#but later in the show? how would he have felt?

[faynthearted]

this update is devastating for obvious reasons but there's something else I've been thinking about all day

yes, the box is a confirmation that guan shan considered he tian an important person in his life and that he never really moved on after he tian left. that realization is hard-hitting, but my god, there's another underlying component that makes this discovery especially emotional to me

after spending a lifetime in isolation (a deliberate choice for self-preservation btw), he tian now has physical, undeniable evidence that someone cares/cared for him. and not just the idea of him, not the physicality of him (guan shan literally covered his face with tape), but just him and the time they spent together

I imagine this realization must feel like if someone approached you in a quiet and windowless room and said, "there's a bad rainstorm happening outside." you would trust/understand what they're conveying and you'd have an idea of what a 'bad storm' entails. you'd say, "oof, that sucks, hopefully it lets up soon."

but if you actually got up and walked outside and felt the rain pelting your face like bullets and saw trees getting uprooted in the wind and streets flooding with swells of water and roofs getting torn off houses and streetlights shattered and collapsed in the intersections, you'd backpedal and think, "oh shit. I didn't know it was this bad."

that's what I think he tian might be experiencing in those last few panels.

during their school days, guan shan eventually started showing how much he cared about he tian. he tian trusted and understood what guan shan was trying to convey, and he got a taste of what it was like to care for someone and be cared for by someone. he sampled what it’s like to be important to someone, and to be seen by someone in both the dark and the light

but now, years later, opening that (bittersweet) memory box is like the equivalent of walking into the rainstorm. during the entire time he was gone, he tian was hoping that guan shan still remembered/missed him. he knew his absence probably hurt him, but since he wasn’t there to witness the aftermath, he only had an idea of what that hurt looked like. but his hope about guan shan’s feelings wasn't certain and it definitely wasn't verifiable. he tian had an idea of what ‘guan shan cared for me’ and ‘we shared something special’ meant. but, really, he only had memories and his own interpretation of those memories. nothing physical, nothing tangibly conclusive or outright

but now the rain feels like bullets and there’s devastation in knowing that the damage is significant — but somehow there’s also the touching revelation that he tian is lovable and capable of being wanted and missed. it is possible for someone to see the worst sides of him and endure the awful heartbreak he puts them through and still think he’s worth missing/grieving. he risked his self-preservation and the payoff was the best and worst thing that ever happened to him

the box and the layers of torn tape show that guan shan hates what he tian did to him but he doesn’t hate he tian. he kept and memorialized every significant memento in their relationship, even if he did it with some anger or reluctance. this is truly the best-case scenario, yet it’s also a wounding reminder about the time lost and the pain inflicted

at the end of the day, it just hurts

[sonotpattismith]

gee willikers, batman!

pairing: boxer!choso x nurse!reader word count: 11k content: fluff, always a lil angsty w/ me, commitment issues, mentions of toxic relationship dynamics, for my girlies w/ a fearful-avoidant attachment style, big brother choso, mentions of abuse and domestic violence, smut, 18+ a/n: not sure if I like how this turned out but alas we shall persevere :')

You desperately needed to develop a better taste in men. Or a therapist. Whichever came to you faster would be best. 

In reality, it should have been a sign early on into your career when you were so drawn toward the Emergency Department specifically that perhaps you had a certain… affinity for the more chaotic things in life. It was evident in your job, and it was evident in your disaster ex-boyfriend who you’d just broken up with a mere week shy of your one year anniversary. 

He, like the many other men you’ve let waltz into your life, might as well have had ‘RED FLAG’ tattooed across his forehead, but it seemed you were never satisfied unless you were on the brink of a complete crash out— at least that was how you’d always felt until now. Maybe you were getting too old for it, all the bad boy types who had you clinging onto your phone in a furious rage most nights arguing over god knows what. It was never simple, but you seemed to enjoy the thrill of the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ types of attitudes. 

Again, at least until your latest wannabe edge lord candidate had had you so fed up with his overbearing possessiveness that you were sure your nervous system was completely fried. It wasn’t until that last fight though, that ended with your phone screen shattered after he’d tossed it across the room in a child-like tantrum that was just so like him— the one after which you found yourself having to practice the very same fucking grounding techniques you’d show your patients when experiencing panic attacks prior to procedures— you thought perhaps it was time for a change. 

Which was precisely why you couldn’t for the life of you understand why your coworker insisted on taking you here of all places. Ierie had been working with you for a few years now, so she had already heard about every argument, block, and makeup between you and that disaster of an ex-boyfriend of yours. Though she tried (not very hard but tried nonetheless) to conceal her unbridled excitement when you told you that you had ended things, she was practically bursting at the seams. 

After the poorly concealed praise to a higher being she performed following the news, she did still want to be there for you. That was why she insisted on hanging out tonight so you wouldn’t have to be alone on what was supposed to be your one year anniversary. The catch was though, she seemed to have forgotten that she had already promised one of her long time friends from highschool that she’d be at his fight that same night. 

Which led you to the very predicament you were in now, damn near overstimulated by the hollering and sweaty bodies pushing against you in the overcrowded, modestly sized arena that looked like it hadn’t been maintenanced in at least ten years. Ierie’s cold hand was dragging you by the wrist to assure you didn’t get swallowed up by the crowd, claiming that her friend had already reserved two spots toward the front. 

“I know I came here to support him, but I don’t think Suguru is winning this thing.” She shouted over the crowd once you two found your spots, watching as a burly man stalked around the area taking bets for the fight. 

“Geez, some friend you are.” You snorted with an amused shake of your head. “Does he suck or something?”

Truthfully, you knew nothing about boxing. It was never really your thing, even though you seemed to have quite a few mutual friends involved in the local boxing scene. You weren’t sure of the big names that everyone threw around, who was good and who was mediocre. Despite the fact that you’d much rather be rotting in bed, wallowing in your own self-pity right about now, you figured you should at least try to enjoy yourself and understand what you were watching. 

“No, it’s not that.” She shook her head, her neck craning up to watch as the boxers began making their way out. “The guy he’s going up against is like a fucking machine. He never loses— at least I’ve never seen it.”

“Crazy strong?” You assumed, watching as the man you recognized as her friend hopped into the ring, his long hair pulled back into a neat bun out of his face. Shoko hummed unconvincingly. 

“Nah, I heard he’s got a kid or something. So, I think he’s just crazy determined is all.” 

You hummed, suddenly intrigued to see someone going against Geto— who was already scarily large in your book— with nothing but pure motivation to provide under his belt. As they announced his name— Choso— and he ducked into the ring across from his opponent, you realized that he definitely had more on his side than Shoko let on. 

“Holy shit.” You muttered under your breath, lips parting as you watched him shed his jacket. He looked fairly young for a father, but the dark circles under his eyes surely fit the bill. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so shocked given his line of work, but the man was built like a tank, insanely broad shoulders to carry around those down right dangerous biceps of his.

“Eh? Didn’t I say this would take your mind off of what’s his face?” Your friend grinned knowingly with a teasing nudge of her elbow. She jutted her chin toward the ring. “Think his kid needs a step-mom?”

“Ierie,” You flushed with a breathless laugh. Suguru and Choso met in the middle of the ring, touching their gloved fists together as they awaited the match to begin. “Did you not hear me when I said I need a little bit of peace in my life for once?”

She didn’t respond to your rhetorical question though, because the opening bell was ringing and the boxers began dancing around the ring faster than you could process, administering and dodging blows so fluidly it almost looked choreographed. You noticed how Choso protected his face the majority of the match, ducking and dodging far more than actually swinging. When he did swing though, he swung hard. You wondered with your limited knowledge of the sport if his strategy was just tiring his opponent out. 

A few minutes in, you found yourself flinching back with each punch that was thrown his way, but Geto rarely landed one on his opponent. 

“I knew you’d go gaga for this!” Shoko shouted with a delighted laugh. “You love the dangerous ones!” 

“Shut up!” You grumbled back at her, chewing at the side of your thumb anxiously as the two grew closer to the side of the ring you and Shoko were stationed at. 

Of course, they likely knew what they were doing, but you couldn’t help but think of worst case scenario where these two two-hundred plus pound fighters toppled over the ring and onto your unsuspecting and unprepared body. You abruptly stood from your seat as Geto was cornered against the ring, his back facing you just a mere couple feet away. 

From up close as Choso was landing calculated blows on his trapped opponent, you were able to see that subtle pout in his lips that contrasted against the big and scary vibe every other part of him emanated. The mark across his nose scrunched up in sheer focus, stray bangs from his haphazard bun falling across his forehead. 

It only took a second, your abrupt movement shifting in his peripheral. His dark eyes drifted up just over Geto’s shoulder and met yours. The gloved fists that had been raised and shielding his face for nearly the entire match slowly faltered, drifting down in hopes of getting a better look at your wide eyed expression. 

Those glossy eyes were locked on him, and perhaps he was too awestruck to note that— yeah, everyone was looking at him right now— because it truly did feel as though you were the only one in the room for even just a moment. The whiplash hit him straight in the ribs harder than any opponent could land, knocking the air from his lungs as he watched your face morph in horror. It was just milliseconds following the abrupt change that Geto’s glove was hitting him smack-dab in the center of his face. 

You yelled out in surprise as Choso was instantly knocked back, falling onto the unforgiving ground below him while the arena erupted in hollers, because shit, everyone had bet on him. Even Suguru looked taken aback by how quickly his opponent dropped, because he’d fought with him before and definitely knew that he usually kept his stance stiff enough so that blows like that didn’t take him down so easily— and they certainly never kept him down.

The referee had knelt down beside him to count him down, but you were more concerned by the way blood had begun to trickle out of his nose and even the corner of his mouth. His eyes were barely open, squinting blearily at the blinding lights above him. 

“He’s gonna aspirate if they don’t move him off his back.” You shouted desperately at Shoko, clutching anxiously onto her elbow. 

“They have to count him down— rules are rules.” She stated absentmindedly, getting on her tiptoes to get a better look. “You’re off the clock.”

Ten seconds. He could get through it, you tried to convince yourself as you bounced on your heels. Time was moving too slow though, and you watched in dread as his chest heaved with a cough, the blood that had gathered in his mouth sputtering up to paint his chin and cheeks. 

“They’re gonna kill him.” Your frantic declaration had barely processed in your friend's mind before you were hopping through the ropes and hoisting yourself into the ring. She was yelling out to you, and one of the boxer’s cornermen shot forward to stop you, but you had already slid onto your knees beside the referee, who was also trying to push you back. “He’s choking on his blood!” 

They paused at your sudden, furied response, too startled to do anything as you grabbed his shoulder and mustered all your strength to roll him onto his side. Finally on his side, you reached over to pull the guard from his mouth. At once, Choso began sputtering up and coughing, coating the floor with the blood that he had been drowning in.

As he continued clearing his airway, your fingers carefully dug into the back of his head, threading through his hair to check for blood. With the sudden movements, he was slowly beginning to come to, though all he could hear through the ringing in his ears was the muffled uproar from the crowd. Blinking back his delirium, he lazily shifted onto his back once again, eyes drifting back shut.

“No, no, no— sit up for me.” Your voice instructed him through the haze of his attempted slumber. 

Even Geto had shed his gloves and was kneeling down to help you get him upright. 

“I didn’t even hit him that hard.” He explained in bafflement, the most subtle layer of guilt twinging his tone. “It’s like he completely ragdolled for a second.”

It took all the energy Choso had remaining to blink up at you. The sight of you— the same girl who had thrown him out of his zone for likely the first time ever in his career— his consciousness seemed to come flooding back to him. Sitting up quickly with your’s and Geto’s urging hands under his back, he looked around frantically in an attempt to grasp what had happened. 

“Do you feel nauseous?” You asked him as he watched your lips form in a frenzy around the words. 

Blood was beginning to pour from his quickly bruising nose into his lips, and the thus far useless cornermen bounded over with a small towel. Bunching it up, you carefully placed it onto his nose before tilting his head forward to allow it to flow out. 

“I-I don’t—” Choso was stammering, as was so very common for him, but never in the ring, and he was coming to the mortifying revelation that the insanely gorgeous girl just watched him get the lights knocked out of him with a single blow. 

Your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of his words. You moved the towel aside to hear him better. 

“I don’t usually, uh—” He gulped, face flushing embarrassingly dark for someone who was on the brink of a possible concussion. You tilted your head at him. “Y’know, lose that easy— hah.” 

His attempted nonchalant laughter sounded more like a nervous sigh, but his slurred explanation had an amused smile curling through the concerned pout of your lips. He found himself smiling along with you, blood coating his teeth. 

“So I’ve heard, hot-shot.” You quipped with a shake of your head, pressing the towel back into his nose just as the medic finally hopped into the ring. Your eyes remained on his dopey expression as you tilted your head to the side to address them in a hushed tone. “Check him for a concussion, he’s looking crazy.”

Choso did not, in fact, have a concussion. At least that’s what the medic deduced in the back after having assessed him. Given that there, for some god forsaken reason, only seemed to be one medic present, you aided in transporting him to the back where you stuck around for support. Shoko was rolling her eyes in exasperation, mumbling something incoherent about your never taking a day off. She was however thoroughly entertained by the notion that the Choso Kamo got knocked onto his ass for the first time solely because he got a glimpse of you. Despite the evidence that was pointing there, you vehemently continued to disagree with her on what caused his little hiccup in the ring. 

The medic was packing his things up as you were not-so-subtly re-checking his pupil reactions, because you seriously were questioning the credentials of the supposed medical professional that was about to let the man aspirate right in the ring. Choso didn’t question your insistence on double-checking, his wide, chocolate eyes following your pen light obediently— any excuse to be at the center of your attention for a little longer, right?

“So you’re, um—” His gaze fluttered as you clicked the light off before switching it to your other hand and turning it back on. “You’re a doctor?” 

You smiled fondly and shook your head. 

“An ER nurse— my friend over there’s a doctor though.” You explained, nodding your head back to where Shoko was speaking to Geto. She shouted something about being off the clock before continuing her conversation. 

Choso hummed, blinking away the spots in his eyes left behind by the light. Upon closer inspection, you noted that the mark running jaggedly across his nose and cheeks was a scar, and not an oddly placed tattoo as you had assumed when first seeing it. If he noticed you staring, he made no indication of it— not with the puppy-dog like gaze he still had on you, a small smile on his blood-stained lips. 

His attention was pulled away from you as a ping rang from his dufflebag. Tearing his eyes from yours, he quickly fumbled through his clothes before procuring his cellphone. In a last-ditch effort to make it seem like you weren’t just staring at the man, you busied yourself with cleaning up the blood-soaked towels and tissues that had begun surrounding him. 

“Is everything okay?” Choso had barely glanced at the screen before quickly taking the call. “He’s still not asleep?”

You watched his brows furrow from your peripheral, and you desperately tried to mind your own business. In the louder corners of your mind though, Shoko’s words rang in your mind about his having a child. Despite only having spoken a few words to him, you just couldn’t see how this young, gentle-giant of a man was a father. 

“Yeah,” His voice had become lighter suddenly, an amused smile painting his face so affectionately it damn near gave you baby fever. “Tell him I’m fine— I should be home in a little bit.”

You quickly averted your sidelong glance once he hung up the phone, moving to wash your blood stained hands in the dingy sink that sat in the corner. From the mirror, you could see him digging through his bag to grab a shirt. 

“Sorry— my babysitter called.” He explained as he tugged a baggy, graphic tee over his head. As if it took him a moment to realize how that sounded, his frantic face was quickly popping out the neck of the shirt to clarify. “I take care of my little brother, I mean. I’m not um— y’know, his… dad.”

