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suhkusa · 5 months ago

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TO THE TOP.

PAIRING. Sakusa Kiyoomi x f!Reader

SUMMARY. Sakusa Kiyoomi was ranked #1 in his class. Was, at least until you came along. After this revelation, he makes it a (personal) challenge to overtake you. Sakusa Kiyoomi is a genius at everything he does, but for once he finds it a challenge when it comes to you.

CW. hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, rivals to lovers except kiyoomi is the only one competing, idiots in love (but theyre actually geniuses), high school setting, ~3k words

A/N. Got inspired from a tiktok and came up with this word vom hope u enjoy

Everything came easy for Kiyoomi. Academically, at least.

While all his classmates found themselves struggling to take tests or study, it was as natural as breathing for Kiyoomi. There were some cons to being as incredibly intelligent as him, but he found himself drowning in the gratification of being #1.

At least until the 2nd semester of his third year. At least until you.

———

Class Rank: 2

Sakusa finds himself staring at the transcript in his hand, as if his ogling would have an effect in changing the number presented before him.

His eyes scan through his class history, looking for any clues as to how he might’ve dropped in ranking. But there was nothing. All A’s, and as many extra classes stuffed into each year as possible.

Kiyoomi’s home room was rowdy as students caught up with one another, as winter break had just ended. While in his own little world, his ears catch onto a couple of words his classmates threw around.

“I heard Sakusa isn’t the top in our class anymore, is that true?”

“Woah, hasn’t he been the top of our class since the 1st year? I wonder who was able to catch up,”

His eye twitched a bit at that one.

“It was that new girl, Y/N,”

The paper crumbled slightly under his grasp. Y/N?

The ring of the bell, signifying the start of class, caused him to slightly jump in his seat. Kiyoomi crumbles his transcript before tossing it in his bag, it’s going to change soon anyways.

He would just have to step up his game.

———

It was ironic really. The world really loved to test Sakusa Kiyoomi, and not only at his school subjects. Of course, you were his desk partner in his math class. Only he had the amazing luck of being seated next to his new self-declared rival.

Kiyoomi knows it’s rude to stare, but he can’t himself because you’re the number one student? You?!

Honestly, you don’t seem like the academic type. You seem too pretty to be caring about stuff like that. At first, he considers the fact that you could be using your looks to get people to do the dirty work for you. But he witnesses first-hand as you write down every math equation, answer every question correctly, and even check your work not once, but twice.

His hyperfixation on you is bad. So bad, he missed the whole introduction lesson and is trying to rapidly copy down what’s on the whiteboard as the teacher is erasing it. Fuck-

“Would you like to see my notes?”

Kiyoomi’s pencil comes to a halt as he looks back at you, your papers are being pushed towards him on the desk. He watches as your eyes widen, as if you suddenly became self conscious.

“I-Is there something on my face? You were staring at me so I wasn’t sure…”

Shit.

“No,” he tries to make up something, but what comes out of his mouth is stupid, “I was just looking past you,” it appears it’s sufficient though, as you nod in response.

“I see, well, did you want to see them?” you gestured to the notes between the two of you.

Kiyoomi tells himself that if you hadn’t offered, he wouldn’t have asked. But since you oh so kindly offered them up, who was he to say no? He doesn’t need them. He could always ask his cousin, though his handwriting resembles chicken scratch more than human writing.

“Sure,” he takes the papers and positions them in a way where he could just look between them and his own.

In his head, Kiyoomi is scolding himself over and over again for not paying attention. This cannot be a regular thing. If he was going to take back his rank, he needed to be on his A-Game.

His pencil slaps against his desk as he finishes, quickly sliding your papers back towards you.

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi offers.

He watches from his peripheral vision as you smile and give back an “Anytime,” before gathering your things and getting up to go to your next class.

Kiyoomi doesn’t know what it was about you, but he could tell he was going to need to up his game. This was war.

———

By the second week of sitting by you, he decides you’re annoying. More annoying than the people who talk while the teacher is talking. Which, in his book, is hard to beat.

Maybe you weren’t as smart as he pinned you to be, since you kept helping Kiyoomi with his work when he did not need it.

Though, you were only able to backseat his work because you somehow finished before him. He’s used to being the only one who sits back and relaxes as the rest of his class struggles to complete the practice problems.

It’s weird though. Because as much as Sakusa hates your yapping, he doesn’t find himself putting an end to it. Instead your voice plays in the background as he completes his work.

He hates it, or at least that’s what he tells himself, the way you praise him like a little kid when he finally completes the work sheet.

“Nice job!” you smile at him, “but, how come you don’t check your work to make sure you’re right?”

“Because I’m always right,” he replies with a slight roll of his eyes.

You laugh at that, I’m not joking, he thinks.

“You’re funny, you know that?” you tell him.

Kiyoomi gives you a shrug, “Whatever,”

———

A month in, he begins to indulge in your shenanigans. But only because he had felt bad.

During the third week of sitting by each other, you had taken his short and dry responses personally. You halted your chatter and no longer offered to help like you usually did. The way the classroom felt quiet without your talking was eerie, so Sakusa reluctantly decided that he’d rather hear your voice instead of nothing at all.

So a month in is when your friendship, or whatever you called it, began with him.

“Why do you use erasable pens? Just use a pencil,” he questions you, eyes peering down at your pen.

You look taken aback as you respond, “I don’t know, is there something wrong with it?” you examine your pen, “I just found it on the floor and stuck with it,”

First of all, gross, remind him not to touch you or your belongings ever. “It’s just a hassle, sometimes it doesn’t erase,”

“Well, it hasn’t given me any problems, so!” you exclaim as you get back to write on your practice quiz. “This is kind of challenging, huh?”

“Nah,” he lies, “You’re just stupid,”

You laugh in his face, “Rude,” Kiyoomi watches as you glimpse at his paper before going back to yours, “That’s why you got the first problem wrong and I didn’t say anything,”

Sakusa can feel his eyebrows scrunch up, he’s quick as he glances at it and then yours. Fuck. He’s mumbling something under his breath and he begrudgingly erases the circle around his answer.

“Told ya,” you smile before moving onto the last problem, “you know, we should hangout or something,”

“No,” he’s quick to cut you off, catching you by surprise.

“Whaaat, it doesn’t have to be like that, weirdo,” it seems like you’re going back on what you meant, “Like to study,”

“Still, no,”

“C’mon, don’t knock it till you try it,” you nudge at him, and to be honest, if you were anyone else he might’ve punched you, “please, just once,”

You’re annoying and pushy. But he supposes that if saying yes to you would get you to leave him alone, he’d say, “Fine, whatever, it has to be my house, though. Your house is probably messy,”

Kiyoomi watches as your face slowly brightens before silently celebrating to yourself as you get your way with him once again.

———

“Wow,” you’re amazed as you walk through Sakusa’s house, “your house is so nice, do you have a maid to keep it clean or something?”

“No, just me,” he says before leading you into his room, “please don’t make a mess,”

“I won’t, I won’t,” you say before settling down on his rug, playing with the soft threads, “Okay, I was hoping to review the practice quiz, I know the teacher said I got it right but I feel like there were some parts that had me second guessing myself,”

You’re quick to open up your textbook and blab about whatever problem you were having trouble with. You actually came over to study. Kiyoomi was under the impression that once you got over to his house you’d make him do whatever silly shit you usually have in mind. But no, you actually respected his wishes. Which in turn, earned you some respect from him as well.

“So you’re number one, huh?” He asks, looking up from his textbook to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s surprising that all my credits from my old school carried over,” you mindlessly say as you continue to write on your sheet of paper.

The sound of the pencils scribbling on paper fills the room before you interrupt it, “You were rank one before I came, right?”

His pencil stills, “Mhm,” It was a touchy subject, though he never thought he’d hear it from you.

“I’m sorry,” you surprised him, “When I found out I took your ranking spot, I was nervous because people are serious about that stuff. And then, when I got seated by you and you stared me down, I thought you hated my guts,”

Well, you had it down to the T, but he wouldn’t tell you that.

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s out of your control,” you smile at his words.

“Thank you,”

It’s then, in his room, when he realizes he’s losing sight of his goal. To overtake your position. As he watched you look back down at your textbook, he found himself locking in as well.

He needed to get serious, now.

———

These hangouts, or study dates, or study hangouts, whatever, became basically practice. Always at his house, though. Since he couldn’t fathom the idea of how dirty your room might be.

“I don’t know how you balance volleyball and school, Omi,” you say from your position lying on his floor.

“Don’t call me that,”

You laugh before continuing, “All I do is school and I’m always exhausted. I had to quit my shifts at the cafe down the road because I would fall asleep before making it to my room,”

“Dangerous, Y/N,” he says, frantically writing down practice problem after practice problem.

Picking yourself off the ground, “Wow, you’re serious about this final, huh, Omi,”

He glares at you, causing you to laugh again, “Sorry, sorry,” your eyes meet his for a brief second before he looks back at his paper, “but you know it’s okay to take a break, right, that’s all you’ve been doing. We haven’t even gotten to try to compete for today’s Wordle yet,”

“Mhm,” is all he offers you.

You sigh in response to that, “Boring, so boring,” you say as you lay back down

“You can go home if you’re bored,”

“Ugh, rude,” you roll around to make yourself comfortable, “I would but sadly I like being in your presence,”

“Whatever you say,”

“Do you like being in mine?” you question, causing Sakusa to hesitate on the problem he was on.

“You’re tolerable,”

You find yourself cheesing, “That’s a yes in my book,”

———

Finals are coming up. There’s so much on your mind, that you finally decide to let one of the thoughts that have been driving you crazy go. The fact that you like Sakusa Kiyoomi.

It’s nerve wracking. Not only because you’re basically confessing your feelings, but also because he’s your only friend you’ve made since being here. A lot of people think he’s rude and condescending, but to you he’s different.

He lets you talk your head off about whatever your brain decides fits best. And while he gives you short responses, they show you that he’s listening and observant. He’s on your level regarding academics and can keep up to your train of thought. He just cares.

And while you hope he might feel the same despite only knowing you for the past couple of months, you chalk it up to fate as to whether or not your intuition is correct.

As you approach the gymnasium, you slow and quiet your steps as you hear familiar voices by the entrance.

“You’ve been hanging out with Y/N quite a bit, huh, cous’? Your mom told mines,” you assume is Komori based on his words.

“Yes. It’s not like that, though,” you recognize as Sakusa.

You assume he might be fronting since it is his cousin, and feelings are embarrassing at times.

“C’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t like her, she’s like one of the prettiest girls in class and she’s smart. So like, your type,” Komori pushes. And while part of you likes that he said that, you soon take it back after Kiyoomi’s words.

“I don’t like her. I only put up with her because she’s so pushy and always hovers over me while I try to do my work. Plus, she took my ranking spot,”

The world feels silent for a second, the only sound audible to you is the sound of your heart slowly breaking.

“She’s just a nuance, honestly,”

Your feet are moving before you realize. Slowly backing away before running the opposite direction.

He doesn’t like you? You were right that he hates you because you’re number one? He let you into his house but only because you pushed him? Your thoughts are running faster than your own legs, you don’t even realize the drips of water slowly running down your cheeks.

If number one was what he wanted, then you were going to give it to him.

———

Kiyoomi finds it weird. Finds you weird. Well, he’s always found you weird, but particularly as of recent. But only because you’re quiet. And have been for the past couple of days.

At first, he assumes it’s because the finals had finally arrived and you wanted to focus on your work. Which, respect, because it also allowed him to focus on his own.

But even after the finals had passed, you were still quiet. You opted for doodling in your notebook instead of talking to him about a new video game you’ve hyper fixated on or this new show you started to watch.

It’s even weirder when the teacher is going around passing out the graded math finals, that he stops by your desk, letting out a whispered, “I’m disappointed in you, Y/N,”

Kiyoomi hears, and it calls his attention towards your paper before even his own. His eyes widened.

A big, fat, red 0 marked at the top of your quiz.

“Y/N-”

“Are you happy now, Number 1?” you ask, still looking down at your paper.

He’s about to ask you what the hell you’re talking about before the bells conveniently cut him off, allowing you to take off without a second glance back at him.

His mind is caught up on your words, Number 1. Kiyoomi has never brought up his disdain regarding the rankings to you, ever. Yes, it bothered him at first. But eventually he didn’t mind it, since the only person he’d ever allow to be above him is you.

Kiyoomi thinks back on any time he’s ever mentioned it before he remembers the one time he had ever verbally brought it up to anyone. But there was no way… unless.

Fuck, Sakusa thinks as the bright red 100 on his paper stares back at him. It mocked him, poking at his head uncomfortably. Without a second thought, he crumbles the paper before stuffing it into his bag. Kiyoomi had finally gotten back what he’s been working for this whole time, so why does he feel empty?

Kiyoomi realizes then that while you may have lost your Rank 1 position, he was the true loser. Because he didn’t have you.

———

He finds himself at your door before he even knows it. He’s giving an excuse of “she left her notebook,” to your parents as they direct him to where your room is.

When he finally walks in, he’s shocked. Your room is clean.

Even as you lay in your bed so peacefully, the space around you is clean, and he feels like it’s safe to walk in.

“Y/N,” is his first attempt at waking you up, before he’s walking closer to your bed, crouching down a bit to pat your back, “Y/N,” again.

It’s by the fourth or fifth time that he calls your name that you finally look up at him, and you look heavenly.

He’s always known you were pretty, but even more so now you were gorgeous, hair messy, eyes droopy with sleepiness. You were perfect.

Your eyes blink a couple times before you look like you’ve processed who is standing before you. Quickly sitting up, hands moving every which way to fix your appearance, “Omi- I mean Sakusa what are- what do you want?”

Ouch.

“You need to leave, I-I don’t want to see you,” your voice is beginning to tremble and it hurts him, “You finally got what you wanted, I don’t know what more you want,”

“You, I want you,”

Your face drops in disbelief, “No, you don’t. I heard you, what you said,”

“Y/N-”

“No, you hurt me, Kiyoomi. I like you,” you cry, “You can’t just say all of that and then show up out of nowhere claiming otherwise,”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he’s kneeling now, allowing him to be the same height as you as you sit in your bed, weeping, “I-I’m sorry,”

His rough thumb smoothes away your tears as they fall, “I didn’t mean it, I was frustrated- and that’s no excuse for what I said, I fucked up really bad,” with every word another sob breaks loose from you, “And I’m sorry,”

“At first, all I ever wanted was to be rank #1, but then you came along and changed everything… Then I realized that it wasn’t being #1 I wanted, it was you,” he continues, “and that’s scary, because my ranking was all I’ve known all these years,”

“But even so, you made it okay. I was okay with being #2, I was so caught up in you that I forgot I ever wanted to be #1 in the first place,” your eyes finally meet behind the thick tears in your lashes, “I like you, Y/N,”

He can tell you’re at a loss for words. And for once he can finally say he has out-talked you.

Until finally, you decide words aren’t sufficient in this situation. Before he knows it, you’re leaning forward, and your lips are on his. The kiss is short, but definitely more than a peck. But it felt infinite to Kiyoomi. He never wanted the moment to end, and found himself sad as you finally pulled away.

