-when his anger is taken out on the wrong place in the wrong time- angst
You heard the door slam before you saw him.
Heavy, rushed steps. Keys tossed onto the console. His bag hitting the floor with a thud that echoed down the hallway.
He didn’t even say hello.
You were already in the kitchen, apron still on, a dish towel over your shoulder and his favorite food still hot on the stove. You had candles lit — just two, small ones, nothing dramatic. You just… wanted to make him smile. You missed his smile.
So when he walked in, stiff-shouldered and scowling, you tried anyway.
“Hey, baby,” you said, gentle, trying to meet him where he was. “Rough day?”
He didn’t answer.
You took a step closer, hands still in the dish towel. “I made—”
“Why is it so fucking dark in here?” he snapped, voice sharp like glass. “I can’t even see anything—can you turn a goddamn light on for once?”
You froze, blinking.
“I— I just thought the candles would be—”
He scoffed, brushing past you, hand running through his hair, exasperated. “Jesus. I come home to this after the shit I’ve been through?”
You swallowed hard. “I didn’t know it would be this bad. I thought maybe—maybe it’d help. I made your favorite.”
You lifted the dish — still warm, perfectly plated, just the way he liked it. Your hands were trembling.
And maybe it was the wrong moment, or maybe he didn’t mean it at all, but he looked at it — looked at you — and said,
“I don’t need you hovering over me. I need space. Just—fuck. Stop trying so hard.”
Silence.
Your fingers shook.
Something in your chest cracked. Not loud — soft. Like the quiet break of something that had been held together too long.
“I was just trying to make you happy,” you whispered.
The dish clattered — not shattered, just dropped onto the counter as your hands fell away. Your breath hitched. The tears came faster than you could stop them.
And then he reached for you.
“Shit—wait, wait—baby, I didn’t mean—”
You flinched.
Like he’d slapped you. Like his voice alone had scorched the space between you.
his eyes widened. His hand froze midair.
You were already turning away — stumbling, shoulder brushing his as you ran past, up the stairs, into the bedroom, the soft sound of a door clicking shut behind you like a final period at the end of a sentence you didn’t want to write.
Downstairs, he stood in the kitchen. Staring at the plate you made. The food untouched. The candles still flickering softly. Pushing back the hair out his eyes
He just brings home your favorite drink without asking.
He buys the ugly little pink plushie you pointed at one time three weeks ago and tosses it on the bed like it's no big deal. Doesn’t even look at you. Just mutters,
“Figured you’d like it. Don’t make it a thing.”
It is a thing. Your chest is full.
You once complained offhandedly about your favorite ramen spot being closed for the day.
The next day he made you ramen. From scratch. With a scowl on his face and flour on his nose.
When you get cold, he doesn’t ask. Just grumbles,
“Come here,”
and throws a blanket over both of you. arm around your waist, hand rubbing your hip under the fabric.
When you’re sick, he doesn’t say a word.
Just disappears and comes back with four bags of medicine, three different kinds of soup, and a plushie shaped like a strawberry cow.
The cashier asked if it was for his kid.
He said, “No. For my wife.”
And then made direct eye contact until the guy stopped smiling.
He doesn’t show his love loudly.
He just gives you the last bite of his food without asking.
He puts himself between you and the street when you walk.
He silently kneels to help you tie your shoe if you’re struggling with the laces.
He gets irrationally angry if your socks are wet.
“Why didn’t you tell me your feet were cold? What am I here for then?”
And when you tell him you love him? He freezes for a second, ears going red.
Then mutters, voice low,
summary - a party, a fight, and one grumpy blond later, you find yourself being pulled back to the same place every time—right back to him.
cw - alot more plot than porn, strangers to lovers, angst if you squint, slow burn, opposites attract, cutesy/feminine reader, laxus is soft around reader, anger issues, experienced laxus, less experienced reader, making out, 69, p in v, fingering, dirty talk, protected sex, getting together
a/n - this was supposed to be longer but i ended up cutting a few things out. i might turn it into another post instead! thanks for requesting! i hope you enjoy <3
you're at the party because cana begged you to come out for once, promising it was one of those low-key hangouts.
it was not! it's loud, sweaty, bodies everywhere… you definitely don't fit in.
you're wearing a pink dress with a bow in the middle of the neckline, along with some pink kitten heels. you thought it was appropriate because the dress was shorter than your other ones. atleast cana said so.. but you felt like a sore thumb compared to the other girls. where the hell is cana!?
you press yourself against the wall near the stairs, trying to make yourself invisible.
but then the shouting starts, and you hear a loud pang of glass shattering across the room. that's when you see him.
he's in the middle of the living room, shoving some guy off of him like he weighs nothing. below the guy was pieces of a glass table. the blonde ones knuckles were split, blood smeared across his fingers, jaw clenched. he looks furious, electric. he's breathing hard.
you don't know him, you've never seen him. he stomps towards the hallway you're standing in, pushing past you without realizing. the force of it makes you stumble further into the wall.
he mutters something under his breath, something sharp and annoyed, and disappears into the darker part of the house.
you should stay where you are. you should pretend you didn’t see anything. but you’re you. you were concerned, despite not knowing the guy and kind of being scared of him too.
you saw the blood on his hand. the way he held his ribs for a second. the way his breathing didn’t sound right. and before you can talk yourself out of it, your feet are already moving.
you follow him down the hall. he ducked into the downstairs bathroom, the door half shut behind him. you hover outside for a second, heart pounding, telling yourself this is stupid... but caring is instinct for you. it’s not something you turn off.
so you knock. gently. barely audible over the music.
there’s a pause. then a rough, irritated, “what.”
you push the door open a little, peeking inside. he’s standing at the sink, head down, water running over his bloody knuckles. he looks up when he sees you, confused, annoyed and surprised all at once.
“you’re bleeding...” you say softly.
he blinks, a little annoyed. he's never seen you around before. he looked at you up and down. cute face. cute outfit. the hell was someone like you doing here?
he just scoffs. “get outta here kid.”
you freeze for a second, but you don’t back out. you don’t leave. you just stand there, small and stubborn.
“i’m not a kid...” you murmur.
he doesn’t even look at you when he answers. “didn’t ask.”
he shakes his hand out, blood flicking onto the counter, and winces when the movement pulls at his knuckles. he tries to hide it, but you see it anyway.
you take one step closer.
he notices immediately. his eyes snap up, sharp and irritated. “the hell are you doing?”
“you’re hurt. what happened?” you whisper.
“and?” he shoots back, brows raised like you’re the one being ridiculous. “i told you to get outta here.”
you swallow, but you don’t move away. “but i can help.”
he stares at you like you’ve just said something insane. like he can’t figure out if you’re brave or stupid or both.
he scoffs under his breath, a short, sharp sound that makes it very clear he’s not impressed.
“help,” he repeats, like the word tastes stupid in his mouth. “yeah, okay. sure.”
you can’t tell if he’s mocking you or testing you. maybe both.
“look,” he mutters, shaking water off his hand, “i don’t need you hovering over me. get lost.”
he turns back to the sink, shoulders tight, jaw clenched, blood swirling down the drain. he’s still breathing too fast, still wired from the fight, still radiating that sharp energy that makes everyone else i. the house keep their distance. somehow everyone except you.
you take another tiny step inside the bathroom.
his head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing like you’re the most annoying thing that’s happened to him all night. “are ya fuckin' deaf?” he snaps. “i said get lost.”
you step forward anyway. you can never ignore someone who's hurt. that's just not you.
that makes him pause. not soften, just… pause. like he can’t believe you’re still here.
you move beside him, reaching under the sink for the first‑aid kit you spotted earlier. he watches you in the mirror, eyes narrowed, jaw tight, like he’s waiting for you to mess up or freak out or finally run.
but you don’t.
you set the kit on the counter next to him. “give me your hand.”
he barks out a laugh. “not happening.”
you look up at him... really look. and for the first time he seems to notice how close you are. how small you are. how pink and soft and out of place you look in this grimy frat bathroom.
you take his hand anyway. his knuckles are warm and sticky with blood. you were holding it like it was something dangerous.
he watches you the whole time, expression flat and unimpressed. but he doesn’t pull away.
“you're real pushy for someone who looks like they're about to cry.” he finally muttered.
you swallow, but your grip doesn't loosen. “i'm not pushy..”
“could've fooled me.”
“sit.” you whisper, nodding toward the counter.
he scoffs. “you givin’ orders now?”
“you’re dripping blood everywhere,” you say, voice barely above a breath. “please?”
the word hangs between you, soft and fragile in the cramped bathroom.
he clicks his tongue, annoyed, but hops up onto the counter anyway, shoes thudding against the cabinet doors. not because you told him to. he’d never admit that. but because standing hurts more than he wants you to notice.
you open the first aid kit with trembling fingers. he notices that too.
you dab at the blood on his knuckles with a cotton pad. he hisses, jaw tightening, but he doesn’t yank his hand away. he stares at you like he can’t wrap his head around it. who even are you? you walk in like some princess, all soft and pink with big eyes, acting like you belong anywhere near a guy who just put someone through a table.
“you’re really doin’ the most for a stranger.” he mutters, tone flat, almost bored.
you don’t look up. “you’re bleeding.”
“yeah, i noticed.” he snaps, but he keeps his hand exactly where you’re holding it.
you dab at another streak of blood, and he shifts just slightly.
“this is stupid...” he says under his breath, eyes flicking over your pink dress again. “you should be out there with your friends or whatever. not here.”
“it's fine. 'm not a party person anyway. cana was the one who dragged me here...” you mumble.
oh, so you're with cana? he definitely didn't expect that, but it tracks. she's always dragging people into chaos, but still, he's never seen you with her either.
and yet here you are, standing between his knees, cleaning blood off his hand like it’s normal. like you’ve done this before. like you’re not scared of him, even though you should be.
you finish wrapping his hand in silence, the music from the party thumping through the walls. he watches you the whole time, just tracking you.
you smooth the last bit of tape down, fingers brushing his skin for half a second. he doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t thank you either.
you step back, giving him space.
he hops off the counter in one clean motion. he flexes his wrapped hand once, testing it, jaw ticking like he hates that it actually feels better.
he heads for the door without a word.
then, right as he reaches it, he stops.
he doesn’t turn around. doesn’t look at you. just stands there, shoulders broad and tense.
“...what’s your name?” he mutters, voice low, rough, like he regrets asking the second it leaves his mouth.
you blink, caught off guard, mumbling your name beneath your breath.
he nods once. then he’s gone.
no goodbye. no thank you. no lingering look.
just the door swinging shut behind him, leaving you alone in the bathroom with the faint smell of soap, the first‑aid kit, and the echo of your name hanging in the air like he took it with him.
you just blink in his direction, totally confused. you didn't even get his name!
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
you left the party right after that.
you didn’t mean to. you tried to find cana, weaving through the crowd, calling her name over the music but she was nowhere. the house felt too loud, too hot, too full of people who didn’t look twice at you, and your head was still spinning from the bathroom.
so you slipped out the front door, heels clicking on the pavement, the night air cold against your flushed skin. you walked home alone, replaying the whole thing in your head, wondering why he even asked.
the next morning, you’re at your tiny kitchen table, wrapped in a blanket. your head still feels fuzzy, your body still tired...
and the door swings open.
of course she shows up.
“you left me!” she groans dramatically, dropping her bag on the floor and collapsing into the chair across from you. “i thought you ditched me. then i finally saw you. i turn around for two seconds… and you were gone!”
“i couldn’t find you!” you mumble, rubbing your eyes. “and it was… a lot.”
“yeah, well, that’s what parties are. duh.” she says, waving a hand. “chaos, sweat, bad decisions. speaking of— did you see that fight?”
your stomach tightens.
“i… saw some of it.”
cana perks up immediately.
“some guy from pi kappa.” she says, rolling her eyes. “you know, that rival frat full of dudes who think they’re god’s gift to the campus? anyway, one of them showed up last night. big mistake.”
you blink. “why?”
“because he and laxus—the blond one—hate each other.” she says simply. “like, actual beef. years of it. i don’t even know the whole story... something about a game, a fight, who knows. but they can’t be in the same room without starting shit.”
you feel your pulse pick up. so... that guy you patched up is laxus?
“so what happened?” you ask quietly.
“the pi kappa guy started running his mouth.” cana says, leaning back. “talking about how laxus only wins because he’s ‘built like a truck,’ how their frat could ‘wipe the floor’ with his team, blah blah blah. just stupid crap.”
“and.. laxus didn’t like that?” you murmur.
cana snorts. “laxus never likes anything. but this? this set him off. the guy shoved him first, and laxus shoved back harder. next thing you know, he’s flying into the glass table.”
so that was the shattering you heard.
“honestly, i’m shocked it didn’t get worse. those two frats hate each other. every time they’re in the same room, something breaks. usually furniture. sometimes noses.”
you blink. “and… laxus is always like that?”
“he’s a walking temper tantrum with muscles. best athlete on campus but also the biggest headache. coaches love him, everyone else avoids him. he’s got this… reputation.”
you swallow. “what kind of reputation?”
“the kind where if he’s pissed, you get out of the way. he’s huge, and he doesn’t care who he scares. people don’t go near him unless they have a death wish. he definitely has a wild case of anger issues.”
well... now things are starting to piece together. he seemed irritated at the bathroom, but not like how cana's describing him.
“like, i swear, i’ve seen him punch a hole in a wall because someone bumped into him. he’s insane. i don’t even know why he goes to parties. he hates everyone there.”
you stare at your hands.
your voice comes out small. “i… didn’t know he was like that.”
“trust me,” cana says, rolling her eyes, “if you were anywhere near him, you’d know. he’s impossible to miss.”
“well... i.. i kind of met him. helped him?”
cana freezes. “what!?”
“in the bathroom. he was bleeding. i just— i don’t know. i followed him. and i cleaned his hand.”
cana stares at you like you just confessed to petting a wild bear.
“you followed laxus dreyar into a bathroom...” she says slowly, “and touched him!?”
you nod, cheeks warming.
“are you insane?”
“i didn’t know who he was.” you mumble.
“that doesn’t make it better!” she yelps. “oh my god, you’re lucky he didn’t throw you through a wall! maybe he thought you were cute or something...”
“cute!?” you squealed. “no way. he looked really irritated... i think i was just annoying him.”
“well, he still let you touch him. that's definitely something!”
“how do you know so much about him anyway?”
“because we’re… friends.” she says, making a vague gesture with her hand. “well, kind of. it’s complicated. he’s an ass. i’ve known him since freshman year. he’s always been like this.”
you blink. “like… angry?”
“angry, stubborn, impossible...” she says, counting on her fingers. “but he’s not a bad guy. he just… doesn’t do people.”
you stare at her. “so why does he talk to you?”
“because i don’t take his crap.” she says proudly. “and because he knows i’ll punch him back. plus, how do ya think the frat gets the best alcohol around?”
“i guess that makes sense... he sounds intense.”
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
monday evenings on campus always feel hollow. you're walking back from your last class with your bag slung over your shoulder, brain foggy and feet aching.
the sky is already dimming. it looks like it’s about to rain. you're already thinking about your cozy home, making dinner and showering and collapsing into bed—
BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!
cana: babyyyy i need a favor
cana: i left my gym bag in the training room
cana: pls pls pls grab it for me i’m busy
you sigh. of course. well, it never hurts to do something nice for your friend. you type something back and turn towards the gym building.
the hallways get colder the closer you get, that weird gym air chill that smells faintly like rubber mats and metal weights. the fluorescent lights hum overhead, buzzing just enough to make your temples throb.
you push open the door to the training room.
it’s mostly empty. mostly.
the first thing you notice is the sound.
a deep, heavy thud that vibrates through the floor. then another. and another. steady, rhythmic, like someone trying to beat the air out of the room.
you step inside, and that’s when you see him.
laxus.
he’s in front of the heavy bag, shoulders broad and tense, muscles shifting under his skin with every punch. he’s shirtless, beads of sweat dripping down his abs, his hair is damp, sticking to his forehead, jaw clenched in that same sharp line you remember from the bathroom.
his hands are taped. your tape.
the same white wrap you smoothed over his knuckles two nights ago, now frayed at the edges, stained faintly pink.
you freeze in the doorway, breath catching in your throat.
he doesn’t see you at first. or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. he keeps hitting the bag, each strike sending a dull echo through the room. the chain rattles overhead. the bag swings. his shoulders rise and fall with controlled, irritated breaths.
you force yourself to move, slipping along the wall toward the shelves where cana’s bag should be. your footsteps sound too loud in the empty room, like you’re intruding on something you shouldn’t be seeing.
you stretch up on your toes, fingers brushing the strap of a bag that’s just barely out of reach. you try again, and the shelf creaks, and—
the punching stops.
the silence hits you harder than the sound did.
you turn your head slowly.
laxus is staring at you.
not angry. not surprised. just… focused. like he’s trying to place you.
you swallow, throat tight. you quickly turn back to the shelf.
he just watches you, chest still rising and falling, sweat dripping down his temple. you turn back to the shelf, pretending you’re not shaking.
you reach again. the bag is still too high.
you try a third time, stretching your arm as far as it’ll go.
behind you, there’s a low, annoyed exhale.
then heavy footsteps.
then a shadow falls over you.
you don’t turn around. you don’t have to. he steps past you, close enough that you feel the heat radiating off him, and grabs the bag with one hand like it weighs nothing.
he holds it out to you.
you take it carefully, your fingers brushing his for half a second. he doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t pull away. he just stands there, breathing steady now, eyes unreadable.
“tell cana to do her own chores.” he says, voice low and rough, like gravel dragged across concrete.
you hug the bag to your chest, nodding. he’s already looking past you, like the conversation is over, like you’re just another thing in the room he’s done dealing with.
but then he pauses.
not dramatically. just a hitch in movement, a tiny break in the rhythm of him turning back toward the heavy bag.
his eyes flick down to your shoes, your pretty pink ballet flats, a little damp from the walk over then back up to your face.
“you walked here?” he asks, voice low and rough.
you blink. “yeah...?”
he exhales through his nose. something in between a sigh and annoyance. he drags a hand over his face, wiping sweat from his brow, tape scraping lightly against his skin.
“figured.” he mutters.
you frown. “figured what?”
he doesn’t answer right away. he just looks at you again. the damp shoes. the thin pink cardigan. cute skirt. the way you’re holding cana’s bag like a shield.
finally, he says, “you don’t dress for the weather.”
you blink again. “what?”
“your shoes.” he says, nodding toward them. “they’re soaked.”
you look down. he’s right! the fabric is darker at the toes, waterlogged from the walk across campus. you hadn’t even noticed.
“it’s fine...” you mumble.
“it’s stupid.” he corrects, blunt as ever.
your head snaps up, but he’s not smirking, not teasing. he’s just stating it like a fact.
“this building’s on the far end of campus.” he continues, turning slightly but not fully away. “sidewalk floods when it rains. everyone knows that.”
you bristle a little. “i didn’t...”
“yeah.” he says, eyes flicking over you one more time, “i can tell.”
it’s not an insult, just how laxus talks.
he turns back toward the heavy bag, shoulders rolling, muscles tensing like he’s about to slip right back into the rhythm you interrupted.
but again, he stops.
he still doesn’t turn around. he just drags a hand over the back of his neck, tape scraping lightly against his skin, jaw flexing like he’s annoyed. at you, at himself, at the situation, at everything.
“wait. i’ll take you home.”
your heart stutters. “w-what?”
now he turns, finally, eyes cutting toward you with that same unreadable intensity.
“your shoes are soaked.” he says, like that explains everythin. “you’re not walking across campus like that.”
you blink. “huh? i'm fine...”
“you’re not.” he says immediately, no hesitation. “you’re gonna get sick or twist your ankle or—” he stops, jaw tightening again, like he’s catching himself caring too much. “just wait.”
you shake your head. “i... don’t need a ride. it's fine! i can walk.”
“didn’t ask if you needed one.”
your mouth opens, closes. “i don’t want to bother you...”
“you’re not.”
“i can walk—”
“no.”
the word is sharp, final, not loud but firm enough to shut down the air between you.
you try one last time. “i really don’t want to be a problem.”
“you’re not.” he says again, quieter this time. “just grab your stuff. give me 10 minutes.”
you hesitate, but ultimately give in. “okay...”
you stand there awkwardly, hugging the bag to your chest, unsure where to put yourself.
he turns back to the heavy bag, rolls his shoulders once, and then—
thud.
the sound is sharp, controlled, nothing like the wild, angry punches from earlier. this is different. measured. precise. like he’s burning off the last of something he doesn’t want to carry home.
you watch him without meaning to.
the way his muscles tighten and release, the way his breath steadies, the sweat dripping down his sculpted figure... wait, what are you doing!?
finally, after what feels like forever, he steps back from the bag. his chest rises and falls in slow, controlled breaths. he grabs a towel off a bench, wipes his face, then drapes it around his neck.
only then does he look at you again.
“okay.” he says, voice low, rough from exertion. “let’s go.”
you nod and follow him out of the building. he doesn’t wait for you. he just walks, long strides, towel around his neck, hoodie in one hand, but he slows down just enough that you don’t fall behind.
the air is cool and damp, the pavement still shining from earlier rain. the parking lot is mostly empty, but one car stands out immediately.
sleek. low. black. the kind of car that looks expensive even if you know nothing about cars. he must be rich...
he unlocks it with a short beep, not even glancing at your reaction.
you try not to stare, but you do.
he opens the passenger door and jerks his chin toward the seat.
“get in.”
you climb in carefully, trying not to scuff anything. the interior is even nicer: leather seats, clean dashboard, faint scent of something warm and sharp... maybe cologne, maybe just him. everything looks polished, well kept and expensive.
he gets in on the driver’s side and shuts the door.