With a soft hum of acknowledgement, you could have cursed yourself for the subtle excitement brewing in your stomach at the fact that this man was likely single—  and he wanted you to know it, too. Reaching down to grab your bag from the bench, you slung it over your shoulder.  Jumping into action, Choso was quickly picking up his own bag to walk beside you. 

“Big brother’s a boxer, huh? He must think you’re a god.” 

“Oh, he doesn’t know, actually.” He corrected with a subtle flush, his hand fiddling with the strap of his bag. Noting the way your brows rose in surprise, he offered a meek smile. “I just don’t want him getting caught up in all this.”

“And how does he suppose you get all those bruises then?” You teased, but you were quickly putting two and two together that keeping his job a secret from his little brother was likely the reason for his oddly calculated boxing approach. He never seemed to make risky moves, always preferring to protect himself above all else and only striking when he was sure to land it. 

Suddenly, a bashful expression overtook his face, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly as his eyes darted away from you. It was undeniably endearing to see such a tall and muscular man so easily flustered, especially considering how solemnly terrifying he appeared in the ring. 

“Well, he…” He scratched at his head before huffing out a chuckle. “He kind of thinks I’m Batman.”

A choked laugh attempted to hide itself within your throat, but it, of course, failed miserably. Choso turned away from you in hopes that you wouldn’t see the maroon color that painted his neck and cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. That’s just really cute.” You explained through uncontrolled giggles, not missing the way Shoko rose a knowing brow at you as the two of you drew closer. “Well, uh… good luck with that bruise then, Batman.”

“Y-You should let me grab you dinner— y’know to… thank you for not letting me choke.” You turned as Choso chuckled nervously, the hand you had placed on your friend’s arm to head out with her falling. 

 Your gaze fluttered as you looked back at his hopeful expression, but all you could think about was the fact that you’d just broken up with your boyfriend just a week prior because he was no good for you. Staring back at the crusted blood at the corner of his mouth, along with the way his nose was blossoming with a vibrant black and blue hue, you shook your head with an apologetic smile. 

“I’ve got a shift in the morning.” You explained, having to turn away lest your heart break at the way his face seemed to fall ever-so-slightly. “But I hope you feel better!”

As you and Shoko left, she was whisper-shouting over her shoulder an apology to him about your only liking assholes with a feigned subtlety. It was the subdued goodnight that he still called out to you even in the midst of his rejection that had you staring up at your ceiling that night wondering if you’d always be hard-wired to make things difficult for yourself. 

You wished you had had the opportunity to forget about the interaction altogether the following morning at the start of your shift. Typically, working in the ER meant fast-paced, constantly needing to be on edge, and certainly not having the time to think about anything else other than what might be walking through those doors at any moment. As fate would have it though, today was one of the rare instances that your shift was absolutely dragging. 

It was already nearly a quarter of the way into your shift, and all you had triaged so far was an elderly woman with a mild cough, a kid trying to get out of his school’s testing day with a feigned stomach ache, and a hungover college student in desperate need of IV fluids. Needless to say, you were beginning to grow restless. 

You were a mere ten minutes away from throwing in the towel and taking your lunch break early, a luxury you were almost never privileged to, when your pager pinged alerting a new patient. Sitting up with a start, you quickly clicked at your computer to wake it up and check the chart. 

Possible head injury; rule out TBI

Maybe if you hadn’t been so eager to just get up and do something, you would have read into their chart more. For now though, you were avidly collecting your things to check in the first patient you’ve had in the last two hours. Lugging the vitals machine behind you, you offered a soft knock on the wall as you glanced over the chart one more time and slid the curtain open. Your mouth popped open as your eyes finally landed on the name. 

“Choso?” You muttered under your breath, brows furrowing as you looked up from the chart to see the very man you suspected perched upon the sterile bed. 

He almost looked surprised to see you at first, those dewey eyes of his widening ever-so-slightly at the sight of you before a smile spread across his lips. Upon first glance, he looked to be the picture of health (save for the now diabolical bruise spread across the center of his face), smiling and bright eyed with no visible reason for why he’d be complaining of a head injury. As if noting the way your eyes began to narrow doubtfully at him, he quickly attempted to wipe the smile from his face. 

“Um— I was… I was starting to feel symptoms of a concussion.” The burly man stammered out as though rehearsed. 

Barely able to bite back your own amused grin, you tucked the chart under your arm before leaning against the wall expectantly. You made a go on motion with a wave of your hand, but Choso hadn’t expected to be so distracted by the sight of you in your scrubs. Rolling his bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger, he gulped nervously. 

“Y’know, like a… headache a-and uh…” An anxious smile graced his face as you raised a skeptical brow at him. He couldn’t help it though— not with the way your jogger-style scrub bottoms hugged at your curves so tantalizingly, and you looked so cute with your stethoscope hanging around your neck, the one that would surely catch the way his traitorous heart was racing against his rib cage. 

“How did you know which hospital I worked at, Choso?” You finally interrogated once he’d been stammering a little too long to come up with other relevant symptoms. 

He cast his eyes to the side as you moved to pull the sleeve of his t-shirt up to wrap the blood pressure cuff around his bulging bicep. Though you had already deduced that he was likely fine, he had still been registered as a patient, and now you needed to go through the typical procedures. You wondered if he was even aware of how attractive he was, because the way he remained oblivious to the manner in which you ran a hand unnecessarily down his arm on your way to the pump told you that he had no clue.

“Lucky guess.” He tried to come off as cool, hoping you wouldn’t see through the fact that this was the third emergency room he’d been to today. It wouldn’t let him rest though— the memory of you hovering above him as he came to, the thought that you had jumped into a boxing ring for a stranger and essentially saved his life. “You didn’t let me thank you yesterday. You saved my life.”

“Don’t you have a kid to be taking care of?” You quipped teasingly, a bit flustered at his gratitude as you undid the cuff from his arm. This time around, he did notice the way you rubbed soothingly at the mark left behind by the cuff, and whether conscious or not, he found himself flexing his arm ever-so-slightly just for you.

“Yuji? He’s at school.” Choso explained dismissively before quickly veering back on topic. “I wanted to make sure you were coming to the rematch, but I didn’t have your number.”

He opened his mouth obediently as you nudged the thermometer against his lips, lifting his tongue for you to rest it underneath. The way his pretty, pink lips wrapped around the thermometer made your breath hitch, and you forced yourself to tear your eyes from his as they bore intently into you. You hummed once it beeped, shedding the sterile cover into the bin by the bed. 

“Rematch, huh?” He nodded, fervent eyes following each of your movements as you turned to confirm his vitals into the machine before turning back to face him once again. “I hate to disappoint, but I’m not actually into boxing.”

“You were front row at the match last night.” He rationalized, and his shoulders were slowly falling in disappointment. After a moment, he shook his head before continuing his pursuit. “Then let me take you to dinner at least.”

“Listen, I’m just not really—”

Your excuse was cut off when, after barely a moment of contemplation, Choso grabbed the chart from your hand and tossed it to the floor. A few owlish blinks were sent his way.   

“Your friend said you like assholes.” The man explained simply, but it was clearly eating him alive, evident in the way his determined eyes darted between you and the clipboard that had just got done clattering on the floor. A couple, painfully silent seconds passed before he kissed his teeth quietly, sliding off the bed to pick it back up for you anyway.

Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for your sanity, that little failed stunt worked on you, and Choso bounded out of the ER that afternoon with your contact in his phone. Still, you made it clear to him that you’d reach out to him when you were ready. He nodded along intently as you explained that you had only just gotten out of a relationship, and you didn’t exactly feel that you trusted your ability to pick a man right now. 

It didn’t matter to him though, because you had saved his number under Batman on your phone, and he had never been so proud of the silly persona his baby brother had assigned to him. So, he assured you not to worry, that there was no rush, and that he owed you a dinner whenever it was that you felt like having him.  Sure, the next few days may have been spent glued to his phone in hopes that you’d get over your idiot of an ex-boyfriend sooner rather than later, but he could be patient, right?

It wasn’t until nearly a month later that he began to worry that perhaps you had only taken his number with the hopes that he’d leave you alone. Perhaps you were just letting him down easy. After all, he had shown up to your job after already having gotten a no from you. Choso had never been great with women​​— he’d never had the opportunity to, what with his taking over care for Yuji so early on into what were supposed to be his prime bachelor days. 

Up until now though, it didn’t matter that he hadn’t had the chance to grow out of his awkward, teenage boy cadence, he’d never thought much of it. Sure, he was a man, and he had needs too, but there were always more important things to worry about— like putting food on the table and keeping a roof over the head of his baby brother. His job certainly didn’t require him to be a smooth talker, or a talker at all for that matter. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t read the body language or social cues that women threw at him— not until it was you that he couldn’t get a read on. 

What he didn’t know was that you had spent the month waging war on yourself. The battle consisted of the you that wanted to remain in the familiar arms of men who your commitment fearing heart was sure to see no future with and the you that wondered if taking the hot, kind-eyed boxer’s offer of taking you to dinner and treating you like an adult human being was such a bad thing. 

The decision was proving to be more difficult than you could have ever anticipated, because it was as if your man-child of an ex-boyfriend could smell that you were contemplating doing better for yourself once, and he had been texting you for weeks now. There were apologies, paragraphs sent about how your constant arguments only meant that you two were passionate about one another— ones that had you rolling your eyes while simultaneously thinking that this was the safe option. 

You had come to a fork in the road though, as you stared down at his text asking if you’d meet him at the place you two met— some dingy arcade where you always had to hold your breath in because it seemed none of the men in attendance knew what soap or deodorant were. It was the same place where you remember finding it charming how heated he’d get over losing a game— it was quirky and hot and you couldn’t possibly see how that short-temper might pose a challenge to your relationship. 

Chewing on your bottom lip, your thumbs hovered over the cracked screen that had lain witness to just how un-charming that temper could get. Glancing up at your carefully placed makeup in the mirror, you realized that you had missed getting all done up— missed going out instead of sulking in your apartment and contemplating where your abysmal attachment style could have possibly manifested from. With a shake of your head, you decided that you had put far too much effort into yourself to end up in that cesspool of a joint by the end of the night. 

The cool wind nipped at your cheeks as you tried to borrow yourself deeper into the collar of your coat. You thought that perhaps you should have just waited in the car, but, then again, you weren’t exactly familiar with the protocol for proper dates. The dim lighting offered by the awning outside of the quietly buzzing restaurant cast a soft glow onto the wooden bench you were sitting on as you anxiously peered at the parking lot. 

Just as you were on the brink of losing a toe to hyperthermia, an older looking, black cat peeled into the parking lot, barely coming to a stop before the driver’s door was swinging open. Choso’s frantic gaze caught yours almost instantly, and he almost appeared relieved that you hadn’t left.

“I’m so sorry, I know I’m late.” He babbled, shutting his door firmly before glancing into the back of his car. “Look, I um… I understand if you’re not cool with this, but my babysitter canceled on me last minute.”

In the midst of his hesitant explanation, he was tugging the backseat open, offering you one last apprehensive glance before ducking his head in. When he emerged once again, it was with a pink-haired, bright-eyed toddler in his arms. You stood up as Choso walked your way, whispering something that, by the look of the softly stern expression on his face, looked to be a warning to behave to his little brother before setting him down.

“I’m really sorry about this. If you want to go I—”

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me to my date, Choso?” Your mockingly stern tone halted his mortified rambling. 

The boy, barely reaching his brother’s mid-thigh, was looking up at you with that fiercely curious expression that only a toddler assessing your danger level could pull off. His small, gloved hand was clutching onto Choso’s pointer and middle finger as the fake fur on his tiger beanie swayed with the gust of wind that whipped his way. 

It certainly wasn’t how you had expected to spend your night off, but something about that exasperated guilt in Choso’s tone made your heart clench. All these years you had spent worrying about which douchebag you’d be picking yourself back up over, and this man, who couldn’t have been much older than you at all, had never had that stupid privilege. Such a miniscule act as not raising a fuss over his bringing his baby brother to dinner with him had him staring at you as though you’d hung the stars in the sky, and you suddenly decided that you had made the right decision that night. 

A small, delighted smile tugged at his lips, and he quickly looked down to nudge the boy forward.

“This is Yuji, and he promised he was going to be on his best behavior for our friend tonight, right?” Choso urged with a subtle desperation hidden in his eyes. Your heart nearly melted as he nodded ardently with a soft sneeze.

“Niichan never has girl friends—” 

“Okay, Yuji! Why don’t you show her how you open the door like a gentleman?” He eagerly cut off his brother’s innocent confession with a rapidly flushing face, scooping him up so that he could reach the handle. You offered a knowing, sidelong glance at the flustered man, unable to bite back your tickled smile as you nodded to Yuji in thanks as he held the door open for you with a prideful beam.

Choso had just about jumped out of his skin when your name randomly popped onto his phone. He must have re-read your text twenty times to assure he was understanding correctly, because the girl who had been radio silent for nearly a month was asking if tonight was a good night for her to cash in on the dinner he owed her. 

Truthfully, it wasn’t a good night. He had been expecting to stay home with Yuji tonight given he didn’t have a match, and his brother didn’t have school the next morning. Because of that, he really didn’t have anyone lined up to babysit tonight. He frantically called his usual babysitter, practically begging her to come on such short notice, and he nearly did a backflip when she agreed. 

Yuji was following him around the house with that lighthearted laugh, the kind that made Choso think that maybe he wasn’t doing such a bad job at taking care of him after all, asking him why he was practically bouncing around the house as he rushed to shower and dug recklessly through his closet for something decent to wear. 

It had all come crashing down on him just ten minutes before he was supposed to leave, already having explained to his little brother that his babysitter would be coming tonight, when the woman in question called to let him know that her shift at her full-time job had gone over schedule. He sat hunched over his phone on the couch for what seemed like eternity as he contemplated what to do.

It had taken you an entire month to finally agree to a date with him. Would you change your mind if he canceled on you with such short notice? Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he noted that he was already going to be late, and the thought of leaving you waiting for him at the restaurant had him making the executive decision to bundle his little brother up in his winter clothes and pack him in the car with him. 

Halfway to the restaurant was when it hit him that perhaps this wasn’t the best idea, but it was too late now. He wasn’t sure anything could have prepared him for how quickly you’d let it slide off your shoulders, and certainly not for how easily you’d work Yuji into what was meant to be a date with just you two. 

Here he was though, lips parted stupidly as he watched you allow the boy to steal bites off of your plate (despite how many times he’d already swatted his hand away in mortification) and follow along with all the longwinded stories that toddlers were so good at telling with no real conclusion in sight. It seemed impossible for him to have found you anymore beautiful than he already did, but you were proving him wrong with every affectionate smile sent his way each time Yuji would innocently reveal another humiliating detail about his older brother to you.

“If I had known he was going to woo you so hard I would have left him in the car.” Choso joked with a timid smile, already having had his fill of embarrassment for one night following Yuji’s announcement that he cried everytime he watched Brother Bear with him.

You thought having the five-year-old around helped lessen what typically would have been a painfully awkward first date. Additionally, the seemingly tight-knit relationship they had made you wonder how Choso had found himself with such a responsibility so young in the first place. Of course, with Yuji around, it was hard to veer onto the topic. 

“And how else would I have found out so much about the big, bad Choso Kamo?” You teased as Yuji busied himself with a coloring page the waitress had brought over (much to his brother’s relief). “Brother Bear, huh? Can’t blame you, that one used to get me too.”

“I don’t cry everytime.” 

“Mhmm,” With an unconvinced hum, you peered up at him through the rim of your cup as you took a sip. “So, what turned you into a bear then, hm?”

The fond smile on his face slowly dissipated, leading you to believe that what you thought was a harmlessly joking question held more depth than you gave it credit for. Soon, your smile was quickly falling too as you sat up a little straighter.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.” He reassured, attempting to bring that same lighthearted nature back around, but his eyes were heavier as he regarded you kindly. “I just… had to be.”

