#the kit is kinda whatever but at least they look pretty in it

[ugartecoco]

[earlysunshines]

punches to the heart

pham hanni x fem!reader ; angst, fluff

synopsis: hanni watches you beat up her friend, you two get off on the wrong foot, and it's safe to say hanni basically hates you -- the feeling is mutual. what makes it worse is the fact that you two are bound to run into each other time and time again.

warnings: boxer!reader ; hanni is a nursing student who’s fighting lowk (kinda) ; blood ; violence ; pining ; reader is pretty traumatized ummm ; #enemies to lovers (sorta) ; alcohol ; making out ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread

a/n: ummm I don’t really box lmfao or at least I haven’t done it professionally soooo sorry to any boxers reading this bc there might be mistakes or incorrect terms idk anyways ENJOY!! ^_^ also ignore the fact that yn works at a restaurant in this too LOL half of this fic was from MONTHS ago but i never continued it...

you’re freshly thirteen, your knees still sting and blood continues to flow out of the scrapes from being pushed onto the ground by two prepubescent boys earlier in the day, but you dab at it a couple of times with spare napkins in your bag to prevent any more crimson liquid from seeping out.

the door opens and you find your grandma knitting something on the couch, she’s also watching something on the tv. the quality of the video playing on the screen is pretty rough, but you can make out a familiar face: your late grandpa. grandpa was grandma’s everything and from what you’ve heard: he’s a sweet, memorable soul. a smile spreads across your face as you watch your grandma continue to knit. a few seconds later you’re trying to sneakily run to the bathroom to clean up the mess on your legs.

“y/n? is that you?” she calls out softly, turning in your direction. usually, she’d be at the little bakery she worked at, but she wasn’t, so you assumed she had worked the morning and lunch shifts. she looks down at your red knees and her eyes widen. “oh! sweetheart, what happened?” 

she drops whatever she’d been knitting down on the cushion and rushes over to you, cupping your face and then kneeling to meet your injuries. her eyebrows crease and she frowns, worry is painted all over her face.

“i bumped into someone and tripped on the curb.” you lie, knowing you had heard snarky remarks in between voice cracks from some idiots beforehand.

“what did i say about lying?” your grandma sighs, rubbing the area around one of the scrapes and sighing. “did those boys give you a hard time again?”

“i—” you start, but she looks at you and raises her brows, making your second lie die in your throat immediately. you gulp and avoid eye contact. “well i got pushed and i’m not lying about tripping on the curb. i got unlucky.”

grandma clicks her tongue twice and shakes her head, then grabs your hand and leads you to the small bathroom of your little apartment. 

she closes the lid of the toilet and urges you to sit down on it. while you situate yourself, she finds a little first-aid kit in the cabinet and a few sanitizing wipes. you gulp, already uneasy about the pain that you’ll feel in the next minute.

your grandma chuckles in that raspy, cliché old lady tone when she sees your clenched jaw and fingers digging in your knee anxiously. she sighs and kneels down to meet your level, then says, “it’ll hurt a little, be strong for me.” 

“i’m not scared.”

“sure you’re not hon. it’s going to sting a lot, but it’ll pass by in no time, ‘kay?” she says, taking out an alcohol wipe and holding it above the scrape on your left knee. she holds your right hand and smiles sweetly—it calms you down in no time. “i’m going to clean it, be strong.” she says, then begins to wipe away the bacteria from the wound.

you close your eyes tightly at the stinging sensation, it hurts a lot and tears well up despite your eyes being shut. grandma squeezes your hand tightly then throws the wipe away.

“there you go, one knee done.” she says, “you’re strong like your grandpa, you know?”

your brows relax and you look at her, tilting your head. “i—, i am?”

“he boxed until he was 42, you were around the age of 4 then.” she explains, smiling as she reminisces. she grabs another wipe and tightens her grip on your hand again before you feel that same pain again, and continues, “he had a lot of injuries like these ones. i took care of him like this.”

through clenched teeth you respond, “he got hurt worse than this?”

“five times worse.” grandma shivers, “blood from his lips, mostly bruises on him though. i stitched him up once and i almost threw up.” she says, cringing when she recalls this memory. “he got cut up a couple of times and complained and groaned much more than you, actually. he got in a lot of fights, but he promised that he’d get into fewer fights when we had to take care of you.”

“oh, were you okay with taking care of him so much? it must’ve been tiring to always do that for him.”

grandma’s expression softens and she smiles. “when you love someone, taking care of them is never a problem. i love you y/n, and your grandpa; taking care of you two is nothing of a problem. maybe it’s rotten work for some people, but for the people i love? never.”

her sweet smile makes your own lips curl up and she pats your leg softly before finding bandages. as she patches you up, her words linger in your mind and heart.

“you know y/n, i won’t be here forever.” she starts, standing back up to put the kit away. “when you grow older i want you to find someone who will take care of you like that, and it’s your job to take care of them too.”

“i can take care of you when i’m older.” you say it like a promise and she shakes her head.

“i don’t want you to worry about my old soul for the majority of your life. i’m talking about a friend, or maybe more. whoever it is, care for them endlessly.”

you nod. 

she smiles once more and chuckles, “come on, let’s go watch one of your grandpa’s fights—i was watching some of it before you got here.”

you follow her out the bathroom and turn off the light, then you two head back to the living room. she sits down on the couch and urges you to squeeze in with her as she picks up her needles and yarn. you sit beside her and she presses a button on the remote, which starts the video back up again.

as you watch, you recognize the familiar figure on the screen jump around on his feet. he holds his arms up and clenches his fists in the boxing gloves, shooting the opponent a nasty glare through the small space in between.

“your grandpa was a great boxer, he spent a lot of time devoted to the sport.” grandma explains.

you hum and ask, “why did he box? doesn’t it hurt?”

“well, he did it to protect himself and make some money for us back when times were rougher, way before you were born. he was passionate about it.”

“that’s cool.” you say in awe. your grandma laughs softly before starting to knit again.

you watch your grandpa dodge a few punches and a swing from the side quickly, he’s fast and your 13-year-old mind is absolutely bewildered by his athletic ability. the opponent throws another punch, which he dodges, then sends a nasty hit to the side of the other boxer’s torso. the opponent stumbles back and falls to his knees, then bends down while he tries to recover. it takes a bit for the other guy to get up, and when he does get up—he stumbles back down.

“i want to be like grandpa, can i learn to box?”

your grandma laughs and grins at you. “you know what—sure y/n, you’re a lot like him after all. besides, you need to defend yourself from whoever pushed you.”

“oh yeah, i punched him in the face.”

“you what?” your grandma asks, shocked by your reply. you shrug and keep your eyes on the screen: your grandpa had won after a hit to the guy's cheek, and now the camera is on his sweaty, smiling self. 

“he pushed me and i punched him, but that’s because he said something really bad…”

“y/n,” grandma starts, but stops after she takes another good look at you and her late lover on the screen. a small breath leaves her lips, then she shakes her head. “you two are practically the same, huh.”

the rest of the night your grandma shares anecdotes of her time with your grandpa, it ranges from a variety of silly stories: your grandpa’s first fight, how they fell in love (and this story elicited a slight face of disgust from you, a playful one of course. you couldn’t deny that it was cute, but you were also 13 and icky about a lot of romantic things), grandpa’s fights out of the ring, and their most memorable moments with you. 

you find out that a lot of your traits are rooted from your grandpa, you were pretty satisfied with that.

-

years pass, you’re not stuck in that shithole called middle school; instead, you’re a junior in high school—still in a shithole, but a little better—yuck.

you’re already pretty sick of high school, freshman year wasn’t the best for you after realizing you liked girls; well, it was alright until your first heartbreak or whatever. 

it was cliché: you made a good friend, she was sweet and friendly, and then you realized that your heartbeat would pace at an unhealthy speed around her. the two of you get into a relationship and it eventually fails, your heart breaks and blah blah blah it’s a universal experience. you managed to get over this heartbreak after a year. besides, you can’t be stuck on one failed relationship for the entirety of high school, that’s a fool’s biggest mistake. 

and you’re not a fool.

grandma get’s sick sophomore year, and grandma is all that you have. it was an unexpected turn, resulting in one of the worst years of your life.

the doctors said it had something to do with her heart, some type of cardiovascular disease that costs a bit to treat. so, as soon as you turned 15, you found yourself a part-time job at a local restaurant to pay for her medicines and treatment while she tried her best to provide you with a stable foundation for the future, or at least some food, a house, and water. grandma had argued that she didn’t need your help, she scolded you and tried to keep you focused on your studies, but you wouldn’t budge; if anything, you argued back.

twenty-four hours in a day, and yet it wasn’t enough time to do everything you needed without sacrificing some of your sanity.

six of those hours were spent sleeping, seven hours were spent in school, eight hours at work right after, and then a few hours to care for grandma—and do a little bit of boxing; nothing got in the way of your passion, especially if that passion kept your grandpa alive. 

ever since that little moment with grandma and her cleaning up your knees, your interest in your grandpa and boxing piqued; you started to push yourself physically after hearing about the contests and tournaments, ones that had prizes worth more than one shift of working.

 it was difficult – boxing, working, going to school – with grandma’s illness, but your passion was just as great as your grandpa’s and the more you developed to become more like him: the more grandma would smile. that was the product you yearned for, and all your devotion (plus your similar features) only made the image of your grandpa increasingly prominent when she looked at you.

boxing made the thought of her illness easier to bear, and that didn’t cost anything, instead it filled your pockets. so, you kept on going, replicating the moves in the old films of your grandpa, winning junior boxing matches and placing the films your grandma recorded next to the ones of your grandpa. 

even when you didn’t win matches, the tapes of you boxing were placed next to your grandpa’s. that was arguably ten times better than a trophy.

it was enough to ease the strain in grandma’s body, and that made you happy too.

