuck to her sweaty face, and the men laugh uneasily. one of them yanks hard on the chain and she spits at him, heels scrabbling against the dusty ground even as he starts reeling her in like a fish on a hook. “he can’t hear you, little missy,” he snickers, grin widening the longer nobody shows up.

it’s still on his face when his head slides right off his neck.

blood sprays right before his body crumples like a doll. it takes a second for the others to realise and then the screaming starts— none of them get any farther than three steps before zoro’s cutting them down, swift swings of his sword and almost surgically precise slices rendering them incapacitated if not plain dead.

“sorry i’m late, witch.” the swordsman’s breathing hard, gore dripping off his blades even as he arcs one down and snaps the chain off nami’s leg with a growl. “did they hurt you?”

“no. no, i’m fine,” nami breathes, her smile quivering just a little— not because she’s shaken, no. because she’s pissed.

zoro’s voice is gruff as always, but his hands are careful if not outright gentle as he kneels to inspect her ankle before pulling her to her feet. “stay close,” he mutters, making sure that she’s nodded before cutting them a path through the fray. they bump into chopper next, and the doctor’s out cold over zoro’s shoulder in his regular form by the time sanji joins them to guard their flank. nami’s taken to just using her clima-tact as a bat for now, and it’s admittedly efficient.

she knew zoro would come. he always does. for all that they bicker and snip at each other, zoro has always protected his crew— even when said crew was just three people on what could barely be called a boat. he’d fought for her at arlong park and he fights for her now, his sword slicing over her head at an enemy she can’t see as she ducks low to jam her staff into another’s stomach.

they’ve moved closer to their ship when they find jinbei, then robin, then usopp, then brook and franky, and then zoro’s yelling luff, time to go! and their captain’s launching them all back onto the Sunny with a gleeful cackle that makes nami wheeze a laugh as they land in a mildly painful pile of limbs. somebody’s elbow digs into her ribs and she’s pretty sure that’s sanji’s bony kneecap pressed into her lower back. the swordsman swears as he sets about trying to pry them all apart and luffy seems to be actively fighting him, based on how his cursing’s getting more and more colourful.

behind them, their enemies burn, sliced to pieces. they debrief in the galley and zoro refuses to come away from the door until nami drags him by the ear and sanji threatens to personally shove dessert down his throat. they both know it’s because zoro’s still guarding them from a threat that doesn’t exist anymore.

they know he pretends not to care as much as he does. they know he keeps his words blunt and his swords sharp, but zoro lets luffy hang off him, unfazed, and makes a marginal effort to stick to nami’s budget even when he’s getting booze, and he eats his dessert. every last bit. he lets usopp fire moving targets to slice through so they can both practice. he keeps collateral damage when sparring with sanji to a minimum. he stitches whoever needs it up himself when chopper’s a little too tired.

and when his crew calls, he answers.

(now with a part from nami’s pov!)

#idk what this is #it was SUPPOSED to be a much angstier scene with nami getting borderline tortured before she cracks and screams for help #and zoro comes in swords blazing in full demon mode because how fucking dare. how dare someone touch his nakama #but i’ll spare you guys the pain (unless yall actually want me to write it lmao) #but also i love!! romance dawn trio!! #one piece #roronoa zoro #zoro #one piece zoro #strawhat pirates #straw hat pirates #mugiwara crew #nami and zoro are textbook wlw mlm solidarity but also #their friendship is something so special to me

[twstjam]

Fuck the timeline, everyone please consider an au where the Knight of Dawn narrowly escapes from a fight that almost kills him and as he's limping through a forest to find somewhere to hide and recover, the woodland creatures find him and lead him somewhere. He follows, assuming they're leading him somewhere safe, but before he can reach it he collapses from his injuries. As his consciousness begins to fade, he sees Princess Meleanor looking down at him and he isn't surprised that she'd been waiting for his end, waiting for him to join her in the Underworld where he'd sent her.

Later in the evening, Lilia Vanrouge is startled by the door to his quiet little cottage bursting open. His prince and pupils have returned... and they have dragged the injured Knight of Dawn back with them. Silver runs up to Lilia and begs "Papa" to help the poor injured man they'd found in the woods, completely oblivious to how Lilia's blood chills and his mouth goes dry because his son this human child had so cluelessly brought an old enemy into their home who also happens to be his father.

#idk i just wanted a custody battle okay #and lilia being like “it's okay you can go home with your real father I'm not upset (lie)” and kid silver going “No!! YOU'RE my papa!!” #he clings to him and Lilia looks to the Knight for help but even he's like “don't make him leave his papa :(” which doesn't help Lilia #who has been trying so hard for so many years to deny the role of “father” because it's not true (and he doesn't think he's worthy of it #+ he's in denial that this sweet innocent little boy could ever love him so much) #twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #silver vanrouge #twst silver #sebek zigvolt #malleus draconia #diasomnia #diasomnia spoilers #twst spoilers #twst book 7 spoilers #twst knight of dawn #matcha nonsense #matcha writes a bit

[ezzakennebba]

anyway bella was 18 and pregnant for only 28 days before she was giving birth.

twilight is a horror saga.

#twilight #i hardly ever Post My Opinion as far as what I think of Smeyers choices but holy fuck did she drop the ball on this one #if you're going to subject my girl to the horrors #make the horrors better than Robitussin #the sheer fuckery of writing her character already parentified by renée #and already disregarding of the institution of marriage and family #wouldn't want to start one #not to mention the body horror of speed running a lethal pregnancy #to me eclipse and breaking dawn don't exist #ez rambles