It was the only explanation he offered you, and somehow it was enough for you to understand the gravity of whatever their situation must have been— at least for now.

“So,” Your gaze fluttered about his chiseled face as you tried to rectify the now solemn energy at the table. Glancing toward Yuji, you noted that he was still concentrated on his coloring, a crayon clutched in one hand and a fry in the other. Still, you lowered your voice a bit as you leaned in closer to Choso. “How did your rematch go?”

“Thought you said you weren’t into it.” 

“Didn’t say I wasn’t into you.”

This caught him off guard, whatever fleeting confidence he had to banter back and forth with you flying out the window just as your own words processed back to you. For a fleeting moment, you almost allowed yourself to be embarrassed by your own forwardness. Something about how easily he could be rendered speechless made it worth it though. After a moment, his lips twitched up nervously as he tried to reign in control of the conversation once again. 

“Thought you liked assholes.” Choso whispered, praying his little brother wasn’t going to absorb that word into his subconscious to spring on him later. 

Pursing your lips, you looked down at the cracked phone screen that had pulled you out of your stupor just hours prior. The man followed your eyes, taking note of the way you ran your finger absentmindedly down the shattered glass. You didn’t say anything, but he seemed to have heard it all, his face falling in quiet recognition. He had seen it before— that look of silent defeat in your eyes fighting against a cycle all too familiar to him.

“The rematch was good.” He offered with a soft, knowing smile, hoping to pull you from wherever your thoughts had wandered to. You peered back up at him. “Kicked his ass. I can be an asshole too— just… not to you, yeah?”

Choso couldn’t have known how deep his words burrowed themselves into your mind, replaying on repeat that entire drive home as your heart pounded against your chest. He had walked you to your car after dinner, Yuji clinging onto his back as he drifted off into what looked to be a nasty food coma. The look on his face said that he wasn’t sure what to do next, but you could certainly guess what was on his mind. 

So, you were grateful when his little brother stirred away and tugged at his hair, pouting about it being too cold and wanting to go home. The man’s shoulder’s deflated ever-so-slightly, and he offered an apologetic smile and a promise that he’d text you.

You weren’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. 

Choso Kamo scared you unlike any other raging hot-head had ever managed to in the past. At least with your past… distasteful selections, you could predict their moves, you knew it would only go so far. With him though, you could feel yourself wanting more, because he was sweet and genuine, and he was the type of guy that would make a nest in your heart so as not to disturb your peace rather than shatter it with an attempt to mold it to accommodate the jagged edges he refused to file down.

Without the expected downfalls of the disasters you set yourself up for, how could you prepare yourself if he disappointed you in a way you hadn’t already premeditated? Other men filtered in and out of your life, never leaving an impact heavier than a break of routine in their wake— but Choso? If you allowed him to stay, you knew it would ache in ways you’d never known if Choso left. 

Despite your fear of falling, you couldn’t bring yourself to ignore him when he texted you later that night asking if you'd made it home, or even the next morning when he wished you a good shift. With each affectionate-smiled reply, you could feel your stomach twisting in fear as you hoped you’d snap out of this haze before the shoe dropped. 

It was the very reason that you hesitated when your phone rang just two days later, his name lighting up your phone at an hour far too late at night to be considered friendly. Blinking back the tired haze in your eyes from staring at your television for too long, you felt that familiar anxiety swimming in your throat. Your thumb trembled nervously as it hovered over the button to accept the call. Shaking off your nerves, you swiped to answer the call. 

“Hey, Cho—”

“Hello?” His voice was panicked on the other line, making you sit up from where you had been vegetating on your couch. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know it’s late— I need your help.”

Muffled in the background, you could hear the distinct wailing of a child you assumed to be his little brother. The sound made you kick the blanket off your lap, already breaking out into a nervous cold-sweat. 

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Yuji— he’s sick, and his fever won’t go down, and he’s not keeping down any of his medicine, and—”

“Okay, calm down.” You cut off his nervous rambling as you shoved your boots on under your fleece pajama pants. “How high is his fever? You should take him to urgent care.”

“I’m trying, h-he has a thing with hospitals.” The man sounded as though he was on the brink of tears, panting subtly in a manner that had you wondering how long he had been wrestling with the boy in order to get him to an urgent care before he gave up and called you. “Please, I don’t know what to do.”

Choso could barely hear your knocking over his brother’s incessant crying, and had he been more alert of his surroundings he would have wondered how in the hell his neighbors hadn’t sent in a noise complaint yet. After nearly a minute with no response, you knocked again, more forcefully this time. 

When he finally opened the door, you would have assumed that he was the one battling a flu— what with his flushed face, disheveled locks, and red waterline. Having to endure his brother’s suffering alone was killing him, and he’d never felt more useless than he did tonight. 

“Choso…” You sighed regretfully, nearly reaching up to pull him into a hug, but he was quickly latching onto your wrist to pull you into the living room where Yuji was bundled up on the couch, his little face flaming with a mix of the exertion from his pained wails and the fever that was still ravaging his system. 

Kneeling down beside the couch, you touched your hand against his forehead. Even with the frigidness that still nipped at your hands from the chill outside, it was clear that he was practically scorching.

“He’s burning up, Choso.” You muttered frantically, making quick work to pull the countless blankets off of him. He was kicking out in protest with each layer you removed, and his brother was quickly moving to push his legs down lest you get kicked in the face. “You need to cool him down.”

“He— he kept shivering…” The man was gulping down tears of frustration, because all he was trying to do was to get him to stop crying. It was breaking his heart with each octave he reached, and he was sure that he’d find a way to make the sun rise early if it meant he could have stopped whatever it was that was making Yuji so uncomfortable. 

“It’s okay,” You reassured, taking note of the fragile emotional state this situation had put him in. It was becoming clearer by the minute that Choso was new to doing this on his own. “We need to put him in a cold bath.”

The man nodded in a haze, reaching down to scoop the flailing boy into his arms as he cried out in protest. You followed closely behind him as he made his way to the bathroom and flipped the light on. 

“I’m cold!” Yuji choked out, only making his brother feel that much more guilty as he pried his clothes off of him. You stepped around him to fill the tub with cool water. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Choso mumbled despondently, dodging each of his kicks with stunning precision. “We’re trying to help you, buddy, okay?”

“What have you given him?” You questioned, finally shedding your puffer jacket you began to sweat with the frantic movements. 

“Nothing, he’s spitting everything out.” Choso’s voice raised in exasperation, though you knew better than to think it was directed at you. 

You paced out the restroom as he lowered Yuji into the frigid water, and you thought surely his throat would start to bleed soon from the way his screams were scratching it raw. It didn’t take long for you to find the medicine cabinet after rummaging through the kitchen, and you made quick work to toss a fever reducer into a plastic bag to begin crushing it. Peeking your head into the refrigerator, you grabbed the carton of apple juice that was sitting on the shelf. Once your child-proof cocktail was thoroughly mixed, you made your way back down the hall.

“Please, Yuji, just sit still.” You heard Choso pleading desperately, followed by the frantic splashes of the attempted escapee. 

“Let me go!”

“It’ll make you feel better—”

“I want Mom!” 

You paused in the doorway at Yuji’s sobbed request, unsure whether or not to intrude. Clutching the cup to your constricting chest, you leaned against the wall just beside the bathroom door as you heard Choso sigh despairingly.

“Mom’s not here, Yuji. We’ve talked about this, please. Don’t do this to me.” His tone wavered notably, and it was clear that the dam holding up the strongest parts of him was weakening by the second, but his younger brother only repeated his request. 

“Yuji,” You called out, finally stepping in to kneel beside Choso. He quickly cast his gaze down, but not before you caught the tears slipping down his face. Brushing back the pink hair that clung to the boy’s forehead as he panted up at you through choked cries, you showed him the cup. “Look, if you drink all your juice then we’ll get your bed nice and ready for you, okay?” 

He sniffled messily as his blubbering slowed, eyeing you skeptically. 

“It’s apple juice, see?” You tilted the cup closer toward him so he could see the familiar yellow color. Noting his apprehension, you leaned in closer to whisper to him in feigned secrecy. “Niichan can’t protect the city if you don’t get better.”

Through dewy hiccups, he slowly released the grip his little hands had on Choso’s wrists to take the cup from you. Beside you, his brother heaved out a sigh of relief watching as he quickly downed the cup, eager to get into his bed and under the covers as promised. The both of you held your breaths until the last drop was sucked up. 

After running a few more handfuls of cold water over his head for good measure, you nodded at Choso to take him out once his skin was finally a bit cooler to the touch. As he dried and dressed his brother back up to prepare him for bed, you busied yourself with cleaning up the puddles of water Yuji’s thrashing had created on the floor of the bathroom. A good couple of minutes had passed before apprehensive footsteps finally made their way back to the bathroom where you remained kneeled on the floor. 

“I’m sorry.” Choso whispered, slowly lowering himself down beside you. 

You peered over at him as he buried his head into his hands. The t-shirt he wore was clinging to his chest as it still dripped with leftover bath water along with the ends of his loose, tousled hair. His shoulders shook every so often with the sniffles he was trying so desperately to conceal, but it had all been too much for him. 

“I know the last thing you wanted to be doing on your day off was working.” He continued as he finally looked up at you, tears of frustration swimming in his dark, tired eyes. “I just— I didn’t know—”

“Choso?” You whispered, resting a careful hand on his raised knee. He blinked at you in question, swiping furiously at the tear that raced down his flushed cheek at the motion. “How… how did you end up with Yuji?”

His eyes quickly fell, observing the way his knuckles whitened as he clenched and unclenched his hands pensively. 

“He’s my half-brother.” He began quietly. A bitter smile tugged at his lips as he looked back up at you. “Wanna talk assholes? My step-dad— Yuji’s dad— was just…”

You gulped, watching the way his jaw seemed to clench unconsciously at the memory of him. A gradual sense of dread twisted in your stomach as you began to guess where his story would go. 

“We fought all the time. Our mom hated it, but I couldn’t stand the way he treated her, and it—” Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the ceiling to calm the way his tears seemed to continue to betray him. “It killed me that she let him.”

Your gaze fluttered with their own misty haze as his words sunk in, an unnecessary guilt clawing at your chest. Shuddering away the tremble in his tone, he finally looked back down at you. Swiping at his nose with a quick sniffle, he continued. 

“We got into a huge fight a while after I finished school. He was mad about— god, I can’t even remember what had him so heated, but h-he threw a bottle at our mom.”

“Choso…” You sighed shakily, shifting forward to grasp at his hand. Though he made no attempt to halt his story, he accepted your hand, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly as another tear raced down his face. 

“I told him that if he wanted to throw shit to throw it at me.” With red-splotched eyes, he offered a humorless laugh and gestured toward the jagged scar that ran across his face. It was now you who was failing to hold back stinging tears. “I thought after— I don’t know, twenty stitches that she’d leave, but she didn’t. So, I did.”

His head dropped down toward his chest, shaking side to side regretfully. 

“I left. I wasn’t there for her when she died— I wasn’t there for Yuji.” You quickly climbed over to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling his face into your chest as you allowed yourself to cry silently along with him. “I left him. He was only three. I left him, I—”

“You came back for him, Choso.” You quickly interjected. 

“I should’ve never left in the first place.” His fingers drifted up to dig into your back as you settled onto his lap. “I thought if I learned how to fight— y’know, got bigger and stronger that he couldn’t hurt me anymore, he couldn’t hurt my mom anymore cause I would finally be able to do something about it, but I was just scared. I was scared, and I left.”

“You were just a kid.” You clarified, sliding your hands down to grip his face and force him to look at you. “And you’re here now.”

The grip you had on his cheeks forced his lips into a smushed pout, his wet lashes emphasizing the dark circles that surrounded his irises. Your thumb grazed gently over the scar on his face, and it broke your heart even more as you pictured it on a smaller, more defenseless version of him. You could see that Choso still ever-present in the fear that lingered in his eyes, in the doubt that clung to his frown that told him that nothing he could do for Yuji would ever be enough. 

“And I’d like to see someone try to lay a finger on Yuji now.” You encouraged with a soft laugh. The tiniest of smiles cracked through his solemn gaze, but he was still searching your eyes with an intensity that nearly knocked you on your ass. 

“Why do you do it?” He questioned, his voice barely above a whisper. You tilted your head at him curiously. “I mean, you have a good job, you’re smart, and pretty, and you’re kind— why give it to people who don’t deserve you?”

His hands dug firmly into your waist as you attempted to lean away from his raw stare. You felt naked— humiliatingly exposed as though you had just been the one to air your dirty laundry out. The hands on your sides drew you in closer and closer with each pathetic open and close of your stammering lips.

“I think I came to terms a long time ago with the fact that I’d never get to understand why my mom stayed. I had to be okay with it.” Choso’s brows were furrowing as his gaze drifted down your face before meeting yours once again. “Then I met you, and… I feel that same frustration I felt when I was a teenager.” 

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” The scarred bridge of his nose grazed against yours as the two of you drew closer. With a strained gulp, you shook your head. “Do you—” He paused as his face flushed, but he fought to push past his timid nature. “Do you want someone to be mean to you? Is that what it is?”

“Choso—”

“Because if that’s the case then let it be me, okay?” His plea had you biting back a wanton whine, because his lips were brushing against yours with all the anticipation of a building promise. Your fingers tangled into the drying hair on his nape. “I’ll be rough with you, and I’ll make you want to cry.”

Leaning forward, he slotted his mouth around your pouted bottom lip, pressing you closer against him as you two pulled at one another despairingly. 

“I’ll be an asshole, but I’ll never hurt you— it’ll always be for you. Is that what you want?”

You could only nod hazily, too lost in the desperation in his tone and the craving he’d instilled in you for the lips you’d only come to know just minutes prior. Without so much as a grunt of effort, he was lifting himself off the ground with you in tow, stumbling toward the hallway in a craven pursuit of his bedroom. The hand holding you up against him squeezed vigorously at your ass, pinching at it until you yelped out into his lips.

“Shh, Yuji’s sleeping.” He still had the nerve to chastise you lowly, using your back to press the door shut. 

With you squeezed between him and the door behind you, he allowed his hand to dance up and grip your jaw, hooking his thumb into the corner of it as his forefinger dug into your bottom lip and pried your mouth ajar. You panted against him, eyes half-lidded as you awaited his next move with baited breath, but as he’d promised, it felt as though he wanted you to cry for him, his lips exploring your neck and jaw at an agonizing pace.

“Choso—” Your plea was cut short by your gasp as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder that had been left exposed in the flimsy tank you had been wearing to bed prior to his call. He moaned against your skin, digging his canines ever-so-slightly deeper into the flesh to feel the way you jolted at the sting. “Ah— ahh!”

The man only hummed contentedly, arm hooking under your thighs once again to pry you from the wall and drop you onto the disheveled covers of his bed and pull the damp shirt from his back. He surveyed the way your eyes ran down his body, your reddened lips parted and your brows drawn softly together, and he deduced that he couldn’t possibly look at you if he was to ravage you like he hated you. 

Dipping down, he flipped you easily onto your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pajama pants. Pausing for a moment, he leaned down, and you shuddered at the feeling of his warm chest pressing you against the bed.

“Is this what you wanted?” He whispered into your ear, knowing it would only take a shake of your head for his resolve to crumble. 

Your ribcage expanded and deflated beneath him in tandem with your anticipatory panting, and you could only nod through your flushed face, too embarrassed to confirm your desires aloud, yet your senses too lit ablaze by every inch of muscle you could feel on him to deny yourself the pleasure. There was a longing kiss pressed against your temple— an unspoken promise that he meant it when he said he wouldn’t hurt you— before he slowly pulled away from you to yank your bottoms down. 