You stared him down for a brief second before tackling him down to the ground in a big hug, “I hate you, Omi,” you laugh angrily.

“Sure,” he smugly replies, watching as you smile into his shirt.

“My number one,” you sarcastically mutter as you fake pout at him.

He cringes, “Ugh, don’t. I feel guilty, why would you even do that? You’re crazy,”

“Because I don’t care about the ranking. I never did. Plus it somehow only dropped me to #2 since the rest of our class failed and I’ve taken too many extra classes,” you say, “I only cared about you,”

Kiyoomi smiles at you before crushing you in his hug.

Everything came easy for Kiyoomi. Especially now, his feelings for you.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #sakusa x reader #hq angst #sakusa angst #haikyuu x reader angst #sakusa fanfic #haikyuu fanfic #raeworks #sakusa x reader angst

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peppermintquartz · 2 months ago

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The watch strap is worn out and stained on the inside. Buck takes note of it, and when Tommy's taking a shower, picks up the watch to see if there's an inscription anywhere.

Nothing. Just a regular watch.

But if Tommy has worn it to this state, then he probably really likes it.

Buck hums to himself, then takes a picture of it, front and back, with a dime for scale in case he needs it, and puts the watch back where Tommy left it.

They miss their dinner reservations the next week when Buck sees Tommy in a new shirt and decides that Tommy is not allowed to wear that shirt for more than five minutes.

He ends up gasping for breath under Tommy, his legs and arms shaking with exertion, and Tommy is no better, one thick arm wrapped about Buck's soft middle, biting marks into his shoulders.

After they both came - Buck first with a desperate wail, dragging Tommy after him with an equally desperate "Evan, god, Evan" - Buck is a limp puddle of satisfaction. His gaze falls to the side and he sees the bedside lamp, its shade faded to a nondescript beige. It's clean, because Tommy is on top of his housekeeping, but it's old.

"How long have you had that lamp?" he asks, his words slurring together while Tommy wipes him clean.

"I don't know. Since I left the army, I think? It works." The washcloth is tossed towards the laundry basket and Tommy mutters a happy "three points!" like the dork he is when it lands among the dirty clothes.

Buck turns his head and smiles at Tommy. "I love you."

"I love you too. So, frittata or ramen? I have some frozen shrimp dumplings I think." He kisses Buck on his forehead, like Buck didn't cause them to miss their dinner.

"Frittata and ramen," Buck says, because he knows he can get away with being spoiled for a while.

Tommy only chuckles fondly.

Buck stares at the matching lamp on the other side. Beige.

Tommy holds onto things, Buck discovers. DVDs, CDs, tools from his army pilot days, his high school football jersey. Not necessarily because of sentimental value. Because they still work.

But some things are old and breaking apart, like the clock in his living room, or the fan that's in the garage, or the ancient vacuum that chokes every five feet.

Like it doesn't occur to Tommy to buy a new and better one.

"It still works," Tommy says. His vacuum coughs. "It just needs a little tinkering. I'll make do."

When Buck gives Tommy new watch straps, Tommy just. Blinks. And then he smiles that soft, amazed smile, as if he can't believe Buck is real. Like he can't believe anyone will notice something so trivial about his stuff, and do something nice about it.

"Thanks," he says, and switches out the straps.

Buck buys white lampshades and paint, and he makes it a date for them to paint the two lampshades. Purples and blues, with a touch of pink. Buck jokes that it's his bisexual lighting. They're hideous, objectively speaking, but they were painted by them both, and Buck figures he can get better ones in the future when they're tired of these.

After they replace the old beige ones, Tommy rides Buck, lit only by the new bisexual lighting lampshades.

When Buck replaces the clock, the fan and the vacuum, Tommy helps to discard the old ones.

"You deserve nice things too," Buck tells Tommy when the latter sputters something about making do with the old stuff. Buck kisses him and repeats, "You deserve nice things too."

If he can keep bringing that slightly stunned and amazed and soft expression to Tommy's face, Buck will consider himself a good boyfriend.

#tommy kinard #bucktommy #evan buckley #tevan

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kawaiijohn · 1 month ago

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Help a queer family of disabled nerds

Hey my name is Dante, I live in the Midwest with three of my best friends. We have four cats, one of which is my babyman whom I love very dearly.

His name is Latke Library Card Mango (LLCM). He's very orange and he's the light of my boyfriend, Kris, and I's life.

Cat pics are great right? Have a few.

A few months ago, latkes chronic bladder stones condition acted up which resulted in two emergency vet visits and a week long stay with his actual vet to get the stone removed.

It was the size of a chickpea.

Here's a photo of his post surgery when he had a nakie tummy. He was very very happy to see us.

He's since recovered, but the cost of this put us back around 1300 dollars in total. He's now on a special diet with rather pricey food to prevent this from happening but it might still act up eventually.

We've paid down some of his debt, but the interest is making it become more and more as we try to pay it down.

On top of this, our pipes backed up into our basement and refused to work suddenly a few weeks ago. We live in a house that is over a century old, and the clay pipes keep getting roots growing into them that causes them to not drain.

The roto had to come out and high pressure the roots out to clear them (which required expensive equipment), This put us back another grand.

To add to everything, our 700+ auto insurance bill is due in November, which is the worst time for this bill to need due, but both myself and Kris drive over ten miles to work during different shifts on opposite ends of town- neither of our jobs have public transit anywhere near them.

We are currently barely making ends meet-

I am a lunch lady at a public high school. I love my job. I feed kids who possibly don't even eat at home some days. I do work I am proud of.

However, I can only work around 25 hours a week without risking losing my insurance as a disabled person. My job does not have longer hour positions available, and I am too disabled to work more than this without ruining my body like I have done in the past.

I have been going without buying groceries out of fear that what little money I have in my account will be needed in an emergency. I will be out of work for a week this month, around Thanksgiving, and during Xmas break- unpaid due to me working in a school. Me being out also means no guaranteed meal every day.

Kris works in a factory. He is currently working 55+ hours a week to make what we can to pay off the bills and keep our house. He only has one and a half knees that hurt all the damn time and is barely eating either just to afford everything. His factory keeps calling for sudden shutdown weeks with little notice at the worst times, and he's the main breadwinner in the house for us.

The other two in our household, one is severely disabled and can barely work 10 hr/week (he is waiting on hearing back to receive SSI) on top of having multiple medical appointments a week to figure out what is wrong with his body and why it keeps failing. The other is a freelance artist who is working her butt off to make money while carting the previous to appointments nearly every day. She is full up on commissions at the moment, but when she opens them I'll reblog her posts.

I really didn't want to make this post. I hate asking for help. But we are drowning and there's no sign of land. None of us can afford to live on our own, nor can we move back in with our parents for various reasons.

All I'm asking for is some help. I don't care how much. Five dollars is five dollars. Five dollars is half an hour less we have to kill ourselves to make ends meet.

Even if we don't make the full amount, every dollar will help us get a bit closer to paying this stuff down so we can afford gas and regular grocery trips again instead of having to save up to go once a month like we are currently doing.

Our goal is 2000 dollars.

Yes, this is the high amount. I do not believe we will ever reach it. I can hope we can raise this much at some point.

But for now that's the dream number.

It's the number that is looming over our heads, telling us to pay up or lose our home.

It's not something we need this very moment, but just what we need in the next few months to be able to afford living without destroying our body or working three jobs/ridiculous hours.

We thank anyone who can spare a few bucks to help us, and if you can't afford it just pass this post along to someone who might be able to.

Please send as friend/family if you can, PayPal is threatening to withhold money sent as transactions now if you receive over a certain amount.

This includes sending things through my ko-fi account- so here's the preferred methods:

Progress:

388.74/2,000

Thank you for reading. I love you.

#dantes vibe corner #signal boost #mutual aid #long post

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headspace-hotel · 3 months ago

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thinking to myself "If the thought of going back to school makes me want to cry and throw up, what then?" and people keep throwing stuff at me like You could try for this specialized program or trailblaze this alternative line of study or apply for this internship or contact this organization or do this or do that or do this or get involved with XYZ Cool Thing that would recognize what you have to offer etc etc etc etc

But I have less to offer than ever. That's the thing. I'm not an outstanding student anymore, I'm just painfully limping along, and I'm less and less capable of bubbling over with passion and potential. "I heard about this opportunity, since you're so passionate about ecology and environmental science..." Am I? I feel hollow inside.

I feel like the conversation about "I need disability accomodations" has gotten warped into "Now let's try this alternative route of completing your degree since you're soooooooo passionate and successful and accomplished as a student and you might be a Great Person To Have and your way of thinking is soooooo unique and important for an institution to have and we've been wanting to start this new program anyway—"

But what if I wasn't? What if I was just a regular ass autistic student that didn't have Passion and Potential and a Unique Way Of Thinking, just an autistic person that wanted a degree?

So now I have this meeting with some lady about alternative course work but it wouldn't even be possible until next semester and so far I don't even know if anything being proposed would HELP me instead of being something I have to do ON TOP OF everything ELSE.

I hate how every conversation I have about this gets co-opted into "So you see, you have a unique and independent learning style that isn't getting support in the traditional classroom, so you can contact XYZ people and show them What You Have To Offer" like yes I have a unique ~learning style~ but also I AM DISABLED and yes I go ~above and beyond~ other people in my passion and curiosity but more advanced opportunities to learn is NOT A FUCKING ACCOMMODATION. More specialized classes would make me happier IF MY FUCKING BASIC NEEDS WERE BEING MET.

But I feel like I constantly have to reframe my disabilities in terms of like, ways i'm ~too advanced~ or ~too unique~ for the college environment i'm in and YES i am advanced and YES i am unique and yes I am smart and intrinsically motivated to learn but I also have a disability. and I shouldn't need to have anything unique or special to offer for there to be accommodations available.

The more college crushes me, the less I even have potential, the less I can prove that I had potential in the first place. What kind of work do I want to be doing someday? I don't have the heart to even think of future possibilities in my head. I am not drawn to anything, even things I am passionate about, because I can't imagine being passionate enough about something that feeling this exhausted all the time is worth it. I don't want to study ecology as badly as I want to stop hurting. I want to lock myself in a dark quiet room and never do anything ever again

#vent #autism #disability

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burningfairytales · 4 months ago

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People look at Bokuto and see a happy-go-lucky, carefree ray of sunshine and think, oh, he is a fool.

I mean I know people love him, but I am so, so upset that that is what he is reduced to.

Because Bokuto may be simple-minded, but a fool he is not.

(Let’s not even talk about the fact that Fukurodani seems to be a renowned private school and Japanese high schools have entrance exams. We know this, because Kageyama failed to get into Shiratorizawa, okay. He failed the exam.

So Bokuto getting into Fukurodani doesn’t exactly scream “idiot” to me. So he struggles with Japanese and Maths. Hell, if everyone was deemed stupid who didn’t excel in literally all of his classes, this would be a world of fools.

He also goes on to college and graduates. So he doesn’t know how taxes work. Hell, Sherlock Holmes didn’t know the earth revolves around the sun. People retain knowledge of stuff that they care about damnit. No one gives a shit about taxes.

I’m not calling him a genius here. He’s probably not exactly a top tier student. But please stop dumbing him down.)

But what I’m really talking about is that Bokuto is people-smart, okay. Like tell me he didn’t know exactly what made Akaashi tick. Tell me he didn’t know exactly what was wrong with him the second Akaashi started faltering.

He knew.

And he called him out on his bullshit in the exact same way Akaashi calls him out on his.

(It’s not just Akaashi btw. He knew exactly what was going through Yachi’s mind during the dumpster battle.)

And listen. During the training camp arc, Fukurodani vs Karasuno, where we first get to see Bokuto’s emo mode? It’s heavily implied by both Takeda and Ukai that Bokuto isn’t aware of how the team dynamics work, and as a reader, we believe this - because Bokuto appears to be so simple-minded. Because there don’t appear to be any hidden depths.

Because we never actually get to see the world through Bokuto’s eyes, but rather always Akaashi’s.

But being simple-minded doesn’t make you an idiot either. It just means that you have a different way of prioritising.

And then later, Bokuto has his moment. His “time for me to just be a regular ace” moment.

And we find out that he did know. He was completely aware that his team (and Akaashi, in all his well-intended manipulation) were coddling him.

(Don’t come for me; I ADORE Akaashi.)

Point is, he knows. And it was fine, because hey, it was easier anyway, and he knew he could count on his team to have his back.

But then Akaashi falters, and his team is struggling, and it’s Bokuto saying “you had my back all this time. Now let me have yours.”

Bokuto is not oblivious and he’s not a fool. His cheerfulness and optimism aren’t a sign of ignorance. They’re carefully cultivated. Because he knows what being lonely is like. He worked so, so hard towards his dream - not just to go pro, but to have fun playing volleyball. To become better at it so that he gets to enjoy it just a little bit more.

His good-heartedness is a goddamn choice, not some cradle-given virtue.

In this essay, i will-

#haikyuu #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #bokuaka #brain dumb #sorry i have a lot of feelings about him

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toruro · 1 year ago

Text

— ✧ flight of the stars

"It’s funny; Minghao’s whole career is about being in the driver’s seat but somehow when it comes to you, he doesn’t know when to press on the gas or hit the brake."

you go following flights to the stars, and these cars can get us home (zayn)

genre: smut (18+ / mdni), f1 au, brief high school au, angst, fluff

description: being a doctor, you think you should feel guilty when you start to enjoy the presence of a “regular” a little too much, but who can blame you for missing your patient when he's xu minghao. you know—the xu minghao: crown jewel of SECTOR Racing, top pick of the season, and possibly the one person who knows more about you than anyone else in the world.

tags: character death (not reader / hao), discussion of medical issues, descriptions of pain, pining, racer minghao, physiotherapist reader, probably inaccurate representation of physiotherapy, also featuring kwannie, sollie, cheol, wonu, & hannie

w/c: 13.3k

fic playlist

a/n: oh. always thank u to @gyuswhore for helping me w this, and special smooches to han for going over this w me too ^^

smut tags. oral (m receiving), pet names (baby)

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Cheol is going to kill Minghao when he finds out he somehow managed to screw himself over while training. Well, only if Minghao doesn’t kill himself first.

It was just supposed to be a regular session, doing some standard neck exercises with Wonwoo, his training partner. General training shit—you know, the stuff Minghao needs to do so his neck doesn’t snap in half the next time he races and then—pang! Pain flares up in his muscles when Wonwoo adjusts the controls on the harness around Minghao’s head a little harder, the latter losing his form in a moment of unexpectancy.

His hand flies up immediately Wonwoo stops, shutting off the controls and loosening the tether attached to Minghao’s harness, releasing all the tension. “Are you good?” he asks, taking a step closer as he takes in the sight of the racer.

Wonwoo’s heart sinks into his chest when he finds Minghao’s head and neck unmoving, staring straight down as his breaths begin to grow shaky, and—crap, his eyes are glossy and—oh fuck, Wonwoo might just shit his pants.