“where do you live?” he asks, eyes on the road.
you tell him. a small house just off campus, barely a five minute drive.
he nods once, starts the engine, and pulls out of the lot. he doesn’t talk, he just drives, steady and focused.
you sneak a glance at him once, maybe twice.
he notices.
“seatbelt.”
you fumble for it immediately.
the rest of the drive is silent, but not uncomfortable. like there’s something in the air neither of you knows how to name.
when he turns onto your street, he slows down, scanning the row of houses.
and then he sees yours.
your small house with the flower boxes and the little porch light shaped like a star. soft and warm and completely out of place next to his sleek black car.
he actually stops for a second.
a small pause, like his brain needs an extra beat to process what he’s looking at.
“…that’s yours?” he asks, voice low.
you nod, suddenly self‑conscious.
he stares at it for a moment longer, jaw shifting like he’s trying to decide if he should say something.
finally, he mutters, almost too quiet to catch.
“looks like you.”
your breath catches. “huh?”
he shakes his head, already shifting the car into park. “nothing.”
you open the door, stepping out carefully onto the dry patch of pavement. he’s already looking at you like he’s checking to make sure you’re actually okay.
“um... thank you!”
“yeah. now go inside.” he says, voice low. “it’s cold.”
you nod, heart thudding.
you walk up the little path to your door, and when you turn back one last time, his car is still there, headlights glowing softly in the dark.
he doesn’t leave until you’re inside.
you close the door behind you with a soft click, the sound settling into the quiet of your little house. for a moment you just stand there in the entryway, cana’s bag still clutched to your chest like you forgot how to let go.
your heart is still beating too fast.
you take a slow breath, then another, trying to steady yourself. the lamp in the corner casts a warm glow across the room, softening everything—the walls, the tiny bookshelf, the little rug you crocheted last semester...
you toe off your wet flats and set cana’s bag on the bench by the door. then you hear his car drive off into the distance...
he's nothing like how cana described him!
yeah, he's kind of intimidating... scary even. but he seems nice. or maybe you're just being delusional. but he helped you, same way you helped him.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
a whole week passes where you don’t see him, don’t hear from him, don’t even catch a glimpse of him across campus. you didn't tell cana about the ride home. partly because you don’t know how to explain it, partly because you’re not sure it meant anything, and partly because you don’t want her to look at you with that oh my god face she does.
you try not to think about him, but you fail.
but life moves on, classes pile up, and by the time friday rolls around, you’ve convinced yourself it was nothing.
that’s when cana bursts into your room without knocking.
“big game tonight!” she announces, flopping onto your bed. “massive. everyone’s going. you’re coming too.”
you blink. “i am?”
“yes!” she says, already rummaging through your closet. “and wear something cute. the stadium lights are terrible.”
you hesitate. “who’s playing?”
she gives you a look. “who do you think? laxus’s team.”
your stomach drops, but you try to play it cool. “oh.”
“oh?” she mocks. “that’s all you have to say? he’s the star player. it’s gonna be insane!”
you nod, pretending your pulse isn’t suddenly too loud. “i guess i'll go.”
“great! i was gonna drag you along anyway.”
cana does your hair and you do your own makeup. honestly, cana's the only reason you go out so often, especially in places you don't fit in. it's fun... sometimes.
you both walk to the stadium with the rest of the crowd, the air buzzing with excitement. the crowd is huge. are games like these even that exciting?
you find seats near the sidelines, close enough to see the players clearly.
and then you see him.
laxus.
helmet off for warm‑ups, jaw set, shoulders broad under his pads. he looks different out here. even sharper, more focused, like the world narrows down to the field and nothing else.
your breath catches. you can't help but just watch.
cana notices your stare at him, but ultimately brushes it off.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
laxus hates the pre-game noise. the crowd, the chants, the stupid mascot dancing around like an idiot. he just wants to win and get this shit over with.
he rolls his shoulders, breathing in slowly. he's focused. and ready.
he's always ready.
but then something flickers in his vision. soft colors, a familiar shape. someone sitting near the sidelines with the damn alcoholic.
his chest tightens before he can stop it. he looks away immediately, jaw clenching. he brushes it off, and forces himself to focus on the play, on the ball, on the snap count.
and for most of the game, he does.
he plays well, better than well. he’s a machine, a wall, a force. he tackles clean, blocks hard, reads the field like it’s second nature.
and finally, the final play.
they’re down by four. they need a touchdown. laxus throws a perfect pass to their wide receiver.
and the idiot drops it.
the whistle blows. the game ends.
laxus sees red. he stands there, wide-eyed while half the crowd cheers and the other half gasps. mumbles like “laxus' team lost?” and “no way...” fill the stadium
he suddenly storms toward the teammate, shoving him back when he tries to defend himself.
“you had ONE job!” laxus snarls.
the guy shoves him back. “get off my ass man—”
but laxus just lunges. furious, like a thunderstorm.
coaches rush in. players grab him. someone yells his name. he’s dragged back, still seething, still ready to swing.
he rips off his helmet and throws it at the bench, chest heaving. he doesn't bother to look at the crowd.
you flinch when he throws the helmet.
cana sighs. “yeah… that’s about right. feel bad for the other guy, dunno if he's gonna survive this week.”
“is he always like that?” you ask quietly.
“when they lose? yeah. when it’s not his fault? even worse.”
laxus just storms off, not acknowledging anyone who was trying to talk to him. he just moves fast, like he'll explode any second.
the stadium noise fades under the pounding in your ears.
cana is still talking beside you—something about how the wide receiver always chokes under pressure—but her voice blurs into background static. she doesn’t notice you standing up or notice you slipping past the people in your row.
you don’t even know why you’re moving. you just are.
your feet carry you toward the side gate, then around the corner of the stadium, following the path players take to the locker rooms. the air is colder here, quieter, the roar of the crowd muffled by the walls.
and there he is.
laxus stands with his back to you, shoulders heaving, hands braced on his hips like he’s trying not to punch the concrete wall in front of him. sweat drips down the back of his neck, catching the stadium lights.
he looks dangerous like this. untouchable. nothing like the guy who drove you home.
you take a tiny step forward.
“laxus…?”
he freezes.
slowly, he turns his head. not all the way, just enough to see you out of the corner of his eye. his expression is sharp, tight, still burning from the game.
“what the hell are you doing back here?” he snaps.
you open your mouth, startled. “i… i just wanted to—”
“of course you did.” he cuts in, voice dripping with irritation. “little princess wandering where she shouldn’t. figures.”
your breath catches. “i’m not—”
“i don’t need anything from you.” he snaps, louder this time. “i don’t need you checking on me. i don’t need you following me. i don’t need you here.”
you flinch.
he sees it, and instead of softening, he doubles down.
“go home.” he says, voice low and sharp. “before you get in the way.”
you stare at him, stunned. “i wasn’t trying to—”
“you did. now fuck off.” he fires back.
the words hit like a slap.
your throat tightens and you just run off, feeling like an absolute idiot.
watches the way your shoulders curl in, the way your head ducks, the way you practically flee like he’s something to be afraid of.
his jaw clenches so hard it aches.
“fuck.” he mutters under his breath.
there’s a flicker of something that isn’t anger. something that looks more like regret. but it’s gone as fast as it comes, buried under the leftover rage still burning through him.
he drags a hand through his hair, pacing once.
he shouldn’t have snapped. he knows that.
but he’s still furious. at the game, at his teammate, at himself. and he doesn’t have the space or the patience to deal with what just happened.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
another week passes. it isn't dramatic or life changing. you go to class. you take notes. you laugh when cana says something stupid. you do all the normal things you’re supposed to do.
and every time your mind drifts, even for a second, you shove the memory of that night back down. because it shouldn't matter. it doesn't matter. you don't even know him like that. he was angry, and you were in the way. that's all.
it shouldn't sting. but it still does.
now, you’re exhausted after a morning class and decide to stop by the campus cafe. it’s busy, loud, warm... the kind of place where you can easily disappear into the noise.
you order something to get you through the rest of the day. a nice sweet treat for yourself!
the barista rings it up, so you reach into your bag.
your stomach drops.
shoot! your wallet. how can you forget something like that!?
you blink, patting every pocket, checking again, heat rising in your cheeks.
“uh.. sorry!” you mumble. “i think forgot my money. i can cancel—”
“don’t bother.”
the voice comes from behind you.
deep. low and unmistakable.
it causes you to freeze up. you turn and.. it's laxus.
laxus stands there, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. no jersey, no pads, no sweat—just a hoodie, messy hair, and that same sharp stare that makes your pulse jump.
he nods at the barista. “put it on mine.”
the barista shrugs, taps a button and moves on.
but you’re still staring at him.
“why did you—”
“you were holding up the line.” he says flatly.
“i didn’t ask you to do that...”
“didn’t say you did.”
you swallow. “you didn’t have to—”
“i know.”
he says it like it’s obvious. like it’s nothing. like he didn’t tear into you a week ago and leave you running off like an idiot.
you stand there, awkward, unsure what to do with your hands or your face or your entire existence.
he glances at you again. like he’s checking if you’re about to cry or bolt or do something weird.
“you gonna sit?” he asks, jerking his chin toward an empty table in the corner.
your breath catches. “you… want me to?”
he rolls his eyes. “i wouldn't ask if i didn’t.”
you follow him before you can overthink it. you quickly grab your drink and pastry from the counter, trying not to trip over your own feet as you drop into the chair across from him.
for a moment, neither of you say anything.
you clear your throat. “i… didn’t know you came here.”
“i do.” he says, deadpan.
you stare down at your cup. “i just… didn’t picture you as a cafe person.”
he snorts. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
your eyes widen. “nothing! i just— you know— you seem more like a… protein shake type...?”
he stares at you.
you want to melt into the floor.
then, just barely, the corner of his mouth twitches. “you’re not wrong.”
you exhale, relieved.
he leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out under the table. they bump yours. you jolt. he doesn’t move them.
“so,” he says, tone flat but not hostile, “what’s your major?”
you blink. “oh. um. literature...”
he nods once, like that makes sense. “figures.”
“figures?” you say, a little defensive.
“you look like you read a lot.”
you open your mouth to argue, then close it. “…okay, that’s fair.”
“you planning on being a teacher or something?”
“maybe. or editing. or writing. i don’t know yet.”
“at least you got options.” he mutters.
you tilt your head. “what about you?”
he shrugs. “sports management. not because i want to. just the easiest thing to balance with football.”
you blink. “you don’t like it?”
“i like playing.” he says. “everything else is noise.”
you study him for a moment. the bruises on his knuckles, the faint shadows under his eyes, the way he keeps rolling his shoulder like it still aches from the game.
“you are really good...” you say quietly.
he just shrugs again. “i’m supposed to be.”
you just sip your drink, your heart fluttering a little.
a beat passes.
then another.
and then, somehow, the conversation just… keeps going.
you ask him how long he’s been playing. he asks you what books you like. you tell him you crochet when you’re stressed. he stares at you like you were crazy. you laugh, really laugh, and he doesn’t look annoyed by it.
the tension from last week doesn’t disappear, but it shifts... it becomes something else entirely.
you don’t even realize how much time has passed until your drink is empty and your pastry is gone.
he notices you staring at the cup and raises a brow. “you done?”
“yeah.” you say softly.
he stands, stretching, hoodie riding up just enough to show a sliver of toned stomach before he pulls it back down. “i gotta head out.”
you nod, trying not to look disappointed. “right. of course.”
you watch as he leaves. once again, your perception of him changes. he's... nice. at least when he wants to be.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
you were sure that would be the last time you saw him. but lately, it was like he was a reoccurring figure in your life, and you had no clue what it meant.
the next morning, you’re walking across campus, half awake, clutching a coffee. that's when you see him coming down the steps of the athletic building. hoodie up, backpack slung over one shoulder, jaw tight like he’s already annoyed at something.
you end up looking at him.
he glances up at the same time, eyes flicking over you in a quick, unreadable sweep.
you give a tiny nod, one that was barely there.
he returns it. just a dip of his chin.
and then he keeps walking.
you tell yourself it means nothing.
two days later, you see him again.
you’re leaving the library, arms full of books you definitely don’t need, when he pushes the door open from the other side. you nearly collide with him, chest to chest, breath catching, books wobbling.
his hand shoots out, steadying the stack before it spills.
“watch it.” he mutters.
“sorry!” you softly yelp.
he looks down at the books, then at you. “you always carry this much shit?”
you blink. “i… like reading.”
he huffs. “yeah. i know.”
you don’t know what that means, but your face warms anyway.
he holds the door open for you, because you're already there and it'd be stupid of him not to. but that's what he tells himself.
you walk past him, mumbling, “thanks.”
he grunts something that might be “you're welcome.” but it’s so low you’re not sure.
you spend the rest of the day thinking about it.
the next time is the café.
you’re not looking for him. you’re not thinking about him. you’re just tired and cold and craving something warm.
but he’s there.
same table as last time. this time he's wearing a tight black shirt with sweats, hair messy like he ran a hand through it too many times, black headphones around his neck and a half finished drink in front of him.
you didn't mean to, but you freeze in the doorway.
he looks up, and his eyes meet yours.
and something in his expression shifts. like... warmer? like he’s been waiting for something to happen and now it has.
he doesn’t wave you over or smile.
but he just taps the empty seat across from him once with two fingers, then goes back to his phone like it’s no big deal.
your heart stutters.
you walk over, trying not to look like you’re overthinking every step.
“you don’t have to sit here.” he says without looking up.
“you… tapped the seat?”
“yeah. didn’t say it was an invitation.”
you blink. “then what was it?”
he finally looks at you. “you looked like you were gonna hover like a weirdo.”
your mouth falls open. “i wasn’t—”
“you were.”
you sit down before he can make fun of you more.
he smirks, then takes a sip of his drink.
you order something small, something warm, something to keep your hands busy so you don’t fidget under his gaze.
when you come back, he’s scrolling through something on his phone.
you try not to stare but he notices anyway.
“what?” he asks, but not in that rough tone he usually had.
“nothing.” you say quickly. “just… didn’t expect to see you again.”
“why not?”
you shrug. “you don’t seem like the type to… repeat things?”
he raises a brow. “repeat what?”
“talking to me.”
he snorts. “you’re not that bad.”
your cheeks heat. “thanks…?”
“don’t get excited.” he mutters.
you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling into your drink.
the next day, you pass him on the main path between classes.
he’s with a teammate, laughing... actually laughing. it’s loud and unrestrained and so different from the version of him you’ve seen that you almost don’t recognize him.
until he sees you. the laugh dies instantly.
his expression shifts. it's not angry or annoyed, just… focused. like he’s tuning out everything else.
you give a small wave.
he gives a small nod.
his teammate follows his gaze, then looks at you, then at him, eyebrows raised.
“who’s that?” the guy asks.
laxus doesn’t answer, he just keeps walking.
and your heart does something stupid.
you don’t realize it until you’re home. you drop your bag by the door, kick off your shoes, and flop onto your bed without even turning the lights on.
and that’s when it hits you.
you’re smiling.
this tiny, stupid curl at the corner of your mouth that you can’t quite get rid of. you try to wipe it away, but it keeps creeping back like your face is betraying you.
you bury your face in your pillow.
“oh my god...” you mumble into it.
but your brain doesn’t listen.
it replays the way he tapped the seat for you. the way he looked at you like he was actually paying attention. the way he held the door at the library without thinking. the way he nodded at you on the path like it was a habit.
you roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling.
you don’t even know him like that. you barely talk. he’s rude and blunt!
and yet—
your stomach does that fluttery thing again.
you groan, dragging your hands over your face.
you've actually been looking forward to seeing him.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
“dreyar’s been less of a dick lately,” one says, tossing a ball between his hands.
“yeah, what’s up with that? think he’s getting laid?”
the first guy laughs. “please. laxus doesn’t date. he just… you know. does his thing and leaves.”
“yeah, but that’s the point.” the second guy says. “he’s usually all tense and pissed off until he finds someone to blow off steam with. but lately? he’s been… different.”
“different how?”
“i don’t know. calmer. less ready to break someone’s jaw. it’s weird.”
laxus hears all of it.
he’s not even trying to. he’s just walking past the field, towel slung over his shoulder, sweat still drying on his skin, when their voices drift over.
normally, he’d snap. or glare. or tell them to shut the hell up.
but today, he just listens, and they keep going.
“maybe he found someone new.” one says. “someone he actually likes.”
“nah.” the other replies. “he doesn’t like people. he just uses them to get his head straight.”
laxus’s jaw flexes, but not from anger.
because the thing is... they’re not wrong. he's never been the relationship type. but lately it's like he's been catching himself looking for someone. someone all dolled up and dressed in pink.
he keeps walking.
it's irritating, but... he likes seeing you around. and he doesn't know why.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
you’re passing the gym when you hear it—the sharp, thud of something hitting the ground. then another. then a low, frustrated growl that makes the hairs on your arms lift.
you almost keep walking.
but... something pulls you towards the open side door of the gym. curiosity, maybe. or something you don’t want to name yet.
you peek inside and there he is.
laxus stands alone in the middle of the empty court, chest heaving, hair damp with sweat, fists clenched at his sides. a medicine ball rolls away from him, the one he must’ve slammed into the floor hard enough to make the whole building shake.
he looks furious.
not the sharp, cold anger you saw the first night. this is different. hotter. heavier. like he’s fighting something inside himself and losing.
you step inside quietly, the door clicking shut behind you.
his head snaps up.
for a second, just a second, something vulnerable flashes across his face. surprise. confusion. something softer than you’ve ever seen on him.
then it’s gone.
“what are you doing here?” he mutters, voice rough.
you swallow. “i heard… something. i just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
he scoffs, looking away. “i’m fine.”
you can see it in the way his shoulders are tight, in the way he keeps flexing his hands like he’s trying to shake something off. in the way his breathing hasn’t settled.
you take a few steps closer. “bad practice?”
he doesn’t answer.
you sit on the bleachers, giving him space but not leaving. “you don’t have to talk about it.”
he lets out a slow breath, almost a laugh but not quite. “good. because i’m not.”
you nod, staring at the floor. “...okay.”
silence settles between you. warm. familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.
after a moment, he speaks again.
“why’d you come in?” he asks, quieter this time.
you look up. “i told you. i wanted to make sure you were okay.”
he studies you like he’s trying to figure out what you want from him, why you’re here, why you keep showing up in places he doesn’t expect.
his voice drops. “you shouldn’t worry about me.”
“too late.” you say before you can stop yourself.
his eyes flicker and something cracks.
just a tiny shift in the air, like a door opening a fraction of an inch.
he sits down on the court floor, back against the wall, legs stretched out. he doesn’t tell you to leave. doesn’t tell you to stop looking at him. doesn’t tell you anything at all.
he just lets you be there.
and that alone feels like something huge.
you slide off the bleachers and sit a few feet away from him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin, far enough that he won’t think you’re pushing.
he tilts his head back against the wall, eyes closing for a moment.
“practice was shit.” he mutters finally.
you smile softly. “i figured.”
“quarterback’s an idiot.”
“i figured that too.”
he huffs a breath. almost close to a laugh.
“team’s a mess.” he mutters. “coach is losing his mind. everyone’s tired. i’m tired.”
“you don’t have to pretend you’re fine.” you say quietly.
he snorts. “i’m not pretending.”
“you kind of are...”
he opens one eye, looks at you, then shuts it again like he can’t believe you’re calling him out.
“you’re annoying.” he mutters.
“you’re welcome.”
that gets a real exhale out of him. not a laugh, but something softer, something that sounds like he’s letting his guard down without meaning to.
a moment passes.
then, out of nowhere, he says, “my grandpa used to say that.”
you blink. “what?”
“that i pretend i’m fine.” he shifts his shoulders against the wall, eyes still closed. “he’d say i walk around like i’m made of stone, but i’m not. i just… don’t know what to do with shit sometimes.”
you go still.
he’s never talked about himself like this. not to you. maybe not to anyone.
“your grandpa sounds smart.” you say softly.
“he is.” laxus’s voice drops, quieter. “he raised me. taught me everything. football. life. how to deal with idiots.”
you smile. “so he taught you how to deal with your quarterback!”
that earns you a chuckle.
“yeah.” he says. “he’d tell me to breathe. walk it off. not break anything.”
“good advice.”
“i don’t listen to it.”
“i’ve noticed.”
he cracks an eye open again, looking at you like he’s seeing you in a way he hasn’t before.
“yeah. he's a real pain in the ass. but... he's the one person who understood me. he didn't take my shit, but he didn't back off either.”
you feel something warm twist in your chest.
“sounds like he loves you a lot.” you say quietly.
laxus’s jaw shifts. “yeah. he does.”
he says it like it’s something he’s still learning how to hold.
the silence that follows is softer now. not heavy. not awkward. just… open.
you don’t know why, but open up too.
“i’m not close with my family.”
laxus’s head turns toward you immediately, like the shift in your voice pulled him.
“yeah?” he asks, quieter.
you nod, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. “they’re not bad people. they just… don’t really see me. not the way i want them to. i always feel like i’m trying to be someone they can be proud of, but it never feels like enough.”
laxus’s brows pull together—not in judgment, but in something like understanding.
“they should be proud.” he says simply.
you blink. “of what?”
“of you.” he says it like it’s obvious. like it’s fact. like he’s annoyed you don’t already know it.
your throat tightens.
“you don’t even know me that well.” you murmur.
“i know enough.”
you look at him, and he doesn’t look away. his gaze is steady, warm in a way you’ve never seen from him, like he’s letting you see the part of him he hides from everyone else.
“you’re… good.” he says, voice low. “you care. you try. you show up. that’s more than most people do.”
your breath stutters.
he shifts slightly, knee brushing yours. not on purpose but he doesn’t move away either.