Choso bit down on his bottom lip, rough enough to draw blood as he fought to maintain his composure. Running his hands up your thighs until they met the swell of your ass, he raised a knee to rest beside your hip before hiking your ass up. 

“Make me understand it.” He pleaded, a subtle growl laced into his tone as he drew teasingly close to where you were throbbing for him. 

“I don’t know, Choso—” Your voice had raised to an embarrassing pitch as you fisted his sheets between your fingers. They smelled just like him, and it was by no means aiding in your coherent thought process.

“Do you need someone to tell you you’re worth more?” At once, his fingers plunged into your incandescent center, twisting mercilessly as he continued to ration with you. “Because I’ll do it, I’ll remind you every fucking day if I have to.”

But his words were quickly becoming background noise that harmonized sweetly with each of your slack-jawed moans. Reaching back, your fingers barely grazed his wrist in an attempt to gain any semblance of control over his pace, but he quickly collected both your hands in his free one to pin them at the small of your back.

“Is that what you need?” He asked again, and his fingers curled up with a striking precision, drawing a pathetically pitched squeak from the depths of your throat. 

You buried your face into the sheets to conceal the way your eyes began to water at the growing warmth pooling overwhelmingly fast in your stomach. After a moment of your whimpering silence, his fingers abandoned you in favor of a resounding smack against your sensitive core. Your legs seemed to snap shut involuntarily, but it didn’t last long before he pried them open once again. 

“Answer me.” Choso demanded. His tone was barely stern— the fervent desperation to understand more present than anything. He threaded his fingers into your hair to pull your head to the side and reveal your face. “I said is this what you needed?”

“Yes!” You gasped, your hearing feeling as though it had increased tenfold as you listened to his sweatpants rusting while they hit the ground. “Please, please, Choso.” 

Despite his insistence that he’d be rough with you as you so pleased, he couldn’t bring himself to stop the gentle way in which he eased into you, savoring each hitch in your breath. Hooking his arm under your neck, he pulled you up to press flush against his perspiring chest, the slow descent up aiding in burying the last few inches of him into you. 

There was a crack in his resolve, evident in the broken moan that his lips pressed right against your flushed ear. The tears that he had promised you finally slipped down your cheeks. His eyes tracked it with a sharp vigilance, the sight making him pull you in that much closer. With a hand gentler than what he had planned for you, he swiped at the salty stream before allowing his fingers to settle around the column of your throat. 

“Keep crying for me.” 

And he made sure you did, his pace relentless as his sculpted hips slapped against your ass. For each overwhelmed tear of pleasure that escaped you, Choso chased it with a kiss; to your cheek and your jaw, to your helplessly parted lips and temple until there wasn’t an inch of you within his reach that his lips hadn’t become acquainted with. You thought your back would snap in two as you arched against him through your high, yet his furious pace didn’t slow until you slumped back against him, only held up by the hand at your throat and his will. 

The man watched as your head fell back onto his shoulders, eyes half-lidded as they stared at the way his gaze never seemed to falter. Only then did he pause, carefully lowering you to lay on your back against his cool pillows. Crawling over you, it was clear that his intent had shifted with the fulfillment of his goal. 

His hair tickled your cheeks as he leaned down to capture your lips tenderly. Reaching down, he caressed the side of your neck with the same hand he had used to restrain it as he entered you once again, this time with the intent of proving that it didn’t always have to be so merciless. With each purposeful roll of his hips into you he proved that you too were worthy of being handled with all the gentleness he had never been on the receiving end of. 

Choso clung onto you as he finished, and he didn’t leave when you allowed yourself to wrap your arms under his shoulders and press your cheek against his heaving chest. Instead, he pulled the covers up and assured they reached your shoulders that had since broken out into goosebumps— though you weren’t sure you could blame them on the cold. 

He brought your hands up to kiss the parts of your wrists that had been locked in his fierce grip. For the first time in years you weren’t itching to leave before he had the chance to leave you, because all the weight and muscle he’d worked so hard for in order to protect that scared, teenage boy in him were enveloping you with a crushing safety while his faint snores into your ear lulled you to sleep. 

Perhaps Yuji wasn’t so naive in believing his big brother was a superhero.

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[anon-sect]

As Trevor was walking around the corner of the back lot of the office, he happened to notice Axel and Landon smoking weed on the premises. This was in strict violation of company rules. "You know you two aren't supposed to be smoking that stuff here." He spoke to them.

Axel and Landon both looked over at their coworker, Trevor. "Mind your own business. We won't get caught. We have been doing this for weeks." Landon replied. "Yeah, piss off, okay." Axel remarked back as well.

Trevor saw no need to say any more and walked off. It was really none of his business after all if they weren't caught yet.

Later that day, the manager had called everyone up to the main area. "As you all know, we have a strict no weed smoking on premisis. But there has been someone smoking in the back lot. We have found the buds on the ground." Owen paused for a moment. "Due to the plant odor, it's hard to smell the weed scent in here. So if anyone knows anything, they are encoursge to speak up." He finished and dismissed everyone.

Trevor went up to Axel and Landon. "You know I should report you two." He spoke softly so that only those two heard his words. "You would lose your jobs, I bet." He added.

Axel and Landon looked a little nervous. They were both already on their second strike for violating company rules. If there was a third, they would be fired for sure. That resulst they didn't want. "What do you want to keep your mouth shut?" Landon asked Trevor, hoping something reasonable. "Yes, anything, we don't need a third strike." Axel also pleaded for some mercy from his coworker.

Trevor thought about it. "Come by my office in ten minutes, and I will tell you. If you don't show, I might be persuaded to talk." He spoke as he walked off heading bakc to his office. He wanted them to pondoer their options.

Riight on time, Trevor saw Landon and Axel enter his office. "We are here, now what you want from us to keep your silence." Axel wanted to know so that this ordeal would be over with.

Trevor pulled out his phione and opened up his TF Pro Max app. "I want you two to be my perfect socks to keep my feet comfortable. I never had living socks before." He stated his request to the strange look on their faces.

"Let me get this straight. You want us to be literal socks willing?" Landon asked in disbelief. Trevor nodded back in response. Both laughed at the thought of being socks.

"I guess I should call the manager then." Trevor threatened while smiling back at them.

"Even if it was possible, It's worth keeping your silence. We will be your socks." Landon spoke, not believing that would ever happen.

Travor pointed his phone at both of them and hit the flash. Axel and Landon were instantly turned into a pair of whites socks. He went around his desk and picked up the socks from off the floor. "Nice, you both look perfect. I will wear you two for about a week. I will turn you back to normal then." He sat back down in his chair and took off his old socks in favor of his new living socks. He loved how the new socks felt on his feet. He wiggled his toes in them before putting his favorite sneakers back on his feet. He caught a quick scent of the odor from his shoes. He was glad he wasn't the one being stuck in that foul stench.

Landon was totally shellshocked. He was completely wrapped around Trevor's foot and trapped in the most foul prison he could possiby think of. The shoe smell so bad it almost made him pass out if he had a physical human body. He didn't believe it was even possible to literally be a sock, yet here he was on his coworker's foot. The insoles had been so worn in that he could tell that the shoes were worn very often. They reek of foot stench of years of use. He wanted to get away form the foul odor, but was powerless to do so.

Axel was mentally begging for mercy. He found feet to be disgusting. The worst torment in his mind was to be tied up and forced to smell another guy's foot. He saw that being turned into a sock was worse than that. He was trapped in as stench that smelled like rotten eggs and sour milk with no way of escape. The very foot kept him trapped in his shoe prison, which made him feel so degraded and humiliated. He would have rather the guy rat on them than this existence. The excruciating pain of being walked on made it unbearable in his mind. He was now just an object on his owner's foot. The fact that this would be for a whole week only to keep one secret made it not worth agreeing to this. He mentally pleaded for Trevor to change them back to normal. He didn't want to be a whole week on his foot.

THREE WEEKS LATER.....

Trevor relaxed in his office with his socked feet propped on his desk. He had been wearing the same pair of socks for the past three weeks. Someone had also noticed Landon and Axel smoking weed in the back lot and reported it to the manager two days after he had turned them into socks. Seeing how this would have been their third strike, their employment in the company would have been terminated anyway. At least as his socks, they still had a job. Their new job would forever be to comfort his feet and to absorb all his foot sweat and funk.

But Trevor did enjoy other uses for his living socks. They made good cum rags as well. He took advantage of that on multiple occasions over the past three weeks. He often thought about what his socks were feeling now that they were permanent footwear. Unfortnantly for them, he had erased their datat them moment he heard they were reported. There was no need to change them back to normal now. They were just better of as his dirty, smelly socks.

[freeluigihesbae]

𝓫𝓾𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓮𝓮𝓻 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 - 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝟏

(1,689 words)

summary:

luigi fell in love with you for those sparkling eyes where his dreams of falling in love first came true. but how did it happen?

𝗍𝗐: 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

It was the fourth year of undergrad at the University of Pennsylvania. There were times when Luigi wished he'd gone to a regular university, where no-one would try to inflate their egos just because they were an Ivy-League-r. It was tiring when fake 'friends' tried to get close to him, only to ditch and snitch when they took what they wanted and left.

Sure, he made some good friends in the years he had spent at Penn, making and leading a few clubs and having a few reliable classmates, but overall, there was a sense of grounding he still hadn't gotten. There was no-one on campus who was down-to-earth the way he was. No-one shared his perspective.

That all changed when it came time for homecoming. Luigi was the star of his friend group and they were desperately trying to set him up with a Philosophy major who, on paper, would be his picture perfect match. She was fairly tall - a humble 5'5" - dirty blonde hair, slender legs and a toned body. She even had perfect grades with a beautiful capability to hold conversation that had meaning, perhaps explaining why she chose, pursued, and succeeded in a philosophy major.

They tried and tried all they could, but failed in making Luigi ask her out. Ash, everyone had called her, did have a huge crush on Luigi, feeling encouraged by how Luigi's friends always nudged her when he came around, but they were doing her an injustice. Things came to a head when she took it upon herself to ask him out for homecoming.

"Luigi?" A soft voice comes up behind Luigi, who turns around, stopping his work on the wall. He was hanging up papers for UPGRADE, encouraging everyone to scan the QR code to register for the first meeting. His tense shoulders relax, but confusion immediately covers his face when he sees not only Ash, but her entire group of friends giggling behind her.

Ash's face is covered in blush, her eyes giving away how nervous she is. Luigi gives a small smile, stepping down from the ladder before repeating her name back.

"What's up Ash?" Luigi speaks with a steady tone, mind scattered across having to deal with the club and unable to focus on Ash entirely, but still caring about what she has to say.

"I-I- was wondering um-" Ash gulps and Luigi is clueless, wondering if she's okay. He watches her friends push her lightly whispering in her ear. She stops moving around and finally straightens her back, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"I was wondering i-if you wanted to go to homecoming with me." Ash finally gets the words out and her friends freeze, staring at Luigi to see what his answer is.

Luigi internally slaps himself - how could he not realize why they were laughing and screwing around with Ash? Of course it was about homecoming and for a second, he felt anger flare up. It was convenient to catch him in the middle of a busy hallway and come with an entire group because the pressure to say yes was tenfold now and it was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

Luigi stares at an unsure Ash, who seems to have her hopes increased after proposing the deal to him. The rational part of him is screaming to say yes and later talk to her in private, but he couldn't. He didn't like Ash because yeah, she was great at holding conversations and she was conventionally attractive, but he never clicked with her. In the few times he had gotten time alone with her, she came across as...boring. She was knowledgeable but gah-- something didn't click. Maybe it was the nuances in how her ego showed and how shallowness presented itself. It was tiring, typical, you know?

Luigi wasn't a pawn; he didn't want to be played and for that reason, he goes against that urge and tells the truth.

"Ash," Luigi starts talking but freezes upon seeing her friend huddle in closer. His smile slowly disappears as he's shaking his head.

"I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to ask me, but I'm going to decline that offer. I'm sorry if my friends have led you on in thinking I like you, but that's not true. I've been keeping to myself in this time and I-I just can't do it." Luigi finishes talking and doesn't know whether the ground or wall would swallow him whole, because he sees Ash getting tears in her eyes while her friends gawked, faces transforming into disgust.

Soon enough, Ash's face followed suit.

"You," she points a finger in his face before talking. "Rejected me in front of everyone? What kind of a guy are you?" Her anger is obvious but Luigi's face becomes neutral. What else did he expect?

"You're the one who came up to me when the hallway is busy and you brought your triage with you. Not my fault. Your attempt to pressure me into saying yes didn't work. I'm not apologizing for say no. Only if my friends have led you to believe something that isn't true." Luigi finishes talking before realizing the hallway he thought was bustling away was frozen and holding up countless phones in his face.

Oh no.

Ash lets out a sob before cursing him out and walking away, her girls comforting her and leaving Luigi forced to feel bad since everyone decided to stare at him silently and add in their two cents by giving blank or angry expressions.

He didn't have time for this.

"What are you guys looking at? Fuck off!" Luigi shouts and people seem to snap, muttering words as their phones lower and everyone starts walking off, still giving glances. Luigi returns to his tasks from before, stapling the papers into the wall for the next ten or so minutes. He feels relieved once the hallway is buzzing again as usual, taking solace in the monotony of his task.

But life just has to ruin that, doesn't it?

Luigi is about to lift his head up and staple the last paper before the short stool beneath him shakes, and eventually, leading him to lose his grip. The wall is smooth and it takes less than a second for him to realize he's going straight down to the ground.

He yelps, trying to keep himself upright but fails, falling over and groaning as soon as he hits the ground, except...

he feels something soft underneath his head.

Luigi looks up, facing the wall before looking to the side and beneath him to see a soft, faux fur backpack placed under his head, perfectly set to stop his head from hitting the ground. He looks up and sees the last poster, ripped into two halves making him nearly tear his hair out. He grabs the bag before scrunching it in his palm and talking.

"Who. The. Fuc-" Luigi's eyes are closed before he turns around to open them, ready to shout at whoever is looking at him before he freezes.

That's when he meets you, or your eyes, more specifically. There you are, biting your finger and looking at him with ridiculously glossy eyes stuttering out apologies and threatening to cry if he even says a word.

"I'm s-so sorry I didn't check where I was looking 'n I had a terrible day and I-I-I-" You're over your own head, afraid of his reaction and worried something had happened to him. You didn't kill him. You saved him and it wasn't your fault people were shoving you around even after they saw your cast on your left leg.

Luigi's eyes flicker down to your cast and back up to your eyes before he gently sets the bag down, walking towards you.

"Hey." He speaks softly, placing a hand on your shoulder, prompting you to look up at him. The tears have already streamed down your face and he gasps, taking in how beautiful your eyes look.

They're shaped like adorable almonds, widening at any shift in movement yet sparkling with so much emotion and fear. The brown hue looks stunning with a docile sun ray shooting right through them; Luigi has to gulp and shake his head before he speaks.

Instinctively, he wraps his arms around you, pulling your head into his embrace. You follow suit, snuggling into his arms.

"I'm so sorry I swear." You say, another tiny sob escaping you before he pulls back, shaking his head.

"Stop. I'm alive and you saved my life with your bag. I didn't see your cast. I'm sorry for getting so mad." Luigi says, running his hand down your back before letting go. You nod quietly, sniffling after you hear his words.

Luigi's heart is leaping out his chest, desperate to just grab your face and kiss those fat drops off of your face. But he can't.

"Listen, how about I make this up to you? Cafe Amore, 3pm. Tomorrow works?" Luigi asks, tilting his head down to catch your reaction. You look up with a gentle smile while wiping away at your tears.

"R-Really?" You ask and Luigi nods, prompting the previous anxiety to melt away and you let your arms drop to your side.