“Hao—” Wonwoo calls out again, this time his voice drenched with worry as he reaches out to try and untie the harness from around his friends head, but as his hand brushes over the back of his neck, Minghao shifts a little and that’s when Wonwoo hears it—a sharp gasp following by Minghao muttering under his breath:

“G-get the medic.”

His voice is labored and Wonwoo knows exactly what to do and nothing at the same time. His mind is racing because holy crap, SECTOR probably just lost their best racer for a few months, if not the entire racing season, and it’s all because of this stupid neck training session, and—Wonwoo stops himself from thinking about what this means for Minghao’s work and forces himself to scramble back, running out of the training room and down to the nursing hall.

Five minutes and several phone calls later, Minghao is being loaded into a stretcher. He doesn’t say a word though, doesn’t know what to say.

Five hours and even more phone calls later, Minghao is sitting up with a brace around his neck, and his manager and friends around his hospital bed (Wonwoo and Hasnsol are to his left while Seungcheol stands on his right).

“So you’re telling me I won’t be able to compete for the rest of the season?” Minghao finally scoffs out after a couple minutes’ worth of silence in tense air.

“We don’t know that yet,” Cheol responds, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches the racer carefully. Minghao’s lips are curved down in a heavy frown but his eyes remain unwavering as he finally looks up at his manager.

“Fuck,” he breaths out.

“Does it hurt a lot?” Hansol asks worriedly, and Minghao knows that his friend is only just concerned for him but all the pain and frustration is already starting to bubble up inside of him.

“Like a bitch,” he mutters bitterly.

Seungcheol sighs deeply, stepping closer to the bed. He knows the situation isn’t easy for Minghao—it isn’t easy for anyone—and he’s aware of the stakes involved for the team. “Hao, you know we’ll do anything to get you back on the track as soon as possible.”

Minghao scoffs, not meeting the eyes of his manager. “Yeah. I know.”

Wonwoo nearly flinches at the stillness of his friend’s voice. “I’m sorry,” he finally says loudly, causing the other three in the room to look at him. “I messed up with the controls—it’s my fault, and I—”

“It’s fine,” Minghao huffs, tearing his eyes away from his friend. “It was an accident.”

It’s not fine. It’s not fucking fine at all and—

Deep breaths, Minghao reminds himself, but when he actually starts to think about the ache that blooms from his neck and down his spine, it gets harder and harder to keep his cool. He feels like he’s ‘bout to pop a vein from all the blood that’s rushing through his body, the only thing snapping him out of his trance being Wonwoo’s voice.

“You’ll start seeing a physiotherapist tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Best to start the recovery process early, Minghao thinks to himself, mildly calming his irritation. He purses his lips, trying to navigate the cluster of thoughts that plague his mind until he finally musters up the courage to ask, “How long is it gonna take? T-to heal?”

His friends look at him solemnly, and Minghao feels his heart sink right down to his stomach.

“We don’t know.”

“You already sa—” Minghao stops himself from saying something he might regret. “Could I actually be out the whole season?”

There’s silence until Cheol finally decides to speak up.

“There’s a chance.”

Minghao thinks he might scream.

“Hey Seungie!” you chirp, walking into the reception of your office with a bright smile. Your best friend greets you with only an eye roll as you approach his counter at the front, peeking at him from over his monitor.

“I told you to stop calling me that in public!” he whines, nose scrunched up as you laugh at the way he’s pouting.

“No one’s even here, no one’ll hear anything,” you try to reason as he huffs and turns away, refusing to look at you.

“Still!”

You sigh, putting down a brown bag on the floor before raising your hands up in surrender. “Okay fine, I’m sorry.”

“Are you really?”

This time, you roll your eyes. “Yes … Seungie—”

“I hate you!” Seungkwan roars as you double over laughing. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! I’m officially disowning you as my best friend.”

You gasp, stepping back and picking up the brown bag again. “Are you kidding me? And here I thought I would’ve liked to share one of my Americanos with you but I guess not …” you sigh dramatically, starting to walk away as you lift the bag to wave it in Seungkwan’s face.

“I was just joking! Come back! How could I disown you as my best friend—c’mon, you know I was just joking,” he pleads from behind you.

You grin as you turn around and walk back to him with a grin. “You’re horribly unpersuasive. Like your acting skills are actually an abomination,” you tell him, pulling out one of the cups of the cold drink and handing it to Seungkwan. “You’re lucky I love you,” you continue, laughing a little as Seungkwan snatches the cup away hastily with a bashful “thanks” under his breath.

“Okay, well ditto to you too,” he barks back. “Who else would put up with you and your ugly crying over Taylor Swift music videos?”

“Hey! Wildest Dreams is a lyrical, musical, theatrical, melodcial masterpiece! ”

“Okay, first of all, melodical isn’t even a word, and even if it was—” Seungkwan is cut off by the ringing of the office phone line. “I probably need to answer this but we are not done with this conversation,” he shoots at you.

You giggle, waving him off and heading down one the hall to get to your office, barely catching what Seungkwan is saying, or who he’s even talking to. It vaguely crosses your mind that it’s a bit too early in the morning for your office to be getting work calls, but you brush it off as you slip past your door and into your little room.

It’s a nice little space you’ve made for yourself; your physiotherapy firm was set up a few years back, and you’d even recently gone through a certification process to belt yourself as one of SECTOR’s physiotherapists. Pretty exciting stuff when you think about it—being able to work with such top-notch racers (albeit under rather unfortunate circumstances), and you get to do what you love at the same time.

Now, you haven’t actually gotten any big-shot patients yet, and you’ve started to appreciate that more recently. It’s not as stressful, and you don’t have to navigate a possibly awkward doctor-patient relationship with someone who’s dealing with what might be a career-changing injury.

You wonder when you’ll stop forgetting that your luck ran out years ago.

Just as you set your bag down and slip into your chair to answer some emails, Seungkwan is knocking on your door and walking in. “Hey, uh, this is kinda important,” he tells you, pointing behind him at his desk where he was taking the call.

“What’s up?” you ask, slightly worried by Seungkwan’s quick change in demeanor from playful to serious.

“Some doctor at SECTOR’s facility just called and—” Crap, you know where this is going already. “—Xu Minghao just fucked up his neck. Like yesterday. And he’s getting discharged from the hospital in a few hours hopefully and they’re gonna send him over right away so you can take a look and start working with him.”

You press your lips together tightly, head going slightly dizzy at the mention of his name. Of course, when you finally got yourself licensed to practice under SECTOR, you were aware of the possibility of working with him, but this feels a little too real and a little too fast.

“You good?” Seungkwan asks, snapping you out of your haze. “Lost you for a second—it looks like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Sorry, just zoned out,” you laugh stiffly, turning on your computer and taking a shaky breath. “I’m a bit nervous I guess. I’ve never worked with a professional like him—at least not yet,” you continue to say, and it’s not entirely a lie.

You are nervous, and in any other situation you would try your best to just not think about the situation but given Xu Minghao is going to step into your office in a few hours, you figure you should get to work right away.

Seungkwan steps out soon, saying, “You got this. Seriously, you’ve been working so hard for so long and you finally get to work with one of the big shots!”

Chuckling at his optimism, you finally open the email application on your monitor. Your inbox is flooded with emails, most of which are a series of X-rays and MRI scans of your soon to be patient, and so taking a deep breath, you dive in.

“Hey Hannie, did you sanitize Room C?” you ask one of your (few) employees as he steps out from the supply room behind the reception.

“Shoot, was it supposed to be C? I’m sorry, I cleaned up B, but I can go to C and get it sanitized right now—” he starts to say, turning towards the supply room at the end of the hall.

“Hey wait no it’s okay, I just asked for C ‘cause it’s a bit bigger but it doesn't really matter. Don’t worry about it—have you had your lunch break yet?”

“Nah not yet, I was just about to step into that with Seungkwan, but he’s taken a moment to grab coffee from the cafe across the street.”

You chuckle, “Already? I got him an Americano only a few hours ago …”

Jeonghan laughs out loud at that, slipping off his cleaning gloves and patting his hands down on his scrubs. “You know how Seungkwan is with his Americanos.”

“Don’t remind me—he’s crazy. I don’t know how he ingests that much caffeine and still functions like a normal human being but—”

Seungkwan’s voice cuts you off. “I know you guys are talking about me but I’d suggest you take a break and go get ready because I swear I just saw a car with SECTOR’s logo on the back pull up onto the street right up front.”

Oh fuck. You’re already starting to feel awfully nervous.

“Shit, really? I didn’t think they’d be here as early as noon,” Jeonghan says quickly, tossing the gloves and turning to you for instruction. “Anything we need to do?”

“Guys, just chill,” you say casually. Ironic, you think to yourself, because you feel like your heart might pound right out of your chest any second now. “Just handle this like you would any other patient. I’ll probably have to talk to his manager, but while we’re doing that Jeonghan can take Xu into B and just ease him into things. Lay off the tension, you know? He’s probably stressed out as is.”

“Noted,” Jeonghan nods as he walks down the hall, and then you turn to the door of the reception where you see a group of three people walking up.

You try to make out their figures; that one on the left’s probably one of SECTOR’s health directors, and the one on the right is … that’s Choi Seungcheol isn’t it? The one who sent you the emails? He’s Xu Minghao’s manager, you’re pretty sure of it.

You straighten your back when the front door opens, clutching the clipboard full of prints of the scans you were sent earlier. Setting your eyes straight, you take a deep breath and finally take in the sight of the three people filling into the reception.

Yup, there’s Choi Seungcheol … and then Cho Miyeon following behind and she’s pushing a—shit, it’s Xu Minghao in all his glory.

Well, you’re not sure how wondrous he feels right now in that wheelchair, eyes cold as he stares at the floor. His neck’s held up in a thick brace that you can see reaches down under his shirt and over his shoulders; he doesn’t look up, and for a moment you’re grateful.

It puts off the question though, the words that linger in the back of your mind.

Will he recognize you? Well, more importantly …

Does he even remember you?

You rid yourself of the personal thoughts when Choi Seungcheol approaches you, holding out his hand to you. You shake it, strong and firm as he smiles awkwardly. “Nice to meet you, thanks for making time for us today.”

“No problem,” you reply with a nod as Jeonghan comes in from the hallway. “My assistant, Jeonghan here can take Mr. Xu to one of our rooms while I talk with you two about a few things. Does that work?”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Seungcheol nods, motioning Jeonghan to Minghao in his wheelchair behind him. The racer keeps his head down as Jeonghan brushes over and starts pushing him down the hall to Room B. You wonder if he’s even noticed you.

As Jeonghan goes off, you turn back to the other two still in the reception and point at your room. “Shall we?”

Once the three of you settle down, Seungcheol and Miyeon sit across from you, the former speaks up. “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice—this all happened really quick and if you can't already tell, we’re kind of desperate to get him back in the driver’s seat as soon as possible.”

“No worries, please. These kinds of situations are exactly what I’m here for,” you tell them, and they both seem to crack a small smile of relief. “Now I spoke with the doctor that examined him at the hospital, and then briefly with Ms. Cho,” you say, motioning towards the woman on your right, “And there’s a general understanding that Mr. Xu’s suffered a pretty serious strain in his neck muscles.”

“Yeah, uh—how long is this going to take to heal?” Seungcheol pops in, and you sigh.

“I can give you a range, but it’s not so definite … I’d say between three to five months,” you tell him. “But again, it’s different for every patient. Muscle strains aren’t like a clean break or fracture where we can determine almost exactly when it’ll be healed … this stuff is going to take more time and it varies from person to person as well. It all kind of depends on Mr. Xu’s body, and that’s what I’m here for—to help figure out what works for him.”

“We understand that, thank you,” Miyeon nods, sitting straighter in her seat. “How often should he be coming in?”

“Hm, I’ll give you a definite answer after checking in with him today, but to estimate, I’d say around 2-3 times a week, while also using my suggestions outside of our sessions.”

You finish the conversation with the two after that, excusing yourself as you let them back into the reception before knocking on the door to Room B. Jeonghan opens the door from the other side and quietly closes the door behind him before pushing you a little deeper into the hallway.

“He seems like, really sad, so—”

“Well, duh. It’s a serious injury,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Jeonghan clicks his lips and nudges your shoulder.

“Whatever. I’m just telling you to tread carefully,” he says as you make your way to the door. You don’t respond to Jeonghan as you slip in. Minghao’s turned away from you as he sits on his wheelchair in the middle of the room you purse your lips before taking a deep breath and nodding.

You got this. Seungkwan was right—you’ve worked too hard for too long to be rendered anxious ‘cause of a silly little overlap of your past with your patient.

“Hi Mr. Xu,” you greet, making your way to the table right by where he sits, finally seeing him up close. He doesn’t look at you. “I’m pretty sure you already have heard enough about what’s wrong with your neck right now, so let’s talk about how we can make it better, yeah?”

You hear a gruff, “Sure,” escape his lips, and you figure that given his circumstances, it’s understandable.

“The report says that when you first started feeling the pain you couldn’t move your right arm even a little without it hurting in your neck, right?” you clarify as you sit at the chair between him and your table.

“Yeah.”

“Is it better now?”

“A little. Can move my forearm but moving my shoulder still hurts.”

“Okay, this is a good sign actually—you’re getting through the initial stages of healing just like normal. The first week or so of strain like yours might be pretty painful, but it’s over quickly and the pain after that should be pretty bearable, although it’ll take more time for it to heal.” You tell him, looking away to glance at the scans.

As he stares at the ground, Minghao wants to scream. Good sign? What the fuck are you talking about—he can’t even lift his goddamn arm without it feeling like there’s daggers plunging into his neck, and you’re here sitting all calm faced, pristine, acting like this isn’t his fuckin’ career on the line. Acting like your words are gonna make a difference as long as he’s in this stupid ass brace with this stupid ass injury in this stupid ass room with—who the fuck even are you?

His head hurts, and Minghao thinks it’s partly because of his neck, but it’s mostly because he can’t stop thinking. Thinking about the worst possibilities, thinking about everything that could go wrong and—well shit, he chides himself for letting his anger get the better of himself, even if it was just in his head.

Shamefully, he presses his eyes shut and takes a deep breath before finally lifting his gaze and turning to face you. When you look up from your paper and finally turn back to him, you’re met with the sight of pretty brown eyes staring right back at you.

“I—” Minghao starts, but it sounds like the air got stuck in his throat as he finally takes in your figure, and then he purses his lips together and turns back away. “Nothing.” the possibilities of what he could have been thinking ruins your mind just a little.

You can see it in his eyes—Minghao remembers. Still, he doesn’t say anything about it, and you wonder if you prefer things to stay that way.

“What time is Xu scheduled for on Wednesdays? He’ll be coming in on Wednesdays, right?” Jeonghan asks as he steps into your office.

“Uh, he’s coming in for a session from 11-2 today—which, by the way, could you set up Room C for that? I can’t remember if I already put that on the to-do list.”

“Yeah I did it yesterday after our last patient of the day, I was just wondering. You’re gonna lead it with him this time, right?”