--

a year passes and you’re still a part-time amateur cook at some local restaurant. you still smell like sauteed onions and garlic when you reach the door to the apartment and try to blindly reach for the keys to your home; it’s a bit late, you’re tired, and you want to shower then pass out as soon as you can.

the late evening moon cast a soft glow through the windows near the stairwell, creating a quiet atmosphere. you step inside and the air is filled with the comforting scent of vanilla, a lingering trace of grandma’s signature cookies—she must’ve known you’ve been craving something sweet lately.

the only sound that fills the quiet evening is the faint ticking of the clock reverberates throughout the apartment, and then it’s the sound of the door creaking as you close it. 

“i’m home," you called out, a habitual greeting as you kicked off your shoes. usually, you’d get a response—it was half past seven and typically, grandma would still be awake to greet you warmly—but silence lingered, only broken by the distant hum of the refrigerator.

worry pricked at your consciousness as you ventured further into the house. the hallway leading to the bedroom seemed unusually hushed. the gentle rustling of your grandma’s usual activities was conspicuously absent, she wasn’t even knitting in the living room while watching tv like she usually did. it was odd.

turning the corner into the bedroom, a gasp escaped your lips. you dropped your work bag and stood frozen in place, feeling your heart rate spike. there, lying on the carpet, was your grandma, and her face now bore the lines of pain. panic surged through your veins as you rushed to her side.

"grandma, what happened?" your voice trembled as you gently shook her shoulders, desperately hoping for a response.

grandma’s eyes were closed, her breathing erratic. the room seemed to close in on you as you fumbled for your phone, dialing 911 with trembling hands. the operator's calm instructions cut through the air as you listened intently, trying to focus on each word and compose yourself.

frantically, you performed cpr, guided by the dispatcher's voice, but the seconds felt like an eternity. the room blurred as tears welled in her eyes, mixing with the fear that gripped her heart. the paramedics were on their way, but time was slipping away. this could not be happening—not now, not here, not ever.

“please, god, please no. please stay with me, not you too.” you beg, feeling your face dampen.

as you continued the compressions, a heaviness settled in the room. the once warm and inviting space now felt suffocating. in those agonizing moments, your grandma’s fragile grip on life slipped away. it was clear that she was gone, and there was nothing you could do to help her this time.

--

there’s enough money for you to live in that apartment alone for two months. the first week was spent with you sleeping in, missing school, and staring into the ceiling blankly.

you haven’t gotten up in hours, you could hardly take care of yourself after grandma’s passing. 

after a few hours of simply laying down and feeling too much, yet nothing at all; you flip over on your side and catch sight of the framed picture of you and your grandma. your brows turn up slightly as you stare back at the picture. you turn to lay on your back again, closing your eyes and groaning. your heart aches, it’s all too much for you.

the sound of knocking elicits an exhausted sigh from you, and it takes you a moment to get up for the first time in hours. you trudge out of the bedroom and groan when a sudden headache hits you, it almost makes you stumble. the sight of the kitchen and untouched living room makes your shoulders sink, it looks the same as that life-changing night.

you unlock the door and twist the knob to open it; a taller man stands in front and looks up at you with a sincere smile. 

“ah, y/n, am i correct?” he questions. a smile pulls at his lips, his eyes soften upon observing you. “you’ve grown, you have your grandpa’s eyes.”

his voice is soft, you can tell he’s a well-spoken, dignified man just from the way he articulates his words. he's quite fit looking for his age, he seems about how old your grandpa would’ve been if he was still alive; a man with noticeable smile lines and hands that seemed to have experienced decades.

you try to respond and realize that it’s been a week since you’ve uttered something that wasn’t a cry. you resort to nodding; he seems to understand.

he smiles and scans you; it seems that he doesn’t care about your appearance or state at all. 

“my name is michael, i was a friend of your grandparents. i’m sorry for your loss.”

you stay silent, unable to speak. 

“i’m here because your grandma asked for a favor, a big one and it includes you.” he begins, “she knew her condition was getting worse and asked me to come here to talk to you.”

“what?” you croak, now curious of just who exactly this man is and his connections with not just your grandma, but also your grandpa. “you knew?” your voice cracks, your heart breaks.

“i can’t turn down a favor like this, not if your grandma is asking either.” he says, pursing his lips. his eyes scan the room, then they start to well up with water. “she wanted me to take you in and take care of you if anything happened to her, of course i’m willing to do that for her—you’re her family after all, and i owe a lot to the l/n’s. i didn’t know her time would come so soon.”

“what? who, who are you exactly? my grandma told you about her condition? what— how—”

“i was close with your grandparents. i’m someone who owes them everything.”

-

you move in with michael not so long after your first meeting, he warms up to you easily after spilling some anecdotes that threatened your last tears to spill.

it takes a while to grow accustomed to him, you’ve only ever been used to talking to your grandma freely.

michael is a man in his early 50s, younger than your grandparents. he’s a sweet, soft-spoken man that treated you like his own as soon as the two of you met. you learn that he boxed with your grandpa; michael learned everything from your grandpa and explains that your grandpa is the reason he can live normally now. 

something in the way that he talks about your grandparents and the way he looks at you explains a lot, you don’t know exactly what your grandparents did, but it seems like they were his biggest miracle.

he smiles at you when you settle in his house, then goes on to tell you that you remind him of your old man. michael is a generous guy, and though everything happened so fast—recovering from grandma’s death, moving in with this man you’ve never heard of, learning more about your grandparent’s relations, and too much more—you seem to ease into this new lifestyle.

what else could you do anyway?

the new home you’re in isn’t small; if anything, it’s actually quite large and spacious. his home is hours away from where grandma was and it was hard leaving everything behind, but with your situation, the most you could feel is grateful for having a place and person to stay with, and a way to keep you from drowning in misery.

it was also evident that there used to be someone who lived with him, a lover of some sort. the pictures on the wall give you a sense of how he was like when whoever that woman was accompanying him was around; he was a lively, beaming man back then. now, he’s a bit more mellow, but there’s still that slight charm.

-

michael offers you a job at his little restaurant that he manages—which you accept immediately, you owe him some labor, and honestly everything after what he’s done for you—everything goes well. 

he goes easy on you because of your recent loss, but still, he treats you like you’re his own. michael is quick to correct you, strict when he needs to be, and someone to rely on.

he’s impressed with your skills in the kitchen, enamored by how quick you are to learn recipes and cook them up. your bond grows quickly and easily, it helps you get over the loss.

when he finds you watching your grandpa’s old boxing matches on the couch a month after moving in, he decides to bring you to his little garage. he unveils the trophies that he’s collected over years of boxing and decides to give you a picture of him and your grandpa posing together. in the picture, they’re all sweaty and smiley, beaming so brightly that their teeth almost reflect the light. he insists that “you deserve it more, i never had a place to keep this anyway,” with a small smile that conceals his sorrow, then hands you the 8x6 photo.

you tell him about your background in boxing, your matches, wins, favorite moves, and that you used to teach yourself how to box because of grandpa.

he simply smiles, muttering something that sounds like a “you’re just like him.”

you learn how to box again for the first time in a while on some friday night. this time you really learn, it’s not from copying your old man’s combos on a screen; instead, it’s one-on-one lessons with his old friend. 

he teaches you a lot, beats you down and makes you get back up. despite getting knocked down, thrown around, and given harsh constructive criticism—you get up and try again, again, and again. the thrill of it all surges through your body again, giving you that adrenaline rush and burst of joy that you’ve been missing for a bit.

one month passes, then another, and now you’re learning how to box every weekend – sometimes on weekdays – running miles after school, pushing yourself all the time, and winning—growing. 

he teaches you his favorites combos, then your grandpa’s favorite ones that got him on one knee each time they sparred. you learn all the time, learn whenever you can despite the slight ache in your body and it’s always michael forcing you to take it easy to get rid of that slight pain. 

boxing takes over your mind and you’re set with cooking as your main job, so school was something you weren’t really set on, you figured that out after all your troubles. michael was okay with that—to your surprise—and you decided to devote your time into training and doing your best at the little restaurant you worked at.

time passes and you decide to put yourself up to the test and sign yourself up for matches. at first, they’re just for experience, and then you’re pushing yourself to win these triple digit checks—which you win proudly after making your way up the bracket and succeeding. you’re proud of yourself for these accomplishments, michael is too, he says that your grandparents would be proud as well and it makes you tear up.

everything was going well, and you had michael to thank for pulling you out of the harsh waters that tried to pull you down and drown you in your misery.