“and if they don’t see that...” he adds, “that’s on them. not you.”
you don’t know what to say. you don’t know how to breathe around the sudden warmth in your chest.
so you just whisper, “thank you.”
he nods once, like he’s accepting something he doesn’t know how to name.
the space between you feels different now. deeper, warmer, threaded with something fragile and new.
and neither of you move away.
that night, he gave you a ride home again. there was something light between you two, something soft and... real.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
now there's weeks of something blooming between you two. something neither of you talk about, but both feel.
you start spending more time together without deciding to. it was just natural. walking together after class... studying in the library, mornings at the cafe.
he's even different with you now. of course, he's still blunt and sharp around the edges. but softer too. he listens, he remembers, and he waits for you.
both of you find yourselves drifting towards each other without meaning to.
everyone notices. especially cana. she thinks you're crazy for going after someone like him, but she's happy for you. she'd tease you a lot, naming him your boyfriend, but you'd deny it every time.
and his teammates finally realize the reason why’s he’s been acting so different.
one afternoon, you’re sitting on the quad, pretending to study, when he drops down beside you with a sigh that sounds like he’s been looking for you.
“you’re hard to find.” he mutters.
“i wasn’t hiding.”
“felt like you were.”
you glance at him. “were you looking?”
he doesn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitches. the closest he gets to admitting anything.
another day, he walks you home in the rain, hoodie pulled over your head because he forgot an umbrella and refuses to let you get soaked. you complain the whole way, and he just shakes his head, but he keeps his arm around you the entire time.
and then there are the nights.
the late texts. the quiet calls. the way he says your name like it’s something he’s still getting used to.
you don’t talk about what’s happening. you don’t need to.
and one friday night, he invites you over.
laxus: come by?
laxus: i'm at the house
you hesitate for a moment but you go anyway.
the frat house is unusually quiet when you arrive. the hallway lights are dim, the air warm with leftover heat from the day. you can hear faint music from someone’s room down the hall, but otherwise it’s still.
he opens the door before you knock.
“hey.” he says, voice low.
you step inside.
his room is warm, a little messy in a way that feels real. the lamp casts a soft glow over everything, making the space feel smaller, more intimate. it’s not the first time you’ve been here, but it feels different.
he sits on the edge of his bed, and you sit beside him, close enough that your knees touch.
“long day?” you ask.
“yeah.” he leans back on his hands, stretching his legs out. “practice was rough. coach is losing his mind.”
“you okay?”
he glances at you, and something in his expression softens. “better now.”
your breath catches, but you don’t look away.
“you're silly.”
“silly?” he scoffs like you personally offended him. “you don’t know what that word means.”
“i do. it’s you!”
“wrong.”
you grin. “you’re proving my point.”
he gives you a slow, unimpressed look. “you’re real confident for someone who talks nonsense.”
“and you’re real grumpy for someone who invited me over.”
“i didn’t invite you. i said come by.’”
“that’s an invitation!”
“that’s me telling you where i am.”
“same thing...”
he huffs. it’s not a laugh, not even close, but the closest laxus gets when he’s trying not to react. his knee bumps yours, casual, careless, except it lingers a second too long to be accidental.
you feel it. he feels you feel it. neither of you comment.
“you always do this...” he mutters.
“do what?”
“act like you know me.”
“i do know you!”
“no, you don’t.”
“i know you’re not as scary as you pretend.”
his jaw ticks. not in anger, more like you hit something he didn’t expect.
“you talk too much.” he says.
“again, you invited me! don't be rude.”
he doesn’t deny it this time. he just shifts again, thigh pressing against yours fully now. he doesn’t move away. he doesn’t even pretend to. his fingers tap once against the mattress, close enough that you feel the heat of his hand.
that makes your heart thump.
he smirks.
“you’re easy to mess with.” he says.
you pull away, just slightly.
“so you are messing with me!”
“yeah,” he says. “and?”
“and?” you sputter. “that’s rude!”
“you’ll live.”
you shove his shoulder, more out of instinct than anything. but he barely moves. he’s solid, warm, annoyingly steady. he catches your wrist before you can pull your hand back.
not tight. not rough. just… there.
your breath stutters.
he notices. of course he does.
“you’re dramatic.” he mutters, eyes dropping to where his fingers wrap around your wrist.
“you’re—” you start, but the word dies in your throat when his thumb brushes the inside of your wrist, slow and thoughtless, like he’s not even aware he’s doing it.
except he is. he definitely is.
“i’m what?” he asks, voice low, almost bored. but they really aren't.
“you’re...” you try again, but your brain short circuits when he drags his thumb over your skin a second time.
he smirks. “that’s what i thought.”
you glare at him, but it’s weak, and he knows it. “you’re such an ass. let go!”
“why?” he says it like a genuine question.
“because...” you say, flustered.
“great reason.”
you huff, and he finally lifts his eyes to yours. the look he gives you is unfair. lazy, heavy lidded, like he’s already decided how this ends and is just waiting for you to catch up.
“you’re staring.” he says.
“no, i’m not.”
“you are.”
“i’m literally looking at you because you’re holding my wrist!”
“you can look somewhere else.”
you try. you really do. but the second your eyes flick away, he leans in just a little.
your gaze snaps back to him.
“stop messing with me!”
he chuckles.
“you’re bad at pretending you don’t like this.”
your pulse jumps. he feels it. his thumb is right there, pressed to the spot betraying you.
his eyes drop to your wrist again, watching the way your heartbeat kicks under his touch. he doesn’t comment. he doesn’t need to. the silence says enough.
“you’re messing with me...” you say, but it comes out softer than you mean it to.
“yeah.” he murmurs. “but you’re messing back.”
his hand finally loosens around your wrist… only to slide lower, fingers brushing the side of your palm, slow, like he’s giving you a chance to pull away.
you don’t.
he notices that too.
“figured.” he mutters, voice low.
“figured what?”
“that you weren’t gonna pull back.”
your face heats. “i wasn’t—”
“you were.” he cuts in. “but you didn’t.”
his thumb drags along the side of your palm again. like he’s testing something. like he’s waiting for you to flinch.
but you don’t.
he shifts closer, thigh brushing yours again, this time with purpose. he doesn’t pretend it’s accidental. he doesn’t pretend anything anymore. the warmth of him sinks into you, steady and heavy and impossible to ignore.
“you’re quiet.” he says.
“you’re distracting....” you shoot back, but your voice betrays you. it's soft, breathy... too honest.
he smirks, eyes dropping to your mouth for a split second before he looks away like he didn’t mean to. “not my problem.”
“it is if you’re doing it on purpose!!”
“who says i’m not?”
he leans in a little.
“you’re staring.” he murmurs.
“you’re close...” you whisper back.
“problem?”
you don't say anything. you just continue to stare, that light flush still on your cheeks.
his hand leaves your palm only to slide up until his fingers curl around your jaw. the touch is steady, confident, like he’s done pretending he doesn’t want this.
your breath catches. he hears it. his thumb brushes your cheek, softer than anything he’s said tonight.
your heart is pounding so hard you swear he can feel it through your skin.
“what are you—”
“come here.”
you just blink. then you move without thinking.
and he meets you halfway.
the kiss hits warm and slow, but not gentle. more like he’s been holding himself back for weeks and finally let the leash slip. your fingers curl into his shirt. his hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deeper, hungrier.
you whine as you kiss him back. he groans into your lips. you're all messy and shit... you new to this stuff? the thought only spurs him on. his other hand reaches for your waist, gently squeezing.
you've been driving him insane lately. you're all that's been on his mind. you're something special. it's as if some angel just fell into his world. you slipped through all his walls without even trying. and instead of snapping, he finds himself wanting more. wanting you.
he kisses you with more fervor, and you just try to keep up with him. you're cute.
he pulls away for just a moment, looking at your flushed, needy face. something in his chest tightens, like he wasn't prepared for the sight of you wanting him. he’s not supposed to care. but there you are, lips parted, eyes blown wide, leaning into the space he hasn’t even closed yet, and it does something to him he can’t shove down or ignore.
instead, he leans in again, pressing quicker kisses onto your lips, then down to your jaw and neck.
“laxus...” you softly whine, and he just smirks against your neck.
“hm?” he grunts, sucking on your neck like he wants to mark you, to let everyone know you're his.
“are you sure about—”
he cuts you off by squeezing your waist again, pulling away from your neck to look you in the eyes.
“never been so sure about anythin'.”
your breath hitches, your heart clenches. and then he's kissing you again, like he didn't just drop something heavy into your chest.
it's like he’s trying to make sure you feel every bit of what he’s not saying out loud. his hand stays firm at your waist, grounding you, keeping you close, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip even a little.
he pulls back, just slightly.
“...is this your first?”
“first what?”
“...kiss?”
you stare at him like he's crazy, then you're shoving him off.
“don't be rude! it's not!”
“then why ya kissin' me like that?” he playfully smirked.
“like what!? are you messing with me again!?”
he chuckles, really chuckles while you sit there in pure embarrassment.
“a little. just sayin', you kiss like it's your first.”
“it's not! i've only ever had one boyfriend... so leave me alone.” you mumble, your face flushed with a light red.
something in his expression shifts. a tiny drop of his brow, a faint tightening in his jaw. not anger or judgment. just that quiet reluctant huh he gets when something hits him sideways.
“did he make you cum?”
“what!? what does that—”
“yes or no.”
“i... i guess not but—”
“sit on my face.”
“huh!? laxus—”
he lays himself down on his bed before he suddenly grabs you, throwing you over his body as if you weigh nothing. you're suddenly looking at his legs instead of his face, your ass up against his face now.
“laxus...”
“c’mon.” he murmurs, leaning in, his breath brushing against your thigh. “let me show you how it’s supposed to feel.”
you try to argue, but he's lifting up your skirt, now face to face with your clothed pussy. fuck, even your panties are all lace and cute. he quickly leans in to drag a lick over it.
you immediately whine, accidentally arching further into his face. he grins against you, pressing kisses against your cunt before fully starting to eat you out even with your panties on.
“hah... laxus!”
he sloppily makes out with your pussy as if he's been waiting to do this for years. even your pussy is sweet, you keep driving him insane...
“laxus! 's too much...!”
fuck, you're already sensitive? his hands squeeze your ass before sliding down to move your panty to the side. cute pussy too. his thumb moves to your clit, rubbing slow circles.
“laxuss...! dont— hhah.. tease..!”
“c'monn.” laxus coos, his thumb moving a little faster. “you can take it.” he mumbles, pressing kisses over your pussy before really eating you out. he slurps and sucks hard, tongue flicking in and over your slit.
you moan and whine repeatedly. oh god... he's good at this. your ex never came close to making you feel like this.
you break out of your daze for a moment when you spot his bulge. he's hard. like... really hard. and he looks huge. you blink, hesitating for a moment before you reach out for his waistband. your fingers hook onto the fabric of his pants to tug it down—
“fuck are you doing?
you pause, looking back at him.
“i just thought— ah!”
he slipped a finger into your sopping hole.
“didn't know you could be so forward.”
“what's that supposed to mean! hah..”
just one of his fingers were stretching you out so good. his finger started pumping in and out of you while he eats your pussy.
shit, he's playing dirty!
you try to focus on your part too. you tug the rest of his clothes down until his cock springs free, slapping against his lower torso.
holy shit he is big.
you take his cock into your hands, causing him to hiss and buck into your touch. whines slip past your breath as he continues to lap up your cunt.
you stare for a moment, your hand slowly pumping his cock before leaning down to press a kiss onto it. then another. then you're taking him into your mouth.
you're given no warning before he pushes his cock further into the warmth of your mouth, and there's still more left of him to take.
“fuckk..” he groans, “if you're gonna return the favor, do it right.”
the room is filled with noises of you choking on his dick and him slurping up your pussy as if it's his last meal.
“fuck. you're filthy.” he groans. he can feel your pretty pussy tightening around his finger, so he slips in another one. he's pumping your hole and licking at your clit much faster now.
you pull back from his cock at the change in pace, whining as drool drops down from your mouth.
“hah! laxus— wait—!”
“shittt... you're so fuckin' wet. gonna cum?”
“waitwait— i feel weird!”
he just continues, and you try to suck his cock, but you felt so strange.
“hah! laxus! laxus! i think... aanh!”
you babble whines and moans until you gush all over his face. you cry out as you felt something come out of your pussy. you felt insane, like you were exploding in the best way possible.
“shiiit.” laxus groans into your pussy, lapping up whatever drop you gave him. “y'r a squirter?” he mumbled, pushing your thumb over your overstimulated clit.
“laxus!”
the sight of your pussy squirting on him pushed him to his own release, especially when you're trying your best to make him feel good too. you were too damn cute. ropes of white shoot out of his cock with a groan.
you whine, panting as you come down from your high. ...wait, he's still hard!?
“fuck. you're driving me insane.” he murmured as he squeezed your ass. he sat himself up, easily moving you so your back hit his chest. he cupped your jaw, turning you over so he could kiss your face.
you look all fucked up already.
“can i continue?”
you blinked, a little tired but you nod. you want him.
he grins, placing one last kiss on your shoulder.
you changed positions, and now your ass up, face down on the bed. your heart was racing. you felt a little embarrassed in this position, but your need for him weighs it out.
he reaches towards his nightstand, rummaging inside to find a box of condoms. he grabs one, ripping the square packaging. he slides it onto his dick with a small huff.
then he places his hands on your ass, gently caressing, making sure you're okay.
“ya ready? or do i need to prep ya more?”
you just nod, mewling when he teases your pussy by rubbing his cock against your folds. then he finally slides in.
“hah... laxus..” you whine.
“you got it, princess.”
he lets you adjust for a moment, before pushing into you. he holds onto your hip. one of his hands slide up to push both your shirt and bra up, playing with your hardened nipples.
“fuck... you're an angel. angel with a loud fuckin' pussy.”
'i-it's not— ahn!”
“yeah? it's fuckin' squelching. think she wants more.”
you whine when he increases his pace, the force of his thrusts. you felt so so full.
he ruts harder, like he can't get close enough. he holds your hips with those huge, calloused hands. his groans are deeper too. he pistons into you with a force, almost animalistic, like he forgot this was your first time taking him.
“hah! laxus— laxus! it's too muchh—”
“you can take it princess, can't you? c'mon baby. fuuck—”
he’s still got that roughness in him, that intensity that never really fades, but it’s tempered now by the way he slows down for you, like he’s making sure you’re steady.
and after you two finish, there was a new weight in the air, not heavy or uncomfortable, but real. really real.
he shifts, pulling you a little closer, like he’s not ready to let the world back in yet.
you don’t say anything and he doesn’t either.
you don’t need to.
the moment already said it for you.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
you’re not together, not officially, at least not yet. but there’s a closeness now. a gravity. a way he moves around you like you’re already his.
he touches you more now.
it’s subtle, almost absentminded. his hand finds the small of your back when you walk through a crowded hallway. he tugs you closer by your sleeve when you’re standing too far away for his liking. he’ll brush something off your cheek with his thumb, barely thinking about it, and then look away like he didn’t just make your heart stop.
you hang out the same way you always did. in the gym, in his room, on campus, on his bed.... but the space between you is gone. you’ll be lying on your stomach doing homework, and he’ll be sitting against the headboard, legs stretched out, one hand resting on your lower back like he’s keeping you anchored
sometimes he plays with the hem of your shirt without realizing it. . sometimes he just watches you, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable, like he’s trying to figure out how you ended up under his skin so fast.
he kisses you more now too.
it’s casual, almost careless. he’ll lean down and press his mouth to your cheek while you’re talking. he’ll kiss the corner of your mouth when you’re pouting. he’ll kiss your forehead when you’re tired or kiss you mid-sentence just to shut you up, then smirk when you go quiet.
you get shy every time. he notices every time. and he never lets you hide it.
he’s protective in ways he wasn’t before.
someone bumps into you at a party and his hand is suddenly on your hip, steadying you, pulling you into his side. someone talks too close to you, and he shifts his body between you and them without thinking.
and then there are the quiet moments.
the ones that tell you everything without either of you saying a word. walking home together with his hand wrapped around yours. or giving you a ride somewhere and his hand finds its way to your thigh. or when you hang out at either his place or yours and you'd cuddle in bed all day.
whatever you are now, it's more.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚
a few weeks later and the next game is loud enough to shake the bleachers, and cana is already three drinks in before the first whistle blows.
“there you are!” she says, scooting over to make room. “you look cute.”
you tug at the hem of the jersey—his jersey—trying not to look as flustered as you feel. “it’s big.”
“it’s supposed to be big,” cana says, nudging you. “that’s the point.”
you roll your eyes, but your cheeks warm anyway.
because it’s true. you didn’t ask to wear it. he didn’t ask you to wear it.
he just tossed it at you before heading out, muttering, “put it on,” like it was nothing. like it wasn’t the loudest thing he’s ever said.
cana leans forward, eyes scanning the field. “he’s already looking for you.”
“no he’s not.”
“girl…” she says, pointing, “he’s staring directly at you.”
you follow her finger.
and yeah.
he’s staring.
laxus is supposed to be warming up, but instead he’s watching you, jaw set, eyes sharp, gaze flicking to the jersey like he’s checking to make sure it’s still on you. when he sees you looking back, he doesn’t smile—he just gives a small nod, the kind that says good. wait for me.
cana smirks. “he’s ridiculous.”
“you’re ridiculous.”
“i’m not the one wearing my boyfriend’s name on my back.”
you elbow her, but you don’t deny it.
the game is brutal. it's all tackles, shoves, adrenaline. and laxus plays like he’s got something to prove.
“he's showing off for you!” she yells, shaking your shoulders.
you’re laughing, flustered, overwhelmed, and maybe a little in love. ...maybe a lot.
when the game ends, with a win obviously, the crowd erupts. the team celebrates. cana is already halfway down the bleachers, dragging you with her.
“go,” she says, pushing you forward. “he’s looking for you.”
“he is not—”
“he is literally scanning the crowd like a pissed-off golden retriever. go before he starts knocking people over.”
you roll your eyes, but your heart is pounding as you step onto the field.
and sure enough... he finds you instantly.
he walks toward you with that slow, confident stride, still catching his breath, still flushed from the game, still looking at you like you’re the only thing he sees.
“hey,” he says, voice rough.
“hey,” you echo, shy.
he tugs lightly at the hem of the jersey, eyes dropping to where it hangs off your shoulder. “looks good on you.”
you flush. “you said to wear it.”
“yeah,” he mutters, “but i didn’t think it’d look that good.”
you swat his arm. “you’re sweaty.”
“you like it.”
“i do not.”
“sure.”
you’re about to argue when he steps closer — close enough that you feel the heat of him, close enough that the noise of the stadium fades into a hum.
“thanks for coming,” he says, softer now.
“i always come.”
his eyes flick to your lips. “yeah. you do.”
you swallow. “stop looking at me like that...”
“like what?”
“like—” you gesture vaguely at his face. “that.”
“can’t help it.” he smirks, slowly cupping your cheek to kiss you.
right there. in front of everyone. no hesitation.
the crowd reacts, loud, dramatic. the star player is actually dating someone?
but you barely hear it. all you feel is him, warm and steady and sure, kissing you like he’s been waiting all game to do it.
when he pulls back, you’re breathless.
he leans his forehead against yours, voice low. “i love you.”
your heart stops.
“you— what?”
he rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “don’t make me say it again.”
Your boyfriend moaned as he sunk into your pretty cunt raw for the first time. He was in a rush to get home, coming back after a very hard and frustrating day of work. He was supposed to pick up condoms, but he was so fatigued he must've forgotten! Silly him! Which lead you to the current situation you're in. You guys had spoken about going raw if he promised to pull out. And you just felt so bad as he begged and begged. He just needed you, his perfect girl! Who could blame him? And who are you to deny your perfect boy. So naturally, you ended up folded in half under him, whining and moaning as he began pounding into your cunt
"Fuck, baby, I'm sorry- Shit, I c-can't help it, feels t-t'good"
He was stuttering. Stuttering. He was always so good at keeping his voice firm, but you were just so warm and so tight and so wet and- Fuck he couldn't help it. You looked so pretty under him, eyes glossy and cheeks flushed. He can only imagine how much prettier you'd look pregnant. Waddling around nice n' round with his child, always asking him for help, being sooo sensitive, full of milk, always horny. He just had to breed you now! You don't have to worry, he'll make sure your nice and taken care of, he promises! He reaches down to rub your swollen clit, the bundle of nerves so sensitive.
"C'mon, pretty, cum with me- Gonna stuff you so full, make you such a p-pretty mama. You like that, y-yeah? The thought of me k-knocking- oh fuck- y-you up? Having my cum drip out of your pretty cunt?"
You clenched tightly around him, letting out a broken moan of his name as you came around him, your back arching of the mattress and your eyes rolling up into your skull, your vision going white. You couldn't help it, it felt so good. He felt so good. His hips stuttered, faltering as he came in you, stuffing you full. He collapsed on top of you, panting into your shoulder. So much for pulling out. Whoops.