“Yeah, since it’s the first session. You were right about him being … apprehensive—”

“Sad,” Jeonghan corrects you. “A sad, sad boy.”

“Yeah well, go figure,” you sigh out of sympathy. “Anyways, like I said, it’s understandable for him to be frustrated, so I’ll work with him at first to ease him into things and stuff. You can start taking over more of the sessions once he warms up to the whole process, and once we figure out and set a routine.”

“Okay great. Does this mean I can go out for my lunch break at 11:30?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” you reply with a casual shrug as Jeonghan thanks you and slips away. You shift your attention back to your monitor before glancing through the initial medical reports you were sent by the hospital, and then the results of your own tests you ran during your first session with Xu Minghao.

It’s a shitty injury, you’ll have to admit. A neck strain on the muscles closest to his right shoulder, not only rendering his neck immobile for a period of time, but also hindering his abilities to move his right arm.

Must hurt like a bitch—physically and mentally—and the image of him staring down at the ground burns in the back of your mind.

With a sigh, you silently wonder if you could offer him the same solace he gave you.

Xu Minghao shows up to your office two hours later with Choi Seungcheol pushing him inside on his wheelchair, and you’re thankful to see that his stature looks much more relaxed than before. “I’ll come by at 2, right?”

“Yeah, that’ll be great. Thank you,” Jeonghan tells Mr. Choi with a smile before taking control of Minghao’s wheelchair and strolling him into the room. You’re already there and waiting for him, standing up to greet him with a smile.

“Hi Mr. Xu,” you say, thanking Jeonghan as he leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

“Morning,” he says quietly, not quite meeting your gaze. The air isn’t as thick as it was the first day, but there seems to be some invisible barrier between the two.

“How’s the pain right now, Mr. Xu?” you ask, pulling out a notepad on your computer to jot down some notes.

Your patient’s eyebrows furrow, and for a second you have a feeling this might be harder than you thought, but his next words are more comforting than anything. “Uh, can you just call me Minghao? Mr. Xu is … it’s weird.”

“Y-yeah of course, sorry about that, Minghao,” you nod with a half smile. “So could you tell me how things are feeling?”

“I guess it hurts less. I don’t really move that much so I can avoid hurting myself though—kinda in this thing most of the time anyways,” he replies gruffly, hitting the left side of the wheelchair with his palm.

“Do you stand up? Walk around at all?”

“Not often.”

“Okay so I think we’re going to try and change that soon,” you tell him. “We’ll do some mobility checks today but if it doesn’t hurt to move your shoulder a little, then I think it’s best you move as much as you can without pain. Honestly, you’re going to be injured for a while and—”

You pause when you hear Minghao inhale sharply at that, making a mental note to soften your words a little.

“—and we don’t want you to be immobile. If you can move, try to. We’ll try and get you out of the wheelchair within the next two weeks, how does that sound?”

Minghao’s ears perk up at that. “Two weeks? Only?”

You nod happily at his sudden energy and the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Yeah, you know the wheelchair is just so you don’t move your upper body too much but like I said the last time we met, the initial stages are pretty painful but once it’s over, you’ll be more mobile. Of course, you won’t be able to get back to racing and training right away, but you’ll be able to be a lot more active than you are now.”

“How long will it take before I can start training again?” Minghao asks curiously, finally looking you straight in the eye with parted lips.

The desperation is painful to watch.

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, watching his shoulders deflate. “At least two months.”

“Two months?”

“At the least,” you say with a held breath.

“At the most?” Minghao asks hopefully.

You purse your lips. “At the most? … A year?”

“A year? That’s more than a whole racing season!”

“Yes but neck strains are fickle and we can’t let anything go wrong, and due to the nature of your sport, you really—”

“I think I know the nature of my own sport,” Minghao scoffs, and with the way he says it, you don’t know if you should be mad or sad or disappointed or a mix of all three.

“I—” you pause, “I understand your frustration Mr.—Minghao, but my job is to make sure you’re one hundred percent healed before you set foot on the track again, so please be patient and allow yourself to heal.”

Something about those last few words rings in Minghao’s ears, and he zones out for the rest of what you’re saying.

Allow yourself to heal. Fuck.

Minghao stays pretty much silent for the rest of the session, and you’re not quite sure if it’s out of complacency or indifference. You go through some slow mobility exercises, and figure out a good range for him to stay in for the next few days.

“Make sure you practice those movements every day,” you note once you near the end of today’s session. “I’ll send you an email listing all of them with instructions so you remember. Please try and do them every day, and it’ll hopefully speed up the recovery process.”

“Thanks,” Minghao murmurs as he carefully sits back down in his wheelchair.

“Is there anything else you’re doing in your free time right now?” you ask, trying to make casual conversation as you start to type up your list.

“Not really. I watch practice videos and stuff, I guess.”

You hum, not really responding until you finally finish the list and send it to his email. “I sent the list, you should start using it tomorrow. Anyways, I think you should try crocheting,” you tell him casually.

Minghao gives you a sideways glance as he raises an eyebrow. “… Crocheting?”

“Yeah,” you say with a shrug, finally turning around to face. “You know, with yarn and stuff.”

“I know what crocheting is.”

“I-I know,” you say awkwardly, slightly thrown off your game by his bluntness. “You won’t have to move your shoulders, only your forearms, so it’s fine.”

“But why?”

“It’s fun. And a nice way to pass time, especially when you can’t move around a lot. Plus, it’s always good to have something to distract yourself from—” You pause, thinking about how to finish your sentence. “—from shitty stuff, y’know?”

Minghao chuckles, and your heart swells a little when you finally see him break a smile. “Yeah, I guess.” There’s a long pause. “Shitty stuff, huh?”

You laugh, nodding. “Yeah. Shitty stuff.”

“You and your stupid Americanos,” you sigh, watching Seungwkan grin as the barista hands him his drink.

“Stop acting like you don’t indulge in me too. Getting me all those Americanos in the morning … I should blame you for this addiction!”

“So you admit it’s an addiction!” you exclaim triumphantly, waving your hands in the air. Seungkwan rolls his eyes, leaving you to sit at a table in one of the corners of the cafe. Laughing at his silent admission of defeat, you wait for your drink patiently.

It’s only a few more moments before the barista is back at the counter, calling out, “Honey lavender latte!” With a smile, you walk over, about to reach for the drink before a hand beats you to it.

Frowning, you look up at the man who’s holding your drink before you say, “Hey, I’m sorry, I think that’s my drink.”

“Uh, honey lavender latte? I’m pretty sure I ordered this,” he says. You look at him with a funny expression on your face, eyes darting between the drink you ordered and the drink that’s in his other hand. He catches your suspicion and shakes his head quickly. “It’s for my friend, I ordered for the both of us so I could get us a spot.”

“Oh,” you breath out, figuring that it probably isn’t a lie. “S-sorry for the misunderstanding. I just—” you chuckle, watching some of the tension from the man’s shoulders wither away. “I ordered the same thing—”

“Oh sorry, I—my friend isn’t here yet so you can just take this and I’ll wait for the other to come out,” he offers, watching your face, and you see something in his expression change. “Hey wait, you look really familiar,” he murmurs.

Your eyebrows furrow as you silently thank him when he hands you the drink. “Uh, are you sure? I’m sorry, I just—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” you admit with an awkward chuckle.

The man shakes his head and laughs quietly to myself. “No, I swear I’ve seen you somewhere, but I’m just blanking on it right now—sorry this is probably so weird but—” The bell of the front door rings and he shoots his head to see who’s coming in, eyes lighting up. “Oh hey, Hao! Was just waiting for you!”

Hao? Mingh—

You lock eyes as soon as he walks in.

The man from before beams as he walks up to him as your eyes finally break away, and Minghao turns to his friend. “Hansol,” he greets with a small smile, and it’s a pleasant sight to see your patient—who’s more often monotone than not—seem a bit more at ease than before.

“How’re you doing? Was just waiting on your drink and—” the man—Hansol—points at you with eyes as wide as saucers, “—oh by the way, doesn’t she look really familiar?”

You chuckle nervously, breaking out an awkward smile and waving at Minghao who returns you by raising his left arm in a sort of half-wave before turning his attention to Hansol to give him a blank stare. “Yeah, she’s kinda like my physiotherapist dude.”

This time, you chuckle a bit more genuinely, eyes darting between the amused smirk that’s just barely there on Minghao’s lips, and Hansol’s agape stare.

“Ohh shit, yeah that’s where I saw you! Cheol and Miyeon were talking about you when they were booking you for Hao at the hospital, and I saw your picture on the screen,” Vernon explains as the realization hits him.

“Oh,” you laugh lightly. “That’s funny,” you reply as you turn your attention to Minghao, “Good to see you’re getting out of that wheelchair. I bet it feels nice to finally stretch your legs and stuff,” you say. If Minghao could move his neck without eruptions of pain, he’d nod his head.

For now though, he settles on smiling and saying, “Yeah, it’s refreshing.” His eyes wander around you, taking in how you aren’t dressed in your usual work attire, but rather clad in a cute outfit. “Is that my drink?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed as he points at the coffee you’ve just taken a sip of.

Hansol laughs and shakes his head. “You two got the same drink so when it came out, I just let ‘er have it, since you weren’t here yet.” He glances around before putting his drink down at a nearby table. “Shit, I think I left my laptop in my car,” he murmurs, looking at his friend. “I’m gonna go get it so I can show you those videos I was talking about.”

“Yeah, that’s chill,” Minghao agrees. Hansol smiles at you and then his friend before quickly retreating from the cafe to get to the parking lot, leaving you and the tall man standing in silence. It’s a few passing moments where you awkwardly sip on your drink before something pops in your mind.

“Hey, it’s actually really funny that you’re seeing me right now because—well it’s not funny funny, but it’s a nice coincidence so I guess that counts as funny but—anyways, look, I crocheted this cardigan.” You smile, lifting your arms a little so he can see the dark, navy blue fabric you made yourself, before turning around to show off the light blue, striped pattern on the back. “Cool, right?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty. Nice color scheme and all,” Minghao agrees.

“Thanks. Have you started crocheting? I can send you some videos to get you started,” you offer. Just as Minghao is about to reply, the barista from behind you calls out another order of your drink, causing both of you to glance back. “Oh, you wait there; I’ll get it,” you say, putting your drink down on the same table Hansol did before walking over to grab Minghao’s drink and hand it back to his left hand.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to,” he says as your fingers brush over each other before falling back to your side. “Isn’t your friend waiting for you?”

“Of course I have to. I’m your doctor! I can’t make you do that,” you reason before pointing back at your best friend. “And are you talking about Seungkwan? Looks like he’s having the time of his life doing—” You turn your head around to glance at him before looking back at Minghao, “—doing god knows what on his phone and—”

“Are you talking about me?” you hear Seungkwan’s voice calling from a few meters away, and the way you cringe has Minghao stifling a giggle. “All good things I hope!” he continues.

“You know it!” you shoot back sarcastically, only to be followed by Seungkwan’s rolling eyes. “That little shit. I pay his bills!” you exclaim, a faux frown making its way onto your face.

Minghao laughs, his head throwing back a little. The small movement flares up a bite of pain in his neck, causing his breath to get stuck in his throat, eyes widening as he slowly shifts back into a comfortable position.

“Sorry,” you murmur sheepishly.

If Minghao could shrug without feeling like his neck would snap in half, he would. Instead, he raises his eyebrow playfully when he says, “Are you seriously apologizing for being funny?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m retracting my apology.”

It’s been around three weeks since you started working with Minghao. He’s warmed up to you a fair amount, and ever since you saw him at the cafe, the air around you two has been lighter.

It’s still a bit awkward at times—skitting around the moments where you wonder if you should say something about the elephant in the room before shaking your head and biting your tongue. Then again, given how often you see Minghao, you’ve gotten used to it.

Seungkwan stops by your office this morning when he walks into work. “Morning,” he greets, dropping a small brown bag by your desk as you file through some papers.

“Ooh, thank you,” you tell him gleefully, taking a break from your task to glance at the chocolate muffin that sits inside of the bag. “I’ve been craving this,” you admit, reaching in and picking out a small piece to stuff into your mouth.

“Your welcome,” Seungkwan sighs, sitting down on the seat in front of you. “Anyways, I found something cool that I don’t think you told me.”

You raise your eyebrows at him skeptically. “Yeah? What is it?”

“You and Xu Minghao are from the same hometown!”

You roll your eyes. “Why do you still keep calling him Xu Minghao? He’s told us to just say Minghao, and even if he didn’t, it’s awkward when you say his full name like that.”

Seungkwan scoffs at you, reaching his hand over to try and flick your forehead but you dodge. “Because he’s Xu Minghao. I can’t believe you aren’t still jumping up and down for getting to work with him, seeing how much you love SECTOR.”

“You want me to be happy that the best racer from my favorite team is injured?”

“Ugh, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Whatever,” you shrug, a small hint of a smile peeking from your lips.

“Anyways, you didn’t answer what I actually said. Why didn’t you tell me you guys are from the same area? That’s so cool!”

“I mean I guess,” you say with a shrug.

“And you guys are the same age so—wait, did you go to school together? Oh my god, are you guys like—I don’t know, long lost best friends or something?” Seungkwan’s eyes widen. “Oh, that’d be so cool—I could totally see a movie on this and—wait! If he’s your long lost best friend, where does that leave me? You better not replace me with him!”

You laugh at the progression of his thoughts, almost choking on your second bite of the muffin. “We did go to school together,” you admit. “It’s not like we crossed paths though. He kinda just, I don’t know, existed back then. So no worries for you, you’re not getting replaced any time soon … unfortunately,” you add with mischievous giggle.

“Better not …” Seungkwan huffs.

Minghao comes in a few hours later for his afternoon session. Jeonghan works with him for the first two of the three hours, and you walk in for the last hour. You go over some more mobility exercises, before finally sitting down so you can discuss his progress.

“So things are going really well,” you start to tell him, beginning to list off a couple signs of development which stood out to you. You’re about to commend him on keeping up the exercises everyday, when you notice him staring at the floor with a blank expression. “H-hey, Minghao?” you ask, clearing your voice when he doesn’t respond. “Minghao.”

His eyes shoot up to yours, shoulders tensing for a second before he lets out a deep breath. “Sorry, zoned out for a second.”

You chuckle nervously, wondering if it’s okay if you probe just a little. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Minghao replies casually, but you catch the way he doesn’t meet your gaze. “Just thinking about last night’s race.”

“Oh, Singapore?”

“Yeah.”

“I was able to catch a bit of it last night, but I passed out. It seemed intense though—you see Kim’s pit stop?”

“Yeah, it was kinda insane,” Minghao says breathily. His expression is unreadable, but he’s continuing to respond and so you choose to let things go on naturally. “He’s been living up to his talent now that his shitbox is back to what it’s supposed to be.”

“Can’t imagine how frustrating it is.” Fuck, when Minghao’s shoulders drop, it feels like you said something you probably shouldn’t have.