"Okay. Okay. Deal." You say and Luigi's smile widens impossibly more, nodding his head as he turns around but stops. You, getting ready to leave, also stop.

"Do you uh-" Luigi clears his throat, clearly blushing now. "Do you need help getting to class or- or wherever you're going?" You smile, feeling warm at his soothing voice and kind gesture, but you shake your head.

"No. I'm alright..." You pause. What's his name?

"Luigi." He fills it in and you nod, sniffling before you talk.

"I'm alright Luigi. I'll see you tomorrow." You giggle before walking away, limping with ease on your cast. Luigi watches from afar, his heartstrings breaking into two every time he watched you take a step on the same cast. He turns his head away, lightly placing his forehead against the wall.

He just fell in love and your eyes did the trick.

~

@cherrysolo and @luigis-wetdream (whoever the anon was that requested a bambi eyed reader, please tell them somehow a fic is being written for 'em bc idk who they are to tag them!!)

[ssa-danhotchner]

please i need a least angstier version of happier maybe reader has to go to a mision like s7 aaron in pakistan a he sees how much he really misses her

What we left behind | Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

note: I tried my best, I hope you like it!

english isn't my first language so please be kind

cw: BAU reader, beth is in here, angst, regret, past relationship struggles, unspoken feelings

wc: 1.5k maybe?

It wasn’t like you hated Beth.

She was kind, warm, and approachable—the kind of woman people gravitated toward without hesitation. She seemed good for Aaron, too. For all his years of shielding himself, she brought out something softer in him. When you saw them together, he smiled more. He laughed in a way that had felt rare, almost forgotten.

But watching them together hurt in a way you hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t jealousy exactly. It was grief.

Grief for what you and Aaron had been, for what you thought you might have been.

He was the one who ended it, after all.

You remembered the night so clearly it still stung, like a bruise you kept accidentally pressing. He’d invited you over, his voice softer than usual on the phone. At first, you thought nothing of it. But when you arrived, the heaviness in the air made your stomach twist.

Aaron wasn’t one to stumble over his words, but that night he did. “You mean the world to me,” he’d said, his voice breaking slightly. “But I can’t give you the life you deserve.”

You’d stared at him, stunned. “What are you talking about? We’re fine.”

“No, we’re not,” he said quietly, looking at you like it physically pained him. “You deserve someone who can be there for you, who isn’t constantly distracted by the job, who can give you all the things I can’t. And I... I can’t keep holding you back.”

His words shattered something in you. “I didn’t ask for perfect, Aaron. I asked for you.”

He closed his eyes, his jaw tight, and shook his head. “You’ll see, one day, that this is what’s best.”

You didn’t fight him after that. You couldn’t. And maybe some part of you even believed he was right. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

--

For months, you carried that pain with you like a shadow. You buried yourself in work, throwing yourself into cases until you were so exhausted you couldn’t think about anything else.

It helped, a little.

But then Beth showed up.

The team was supportive of Aaron’s new relationship, of course. They were profilers—they could see how happy Beth made him, and they teased him lightly about it. Even Rossi, who had a knack for keeping things professional, cracked a joke now and then about Aaron’s “smiling problem.”

You played along, smiling and laughing at the right moments, even as it chipped away at you.

“You okay?” Emily asked one day, catching you lingering at the coffee machine longer than usual.

“Yeah, fine” you replied quickly, avoiding her eyes.

Emily didn’t press, but the look she gave you made it clear she didn’t buy it.

---

When the opportunity to work with the State Department in Pakistan came up, you jumped at it. The mission would take you halfway across the world for months, giving you the distance you desperately needed from Aaron, Beth, and the suffocating reminders of what you’d lost.

“It’s a great opportunity” you told the team, forcing a smile as you shared the news during a team meeting.

Morgan gave you a skeptical look. “You sure about this, kid? Seems... sudden.”

“I’m sure,” you said firmly.

Rossi, always perceptive, gave you a knowing look but said nothing.

Aaron, however, was harder to read. He’d been quiet during the meeting, his dark eyes flicking to you now and then, but he didn’t say a word.

Later, as the team dispersed, he stopped you outside the conference room.

“You’re really going?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

“I am,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “You didn’t mention you were thinking about this.”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

Aaron flinched slightly, his jaw tightening. “Of course it matters.”

You sighed, softening your tone. “Look, this is a good opportunity for me. I need... a change.”

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he nodded. “Be careful,” he said quietly.

---

Pakistan was everything you expected and more. The work was intense, the days long, and the challenges endless. But it was exactly what you needed. The distance, the change in pace, the focus on something new—it all helped you start to piece yourself back together.

And yet, there were nights when the loneliness crept in, catching you off guard. You missed the team. You missed Garcia’s bright enthusiasm, Morgan’s playful teasing, JJ’s steady calm.

You missed Aaron.

You told yourself you didn’t have the right to miss him, not after everything. But you couldn’t help it. You missed the way he grounded you, the quiet strength he carried even in the hardest moments.

---

Back in Quantico, Aaron found himself drifting. The bullpen felt emptier without you, and he hated how often he caught himself looking at your desk, expecting to see you there.

He tried to focus on work, on Jack, on his relationship with Beth. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the nagging emptiness you’d left behind.

Beth noticed, of course. She was too perceptive not to.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said one evening as they sat on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand.

“I’ve just been busy,” he replied, though they both knew it wasn’t the whole truth.

Beth studied him for a moment before setting her glass down. “It’s because she’s gone, isn’t it?”

He froze, his heart skipping a beat.

Beth sighed, setting her wine glass down. “I’ve always felt like I was competing with someone who wasn’t even here.”

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said quietly, his throat tightening.

“I know you care about me, Aaron,” Beth said gently. “But it’s not enough, is it?”

He looked at her, guilt and regret twisting in his chest. “You deserve better than this. Better than me.”

Beth nodded, her eyes sad but understanding. “And so does she.”

---

When you returned to Quantico, the familiarity was both comforting and suffocating. The bullpen buzzed with the usual energy—Garcia’s colorful office lights glowed from the corner, Morgan leaned casually against Spence's desk, and Rossi greeted you with his characteristic warmth. But despite the smiles and hugs, there was a lingering sense of unease.

You tried to shake it off. You were home now, and that was what mattered.

But then you saw Aaron.

He stood at the far end of the bullpen, just outside his office, his dark eyes locked on you. The usual stoicism in his expression faltered as you met his gaze, something softer, almost hesitant, bleeding through.

Your breath caught in your chest. It had been months since you last saw him, and yet it felt like no time had passed at all. He looked the same—polished suit, perfect posture, the slight furrow of his brow that you’d memorized years ago.

He started walking toward you, his steps slow and deliberate. You tried to prepare yourself for the moment, but when he finally stopped in front of you, the carefully constructed walls around your heart wavered.

“Welcome back,” he said softly, his voice carrying a gravity that made your pulse race.

“Thanks,” you replied, forcing a small smile, though your throat felt tight.

There was a beat of silence. The bullpen buzzed with life around you, but all you could focus on was him—the way his eyes lingered on your face, the way he seemed like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

“Can we talk?” he asked finally, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

You hesitated. Part of you wanted to say no, to protect yourself from whatever this conversation might bring. But the way he looked at you—vulnerable and intent—made it impossible to refuse.

“Yeah,” you said quietly.

He led you to his office, holding the door open for you before closing it behind him. The sound of the latch clicking seemed to echo, amplifying the tension in the room.

You stood awkwardly near the desk while he lingered by the door, as if trying to keep some distance between you.

“How was it?” he asked, gesturing vaguely. “Pakistan, I mean.”

“It was... intense” you admitted. “Challenging, but good. It gave me a lot to think about.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening as he seemed to weigh his next words. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Thanks” you said again, the word feeling hollow on your tongue. You couldn’t take the tension anymore. “Aaron, what did you want to talk about?”

His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, and when he finally looked at you, his eyes were heavy with regret.

“I owe you an apology” he said, his voice low and rough.

You blinked, startled. “An apology? For what?”

“For walking away” he said, stepping closer. His gaze held yours, steady but full of something you couldn’t quite name. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought letting you go would... would give you the chance to find someone better, someone who could give you what I couldn’t.”

Your heart clenched painfully at his words, but before you could respond, he continued.

“But I was wrong” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt both of us. And every day you were gone, I felt it—I felt how wrong I was.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. “Aaron, I—”

“I missed you” he interrupted, taking another step closer. “Every day you were gone, I missed you. And I realized that I’d rather spend my life trying to be enough for you than spend another day without you.”

Tears blurred your vision, but you blinked them away, trying to process his words.

“You ended it” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You told me I deserved better.”

“I thought I was doing the selfless thing,” he admitted, his expression pained. “But all I did was rob us of the chance to fight for what we had. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The rawness in his voice cracked something open inside you.

“Aaron, I...” You trailed off, shaking your head as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I don’t even know what to say.”

He stepped closer again, closing the remaining distance between you. “You don’t have to say anything. Just... tell me if there’s still a chance. If there’s even a small part of you that still feels the same way.”

His vulnerability was overwhelming. This was Aaron Hotchner—the man who never wavered, never let his guard down. And yet here he was, standing before you, baring his heart.

“I missed you too” you admitted finally, your voice breaking. “But I don’t know if I can do this again. I don’t know if I can survive losing you a second time.”

“You won’t” he said firmly, his hand twitching at his side like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I swear to you, I won’t let you down again. I’ll fight for this—for us. Every day, if I have to.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way his dark eyes held yours, left you breathless.

And in that moment, you realized something: you still loved him. You always had.

Slowly, you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. His breath hitched at the contact, but he didn’t pull away.

“Okay” you said softly, your voice trembling but sure. “Let’s try again.”

Aaron’s shoulders sagged with relief, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

And as he squeezed your hand, you felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

---

[clappingandcheering]

Hii baby, how are you? I wanted to ask Percy something where the reader's relationship with Percy has all 5 love languages? And it's so cute and romantic🙃

I'm so good!!! I hope this is what you meant?? It's like how Percy would show each love language, if that makes sense. I tried!

(Percy Jackson x Reader)

"All the Ways I Love You"

It was one of those quiet nights at Camp Half Blood. The kind where the campfire was flickering in the distance, but it was mostly calm—no monsters, no quests, no chaos. Just the gentle sound of the ocean and the occasional laughter from the cabins.

You were lying on a blanket outside your cabin, your head resting on Percy’s chest as he traced lazy circles on your arm. His fingers were warm against your skin, his touch gentle, and you couldn’t help but smile. You were comfortable here, wrapped in his presence.

“You know, you’re really good at this whole'making me feel loved’ thing,” you said, glancing up at him.

Percy chuckled, his hand stopping its movement to cup your face. “You make it easy.” His thumb brushed across your cheek, and you felt your heart flutter. “Besides, you deserve all the love in the world.”

You smiled, feeling the full weight of the affection in his words. But there was something in his tone, something about the way he said it, that made you think about just how much he loved you—and all the different ways he showed it.

Percy shifted so that he could look you in the eyes, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away. He was always a bit awkward with words, but when it came to you, he found a way to speak to your heart.

“You know you’re amazing, right?” He said softly, his voice low but full of sincerity. “Like, I’m seriously lucky to have you. You’re strong and kind, and you make everything better just by being you.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, and you couldn't help but laugh softly. “I’m not that amazing.”

“Yes, you are,” Percy said, his gaze never leaving yours. “And I’m going to keep telling you that until you believe me.”

You leant up to kiss him—a soft, lingering kiss that was all about how much you cared for him. But it wasn’t just that kiss—it was everything he said. You could feel his love in every word and every whisper.

Later, when the night air grew cooler, you pulled your jacket tighter around you, shivering slightly. Without a word, Percy stood up and quickly pulled off his hoodie, wrapping it around your shoulders. He didn’t even wait for you to ask; he just did it because he knew you’d need it.

“You’re going to freeze out here if you don’t wear this,” he said, his voice teasing but gentle as he adjusted the hoodie around you.

“I wasn’t cold before, but now that you mention it..." you smiled, feeling the warmth of both the hoodie and his thoughtfulness.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Percy said, sitting back down next to you. “It’s just what I do.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the quiet love in every little thing he did.

The next morning, you woke up to find a small bag of chocolate—your favourite brand—by your bedside. A note was tucked inside that simply read, Thought you might need some sweetness today.

You smiled, recognising Percy’s handwriting, though it was a little messy. He didn’t know much about buying the “perfect” gift, but he always knew exactly what you liked.

When you found him later by the lake, you teased him, holding up the bag of chocolate. “What’s this?”

Percy grinned sheepishly. “I saw it and thought of you. Figured it could make your day a little sweeter.”

You wrapped your arms around him, your heart swelling with affection. “You always know just what I need.”

“Guess I’ve learned a thing or two about you,” he said with a wink, and you kissed him again, feeling the sweetness of both the chocolate and his gesture.

The day continued with the two of you walking along the beach, talking about everything and nothing. Percy made you laugh with his usual jokes, but there was also something soft and serious in the way he’d listen to you—whether you were venting about something small or sharing a memory from your past.

Every moment with him felt like a treasure—just being in each other’s company made everything feel right. You didn’t need grand adventures or flashy gestures; the quiet moments of being together were enough.

“I love just being here with you,” you said, slipping your hand into his.

Percy smiled, his eyes lighting up. “Me too. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

You didn’t need to say anything more. The way he held your hand, how he kept stealing glances at you with that goofy, love-sick grin, told you all you needed to know. Being with him was always enough.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky with hues of pink and orange, Percy pulled you into his arms, holding you close as you both sat on the sand. His fingers gently brushed through your hair, and you felt his chest rise and fall against your back with each slow breath.

You snuggled into him, feeling safe, loved, and completely content. His touch was grounding, and every small caress of his hand on your skin sent sparks through you.

“I could stay like this forever,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You smiled softly, tilting your head to look up at him. “I’d like that.”

And in that moment, you realised that Percy didn’t just love you in one way. He loved you in all the ways that mattered—in every word, every action, every moment spent together. His love was full and infinite, wrapped in gestures both big and small.

"I love you, Percy," you whispered.

"I love you more," he whispered back, and then kissed you softly, tenderly, as if the world outside of the two of you didn’t exist.

With Percy, love wasn’t just something you felt—it was something you experienced in every way, every day. And somehow, it only made you love him more.