--

when everyone was starting out in college, you were opening up the restaurant and getting everything ready.

you graduated with a solid gpa of 3.4. your counselors were practically up your ass because of your lack of interest in going to college. they tried to persuade you by saying that it would be great for your future, they insisted that you could take culinary classes, boxing classes, etc; despite every effort and attempt, you wouldn’t budge. 

there was always that slight uneasiness that came with deciding not to go to college, but at the same time, you were set with how everything was right now; especially after seeing the elderly regulars that always came in for breakfast. one of them patted you on the back as you hung up the “welcome” sign and greeted you with a smile, saying “it’s nice to see you again y/n, as always.” 

this type of lifestyle kept you smiling, there was not much to complain about other than the rare rude customer that would pass by here and there. you were content to say the least.

-

a few months before you turn nineteen, you decide to move out because there’s a small feeling that you may be a slight burden to michael, plus, the area is not bad and the rent is cheap. he assures that you can stay for however long, but you assure that you can hold up on your own. 

the place you decide to settle in is a thirteen-minute run from michaels place and a ten-minute walk from the restaurant you work at. robert says he’s proud that you’ve grown to be independent and strong.

(you laugh because you’ve simply moved out and decided to live on your own. plus, you live near him and work most of your shifts with him too, but you let him hug you dearly). 

you stay in a single-bedroom apartment that has a nice, small kitchen area littered with trinkets you’ve collected and small plants here and there. the living room is homey and has a single couch with a small coffee table in it that you gives you a view of the small market that goes on every sunday in the distance. you love the place. 

it gets lonely some nights, coming home to a silent house. grandma pops up in your mind and part of you (all of you) wishes that you’d come home to the smell of home cooked food and a smile that emphasizes her wrinkles. grandma hated her wrinkles, but you loved them. a few wrinkles never hurt anyone.

-

you huff, taking off the bandana on your head. “i’m clocking out, see you tomorrow.” 

“wait! michael has something for you in the back. uhh--” aki, the junior in high school that works part time, begins. you pause in your tracks, bag over your shoulder. “hold on let me--”

“c’mon, i'm running a little late for the match. i need to get checked in.” you say hurriedly, “just tell him i'll get it later--”

“no, y/n, it’s important. he said to get it to you today.”

with a deep sigh, you give in, watching him put away the plate he was washing and quikcly running to the back where the lockers are. you follow him in and watch him take out a small box with a little paper on it. it's a pretty big box, maybe bigger than a shoe box.

“here,” he says, handing it to you. “michael says good luck and to open it before your match, he knows how important this one is. three hundred is a solid prize, he says you can do it.”

you smile at aki; he smiles back before running off and back to the kitchen. the box is held with your hands, subtle blisters scratching against the cardboard before you walk over to your car. 

when you’re in the driver's seat, you decide to let the box be your little passenger and see what's inside when you reach the address of the tournament. as soon as you do, the box is in your hands again. with your keys, you cut the tape that covered the openings, then eagerly opened the box like a little kid on christmas morning.

inside, there’s brand new boxing gloves. they're white, they’re fresh, and they’re the expensive ones michael caught you eyeing.

“son of a bitch.” you mutter, shaking your head with a grin playing on your lips. 

you get out your old white mazda with a bag hung on your shoulder, new gloves inside.

there's a man at the front checking you in, his appearance slightly older with hair parted in the middle and a somewhat distraught expression on his face, almost disgust. maybe he just... looks like that. 

there's a hint of attitude in his tone when he asks, "you're here for the match?" 

“yes.”

“you’re late, you know? boxers should’ve checked in ten minutes ago, visitors--”

“i’m here now.” you say calmly, looking at him apologetically. “sorry for being late, i rushed from work. i already submitted my medical information and id online, it should be good to go, i got the email. it's l/n y/n by the way, i should be on the roster--”

he snaps his fingers at you, earning a raised brow from you. your teeth grind against each other as you clench your jaw from the sudden action.

“don’t cut me off when i'm speaking. i could have you out of the match as a whole, you know?” he scoffs, glaring at you. “you boxers are so damn impatient, and to think that you’re a woman too... i would’ve figured you had better manners.”

“i’m-- im sorry?” you’re shocked by the sudden disrespect, fighting back the urge to jab his face. “um, sorry. am i still able to check in?”

he narrows his eyes at you, sighing, but still giving you a little snarky tone even as he hands you your name tag and . “fine. go down the hall and to the left, there’s the locker rooms and whatnot. you know, you’re lucky i don’t--”

“thank you sir, have a good one.” is what you say, because you trained two months for this tournament and you can’t get disqualified now if you had let out that: “fuck you, bitch.”

you dash past him, speed walking towards the changing rooms to get yourself situated and weighed in. he almost curses at you, but you’re already too far in for him to stop you anyway.

--

you make weight, meaning you get to indulge in whatever it was that you grabbed from the convenience store.

in this case it was one protein bar – cookie dough, your favorite – some fruits, an avocado, and a few crackers. a decent amount of nutrition to keep you up on your toes for the matches.

michael's little gift to you fits snug, your hands fit perfectly in them, but you should definitely break them in before sparring—so you resort to using your usual gloves, the same ones that won you the last tournament's prize. it's fine anyway, they’re your lucky ones until you break in the new.

the first girl you take on is feisty; she’s quick on her feet and clearly has some type of anger issue from the way she curses at you quietly, sending daggers with that look of hers. it seems that you piss her off the more level you are, and honestly, it’s amusing to see her continuously jab and jab with fury until you decide to step to the side quickly and give a solid swing. 

she stumbles back, losing her composure before gritting her teeth. 

then she’s light on her feet again, you’re still playing defense, simply observing as she shifts side to side. you let her punch your forearm and send a cross before seizing the moment, stepping to the left, and quickly sending a nasty hook to her body. 

she stumbles again, coughs, and falls down on her knees.

“l/n!” the referee shouts, holding your wrist and raising your arm up.

--

you have three more matches until your final round, the one that’ll determine if you win, but you have to get through all of them first.

the second round proves to be more challenging. the woman you're up against lands a nasty cross that connects squarely with your jaw, throwing you off balance for a split second. however, with attentive focus on each of her movements, you manage to anticipate her next move and swiftly counter with a hook to her side. the blow knocks her out, mirroring the outcome of your previous match.

the third round is even more difficult. the woman you're up against this time seems relentless, unleashing jabs and crosses and jabs and crosses and jabs—wow, she won’t give you a break. you're constantly dodging, weaving side to side, but she refuses to give you a moment's respite. another blow lands on your jaw again, causing you to stumble back and exhale sharply, feeling the impact reverberate through your body.

as you try to regain your footing, she continues to press the attack, landing blows to your forearms as you desperately block, trying to find an opening to mount a counterattack. despite your best efforts, she seems to have you on the ropes, leaving you struggling to keep up with her relentless assault.

but still, as you always do, you manage to swerve and find your opening. after all that effort, she has to recover for a second. a second is more than enough time to step and switch angles, sending your infamous hook and leaving her on the ground, almost in fetal position, and groaning.

the fourth round is tough, really tough. the girl you’re up against is shorter, but wow is she bulky. 

she’s buff, biceps bigger than yours, almost as if an orange had been placed in them. her shoulders were like rocks and tensed as she put her arms up a bit. you had a decent amount of muscle, pretty nice definition and whatnot—but compared to her? it was like a shrimp and a lobster put next to each other. no way she was in your weight class, could she really be?

your arms steady as you get ready to fight, waiting for the cue and as soon as the ref gives you the green light, you’re light on your feet again. she throws a jab at you, grazing your forearm as you step back. then a cross is thrown at you, another jab, and a punch to the side that lands on your shoulder. her hits are as strong as she looks, it hurts. 

you manage to throw a jab that hits her forearms, then land an uppercut that strikes the side of her jaw. she lets out a sharp breath as soon as it hits, then curses under her breath. she looks at you with a death glare, then steps forward and to the side, managing to land a nasty hit right on your abdomen, then cheek, making you fall back against the rope.

she chuckles, making you take a deep breath. 

your feet move quick, inching in on her as you sway from side to side, giving her no room to strike at you. and then, just when you find an opening, you land a nice hook with your right—less precise and powerful, but still enough—and she falls back. 

she gets back up again—not without halting a few of her actions—then shakes her head. she throws a cross at you, which you dodge easily since her reach is on the shorter side. this gives you another opportunity to land a hit right on her jaw, and with that final move, she’s on the ground, and you win.

a smile reaches your face once the referee lifts your arm up, but there’s still that last match.

there's some time before finals, you take the time to rest a bit, chugging down a bit of water and wiping away some of the sweat on your body.

you sit down on one of the benches, leaning against the wall and recollecting yourself. the though of your grandma crosses your mind before you’re interrupted by a high pitched voice in the corner of your ear.

“yunjin! i'm so sorry i'm late, i had to finish moving in some things and--”

“it’s fine, seriously. i'm glad you made it.”

you glance over, seeing two women interact. one is obviously a boxer–one that you haven’t seen yet–probably your opponent for the final round. 

she's all sweaty, strands from her hair glued to her forehead from the sweat. she's pretty built, maybe a little smaller than you are muscle-wise, but still, the definition on her arms and abs are no joke. 

the woman next to her, dressed in a simple long-sleeve shirt and jeans, is beaming at her with a wide smile. her eyes sparkle with joy and happiness and rainbows, there’s an infectious energy that seems to radiate off of her. it's funny how bright she is; you can't help but be reminded of old videos of your grandma with grandpa, where similar warmth and happiness seemed to fill the frame.