Soooo, requests are open! Love yall! This was so fun! :3 P.S. he totally didn't forget
✧ AND I’D STILL CHOOSE YOU ALL OVER AGAIN. → fairy tail
that one thing they do that makes you fall for them all over again. ft. natsu dragneel, gray fullbuster, gajeel redfox, sting eucliffe, lyon vastia, jellal fernandes
warnings: none
it’s the way natsu smiles right before he throws himself into danger. not out of recklessness—well, actually, yes—but out of trust. like he knows he’ll come back to you. no need to worry, he’s strong. you watch him walk off with that stupidly charming grin, flames wrapped around his fists, and instead of fear, all you feel is warmth. that unshakeable belief of his is contagious. and when he finds you after a fight, just like he promised he would—covered in dirt but beaming once his eyes lock with yours, arms wide open like you’re the reward? yeah, your heart doesn’t stand a chance.
gray does this thing where he absentmindedly reaches for you—quietly, casually, like it’s second nature. a hand at the small of your back. fingers brushing yours when no one’s looking. and then there are rare moments, especially late at night, when he actually says how much he needs you. that’s big, at least for gray —he’s always been one to show affection through actions more than words. but honestly? it’s always in those in-between gestures. the way he holds your jacket if you forget it, or offers his instead. the way he stands behind you just to make sure you’re cool enough during the hottest of days. that’s when you fall. again and again.
it’s when gajeel tries. he’s not naturally soft or open, but he tries for you. you catch him leaving little things near your space: repairs, your favorite snacks, weird trinkets he swears aren’t gifts (but totally are). he acts like it’s nothing, but his ears redden slightly when you call him out for it. and it’s not just the gestures, it’s the effort he puts in every time. the steady way he lets his guard down for you (only after stiffening for a second before realizing who you are), piece by piece. it’s when he tries that you fall all over again.
sting gets giddy when you laugh. like you’re the funniest, most magical being in the whole world. doesn’t matter if it’s a dumb joke or something you barely meant to say. he clutches his stomach and leans into you, eyes sparkling just right. he kisses you with that same joy, as if loving you is this delightful surprise he’s never quite recovered from. in those moments, when you’re both laughing too hard to breathe—you fall. because damn, how could you not love someone who treats your smile like brightest light of all?
it’s the way lyon says your name. almost like a prayer, a melody, a habit. he says it when he greets you, when he’s annoyed, when he’s tired. soft or smug or teasing—it doesn’t matter. your name sounds different from his lips, ringing entirely of love that makes it feel special when it comes from him. even when he’s talking to others, his gaze always goes back to you, like he’s making sure you’re still there. still his. it’s subtle, constant. and every time without fail, it makes your heart flutter.
it’s how jellal watches you when you’re not looking. there’s a gravity to it—an endless devotion that flows like a stream, like he’s memorizing you in case you vanish one day (and he really hopes it won’t happen). you’ll catch it sometimes: the small, reverent smile, the softness in his eyes, the dreamy sigh he lets out like you’re some sort of miracle. as if he can’t believe you’re real. he will always feel undeserving of your affection but he’ll never stop loving you, no matter how hard he tries. not that he wants to stop. and that look—that look—which might as well be the perfect definition of adoration—is the exact moment your heart gives in. all over again.
⚣😒 A/N → Think I'm coming down with a new favorite outside of Conner, and it's our resident Lightning Wizard. Someone pointed out my affinity (problem) of being attracted to big, strong, moody & grumpy men, and I fear they may be correct. I'm possibly planning to make this a series starting with this one (may remain Y/N or become an OC), BUT I MAKE NO PROMISES! YA HEAR ME?! Also, this and Charged Murder are not cohesive with each other. CM was me getting my toes wet in writing for this fandom. Anyways...on to the warnings.
WARNINGS: Angst & Fluff | Canon-Typical Violence | Mild Explicit Language | Second Chances | Forgiveness | Laxus starts off still expelled from Fairy Tail | Arguments | Oblivious Idiots | So much tension, you could cut it with an axe |
⚣😒 Summary → How are you supposed to forgive someone who betrayed you in the cruelest way they knew how? Despite your history, despite your friendship, despite the trust they once swore they'd never break, they went through with something that they'd ultimately known would hurt you? How does one come back from such a thing? Does time really heal all wounds? Where does Laxus even begin to make amends? Can he even?
⚣😒 Word Count → 21.8K
REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛
⚣ ENJOY 😒
So Laxus was back?
Guess everyone should rejoice and sing praise to the skies above at his convenient timing, right?
…Yeah, not exactly.
Unlike everyone else who had been present on Tenrou Island and lit up at his return, Y/N wasn't thrilled in the slightest. Grateful, maybe—Laxus had shown up, saving Natsu from having to reunite with Igneel as a spirit at the very last second. For that? Fine, he'd give credit where credit was due.
A participation sticker. No trophy. Trophies were for people who showed up on time and not at the very last second.
But the battle against Hades had been brutal—worse than brutal. Y/N, Natsu, Lucy, Erza, Gray, Wendy, and everyone else knew it. With the Tenrou Tree destroyed, their strength had waned, each of them weakened by the mark that bound them to Fairy Tail. Except for Laxus. He had been expelled after his coup, his mark removed, so his power remained unaffected.
Lucky them, right?
Laxus's ego had gotten the best of him back then, and now his recklessness had turned out to be their saving grace. Whoop-tee-doo…
Guess they should all be grateful he once put the entire guild—and Magnolia itself—on the line just to prove a point.
Again… not exactly.
Y/N hadn't even been there that day, at least, not in the beginning. Gramps had sent him out of town for an errand before the festival, a trip that took two days. Of course, he returned just in time to see Natsu and Laxus tearing the sky apart, lightning and fire crashing in a storm above Kardia Cathedral. Below them lay the guild: his friends, his family, strewn across the streets, bruised and broken.
All because of Laxus.
And then, the news about Gramps. Even worse, hearing Laxus’s words, the Thunder Palace he unleashed, and the fact that he had attempted to invoke Fairy Law against his own guild—against what was supposed to be his family—was utterly reprehensible. Apparently, the spell did not affect anyone. Laxus had overlooked a crucial detail: his magic could see what his ego couldn't; his true feelings and sentiments about the guild. Since Fairy Law only affects those the caster sees as their enemies, and everyone remained unharmed by its radiant light, the truth became all the more evident.
Nothing can hide from the light. Y/N knows that more than anyone, of course.
But it didn't change the fact that he'd tried. Y/N could still remember the sting of it, the feeling of betrayal when he realized the familiar buzz to his magic, and the bright light he could see from the cathedral as he made his way back into town.
Fairy Tail was more than just a guild; it was family. Gramps had filled a role left empty for so many of them, Y/N especially. Laxus knew that. He knew Y/N's story, what he'd been through, what kind of scars he carried from his struggles. He comforted and helped him through his pain once upon a time. And yet… he still went through with this ridiculous plan, even after Y/N had warned him what would happen if he did. He was willing to let his own grandfather die, willing to spit on every bond they'd ever built.
All because he didn't want to be overshadowed by Makarov's legacy? All because he was pissed about his dad? All because he wanted to prove some fucking sick point? That he was the strongest wizard in Fairy Tail?
Unforgivable.
Just the pure fact that he seems to have forgotten Gildarts is still a part of the guild, even if he's been gone for three years. Or what his own grandfather said about Y/N's magic, but truthfully, he doesn't care to have the title of Fairy Tail's most powerful, nor does he want to be. He just wants to live and enjoy life with the people he cares about. At one point, Laxus wanted the same thing.
But that version of his friend, of his– never mind.
The point is, not only had Laxus changed, but he also revealed his true colors. It wasn't something Y/N would be willing to look past so easily, not anymore, at least.
So, sure. Y/N could admit Laxus's arrival against Hades had been convenient—Natsu probably owed him his life. But joy? Relief? Celebration? Not from him.
Everyone else noticed it—the way Y/N ignored Laxus during the quiet moments after the battle, his silence colder than any words. And Laxus definitely noticed. The way he was barely even trying to hide the fact that he kept looking towards Y/N, watching him from afar—oh, he noticed.
Of course, the Thunder Legion was ecstatic to see their esteemed leader again.
Fried couldn't stop crying—typical—Bickslow grinned from behind his helm, his usual manic energy dialed up to eleven, and Evergreen wasted no time fluttering her lashes and teasing Elfman, tossing half-flirtations and half-insults like confetti.
Y/N never had much patience for Evergreen's pompous, vain attitude, but even he could admit her antics were a little funny. It was obvious they thought Laxus showing up meant he was back for good. A sweet sentiment, misguided at best, flat-out delusional at worst.
Did they forget Laxus hadn't left Fairy Tail? He'd been kicked out.
Or maybe Y/N's head was still scrambled from the endless fights with Grimoire Heart and Hades. Either way, the truth didn't change: Laxus wasn't coming back. Not anytime soon.
Sure, the Master probably planned to punish his grandson, but Y/N had no doubt Makarov's heart would eventually soften. The man was sentimental, almost to a fault. Laxus would get another chance—if he learned his lesson. Big if.
That ego of his needed divine-level intervention.
Still, Y/N couldn't help but smirk as Gildarts—wherever the hell he'd just appeared from—started teasing Laxus for getting kicked out by his own grandfather. Watching the Lightning Wizard bristle under Gildarts' good-natured mockery was pure entertainment.
Note to self: bake Gildarts cookies when they get home. Maybe get him a new cloak, too. No, not maybe—definitely.
His amusement switched to fondness when his gaze drifted toward Wendy. The young Sky Dragon Slayer busied herself with healing injuries and wounds for her guildmates with determined focus. It was sweet to watch—at least until Erza swooped in wearing a nurse outfit and wielding a clipboard and a gaze that promised something Y/N didn't feel was appropriate to name.
That woman was an unseriously level of serious, which was kind of scary at times. And not for the obvious reasons.
"Stupid boys!"
Carla's shrill voice cut through the chaos, and Y/N turned to see the commotion. Erza had apparently stolen Wendy's patients and now had her own line—a line that, naturally, included both Master Makarov and his grandson.
Typical.
Another day, another reason for Y/N to question his unfortunate membership in the male species. What would life be like if he weren't grouped in with a bunch of idiots whose brains ran on half power most of the time, and said power was coming from their lower head instead of the upper one?
He considered firing off a blast of light in retribution for Wendy's sake, but knowing this crowd, he'd just end up giving Nurse Erza more patients. And no one needed that.
Levy tried to cheer Wendy up, though her attention quickly drifted—along with Juvia's—to Erza's "treatment" of Gray and Gajeel, both of whom looked one step away from fleeing.
Y/N might've found it funny if not for the intrusive thought of Erza turning her "medical expertise" on a certain blonde.
Speaking of which… just where had he gone?
"Are you okay?"
Instinct took over before reason could, his ears not registering the deep voice that he was quite familiar with. Light surged through Y/N's hands, flaring bright enough to cast long shadows across the clearing. His heart slammed against his ribs as magic snapped and hummed around him—until his eyes registered who it was.
Laxus.
For a heartbeat, Y/N's body refused to relax. Every muscle stayed drawn tight, adrenaline burning off the edges of fatigue. The last twenty-four hours had been some of the most brutal of his life—Hades, Grimoire Heart, the Tenrou Tree's fall. Even now, surrounded by laughter and the comforting sound of his guild breathing and laughing, he couldn't quite let his guard down.
So yeah, he could forgive himself for nearly vaporizing someone. And if he had to blame someone, he'd blame Laxus for sneaking up on him, cause… well, that was just wizard math.
"Fucking hell, Laxus," he breathed out, letting the glow fade from his fists. His stance loosened but didn't fully relax—arms crossing over his chest, a defensive echo of the Lightning Wizard's own posture. Gramps used to tease them for that, saying they mirrored each other like a pair of stubborn reflections. The memory soured the corner of Y/N's mouth into a frown, though not with much bitterness as he'd like to believe.
"Sorry," Laxus said, his tone gruff, shoulders easing. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"Okay, well," Y/N replied sharply, "maybe don't sneak up on people next time." He scanned him—no injuries, no sign of strain, same old arrogance sitting in his eyes like a dare. "What are you doing?"
"I was coming to ask if you were okay? Is that a crime?"
"No, I mean, what are you doing here, Laxus?" Y/N replied, ignoring the Lightning Wizard's smart ass remark. "Only members of Fairy Tail are allowed on Tenrou Island."
Laxus's stance now began to mirror the Light Wizard's, his head turned up with an annoyed look, "What? Just because I got kicked out means I can't pay my respects to Master Mavis?"
"Laxus."
He sighed through his nose, his mask slipping as his arms dropped back to his sides. The Light Wizard's harsh gaze also nearly slipped, as his sight got caught on the flex and stretch of the blonde's muscular physique that was exposed from his torn shirt, but he caught himself.
The audience will pretend it never happened if they know what's good for them. Who the audience in question is… okay, look, it's been a long twenty-four hours.
"I knew you guys were in trouble—"
"How?" Y/N snapped before the Lightning Wizard could finish.
"Jeez, what is this, an interrogation?" Laxus shot back, irritation sparking under the surface. "You were in danger, so I showed up. End of story. Everyone else seems pretty happy that I did, besides you and the old geezer. And from what I saw when I got here, you definitely needed it too. What's the issue?"
Y/N held his stare for a moment, silence stretching taut between them. His magic still tingled at his fingertips, restless.
"Hm. Typical," he muttered.
The blonde frowned. "What? What did I say? Y/N—"
But Y/N was already walking away, boots crunching over the forest floor, not once turning to look behind him at the confused, and though he'd never show it, hurt Lightning wizard.
The others, ever the nosy bunch, tried—and failed—to look busy. Their glances flicked between the two wizards, pretending they hadn't just witnessed the entire exchange. Still, no one missed it: that fleeting, unguarded moment when Laxus's shoulders dipped, and all the fight and prowess he's usually known for seemed to drain from him.
For many of them, it was the first time they'd ever seen the Lightning Wizard look so… defeated. Even when he'd been sprawled on the ground after Hades beat him into the dirt, Laxus had still carried a spark—some stubborn crackle of pride refusing to go out.
But now?
Now, he looked like a storm that had lost its lightning entirely.
Someone really needed to redefine that old saying about how time flies. It doesn't just fly—it quietly disappears when you're not paying attention.
After Acnologia's attack on Tenrou, everything was a blur—and that was putting it generously. One moment, they were all standing around holding hands, staring into the jaws of a dragon; the next, they were waking up on the island as if no time had passed at all. No wounds, no destruction, just a heavy, disorienting stillness that made the whole world feel… off. Like something had changed.
Boy, were they in for a surprise.
Their confusion only deepened when Alzack, Bisca, Jet, Droy, Max, and Warren appeared on the island, claiming it had been seven years. Seven years since the S-Class Trials. Seven years since Grimoire Heart. Seven years since Acnologia's roar nearly swallowed them whole. At first, it sounded like a terrible joke—an elaborate prank Fairy Tail would absolutely commit to if given the chance. But the older faces, the new scars, Bisca and Alzack's whole married energy they had going on, and Droy's… drastic change in physique were hard to brush off as stage makeup.
The truth didn't fully settle in until a girl with impossibly long blonde hair appeared from nowhere on a steep above them—Mavis Vermillion, the First Master and Founder of Fairy Tail herself. She explained how they'd survived: Fairy's sphere, one of the Three Great Fairy Magics, had activated at the moment of Acnologia's attack, trapping them in a protective stasis for seven full years until the spell finally began to weaken.
It was that sudden release of magic from the spell wearing off—spiking like a beacon—that caught the attention of Blue Pegasus and drew them out over the Ethernano Waters in the first place.
Of course, after they all returned from Tenrou Island, Laxus took off again. And neither Master Makarov nor Y/N tried to stop him. Some others felt differently. Laxus had come through for them when it mattered, and that counted for something, right? But the two Light Wizards, especially Y/N, weren't so quick to forget all the other times Fairy Tail had needed help and Laxus was nowhere to be found.
Y/N remembered one moment in particular: the war with Phantom Lord. The day they found the guild hall had been reduced to an iron mess, where they discovered Levy, Jet, and Droy after they'd been attacked, and Lucy had been abducted. Laxus hadn't realized Y/N was in the room when Mirajane called him for help—when she begged for help—only to be met with his arrogant dismissal, his crude comments about Lucy and Cana. Y/N had watched Mira swallow her pride and risk her life impersonating Lucy, only to be captured by that monstrous mechanical fortress.
He'd seen Makarov on the brink of something that could prove fatal—only for Mystogan to be the one to save the Master's life, not Laxus, his own grandson.
Unforgivable.
So imagine Y/N's reaction when people thought he could be convinced to plead Laxus's case to the Master—to talk Makarov into forgiving his grandson and letting him rejoin the guild. They overestimated both his influence and his patience. One thing he understood alongside Gramps was that Laxus had a lot more to answer for than just his actions that day during the Harvest Festival. And Y/N was in no place to disagree with him, seeing as he felt the same way.
Yet, people tried to convince him—particularly the Thunder Legion.
Y/N, among the younger generation of Fairy Tail, was one of the longest-standing members after Laxus. The two had known each other for years, and under Makarov's guidance, he'd grown and honed his own magic, which helped him become one of the guild's few S-Class Wizards alongside Gildarts, Laxus, Ezra, and Mirajane.
The growing part, however, seemed to be a popular debate amongst the guild, considering Y/N didn't really need help in that department—his magic had never been ordinary to begin with, given its origins. But that was a story for another day.
People were aware of his and Laxus's bond, especially the older members, such as Gildarts, Macao, and Wakaba, even if it wasn't often spoken about. They'd grown up together, trained together, shared an unspoken understanding that only deepened with time. Laxus had also always been protective of him, sometimes to a fault. And Makarov had taken to Y/N like another grandson, which only strengthened the tie between the Light and Lightning wizards.
Y/N had been there when Ivan Dreyar was expelled. He'd watched the boy Laxus used to be—kind, spirited, eager to impress—harden into the prideful, jaded man everyone knew now. Through all that change, Y/N had remained one of the few people Laxus never turned his temper on.
Still, over the years, even Y/N's patience had thinned. He and Makarov had spent too long trying to rein Laxus in. And when Y/N wasn't around, things often got…volatile. The Light Wizard had not only been dismayed but also disappointed to learn that his absence tended to make the guild uneasy. If Laxus returned from a job and Y/N wasn't there to check him, tensions rose fast.
That was why, when Laxus was finally expelled, so many believed Y/N alone could sway Gramps into letting him back. He not only had the Master's ear, but he knew Laxus better than anyone after all. Surely if Y/N spoke on Laxus's behalf, it would mean something.
They couldn't have been more wrong.
"And just why would I do that?" was his only response when they asked.
He knew many of the others, especially those who'd fought on Tenrou Island, felt Laxus had earned his redemption. Even Erza had gone to the Master to inquire about his return—something Y/N was not at all happy about and tried to talk her out of—yet, she remained unswayed as she went to speak with Gramps, her voice soft with what could only be assumed as sympathy.
Y/N wasn't surprised. But he knew better. And apparently, so did Laxus.
"So your position is firm, is it?" Erza asked the Master, her tone glum.
"Of course it is," came the deep, gravelly voice from behind her. Laxus. He stood with his arms crossed, his head turned their way, expression unreadable. Y/N, standing beside Erza, folded his arms too—realizing too late that his posture mirrored Laxus's. He ignored the Master's knowing side look at him, sneaky old man.
"That's how the guild's stayed strong over the years," Laxus continued. "You can't buy your way in with a single good deed. It takes a lot more."
"That's true," Erza nodded. Y/N just huffed. Typical Laxus—too proud to beg, too stubborn to show remorse, yet not wrong either.
Then, Acnologia came. And after that, seven years vanished like dust in the wind.
Watching Laxus fight the dragon had stirred something in Y/N, something dangerously close to nostalgia. The spark, the defiance, the fierce protectiveness… it reminded him of the boy he once knew. The one who used to step in front of him when trouble started, claiming it was just him being nice, while others claimed to know better.
What was it they claimed to know better? Y/N had no idea, or at least, that's what he'd claimed if asked about the subject. In fact, for legal reasons, Y/N will no longer speak on the subject. Actually, just forget the entire thing and pretend this conversation never happened… or else.
Ahem… anyway, maybe that's what the others were hoping for—that seeing Laxus's efforts would soften the Master, or that Y/N's history with him might spark some forgotten fondness. Maybe they thought sentimentality could rewrite what pride had ruined.
Neither was true.
Memories didn't erase the damage. One good deed didn't balance out years of betrayal.
"It's flattering, really," Y/N said when the Thunder Legion pressed him again later, "that everyone seems to think I have this kind of influence over the Master. I don't, by the way. But, even if I did, I agree with him. You don't get forgiveness just because you showed up when it was convenient. And just because you all may have forgiven him," his gaze swept over them, "doesn't mean I have."
While others may have been surprised by Y/N's words and the exasperated tone his words held, Laxus wasn't even in the slightest. He knew better than anyone how long Y/N could hold a grudge. He'd been on the receiving end of that stubborn attitude more than once—when they were younger, and even more in recent years.
This time, though, he knew it would take far more to bridge the gap he created between them. If he wanted to make amends, he was going to have to make some changes. But, as another old saying goes, change is never easy.
It didn't take long for the usual chaos that came with being part of Fairy Tail to settle back in after their return from Tenrou Island. Adjusting to life seven years in the future was… a process. A bit crazy to think how even vanishing off the face of Earthland for nearly a decade did absolutely nothing to stop the bills from piling up.
Just ask everyone who came back to find out how much in the hole they were after their little catnap. Lucy's apartment rent had accumulated into a financial nightmare, while the residents of the Fairy Hills were met with overdue notices stacked higher than Natsu's appetite. And Y/N—while grateful his home hadn't been looted, sold, or converted into a storage shed—returned to find his own lovely, towering stack of envelopes waiting patiently for him with an unpleasant "welcome home."
Sometimes, being an adult felt like the biggest scam in the world.
With the amount he owed, he'd need at least a month's worth of jobs just to break even. And to make matters worse, Fairy Tail's reputation had plummeted during their absence; the guild was barely getting high-paying requests, even for S-Class wizards. So Y/N had to take whatever he could get until things stabilized—which, knowing Fairy Tail, wouldn't take long. Sure enough, it only took a couple of weeks after word of their return spread for better jobs to start rolling in. Makarov's… tactful visit to Twilight Ogre with Erza and Mirajane to "discuss" outstanding debt may or may not have helped that process along.
Y/N nearly went with them, but in hindsight, it would've been unnecessary overkill. Instead, Makarov sent him around Magnolia and the neighboring towns on errands—yes, to gather supplies and help the guild get back on its feet, but also to subtly broadcast the message that Fairy Tail's full strength had returned.