[kirbmey]

une lecture d'été — dad’sassistant!zayne x reader

synopsis: where zayne is your dads assistant for the summer while you stay at your vacay home back in france; on an especially hot day you ask him to read for you on the pool ૮꒰ྀི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა

tw: suggestive (what did u expect from me atp), heavily based on call me by your name, zayne’s around 30 and reader is 20, 80’s setting, he’s a bit of a tease, etc.

june 10th, woke up at 6 am to catch a ride towards your family summer house in crema, a quiet countryside town in france.

it was nothing new since you used to go every summer and every winter with your parents, to have a break from the busy city back at home.

but this time it felt different, more exciting. your father, a very well known history and archeology professor, was having his internship assistant over to show him the ancient ruins that decorated the nearby beaches your family loved to visit on the heatwaves.

who would this man be, old or young? with saddening or cheerful features? long or short hair? tall? fit? well spoken? you couldn’t stop daydreaming about how he’d look.

the name ‘zayne’ became part of your father’s vocabulary some months ago, praising his ideas and hard work at almost every dinner.

you heard so much about him you felt like you actually knew him already, knowing that he wore shirts most days to the lectures (way too open for your father’s liking), that there was always a watch surrounding his wrist. you even knew when he cut or trimmed his hair, your dad paying attention to every detail and loving a little bit of gossip.

once you three arrived to the white old looking villa you skipped happily towards the tall entryway, excited to finally breathe in the scent of the sea and feel the humidity stick to your skin and hair.

what you didn’t expect when your housemaid opened the door was to see a young and tall gentleman sitting in the lobby, reading a national geographic magazine trough a pair of black framed glasses.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“jesus, zayne, how unexpected to see you here already!” your father laughed loudly as he approached him, noticing on how said assistant wanted to shake hands, the older man going for a tight hug instead.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“sorry if this was too sudden, I’ve been really excited about coming here. the housemaid even showed me the library you’ve got, it’s amazing.” he said apologetically, corresponding the hug and flashing a wide smile, taking in the way his canines where shaped.

you just stood there pretending you were waiting for your mother who was catching up with the housemaid, watching both masculine figures slowly walk away while talking about some book you couldn’t bear much about.

later at night you decided to make your first move, going down the noisy wooden stairs with excitement to show off your summer dress, waking through the long hallways decorated with swinging lacy white curtains.

there was only him sitting on the patio table, reading again, a book with a deep blue cover this time. the title could read “mythos”, a volume of myths your dad used to read you so you could sleep at night when you were too afraid of the dark.

you chose to sit down next to him, gaining his attention and a little smile momentarily before he went back to his reading. you stretched to grab a piece of homemade bread from the table as you spoke in a shy voice.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“y’know, my dad used to read that book to me when i was younger.” now he paid full attention to you, staring at your cherry cola eyes and putting the tome down.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“aren’t you young still?” he teased smirking, noticing how your cheeks heated at the comment. he lowly chuckled, sipping his wine before speaking again.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“sorry, haven’t introduced myself yet, i’m zayne, your dads—”, “assistant, i know, you’re the only person he’s been talking about lately.” you accidentally interrupt him; he didn’t mind if it meant he could listen to you honey-like voice a little bit more.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“uh, is that so?” he sifted his position on the chair, turning to look at you directly while crossing one leg over the other, doing the same thing with his arms. his biceps noticeable under the white fabric of his shirt.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“yup, i know so much about you already.” you said without thinking too much. wasn’t it weird to say such a thing to a man you just met?

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“well, i hope i can get to know many things about you as well.” he lightly responded, drifting his gaze to the opposite sight when he saw you parents approaching the lame table.

dinner was easier to get through than you expected, the chicken moira, the housemaid, cooked too delicious to bother on speaking or participating in conversations.

it wasn’t too late yet, but you were already feeling sleepy, so you excused yourself and took slow steps to your bedroom, gaining a ‘good night’ from everyone, even zayne.

he was all you could think about when you laid down on the spring mattress, rolling around as you made stupid scenarios in your head about how good and warm and tight a hug from him would feel, about how soft his dark locks had to be, about how big and nice and strong his hands were…

needless to say, you didn’t sleep much that night, finally drifting away imagining the pillow you were hugging was the assistant’s chest.

june 11th, woke up at 8 am sweating horribly. you easily felt hot, and it was no help when humidity was the thing that predominated in that side of the country.

so you stood up, washed your face and teeth and dressed with a simple white bikini to hit the swimming pool after having breakfast; zayne wasn’t at the table that morning and you couldn’t help but feel annoyed.

after a few minutes you ran towards the pool thrilled, getting some reprimands from your parents to which you made def ears.

you jumped inside, got refreshed and let the water wake up your senses before noticing a figure reclining in one of the lounge chairs once your head was out.

it was the man you missed so much earlier, naked chest, unbuttoned deep blue shirt and a pair of bermuda shorts decorating his beautiful body, accompanied by black sunglasses and, of course, yesterday’s book.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“careful, lady, you don’t want to ruin the pages of your dad’s book now, do you?” he said while he sat down on the edge of said lounge chair, taking off his glasses to look at the heavely imagine in front of him; you, all wet.

believe it or not, he couldn’t stop thinking about you last night, either. something about you vainilla perfume and your adorable voice got stuck in his head.

and yeah, he also made stupid scenarios about you. wanted to know what was your favorite chapter from the tome you father gave him, to ask what you were studying; and wanted to know your name that you didn’t share the night prior.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“sorry, didn’t notice you there…” you mumbled, approaching the pool’s trim to look up to him from underneath, laying your head on top of your arms. were you teasing him, perhaps?

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“that’s okay, don’t worry.” he simply said. a few minutes of an uncomfortable silence, you stared at the tile floor while he stared at you, talking a little bit softer this time. “did you sleep well?”

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“actually? no. been rolling around my bed all night.” you mutter while tracing the trim’s pattern with a finger. he just hums not really knowing how to respond and there’s another awkward silence that you happen to break this time.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“could you read f’me, zaynie, please?” maybe his tender voice reading one of the already known chapters would help you sleep tonight; you weren’t shy to ask ‘cause you noticed his gaze on you the whole time.

he simply nodded, not wanting to ruin the intimate moment you both managed to build so quickly, pulling the lounge chair closer to the edge were you rested so he could shield your delicate skin from the burning sun.

you tried your best to not fall asleep, his american accent and the way he rolled the r’s a relaxing sound that calmed your brain.

both of you shared your thoughts on the different chapters, telling him stories from your childhood when he reached a page your dad used to exaggerate his voice to, the assistant feeling like he knew you now a little bit better.

zayne found himself on the obligation to finish up the reading season when he noticed the sun going down and your eyes slowly closing, reaching a hand to caress your cheek with a thumb to make you look up to him.

and so you did, pushing in the comforting touch of his palm and getting out of the now kinda cold water with his help, thanking him as you felt a big towel surrounding your smaller frame.

he wouldn’t admit he maybe stared at your eyes locking with his from above for way too long, or the way your breast’s pressed against the tile wall from the pool and took you to dinner. here you were again.

sat down together again, ate leftover chicken again, but you didn’t remain quiet this time, joining the conversation to share thoughts with the three other people at the table.

zayne scooted closer to you little by little, brushed his leg with yours and even dared to rub your knee under the table, hiding from your parents lurking eyes; they knew something was going on but didn’t really worried about it. they liked him for you.

summer passed away too fast for your preference, getting caught up in the nights you sneaked into zayne’s bedroom and shared not-so-innocent kisses from time to time, listening to him read while you painted your nails or brushed your hair, going along the expeditions your dad took him to so you could walk with him by the shore.

now, you were always glued to the landline talking to him while you impatiently waited for winter to share your days with him again when you weren’t visiting him at college, getting scolded by your father every time he saw you there.

a/n: i wrote this with someone else in mind, but decided to change to zayne last minute ( ;´ - `;)

— masterlist.

[love-and-war-on-cybertron]

Since you mentioned dead dove request. 👉👈 Could it be possible to request Synthetic Energon!Ratchet? I feel like that mech would do unspeakable things when horny.

Maybe he has a crush on reader who is a mechanic helping him out, and he gets jealous when he sees reader bond with Knock Out now that he doesn't have the medbay and you to himself. Reader could casually offer to buff/polish Knock and that pushes Ratchet over the edge and just yanks you and takes you to his quarters after giving you the silent treatment all day. Highly doubt that mech would show any restrains.

"How's it Hummin'" Will forever be HOT. Like goddamn sleazy but HOT. Sorry It's being split into a two-parter XP

cw: Heavy Dub-con. Reader wants it, but maybe not quite like that.

It had been innocent. Or so you thought. Ratchet had been moody, especially ever since he tried that synthetic crap. Ignoring you all day, even when you came directly to him, asking if you could help with anything. The huff you received in return was enough to know you didn't want to deal with whatever he was upset about.

Knockout was better company today anyways.

The formerly Decepticon Medic had warmed up to you despite being human. You knew your stuff and didn't joke or distrust him for being a turn coat. You could even share a few laughs and talk about Movies. He offered to let you ride with him to see one at the drive in.

Ratchet mumbled something. You assumed it was annoyance at what ever project he was working on. After some chitchat, you and Knock Out get to work, snarking back and forth. It was a project you had been working on for awhile. Something Ratchet said you didn't need his help on.

A couple hours in, you're taking a break, sitting next to Knock out. He holds up an arm, sighing at a scuff.

"I miss Breakdown. He could get this out and polish it away like it never happened." He seemed lost in thought for a moment.

Knowing what happened to his friend, you felt a little bad, "Well maybe I can Buff that out for you later?" Ratchet drops a tool but you pay it no mind, "I got some tool in my truck if you're okay with human tools. I could-" You stop, seeing Knockout's face.

He isn't looking at you, but past you, Optics wide. Heavy footsteps rapidly approach and knockout backs away, servos held up. He speaks in Cybertronian. There is a sharp response behind you before you are snatched up.

The grip is a bight tight, but nothing damaging. You try to struggle out of it but you're brought up quickly to meet green Optics. "Quiet."

It's Ratchet. What was up his aft? You try to speak again, but he growls at you. The sound and vibration sending a shiver down your spine. He stomps through the base all the way to his quarters. Far in the back. He liked the quiet. You are none-too-gently dumped onto the slap of rock he made into a berth. The room is dark, save for the glow of his eyes. The green makes you uneasy. As does the way he leans close, servos flat on either side of you.

"What's up Ratchet?" You sit up on your elbows, heart racing, trying to keep your voice steady.

The Medic glares down at you, silent. Servos dragging off of the slab as he stands straight. Glowering down at you, he looked even more massive.

"Getting real fragging close to that Con." He spits the last word out.

"He's not a decepticon anymore. You know tha-'

A massive metal fist slams down beside you, his face close. You're bathed in that sick green light. Vision drowned in his optics. His voice, a tense whisper.

"Getting. Real. close."

You start shaking, unable to look away as the mechanics of his optics shift and focus on you. Who was this, cause it sure as hell wasn't Ratchet. All this change started with...

"Ratchet. Come on. You-" you take a shaky breath, "You haven't been yourself. Lets just-"

"No." His voice is firm as he grabs your ankle and drags you to the edge of the berth, "I have never felt more myself. Stronger. Faster. Better. Can't you see it? Can't you see I'm better than everyone else? Especially that scrap excuse for a doctor?"

Trying to scoot away only made his hold on you tighten enough to earn a grunt.

"The frag do you see in him, when I'm right in front of you?"

You had always suspected something, Ratchet was a bit softer with you compared to the other humans. Always excluding you from his complaints about humans. Taking time to talk to you, teaching you about Cybertronian physiology. But this...

"Ratchet, that shit is making you act weird." You say, reaching out to touch the servo that grips you. The large Metal thumb running up and down your leg. It sent another shiver down your spine.

"No, I'ts making me act just right. I'm not holding back anymore." His thumb slides under your shirt.

[linics]

comforting bllk characters

featuring : i. rin, m. reo, m. kaiser

a/n : hi so ummm im back .!!! did you guys miss me ?? anyways my writers block was HORRIBLE but im recovered now i think. let’s ignore how ooc kaisers probably is because its based off of fics ive seen + edits. i’ll redo it later.

i. rin

as i referenced in the one where they comfort you, rin would be very closed off emotionally. even so, he’s like a fucking book with how he behaves.

it doesn’t take you long to realize just how much the u-20 game affected him. as much as he tried to turn his annoyance into motivation and actually doing something with it, sometimes it would become too much. whether that looks like him overworking himself or lashing out, it’ll always show through.

the most you could do is make sure he stays safe during it. showing up to the field at weird hours, ruining your sleep schedule, just to give him more water and a ride home considering he ran all the way there.

“why’re you here?” he’d scoff, panting slightly from all the work.

“woke up early, thought i’d stop by,” you lied, yes, but it was fine. he didn’t need to know you’d set at least 10 alarms to make sure you’d wake up and stay up.

he didn’t respond, so you just handed him a large water bottle. it was a spare, but it also was the biggest you’d had, so it’d have to make do.

“thanks.” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. the cold barrier that’d been there slowly flexing and melting away.

he wasn’t someone that you could just befriend instantly. every time the two of you hung out, you’d have to prove to him that you were there to stay. it was gradual.

most people gave up after the first couple of times when they realized they were practically back to where they started. that was except for you.

after taking a few sips of the water, he hands it back to you, not wanting it to interfere with his training. you grabbed it from him, then wandered over to the sidelines.

“where are you going?” he asked, though, if you paid enough attention, you’d notice he was anxious. very anxious.

“just over here, i don’t want you to hit me..” you said calmly, trying to lighten it slightly. you were careful to not wander too far from him.

he didn’t say anything to you afterwards, but you noticed the tension loosened again.

even though he wouldn’t let you interfere — which you have tried — he’d still let you care for him. maybe he knew it was because you’d get anxious and blame yourself if he didn’t let you help in some way.

m. reo

he would be anxious. i don’t care if this is ‘out of character’. for the most part, yeah he doesn’t stress much because he hasn’t had much to worry about. but the second he gets stressed out, he stresses, a lot. and because he hasn’t been exposed to much stress, he’s absolutely clueless on how to cope.

he’d be laying in bed — at his desk now? nope, he’s pacing. point being, he just can’t sit still, and god, he won’t stop babbling about nonsense.

“reo.” for the hundredth time, he’d cut you off completely. this was coming from the guy who felt it was rude to type when other people were typing, so you let it slide.

“and then — oh yeah, did you say something?” finally, some recognition.

“come sit down in front of me,” you pat the bed, clearing off the blankets so he could just crawl in. he did just that, sitting in front of you, his back facing you.

“like this?” he was always so hesitant with you. but you just responded in a hum of approval. you carefully started combing through his hair with your fingers, occasionally grazing his scalp and briefly massaging it. his hair was silky and clean.

he became quieter, his muscles slowly relaxing and calming.

“so, you wanna tell me what’s wrong?” you spoke quietly, careful to not ruin the calmness of the moment.

“it’s nothing big—” you stopped in your movements as he said that, and he knew that meant you were displeased.

“okay, okay, fine..” he mumbled.

m. kaiser

okay so.. i feel like now’s the perfect time for me to say i have not gotten to where he is in the manga. um! so what i planned to do for this is write how i think he acts, then correct it later on whenever i do catch up. i think i get him a bit though ?? currently i see him as a self destructive possibly alcoholic man. who takes after his dad who was abusive and an alcoholic, mom wasn’t in the picture. no clue how any of that relates to soccer but sure! i’ve heard a lot that he hits himself / chokes himself as a way of coping (after doing some research it’s for ideas. okay.) so that’s the route we’re gonna take with that. no clue if it’s true or not.

he really didn’t get it. no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t figure himself out. how was he supposed to understand others and beat others if he couldn’t even understand himself? he needed ideas—

was it illogical? yes, absolutely. did it work? also yes.

adrenaline from anything could be put to use to benefit. so, he did the thing he’s done for ages. maybe he’s began to rely on it for too long so he reached to it for the smallest things, he didn’t really care, though.

it worked, and until it stopped working, he wouldn’t stop abusing his body for his brain. it was nothing more than a vessel, anyways.

“kaiser.” even through your voice, his choking movements didn’t falter.

“just fuckin’ stop for a moment-” you were the only person he really let talk to him like that, even though it wasn’t often that you took advantage of it.

it worked enough for him to stop, just for a moment and catch his breath. it’s not like he wanted to pass out, anyways. the second he let go, you grabbed his hands.

“what is it?” he huffed, his voice groggy and rough.

“don’t do that. ‘what is it?’, you know exactly what it is.” it wasn’t uncommon for you to be mad at him or mildly rude, but even keeping it up for this long was abnormal.

“it works, well, it would’ve, if you didn’t disrupt me.” he rolled his eyes.

“that’s not the point and you know it.”

“then what is it?”

there was a silence for a few moments before you just decided to ask outright.

“what do you need help with this time?” you were still a bit petty, but you just hoped he wouldn’t pay too much attention to it.

“doesn’t concern you.”

“i’ll make it concern me. tell me.”

“why would i do that?”

god, was he always this annoying?