“how many more matches do you have left? did you win any yet? gosh i missed so much, didn’t i?”

the taller one shakes her head, the boxer. “it’s fine, the rest were pretty difficult, but this is the round that should be the most important. it's the last one, i'm going up someone really good, i saw her--” she catches you from the side of your eye, which prompts you to look away and start to stand up.

the other woman, the one that looks a little like an eager bunny, looked towards where the boxer was looking. catching your last swift look over to the pair before you walk away.

now, yunjin, your last opponent, tenses her jaw.

“was that her?” yunjin’s friend asks.

“most definitely.” yunjin mumbles nervously.

--

you step into the ring, tilting your neck over to crack it just slightly.

your oppenent swings her arms slightly, dynamically stretching again to ease her nerves. you look her up and down, taking a deep breath before you step into the middle of the platform.

the two of you make eye contact, comparable to cowboys pointing pistols at each other before a duel. you look away first before the referee puts his hand in the middle, then lifts it up to cue the start of your match.

slowly circling the ring, you observe her movements. her arms react quick to how yours move, twitching and moving a bit in order to match your rhythm. she's attentive, very attentive, you can tell just by how quick she’s able to react and adjust.

you throw a cross, she backs away immediately and misses, then throws a punch right at you, hitting your forearm. a grunt is heard from you, then a sharp breath as you jab her forearm in return. 

“jen! you can do it!” the voice from earlier calls out, you can’t afford to look over, but it’s that girl. the one who had been accompanying your opponent earlier.

a small smile forms on your opponent's lips before she launches into a flurry of punches aimed directly at you. you raise your forearms in a desperate attempt to block them from reaching your face, but she manages to find an opening. stepping to the side, she delivers a rear uppercut to your jaw once again, causing a sharp surge of pain to shoot through you. it hurts even more than before, the sensation amplified by the previous blows.

you grunt out in pain, feeling the metallic tang of blood filling your mouth as you watch droplets fall onto the platform below. despite the searing pain and the mounting pressure of the match, you force yourself to regain your composure. your brows crease with determination as you shake your head, breathing in and out slowly.

now it's your turn to unleash a boatload of punches. several of them land squarely on your opponent's forearms, but you manage to find an opening and deliver a powerful blow right to her stomach, causing her to gasp out in pain. despite her reaction, you continue your assault relentlessly, delivering punch after punch to the side of her arms and the forearms covering her head. each blow is delivered with precision and determination, as you refuse to let up until the match is won.

but your opponent still perseveres, somehow finding a way to get out of the corner and land a jab right where your ribs are. she's quick, that’s for sure, always managing to find her way out of situations.

you cough out, stumbling backwards and almost falling down to your knees. she looks at you, huffing proudly as you find your balance. 

“tough,” you hear her mumble, so quiet that you almost mistook it for a whisper.

the two of you go at it again, trading blows and dodging many of them. yunjin manages to land a solid hit on the side of your arm, causing a sharp sting, but you fight back with a well-placed strike right on her tricep. despite the back and forth, the pace slows as both of you focus on dodging each other's attacks, slowing down the more fatigued you both get.

yunjin suddenly lands a powerful hit that causes your arms to push your head to the side. you watch as drops of blood litter the ground once again, but even as pain flares through you, you grunt and pull yourself together.

“c’mon yunjin!” the voice cheers again, that same voice.

just because this “yunjin” has supportive spectators, doesn’t mean you don’t have one watching from above.

the thought of your grandma urges you to act swiftly, moving so quick that you manage to fake her out and strike your signature final move.

turning to the left to regain your footing, you quickly pivot back and swing your arm with precision, landing a harsh blow on her side. the impact is so fatal that it nearly elicits a cry from her—a mix of a cough and a groan—as she staggers backward before collapsing to the ground.

despite the fatigue and pain coursing through your body, and the blood flowing down your nose and to the edge of your chin, none of it bothers you anymore; you’ve won. it’s clear.

you watch as yunjin kneels on the ground, groaning and huffing as she tries to fight back the pain. with both fists planted firmly on the ground, she uses the gloves to support herself, unable to look back up as she coughs, desperately trying to regain her composure and recover from the left hook to her side.

your eyes meet the ref’s eyes, then your brows raise to ask the question “is it over?” but you already know the answer: it is.

the referee helps yunjin up, you don’t bat an eye at her.

standing in the middle of the ring waiting for her, you make full eye contact with her little friend, a look of worry and anger plastered on the woman’s face. you feel a little bad, just a little (but not really), but it’s a competition, it’s nothing to worry about – you’ve won.

still, in that moment, you're caught off guard by how familiar this woman looks, her features bearing a slight resemblance to michael’s. but you quickly push the thought aside, it's not important. what matters is the referee raising your hand up in victory and yelling out your name.

“y/n!”

-

when yunjin gets down from the ring, a few moments after you’ve already stepped off; her friend is already by her side to make sure she’s okay.

“yunjin! oh my gosh, are you okay?”

“yes, hanni, it’s fine.” yunjin assures, clutching her right side. “hell of a hook...”

if it weren’t for those gloves of yours, yunjin would have a prominent bruise right on the skin covering her ribs. hanni frowns at her state before someone comes over to hand yunjin a towel and a water bottle. 

hanni catches you in the corner of her eye as you stand there, sweaty and looking at the ground. a towel is handed to you, and you quickly use it to wipe away the blood on your face. then you look up at the ceiling, closing your eyes as if trying to gather yourself and stem the flow of blood trickling down your face.

“do matches usually end like that?” hanni asks.

“what?”

“like that. someone's hand is raised and then they just... walk off the stage?”

yunjin thinks to herself as she chugs on water. “well, i mean, usually we exchange a few words and stuff, but i guess who i just fought is more... blunt? reserved?” yunjin shakes her head, “it's not that big of a deal, really. she's bleeding anyway, i understand.”

“that’s kind of rude, don’t you think?”

“well, it’s not like she’s actually trying to hurt me for like, terrible reasons. there's a cash prize she wants and she won it.” yunjin shrugs defeatedly.

as you sniffle slightly, you turn to the side, locking eyes with hanni. your look gives the impression of a glare; your eyes narrow, and your expression remains unyielding. it's as if you're sending arrows of scrutiny towards hanni and yunjin. hanni can't help but feel unsettled by the way you hold yourself and the implicit judgment in your gaze. she's not one to judge easily, but your demeanor leaves her feeling a bit wary and cautious.

hanni watches you walk off, wiping a small drop of blood off your jawline, rubbing it off on your towel.

yunjin looks in the same direction as hanni, muttering something under her breath.

“she’s real tough, that’s right.”

--

you walk over to the cafe nearby, you need a little treat after winning, that’s what you deserve.

walking up to the cashier, you order a slice of strawberry shortcake, one latte, and a cookie for later. it’s a quick little action, once you’re done purchasing you head out the door, hearing a little jingle. 

as you walk down the sidewalk, you check your little bag to make sure the container of your cake isn’t tilted, and in the moment, you bump into someone. the coffee in your hand slips and lands on the person in front of you.

a curse slips out your lips, some of the coffee manages to land on your shoulder and upper right side of your chest. you groan, not looking up at the person in front of you and instead crouching down to pick up the bag you’ve just dropped.

“you’re not even going to bat an eye at her?” a voice scoffs from above, you look up to spot two familiar faces: one, the last girl you had knocked out and two, her little friend. “did the win make you so dense?”

“hanni relax, it’s fine–”

“no! she barely batted an eye at you after she won! shouldn’t boxers have more sportsmanship?”

the boxer above you puts a hand on the shorter girl’s shoulder, trying to cool her down as you stand up. the girl you had beat earlier – yunjin – she looks at you and tightens her jaw, hesitating before looking away.

“i’m, i’m sorry for that, for my friend.” she apologizes. you examine her more, noticing that only a bit of coffee landed on her t-shirt and the rest had spilt on you and the ground – it wasn’t that big of a deal. “it’s a small stain, the shirt is navy. sorry for your coffee.”

before you can respond, the shorter woman looks at yunjin confusedly, then pushes her back a bit so that she’s standing closer to you. she has to look up a bit, tilting her head as she meets your unbothered gaze.

“no, yunjin, she should apologize.” the woman spits, “you bump into my friend and spill coffee on her–”

“it’s barely anything–” yunjin butts in, but her little friend puts a finger to her lips.

“you better apologize, that win didn’t make you any better than anyone you’ve beat.” 

you look the girl up and down, then at yunjin who’s looking regretful and slightly embarrassed. you fix the slice of cake in your bag, catching the shorter girl looking at you like you’re crazy, then sigh out tiredly. 

“hey, yunjin, right?”

she nods, then hums, “yeah.”

you glance back at her friend, shrinking her down with just your eyes. you catch the way her jaw tightens and the flicker of fear in her eyes.

“tame your little friend, ‘kay?” you firmly say, then brush past the two of them.

hanni cannot believe her eyes, or anything. how can someone be so arrogant? 

she watches you casually walking off with an empty coffee cup in one hand and a small plastic bag in the other; her brows crease with anger as she starts to storm towards you, hearing yunjin’s attempts at verbally stopping her fading in the back.

you feel someone tugging at your flannel from behind, gasping lowly before turning around to meet yunjin’s little friend again.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“relax.”