Whether Y/N liked it or not, he, along with several others, were already public figures even before their time in stasis. A clear example of this was Erza, widely recognized as “Titania, Queen of the Fairies,” or Mirajane, the “She-Devil,” whose modeling career had also earned her the title of Fairy Tail’s “drawing card”—whatever that meant. Natsu, the infamous “Salamander.” Numerous others had their own reputations brewing as well.
Y/N wasn't exempt, either. Known throughout Magnolia, among allies, enemies, and readers of Sorcerer Weekly, as the “Fairy of the Sun.” A bit cheesy and dramatic, but fitting and endearing nonetheless. The others certainly had a great time making fun of him when that nickname started spreading like wildfire, at least until they were reminded just why it came to be in the first place. Elfman still jumps at the slightest glimmer of light that manages to sneak through the windows of the guild hall to this day.
Fairy Tail was iconic—loud, chaotic, impossible to ignore—so it only made sense that the world knew their names. Still, no name carried more weight than that of their Master, Makarov Dreyar, one of the Ten Wizard Saints.
And by extension, of course… there was Laxus.
The Lightning Wizard had once been proud of his reputation, relished it even. That changed after his father was expelled. For a long time, all anyone could talk about was how the Master of Fairy Tail had kicked out his own son, and Laxus was shoved even further into the background because of it.
That was when Y/N remembered the shift. The moment Laxus went from the kind, caring boy he'd grown up with to someone he barely recognized. As nice as it was how Laxus focused on growing himself, his body, his power—his body—it felt like Y/N had lost the boy he once knew, once…
Y/N was on his way back from yet another errand the Master had sent him on—paired, conveniently, with a job on the side. A guy had to make do somehow. Thankfully, the location Gramps had pointed him toward just so happened to overlap with where the client needed help, so at least that headache worked itself out.
The walk home was quiet. Peaceful, even… too peaceful.
His thoughts drifted lazily as he made his way along the path, the hum of magic in the air familiar and comforting, until the sky was suddenly split apart by the unmistakable sharp crack of lightning, a surge of power tearing upwards like a message being sent to the heavens.
Laxus.
Y/N stopped when the lightning split the sky—only for a second. Then, he scoffed under his breath and kept walking. The Lightning Dragon Slayer and whatever he was doing wasn't his problem anymore. He'd made his choices, crossed lines that couldn't be uncrossed, and paid for it by getting himself kicked out for doing something so monumentally stupid, it still made Y/N's jaw clench just thinking about it. He was done chasing after someone who couldn't stop tripping over his own damn ego.
So he turned back toward Magnolia. Toward the guild hall. Toward the noise, warmth, and familiarity he knew how to handle.
The path stretched out ahead of him, serene and faintly glowing beneath his steps. Moonlight—or what passed for it tonight—washed over the ground, but Y/N could feel something warmer threading through the air. Light answered him the way it always did, subtle and obedient, drawn to him as naturally as breath. It clung to his skin, hummed in his veins, stirred with a quiet intensity that spoke of something vast and patient above the clouds. And yet… it wasn't alone.
Threaded through that warmth was another presence, still crackling in the atmosphere like an echo, brushing against how own magic. Yet, they weren't opposing each other, weren't clashing, but instead almost aligning as if the two forces had always known how to move around one another.
Y/N's jaw tightened.
"Double Solstice!"
As if they could ever catch a break.
Just moments ago, the island had been bathed in quiet. The worst was over—or so they thought. Everyone had begun to breathe again, to laugh, to sit without flinching. Wounds were being mended, spirits were lifted, and preparations were underway for the ship’s return to Magnolia.
Then… something shifted.
The air turned wrong—thick and dry like something sacred had been burned away. Y/N suddenly felt on edge, as if a dark shadow had suddenly fallen over Tenrou, and all the light surrounding it was being swallowed with an unnatural weight. Laxus was the first to notice the shift in his demeanor and was about to come check on him when suddenly came the roar.
A sound that shattered the heavens, cracking through bone and soul alike.
Acnologia.
The Black Dragon had come to Tenrou, the same dragon that had nearly made minced meat of Gildarts, Fairy Tail's strongest wizard. Why, none of them could explain. There was no warning, no explanation. Only pure, ancient wrath.
If Gildarts—Gildarts—was telling them to run, there was no debate. That was basically an order from the universe itself.
At least… they tried to run.
Exactly how one outruns a dragon had yet to be discovered by science. And Fairy Tail was now finding itself as the unfortunate research group tasked with testing that very hypothesis. So far, results were… not promising.
The moment Acnologia let loose another roar, shattering the earth and vaporizing the forest completely, the full magnitude of their situation slammed down on them like a hammer.
Y/N had no time to think; he had to move.
Light enveloped his entire silhouette as he vanished, streaking across the terrain in pulses of golden radiance. He shielded, deflected, redirected, and saved. Fried and Bickslow had nearly been flattened under the dragon's head before Y/N snagged them out the way just in time. Evergreen had put her wings to proper use for once, catching Elfman mid-flight after the dragon's tail smacked him halfway into orbit.
But it wasn't enough.
Y/N darted through the air again, a comet of golden luminescence, doing everything he could to keep the dragon's attention away from his friends. And it worked—a bit too well. Acnologia’s gaze locked onto him, piercing and knowing, as if it recognized something in him—something it didn’t like.
The sky cracked open with another shriek, and a swirling column of destruction bore down on him from above. Y/N pushed more magic into his limbs, thankful this bastard at least had the courtesy to attack during the day with clear open skies, the sun's radiance keeping him restoring every bit of light he pushed out of his body. His heart beat like a drum inside his chest, the gleam around him flaring like armor in reflex.
But he was just a fraction too slow.
Acnologia's roar hit… or, at least, it should have.
In the instant between breath and run, a second force slammed into him from the side, knocking him clean out of the blast's trajectory just in the nick of time.
Lightning.
He could feel it before his body registered the rest. The buzzing snap of electricity, wild and alive, curled in the air around him. But more than that—arms, secure and strong, wrapped around him, not allowing any chance of him slipping out of their grasp, from how tight they wrapped around him. There was heat, there was muscle, and a strength that didn't tremble, not even under the weight of the sky falling.
Laxus.
Even amidst chaos and knowing the Light Wizard’s intense anger and the lack of friendliness or hospitality he showed him before, Laxus held him as if nothing else mattered but ensuring his safety. Just like the many times in their past, growing up together in the guild, this moment wasn't too different from the others, as the Lightning Dragon Slayer once again stood in as someone the Light Wizard could hold on to, when there was no one else around.
Y/N was still alive, still breathing, because, just like with Hades and all the times before, Laxus got there—to him first.
They hit the ground hard. The crash sent a tremor through the forest—and their bodies— grass and ground dirt splitting open from their descent. Dust and dirt exploded upward in a wave, swallowing the light for a moment.
The world blurred—light, heat, sound folding on itself—but Laxus didn't let go. Just before impact, Laxus had twisted their bodies midair, tucking Y/N close while turning his own back toward the unforgiving earth.
Laxus grunted against the force, arms still locked around him like steel bands. His broad frame absorbed the worst of it, taking the full brunt of the fall. The tension in his muscles didn't give, not even for a second. He'd shielded Y/N completely, like it was instinct.
When the dust settled, Y/N found himself pinned beneath the larger man's frame, caught between earth and thunder. Laxus's warm breath brushed against his temple, sharp and shallow, but steady.
"You really don't know when to quit," Laxus muttered, voice low and tight from exertion, though his grip didn't loosen as another thunderous blast rattled the horizon.
Y/N blinked up at him, glimmers of his magic still flickering faintly across his skin. His heart was hammering—but it wasn't from fear. At least, not anymore. Now, it was something that Y/N dared not name, for the sake of his dignity and the fact that he's still supposed to be angry with this man.
"Neither do you," Y/N shot back, breathless—but grateful. Not that he'd say it.
Laxus, though silent, remained rooted around Y/N, his arms steadfastly holding him in place. He held him as if letting go was impossible, for deep down, he understood that if he did, whether due to the dragon or not, Y/N would not remain with him.
"Wait, hold on!"
The shout snapped Y/N out of his spiraling thoughts like a slap to the face. One blink, and just like that, the memory haze evaporated. He wasn't standing outside the guild hall. Hell, he was still barely even in Magnolia.
No, he was standing at the edge of a clearing, familiar trees casting jagged shadows across the earth as the early evening light began to dim. And just a few paces ahead, he saw Wendy—clearly panicked— standing outside the gathering of Natsu, Gajeel, the Thunder Cronies, and…him.
Laxus.
Of course.
Y/N's gaze immediately jumped to the telltale hum of magic between the three dragon slayers, watching as Natsu and Laxus stared each other down like they had nothing better to do than fry each other into the dirt. Magic pulsed off their bodies in thick waves. Natsu's fire crackled and sparked wildly in his fists, while electricity danced over Laxus's body in golden bolts, whispering along his skin like snakes waiting to strike.
Y/N's frown deepened.
Because, of course, these two were going to fight. Why did he expect anything else?
"Really?" he muttered under his breath, arms crossing tight over his chest.
The moment his voice stirred the air, Laxus's eyes snapped to him—like he'd known he was there the whole time. That instinctual awareness between them hadn't dulled in the slightest, it seemed.
Y/N didn't flinch under that gaze, even if something low and familiar curled in his chest at the sight. Laxus was trying to look unreadable, like always, but that faint flicker of something behind his eyes betrayed him.
Natsu turned to Wendy, looking thoroughly confused. "What for?"
Wendy, still flustered but holding her ground, shakily and hysterically, but still holding it, responded, but it wasn't clear if she was trying to prevent this fight or prolong it. "If you guys are really gonna go through with this, you make sure it's a special occasion!"
"I don't follow," Natsu responded, still looking confused… shocker.
"What are you talking about?" Gajeel questioned with his arms crossed as usual.
"The match will take place tomorrow!" Wendy jabbed her finger forward, pointing at the three of them like she was delivering a royal decree, clearly hoping that putting it off might make them forget the whole thing altogether.
Y/N couldn’t help but smile—an involuntary quirk of the lips. Poor Wendy, still clinging to the notion that reason held sway in this guild. She’d eventually learn the truth. She reminded the Light Wizard of another young wizard in Fairy Tail who shared a similar demeanor.
Ugh… someone was still staring at him.
Y/N didn't even need to look up to know who it was, as the perpetrator hadn't looked away once. Even now, as the others argued over time and place, his gaze remained fixed on the Light Mage.
Y/N met it for a moment longer, but the flicker of his former smile vanished just as quickly as it came. That familiar weight in his chest—the one that only ever seemed to flare around him—settled low again, unwelcome. Once, that stare used to pull a laugh and smile from him. Now, all it pulled was exasperation and tiredness.
He turned away.
"Okay, if you insist, have it your way," Natsu relented, turning back to Laxus with that same reckless grin. "I can wait one more day to kick his butt. Meet me tomorrow under the big solar tree in SouthGate Park!"
"And when he's done, it'll be my turn," Gajeel added, popping his knuckles with a toothy smirk.
A tense beat of silence passed.
Laxus didn't respond immediately. He just stood there, expression unreadable—at least, to everyone except Y/N.
Then, Laxus's eyes flickered toward him once more.
And just like that, he stepped back. "Actually… I'm good," he said, almost lazily, brushing nonexistent dust off his shoulders. "Got better things to do."
That earned an entire wave of shock from the others.
"Seriously?!" Gajeel scoffed. "Don't tell me the big, bad Thunder Boy's scared."
Wendy, on the other hand, looked downright relieved.
The Thunder Legion, however, looked… confused.
"But Laxus—!" Evergreen started.
"You never back down from a fight!" Bickslow stuttered.
Fried frowned, though he didn't outwardly object, looking between his team leader and the lingering Light Wizard no one else noticed behind them. "Are you sure?"
Laxus didn't answer. He just kept his hands in his pockets, muscles in his arms bulging out on display with his sleeveless sweater. His eyes kept flicking—just for half a second at a time—toward a certain someone.
That didn't go unnoticed. Gajeel finally glanced over his shoulder, tracking the Lightning Wizard's gaze—only to blink when he saw Y/N standing there, expression unreadable.
"Well, well," the Iron Dragon Slayer drawled with a grin. "Look who's joined the party, didn't see you there, Sunshine. Aren't you sneaky?"
Y/N rolled his eyes. "I wasn't sneaking, Gajeel. And tone it down on the creepy smirk; otherwise, your face will get stuck like that. Then again, given its current state, it'd be an improvement."
The jab was smooth and disinterested, like swatting a fly. But Laxus's brow twitched, subtly.
Natsu, ever the chaos bringer, perked up. "Y/N, perfect timing! You and me, tomorrow at SouthGate, tomorrow too. I've never had a one-on-one with you before, and I'm itching to see if you can beat me."
Wendy, once again, looked like she was about to bite her nails off at the prospect of another unnecessary fight.
"No," Y/N replied flatly, not even blinking.
Once again, the Sky Dragon Slayer's obvious relief was nearly comical in nature.
"Oh, come on!" Natsu groaned. "What are you afraid I'll wipe the floor with ya? One quick spar—!"
"I don't waste my time, nor my power, on ridiculous ego-brawl contests. Also, I've already done my charity for the month."
Gajeel cackled. "Damn, he called you weak, Salamander."
"What?! I did not—!"
"Sounds like it to me."
Y/N didn't even bother defending himself. He just turned, clearly prepared to walk away. And that was when Laxus suddenly stepped forward again, the weight of his boots grinding into the dirt. "Alright," he said gruffly. "Fine. Let's do it."
Wendy deflated like a balloon. "Oh no…"
The Thunder Legion lit up, proud to see their leader not backing down and showing himself to be the strong, capable Wizard they knew him to be.
But Y/N turned back slowly, gaze settling on Laxus once again. There was nothing triumphant in his expression. No smirk, no baited pride. Just… disappointment.
Laxus could see it, feel it too. Like a gloomy, thunderhead cloud suddenly floated above him, threatening to strike him down at any moment.
It hurt more than he'd ever admit. Yet, somehow, it made him want to win.
As stupid as it was, maybe tomorrow could be his chance at showing he was deserving of another chance. Not for the sake of glory or pride.
But for him.
"Laxus!"
Y/N stormed down the corridor of the boys' dormitory, boots slamming against the wood, his entire aura radiating a barely retrained fury. Anyone in his way had the good sense to move.
Word had reached him—too fast, not fast enough—about Laxus's latest outburst at the guild. The nerve of him! Not only had he failed to show up during the assault from Phantom Lord, deliberately at that, considering he's not aware that Y/N heard every little bit of his disgusting tone when Mirajane called him, but he now had the audacity to brag about it? As if that entire war hadn't left the guild bloodied, broken, and grieving. Gramps had nearly died, Erza and Mira both nearly put their lives on the line, and everyone else.
And yet, Laxus, in all his arrogant, self-righteous glory, thought he was in any position to throw blame? After the Master specifically said no one was to be held accountable, including him. But, here he comes, pointing fingers at Lucy, disrespecting Jet and Droy as if it was their fault Phantom chose to target them.
Y/N's fists were clenched so tightly, they glowed.
If Makarov hadn't stopped and talked Y/N down from his initial plans to knock some sense into that boy, let's just say their guild would've been down one resident lightning wizard. But the Master forbade any punishment of that extreme level… lucky bastard.
Funny how their roles had reversed this time around. Y/N always was the one calming Makarov down, defending Laxus after he put his foot in his mouth—again. But this time, the old man had too much on his plate: with the looming pressure of the Magic Council following the aftermath of their fight with Phantom, and thus, Fairy Tail's fate had yet to be ruled on. Just the stress of that alone was exhausting on the Master, so he didn't have time himself to reprimand Laxus. Thankfully, he didn't have to.
He had Y/N for that.
Outside of the Gramps, the guild was basically run by both Mirajane and Y/N. In fact, she was the only one who really understood just how much Y/N did for Makarov behind the scenes. And not because the old man ever asked. Just because Y/N felt like he owed him.
No matter how old he would get, he'd never forget what Makarov had done for him–taking him in as a child with no questions asked, even under difficult circumstances, he never felt the need to without good reason. And that good reason only being his very overwhelming power, which Makarov helped him to master, seeing as they both shared the capabilities of Light Magic. Only Makarov hadn't seen a magic as potent as Y/N's before. He never spoke of it aloud, but he knew that with power like Y/N's, he'd easily earn a title as a Wizard Saint, if not, the top spot.
No one, outside of Makarov, though, knew the levels of Y/N's magic, for various reasons. Due to things from his past and other factors, it was best that the depths of Y/N's power be kept a guarded secret, something that only they knew, except for Laxus.
The three of them—Makarov, Y/N, and Laxus—would train together when the two younger boys were just kids. Light and lightning, nearly inseparable and learning side by side.
Makarov always said he thought of every guild member as his child, but with Y/N, it was different. He had always seen the boy as another grandson, a second chance to raise someone right after the disaster of his own son. And Y/N, in turn, had grown into that role with pride, treating Makarov like a father—and Fairy Tail like a home he'd fight tooth and nail to protect.
Which was exactly why this—Laxus's little dramatic return, conveniently timed after Mira reopened job requests—sent him over the edge. The blonde electric dunderhead wasn't as clever as he'd like to think, timing his visit when he very well knew Y/N would be spending the day coordinating with vendors, helping to rebuild the guild, negotiating contracts, and scheduling deliveries for supplies… thus, choosing that moment to coincidentally drop in and start a fight?
On top of that, he thinks he can threaten people with kicking them out of the guild?
No. Not today. If he really wants a fight, then, dammit, he's gonna get one.
The door to Laxus's room slammed open without warning.
"You really thought I wouldn't find out?" Y/N's voice cracked like a whip through the space, fury radiating off him in waves.
Laxus looked up from where he'd been sitting casually on his bed, shoes off and legs stretched out, while his arms were folded behind his head, his spiked earphones pumping out what was probably classical rock. Though he wasn't surprised at all by Y/N's arrival, not only able to sense his magic approaching the moment he stepped into the building, but also just because this was usual protocol whenever Laxus did something "bad."
On the other hand, he wasn't expecting his door to nearly be blown off the hinges by a ray of golden sunbeams. That… was a new development. Either way, his familiar smirk slid right into place at the sight of his long-time friend and… other things.
"Took you long enough," he drawled, standing slowly to his full height. The room suddenly felt smaller with him upright, shoulders brushing close to the doorframe. "Who snitched on me this time? Was it Mira? Erza? That little pipsqueak Max?"
Y/N slammed the door behind him with a sharp click. A faint shimmer of light danced beneath his skin, not yet blazing, but alive and restless, just like the sun that streamed directly through the window, illuminating the wizard and his power even more.
Laxus was almost scared.
Almost.
"Oh, so you do know your guildmates' names," Y/N said coolly, arms crossed, an unimpressed brow lifting. "So the little stunt with Jet and Droy was just for show then?"
Laxus tilted his head, lips twitching.
"Who's Jet and Droy?"
Y/N blinked once.
He was going to kill him.
"I swear to every god in existence, Laxus—"
"Relax." Laxus's smirk widened as he leaned against the wall, arms lazily crossed in front of him like he didn't have a care in the world. Suddenly, Y/N was getting a very vivid flashback of a moody teenage Laxus; unfortunately, both excelled in getting on his last nerve. "You know, it's cute how easy I can rile you up still."
Y/N's eye twitched.
"I'm not in the mood today," he bit out, pacing now to keep himself from throwing something—namely, the Lightning Wizard—out the window. "You know I've been swamped helping rebuild the guild hall, and this is how you decide to help? Showing up just to piss everyone off?
Laxus shrugged lazily, watching him move like a cat stalking prey. "You were gone. The guild was too quiet. I got bored. It wasn't like there was anyone else to keep me entertained."
"So, to keep you from causing trouble, you, as an adult, need another adult to babysit you? Just how old are you again?"
"What? Nothing wrong with stirring the pot up a little bit."
Y/N stopped, turned to him with an incredulous glare. "So you walked in, insulted pretty much everyone in the room, and started throwing blame around like confetti—at Lucy, of all people—just because you were bored?"
Laxus pushed off the wall and took a slow step close, the spark of amusement never leaving his eyes. "Did I lie? The whole reason Phantom came after us is because her daddy wanted little Miss Princess to return home."
"Funny how you use the word 'us' when you didn't even show up, and… you just told Mira earlier that the fight had nothing to do with you," Y/N snapped, squaring his shoulders, "And if we're pointing fingers, I've got a great candidate standing right in front of me. Tall, blonde, full of lightning, and an ego big enough to crack the foundation we just laid."
"Aw, don't flatter me," Laxus murmured, voice low and teasing. "You make it sound like you think about me when I'm not around."
Y/N stared while the Lightning Wizard grinned.
"I will incinerate you."
"You'd miss me too much."
The silence that settled between them wasn't peaceful—it was something else. Thick with something unknown, or even more, something that refused to be named, but both were intimately familiar with. Laxus's smirk lingered like a challenge, sharp and deliberate, but Y/N could see the way his jaw ticked, how he shifted his stance slightly forward, like he was waiting—bracing—fr something more.
That ever-present cockiness was a mask, and Y/N knew it. He knew what was underneath it, what it was covering, what it meant when Laxus got like this with him. The arrogance, the teasing, the way he leaned in too close—it all felt like a game, one Laxus never played with anyone else. Just him.
And that was the problem.
Y/N pulse was far too aware of the heat radiating off the other man, the storm simmering just beneath his skin that was hidden by those atrocious clothes the man dared call fashionable.
Everyone was entitled to their opinions. Thankfully, he had a body that made the clothes work. Not that Y/N paid attention to that sort of thing, because of course not! Why would he ever pay attention to something like that? Shut up.