“okay, fine, whatever it is, i won’t interfere. how about you tell me, and if i can’t think of a solution by tomorrow, you can do whatever this is.”

there was another long silence as he considered it. it was appealing — all he had to do was tell you, and you could do all the work. the backup was there and it was exactly what he wanted. there wasn’t much time left in the day anyways.

“fine. tomorrow first thing.”

[feral4fiktion]

I just have so many thoughts about this date, I need to expel them.

1. He CAN'T "Just try it". You even say in a later option he can't eat. Also, he's smelled coffee before. We know this bc he always says LUCANIS smells like coffee. Which leads to point 2.

2. The sheer disappointment in his voice that Lucanis got him something he's been smelling on a daily basis for weeks already KILLS me every time, but in a funny way. He's not MAD, just disappointed bc he probably thought he was getting out to try something new, just to get more of the same, but hey...he's out so it's not worth a fight. Leading to point 3

3. This shows so much growth for Spite that he's not trying to be Spiteful that Lucanis didn't get him something/do something he wanted. If this had happened right after the Ossuary Spite would be spilling the cup /screaming in his ear that this isn't what he wants. I could go on and on about how sweet his "character growth is" especially how it's tied directly to his human counterpart.

4. This is the first time outside of the Lighthouse Lucanis isn't wearing armor. He's grown a trust in the Crows of his city to protect their First Talon, whether bc of being First Talon or bc he has learned to trust others bc of Rook or the Veilguard.

5. As sweet as the whole conversation is, I'm sorry, but the way he hovers over Rook at the end creeps me out every time, and I hate that's the last real moment I get of him in game besides his comments before the final battle. Like he's been great so far, I expected like a hand hold or at most a knuckle-kiss. Instead he got up to hover...just felt awkward to me. Which leads to 6.

6. IM SO HAPPY HE DOESNT GO OVERVOARD ON PDA. I know it's controversial, but even without armor on Lucanis Dellamorte is a guarded person who's barely come to grips with being in a relationship after dreaming of one for years. Throw in the demisexuality, and like I mentioned before, a quick hand-kiss feels like the most intimate thing he COULD EVER DO in public. And that's beautiful to me. Cuz that felt like they really thought out his character (which i already knew they did).

Just some thoughts I've needed to put somewhere. Might flesh out or edit later.

[crossroadsangel67]

MDNI. NSFW. 18+

as always, dean takes you out for a drive and… other stuff in the backseat of the impala.

warnings: car sex, piv, gentle sex, not really much else, passionate, slow, romance, fluff, lovey-dovey type shyt

REQUESTED

nights like these are your favorite.

dean doesn’t like to show it to anyone but you, but he’s a romantic. you’ve known it since the day you met him. he puts thought into every little thing he offers you. whether that be a picnic, a movie night, or simply a drive in the impala.

he always did it the same on nights like these. he’d ask you to go out for a drive with him, you’d ask him to take you, doesn’t matter which. either way, going for a drive late at night meant dean putting that cheesy mixtape of love songs—the one he made for you on your first anniversary—into the tape deck, and very badly singing every lyric to every song.

your laugh is what kept that going. he knows that when the day comes where he’ll be sent to heaven, your beautiful laugh is the first thing he’ll be greeted with. if not, he didn’t make it to heaven at all.

dean parked at your favorite spot, as usual. out in an old abandoned lot that hung over a lake. that lake was always littered with twinkling lights in the distance. the stars, porch lamps from the other side, people out on their boats, you name it.

you’d both start off giggling as he kissed all over your face and neck, not daring to miss a spot. that would quickly turn into you cackling as he bites at your skin, exaggerating growls and smiling through them.

he’d take his sweet time with you, pulling off every piece of clothing like he was unwrapping gold—because he was.

dean always took care of you first. that’s who he is. and you let him, because you know it’s what makes him happy, and it for sure makes you happy.

you were incredibly lovesick for each other. so much so that you were sure a love like this only existed in the romance movies and novels you yearned to have a love like. only to find that, later in life, everything you ever dreamed of was personified.

dean winchester was everything to you. and maybe he’s not perfect, but he treats you like you’re perfect. and that’s what matters. it’s all you could’ve ever asked for.

“god, you’re so perfect, baby…” he breathed out against your bare chest. your head rolled back as he sucked on your nipple, twirling his tongue around to make it hard.

your fingers were tangled in his short locks, and he groaned at your nails lightly scratching his scalp. he pulled off of your tit with a pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips with your hardened nipple.

dean pulled his t-shirt off, carelessly tossing it to the floor as he pulled you against his body. you straddled his lap, slowly grinding against the growing bulge in his pants. he gasped against your lips, your breaths mixing as the heat grew between the two of you.

his hands, splayed across your back, pulled you impossibly close to him, your bodies pressed up against each other, fitting perfectly like a completed puzzle.

his lips lightly brushed over your neck. you took notice of how he seemed to be extra gentle with you tonight. his touch was soft, a contrast in the roughness of his hands.

lust was an awesome thing. pretty damn enjoyable, to him and you. but what made it so special was that the love was prioritized. you could feel it.

the way he touched you, the way he smiled, the way his eyes sparkled in the moonlight at the sight of you on top of him while the two of you are in the backseat.

you felt so warm, so content here with him.

tonight in particular, it was almost as if the two of you were cuddling. you were as close together as you could possibly be. skin to skin in all places once the rest of your clothes were discarded to the pile on the floor.

dean whimpers softly, his breath hot over your neck as the two of you slowly rolled your hips together. your arms were wrapped around each other, and every word of praise, every small noise, every movement felt like a pure piece of heaven.

it all made you wonder how something that’s supposed to be sinful could feel so unmistakably innocent.

he lifts his head, resting his forehead against yours as your mouth drops open wider in this fuzzy state of ecstasy.

small whines leave your lips as you soak in the feeling of him, in every aspect.

“dean,” you let his name fall from your lips in a desperate whisper, your way of asking for more. more of what? you don’t know, and you don’t care.

just more of him. that’ll do just fine.

he chuckles breathlessly, smiling through the heavy amount of pleasure coursing through him.

“y’sound so pretty, honey. keep talking to me.” he mumbles out, his eyes opening to be met with yours, foreheads still resting against each other.

your cheeks redden as you bite your lip, holding back a smile. you tend to get shy when he gives you compliments like these, and he finds it crazy adorable.

he giggles as you hide your face in his neck, the blush evident on your face.

“awh, c’mon, baby. no need to get all shy on me,” he fake pouts, pulling back just enough to get a good look at you. his eyes are glowing with a lovesick sparkle.

you blush harder when the two of you make eye contact again. and he takes the opportunity to tease you even further. one delicious roll of his hips and a whine leaves your throat as you squeeze your eyes shut.

“how’s that?” he mumbles, kissing you on the cheek. you mumble a response in your daze, but it was barely loud enough for him to hear.

“mmph… s’good…” you lift your head up and start meeting his hips again, sighing a breath into him as your lips brushed together.

his head rolls back against the seat and yours rolls back the opposite way as you let out a groan. your arms tighten around his shoulders and when you bring your head back down, your forehead smacks against his. looks like he also happened to be lifting his head.

“ow, shit—you okay, baby?” dean winces.

you just start uncontrollably giggling, which leads to a snort, which has dean bursting out into laughter in a second.

dean gets caught in the moment while you’re laughing with your head on his shoulder.

you’re so magical. he doesn’t deserve you. at least, he really thinks he doesn’t. but he’s too selfish to ever let you go. you were too immaculate in that man’s eyes.

you made nights like these special for him. sex in the backseat of the car. it’s sounds silly, like you’re teenagers sneaking out in the middle of the night, praying your parents won’t catch you.

but you turned it into something romantic, something that can be fun and enjoyable, while also slow and steady. the two of you could stay in this car all night, and never get sick of it.

dean used to get sick of it. he started getting sick of all the women who wanted a quick fuck in the car. did he want it too? absolutely. but it was different for him.

he’s a person of intimacy, of connection. not just a quickie that doesn’t mean anything with someone who can’t remember his name. it was never fun, and he could never take his time to treasure anyone in the backseat of his beloved car. and he got tired of it.

then came you. and just like most things in his life—you changed this for him. you made it more enjoyable than he could’ve imagined. and your laugh is a heaven sent.

he suddenly stops laughing, but his smiling remains wide as he admires you giggling. he often has moments like these where he’s just so irrevocably in love with you.

your laughter slows and you’re in awe by the way he’s looking at you. the way that he’s not at all afraid to show it is what makes you smile wider.

the heavy weights that you carry in your day to day lives, yet he’s the most lighthearted, kind, careful man you have ever known.

and he’s never been afraid to cherish every part of you.

“you can’t even begin to fathom how much i love you.” he shakes his head, scoffing in disbelief, kissing all over your face as your giggling picks back up again.

he carefully flips the two of you over, laying you down across the backseat as he rests on top of you, kissing you deeply on the lips.

“you love me?! i didn’t notice!” you gasped in a sarcastic yet lighthearted tone.

now dean was the one with red cheeks and a shy expression. he nuzzled his face into your neck as your smile grew wider.

“no need to get all shy on me, sweetheart.” you mocked playfully in a gruff voice. a chuckle escaped his lips and he lifted his head again. his eyelids hung low as he scanned the details of your face.

“i ever tell you how much i love nights like these?”

sorry i’ve been so inactive these past few weeks—i promise more one shots and reqs will be out soon :3

love you, fellow freaks

MASTERLIST

[gayofthefae]

If you truly ignore Byler proof, there's a 50% chance. Because there is a 50% chance that a random guy in Arizona (with the last name Duffer) opened his laptop and typed out "boys kiss" and emailed it to a bunch of actors. For all the talk on how difficult it is to get a single shot, writing that is actually surprisingly simple and fast.

You're convinced that the people in your real life you believe are straight are, and honestly? That's what this is about. You can process that later, but do process it. Mike, however, is completely made up. Fictional. Doesn't exist. He is a puppet controlled by writers with free will. His relationship with a woman has 0 bearing on his queerness, (especially if he's bisexual, jesus christ guys, dating El doesn't disprove bisexuality).

At most baseline of a love triangle I'd say it's a coin flip.

People act like it's harder to write "Mike kisses Will instead" than to write, say "Nancy kisses Steve instead" because of their OWN mental block of him being queer. But there aren't actually any extra steps. All Mike has to do to have feelings for Will is say he does. All Finn has to do is act like it.

It is not as difficult to make a character queer as it is for you to accept them as queer, and that's what people are equating. It does not require any additional effort than any other situation in which one character is wanted by two characters. It is equally easy to put them with either one.

People act like just because Mike doesn't currently have overt feelings for Will that there are lots of steps on the road to that. There aren't.

The most planless, bullshit way of doing it they could do is to say "everything up until now - the I love you, all of it, was 100% true, but in this year and a half time jump, I have developed feelings for Will". A slightly better quality, equally as easy one would be "I believed everything I said and did was true, but I realized during this time jump that this whole time I actually had feelings for Will. I believed my actions but that doesn't make them true." Rewatchable, which we know they want.

Then, of course, the most commonly understood one, "I really believed I/was in love with you seasons 1-4 but learning that Will was the one behind the painting and that he knew me so well and made me feel so loved and felt that way made me realize I love him now." Cyrano, of course. We've seen it before, we know how it ends.

I, of course, prefer the more complicated, and therefore more accurate - and simply more interesting - versions, but this is on the assumption that they did not intend it and changed their minds when they sat down for season 5 or something.

Still easy as hell. So fucking easy. Tell Finn to look goofy at Will, don't even have to right lines about it, then have him talk to El and say any of the above lines. Written as bad as that, it doesn't totally matter. He will then, canonically and from the show's beginning when you rewatch it, be queer. Period, full stop. Tap Finn Wolfhard on the shoulder and whisper "be gay" and your job is done. It is very, very easy, actually.

People think that because represents him, they know everything about him automatically. But there are cases where you aren't him. You're the people around him. And just like them, you think he's straight. There are things I think about him that are projections of me, not analyses of the character. Yours is that he's straight. That came from you, not him.

People only act like it's hard because it's hard for them to wrap their heads around. But these aren't people who are magnetically repelled based on gender attraction. They're barbie dolls you're mashing together. You can pick whichever ones you want.

You may be Mike Wheeler. But the writers are 2x06 Erica Sinclair.

if a character canonically has a crush on another character (assuming it's legal), that means that the ship is a possibility. it's on the table. there's a chance of a relationship there. maybe if one of the characters is 100% canon confirmed not to be attracted to the gender of the other character, you could argue there's no chance, but unless they've outright stated so, it's on the table. it's an option. stop telling us byler isn't fucking possible. call it unlikely if you want - it's still an option now, whether you like it or not. get the fuck off my ass

[dcdreamblog]

Greetings. I’ll admit, I have no way of knowing for sure how much of what I’m about to ask would really be in your usual wheelhouse, but I couldn’t help but wonder if I could ask for information on the Teen Titans…or more specifically, the lineup featuring Dick Grayson (when he was still Robin and hadn’t yet become Nightwing), Starfire, Beast Boy, Raven, and Cyborg. You see, I’ve been a HUGE fan of this team ever since I saw the ‘dramatized retelling’ cartoon about them from the early 2000s as a child. And I’ve not only continued to remain a fan of such in the years since, but also worked to try to gain as much knowledge as I could through reading as many sources as I could find and making educated speculations from there to the best of my ability. However, in light of just how knowledgeable you appear to be, I was wondering if you could give an explanation on the history of that line-up, how accurate that 2000s ‘dramatized retelling’ cartoon was compared to the real thing, and what those five in particular are currently up to nowadays (up to and including their current relationship status if such isn’t too gossipy for you, as I’ve always felt that Starfire was a better endgame girlfriend for Nightwing than Barbara Gordon and am also a proud believer/supporter of Beast Boy and Raven as a couple (though I’m willing to be respectful and not push anything if reality doesn’t match up with my dreams), not to mention have great interest in the rumors I’ve heard about Cyborg and that friend of his named Sarah Simms who runs a social group for disabled kids)?