I can imagine, Minghao thinks after hearing your response, but he bites back the words. “Yeah,” he says dejectedly instead.

Silence. This seems like a good chance to change the topic.

“Uh—” Sorry, you want to say, but you choose to hold your breath instead. “I have good news.”

“Oh?”

“We can get you out of the neck brace today,” you tell him happily.

Minghao’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yeah, your progress has been great. Didn’t want to tell you earlier to get your hopes up, in case something went wrong, but everything has been looking really good and you’re at the point where we usually take any supports like braces off.”

Minghao grins, and it’s a stark contrast from the grim shadow cast on his face just moments earlier. You take a few moments to go over the procedures with him, helping him out of the foamy, firm brace with gentle hands and watchful eyes.

“How’s it feeling?” you ask, setting the brace down by one of your counters so you can dispose of it later.

Minghao lets out a low groan of what you can only assume is relief when he looks up. “Like my skin can finally breathe,” he sighs heavily, a bright smile taking over his features as you turn to face him.

“I’m happy for you,” you tell him, before beginning a quick examination process of the area under the brace and going through some quick motions.

“All done?” he asks. When you nod, he continues. “Kinda early, huh?” he say pointendly, and you both quickly glance at the clock on the wall: his session is supposed to end in 43 minutes.

“Oh yeah, uh—actually … I was wondering if you wanted to try something?” you ask tentatively, and Minghao senses your hesitation. “If you have the time.”

Raising a brow, he nods. “Yeah I don’t mind, what is it?”

“One second,” you tell him, getting up and leaving the room to grab something from your office. Shyly, you walk back in and to your seat, all while holding up a brown bag. “Just some old crocheting supplies I thought you might like,” you murmur, placing it down on the counter.

Minghao presses his lips together tightly, not expecting your words. “Oh, uh—I haven’t really … I haven’t taken up crocheting yet. Sorry, uh—”

“Oh yeah,” you say quickly, holding a hand up, using the other to show him the contents of the bag. There’s some balls of yarn and hooks in a little mess, and you reach in to take some out. “I figured—it’s pretty intimidating to take up by yourself but,” you sigh. “I think it’ll be really nice for you. I recommend it to a lot of my patients who can’t do their regular activities and hobbies … and now given your brace is off, your vision will have more range and it might be really fun for you. No pressure if you don’t like it, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to show you the ropes,” you admit, holding up a ball of blue yarn.

Catching onto your pun, Minghao chuckles and replies, “Sure, why not.”

“Okay great,” you say excitedly, dropping the bag and pulling your chair up in front of him and next to the table, pulling the supplies out.

Minghao is patient as you show off the different yarns and hooks, explaining the very basics in great detail. You can’t quite tell if he’s being so obedient out of genuine interest, pity, or simply polite compliance, but for whatever reason, you’re thankful. Soon, you’re showing him how you do it yourself before handing him one of your spare hooks and the ball of yarn, letting Minghao test the waters for himself.

“Yeah, just do that and—wait,” you mutter, reaching over to adjust the way he’s holding the hook. Your soft fingers gingerly brush over his knuckles, and Minghao finds himself getting lost for a moment. As you innocently fix the position of his fingers, his stomach churns in a manner he can’t quite name. “You got that?” you ask him suddenly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Sorry, zoned out again. What was that?”

“Singapore really got you thinking, huh?” you muse before shaking your head and laughing it off.

“Sorry, I—”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, I was just saying you should position your thumb like this or else you might start to cramp up really fast. Happens to me like crazy but I didn’t fix my habit and now I just gotta crochet through the pain.”

Minghao looks at you with an odd expression. “Crochet … through … the pain?”

“That sounded cooler in my head, my bad.”

Minghao laughs. It’s not a tight chuckle, or a soft giggle, it’s a laugh. And it’s bright and full and tugging at your heartstrings in a way you’d rather ignore. “It’s okay.”

“Anyways … here, I’ll show you how to start off with a slip knot and then we’ll take things from there,” you instruct.

Slowly, you walk him through the steps. You learn that Minghao is a good learner. He’s intuitive, but it’s not that you expect much different—you figure no one can get to the level he’s at without being quick to pick up on things.

You’re soon showing him how to start a simple chain, the yarn and hook still in his hands as you work him through the process. “Yeah, now you just gotta yarn over like this—no, the other way, just like that … and—yeah … yeah!” you exclaim excitedly when Minghao slips the hook right through, lengthening the chain. “You got it!”

“Really?” Minghao asks. “Simpler than I thought,” he admits aloud, and you nod vigorously.

“Yeah … crocheting looks hard from afar but once you actually get the hang of it, it’s as easy as breathing,” you explain, softly taking the yarn and hook from his hands and showing how it looks once you build in more loops.

He watches you carefully—the way your fingers so gently, with such precision; how your eyebrows furrow ever so slightly as you focus in on the task at hand, tongue unconsciously sticking out from the corner of your mouth, and—

“You’re really good at this,” Minghao murmurs quietly, and you swear he’s so close, his warm breath fans down on your cheeks. You gulp, pausing what you’re doing to look up at him.

“My mother taught me. It’s been a casual hobby ever since.”

You feel Minghao’s eyes bore down on yours intensely, wondering if he’ll respond. Something is screaming at you to pray he’ll keep his mouth shut.

Minghao doesn’t say a word, thankfully. Still, the possibilities of what could be running through his mind haunt you.

You think you should start feeling guilty. You think you should already be feeling guilty when you start to look forward to seeing Minghao. He’s your patient for fuck’s sake—you should be happy he’s not holed up in here everyday.

Still, there’s a weird feeling that festers in your chest when you think about him.

Minghao, and the way he’s so persistent, so patient, so attentive with all the exercises and information you tell him. Minghao, and the polite smile he throws your way at the beginning of each session. Minghao, and the way his eyes light up.

“We’re going to try some new mobility exercises today,” you tell him today with a grin, standing up from your seat. Minghao’s ears perk up as he catches the bright look on your face, and something inside of him swells with hope.

“Really?”

You smile and nod in return. “Yeah! I mean your recovery has been really great so far and I think this is a good point to move on and see if we can test out an even wider range of motion.” Minghao doesn’t really say anything in response, but the way his eyes light up when he watches you explain the exercises tells you enough.

In the hour that follows, you two walk through the exercises, trying out each one, and you’re almost three quarters through all the motions you planned today right before you show him how to angle his shoulder before a new exercise.

“How are things feeling? Anything hurting? Anywhere?” you ask anxiously as Minghao comes out of the last stretch you showed him with a pleasant look on his face.

“No, not like pain pain,” he says casually, leaning back into the chair. “Not the kinda pain from the strain, but I feel a bit of tension on my shoulder from keeping it in that position for too long.”

“Okay great,” you say, typing it down onto your digital notepad. “We’ll try and switch up that one next time so your body is completely relaxed from now on.”

“Thanks. What’s the next exercise?” Minghao asks curiously upon taking in the information. You vaguely think to yourself about how you enjoy his growing warmness—he’s been a lot more positive these past sessions with his rapid progress, and it’s bringing a much lighter atmosphere to Room C.

You explain the movement to him, explaining to him how to lift his shoulders just enough to circle them backwards without too much movement. It’s going pretty smoothly like the other exercises; you explain, Minghao listens, you adjust, Minghao lets you.

Right now you’re about to lean in, hands brushing over his shoulder blade to guide them to a more steep angle, explaining to Minghao how to fix his posture. Your fingers brush over his collarbone and jaw a few times in the process, your eyes keeping steady on making sure he doesn’t make any abrasive movements.

“There we go,” you tell him after showing him how to do the circular movement with his shoulders. “Why don’t you try it by yourself?”

Shooting you a thumbs up, Minghao complies, lifting his shoulder forward first slowly. He’s going through the motions of everything pretty normally—after all this is just like any other exercise so he doesn’t really worry that much until—fuck.

Holy shit, that quick but sharp pain stings so bad.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask worriedly when Minghao stills, his eyes widening.

So much. So fucking much, Minghao thinks to himself.

“Talk to me,” you say, moving closer to him so you can move your hands over his shoulder and lead them back down to a natural position.

“It h-hurt for a second. Really bad, but then it was gone,” Minghao says breathily. You purse your lips together and Minghao feels his heart sink to his chest when you turn around and type some stuff he can’t read from where he sits. “Is this like—” He needs to pause to collect himself so the nerves don’t get to him. “—is it bad?” When you hesitate to respond, Minghao already knows his answer. “Fuck.”

“Look, it’s just hurting in that spot for this exercise. The rest of your progress is amazing, but we’re just going to need to take it slower since you’ve probably just overexerted the muscle a little bit.”

“So I’ve been set back, basically,” Minghao says bluntly, his tone doing a full 180 from just a few moments earlier.

“Not a setback …” you sigh. “Just a sign that we need to go slower right now.” You watch him worriedly when he presses his lips together and doesn’t meet your gaze.

“So a setback.”

You gulp. “You can’t think of this like that. I told you from the start that progress is never linear and—”

“I don’t give a fuck, okay?” Minghao breaths out, and something about the way he says it with such a curt, tense tone almost makes you lose your composure. “This is—fuck, this my career okay? I can’t afford any setbacks.”

“I know that and that’s why I’m your doctor, okay?” you say, a bit more harshly than you intended.

You don’t understand why you’re letting his hostility get to your head all of sudden—it isn’t like you haven’t had frustrated patients before. Fuck, you’ve had people cry, sob, break down in this same room over slow progress but something about the way he looks so disheartened has your heart clenching.

“I’m here to help you,” you reiterate, your tone more composed than before. “But I can only do that if you let me.”

Minghao eyes flicker between your wide eyes and his hands in his lap. There’s a growing knot that ties in his throat, and he’s too afraid to open his mouth to speak, too afraid of what he might say. Instead, he just huffs and stands up.

“Sorry,” he finally musters up, eyes trained on the ground as you watch him carefully for his next move. “I’m leaving.”

You don’t stop him as he walks away.

When Minghao walks into the reception a few days later, he’s not surprised to see that you aren’t the one greeting him. He thinks back to the way your lips were pressed into a tight line when he walked out last week. It was the last time he’d seen you in the past few days, and some weird mix of worry swirls in his stomach.

Were you avoiding him? He wouldn’t blame you if you were, but he feels guilty for thinking that way. You wouldn’t let something personal get in the way of your work, Minghao knows that for sure.

Still, he bites his tongue when he briefly considers asking Jeonghan where you are. Would that be overstepping? It’s not like there haven’t been sessions where you weren’t there, but something about the thickness in the air around him tells Minghao that there’s something he should be worried about.

As if he could read Minghao’s mind, Jeonghan speaks up. “Doc’ll come in around the end. It’s her mom’s birthday so she’s out for most of the afternoon, but she’ll be back for the last half an hour,” he says casually, not really expecting to turn around to see Minghao looking at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“H-her—” Her mom? Minghao wants to ask but something stops him from saying it. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not here. Something feels wrong. “That’s fine,” he mutters, pursing his lips before looking at the ground.

He can feel Jeonghan’s curious gaze burning into the back of his skull, but Minghao only doesn’t move as he keeps quiet. They soon fall into the regular pattern of starting off with mobility exercises before doing a check of his range of movement.

It’s nearing the final hour of his session when Jeonghan excuses himself for a moment. Only two minutes passes before there’s a knock at the door, and then some footsteps leading in.

“Good afternoon Minghao,” you greet softly upon walking in. The man glances up at you, eyes widening when he takes in your figure.

“Oh—uh, hey.”

Minghao wants to bash his head into the wall. Hey? Seriously? That’s all he could muster up? Hey?

“Jeonghan gave me the rundown,” you tell him, looking away as you lift a clipboard and squint to read the tiny text. “No more sharp pains … returning mobilily …”

You hum slowly as you read off the notes your assistant left for you, not meeting Minghao’s gaze. He wonders if that’s what you intended. “Seeing as things are going smoothly for now, we’ll continue with the low-risk exercises and—”

“I’m sorry,” Minghao blurts out. He wonders what compels him to do it, but when you finally meet his gaze, he realizes that he just wanted you to look at him.

“Mi—”

“I’m sorry for how I acted last time. I shouldn’t have said that stuff to you. I was frustrated and took it out on you, and that wasn’t okay. I’m sorry.”

Your lips are pursed by the time Minghao is finished. He’s said enough, but when he peers up at you, his eyes speak a story of their own.

“It’s okay,” you respond with no hesitation, before turning back to your clipboard, scanning over it a few more times and then setting it down.

You smooth your hands over your lab coat, and for a moment Minghao wonders what it would feel like to have your palms run down his neck, pressing into his skin so gently yet with such fervor, fingertips ghosting over—

Minghao shouldn’t think like this.

“Jeonghan told me that it’s your mom’s birthday,” he finally breaks the silence. It’s the first time either of you have actually brought it up, and the reality of it all—fuck, it’s hitting you so hard that there’s already tears pooling in yout lashline.

You silently curse yourself for forgetting to tell Jeonghan not to tell Minghao anything. It’s okay, it isn’t like he knew any better, you tell yourself as you blink rapidly, trying to shoo away the tears.

“Mhm,” you hum, hoping he doesn’t probe any deeper. You aren’t sure what you should say.

You’re silent, and Minghao itches to reach forward, to rest his hand on your shoulder, to smile at you, to say all the things he’s been thinking about you but he just can’t. All he can manage is to clear his throat, causing you to look up at him expectantly.

Fuck, what should he say? “I’m um—I’m glad. Glad that she’s uh—that everything worked out.” That’s fine, right? There’s nothing wrong with that statement, Minghao’s almost sure of it so … so why in the world are you crying?

Shoot, did he fuck up? You’re sitting in the chair right next to him, head in your hands as you cover your face and turn away; your cries are soft but just loud enough for Minghao to hear over the rush in his ears, just loud enough for him to feel the ache, just loud enough for him to get the message.

Oh.

The first time you meet Xu Minghao, you’re in middle school. Seventh grade and walking into Algebra, going to sit down on your regular seat. Five minutes into class and a new boy walks into the room, handing your teacher a slip before being directed to sit down at a spot a few tables over.

He’s got short, dark hair, cat-like eyes, and a bit of tall, lanky figure as he slinks down into the chair. Your teacher claps her hands together and announces that there’s a new student in class. His name’s “Xu Minghao,” she said.

You don’t really remember his name at first. It isn’t uncommon for there to be new students on campus. He’s not in many of your other classes you realize as the day goes on, and so he slips your mind. Maybe you work with him for a few assignments throughout the year, but not enough for you to wave at each other when you pass the other in the hallways.

Five years later and you’re in your final year of high school. Time has passed, you have changed, Xu Minghao has changed, but what remains the same is what you are to each other. Strangers.

You’re paired with a stranger for your final senior Literature project.

“Do you want to write a paper, or do the poster?” you ask as he sits down next to you once the pairing assignments. Your teacher had given you two options on how to go about the project. “I don’t really mind either or,” you admit.

Minghao hums, setting his copy of Macbeth on the table before turning to you. “Poster? I think I’ve done enough writing in this past year to last me a lifetime,” he tells you with an obvious sigh.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Were you in Biology?”