…
Anyways… it always threw him off, this stupid magnetic thing between them—the kind that made him lose time, lose sense, lose himself in ways he shouldn't. His eyes flicked up to Laxus's, catching that glint of amusement wrapped in something darker, something unspoken. Something like want.
No. He reminded himself why he was here, why he stormed down that hallway in the first place. This wasn't about games, or tension, or whatever unresolved mess stretched tight between them like the fraying edge of a spell. He was here because Laxus had gone too far… again.
"You didn't show up," he said, his voice low—each word falling like a gavel. "Phantom Lord tore our home apart. People were bleeding and injured. Erza, Mirajane, the same people you dismiss as 'weak'—risked everything to protect the guild. Your own grandfather was nearly killed, and you didn't show up."
Laxus scoffed, the sound full of dismissive thunder. "Last time I checked, the old geezer's still breathing, so what's the problem? No one died, and you handled it, like you always do." He took a step closer, letting his shadow stretch over Y/N. "And that's exactly it, isn't it? You and me—we carry this guild, always have. The rest of them?" He waved a hand vaguely, eyes narrowed. "Dead weight. If half of them were as strong as us, maybe they wouldn't get chained to trees or knocked out in one shot. Fairy Tail's gotten too soft. Too many weak links."
"Erza tanked a direct him from that damn Jupiter cannon and took down one of the Element Four with a single strike, by herself," Y/N snapped back, nostrils flaring. "She wasn't even at her full power because of the previous fight. I wouldn't call that weak."
"And yet the guild hall still got blown to hell," Laxus said flatly, shrugging. "And she nearly got herself killed. Whoop-tee-doo."
Y/N let out a dry, humorless laugh. "You're unbelievable." He turned on his heel, already halfway toward the door, sick of the sound of his own voice in this never-ending argument. "Why am I even wasting my breath? You didn't even show up, and you think you get to decide who's weak? Who belongs in Fairy Tail?" He paused just long enough to glance back over his shoulder, voice sharper now—cool and final. "News flash: you're not the Master. And just because you're his grandson doesn't mean this guild is yours by default. Not yet, at least. There are rules—standards—and you'd do well to remember your place."
He nearly made it to the door before something had him pausing in his tracks. Laxus, in a flash, closed the distance between them and grabbed Y/N's arm—tight, heated fingers curling around his bicep with just enough force to halt him mid-step. It wasn't painful, but it was deliberate, sort of possessive to. Like a line was being drawn.
Y/N stilled, pulse ticking against the grip. "You wanna talk about my place?" Laxus growled loudly, voice rough around the edges now. "Then don't forget yours."
The calloused heat of Laxus's palm burned through the sleeve of his jacket, thumb pressed against the inside of his forearm—just enough pressure to keep him there. It was a stark reminder of exactly how strong Laxus was. The dense muscle behind that grip, the raw, effortless power in Laxus's frame, radiated through every inch of contact.
Y/N turned to face him.
He didn't flinch, didn't cower. Even pinned where he stood, his expression was steady, defiant. He knew what Laxus was banking on. That he wouldn't retaliate, that he wouldn't escalate. That he'd keep swallowing his anger and just smooth things over.
Laxus had already burned through that patience.
"I know who's weak," Laxus said, eyes flashing as his gaze dragged over Y/N, slow, assessing, but not dismissive, not like towards the others. "You're not one of them, but don't make me have to include you with them."
The admission was subtle, but Y/N caught it instantly.
"Oh?" he asked quietly. "I don't know about you, but where I'm from, most people would consider that a threat."
Laxus's jaw tightened. "It can be. I'm doing what the old geezer won't. What you won't," he snapped. "Fairy Tail could be unstoppable if we stopped pretending everyone deserves to stand at the top."
"You don't get to decide that," Y/N shot back, stepping forward despite the hold, forcing Laxus to release him. "You don't get to burn everything down and call it progress."
Laxus moved before the words fully settled.
One moment, Y/N was standing his ground—the next, a heavy palm slammed into the wall beside his head, the other hand wrenching his wrist behind his back. Laxus pressed in, all muscle and thunder, and barely restrained fury, pinning him effortlessly.
"You're acting like you want to hit me," Laxus murmured near his ear, voice low, intimate in a way that made Y/N's stomach twist. "I know you won't, though. You never do."
"Won't I?"
The words were soft in response… the actions weren't.
Laxus leaned back, his expression a mix of confusion and surprise. The room crackled with energy as light flared. Y/N’s body began dissolving into blinding rays that slipped free of his grasp. By the time Laxus turned, Y/N was already behind him. Two sharp beams of light shot forward, locking around his wrists and slamming him into place with an unyielding force.
Laxus sucked in a breath, eyes widening despite himself.
"Don't," Y/N warned, voice steady, lethal in its calm. His irises burned gold-white now, sunlight pouring in from the window behind him, framing his silhouette in a radiant halo. "I'm done cleaning up after you. This is your last chance, Laxus."
Silence stretched between them. For a moment, something cracked. Laxus looked at him—not over him, not past him, at him. The arrogance faltered, just a hair.
"I'm warning you," Y/N continued, unwavering. "I won't tolerate your blatant disrespect towards this guild or its people anymore. I'd say your grandfather, too, but that is where I'll remember my place, and he's more than capable of handling himself. You're free to have your opinions—but learn to keep them to yourself. And if you do anything against Fairy Tail—anything at all—I won't defend you. I'll be the one standing in front of Gramps, telling him you should be expelled."
Laxus froze. He didn't fight the restraints—not that he had been before. His eyes went wide, breath hitching as the weight of it hit him.
"…You really think I'd take it that far?" he muttered.
"Yes," Y/N said without hesitation. "Because you already have."
For a long, charged moment, Laxus didn't move. His jaw clenched, the storm behind his eyes threatening to snap loose, but it didn't. Not this time. Because the truth was, he hadn't expected any of this.
Not the light restraints, not Y/N's voice like steel, not the ultimatum, delivered with the kind of finality that made something twist sharp and ugly in his chest. He hated his feeling of being caught off guard, of being outmatched not just in strength, but in control.
And worst of all, it was Y/N doing it. The one person he never wanted to be on the other side of a threat from. For a moment, pride roared to fight back. But it passed, because deep down, he knew—this situation was already spiraling, and if he pushed again, he wouldn't just lose the argument. He'd lost him. So he let out a breath, low and frustrated, shoulders dropping as he finally conceded.
Laxus exhaled sharply before speaking. "Fine, whatever. Drop it."
Y/N did. He dropped his spell and released the wizard, who immediately went to rub his wrists, even though there was no injury there, cause just like the Lightning Wizard, he was firm, but he wouldn't go there, not with him.
He turned to make his exit for the door, his back to the Lightning Wizard now, who made his way back toward his bed.
"They're weak," Laxus threw over his shoulder, almost casually. "Most of them, you know it."
Y/N's expression hardened. "I don't know what you're talking about, but I'll tell you this…"
Laxus glanced back, brow lifting.
"Erza's strong because she recognizes the strength in others. Despite how much of a powerhouse she is, she always recognizes that everyone has the potential to become stronger, and never assumes herself as the stronger one just because she's powerful.
Laxus merely scoffed.
Y/N continued. "Mirajane… if she ever regains what she lost after Lisanna, she'd be a nightmare for you, and anyone else who got on her wrong side, and you know I'm not wrong."
Laxus's lips pressed thin. "Oh yeah, who else?"
"Natsu."
The room shifted, Y/N choosing not to acknowledge the clenched fists with static electricity soft dancing around them.
"You think that little punk is tougher than me?" There was quiet venom slipping into Laxus's tone, something ugly and raw beneath the surface as he marched into Y/N's space, staring him down.
"See," he responded quietly. "That reaction? That's exactly what I'm talking about. Letting your ego rule you is what will be your downfall… just like your dad.
Laxus froze. Their faces were inches apart, breath mingling, lightning and light humming in near violent harmony. For a split second, Laxus looked like he might say something—before pride slammed the door shut again.
"Get out," he snapped. Y/N straightened his shirt, eyes never leaving him.
"I won't stop you next time," he said. " And when everything comes crashing down, don't look for me to pull you out of it."
He paused at the door.
"…I don't want to lose you," he added, softer. Then he left.
Laxus stood alone, lightning crackling wildly around him—
And for the first time, unsure whether the strength he was chasing was worth what he was about to destroy in return.
~~~
Everyone was gathered in their sad, cramped excuse for a guild hall—Y/N was trying to be grateful they even had one, but damn, this place was a dump. A temporary dump, he was sure of, but still. He missed the height, the history, the warmth that made their old guild hall feel like home. This… felt like a glorified shed.
Master Makarov had just finished making his announcement—the one no one wanted to hear: he was stepping down as Guild Master. The air inside dipped the moment the words left his mouth, every face shadowed in some form of quiet grief.
Y/N shared in the sentiment. Makarov was Fairy Tail, in many ways, for them. A father figure. A grandfather. A stubborn, loud, compassionate anchor to those who had none. For those with complicated family pasts—himself included—Makarov was more than a Master. He was what made this guild a family, made it home.
His gaze swept the room. A few key faces were missing—Natsu, Lucy, Happy, Wendy, Carla, and Gray were still out. They'd be in for a surprise when they got back.
Speaking of surprises…
Y/N's eyes landed on someone he didn't expect to see—Laxus.
Standing closer to the back of the crowd, his thunder minions surrounding him, shoulders squared, expression unreadable. Y/N's brows drew together. He had no idea what Laxus was doing here, especially considering he still wasn't technically part of the guild. That fact didn't change and wasn't changing, no matter what anyone believed, thought, or felt.
Besides, it wasn't like Laxus gave them any reason to believe he changed or learned his lesson. Not after that little spectacle he pulled with Natsu at SouthGate Park.
Y/N remembered that day clearly. Standing just behind Makarov, who'd looked thoroughly unimpressed when he found out about the fight secondhand—thank you, Wendy. They'd watched from a distance, the two Light Wizards, the Sky Dragon Slayer and her Exceed, bearing silent witness as the so-called "duel" between Laxus and Natsu ended before it started.
The rest of the crowd watched in silent shock before hurriedly scrambling off in search of Gajeel, like eager little bloodhounds after the Iron Dragon Slayer had quietly escaped what was certain to be a similar fate to Natsu’s.
The air had been thick with tension. And Y/N—though he didn't want to admit it—could see something unfamiliar in Laxus's face as he stood in the aftermath, gaze tilted toward them. Not anger, nor arrogance. Something smaller—regret.
But—true to form—he said nothing. No apology, nor any type of semblance of an explanation, even though Y/N didn't need one since he knew everything that led up to this, and surely had already given Makarov all the necessary details. Laxus didn't even attempt to reach out or even try to fix things. He just walked off, like he always did.
Bickslow was the only one surprised at this—not much surprise there, though—while Evergreen pleaded for him to come back to Fairy Tail. Fried tried to even confront Makarov directly, requesting that the master take Laxus back, citing that his expulsion from that guild had lasted long enough.
Y/N had barely stopped himself from laughing out loud. Really? Seven years may have passed for them, but Laxus sure as hell hadn't lived them. That expulsion still stood, and time frozen in a stasis bubble didn't exactly count as growth.
Not that Fried dared with him.
One look at the flat, unreadable expression on Y/N's face told him exactly how that conversation would go. Y/N had nothing to say to Laxus.
Not yet, at least…
Besides, Laxus didn't deserve it anyway.
"Without further ado, the fifth Master of Fairy Tail… Gildarts Clive!"
An awkward silence fell across the room.
All eyes turned to the space behind Makarov, where Gildarts should have been standing—except he wasn't. Instead, it was just Mirajane and Y/N, standing side by side in what was supposed to be the grand handoff moment. Makarov blinked, confused.
Mira smiled, clearly enjoying the irony of the moment just as much as Y/N was.
"Where the hell is Gildarts?" Makarov questioned.
"I'm not sure, but he left us a note," Mira answered, before handing over the envelope.
As Makarov read the contents aloud, his brow twitched.
Chuckles and giggles muttered across the room as everyone listened to Makarov reading, almost as if they could hear Gildarts's husky bass themselves. Eventually, everyone had caught on to the fact that Gildarts had resigned from the position before the weight of it could even remotely drop on his shoulders.
Y/N fought back a grin, only just managing not to look too smug. He'd seen this coming from a mile away—especially after the strange little chat he'd had with Gildarts earlier that day.
"You think we're missing something?" Gildarts had asked, arms crossed as he leaned. against the cracked wooden bar of the guild hall. Man, this place was sad.
Y/N paused. "…Not really. Maybe our pride. Our name's been dragged through the mud these past few years, but that's not permanent. We'll earn it back—just maybe with a little less collateral damage this time."
Gildarts gave a low hum. "You really think we can bring it all back? After everything that's happened?"
"If I didn't believe broken things could heal," Y/N said, eyes warm but steady, "I wouldn't be a light wizard."
"What about trust? Reputation's taken quite the hit. Lost a lot of favor with the people."
"Everything can be restored, with time."
That earned an amused hum from the Crash Magic Wizard, Gildarts's gaze lingering a bit longer than usual, thoughtful and… something mischievous.
Now, standing in the crowded guild hall, Y/N knew exactly what that mischief had been about.
"I hereby reinstate Laxus as a member of Fairy Tail."
…What?
Y/N stiffened, the amusement in his chest fizzling out. His eyes slid toward Makarov, whose temples were already beginning to pulse. The letter trembled slightly in his grip.
"He's got some nerve…" Makarov muttered under his breath, veins bulging.
"No way…" Laxus mumbled, clearly just as surprised.
But the guild didn't hesitate.
"Welcome back to the fold, old buddy!" Bickslow cheered.
"This is wonderful! The Thunder Legion is back!" Evergreen added, while hugging onto Laxus's sleeveless, muscled arm. That earned another dark feeling to the usually irradiant wizard, plus a violent twitch in his eyebrow…and fist.
Fried, ever the emotional one, cried tears of joy. "Thank you, Gildarts. This is a blessed day."
Makarov sighed heavily. "Hmph. Well… if that is the Master's wish, then so be it…" He grumbled, but didn't beat on it any further. Of course, the next line in the letter made him choke.
"And second, I hereby appoint Makarov Dreyar as Fairy Tail's sixth master."
"But I just retired!" Makarov nearly tore the paper in half, while a new round of laughs and cheers filled the guild hall. A new dawn was approaching for Fairy Tail.
The energy in the hall shifted—celebratory, bright. Natsu, Lucy, and the rest of their team came bursting in shortly after, swept up into the buzz of excitement over Laxus's reinstatement and the Master's very brief retirement.
But not everyone was celebrating.
Mira noticed it first, considering she was standing next to him, and then Erza. The storm in Y/N's eyes was impossible to miss. His posture stiff, jaw set, the light shining around him almost looking as if it was losing luminance. The glowing calm he usually carried was gone—replaced with something both distant and cold.
And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.
A pulse of light, and he vanished from the hall entirely, leaving only the faintest shimmer behind him. Mira exchanged a glance with Erza, who looked ready to follow after him—but stopped when the flicker of movement at the far edge of the room caught her eye.
Laxus. His head had turned toward the door, almost the exact moment Y/N disappeared. His expression was unreadable, but his focus was clearly on… something.
Of everyone in that room, only he had noticed the moment Y/N left.
And unlike everyone else, cheering and getting into the spirit of celebration, Laxus didn't smile.
Not once.
The celebration was in full swing. Laughter, clinking mugs, a few too many songs being sung off-key. Inside, the guild hall was spilled over with joy at every table. So, for everyone's sake, Y/N found it necessary to step outside.
He didn't want to ruin the mood. The others were ecstatic, and understandably so; after all, Fairy Tail had one of their strongest back, their prodigal lightning brat. Even he could admit it was something worth smiling about. Still, the others could tell he, along with Gramps, wasn't exactly thrilled with Gildarts' "bold" decision.
Honestly, he was still trying to calm the urge to hunt that ragged, cape-wearing thickhead down and give him a piece of his mind—or a well-aimed barrage of light arrows. It might've been nighttime, but the moon was full, hanging bright and heavy over Magnolia, casting the sun's reflected light over it like a homing beacon. Finding Gildarts wouldn't be difficult.
He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head up toward the stars. He couldn't believe the man—just letting Laxus waltz back into the guild like nothing had happened. Sure, Gildarts technically had the title of Guild Master, even if it was short-lived, and yes, that meant he could reinstate Laxus. Fine, whatever.
But as Master, even if temporarily, he should've considered more why Laxus was expelled in the first place, or at least asked about it, since he likely didn't know all the details. Did he even bother asking? What he'd done wasn't something you could shrug off with a grin and a "oh well." It had been so bad, so deliberate, that even Makarov—who has forgiven and given grace in many situations where he would've been considered crazy for doing so, and has been—had no choice but to kick him out. And Y/N… had stood there, watching, not even blinking when finding out what the sentence came down to, because he'd seen it. The tail end of it at least, plus the aftermath. That kind of betrayal you don't forget, let alone sweep under the rug.
There had been a lot Y/N wanted to say and do—especially after Gramps read that letter. One of them being hunting down Gildarts. But what would've been the point? What's done was done.
To everyone else, the "Battle of Fairy Tail" was ancient history. For those that were trapped on Tenrou, though, it still felt fresh—something that had happened not seven years ago, but earlier that year. He had to remind himself that time didn't stand still for everyone. The world had moved on, and so had the guild.
Many had already forgiven Laxus. Even some who were there on Tenrou seemed content to let it go. They were happy to see him, happy he'd shown up to help. Y/N couldn't believe it—but hey, if they wanted to be gullible idiots, that was their problem. He wasn't about to let himself get played like one again.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, letting his eyes drift toward the sky. The air outside was cooler, cleaner, and quieter. Inside, the chaos of Fairy Tail thrummed like a heartbeat—mugs clinking, chairs scraping, voices overlapping in half a dozen drunken conversations. The sound was comforting in its own way.
Still… this hall didn't hold a candle to their old one.
When would they finally get it back? Gramps had mentioned it wouldn't be long now, but who knew? Not that Y/N wasn't grateful for what they had—especially after hearing what the rest of Fairy Tail endured while he and the others were stuck on Tenrou for so long.
Seven years gone. Seven years of missed laughter, growth, heartbreak, and change. He'd blinked, and it had all disappeared.
People liked to joke about how fast time flew, but for him, it wasn't a saying. It was a fact.
He could feel it—the way some parts of him had shifted, while others clung stubbornly to the past. The world around him had changed—continued to change. And he had too, but the parts of him that stayed the same were the ones still holding on to something—someone.
He remained motionless when the door creaked open behind him, but the distinct thump of boots on dirt revealed the identity of the person who had followed him outside. The soft glow of the night light only confirmed his suspicions.
"Hey…"
Y/N turned, already half-annoyed, only for his eyes to land on that ridiculous outfit. Fur-lined collar and sleeves, except the sleeves in question don't exist, as if he were trying to model winter wear for bodybuilders. Honestly, what even was this style?
"Have I ever mentioned that outfit makes you look like a crime boss whose mommy finally let him shop for his own clothes?" he asked before he could stop himself.
Laxus blinked at him. "That supposed to be a compliment?"
"No," Y/N deadpanned, though the corner of his mouth did twitch—against his will. "But it could be, if you stopped dressing like a cosplayed villain from Sorcerer Weekly."
Laxus huffed, his version of a chuckle, before he took a subtle look down at himself. "Do I really?"
"Now? No," Y/N replied coolly, eyes flicking up and down Laxus's frame, "but only because you're not wearing that damn coat like it's some cloak."
Laxus frowned, arms folded over his broad chest. "What's wrong with my coat?"
Y/N gave him a look so dry it could have withered a flower. He gestured vaguely at the blonde's ensemble. "The fact that you wear it like a cloak, for one. Unlike that shirt–… sweater, vest, whatever you're wearing, the sleeves exist on your coat for a reason. They're not just there for decoration."
Laxus glanced down at his bare arms, as if he was genuinely considering the critique. Then he shrugged, the fur-lined fabric shifting on his shoulders with the motion.
"Freedom of movement," he said simply, like that explained everything.
Y/N snorted under his breath, turning back toward the open sky. "Right. Because lightning wizards are known for being constrained by their jackets."
There was that huff again, Y/N understanding its meaning perfectly. The big lug wasn’t offended by his comments. In fact, this was the most normal conversation they’d had in a while, a nostalgic feeling blooming…at least until his memory had to go and ruin the moment, remembering exactly why he was out there in the first place. Then, it all went sour again.
He shouldn't be joining with him right now, and he definitely should be letting his guard down. Because now, that Laxus was standing this close, face half-lit by the moon, something about him looked… different.
First off… when did he even manage to get this close?
"Why are you out here? Shouldn't you be inside celebrating with the others? It is your 'Welcome Back' party after all."
The usual sharpness in his expression was still present, but it had softened around the edges. He appeared exhausted. Not physically, of course—he still looked capable of lifting a tree with one arm—but emotionally. His demeanor was quiet and even hesitant.
"It was getting crowded," Laxus said finally, his tone low. "Needed some air."
Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Or you could just admit you saw I left and couldn't resist coming out here to pester me."
Laxus refrained from arguing, which was the most frustrating aspect. Why would he do so when he was aware that Y/N was correct?
Instead, he just looked at him—really looked at him—his jaw working like he was chewing down every instinct screaming at him not to speak. His voice came low, rough around the edges, like each word cost more than he'd ever admit.
"Alright… I admit I didn't come out here expecting a warm welcome. I just wanted you to know that I was just as surprised as you were. I didn't have anything to do with it, and I didn't know Gildarts was planning it."
He shifted, fingers flexing slightly at his sides, like he didn't know what to do with his hands now that they weren't clenched into fists.