“apologize.” she grips your forearm, taken aback from how firm the muscles in that area are. uncertainly, she adds, “now.”

you look her up and down again, amused by the sight. some girl – who is shorter and smaller than you – is trying to hold you – the person who just knocked her friend out – back in an attempt for some stupid, haste ‘apology.’

“what are you going to do if i don’t?” you ask, partly because you’re curious and the other reason being that this is far too entertaining. “punch me? throw a hook? what are you, 5 feet tall?”

“five feet and three inches you ass!” 

“uh huh.” you sigh, shaking her hand off with your forearm. “fuck off.”

hanni watches you walk away again, before she can walk after you, yunjin grabs her and holds her back – this time with all her strength, the rest that she has left after those matches. hanni shouts at you through gritted teeth, yunjin puts a hand over her mouth and scolds her for being an idiot.

“are you crazy?”

“she’s an ass!”

“yeah but… stop making a scene! you just moved here, don’t go starting shit on your first day.”

“but she’s–”

“hanni.” yunjin turns her around and places both hands on either shoulder, looking her dead in the eye and then shaking her head tiredly. “can we just grab something to eat, i’m so fucking tired.”

yunjin’s best friend rolls her eyes before making a small “hmph” noise, crossing her arms before walking towards the cafe that you had just left.

–

hanni grabs a post fight meal with yunjin, then takes multiple photos at some random photobooth in a mall nearby, and finally gets dropped off at where she’s staying thanks to yunjin, considering the fact that hanni has nothing but a bus pass – not even a metro card.

hanni enters the house, smelling the wonderful aroma of what she believes is garlic and onion being sauteed in the kitchen. she smiles, happy that her grandpa is home and cooking up something delicious.

she kicks off her shoes, then starts to walk over to the kitchen, only to see someone turned to the stove – a tall, athletic, toned, and feminine looking back – someone that is not her grandpa. 

immediately, she gasps, then covers her mouth. she watches the figure turn, then takes her hand off her mouth to gasp again.

“what the hell are you doing in my house?”

“what the hell are you doing here?”

“this is my house?!” hanni exclaims, her voice laced with confusion and a hint of fear. technically, it isn’t really hanni’s house, but through family ties, it might as well be. “get out! are you fucking—are you stalking me? is this because of before? what, are you going to punch me or—”

her breath catches, words failing her as you step forward, closing the distance between you two. you’re in her space now, forcing her to tilt her head up slightly to meet your narrowed gaze. the intensity in your eyes makes her breath hitch again, and she’s keenly aware of how scrutinizing your stare is. she takes in your sharp, intimidating presence, noting how your eyes bore down on her from above. you’re nearly a head taller, clearly stronger, your tank top revealing the evidence of your hard work, while she’s standing there in the casual, unassuming attire of an average college student. she would be lying her ass off if she said she wasn’t scared right now.

“i’m not going to pick a fight with someone like you,” you state, looking her up and down, your tone dripping with condescension. the height difference, the bandage on your nose from the matches you won; everything about you screams physical superiorty, and hanni feels a flare of anger. but even though she’s willing to fight, you’re making it clear that you don’t see her as a threat.

“the hell does that mean you bitch?”

you move your head slight closer so you’re up in her face, letting out a small, amused chuckle. 

“watch your mouth.”

“how about you learn personal space!” hanni groans, using her hand to push your shoulder lightly as she steps back and furthers the distance between you two. “where are your manners?”

“you really wanna start something again?”

“shut the hell up, you’re the one in my place.”

“this is michael’s place.” you correct her. “you don’t look anything like him,” well, she does have his eyes and nose. “do you even know him?”

“the hell? of course i know michael, he’s my grandpa you sack of shit!” hanni scoffs, crossing her arms angrily. 

your brows furrow and you retreat back just a bit. “he’s your what?”

“my–” before hanni finishes her sentence, you two turn your heads to the sound coming from behind the stairs. both of you watch an older man appear with two bags of groceries and a surprised look on his face as soon as he spots you two. 

he looks between you both, grin growing as he approaches the two of you. “oh! i see you two have met!”

“michael, who is this?”

“grandpa, who–”

“ah, i should’ve introduced you two, or given a little heads up.”

a heads-up would’ve been great. 

you’re standing just a foot away from the girl who tried to pounce on you outside a café, the same girl who had to be restrained by her friend—the friend you knocked out cold. and now, as fate would have it, like the universe thinks you’re some type of joke, she turns out to be the granddaughter of the man who helped you get back on your feet. 

a warning would’ve been more than just great, but it’s kind of – very – late to give one.

“well, y/n, this is hanni, my granddaughter, and hanni, this is y/n. do you remember the l/n’s? she’s their granddaughter!”

hanni blinks, her jaw dropping. the l/n’s, as in the l/n’s who saved her grandpa from some gang years before she was born, the same l/n’s that let him stay at their place during his earuly adult years, the same l/n’s he would talk about like they were some type of saviors. 

the same so called ‘saviors’ who’s descendant had been a bitch at in the cafe.

“oh.” hanni says, looking back at you and tightening her jaw. “really now?” she says softly, trying to let the information sink in.

“yes! why don’t you guys introduce each other.” he suggests. you look back at hanni like he’s just told some unbelievable, sick lie. she looks at you with grossed out features, as if you had some type of disease. “come on now,” he walks over to hold both your wrists, bringing you two closer and moving your hands over so they make contact. 

hanni stares at the hands in disgust, and you mirror her.

you sigh before loosely grabbing her hand and shaking it, greeting lowly, “nice to meet you hanni.”

she grips your hand tight in an attempt to intimidate you, but it’s nothing, barely half a kilogram of force. “nice to meet you y/n.”

you squeeze her hand just barely, earning a gasp from her and barely containing a laugh, only flashing an amused smile at the now annoyed woman in front of you.

michael smiles at the two of you, clearly missing the tension and obvious rivalry in the air before saying, “glad you two are getting along. hanni here is moving in, she’s going to the university nearby.”

“is that so?” you raise a brow at hanni, she pulls her hand away and shakes it off like a virus is on her hand. 

“yeah, nursing.”

“i bet they’d love your little self there, huh?”

hanni bites her lip in an attempt to hold herself back from cursing at you. she opts for smiling at her grandpa and saying, “hey, i’m going to unpack now gramps, okay?”

“right! i forgot, you should definitely do that. hey, y/n, why don’t you help her out?”

“me?” 

“her?” hanni asks, earning another offended glare from you. “i’m fine, really.”

“no, no, your luggage is quite heavy – and a large load. go on now, you two can bond while i make dinner,” he says cheerfully, pushing you two in the direction of the stairs. “have fun!”

–

you and hanni are fighting every single demon and voice in your heads in order to not to insult each other. you stand at the entrance of the guest bedroom, looking at the three boxes on the ground in front of the empty bed. hanni sighs, starting to unzip the suitcase that she rolls from the corner.

“you a hoarder or–?”

“shut up.” hanni spits, opening her suitcase and unpacking her clothes onto the bed. “you piss me off.”

“because i spilled coffee on your friend?”

“well you were a bitch about it.”

“it wasn’t that serious, it’s never that serious.”

“you won that fuckass tournament and now you think you’re better than her–”

“i never said that–”

“shut up!” hanni groans, turning around to glare at you. you tilt your head and she groans again, “make yourself useful with you boxer muscles and move the boxes on the ground out of the way.”

“now you need my help.”

“i’ll fuck you up just you watch.”

“yeah, right.” you snicker, looking her up and down as you lean against the doorframe. “i’m terrified.”

“make yourself useful you asshole.” hanni orders, turning back to stack a pile of shorts on the bed.

you roll your eyes, sighing loudly as you walk over, bend down, and lift a box that’s a bit heavier than you’d like to admit. nonetheless, you manage to pick it up, then put it on the desk in the room.

“jesus christ,” the box lands with a little thud and you huff lightly. “you got all that anger inside you in here or…?”

hanni doesn’t respond, instead, she kicks the back of your leg with her foot. you simply laugh, making her kick you again.

“it’s your ego in there, idiot.”

“uh huh.” you click your tongue against the back of your teeth, turning back to help her out more. 

–

hanni has settled in well, though that’s unfortunately thanks to your help—help you were more or less forced to provide. moving everything in, showing her around the area, it’s all because you couldn’t say no when michael looked at you with that signature proud smile. 

the two of you exchange few words during what you loosely call a ‘tour.’ really, it’s just you walking her around the neighborhood, pointing out the nicer spots and which neighbors are the biggest complainers, before leading her to the bus stop. hanni, for her part, stays curious, her eyes roaming over anything that catches her interest, offering small smiles to the passerbys and throwing grimaces at you. 

you show her around downtown, just around her campus for a bit, making sure not to bump into her again after you two had made the wrong step and accidentally bumped shoulders.

“are you picking a fight?” hanni asks, turning fully to face you, her eyes narrowing as she sizes you up.

“i’d rather jump off that building over there,” you say, pointing to the ten-story structure looming in the distance. “--than lay a finger on you.”