He nods. “Regretfully.”

“Oh so you also had to write that whole research paper. Damn, that thing had to have shaved at least ten years off my life.”

“Ditto,” Minghao grumbles, running his hands over his face. “Oh god, just thinking about it is making me queasy. I’m so happy we’re in our final semester.”

“So we agree on no paper, just the poster?” you finalize.

Minghao agrees, “Yeah, that’s great.”

One week later and Minghao is at your doorstep. “Cool set up,” he notes, stepping into your room, looking down at the poster splayed out with markers all over.

You grin. “Thanks—I kind of like being artsy and stuff sometimes so I was pretty happy to do this when you said you also wanted to do the poster.”

“Seems like I made a good choice then,” he replies, sitting down on the opposite end of the poster and pulling out a notebook and his book. “I did some work and got a bunch of lines that we could use as citations in different parts.”

“That’s great,” you say, picking a pen. “Let’s get started then?”

You two get straight to work, and all goes smoothly. Minghao is a good worker, you’ve noticed. His friends are quite fun—you’ve seen him with them in the hallways sometimes—but you start to realize that Minghao doesn’t let himself sacrifice his work ethic for fun.

You make quite some progress over the next hour or two, and you’re just about to bring up one of your ideas. “So over here, I was thinking we could write out the context of the play and then—” You’re cut off by the voice of your older brother at your door. He’s looking down at his phone with his lips pressed into a tight line as he speaks.

“Mom’s starting another cycle of chemo this Thursday so—oh, sorry,” Beomgyu says quickly upon looking up and seeing you have a visitor. “Come to my room when you’re done,” he mutters before turning on his heel.

The silence that envelopes your room is deafening.

You don’t say a word as you take a deep breath and pick up a different colored marker. You clear your throat. “So back to what I was saying …”

The next time you work on the poster, it’s at Minghao’s house.

You wear a blue gown at graduation. It’s a sunny day in June, and you’re sweating a little through the silk fabric, but it’s okay.

Your father and Beomgyu are there in the stands, but your eyes can’t help but be pulled to the empty seat next to them. Your mother said she’d try to make it, but broke the news last night that it was a dream too high up to reach.

It’s okay, you had told her, but as you clutch your diploma close to your heart, all you can think is, no it’s not, no it’s not, no it’s fucking not.

You sit through the rest of the ceremony with a silence and all around you, you see your peers’ smiling faces, the encouraging words of the dean, the cheers of the crowds, and somehow you feel so lost in it all. When you’re finally dismissed, everyone claps and revels once more, but somehow you can’t find the voice in your throat to join them.

Slipping through the crowds of people who line up to take pictures with their friends, family, and all the sort, you slip out of the small stadium and into some hallway.

“Fuck!” you finally cry out, raising your hand up and whipping it forward towards the brick wall. You wince, bracing yourself for the pain, but the sting never comes. Something warm envelopes your wrist, and when you finally blink your eyes open, you see a stranger.

“I don’t understand what you’re going through,” Minghao finally says. “I won’t pretend I do either, but it’ll be okay.” He hugs you and your face is pressed into Minghao’s own blue gown that is about to turn a few shades darker.

You cry. You cry harder than you think you’ve ever cried before.

You don’t know what it is about the way he speaks. Maybe it’s the way he holds you. Maybe it’s the way he smells. Maybe it’s everything, but whatever it is or isn’t, you don’t stop crying and for a gracing moment, you bask in catharsis.

And then, you hear Beomgyu’s voice calling for you from a nearby hallway, so you pull back. Minghao presses his lips together and lets you go, hands dropping to the side as you wipe away the tears. There’s a darker blue splotch in the middle of his chest, but he says nothing of it.

You don’t say a word as you step back—the only communication you share is a nod, but you swear on every last star in the sky that he has said more words to you in that moment than anyone has told you in your entire lifetime.

You don’t see Minghao’s face until it’s seven years later and he’s plastered on the screen as SECTOR’s newest recruit. He’s got phenomenal potential as an F1 racer—greatest new talent in a while—you hear the host of the channel say, but as you look at his picture on the screen, all you see is the face of a stranger who’s held you tighter than anyone before.

The last time you saw Minghao, it was through tear-blurred vision as you scurried out of Room C—you had to tell Jeonghan through broken sniffles to wrap up the session with Minghao—that the weight of the day had gotten to your head and that you needed to take a breather.

It wasn’t entirely a lie. You retreated to your office soon after, staring at the photo of you and your mother that sat at the corner of your table, and then you cried a little more.

It’s the next day when you’re back in the office. Two patients had just finished up, and you’re sitting in your office, filing through some emails when you hear the familiar ringing of the front door opening. You furrow your eyebrows to yourself, not recalling having any other patients scheduled for at least another two hours.

Had Jeonghan and Seungkwan taken their break earlier than you thought? No, that can’t be possible because they always let you know when they’re heading out and—

“Doc!” you hear Seungkwan’s voice call out to you from down the hall. “Could you come here for a sec’?”

Frowning, you close your laptop and stand up, walking out the doorway and down the hallway towards the front entrance of the clinic. “What is i—oh.” The question dies on your tongue when you see Minghao standing in the reception.

Something in your stomach churns at the sight of him—eyes slightly blown out, lips parted but somehow curved downward in a way that has your own lips frowning. The events of the past few days crashes down on you, and you bite down on your bottom lips in hopes that it’ll ground you in reality.

Seungkwan stands behind the main desk, looking at you with some sort of awry expression, and you catch Jeonghan coming down from the other hallway to catch the odd situation. Minghao doesn’t seem to mind though, eyes zoning in on you.

“I need to talk to you,” he says. You feel Seungkwan and Jeonghan’s gazes burn into the back of your skull.

Glancing at them, you point to the door. “You guys can take your lunch break now,” you tell them before turning your attention to Minghao. “Let’s go to Room C?”

He follows you in an instant, slipping into the seat that he always does as you close the door behind you and walking up to stand in front of him.

You can hear the words already coming together on his tongue—I’m sorry—and so you open your mouth before Minghao can even say it.

“I’m sorry,” you say, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have stormed out like that.”

“No, I—I shouldn’t have said anything. I had no idea you—” Minghao stops himself. He doesn’t know how much is too much.

It’s funny; Minghao’s whole career is about being in the driver’s seat but somehow when it comes to you, he doesn’t know when to press on the gas or hit the brake.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he says. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since graduation.”

“Me too,” you respond in an instant. “I see so much of myself in you,” you tell him.

“Stop, I—our situations aren’t comparable and—”

“Let me be the judge of that, yeah?” you cut him off with a small smile and through tears, cupping his face. The skin over his cheek bones are soft when you run your thumbs over them. “When everything is going wrong and you’re so angry, and you’re blaming all the wrong people but you can’t help it, and it makes you feel worse and there isn’t a thing you can do about it.”

“Yeah.”

You inhale steadily, feeling hot water meet your hands and trickle down to your wrists. Minghao is crying, and suddenly you are hit with waves of deja vu. “I get it, okay?” you tell him, even though you know that Minghao already knows. You get it better than anyone. “It’ll be okay.”

The echo of his words from all those years ago crashes down on you, and suddenly Minghao pulls your arms down causing you to hunch over so your face is right in front of his.

“I’ve thought about you everyday since then.” The words come out of your mouth in a soft whisper. “Even when she passed away a few months later.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he mutters, eyes closing and head titling forward so that your foreheads press against each other. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, stroking his cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry—you were right. Everything’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

“I—I’m sorry, I just—”

Something about the way Minghao says the word sorry not from his throat, but from his stomach, has your mind twisting in ways that you can’t comprehend. The sound is so guttural and heart-wrenching, and this time you want to cry because he’s got nothing to be sorry for. Not a thing.

And so you kiss him.

You kiss Minghao because he is no longer a stranger. Because he is crying for you and you might as well cry for him. Cry for him, but you have done enough crying to last you a lifetime and so you kiss him instead, because they speak the same words: I love you.

And his lips are soft, his tongue warm, his hand ghosting over your arm is gentle, and you can hear it. You hear it in the way he moves against you—he understands and you want to cry again because he’s always understood, and so you don’t cry but only kiss him deeper.

“I made you something,” he admits. “It’s in the car.”

You’re thankful you sent your two coworkers out when you did, sparring all four of you the awkwardness when you and Minghao slip out of Room C and out the clinic towards the parking lot and to his car.

He pulls a blanket out from the passenger seat. It’s hardly big enough to cover your lower half but it’s bright and blue and warm, and somehow you feel your eyes well up with tears that you can’t seem to stop this time.

“Did you—did you make this?” you choke out as Minghao stands in front of you, handing the cloth over as you run your palms over the loose threads and yarn that poke through.

“Crocheted it myself,” he tells you, standing from a couple inches above, as you marvel over his work. Minghao thinks he’s done a poor job—you could probably do better—but you clutch the blanket with such vigor that he doesn’t have the heart to tell you. “You’ve helped me so much,” he says instead.

“Fuck,” you mutter over harsh breaths. “Y-you made this.”

“You taught me,” he corrects, and that’s when the dam breaks.

And this time Minghao hugs you, and you can tell he’s being careful about his neck and in all your frenzy you almost want to push him away and say, “Don’t move so much!” but then his arms fold in on you like a blanket of their own and you crumble.

You crumble into happiness because through everything you’ve ever been through, Minghao still holds you tighter than one holds onto life itself.

“I don’t think I can come here on Sunday next week,” you tell your boyfriend as you peer down at your phone. You’re leaning over his kitchen counter going between looking at some emails and glancing at the screen.

Minghao groans, and you bite back a smile. “Are you serious? Why?”

“Yes I’m serious,” you huff, rolling your eyes playfully. “My brother’s visiting town for a bit.”

“And I can’t meet him, why?” Minghao asks with a raised brow.

You laugh. “Good point. I haven’t told him I’m dating yet though. Might be too big of a ball drop if I tell him I have a boyfriend right away. A boyfriend who’s SECTOR’s best racer, might I add,” you say, pouring yourself a glass of water from the fridge before joining Minghao on the couch.

“It would be a good surprise though, right?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah yeah, whatever floats your boat,” you shoot sarcastically. “But seriously. I’ll see if I can get you two to meet, but I really can’t see you on Sunday. I have to pick Beomgyu up from the airport.”

“Got it,” Minghao agrees, shuffling closer to you as you both focus on the TV. A live interview with Kim Mingyu plays on the screen, the young man talking about his recent rise in recognition. You two sit in silence for a couple of minutes before Minghao speaks up.

“I fucking hate not being able to do anything,” he groans, shifting onto your shoulder slightly. His condition’s gotten exponentially better in past couple of weeks, but you instructed for him to wait at least two more weeks before fully getting back to training.

He’s been restless ever since, you’ve started to notice. “Do I really need to wait?” he mutters, lips close to your ear as you cuddle into his embrace.

You pull back slightly, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yes! I told you—it’s a part of the process.”

“Fuck the process, I wanna drive again!”

“Too bad I guess,” you say with a shrug, turning your attention to the TV. The channel moves on from the interview to talk about some updates, and eventually somewhere in the mix, Minghao’s name comes up, and you hear the man next to you curse under his breath.

Chewing on your tongue, you debate for a few moments on what to do before reaching for the remote to shut the TV off.

“Hey! I was watching th—”

“Do you ever stop complaining?” you huff, stepping out of his embrace much to Minghao’s dismay. “Stop moving,” you order him, sliding down onto your knees in front of his legs.

“What are you do—oh.” You hear the words dry on his tongue when you nudge your body between his thighs, inching closer to his groin.

“You’re so restless,” you hum, trailing your fingers from his knees, over his thighs, and finally let the ghost over the growing tent under his sweatpants. “Let me take care of you, yeah?” you suggest, toying with the elastic waistband of his pants and boxers.

“O-okay,” Minghao agrees, and you grin at the way you see his cheeks flush pink when you inch the fabric off of his pants. His cock springs out, hardening under your gaze as it slaps against his lower adobe that’s still covered by his shirt.

You think for a moment to help Minghao out of his shirt too, but with the pretty pearl of precum dribbling off his slit, veins pressing up all against the length of his cock—all of him aching just for you—you start to feel your mouth water, forgetting about anything that isn’t having Minghao’s cock in your mouth.

“Careful with the right arm, ‘kay?” you tell him, a sly smirk tugging at your lips when you bring them down, dragging them over the base of his length all the way up to the glossy tip where you place a wet kiss.

“Y-yeah—fuck baby,” Minghao grunts when you envelope your lips around his throbbing tip, tongue swirling over the slit at the top as you do so. His left arm makes its way into your hair, fingers digging into your scalp when you pull back to take a deep breath.

Saliva drips down the corner of your lips, and as you look up at Minghao with wide, glossy eyes, he thinks he might bust in on the spot. “Go on baby,” he murmurs, using his firm grip on your head to nudge your lips closer to his pink tip. “Put it in …” he instructs, and when you grin and open your lips wide once more, Minghao knows he’s too far gone to be saved.

“You’re so hard Hao,” you whisper against him, tongue tracing constellations over the base of his cock when you reach to cup his balls, massaging them under your palms.

“Fuck, just like that baby,” Minghao moans, and the sound is so guttural it has your own pussy clenching around nothing. Your skin burns when you take him into your mouth again, cock sliding further down your mouth than before.

He’s so thick, and you feel every last curve of his cock, every last vein, against your cheeks, pressing against your tongue—Minghao is all you can taste, and you might go drunk on the sensation alone.

And he isn’t faring quite well above you either—his hand in your hair has got a firm hold but if anything, Minghao is losing touch with reality. Your mouth is so soft and so warm, your tongue so meticulous with the way it’s swirling around his tip when you slip off his cock before pushing your mouth back down on him—he’s going fucking crazy.

“Baby—oh baby,” the words rumble at the base of his chest, egging you on. With every bob of your head, you start to take him down further until his fat tip is battering against the back of your throat and yeah, it’s got tears pricking at the corners of your eyes but he’s moaning and grunting and squirming all for you and you just can’t seem to fucking stop.

“Shit, shit, shit—baby, ‘m gonna cum if you keep doing that,” he warns when you deep throat all of him, your nose nearly pressing against his pelvis as you press your eyes tight and revel in the sound of his moans, the feeling of his hands in your hair.

You take his slice of warning as a token of advice, pulling back for only a breath before attempting to do the same thing again, shoving his cock into your mouth and down your throat, rubbing whatever you can’t with your palms as wetness smears all over your lips and cheeks.

“Oh—fuck, I’m—”

When Minghao cums, it’s with his chest singing your name. Breathy moans—calls for you—as you suck him through the high, hot white painting the inside of your cheeks and tongue. You pant heavily when you finally pull yourself off of him, swallowing all that is left of him in your mouth, and then he looks at you with flushed cheeks and you both grin.