P.S: Apologies if I got overly rambly in this ask… :/

I'd love to tell you about the Titans but I think you may be falling into something of a common conspiracy theory. Because the Gotham tabloid often get this bee in their bonnets about Bruce Wayne secretly being the mysterious Batman, that of course leads them to bothering Wayne's adoptive children with his first ward, Dick Grayson assumed to be the first Robin and later Nightwing. As is shown by these conspiracy theories (like the equally popular theory that Superman is secretly Daily Planet reporter and Lois Lane's husband Clark Kent) our understanding of who our costumed protectors seem to be in their private lives is seldom as straightforward as we think. This of course goes the same for businesswoman Barbara Gordon who seems to get sucked into this quagmire by virtue of being the daughter of beloved Gotham police commissioner James Gordon. That being SAID, and with groundwork laid, let's talk about the "New Titans"

(The cover of a comic album produced by Detective Comics. Detective has tried to do this "real superheroes as comic stars" thing a few times and it's never been very popular. No wonder they're #4)

(A promotional image of Cartoon Network's "Teen Titans" animated series) While I do enjoy what was done with this series, a lot of the same creatives who worked on the classic MAU cartoons also worked on this. It's not what I would call a first person historical document. First of all, obviously it's line up isn't fully correct. Showing only Robin, Starfire, Cyborg, Beast Boy and Raven as the "main team" whereas the team's actual membership in that era included the first Kid Flash and Wonder Girl. The cartoon also treats this team as the first assemblage of the Titans, when that is also not true in a historical sense. Robin specifically had been a member of said original Titans alongside Kid Flash, Wonder Girl, Aqualad and Speedy. (Who all appeared in the series, save Wonder Girl for some odd reason) I do find it amusing that the show was never able to show Robin without his mask on, because obviously the creative team couldn't know who Robin was beneath his mask whereas the personal details of the other Titans have become at least partially historical record. Again conspiracy theorists love to claim the show contains hidden clues pointing toward the Bat-Wayne theory but I roll my eyes at that as much as I roll my eyes at it anywhere it pops up. (Some particular wingnuts have even chosen to insist that the invented character "Red X" is meant to map onto Wayne's deceased second son, Jason Todd. Which is a theory that is well enough buried simply for being in such poor taste) Most of the stories used in the series are either partially or fully invented, and even what events ARE shown that have a foot in truth are shown DRASTICALLY out of order. Sometimes related to censorship, such as real life mercenary and contract killer Slade Wilson AKA Deathstroke being renamed to simply "Slade" and having his profession softened for television. The Doom Patrol is shown as originally captives of the Brotherhood of Evil, whereas in reality during the show's run the entire team save for Beast Boy himself was assumed KIA after their confrontation with the Brotherhood outside Four Heroes, Maine. They wouldn't be fully reunited with Beast Boy until years after the show's conclusion. I was too young to remember this but I've read anecdotes about the Markovian people lodging protest about American actress Ashley Johnson being cast to play Terra, when the real life Terra was obviously Markovian just by her accent. As well as the softening of her portrayal from a knowing and malevolent traitor to the team rather than a misunderstood victim of Slade's manipulations. There was a short lawsuit involving Neil Richards, aka fashion designer "The Mad Mod" due to his portrayal on the show. while Richards did indeed conduct some rather odd criminal activities, he had, by the time of the show's airing served his time and had founded the now famous "Mad Mod" fashion empire. The suit was settled out of court by Richards who made the public statement "I don't want to be the bad guy, attacking the children's favorite cartoons. I just don't want this all to be summoned on top of me again." The only note he asked of the production is that the episodes never speak his legal name. Though the production went the extra mile of changing the character's appearance for the real Mod's famous ginger bob and green smoking jacket to a crimson bowl cut and union jack coat. As for the modern "fates" of these five, they're all rather simple I'm glad to say. All five are still active superheroes, still close friends and still highly trusted members of the superhero community. As for their romantic entanglements, I couldn't comment on that. Not only am I historian, not a gossip columnist but the personal lives of superheroes are kept rather close to the chest. For the most prominent reason that any public knowledge of their romantic attachments would place those people at terrible risk.

[pineapplehazard]

Buck had been particularly down this week. Bobby couldn't help but notice how little excitement Buck had shown about the team playing a role in Brad's show. Knowing how smiley and happy he usually got whenever they encountered camera crews or filming sets, the captain had expected the kid to be jumping around like a golden retriever. But Buck had let out a barely audible, “Oh... that's cool,” and when Chimney started joking about the miracle of them being allowed on set—considering Bobby and Eddie had insulted the show and its “star”—Buck had barely taken the time to flash the fakest, weakest smile ever before turning away, leaving the conversation.

Bobby had also noticed the absence of baked goods from Buck over the following week. He had been so proud of him for finding an alternative to contacting Tommy, trying to separate himself from that failed relationship in a healthy way. Maybe it was a bit much to actually be considered healthy, but spending overtime baking was definitely one of the less destructive coping mechanisms someone on this team had ever used.

Now, this could have meant that Buck had finally come to terms with the breakup—or even better, that he had finally realized he deserved a much better partner than Tommy had been. But Bobby knew better than to be too hopeful.

The sudden halt in Buck’s baking habit could also mean two terrible things:

He and Tommy had somehow gotten back together.

Buck’s mood had dropped so low that even baking wasn’t enough to cope.

Somehow, the hickey blatantly visible on the young man’s neck didn’t help Bobby figure out which option had won.

As Bobby prepared lunch, he couldn’t help but watch his team, hoping to see in them the same worry he felt for his kid.

Hen was focused on the video game in which she was currently beating Buck. If she was worried about him, it was well hidden behind sarcastic comments and playful shoves on the sofa.

Eddie, however… Eddie was watching Buck with a complicated expression on his face. Bobby sighed. What a terrible time to have a revelation, Diaz. (Then again, Bobby knew better than to hope that either of these two idiots would realize what they were to each other anytime soon.)

“I’m afraid we’re back to Buck 1.0, Cap,” Chimney said, coming up behind him at the counter, resigned.

“1.0?”

“Truckstealer Buck, if you prefer. It’s too bad. I think we were at least on Buck 5.0 by now. Maybe 6.0? Do you think the lightning strike caused an update?”

Bobby gripped the pan handle tighter than he should have at that unnecessary reminder.

“A hickey doesn’t mean he’s back to his former bad habits…” the captain said, uncertain of who he was trying to convince.

“Sure, no. But three hook-up dates in three days?”

Bobby didn’t answer, but his face must have said enough. Chimney sighed and shook his head.

“I know… It’s bad. He even refused to babysit Jee or come over for dinner! Buck loves seeing Jee!”

Their conversation was interrupted by the end of Hen and Buck’s game. Chimney left to set the table, grumbling about how he should have tried harder to stop Buck before he even started dating that “asshole.”

None of it was mentioned for the rest of the shift. Buck tried to act as usual, Hen managed to do so, Eddie brooded, and Chimney and Bobby exchanged concerned glances from time to time.

Bobby remembered his talks with Buck when he’d started his relationship with Abby, and later, the conversations they’d had after the Buckleys’ first visit to LA. He remembered how proud Buck had been of his personal growth—of no longer needing to be used to feel like he mattered. Bobby thought of all this and decided he couldn’t just watch Buck destroy all his progress. His kid was hurting, and Bobby was going to help him get better.

Which led the captain to be standing in front of Buck’s door.

For a second, he hesitated, realizing suddenly that he might find Buck in a compromising position, considering the frequency of the “hook-up dates” Chimney had described. Still, he knocked.

Not two minutes passed before the door opened to Buck, fully dressed (thank God) and apparently alone.

“Bobby?” Buck frowned, clearly perplexed by his captain’s presence but still stepped aside to let him in. “I’m—I’m sorry, it’s a bit of a mess right now, but, um… come in?”

As Bobby walked in, he did notice the “bit of a mess.” He wouldn’t go so far as to say the loft was unrecognizable—he had spent too much time in it after bombings, lightning strikes, and housefires not to recognize the place—but it did look like a tornado had made its way inside. Most of Buck’s baking instruments were scattered across the central island, empty flour bags and takeout boxes filling the rare voids.

The living room wasn’t much better. Dirty T-shirts and sweatshirts were lazily thrown on the chairs, and by the couch, DVDs and… Lego boxes? covered the floor.

Bobby took a determined breath and looked Buck right in the eyes. “I think we need to talk.”

Buck’s confusion turned to dread. “Is everything okay? Is Athena—”

“Athena’s fine. Everyone’s fine,” Bobby reassured. “Except you, it seems.”

“What?”

Grabbing the kid’s arm, he guided him to the table. “Stop gaping like a fish and sit, Buckley.”

Dirty sweatshirts were thrown further away, they both sat, accompanied by an awkward silence. Buck wouldn't meet Bobby's eyes, looking like a kicked puppy.

"I'm going to talk, Buck, and I would like for you to listen, to hear what I'm trying to say... Okay? This isn't a reprimand or anything like that, I'm just worried about you, kid."

At that, Buck finally raised his head, and god, those sad blue eyes could really break Bobby's heart over and over again.

"I couldn't help but notice a change in your behavior recently. You're not smiling as much as you used to, you're not baking anymore, you're avoiding your sister apparently, and visibly you've been..." The man gestured awkwardly to the hickey. "going out? Again. And that's a lot of signs indicating that you're not doing very well."

Buck just nodded, lips pinched and eyes watery. Bobby suddenly regretted choosing to have a whole table between them. He should have been holding Buck close, in such a good hug that it would shield the boy from all of his problems.

"I know from experience that when we suffer, we tend to lean on our bad habits, and we say to ourselves that it's because they're comfortable, but in truth, we go back to them because we know that they hurt us."

"Bobby..."

"And I know it might not be my place, but I'm not certain that you going out on dates with different people, and... what follows, is actually doing you any good."

In front of him, Buck had become red, stumbling on his words, embarrassed.

"I—uh—hm... Bobby, I don't—I have not been sleeping around, if that's what you're worried about."

Bobby's eyebrow lifted by itself, too skeptical considering the purple mark on the young one's neck.

"Okay, I... I had one date. Yesterday. And it didn't go further than what you can see, actually. He... He wasn't who I really wanted."

Oh, Tommy Kinnard. If punching people in the street was more accepted... How could someone voluntarly decide to break this boy's precious heart?

"Then why couldn't you see your sister and your niece? Two different times?"

"Well... I was busy...," Buck gestured to the whole flat, "sulking... as you can see."

"That's all?" Bobby asked, unconvinced.

"No..." Hesitation passed on Buck's face before he continued. "Can I say something terrible?... They're too happy. I mean, I'm glad that they are! But... I didn't think I could have survived spending time with the perfect happy family... Maddie and Chim are so happy together... They're married, and they have a wonderful daughter who's as shining as them, and... They're the reminder of everything I've just lost, you know?"

Bobby didn't know, actually. Sure, things had been going well enough between Buck and Kinnard, but to think that the kid was already projecting marriage and children with this man? Bobby had been lightyears away from imagining things were that serious between them. He should have known. Buck always went all in in his relationships. Now the captain felt terrible with how lightly they all had approached his breakup, if Buck had been grieving this entire future he had envisionned.

"Sometimes you meet someone thinking that they're the one, and it seems so perfect that the idea that they could leave you one day never crosses your mind... But sometimes they do... and it hurts. It's normal that it hurts." As Bobby talked, the young man just nodded, wiping his nose from time to time. "And you're grieving, because no matter how short it was," Buck frowned. "what you had with them was real. What matters, Buck, is that you can cherish what you had without punishing yourself for not having it anymore."

At this point, Buck was barely holding his tears, and Bobby decided that enough talking had been done. He walked around the table and wrapped his arms around the boy.

"It's too hard."

For a moment, they stayed like this, Buck holding Bobby like he was his lifeline, wetting his captain's T-shirt with his tears. Oh, Bobby wished he could take all his pain away. Until he found a way to do that, he would continue to hold him tight.

"It feels like my one real happiness was right in front of me, but it got snatched away before I could really catch it."

"It might feel like it right now, but I'm sure you will find happiness, Buck. It might just not be with Tommy."

The boy suddenly froze in his arms.

"...With who?"

[anghraine]

Further contemplated the femslash Spirk concept while I was going to sleep, inevitably, and concluded:

I am perfectly aware this has been done before in the last, you know, nearly 60 years of this ship's towering fandom influence; I've definitely seen art and cosplay. However, I'm deliberately insulating myself from reading any other versions until the finer details are more nailed down in my own head.

McCoy is definitely still a man (specifically DeForest Kelley c. TOS) because it only later occurred to me that 1) thematically, I definitely prefer this trio as a mixed gender group and 2) the advocate for emotion and instinct and human warmth being a male doctor and the voice of logic and discipline being a woman and technically his superior pleases me greatly. I also like the McCoy-Kirk brotp as a male-female friendship that is intense, complex, and 100% platonic.

I'm still figuring out how Kirk being repeatedly menaced by the woman of the week would pan out with f!Kirk. With m!Kirk it feels like the show pushes him having an irresistible appeal to women in general (regardless of the woman's morality) that is where this ultimately comes from, but he's got a lot of Odysseus tropes to him as a character that make his femme fatale allure and willingness to use it as a tool more interesting than as the inevitable fate of a female space captain. Also, even in a femslash context, it feels homophobic for it to always be women sexually harassing f!Kirk.

Kirk's going to be Jessica instead of my original idea of Deborah. I was thinking of what would be a sturdy, ordinary name in the Midwest comparable to James that would also abbreviate conveniently to a common short form (Jim / Deb / Jess). I wanted the shortened version to be something that could carry the emotional weight of Spock's very occasional "Jim" without feeling that the nickname itself is more significant than Jim is for a dude from Iowa. I also wanted to avoid the -y/-ie endings of so many English nicknames (sorry, Francophones). Deb seemed to work well enough, except I'd forgotten that I have a considerably older family friend who not only uses Deb (and is named Deborah) but happens to have very similar coloring and background to young Shatner. As I was plotting the femslash, the association with her felt increasingly weird and uncomfortable, so I switched to Jessica (chosen for reasons largely unrelated to it also beginning with J, but that helps!).

Does Jessica Kirk wear the miniskirt and go-go boots while issuing non-negotiable orders from her captain's chair? Definitely.

[farthest-harbor]

Please infodump about the Nick headcanons :3

I have more!

Nick always wanted to be a dad. He dreamed about it with Jenny, imagining raising a child with her. When he lost her, he gave up on that dream and figured it wasn't for him. With the action-filled life he leads, it would be tough to have a family anyways. But if you decide to adopt synth Shaun, Nick will immediately step in as a dad figure. He will teach Shaun life skills, take him on adventures, read to him, show him how to repair gadgets, and play with him. You will see a very sweet side of Nick you never knew before. Shaun will make him feel young again.

Nick is torn between being a city guy and a country guy. Obviously his work keeps him in the city and he's got excellent street smarts, but when you take him with you to places that are more peaceful, like Sanctuary or Acadia, you watch him relax into the tranquility of nature. He loves a good view, and since he doesn't need to sleep, he likes to watch sunrises and sunsets while enjoying a smoke. Sometimes he misses the sounds of birdsong from before the war.

He isn't much of a singer, but sometimes you can catch him humming softly along to something on the radio, usually Billie Holiday. His voice is low, warm, and rich, and mostly in-tune. If you like to sing along to the radio, he will listen adoringly, even if you're tone deaf. He badly misses the times when music was easier to come by, when almost every house had a turntable and a record collection. There's so many half-remembered favorite songs floating around in his head from the old days that he'd love to reminisce about with another person who remembers prewar times.

He hates the Silver Shroud show with a passion, thinks it's corny and juvenile, and is terribly embarrassed if you take on the Shroud's voice and mannerisms when you take up the role. He will visibly cringe if you do the voice and will probably make fun of you about it later. Despite this, he still likes Kent Conolly, for reasons he can't entirely explain, but he does think Kent has terrible taste.

Nick likes both cats and dogs but is more of a cat person. He's reserved, independent, and intelligent, and enjoys those same qualities in a pet. But Ellie would never allow a cat in the agency, it's enough of a struggle already to keep it organized, so if the two of you adopt a cat, it will probably live at Home Plate or wherever your home is.

He's kinda old-fashioned about relationships. If you're together long enough, he will probably propose, unless you do it first. He will try to scrounge up a ring for you somehow, either make one himself or scavenge one from an abandoned house. He would want a quiet, private ceremony with just the two of you, maybe a couple close friends, just to make it feel official. While marriage doesn't mean anything from a legal standpoint in the postwar world, it just feels right to his prewar sensibilities. A ceremonial proof of his love and commitment to you. He'd probably want to have the ceremony somewhere tranquil and pretty, maybe near Sanctuary, but would be happy to marry you in the Diamond City chapel if you asked, or anywhere else of your choosing.

Nick is entranced by the ocean. I think he only saw it for the first time when prewar Nick moved from Chicago to Boston. It felt impossibly huge, beautiful and powerful. He couldn't get enough of it. He has a bit of a reckoning on the boat ride to Far Harbor, though, when he experiences firsthand how violent, cold, and cruel the ocean can be. It rattles him a little. Still, whenever you're by the ocean, you'll catch him staring thoughtfully out at the breaking waves and the distant horizon. He just can't seem to look away.

These were fun, thanks for asking! Feel free to ask again anytime :)