“asshole.”

she rolls her eyes at you, scoffing in that way she always does when she’s annoyed. the way she looks in her oversized quarter-zip and sweatpants, with those big, clear frames perched on her nose, almost makes you laugh. there’s something oddly endearing about it, even if you won’t admit it out loud. the feeling is enough to tug a small smile to your lips, a quiet chuckle escaping before you can stop it. she looks like an idiot, a stupid, short idiot. 

hanni notices, of course, and pushes you with her shoulder, her expression a mix of irritation and something softer you can’t quite place.

you drop her off back at the house, handing her your spare key and watching her open the door. she unlocks it and the door opens just a bit, but before she steps inside, she turns to you.

hanni huffs quietly, then looks you in the eye. 

“thanks, i guess.”

“i guess?”

“yeah, i guess.”

“you’re welcome,” you say amusingly, looking down at her and analyzing just a bit. “i guess.”

she shakes her head and steps inside the house, you don’t step away until she’s fully inside and you hear the lock click.

–

the two of you don’t run into each other for a little over a week, but neither of you can stop thinking about the other here and there, despite how much it annoys you.

you’ve been busy with work, fixing up things around your apartment, and spending time with friends before they get caught up in the chaos of school. your days have been a mix of runs, training, and lifting weights at michael’s home, with the surprising bonus of not running into hanni. it’s been peaceful, almost too peaceful, but you’re not complaining.

hanni, on the other hand, has been getting settled into the town and adjusting to her new classes. she’s spent the week mingling with new people, going over her first few notes, and tweaking her schedule to make sure she stays on top of everything. she’s the type who thrives in a flexible routine, something that keeps her grounded and stress-free, so she’s been focused on creating that for herself. 

even though you haven’t crossed paths, the thought of each other lingers in the back of your minds, a low-level irritation (and maybe just a bit of infatuation) that neither of you can quite shake off.

the next time you run into each other, hanni is sitting at her desk, highlighting a few terms and studying some diagrams when she hears faint music and the rhythmic sound of something being hit, followed by the clinking of chains. at first, she perks up, curiosity piqued, but she dismisses it, turning her own music up to drown out the distraction.

but the noise doesn’t stop. in fact, it gets louder, the chains clinking so persistently that hanni finally gives in. she sets her highlighter down and gets up, irritation mixing with curiosity. she doesn’t see anything at first, just an open garage door across the way. so, she heads downstairs, still in her pajamas—an oversized t-shirt and old middle school gym shorts.

when she reaches the garage, she opens the door to find you, drenched in sweat, going at it with a punching bag. you’re throwing a series of rapid punches, each one landing with a solid thud, your breaths sharp and controlled. 

hanni stands there for a moment, caught off guard by the intensity of it all, the sight of you completely absorbed in your workout, the focus etched on your face as the chains rattle with each strike. 

then she shakes herself out of her trance, closing the door behind her loudly and earning your attention.

“what are you doing?”

you land one last blow to the sandbag before looking at her as you catch your breath. “what does it look like i’m doing, reading?” you ask sarcastically, feeling a drop of sweat drip off your chin.

“ugh,” hanni puts on a random pair of slides on the ground before walking up to you. “could you keep it down? i have to study, ever heard of that?”

“nerd.” you mumble, eyes narrowing at the frames she has on. “close the windows.”

“hot air rises.”

“fan?”

“y/n.” hanni groans. “some people are trying to get a degree.”

“and some people need some extra cash.” you retort, turning back and landing another blow at the bag. 

she groans again, shaking her head and biting her lip before she kicks your leg. you stop, turning back over with an annoyed look plastered on your face.

“could you please just lower the volume of your music down? and maybe close the garage door?”

“it’s hot in here.”

“it’s hot up there too, don’t be soft.”

you scoff, raising your eyebrows. “me? soft?”

hanni pinches the bridge of her nose, she looks irritated beyond measure – it’s really amusing. “i could care less if you have to fight later, i’m trying to do some work for uni and if you could just cooperate – please.”

you almost fight back – verbally of course, with some snarky comeback or something like that – but the genuine distress shown on her face makes you back down. you inhale sharply, then exhale slowly, looking out the garage door before you start to take off your gloves.

“fine, whatever.” you mumble before using your teeth to peel the velcro portion off. “i only practiced for twenty minutes but fine.”

hanni feels a twinge of guilt as she watches you angrily toss the gloves into the corner. she sees the way your hands slick back your damp hair, your movements rough and frustrated as you grab your bag. you wipe the sweat from your face with a towel, but her eyes are drawn to the way the light glistens off your back, the defined muscles highlighted by sweat and shadows. when you turn, hanni’s gaze catches on the hint of your abs peeking out from your tank top, and she quickly looks away, her jaw tightening as she forces herself not to stare.

her eyes wander to a photo pinned up on the garage wall. it’s of you and her grandpa, standing side by side. you’re smiling proudly, and he’s raising your hand in victory, a small medal clutched in your other hand. the sight makes hanni exhale, the irritation she felt earlier softening a bit.

before you can leave, she steps forward, stopping you in your tracks.

you turn to face her, looking at her questionably. “what?”

“hey,” hanni looks away, seemingly making up her mind about whatever she’s about to say or do. “i… i get home at around three if i’m studying after classes, that’s a better time to you know… do your stuff.”

“i work, hanni.”

“well, it was just a suggestion.” she looks at you intensely, eyes focused on yours. “or just… turn your music down… or something.”

“thanks for the suggestion, asshole.”

“hey!”

you can’t help but chuckle, a small smile accdientally forming before you put your poker face back on. “you’ll get used to it.”

“i hate you.”

“whatever, tell that to michael.” you add finally before flipping her off as you walk away; you hear hanni scoffing from behind.

–

you sneak in practice when hanni’s not home or when michael offers to help because there’s nothing better than taking out whatever you feel out on a punching bag or in the air. 

hanni is too preoccupied with work and her new friends to think about what a nuisance you are, but still, she finds time here and there everyday for you to pop up in her mind. she groans everytime your dumb face flickers in her brain, scoffing and shaking her head.

sometimes you even think of hanni, mostly when you’re in michael’s house and not getting scolded – for some reason, the absence of bickering with hanni and the hostility in the air makes you feel strange, almost like somethings missing despite your very little time with her.

neither of you bat an eye – this is a lie, both of you do, but as subtly as you can – when it comes to the thought of each other. it’s nothing, it can’t be.

–

minjeong kept you out, making you tag along with her little group of friends for dinner. all of you had barbeque and were laughing at the texts from aeri’s new talking stage.

it’s a boatload of cliche, sappy romantic lines that were probably found in a book he had picked up in the library. it’s oddly cliche and corny, things ranging from ‘you’re brighter than the sun, my love’ to ‘van gogh could never pain anything as beautiful as you’ and it has the whole table bursting out into laughter. sure, it was charming in its own way, but still, you cackled after watching jimin nearly spit out her beer after reading through all of it.

“jesus christ, who is this guy?” minjeong scoffs.

aeri sips on her drink, shrugging. “some guy in my statistics class, heeseung or something.”

“and you haven’t blocked him?” you chuckle, sipping on your soda. you were never a drinker despite your high tolerance, always opting for something without alcohol and being the token sober friend. “you’re stronger than me.”

“he’s cute! he’s just… icky over text. i swear he’s better in person. he’s like, super sweet and shit – in a frat too but he’s not like most frat guys.”

minjeong nudges your shoulder and looks at you with raised brows, you give her a knowing look and laugh to yourself. she leans over and mutters in your ear, “how much are you betting that they become official?”

“pftt, two weeks. aeri seems more than entertained, maybe enamored?”

“if it’s less than, you owe me twenty bucks.”

you roll your eyes, finishing your diet coke. “ass.”

“it’s a deal~” minjeong cheers before both of you return to the conversation, watching jimin give another judgy look after seeing his instagram. 

just then, your phone buzzes against the table and you turn to check it. there’s a text from michael, so you quickly look over to unlock your phone with your face and read the message; there’s something about michael asking you to take the morning shift instead of the evening, which makes you sigh. 

you love your friends, but michael and work have to come first sometimes.

“hey guys, i gotta go. sorry.” you sigh, picking up your little bag.

“what?” aeri whines, “it’s only eight?”

“i have to cover the morning, probably aki’s fault. i’m sorry – here.” you slap two ten dollar bills down, offering an apologetic smile. “it’s for the tip, use the other ten for dessert or something. sorry again, let’s hang next week?”

“ugh, fine.” minjeong groans before giving you a little side hug. she smiles at you and pinches your cheek, something all of your friends do since you’re the youngest of the bunch. “see you, asshole.”

“uh huh, fuck you too.” you joke, then wave to the rest. “bye.”

you walk out of the small barbeque restaurant and fix the tank top on your body, groaning at the small oil stain on the bottom of it. you sigh before continuing to walk down the road, fixing your hair as the wind messes it up.

your ear twitches when you hear a whistle, then a remark that makes your head turn.

“hey sweetheart, let me get a piece of that…” just the sound of it tells you it’s some drunkie, when you catch sight of three men, your assumption is proved correct.

“c’mon baby, don’t be shy now.” another one says, leaning against the wall as his other friend walks over to the woman passing by, tugging at her wrist lightly.

“hey, don’t be an ass, you’re too pretty to–”

you step forward, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from the group. she looks at you, first confused, then with a flicker of gratitude as you motion for her to leave with a quick wave of your hand. she doesn’t hesitate, scurrying down the road while you turn back to face the three men in front of you.

their faces are flushed, a deep red from anger or alcohol—or maybe both. their hair is messy, beards scraggly and unkempt, and their eyes narrow as they take you in. one of them, bolder than the others, strides up and grabs your wrist. but you twist it sharply, making him wince and pull back with a pained groan.