And when you climb up, Minghao hugs you. He hugs you like a blanket—like the blanket he made you, the blanket you taught him to make—and you two bask in this moment because Minghao is no longer stranger, but he is here and he is in your arms and you are in is, and there isn’t any other place you’d rather be.

a/n: mika ramble time! whatever demonic sickness has been haunting me for the past 5 days will NOT get the best of me. i have been aching to get this fic out since like september and it was initially supposed to be posted on hubbie's bday but :/ unfortunately i was a bit late bc life gets in the way ;c overall i'm really happy w it! personally, i think this is among the most emotional fics i've written, and i am extremely proud of myself for some parts of this so !! yea !! if u enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it, pls feel free to leave comments / reblogs >_< they mean the world to me ^^

#seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #svt angst #minghao smut #minghao x reader #xu minghao x reader #xu minghao smut #xu minghao fanfic #xu minghao angst #minghao angst #the8 x reader #the8 angst #📝 writing #flight of the stars

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mommypieck · 1 year ago

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𑄽୧ glory hole with eren & jean𔓘 ᰍ

kinktober day 31: who's pussy is this!!!

✿ eren yeager x reader x jean kirstein

✿ warnings: sex clubs, p in v, glory hole, eren & jean treat u like a pocket pussy

The music in the club is loud, and you have to talk loudly to even hear one another. Eren and Jean laugh in their booth, watching a new dancer struggle on the stage.

She's cute, her small body moving in adorable ways, but they both know she's inexperienced. They have seen all of the good dancers in this club, bending their bodies in a way they didn't think was possible.

"What are my regulars doing here?" a familiar voice interrupts their entertainment. They notice Connie, the owner, standing by their boot with a sly smile. They both fist-bump him, just like they used to do in high school. Connie has always wanted to own a club, and he knew that once he had it, his friends would be coming in every week.

"We installed something new last week," Connie tells both of the men. Jean's eyebrows shoot up while Eren asks Connie what's the new thing. Their friend just smiles, telling them to go look into the basement.

"No way, man. I don't wanna get murdered." Jean huffs, he's scared of the basement. Connie once took him in, and it was the scariest experience in his life, talking about the amount of spider webs.

"If you go, you're not going to regret it," Connie says. Some girl comes up to him, wrapping herself around Connie's body. He smiles at her, kissing the top of her breast.

"I'm busy." he mouths at them before letting himself be taken to the side by the foreign girl.

"Man, I really wanna see the basement," Eren says, drowning the rest of his whiskey. Connie is a smart man when it comes to sex stuff, and he wants to know what he came up with. Maybe he installed some toys that fuck girls in front of people.

Jean groans in disapproval but decides to give it a shot. He quickly swallows his glass, the burning liquor always bringing tears to his eyes.

They both stand up, and Eren leads the way to the basement. It's a lot tidier than before, and there are even posters on the way down. There's only one door unlocked, probably the door the surprise is in.

They stare with wide eyes at a hole in the wall. There's a sign next to it saying 'fuck here'.

"He's not normal," Jean exclaims. They both know what it is. Connie installed a glory hole just for the two of them.

"Is anyone inside?" Eren calls out, making Jean punch him in the arm. Eren chuckles at his joke, it was a good one, wasn't it?

"You're a dumbass." Jean scolds him, coming closer to examine the hole.

The first thing he notices is a pussy peeking through the hole. It's a pretty pussy, all pink with a cute clit between juice pussy lips. It seems like it's already wet. He brushes his fingers against the folds, noting that it's already wet.

You jump when someone touches your pussy. You heard what seemed like two men come into the room. Connie promised that they were his friends and they needed some fun. You volunteer to work in his club, loving sex too much.

Another hand caresses your slit, this hand is rougher than the first one. The first one was rough but delicate at the same time. He was being gentle with you, but on the other hand, had one goal - to make you fall apart.

"Who's gonna fuck her first?" you hear one voice ask, you aren't sure about which hand belongs to that owner.

"You really wanna fuck her?" the other voice asks, the other person is more hesitant. Maybe he doesn't wanna fuck you, even though you want to be fucked.

"Yes, I do, jean. It's a free pussy." you hear one of them chuckle. You hear the guy unbuckle his belt, and you almost shake him in anticipation.

You're nervous, this is something you wanted for so long. sweat rises on your forehead as you finally see a dick poking through the hole. It's so close, but still so far.

His tip rubs against your opening, carefully pushing inside of you.

"Shit, she's too tight." Eren moans, sinking the rest of his cock inside of your pussy. He never had a pussy this tight in his entire life. You're sucking him right in. He feels bad that he can't see the owner of this delicious pussy. His arms brace on the wall separating you from him and Jean. Sweet little moans leave your mouth with every thrust he makes, making Eren laugh.

"She's a moaner." he mocks you, deepening his thrusts. He's pretty sure you can take a lot more than what he has to give you, but he's trying to be generous with you.

"Fuck, I won't be able to last long." he moans, speeding his thrusts so he can catch his orgasm. He doesn't care that you won't cum, you're only a hole for him.

You know he's about to cum, and you try to clench down on his cock even more. He has a nice cock, big enough to satisfy you. You yelp when his hot cum fills your body. You just wish you could see how much leaks out.

"You stretched her out too much for me." Jean rolls his eyes, showing Eren to the side so he can take his place. A slutty moan rips through him when he pushes himself all the way in. It's tight, unbelievably tight. You just took a big cock, but your pussy feels like a virgin's.

"She's good, isn't she?" Eren smirks, his cock hardening again as he watches his best friend pump his cock inside of you. Jean can only nod, your pussy left him speechless.

Connie is a dumbass, but something he has fucking good ideas.

Your body moves up and down with every stroke of his cock. This one is different, he's slower, but he makes sure to hit your insides as deep as possible. He's also a bit fatter than the first cock. You just wish it's the "gentle hands' s" dick.

You feel yourself being slowly tipped over the edge of your high. You cum around his cock, squeezing even tighter. It catches him off guard, and he can do nothing else then cum right inside of you.

"What was that?" he breathes as he tries to get over the orgasm he just had. Eren laughs next to him, "Seems like you made our fuck doll cum."

Both men dress themselves up again, fixing their appearance before going upstairs to the club.

Connie is already waiting for them with a girl wrapped around his body. He wears a cheeky smile.

"You look like you enjoyed it," he says, making you stand in front of him before wrapping his arms around your middle and putting his chin on your shoulder, "Y/n here sure had a lot of fun with you too."

taglist: @mcharris747 @huuuuut30 @krispsprite @bejewelledd @cawwn @veryninjanacho @jamayah @dngerwayz @nwptune @universlypiratecolor @ffakegucci @merachannie @d1lf-luvr @th3girln3xtdoor @nobody289x @iheartpieck @gia999 @kawasgirl @st4rrlighttt @candyeyeroll @7haze @banchangsbbbg @nigthmar3moon @softlilpeachxx @d1gitalbathh @jaenniii @raeeesblog @satorustar @balenciagarette @erp1007 @herefor-tojis-tits

#aot x reader #aot smut #attack on titan smut #aot headcanons #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein smut #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein x y/n #jean kirstein x you #eren jeager x reader #eren jeager smut #eren jeager x y/n #eren jeager x you

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moonyasnow · 6 months ago

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Sleeping Beauty's Tentative Prince.

PROMPT : They kiss you in your sleep

CHARACTERS : Ace, Jack, Malleus, Sebek

CONTENT : fluff and angst, pre-relationship, they are PI-NING, the fae have…strange priorities. or maybe it's just Lilia in particular(Malleus' part), internalized racism (Sebek's part)

—

I do NOT condone doing this in real life to someone who hasn't consented. But this is fiction so fuck it we ball

While you were awake, he could not show the affection to you that he wished he could, caught up in his own fears it might not be reciprocated and could strain your current relationship.

But in sleep, you would never know. In sleep, he could more easily deliberate upon his fondness for you, as much confusion, anxiety, fear, hope and longing as they brought him.

Ace

Ace Trappola portrayed himself as a 'coaster extraordinaire', gliding only where turf is smooth, dancing through life without a care in the world for anything besides goofing off with his friends. Stuff like 'love' and 'romance' wasn't on his radar, deciding he'd rather steer clear of it after an experience dating in middle school that left him feeling so utterly...bored, not really there, as having to live up to some ideal decided by his partner. Was that what all those books and songs and movies was hyping up? He felt lied to! It wasn't fun, and he couldn't understand how his now ex-girlfriend, or anyone else for that matter, really thought of any of that stuff as desirable!

The 'ghost bride', Eliza, was really just a personification of everything that made him want to steer clear of it. After she finally decided to shuffle off this mortal coil for good, along with her equally ghost— to Idia's utter relief— husband, too tired from all that fighting to really feel like it was worth it, he decided he'd rather crash at Ramshackle than walk all the way back to Heartlsabyul.

You declared you'd make it a sleepover, which was why he was laying in a sleeping bag on the musty living room floor of the ancient, decrepit house, creaking and groaning from the wind and its own whims. You laid next to him, on a mattress(unfair of you not to bring a second, by the way), sound asleep. He was kinda envious of you in that moment, you know?

Despite how dead tired he was after not only all the battle stuff but cleaning up the cafeteria on top of it, sleep just wouldn't bless him with its embrace. And desptire how much he didn't want to, especially not after all the other first-years— including Deuce, the bastard— made fun of him for the thought he'd already put into it...he found the topic of 'love' spinning around his head again.

He sure as hell didn't want the kind that Eliza'd idealized it to be. The others claimed that he, out of all the other suitors, did at least seem to know what he wanted. "...someone you can laugh with, and cry with...someone who'll stick with you through all the hard times..." He felt flustered and like an idiot recalling he'd said that for the entire room to hear, even more so due to the fact they'd caught on he was actually being genuine.

Then for some inexplicable reason he got an urge to turn his head to look at you. You looked about as tired as he felt. By that meaning you looked terrible. Or so he'd say if you were asking him why he was staring. Why was he staring? Probably because he was concerned. Just a little bit. Crowley already threw enough shit your way on the regular anyway, now you have to deal with this, too. And he never understood why you still tried so hard.

You, while not even having magic, had still given it your all during those battles, throwing rocks and twigs and even a goddamn wall-mounted candlestick— or well, that used to be wall-mounted, though apparently not as well as anyone thought they were if you could just pull it off the wall— at the ghosts. It phased right through them, obviously, but it'd annoyed and distracted them enough to make his and the others' job a whole lot easier. It was long past time for him to take back everything he said about you the first day you met by the school's Main Street.

You really had become an all-in-one janitor, photographer, therapist, and law-enforcer in one in the time you'd been here. It really wasn't fair. But you'd once told him it was easier since you had him and the rest of the braincell squad around. And he had to admit, it was the same for him. When it came to you in particular. Sure, he liked Deuce, and maybe Grim too just a little bit, but having you there was...special. He's not sure how he would've dealt with the incident at that one absolutely horrible unbirthday party and his Housewarden's total freak-out if you weren't there...or if, before it, he'd have had to spend the night in Ramshackle all alone with just the ghosts for company.

His eyes widened. Wait... He started to feel warm from top to bottom. He didn't mean it like— you weren't— y-you were just buds! You know? Friends. Just friends. And then he wanted to strangle someone when he realized those words tasted bitter in his mouth. Getting up on his elbow and looking at your sleeping face he couldn't place every thought whirring through his head. He thought you were kinda pretty or whatever, sure, but it's not weird to think your friend is pretty! And maybe...

No. Try as he might, every new excuse he came up with for why that couldn't be the case was just that; an excuse. He liked you. As more than just a friend. Maybe he kept trying to deny it because of how different this felt to his middle-school girlfriend. He thought she was cute and all, but he felt so alone when he was with her. Like she was seeing some boyfriend-shaped cut-out in place of him. He never felt alone when he was with you. And he sure as hell would never take a whole day's worth of public transport to school on a break for anyone else.

But it's not like he was planning for this. It felt strange, the way you went from 'best friend' to 'best friend I wanna be with' in his mind. Because, those categories weren't supposed to intersect, were they? Or could they? It just felt weird.

…But when he got past his initial shock, he realized that, thinking of you that way felt…natural. It was strange. Strange that it wasn't something he had to psyche himself up for. Maybe he was more like Eliza than he initially realized, in that way. Not noticing that kind of love when it was right in front of him. Maybe he'd also gotten caught up in that idealization of love, never realizing before that love actually could be with someone like that…someone he cherished like a best friend.

Laying down again and turning his whole body to face you properly, he stared at you. You really were pretty. Not in that way where you see someone and can just tell whether they're pretty or not. Not in the attraction kinda way either. Well, there might have been a little bit of that too. But mostly, there was just something...special, about you.

About your face, and your eyes, hair, shoulders, nose, chin, neck, hands and just— everything. Just looking at you made him feel warm. It usually did. But especially in that moment. It was weird, how just thinking those things seemed to jump-start his heart like some old motor, because now it was racing in the night. He found himself leaning closer, until his breath fanned at your lips. Looking at you from such a close proximity was weird. Sure, he might wrap an arm around or lean it on your shoulder pretty often, and do things like flick your forehead or your nose to see you pouting at him, but you'd never really been this close before. The tips of your noses were touching.

He was planning on moving away. He really was. But then you shifted in your sleep and your lips brushed softly against his.

As quickly as he could, he almost leapt backwards and turned his back to you and hoped to the Seven you didn't realize. Not then, not the next morning— not ever.

He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, and calm his racing heartbeat.

Sadly for him, he laid awake all night thinking about it and didn't get a lick of sleep.

He kinda hoped he could do it again one day. With you awake this time, of course. Yeah...with you, it might not be so bad. The Underworld would freeze over before he ever told you that though. Well, that was hyperbole. He just wanted to make sure you wouldn't like…laugh at him for it, or something.

…Maybe accidents weren't so bad sometimes.

Jack

Having grown up knowing that his parents, his grandparents, and most likely their parents and grandparents too, were mated for life— that they found each other and that was it— Jack Howl had always been sure that's how it would go for him too. That when he found 'the one' everything would be easy, and make sense instantly. And when he started to feel a strange new pressure in his chest around you, a desire to protect you more than even his other friends, he was sure that this was it. Yet something happened which he hadn't considered.

The person he fell for wasn't another wolf beastperson, nor any other kind of beastperson or mer who mated for life. You were human. And humans very much did not mate for life, as much as some might claim they would like to. For the first time he started to feel a bit of doubt about his future life plan. He was sure you were 'the one' for him… But now he had to start to contest with the fact that, he might not be 'the one' in your eyes.

So, he thought…he would try to court you in some way. Make it clear he could be a good partner for you.

During the second night at Vargas' training camp, when Grim hadn't returned from going to get blankets with the others, you had become so worried that you tried to run off to go looking for him. And Jack felt like he had no choice but to go with you; he would never risk you running into the shadow while alone. It definitely wasn't the smartest decision, and he had tried to stop you. But you had argued against him, insisting you wouldn't just leave Grim behind, no matter how much danger it put you in. That was something he had always respected about you; you always looked out for those in you pack. And he agreed to go with; he'd do the same for you— and then some— if you went missing, after all. But an hour of walking later, and you both realized that…you were lost. Now, not only was Grim gone, but those who remained at camp would think you both were gone, too.