"Okay… your point? You're talking like I accused you of something. Is this supposed to be some sort of 'Not Guilty' plea?"
Y/N could tell Laxus wanted to roll his eyes, but refrained, ignoring the remark and continuing, "I know you're not happy I'm back. I get it. You've got every reason not to be. But…" His gaze flicked away for a second, then returned—steadier. "I just… I know I've got no right to ask anything of you. And I'm not asking. I just wanted you to know—this means nothing if it doesn't mean something to you, too."
Suddenly, Y/N was not only witnessing a side of Laxus that had been absent for a long time, but also a side that the rest of the guild rarely—if ever—had the privilege of seeing. It was the softness, a rare occurrence that only emerged when Laxus was at his most genuine. His uncanny and unspoken manner of expressing his feelings, without uttering a single word, conveyed the profound depth of his affection, hanging heavily in the silence that enveloped them.
Maybe, just maybe, if this had been years ago—the time jump still fucks with his head—if things hadn't happened the way they did… if certain bridges hadn't already burned, Y/N might have softened too.
But it wasn't years ago, and everything had happened exactly the way they happened. That right there, thinking Y/N could see past all of that because they were here now? That was his mistake.
"What do you want, Laxus?" Y/N asked finally, his tone flat, eyes flicking back toward the lights of Magnolia. "I'm not in the mood."
Laxus hesitated, shifting his weight like he wasn't sure whether to stay or go. The sound of celebration drifted faintly behind him—distant and warm, everything that the space between them wasn't. He didn't move at first, the silence stretching between them, thin and humming, broken only by the muffled laughter and music leaking from the guild's doors.
The faint scent of oak and rain-soaked stone carried through the air—the night suddenly feeling heavier, and the air felt too thick to breathe. Fireflies drifted lazily over the grass, their glow flickering like half-formed memories.
He stood there in the moonlight, broad shoulders tense beneath his fur-lined sweater, his usual confidence dulled into something quieter, uncertain. For a man who commanded lightning, he looked afraid to make a sound.
When he finally spoke, his voice came low, rough at the edges, stripped of its usual arrogance. "You know," he spoke lowly, eyes flicking briefly toward Y/N before falling to the ground, "if the old man hadn't sent you out that day… I wouldn't have gone through with it."
"So what?" he said, voice flat, though it carried a tremor that didn't quite belong to anger. "You're saying I'm to blame for you making our guild—all our friends—fight each other just to prove a point?"
"No, that's not what I'm saying! I—"
"—said something really stupid. Then again," Y/N's mouth curved without humor, "why am I surprised?"
The blonde's jaw tightened. He leaned forward slightly, the lamplight catching the faint tremor of frustration in his hands.
"Come on," Laxus said, his voice lower now, stripped of its usual edge. "Would you please just talk to me?"
Y/N scoffed softly, not even bothering to look at him. "I thought I already was. And what a spectacular waste of time that's been."
Laxus hesitated before trying again, "I—I said I was sorry," he insisted, the words coming out rough, like they'd been dragged from somewhere deep and unwilling. "I'm trying here, damn it."
"Really?" Y/N's voice rose—not a shout, but firm enough to still the muffled noise behind the guild hall's doors. "Would you like to give me a play-by-play of when this apology took place? Because I don't remember being present for it. In fact, I'm certain you've done everything else except apologize."
Laxus's frown deepened. His pride and guilt waged a silent war behind his eyes.
"What did you want me to do? I was already kicked out of the guild. Didn't seem like apologizing would do much good."
"Of course." Y/N let out a humorless scoff. "And there it is. Once again, you show how you can't think past your damn ego. An apology might not seem like much to you, but it's a start. A sign that you actually feel something for the damage you caused. Or was your little speech about 'one good deed' just for show, too?"
Unbeknownst to them, they'd already attracted the attention of their guildmates, who were creeping out of the hall one by one to watch what was shaping up to be a show certainly. Only the newer members—relatively new, anyway, again considering the time gap that had passed while the Tenrou group was frozen in time—looked genuinely uneasy. And honestly, they had every right to be. Watching two of Fairy's Tail's most powerful go at it was never a situation for the faint of heart… especially with this guild's reputation.
"Umm, should we step in? This looks like it could get out of hand," Lucy murmured, clutching her face while staring at the Light and Lightning wizards argue… like a married couple.
Who said that?!
"Trust me," Cana said without looking up from her drink, "the last thing you want is to get between those two right now—especially when Y/N's in that kind of mood."
"But they shouldn't be fighting," Wendy said softly while clutching Carla. "Laxus just got back into the guild. We should be celebrating."
"Oh, child," Carla sighed, looking up at her Dragon Slayer with that typical scolding look someone would think only an actual parent would be capable of. "Don't be so foolish. Clearly, there's more to this situation than meets the eye. I take it this has something to do with why Laxus was expelled in the first place?"
"Pretty much," Cana added dryly, sipping from her barrel. "Laxus might've just gotten back in thanks to circumstance, but he's not in the clear yet. This was bound to happen. Gildarts knew it too. Bet that's why he hightailed it out of Magnolia so fast."
"What do you mean?" Lucy asked in reply.
"Laxus and Y/N have always had a 'special' relationship," Mira chimed in from behind. "For all his bravado and bluster, Laxus has a soft spot, even though he'd probably never admit it—and it's got one name written all over it."
"Before he got kicked out, the only one who could ever rein him in—besides Gramps—was Y/N," Macao said.
"Bit of a touchy subject for the old man to," Wakaba added, lowering his voice. "Even our esteemed Makarov had trouble keeping Laxus in line. But Y/N? One word from him, and Laxus listened."
"After the mess that was the 'Battle of Fairy Tail,' Gray muttered, "everyone thought Y/N would rip him to shreds the moment he could. But, he never did. In fact, this is the most I've seen Y/N talk, let alone look Laxus's way since that day."
"If you ask me," Cana said with a smirk, "Laxus took being ignored by Y/N harder than getting kicked out of the guild."
Some distance in front of them, Y/N and Laxus stood facing each other, either ignorant of or ignoring the presence of their guildmates as the Lightning Wizard attempted to defend himself against the Light Wizard's verbal scolding.
"Okay, I messed up! You happy now? You wanted me to admit it so bad—there, I said it! I screwed up. So, can you just let it go? It was seven years ago."
Y/N face held many expressions, but one that was clear as the moon in the sky, even to the nosy guild members listening some distance away, was one of pure indignation.
"Don't you try to use some time gap we weren't even here for as an excuse. You were frozen on Tenrou Island, the same as the rest of us. We woke up not knowing how much time had passed. So no—seven years ago doesn't mean I can just 'let it go.' That's a bullshit ass excuse, Laxus, and you know it."
A beat of stunned silence followed.
"Oh, yikes…" Lucy whispered.
"Does he have to use such crude language?" Carla muttered, frowning. "He's aware there are children present."
"Yeah, but once Y/N gets going," Cana said lazily, "it's hard to stop him. And trust me—he can get a lot worse."
"I think Y/N's being unfair," Fried said. "Laxus suffered plenty during his expulsion. He's served his punishment."
"Yeah, he needs to lay off," Bickslow added,
"Honestly, the man's been through enough," Evergreen huffed. "Y/N's just making a scene to draw attention to himself."
Erza turned, her eyes narrowed with dangerous mischief.
"Oh, really? I guess that means you're all prepared to step in and defend Laxus's honor since you feel so strongly on the matter, hmm?"
All it took was one glance at Y/N's face as he went back and forth with their esteemed leader. Somehow—despite the obvious physical difference between the two wizards—Laxus looked like the smaller one in the confrontation. And with the light from the moon swaying around Y/N, like a leaf in the wind dancing around a tree, it was clear, even at night when the Light Wizard was supposedly at his weakest, how much power he radiated. Erza had never seen a demeanor change so fast.
"Oh, don't be silly, Erza," Fried said quickly.
"Yeah, no, I'm good," Bickslow added, taking a long drink.
"Uh—Laxus can handle himself," Evergreen muttered.
"Bunch of wimps," Natsu said, making all three of them snap their heads toward him with lightning fury.
"Would you shut it!"
Everyone's heads turned back to the bickering pair.
"Out of all the egotistical, idiotic nonsense that's ever come out of that one spark brain of yours, that stunt—your Battle of Fairy Tail—takes the damn cake! You could've killed someone, Laxus!"
Laxus's eyes burned, anger flickering with something more fragile beneath.
"Okay, but I didn't. You're acting like I actually did!"
"No," Y/N bit out, "but you certainly tried, didn't you? Do I need to remind you of the Thunder Palace?" He stepped forward, the air between them snapping with tension. "You put all of Magnolia in danger—for what? Some sick, twisted game? Innocent people, children, all just so you could prove a point?"
Several members of the Fairy Tail guild unconsciously shuddered, their bodies remembering what their minds wished they didn't—the electrifying pain they'd endured dismantling those chain lightning orbs. Seven years may have passed for some of them, but that memory was still sharp enough to sting.
"Or how about when you had Evergreen turn our guildmates to stone," Y/N continued, voice tightening, "and you threatened to shatter them if they didn't play by your and Fried's rules?"
Evergreen and Fried both stiffened, their expressions darkening with guilt. They didn't look at each other, nor at anyone else; the reminder of their own complicity settled heavily on their shoulders. Laxus didn't look much better—but Y/N clearly wasn't finished.
“I suppose we should express gratitude in part, though, since your little plan in ordering your Thunder goons into face-offs with our guildmates inadvertently aided Mira in regaining her power—after Fried nearly attempted to kill both Elfman and Juvia!"
Fried barely had time to process the insult to his team’s name when he was reminded of the painful memories associated with Cana, Elfman, Juvia, and Mira. Despite his loyalty to Laxus and his attempts to hide his feelings, one of Fried’s deepest regrets was ever considering following Laxus’s plan for a coup against their guild.
Laxus’s predicament was no better. As Y/N laid bare his arrogant and misguided intentions, he couldn’t help but feel increasingly ashamed. It was safe to say that the party mood—not that the Lightning Wizard was in much of one despite his would-be justifiable reasons—had been sullied.
"Wait, no, I actually think I’ll keep it since I just recalled one of those fights nearly resulted in Lucy being turned into one of Bickslow’s atrocious little tiki demons!”
Bickslow, also not even taking the time to feel properly insulted at the Light Wizard's jab, felt nothing but guilt crawl up his spine after meeting Lucy’s gaze, even suddenly feeling subsequent relief at the fact that Lucy managed to win that fight. But, he barely had time to ponder that thought as he, along with everyone else, grew increasingly uneasy at the unmistakable signs of the prodigy Light Wizard and his formidable power, which seemed to intensify with each passing moment of anger; the act of detailing every single one of Laxus’s transgressions seeming to be the catalyst for that effect.
"Ooh!" His voice sharpened. "I know. Maybe you remember Kardia Cathedral."
He took another step, the sarcasm in his voice frigid and humorless. "How about when you and Natsu were beating each other half to death, and you slammed him straight into the roof of the church. That one I had the pleasure of witnessing myself. What was it you said again?" His tone dropped to a low, cutting echo. "'Why won't you just die?' Or was I just hearing things?"
There wasn't much that could shake the Fire Dragon Slayer, but even Natsu grimaced at the memory—the pain, the casts, the bandages, the way laughter alone had hurt for days afterward. Meanwhile, Laxus had walked away from that fight with fewer bandages despite losing.
The words lingered in the air like smoke, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Y/N’s face, unnervingly dark, stared the blonde man down, daring him to argue back. His expression alone was unsettling, a stark contrast to the kind and genuine boy everyone in Fairy Tail knew Y/N to be, even despite his legendary temper.
But it wasn't the wounds or the loss that was hitting Laxus the hardest now. It was everything Y/N's words were stirring up—memories he wanted to bury, memories he'd deserved to be haunted by.
Including one he wished he could forget more than any other: packing his things after the verdict, the guild hall silent as they prepared for the Fantasia parade, and having to walk past Y/N on his way out. Seeing that look on his face—disappointment and contempt so raw and cutting it felt like a blade.
Much like how Y/N was looking at him now.
"Do I even need to mention your vile and abhorrent misuse of Fairy Law?" Y/N hissed, eyes narrowing. "Did you really think I wouldn’t notice it being invoked even if I wasn't already on my way back to Magnolia?"
A few confused and surprised glances were exchanged among the others.
“Hold on—does that mean he can use it too?” Gray whispered under his breath.
Makarov closed his eyes, letting out a sigh that held the weight of years. Beside him, Erza and Mirajane exchanged quiet glances, neither surprised.
"I warned your sorry ass, Laxus," Y/N said, voice sharp as glass—and just as cutting. "I told you—explicitly—that if you ever pulled anything against this guild, I wouldn't be the one standing between you and the consequences. And believe me, the only reason you're still standing there with that smug look and not buried under the weight of your own arrogance is because your grandfather—our Master—was far more gracious and merciful than I was, considering he'd just been nearly on his deathbed. You have him to thank for saving your hide by expelling you before I could get my hands on you.”
Gramps could sense the eyes on him, and he understood the reason behind it. As Gray had mentioned earlier, everyone was practically anticipating the moment when Y/N would inevitably lash out at Laxus the moment he had the opportunity. Consequently, after waking up, before even speaking with Laxus, he addressed Y/N and instructed him to stand down, assuring him that he would handle the situation.
Furthermore, the last thing he needed was having to control one of his more formidable wizards after dealing with the catastrophic event involving his own grandson. The last thing Fairy Tail and Magnolia needed, apart from Fairy Tail's usual chaos, was Y/N exercising no restraint.
Heavens know that boy’s temper is far more volatile than Laxus’s tenfold…
And now, his poor grandson was experiencing a small taste of it—something he wasn’t unfamiliar with. Didn't mean he enjoyed it, though. Even now, standing taller, stronger, trying to rebuild what he broke, the tension in his jaw betrayed what he wouldn't say: that Y/N's fury wasn't just righteous, it was earned. And if he really did decide to unleash it on him… it would be justified.
"Honestly, at this point, Laxus, I could go on—but the more I do, and the more I look at your stupid face gawking at me with that pitiful expression, the more pissed off I get. And the more tempted I am to light your ass up like the Fantasia parade. So, unless you want Gramps to officially be grandchildless, I suggest you get away from me."
A soft gasp rippled through the onlookers… well, those who hadn't seen this kind of thing before.
"Oh my…" Carla whispered, wide-eyed.
"Told ya he could get worse," Cana muttered, taking another swig from her barrel. "That scolding Laxus got from Gramps back on Tenrou? Slap on the wrist compared to Y/N."
Laxus stretched his fingers once, a habit when the Lightning Wizard was stressed, nervous, or generally uneasy—Y/N knew it.
"Y/N…" he said, voice low, not defensive but…
The Light Wizard wasn't having any of it, though.
"I offer you my congratulations," he said, each word clipped. "Welcome back to the guild. Not like you deserve it. Guess you're lucky Gildarts took pity on you." His jaw flexed. "He's lucky I don't go hunt him down and drag his ass back here by that ragged cape of his. Pretty ballsy of him either way, considering he knows if he's anywhere light can reach, I'll find him easily enough."
Laxus's shoulders tensed. "What? So I don't deserve a second chance?"
"You've had multiple chances!"
The way Y/N snapped, his hands flying out in exasperation, the shock of his outburst so raw, it seemed as if nature itself had quieted down just to observe the moment happening between the two wizards. Everyone chose to pretend they didn't slightly jump in anxiousness fear seeing the Light Wizard nearly lose his cool.
Oddly enough, it appeared as though the moon’s brightness increased, its reflected light shining down on the two wizards more intensely, as if it were glaring alongside the light wielder who commanded its rays. Cana, Erza, Mira, and other guild members who had witnessed and observed Y/N’s relationship with Laxus evolve into its current state and history, prior to the Lightning Wizard’s ego taking over, were taken aback by this outburst. Even they underestimated how angry Y/N truly was with the Master's grandson.
"Laxus, you've had more chances than I've got fingers and toes. I don't know how many times I had to go plead your case to Gramps after you did something stupid—again!"
A few looks were exchanged—that part, they absolutely hadn't known.
"Is that true, Master?" Erza asked Makarov, who was also busy observing the interaction between his grandson and protege. If it was, then suddenly, it made sense now to Titania why her S-Class colleague and friend would be upset at her attempting to speak or advocate on Laxus's behalf with their Master following the battle with Hades.
As for Makarov, a look of something no one could decipher washed over his face as he watched Laxus get the raw truth shoved into his own.
"Imagine me," Y/N continued, speaking with his hands now, too riled to stay still. "ME—having to talk your grandfather down from harsher punishments because you wanted to act like some snotty, arrogant, spoiled brat. You were ready to throw this guild, everyone in it, and everything it stands for away just because you couldn't handle your pissy-ass anger about your dad, and having to live in your grandfather's shadow like a grown man!"
"Ouch," Bisca winced.
"Oh, he's really laying it on," Jet whispered.
"Okay, maybe we should break this up—" Levy started, echoing Lucy from earlier.
Elfman held out an arm. "I wouldn't if I were you. Even a real man knows when it's best to stay on the sidelines—where it's safe."
"Don't worry," Mira said softly, watching the two closely. "Y/N may seem like he hates Laxus's guts right now, but that's not the case. Plus… you haven't seen one spark of lightning come off Laxus yet, have you?"
A collective realization rippled through the crowd. "Yeah," Gray muttered. "If any one of us had said all that to him, we'd be lightning rods by now."
"I still think they should just fight it out," Natsu said.
"Natsu, please." Lucy groaned.
"Master, aren't you going to say something?" Wendy asked.
Makarov stayed silent, still watching the scene unfold with a look that was impossible to read.
"After your dad got kicked out, you turned into this arrogant, mean, selfish little mongrel that treats everyone like garbage—like they don't deserve basic human respect if they don't meet your standard of 'powerful.'"
Laxus's composure cracked. "I never did that to you, did I?!"
"This isn't about me, you thickhead!" Y/N barked. "Do I need to take one of these tree branches out here to that dense ass skull of yours so a thought can get through, or are you just as brainless as Natsu?"
"HEY!" Natsu protested.
"He's got a point," Gray snorted.
"What'd you say?!"
Y/N wasn't slowing down. The dam had burst.
"Where were you when we were fighting Phantom Lord after they abducted and tortured Lucy?" he demanded. "Mirajane nearly lost her life after begging you to come help us—and what did you do? Act like a pig and demand something in return just to help your guildmates in their time of need?"
It wasn't obvious, but people could see Gajeel and Juvia shift on their feet at the mention of their former guild. The same one that had attacked Fairy Tail and destroyed their old guild hall.
"As a matter of fact—" Y/N's voice cracked like a whip, sharp with fury, "—I remember having to cuss your ass out—again—after you were being an arrogant jerk—again—during the rebuild of the guild hall! Screaming that the fight with Phantom had 'nothing to do with you,' right after another one of your useless tirades about how everyone was beneath you!"
The energy around him shimmered dangerously, radiant and volatile. His irises flared gold, catching the torches lit around outside the building like twin suns, heat radiating off his skin pulses. He took a step forward—then another—until he was practically standing chest-to-chest with Laxus.
Even if it meant he was still looking up at him, but that's not the point…
Laxus didn't move. Couldn't. The sheer force of Y/N's presence paralyzed him, every instinct screaming not to provoke him further. But that didn't save him.
Y/N shoved himself into Laxus's broad frame, his fist jabbing into the man's hard chest with a brutal thud.
"I defended you!" he snarled, his voice rising with every word. Jab. "I vouched for you!" Jab. "I stood between you and Gramps more times than I can count, always making excuses, always believing there was still some part of the friend I knew left in there!"
The glow in his eyes grew brighter, matching the righteous fury etched into every line of his face. His next strike wasn't a punch, but a flat-handed shove against Laxus's collarbone—hard enough to make the larger man stumble back a step.
"And still, you ignored me. Still, you spat on everything this guild stands for. No matter how many times I told you to stop disrespecting our guild and everyone in it, you never listened!"
Laxus stood there, breath caught in his throat, visibly shaken. Not by the force—he could take a hit—but by the words. By the truth behind them. His jaw clenched, but he didn't interrupt. He couldn't.
Not with Y/N's light pouring from every inch of him, every syllable burning with the weight of betrayal and heartbreak.
And for the first time in a long, long time… Laxus looked small.
No one seemed to notice—too caught up in the storm of Y/N's fury—but Makarov, standing silently with his arms crossed and a neutral expression, was actually thoroughly enjoying the show.
This was better than anything he could've dished out himself, and he didn’t have to lift a finger. That's why, after the dust had settled during the Harvest Festival and all its festivities, he'd said little more than the speech he did before delivering Laxus's final verdict.
Why bother when he knew his future grandson-in-law would handle the hard part for him?
…Oops. He didn't say that out loud, did he?
"But I guess you're implying that if it had been me who Phantom took, then you could've been bothered to show up?" Y/N shook his head, furious disbelief written in every line of his body. "That's the problem, Laxus! Because if it had been you, or Lucy, or Bisca, or Gray, or Levy, Happy—anyone—I would've shown up. No matter who it was. And I did show up! Because that's my family."
Laxus flinched once more. The others watched in disbelief as they had never seen the electric magic wielder reduced to something like a small child undergoing the disciplining of their life.
"And you," Y/N pressed, voice roughening, finger jabbing into the hard muscle of the Lightning Wizard's chest, "couldn't even be bothered to save your own grandfather when he had his magic siphoned out of him and scattered all over! Mystogan, of all people, had to be the one to save him. Sure, you showed up on Tenrou—whoop-tee-freakin'-doo. One time." He scoffed. "I don't recall seeing you helping us with the Infinity Clock either. Yet from what I've heard, you've been staying on the outskirts of town."