“you wanna be a brave little bitch, huh?” he sneers, rubbing his wrist.

you shake his hand off and shove him back, your gaze hard and unflinching. his friends laugh darkly, stepping up beside him. they’re all taller, but not by much, and the height difference doesn’t faze you. you stand your ground, eyes locked on them with a cold intensity that makes their chuckles falter.

“look at you, you’re pretty too huh princess?”

“and you look like you were made with a quick nut.” you scoff stepping back as he steps forward.

“the hell did you say?”

“you heard me.”

he pokes the inside of his cheek before grabbing your wrist again, his grip tight enough so you can’t repeat your escape from his hold.

“oh, i’m gonna make you regret that, you little whore—” his threat is cut short as your fist connects with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. he groans, clutching his cheek and letting go of your wrist.

before you can catch your breath, his friend grabs your arm and slams you against the brick wall. your shoulder scrapes against the rough surface, tearing the skin and drawing blood. you try to push forward, but another man shoves you back, forcing you to hit the same spot again. the impact knocks the wind out of you, and you gasp, the pain sharp and immediate.

they surround you, blocking any view of the street. their smirks widen, and you can feel the danger closing in. but as one of them makes a move, you react instinctively, throwing a hook that catches him off guard and sends him stumbling back. his friends pause, shocked, before they turn to you, arms raised, fists clenched.

“so you think you’re tough, huh? that’s cute…” one of them slurs, stepping closer.

you don’t hesitate. you drive a jab straight into his chest, forcing the air out of him and making him stagger. the last man lunges at you, but you sidestep him, landing a solid blow to his jaw. he crumples, and you’re left standing, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you face the remaining two who are back up, ready for whatever comes next.

–

hanni is sprawled out on the couch, completely absorbed in the latest season of her favorite show. she’s nestled against the armrest, legs stretched out so far that her toes nearly graze the opposite end. her eyes are glued to the screen, knuckles brushing her lips as she watches the unfolding drama with bated breath. the sound of the door unlocking barely registers; she assumes it’s just her grandpa coming home.

“hi grandpa!” she calls out, not bothering to glance away from the screen. but instead of the usual warm greeting, there’s only the sound of the door closing with an unexpected force. that makes her pause. she hits the pause button and finally turns her head, eyebrows knitting together when she sees you heading toward the kitchen.

there’s something off about the way you move—your shoulders are slumped, and you lean heavily against the counter as soon as you reach it. it’s then that hanni notices the blood staining your shoulder, her eyes widening. she’s on her feet in an instant, rushing over in her oversized pajamas.

“y/n?” she gasps, her voice tight with concern as she takes in the sight of your scratched back, exposed by your tank top. “what happened?”

“nothing.” you lie, opening the cupboard and grabbing the first aid kit. 

“why are you so–” hanni catches herself before she insults you. “are you okay?”

“it’s just a scratch, go enjoy your show.”

“your shoulder is bleeding, and there are scrapes all over your back.” this is the first time hanni’s seen you in almost a month, and instead of you just showing up to exist and annoy her like usual, you’re battered and bruised. you’ve got blood seeping out from a cut on your shoulder, scratches on your jaw, and more dried blood on the edge of your nostril – probably from a prior nosebleed. there’s even a small cut on your neck, and overall, you look completely wrecked. hanni looks you up and down before pointing out the obvious, “this is not just a scratch.”

“thanks, sherlock,” you mutter as you tear open an alcohol wipe packet. “i got into a fight.”

“for money? how did gloves lead to this?” she asks, bewildered.

“no, not for money.” you wince as the alcohol stings your wound, but you keep going. “some guys were catcalling this woman... probably would’ve done worse to her if i hadn’t stepped in.”

“jesus… what happened after you stepped in?” hanni’s voice softens as she watches you closely, her eyes tracing the tension in your arm as you clean the wound.

“they pushed me against a brick wall and tried to fight me. it was three against one, but they were drunk. it wasn’t easy, but it’s handled. it’s nothing,” you say, brushing it off as you grab the nearest gauze and the biggest bandage you can find.

hanni makes a disgusted face, then it softens into something of worry.

you start to wash your hands and hanni can’t help but gaze at you for a while, you look back at her as your hands rub soap around, keeping eye contact and biting down on your teeth.

“you’re so fucking wreckless.”

“thanks hanni.” you say sarcastically, turning back to rinse your hands and shake them dry. “you’re so sweet.”

“why didn’t you just run? they were drunk and you’re–”

“asshole’s deserve bruises.” you answer. “i fight because i like to, and sometimes it’s necessary in situations like this.”

“do you like getting hurt?” hanni asks, “what the hell is wrong with you.” it unintentionally comes out harsh, surprising you both.

“oh, so i can’t fight drunk assholes who only think with their dicks? what the fuck is your problem? why do you care?” you snap, stepping closer to hanni, sizing her up. “you’re all ‘you piss me off’ until i do something that has nothing to do with you.”

“well!” hanni starts, her voice wavering as she takes in your expression, eventually backing down. “i don’t know, okay? it’s just… you’re hurt. i’m studying to work in a fucking hospital, so of course, i’m going to be bothered by an injury. you should’ve let it go.”

“then be bothered by other people’s injuries, not mine,” you reply, your voice stern as you look down at her, your gaze sharp. hanni shivers under your intense stare, breaking eye contact by shaking her head and scoffing quietly. you start packing up the first aid kit, your back to her as you add, “i’m staying in the room upstairs tonight. don’t come worrying your ass off.”

“fuck you,” hanni groans, crossing her arms defensively.

“go finish your show,” you mumble, brushing your shoulder against hers as you walk past without looking back. but hanni does—she turns around, catching you stomping towards the stairs in silence.

she pinches the bridge of her nose as she heads back to the couch, flopping down with a frustrated sigh. “see if i care…” she grumbles, resuming her show.

hanni tries to focus on the tension between the two leads on screen, but she can’t shake the tension between the two of you. it lingers, gnawing at her, and she finds herself angry at you but even angrier at herself. she can’t pinpoint why, but it frustrates her to the point of a near headache. 

hanni hates you, she hates how stupidly careless you are, how you’ve gotten hurt, and the fact that you’re making her worry.

she despises you.

-

your whole body is sore from what you had endured the night prior, but it doesn’t stop you from making a coffee in the morning. 

you lean against the counter and hold yourself up with your hand, clutching your shoulder with the other. it still hurts, it had hurt even more as you changed the bandaid waiting for your coffee to drop, but it had to happen.

as you pour a glass, you hear someone going down the stairs and the contact of their feet hitting the wooden floor reverberating throughout the quiet house. hanni comes into vision in a few seconds, rubbing her eyes and then tying up her bedhead to reveal a puffy face.

avoiding eye contact, you look away, leaving her with the view of the side of your face and the bandaid on your shoulder. 

it’s silent, yet the tension seems like a siren blaring in your ears. 

hanni walks past you, grabbing an empty glass before trudging over to the fridge. the sound of water filling the glass echoes in the quiet kitchen as you sip your coffee, the gulp a little too loud in the stillness. you can hear every step she takes, the soft shuffle as she leans against the counter across from you, the gentle clink of the glass as she brings it to her lips. each sip she takes seems to resonate, followed by a small sigh that hangs in the air. everything feels heightened— every sound, every movement — everything.

you turn around and make your way to the sink – right next to hanni – and dump the rest of your coffee down the drain because you can’t finish it in front of her. neither of you bat an eye at each other, despite your faces being a hand or two apart. hanni sips on her water, you let the running water fill the silence until you decide to say something.

“i’m going to work.”

“okay.”

“okay.” you respond, turning to finally catch a glimpse of her face again, side profile and all enhanced by the light.

you grab your work bag on the table and put on your cap, not batting an eye at her as you walk towards the door.

“wait,” hanni says suddenly, making you turn around again to face her. you raise your brows, expecting more from her. “don’t be reckless.” she adds, looking you dead in the eye.

you tense up, looking right back at her. 

“whatever.” you mumble, turning back around to leave.

–

not only did michael make you work from eight in the morning until three, he makes you clock out to see a text saying “hey, could you pick up hanni?” the same hanni that you had argued with last night because you were stubborn, in pain, and still angry at three assholes to the point that you had lashed out on his innocent granddaughter for no reason.

you’re in debt to michael forever (basically – in your mind that’s the case) so of course you respond with a small thumbs up emoji.

now you find yourself back in your car, on the way to the university hanni goes to, which, is conveniently and frighteningly the same university your friends go to. if they had caught you picking up a girl, who knows what remarks they’d bring to the table the next time you see them.

(it’s not the fact that it’s just a girl, it’s the fact that hanni isn’t ugly in the slightest, not at all.)

(pretty even, but that could be pushing it.)

(it’s not pushing it, not at all the more you think about it.)