You two had been walking for hours searching for the way back to no avail, when you had given up, swaying on your feet, saying you couldn't take another step. His eyes shot up in surprise, having been too caught up in getting you both back to camp to consider you didn't have anywhere near his levels of stamina, his ears flattening against his head with both guilt and a bit of embarrassment— guilt at not having realized you couldn't keep up, and embarrassment at not remembering the way back well enough. More like shame, really. He felt sure camp was the safest place for both of you right now, yet in his haste to follow you to make sure nothing jumped out at you, he'd neglected to keep good enough track of the scents around you both to be able to lead the way back. That wasn't how a good partner was supposed to behave! He was supposed to be able to make sure you were safe.

You were the one to suggest, with the night being so cold, that you sleep close to one another. He balked at the suggestion once it left your mouth, trying to hide the furious blush he knew would overtake his face if he let it— letting you see him like that would be way too embarrassing to consider; he was supposed to be cool! So you'd know he could protect you! Not act like some lovesi— o-overly affectionate— puppy! But when you reasoned that it was to conserve heat, to make sure neither of you ever became cold enough for it to be truly dangerous, he had no argument against it, and so was forced to go along with it. He didn't want you to freeze, after all. And no, don't misunderstand him! His tail did NOT just start wagging! And if it did, i-it was just nerves! N-not at being close to you— the shadow! NOT TO SAY HE COULDN'T TAKE ON THE SHADOW IF IT APPEARED—

He had to force himself to keep quiet, lest he put his foot in his mouth again.

He'd assumed you would just be sleeping next to each other. So when you slotted yourself right in his arms, your head on his chest, he froze in place, begging for dear life that you weren't hearing the way his heart was now racing. No matter if you did or not, you soon fell asleep. But Jack, like a protective guard dog (a comparison he didn't like but couldn't exactly deny at this moment) stayed awake for a while longer to make sure the area was truly safe, leading to him becoming lost in his thoughts.

He was confused why you were here at all. You weren't even part of a sports club! Or any club at all, for that matter; running errands for Crowley ate up too much of your time for you to be able to join one. But you were still here. You had claimed it was better than spending that time in school figuring out a way for a magicless student to succeed in magic assignments, Grim not often being fond of cooperating if there was no tuna involved, much to your frequent frustration. But it still really didn't sit right with him that you got caught up in all this when you were only meant to be there to take pictures. He thought Crowley should definitely compensate you for this, since you got caught in danger due to him making you go along with them. But by now he'd wised up enough to realize that was never going to happen. The thought began to really get on his nerves.

It was insane, how Crowley treated you like some slave with no mind or will of your own. Even worse, a disposable one he kept throwing at problems— dangerous problems...he still wasn't over how close you'd come to being seriously injured in the fight at the Mostro Lounge— that should have been CROWLEY'S job to handle. He almost began to growl just thinking about it. The mere thought of you, his m— friend...his good...friend...being hurt in the slightest scared him. Enough that his arms unconsciously tightened around you. The scent of your hair, a reminder you were currently not in danger, put him at ease. He exhaled in silent relief.

…If…

After you both graduate, if he asked you to come with him back to his home in the Shaftlands, what would you say? He'd be able to keep you safe. Make sure you never had to live like this again. What with your status as not being from this world and thus having no legal identifying paperwork, getting a job would probably be hard for you. So he'd get a job and support both you and him. And Grim, of course— if Grim was your pack, he was Jack's, too. He was already sure his family would love you, and welcome you with open arms. And then one day down the line he'd—

He couldn't bring himself to finish his thought, face having grown far too red. But his tail wouldn't stop wagging. He might have thought of it before, but that was when you weren't literally sleeping in his arms. You being so close just...made everything feel too real.

He took a deep breath to clear his mind. What mattered right now was that he would keep you safe. Take care of you. Now…and hopefully, you'd allow him to do the same in the future.

But the fuzzy, excited feelings brought on by the thought he didn't finish didn't leave him, them and your scent lulling him further into a comfortable sleepiness. So close to sleep and overflowing with affection, he didn't even notice, let alone have the sense to stop himself, from placing a kiss to your forehead, snuggling up closer to you to make sure you kept warm, unconsciously smiling against the top of your head as he, too, was claimed by sleep.

It just felt so...right, to hold you.

…The next morning you were confused by why he refused to look you in the eye.

Malleus

Malleus Draconia, crown prince and heir to the fae Kingdom of Briar Valley, was used to spending his time alone. Used to having only his guards and mentor for company. Used to spending hours wandering through empty stone hallways and rigorously up-kept gardens where none but he, his beloved gargoyles, and the occasional critter dared wander.

Perhaps that was because of him.

Though he came to Night Raven College to 'broaden his horizons', after the first few months or so of classes in which he was left to work alone even on group projects, smelling the fear of his peers in the air, he had all but given up on finding an actual friend. Someone who would stay by his side not out of duty or necessity, but purely out of desire to.

The way you haphazardly seemed to stumble into his life and make a home for yourself in his hollow ruin of solitude had still not caught up with him, even months later.

It was late in the evening, the old decrepit clock in Ramshackle had just struck 12. You were on the couch, leaning against him, asleep on his shoulder as he read a book. Or at least, he had been trying to. For all of five minutes. The soft pressure of your body leaning against his arm had made him lose all focus for anything not related to you. So here he was, staring like a fool at your sleeping figure.

That you, so small and fragile compared to him, were not afraid of the dragon by your side— the horned beast with power enough to destroy most of the school with less than a snap of his fingers— never ceased to amaze him. Yet it was on nights like these, when you were too tired to go for your usual evening walk with him yet still wanted him near, that left him most awestruck. Not only did you say, with your own words, that you wished to be by his side despite your lack of energy…you trusted him enough to fall asleep in his presence. Leaning against his shoulder, no less. It intoxicated his heart with pride, peace and longing in equal measure.

Yet, it only occurred to him the first time it happened that he had never seen another's sleeping face before. At least, not with their knowledge. He had seen you resting through your window on his late-night strolls before. Yet this was different. You allowed him this. If he did not already think you were the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever bore witness to, he did once he saw the gentle, peaceful expression on your face so close. He couldn't help but liken you to the sleeping princess in the old story of the Thorn Witch from his homeland. Sleeping so peacefully…all whilst leaning against a dragon.

His heart ached with feelings he had no words for as he stared at your face, streaked with moonlight, book long since forgotten. Cupping your cheek, he cursed the leather gloves keeping him from truly feeling your skin. In the back of his mind he harbored a fear he dare not put into words: that were he to feel your skin against his, it would be a point of no return, and he would never be able to go without it again. A curse to one such as him, who— his logic was much too aware for his liking— would be forced to grow accustomed to losing the touch of all things in time.

Yet his emotions, not bound by logic of any kind, wondered if you would like that. If him discarding his inhibitions and letting his gloveless hands roam every inch of your body would delight you the same way the mere thought did him. One part of him told him that 'yes, you would'; he was the fae prince, one of the most talented mages alive. He could keep you safe, give you anything you could ever desire. Yet another part of him said 'perhaps not' with barely any hesitation. He was a dragon, feared by man and fae alike for his power which could wipe out whole nations, should he desire to. The conflicting answers left him with a confusing sense of whiplash, not knowing which to trust. Yet, since you were not, unlike many, afraid of him, he found himself hoping your answer would fall more in line with the former…

Heart filled with trepidation and yearning in conflict with one another, he searched his mind for that always comforting anchor of knowledge that was Lilia's words. All that came to mind regarding the matter of kisses was that 'it was not to be done once the sun had set', which to him was good enough reason to force himself to abstain. Or at least, so he'd hoped. He wished to listen to his mentor's words, clung to them when his own young mind felt overcome with what he wished to do instead of what he ought to do…yet found he could not. At least, not fully.

Holding your warm hand in his which was cold beneath his gloves, the heat still slowly seeping from yours to his, yours appeared so small. As Malleus resisted the urge to rub his nose against yours, he felt his pulse beat in his throat. A metaphorical fire lit in the candle of his heart, flaring higher as he slowly neared your lips.

At the last second he managed to force himself to place his gloved hand gently over your mouth, placing a light, chaste kiss to the back of it.

He yearned to traverse further, to not have this self-imposed barrier in his way, to truly know if your lips were as soft as he imagined them to be, if they tasted as sweet. It was difficult to draw a line for himself. But, despite pouting through it, he still did. Once more recalling Lilia's words of wisdom: it would be impolite to steal your first kiss— or at least, so Malleus assumed it was— without your knowledge, after all.

After that he made up his mind to keep himself in check. That was enough for tonight, he thought and tried to return to his book. But his thoughts never stopped drifting to you.

It equally unsettled and enthralled him.

Sebek

The son of a human father and a fae mother— a fae mother who went entirely against the norms and expectations of her people and culture to marry a human man, a man whose people had hurt hers, and whose union with her had barely been accepted, much less understood— to say that Sebek Ziegvolt feels many conflicting emotions interacting with humans would be an understatement.

He, having seen the scorn his parents' union brought his mother, had vowed as a young child that he would 'never be stupid enough to choose to marry a human'. For he, at his young age, fully believed it was something he had control over. And he still did well into his teens, Lilia's explanation that love cared not for what people had decided, while he admired, revered and respected the older fae greatly, was still not quite enough to persuade him that there could ever be a possibility of him, Sebek Ziegvolt, proud knight of the Lord Malleus Draconia, deigning to fall for a mere human. He couldn’t understand the appeal in any way, shape or form. Human were weak. Fae— he— were strong.

What use had the strong for the weak?

But when you saw him freezing in the cold winter air, you wrapped your scarf around him. He, predictably, began to chastise you, claiming through a runny nose that as a human you were weaker than he and that he could handle this cold, and would not lose to mere weather— which was evidently not the case, as his own words were cut off by a big sneeze, to which you simply laughed. What nerve you had, he thought, for you, a mere human, to laugh at him, Sebek Ziegvolt. To laugh at his weakness! But his thoughts stopped dead in their tracks when you removed the hand covering your mouth and he saw your smile. It was...dazzling. A depiction of beauty which he had only heard described before.

In his daze he almost missed you taking a napkin out of your pocket and wiping away the mess under his nose, still smiling at him the same way.

Though he chided you, claiming to not need it, he was powerless to stop the stutter in his heart at your gesture. The tip of your finger grazed his jaw for a fraction of a second as you withdrew your hands, and it haunted his dreams for weeks. And the gentle smile on your face, showing, as far as he knew, nothing but sincere care for him, was enough to make him feel as though he didn't need the scarf at all.

It was...dizzying.

He saw his displays of weakness as just that: weakness, not vulnerability. In his eyes he must not have either to be able to be a good, no, even passable knight to his Young Master! Deep down he knew his Lord Malleus was already strong enough to not really need a knight. But he could never shake the worry it was on him, that he didn't need a knight because Sebek wasn't knightly enough. That was why he worked so hard. His position, with Lord Malleus, in life, had to mean something. Make him mean something.

But you never seemed to care for how he thought of it, showing him small gestures of kindness over and over again. In time he found he had begun to expect those small gestures, despite how he might still had insisted they were unnecessary. That you continued them despite his insistence...warmed him, just like when you lent him your scarf— which he always returned to you each day, knowing you would wrap it around him again the next.

At first he was sure you must have bewitched him, cast some manner of curse upon him— forgetting the fact that you, as magicless, would not be capable of such a feat— for he could find no other logical explanation for what the feeling of full-body lightness and heart-stuttering you brought upon him could be. At least...none he wanted to listen to; none that made sense to him.

You were human.

What he could never let himself be.

And he, the knight of Malleus Draconia, couldn't make the same strange choice as his mother, no matter how highly he respected her.

Yet whether he wished to or not, they'd taken hold of him, struck his heart like lightning, leaving a permanent mark of you on his very being.

It was shortly after that incident that he had, one evening, come to Ramshackle in search of Lord Malleus, and instead found you on one of the Dorm's benches, looking moments away from sleep. For a moment, thoughts of his search for his liege left his mind. When he asked what you were doing out alone this late at night, interrogating you like you'd broken some kind of curfew Ramshackle didn't have, you smiled and said you were waiting for Malleus to go on your usual evening stroll with him. Something about that gave him a sour feeling in his chest. For you or for Lord Malleus, he couldn't say.

Huffing, he said he might as well wait with you. You said nothing at that, just smiled and patted the spot next to you. Reluctantly, he did.

You sat in silence for a while, him trying to ignore the way so many feelings he couldn't figure out the meanings of stung at his chest. He was so caught up in his mind that it was only once he'd finally figured out something to say to you and took a deep breath that he realized his shoulder felt heavier, and he looked over to see you leaning against it, sound asleep. He was about to begin to scold you for falling asleep while waiting for his Young Master! It was bad enough his Lord Malleus had to endure the tardiness of Silver on acount of the latter's propensity for falling into slumber at any given moment! But when he looked at your face again, the words, for once, froze in his throat and fizzled away.

The way your mouth was left slightly agape, leaving a small trail of drool running down your chin, really should have appalled him, been seen as something pathetic, left him feeling distaste of some kind. But when you'd still smiled at him when he had snot running from his nose, how could he?

Maybe it was fine to…let you sleep. You didn't fall asleep like this often anyway…

As gently as he could, so as not to wake you, he lifted your body up and sat you in his lap, shifting and angling himself to allow your legs to still hang over the edge of the bench, now exchanged for his legs. He looked up at your sleeping expression in reverence, bringing his thumb to wipe away your drool. In his other hand he took yours, which had been hanging limply at your side. With his other arm around your waist to keep you from tipping over, he leaned his head, cheeks burning, against your shoulder, yours falling atop his as he did.

Closing his eyes, he pressed a tender kiss to the back of your hand.

His heart fluttered with a novel tenderness...yet not one he found he minded. He would guard you as you slept. Care for you in your 'weakness', just as you had him in his.

To love a human might not be something he was yet capable of. But, if you would extend to him the same, not a half-fae, but him...

...he might be able to love you.

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First of all I just want to say: Thank you thank you thank you SO MUCH to everyone who engaged at all with my last (and first) writing post! > <

Knowing people like my writing was such a massive motivation-boost to me! I tend to struggle with perfectionism and feeling like my writing isn't good enough by my own standards, so all that stuff is very, very appreciated!

I also wanna say sorry if any of them seemed OOC— aside from Malleus, I don't feel as confident in writing these characters as I do for the characters in my first post, since I don't know them as well yet. A big thank you to @yuurei20 for their TWST character fact sheets (found here) for the help! And also to the people who contribute to the the English TWST wiki!

Lastly: A reminder if you didn't already know, that I do, in fact, take requests! Coming up with WHAT to write is usually the hardest part for me; when I get past that I have a blast! ^^

...Also I think doing the research for this has skyrocketed Sebek up my 'favorite TWST characters' list because damn. That's rough, buddy. And honestly same in a way. His part was definitely my favorite to write.

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