"Sorry for not wanting to hang around a place I wasn't welcome," Laxus muttered.
"And there goes your ego again!" Y/N snapped. "Gosh, I don't know why I even bother because you're clearly incapable of getting it! It's not about being welcomed, or repeating 'I'm sorry' until your throat gets sore. If you want to be better, then be better. If you want to make amends, then start by actually acting like a Fairy Tail member. You kept going on about blood ties, yet every single person over there—who I've been hearing loud and clear, by the way—has fought for each other, whether they're blood or not."
Everyone pretended they didn't see Fried, Bickslow, and Evergreen each shuffle a few steps back, while the rest of the guild awkwardly shifted as if their half-baked attempt at not eavesdropping would suddenly become convincing—even though they'd been standing outside watching for the past ten minutes.
"Natsu—impulsive and idiotic as he is—has more spark and heart in him than I've seen from you in years. He'll fight tooth and nail to prove he's stronger and to protect his friends, no matter the cost. Meanwhile, you've only ever fought for the first thing."
Laxus, feeling the heat of Y/N's glare burning into him, flicked his gaze to the side, and there Natsu stood, staring right back at him. There wasn't even a hint of disagreement in his expression—a bit ironic considering the first part of Y/N's description of him—because it was true. Everyone knew Natsu, for all his chaotic nonsense and frequent lack of brain cells, was exactly the kind of friend and guildmate anyone would want.
"You act like you're the only one who's been through something traumatic, when every single one of those people over there has been through something. A lot of it in under one damn year that you were barely present for, might I add."
Laxus' gaze traveled from Natsu to the rest of his guildmates, all looking back at him, not with the same malice and anger as Y/N was, but something that didn't disagree with the Light Wizard because it was true. Something his grandfather had been trying to get him to understand for years, who was also looking at him with a look he could easily recognize, and knew no one else would, well, except for Y/N.
"Erza was a slave in the Tower of Heaven before she came to Fairy Tail—and nearly lost her life when she got dragged back into its nightmare all over again. Natsu, Gajeel, and Wendy were abandoned by the only parents they ever knew as children. Gray lost his whole family—then his master—to a damn demon. Lucy's freakin' dad died while she was trapped on Tenrou for seven years, only to find out he died a month before we all were finally set free. Only to then, nearly lose her life after being absorbed by some doomsday clock!"
Every single person Y/N named, even the ones he didn't name, carried that same shadow in their eyes—pain, loss, memories that never really left them. It was something the Lightning Wizard was now being forced to open his eyes to, no thanks to himself.
"Do I even need to bring up what Mira and Elfman went through in those two years they thought Lisanna was dead? You've seen for yourself how much Mira changed after that day." Y/N's voice wavered only in fury, never emotion. "And yet, both of them have risked their lives for this guild over and over again since then. All of them have. Because they're a family, this is their family. Fairy Tail is their home, and you—" his voice sharpened, cutting clean through the air—"you tried to take it away from them."
Once again, he wasn't wrong. Laxus remembered it clearly. They both did—standing there the day the guild learned Lisanna was gone. Watching Mira unravel into someone quieter, softer, almost hollow for some time, while Elfman practically broke apart under the guilt. Two long, brutal years. And still, they showed up for Fairy Tail every single day, no hesitation, no conditions, no ego.
He took a step back, chest rising and falling sharply.
"If you don't get that now… then this whole party was for nothing, and I think you'd be better off finding another guild."
A gasp, then complete, shocked silence followed that, no one knowing what to say. If there was any confusion before about how Y/N felt with Laxus coming back into the guild, there certainly wasn't anymore.
"You wanna make amends?" Y/N finished, voice tired but steady. "Then quit acting like everything is about you."
He turned on his heel and stalked off into the trees, leaving the guild frozen in stunned quiet.
"Welcome back to Fairy Tail," he threw over his shoulder. "Enjoy the rest of the party without me. I'll be off in the forest trying to stifle my urge to hunt down and castrate Gildarts. No offense, Cana."
"None taken," Cana said, lifting her drink. "I almost encourage it."
The courtyard behind the guild hall was quieter than usual, the usual raucous shouting and spell-induced chaos dulled to a distant hum inside. Afternoon light filtered through the leaves, golden and soft, as adolescent Laxus jogged past the stone path toward the small garden leading to the courtyard. He was grinning, excitement lighting up his face in a way only a kid with something cool to show off could wear.
He'd just shown his grandpa his move that he would do for the Fantasia parade, something special since his grandfather wouldn't be participating in the show this year. It was going to blow everyone away, especially Y/N. It would be his first parade since joining Fairy Tail, and Laxus wanted it to be unforgettable. Maybe they could brainstorm together and create a special handshake or something. Something only they could pull off.
"Hey, Y/N! Guess what, I came up with this new move… why are you crying?"
But as he turned the corner near the garden wall, the grin died on his face.
Y/N sat hunched beneath one of the flowing trees, knees drawn up, hands fisted in the hem of his shirt. His shoulders were shaking, and the sounds of sniffling and crying were suddenly louder than the rustling of leaves in the wind.
The blonde kid froze, confusion and concern tangling in his chest. Y/N never cried, at least he'd never cried before since they'd met each other earlier that year. Not even that time they got caught trying to sneak away on a job with Gildarts and Gramps chewed them both out.
He stepped forward, more cautious now. "Hey… what's wrong?"
Y/N raised his head but didn't look up, hiding his red eyes as he swiped at his face. "N-Nothing. Go away."
"Why would I do that?" Laxus plopped down beside him without asking, arms draped across his knees. "You're crying. I'm not going anywhere."
Y/N hesitated, as if weighing whether or not he should say anything. But Laxus didn't look away. He didn't press him either, just waited for the moment his friend was ready to talk. Somehow, it made it easier for the young light wizard, who'd finally looked up at the blonde boy.
"There were these mean older kids earlier… they said I don't belong here," Y/N muttered. "That I'm weird, and a stray off the street. That I'm not really one of you, a real member of the guild. They called me weak and said the Master only let me in out of pity."
Laxus's jaw clenched. "Who said that?"
"It doesn't matter." Y/N sniffed and stared down at his hands. "They're not wrong. I don't have a family. My parents didn't want me… I don't have anywhere else to go. I don't… belong anywhere else. They're right, if the Master decides to kick me out, I've got nothing.”
A new round of cries started, followed by the sound of the tree branches rustling in the breeze. Besides the sounds of a poor kid's sobs, the silence that sat between them felt heavy, far too heavy for boys their age. Laxus didn't speak right away, chewing on his bottom lip. But when he did, his voice was soft—softer than most people would ever hear from him again.
"You do belong here." He nudged Y/N's knee with his own. "You belong in Fairy Tail more than those jerks. You work harder than any of them, and you're way stronger than they are. Grandpa didn't bring you here out of pity. Everyone in Fairy Tail is family, including you.”
Y/N glanced at him, skeptical, eyes still glassy."
"And if you don't have anyone else…" Laxus didn't hesitate, sitting up straight, before pointing a thumb at himself. "Then you've got me. Okay? You'll always have me."
Y/N stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded, wiping his face with the back of his wrist. "Okay."
"Good." Laxus stood and offered a hand. "Now come on. I've got this new move I came up with that I want to show you for the parade.
Y/N blinked up at him, surprised, before smiling and taking his hand.
~~~
After a grueling day before, everyone was filled with cheer and happiness. Things were mostly back to normal, except for the Master, who was still recovering. The mayor of Magnolia decided to postpone the Fantasia parade by a day to allow everyone to rest and regain their strength. He wasn’t fully informed about the events that had transpired, but he was convinced that postponing the parade was necessary.
Many people, due to their injuries, wouldn’t be able to participate in the parade. Consequently, more of the newer members, such as Lucy and Juvia, would be participating. As everyone engaged in conversations and laughter, the hostility they had harbored towards each other just 24 hours earlier vanished into thin air, as if it had never existed. The atmosphere was once again filled with happiness and peaceful chaos. Their family was back to normal.
However, this tranquility was shattered when ominous footsteps echoed through the guild hall. Everyone turned to see Laxus entering, his coat draped over his bandaged and bruised body. His steps were slow and quiet, a stark contrast to the thunderous footsteps he once made.
The air was still, yet charged with tension. Eyes locked on him, some braced themselves, prepared for another fight if necessary. However, this time, they all shared a common enemy. Laxus wasn’t oblivious to their thoughts either; he understood their apprehension, and he didn’t blame them.
They began shouting at him, either demanding his departure or threatening him after he inquired about the Master’s whereabouts. It was understandable. After everything that had transpired and the hardships he had inflicted upon them, why wouldn’t they be wary of allowing the person responsible for all their troubles near their Master?
“Quiet everyone!”
Erza’s stern voice echoed through the guild hall, causing everyone to turn to her in confusion.
“The Master is in the infirmary,” she simply stated, addressing the Lightning Wizard.
Jet turned around, seemingly bewildered, and didn’t even hesitate to ask if she was nuts. Laxus began walking, waving a hand after Natsu finished babbling—whatever he had said—under those bandages. According to Gajeel, it was a promise not to lose to him during their next confrontation, and that he would kick butt and blah blah blah…
Typical Natsu nonsense…
He was fine, passing everyone else, all watching him with thinly-veiled mistrust. Until—
Y/N.
Standing by the bar, arms crossed and expression unreadable, Laxus slowed down, waiting—hoping—for a glance. He yearned for a movement, a twitch, anything that would indicate the Light Wizard’s acknowledgment of him.
However, Y/N remained oblivious, not even moving.
What the Light Wizard had said before wasn’t a threat; it was a promise. And one that he clearly wasn’t going to break. The weight of that realization hit him harder than any spell he had encountered before.
~~~
He'd left the infirmary with almost red eyes and a hollow chest.
He hadn’t anticipated forgiveness, not even a glimmer of it. In the end, he wasn’t truly surprised, but to hear the words—“Laxus, you are hereby expelled from Fairy Tail”—pierced him even more deeply than he had anticipated. His feet felt like lead as he descended the stairs. The building was mostly empty now. Everyone had gone off to prepare for the Fantasia Parade, except for…
"Of course," Laxus muttered, pausing near the entrance.
There was Y/N again, sitting near the edge of the bar, facing away. A quiet sentinel.
Laxus took a few steps closer. "You're not with the others," he tried, voice low, almost shy.
"I'm heading out now," Y/N said without turning. "Didn't want to ruin the mood by showing up angry."
Laxus swallowed, then dared another step.
"I'm leaving. The old man kicked me out."
"Okay. Were you expecting a tearful goodbye?" Y/N snapped.
Laxus winced. "I just wanted you to know that I never wanted you to get caught up in any of this. I just wanted to make things better, stronger, for the guild… for y—"
Y/N finally turned, the movement abruptly cutting off Laxus's words before he finished. Usually, Y/ looked radiant, full of energy, always as if he could make sunshine out of a rainy day. But now, he just looked tired, his eyes lacking the lustrous glint that Laxus unknowingly always found comfort in. Now, they… he just looked tired in a way that made Laxus feel ten years older. "Don't put this on me."
"I'm not. I just—"
"No," Y/N cut him off, standing. "You don't get to just anything right now."
Laxus stayed quiet, gaze locked on him.
"I warned you," Y/N said, voice firm. "I told you if you pushed too far, I wouldn't be the one to clean up your mess. That if you went through with this, I'd be done." He stepped forward, close enough to make Laxus feel small, despite their difference in height. "And I meant it."
The ache in Laxus's chest expanded. He hadn't realized until now how much he'd loved to hear Y/N's voice, even if it was filled with venom.
Y/N turned to leave, then paused.
"You know," he said lowly, not turning back yet. "When I was younger, there were those kids who made me feel like I didn't belong. Called me weird, a stray. Said I'd never be anything. And I believed it—until I got to know the real Fairy Tail. Until I met you."
Laxus stiffened.
"But now? After everything you did…? You're no better than them. You became the very thing you promised I'd never have to face again." He turned, and this time, his gaze met Laxus's with a piercing and devastating look. "I guess they were right in the end, and you were wrong. Without Gramps and Fairy Tail, I've got no one or nowhere to belong to. Thanks for reminding me."
He walked off, footsteps echoing louder than one would think normal, his light already gone before Laxus could find the words to stop him.
…
Laxus watched from the alleyway as the city of Magnolia came to life with lanterns, fireworks, and magic lighting up the night's sky. A small feeling of content fluttered over him, watching his now ex-guildmates roll by on their various floats, performing their routines and magic sequences for all to behold.
It wasn't long before his float came by, Y/N in the center of a radiant, glowing sun, clouds, rainbows, and shimmers dancing all around him, as if he were in his own palace of light. His magic illuminated the entire sky, at some point, creating the illusion as if it were the middle of the day, the sun at its highest point in the sky, cascading swirls of radiant light all around the cobbled streets and the people who stood amongst it. enraptured by the irradiant display.
People gasped as the rays and prism illusions danced above the crowd like celestial ribbons, children laughing and cheering with awe in their eyes, as pure sunlight broke into a thousand golden fragments and reformed into images of stars, birds, and even a phoenix mid-flight, before it all reformed into Fairy Tail's gleaming sigil.
Laxus couldn't breathe. Y/N looked… alive. As if the smiles and happiness around him replenished his own that were wavering from earlier events.
After that came his grandfather's float, and of course, the Fairy Tail's ever-silly Master couldn't help but dance around like a happy old fool. It made Laxus happy as he could be to see and know that his grandpa would be alright. Fairy Tail would be alright.
As he turned to leave, heart heavy—something made him glance back.
One by one, the guild members of Fairy Tail on all of their floats began lifting their hands, thumbs and index fingers raised, the rest curled in.
The sign… his sign.
And there, standing beneath a shimmering arch of light, was Y/N—his hand raised in the same gesture, golden magic wrapping around his fingers like sunlight itself.
Laxus froze.
His throat tightened, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop the tears. They fell silently as he lowered his head, shielding his face from view.
But before he turned to go, he looked one last time—at Y/N.
The message conveyed through the hand signal, the same one he had taught him after he had helped him feel better in the courtyard that day, seemed to burn brighter than all the mistakes he had committed before, let alone the past 24 hours.
"Wherever you are… I'll always be watching over you."
Laxus walked off into the shadows, holding that light close like a promise he refused to let go.
~~~
The forest was still, dimly lit by patches of moonlight that broke through the leaves. A gentle wind tugged at the branches, but beneath it, everything was quiet—almost reverent.
Y/N stood there, knuckles trembling against the bark of a nearby tree. His shoulders trembled as ragged breaths escaped him, each one shuddering like it fought its way out from somewhere deep. Silent tears tracked down his cheeks, warm against the cold of his skin, pooling at his chin before dropping to the soil below.
He didn't know what he was angrier at—the world, Laxus, or himself. Maybe all three.
The truth was, he wasn't sure how many more years he could keep carrying all this weight in his chest. All the anger, betrayal, the loyalty that never died when it should have, a long time ago. He had walked away because he had to—because every time Laxus said one more arrogant word, it was like watching the same beautiful thing get ruined again and again.
He wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket, muttering, "Damn him…" But the shaking didn't stop.
A rustle of leaves behind him. He didn't need his magic or even have to look up to know who it was.
"Don't," Y/N said sharply, voice cracking under the strain. "Don't you dare say or walk another step closer to me."
Laxus didn't speak. His shoes crunching against the grass as he stepped closer anyway. Y/N whirled on him. "Are you deaf? Or just as thickheaded as I've always known you to be?"
Still, Laxus didn't speak.
“Oh, so we’re back to that? The brooding, silent act?” Y/N stepped forward, tears still streaming down, but no less furious. “You can never just take a hint and leave me alone, can you? Just go away when I tell you to! You always have to follow and provoke me, don’t you? Can’t you just leave me alone for five seconds? Why are you even here?!”
Laxus stared at him, expression unreadable.
Y/N’s voice cut through the air like a knife, sharp and unyielding. “You really believe that just because you got a slap on the wrist tonight—because people clapped and welcomed you back—that you can waltz back into everything like nothing happened? That I’m just going to sit quietly, nod along, and pretend everything’s fine? Is that what you think? Answer me, damn it!”
Laxus gazed down at him, the Light Wizard unaware that his intense, sultry eyes were drawn to the tears glistening in his own captivating irises. Tears had no place in eyes that sparkled like Y/N’s, especially when they were the Lightning Wizard's fault.
“Oh, I understand now,” Y/N snapped, stepping closer and jabbing a fist into Laxus’s chest. “You’re still too arrogant to use your words like a decent person. You’re just going to stand there like some statue—what, am I supposed to get down on my knees and beg you now? Are you going to flash a smirk and say something arrogantly charming so I forget how badly you messed up? How badly you hurt everyone?”
Laxus blinked slowly.
"You done?" he asked, voice low.
That did it.
Y/N’s hand instinctively recoiled, radiating an iridescent light from his clenched fist as his body had already moved before his mind could comprehend the last five seconds. “Why, you little—“
But Laxus caught his wrist mid-swing.
Y/N struggled for a second—maybe less—but Laxus was already stepping forward, pulling him in. Before Y/N could register what was happening, the two of them collided—chest pressed tight, limbs tangled.
Y/N froze.
Then came the whisper: "I'm sorry."
It wasn't barked, wasn't shouted, it was spoken with quiet desperation—just enough to stop Y/N's heart. He looked up, and that was all Laxus needed.
The kiss landed fast—but not rough, firm. It was steady and sure, with a current running through it, like something electric, but also fragile all at once. Y/N didn't kiss back at first, too stunned to even breathe—but his resistance faltered, melted, and then collapsed entirely. He sank into it.
It was everything he hated himself for wanting—and everything he'd always known was real.
When they broke apart, both breathless, neither spoke.
Laxus didn't let go, his arms staying wrapped tightly around Y/N's smaller frame, like if he let go now, everything would fall apart, and Y/N would leave him again.
"I mean it," Laxus whispered against his forehead. "I'm sorry. For everything."
Y/N's lashes fluttered, for the first time, not daring to speak while he stared up at the Lightning Wizard.
"I was arrogant," Laxus went on, voice thick. "Selfish. Thought I knew better than everyone, including the old man. That if I acted like I was above it all, maybe I wouldn't feel undeserving or overshadowed. Wouldn't feel like a fraud, like I didn't belong either." His hands tightened slightly. "But I was wrong. About the guild, about myself, and about you."
A beat of silence.
"And I know I've got years to make up for," Laxus murmured. "I know I don't deserve it—not yet—but I meant what I said back then. If you've got no one else, you've got me. Always."
Y/N exhaled softly, his forehead gently resting against Laxus’s chest. The warmth and electrifying energy of Laxus’s lightning magic flowed into him, pulsing faintly beneath his skin, as if the magic itself was marking him.
"You've always belonged with Fairy Tail," Laxus said, "You belong with me, and I belong to you."
Another beat of silence followed by a long pause.
"I want to believe that," Y/N whispered, "but belief doesn't erase the past. You broke something, Laxus. I don't know if it's ever gonna go back to the way it was."
"I'm not asking you to forget," Laxus said. "Just let me try."
Y/N pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. Here was the man he had known before—not the petty, arrogant, and insufferable one he had reluctantly come to know over the years, the one who had grown out of spite, jealousy, and something akin to hatred.
This was the boy from all those years ago who had stopped and helped him feel better when he found him crying in the courtyard. This was the boy he had fallen for.
Y/N brought his gaze down, pressing his face into the sturdy shield that was Laxus's chest, clothed underneath that ridiculous sleeveless sweater… didn't mean he was complaining on the view it gave though.
Who said that?!
Laxus looked down at him, heart twisting in a way that felt dangerously close to relief. There was something quietly sacred about the way Y/N leaned into him now, seeking warmth and steadiness the same way he used to when they were younger—back when things were simpler, when trust hadn't been cracked and rebuilt a hundred times over.
It felt right, familiar. Like slipping back into a rhythm his body had never forgotten. Pride swelled softly in his chest—not the loud, ugly kind he'd once clung to, but something gentler. Something earned. He let his thumb brush lightly against Y/N's back, slow and absentminded, as if afraid that too much pressure might make the moment disappear.
Still, beneath that calm, nerves crackled through him like unstable lightning. His magic hummed restlessly under his skin, betraying what he tried to hide. He held his breath without realizing it, every sense fixed on Y/N, waiting for his answer like it might decide the shape of his future. Whatever it was, he'd take it. He would. But even as he braced himself for rejection, something inside him refused to yield. No matter how long it took. No matter how many times he had to prove himself. He wasn't walking away again. Not from this. Not from him.
“No more outbursts or speeches about power, strength, and all that other nonsense,” he warned. “No grand, heroic stunts. You still have a lot to make amends for, and I won’t be swayed by romantic nonsense either. Just as you’ll earn your place back in this guild, you’ll earn your place back in my life.”
Laxus nodded solemnly.
"And for the record," Y/N continued, flicking his gaze up toward the sky with mock thoughtfulness, "I'm still done covering for you. You screw up again, I'm not shielding you from the consequences."
"I wouldn't expect you to," Laxus said quietly.
The tension hung between them, softened by something gentler now. Trust? No… not yet, at least. But something like it.
Laxus dipped in for another kiss, but Y/N placed two fingers over his lips. "You get one," he said, tone clipped. "And only one. Until I decide you've earned another."
Laxus huffed a breath through his nose—a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Fair," he said. "I've never been scared of a challenge."
"You never learn," Y/N muttered with a roll of his eyes.
"Neither do you," Laxus replied, pulling him back into his arms and resting his chin atop his head.
Surrounded by trees, under the moonlight and silence, everything they’d been too stubborn to say before—it was enough.
They’d endured a lot as lightning and light, from broken trust, bonds, betrayal, and hurt. They’d faced everything you can think of.