(you decide to shake hanni off your mind.)

you park by the public health building, waiting for michael’s granddaughter to show up. you sigh, looking at all the students passing by and sighing even harder looking at the dumb couples hand in hand. the last time you tried loving, it made it hard to even consider being in something like that – being enamored.

you’re back to earth when you catch a girl with overgrown bangs in a oversized jersey and sweats in the distance. she’s grinning and giggling with two other women you don’t recognize, even pushing one in the shoulder and smiling wide.

it hits you that you’ve never seen her like this… joyful? it’s partly your fault, holding onto that stupid grudge you can’t let go of, but still, it’s strange seeing her so open. she crinkles her nose, laughs with her mouth wide, and throws her head back just a bit—it’s oddly cute, even adorable. something about it unsettles you, though, like you’re witnessing a side of her you were never meant to see. even then, you feel one corner of your lips turning up just barely.

she’s closer to the car, looking around as her friend says something inaudible. then she catches you in her field of vision and her smile falters slightly, it unsettles you even more.

“i’ll see you guys tomorrow, bye!” hanni waves to her two friends, then walks towards your car. she opens the door to the passengers side and takes off her bag before settling in. 

it’s silent when she closes it, other than the faint sound of your rnb playlist in the background and the click of hanni’s seatbelt. you shift the stick and start to get out of where you are, hanni looks forward and out the window.

once you make it to the stoplight before leaving the grounds, you take the opportunity the red light gives you to speak.

“i’m sorry.”

hanni turns her head at your sudden apology, looking at you like you’ve just spat nonsense.

“what?”

“i’m sorry for… being so,” you grip the wheel tighter, turning your head just a bit to meet her gaze. “you know, stubborn.”

“is this about last night?”

you gulp. “yeah.”

“oh, okay.” hanni says, looking back and watching the light turn green. 

you slowly hit the gas and turn the wheel. “i was really um, angry last night, from everything.” you start again, eyes on the road. “i didn’t mean to be a bitch.”

“look who’s self-aware.”

“shut the hell up.”

“what an apology.” hanni says, though not without smiling to herself a bit. she looks at the bandaid on your neck, then asks, “are you good?”

“i’m fine, it was just a scratch.”

“right.”

“i literally box, hanni.”

“with gloves and a ref.”

“wow! good eye.” you say bluntly, making her snicker a bit. hanni smiles, not quite like you had seen her smile before, but the way her lips turn make you smile yourself.

she looks out the window on her side for a bit, you keep driving and turn up the volume along the way.

“why did you start boxing?” she asks out of the blue. 

you glance at her for a split second, she’s still gazing out the window. “my grandpa boxed.”

“do you like it? doesn’t it hurt?”

“it’s–” you pause, thinking of a response that doesn’t reveal too much. “--thrilling. i mean, i just… bottle up a lot. it’s the only way i get all of it out.”

“is it?”

“i guess? kinda. you should box, seems like you’ve got a lot in that tiny body of yours.” you joke.

“i’d rather jump off a building.” hanni pretends to shiver. “i don’t know how you or yunjin do it.”

“you’d love it, just put on gloves and go crazy.”

she rolls her eyes, leaning against the glass as you turn the corner. 

the rest of the ride is silent.

–

two weeks later, you’re sitting down on the couch in your apartment and watching more of your grandpa’s matches. there’s something beautiful and equally as admirable in how swift and agile he is with each move, easily taking down anyone in his way. you replay certain moments, specifically his hooks that you tried your best to replicate.

in the middle of it all, you hear a knock on your door.

you turn, looking confused because why would anyone be at your place? maybe minjeong left something again, but she hasn’t been at your place in over a week.

you open the door, not minding that you’re literally in a sports bra and boy shorts looking like you’ve just gotten out at bed, and widen your eyes at the sight of hanni in your view.

hanni, on the other hand, tenses up at the sight of you. 

your whole body is on display, but not in the way yunjin does it—dressed to impress, ready to make out with whoever catches her eye at parties. yours is a different kind of exposure, casual and unintentional, almost domestic. it catches hanni off guard, all of it. her eyes trace the small strawberry tattoo just above your waistline, lingering on the subtle curve and tone of your abdomen. the way your skin glistens under the dimmed light overhead makes it even harder for her to look away.

she’s staring – blatantly. 

you clear your throat, leaning your head down a bit as you put your hand against the doorframe.

“what are you doing here?”

“what?” hanni shoots her head up to match your level. “oh, my grandpa needed something.”

“did he? shit… i borrowed his cooking shit for a house party–” you groan, “just come inside, sit down on the couch.”

hanni does as she’s told, you let her inside and she’s taken aback by how… neat it is. 

hanni always thought of you as someone angry and stubborn—your first impressions and the way you carried yourself made her believe you’d be disorganized, a bit all over the place. but now, sitting in your apartment, she realizes how wrong she was. the earthy tones, the carefully placed trinkets, the neatly arranged shelves, and the thoughtfully chosen furniture all speak to a side of you she didn’t expect. as she sits on the couch, her eyes drift to the small plant by your tv and the man locked in the middle of a match on the screen. she glances at the coffee table, stacked with boxing and vintage magazines. your place is nice, unexpectedly so.

you return with a box balanced against your side, holding it in place with one hand while you use the other to clear the coffee table. placing the box down, you settle into the smaller seat opposite her, leaning back with a sigh. you manspread casually, your posture relaxed as you take a moment to unwind. 

it’s oddly alluring, hanni thinks, she wants to stop thinking forever as soon as the thought even processes through her brain.

“that should be all of it.” you yawn and rub your eyes. “tell michael i said sorry for forgetting.”

“right, yeah.” hanni’s staring at you, she can’t seem to take her eyes off you, not when you look so… tolerable?

“did you need something else or…?”

“no,” hanni coughs, shaking her head. “but i need you to take me somewhere um, this saturday. my grandpa is gone for the weekend.”

“am i your uber now? i don’t know if i can, i’m going out on saturday.”

“oh, nevermind then.”

“where do you need to go?” you ask, “i can make arrangements, i guess.”

“a party”

“you party?” you snicker, looking at her amused. “i didn’t know you had a social life.”

“you are actually the most annoying person i know.” she grabs the box, then starts to stand. “nevermind, you ass.”

she starts to walk away, heading toward the door, but your touch halts her. hanni feels the gentle tug of your finger hooked around the back of her zip-up’s neckline, the fabric pulling her back slightly. she turns to face you, confusion etched in her expression as she meets your gaze.

“i’ll take you, loser.” you release your finger from her hoodie. “what’s your number?”

“my what?”

“number hanni, what you use to text and call people. one, two, three, four, five, six and so on… you know, the digits on your little phone.” your tone reminds her of a kindergarten teacher talking to a child, or some soft parenting method – it’s teasing and hanni would punch you if it weren’t for the box she was holding.

she manages to stomp on your foot, making you say ‘ow’ jokingly. then she gives you her number, you send a text, a simple ‘asshole’ and smiling when you hear the little buzz from her pocket.

“just text me the address, oh, and by the way,” you say, tugging lightly at the sleeve of her zip-up hoodie, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric. “where’d you get this?” your eyes trace the way it drapes over her, the oversized fit somehow flattering. it falls just past her waist, the sleeves hanging slightly, giving her a cozy, effortless look. maybe it’s just her that makes it work so well. maybe it’s just her.

she shrugs, muttering, “i don’t know, my grandpa gave it to me and said it’d fit.”

“it’s a little big on you,” you tease, a smirk playing on your lips. “might fit someone taller.”

“i will throw this box at you,” hanni groans, rolling her eyes. you laugh softly, opening the door for her, watching as she steps into the hallway.

“hey, hanni,” you call after her, making her pause and glance back. she tilts her head, curious, as you add with a mischievous grin, “that’s my zip-up, by the way.”

she freezes, her cheeks flushing as she processes your words. she looks down at the hoodie, suddenly aware of how comfortable it feels, how it smells faintly like you. you’re terrible, she thinks, hating the weird flutter in her stomach, the way her blush deepens. everything about you, your stupid remarks, your annoying personality, and that oddly cute nature—it all makes her feel things she can’t quite name, and it drives her crazy.

hanni hates you.

(just a little less now, or maybe more – she hates how confused you render her.)

–

you send hanni a simple ‘here.’ text and stand outside the door waiting for her, hands in your pockets as you look at the overgrown grass that needs to be cut soon – most likely by you. as much as you dread it, you’ll be getting some good food after, that’s always promised.

the door opens a few minutes later and hanni appears, you’re taken aback.

she’s fucking gorgeous.

a loose white baby t-shirt clings to her softly, revealing just a hint of her delicate stomach and the subtle curve that draws your eye without meaning to. her low-rise jeans ride low enough to show the waistband of her underwear, adding to the effortless appeal. when you finally look up at her, your lips part slightly, caught off guard by how striking she is. her full, plump lips are highlighted by a touch of makeup that emphasizes their natural shape. though her makeup is minimal, the slight smokiness around her eyes and the rosy blush on her cheeks bring out her features in a way that feels almost intimate. her bangs fall just above her eyes, partially obscuring her forehead, and the hoops in her ears add a finishing touch. everything about her compels you to take a second look, your heart skipping a beat in the process. 

“are you ready?” hanni breaks you out of your trance, you blink and then look past her. 

“yeah, sorry.”

she tries to read you, then shakes it off and walks past you and towards your car. you subconsciously look her up and down, furrowing your brows when it hits that you basically just checked her out.

was hanni always this… nice on the eyes?

hanni gets in the car first after you unlock it, you plop in the drivers seat check your messages, there’s an address in your groupchat with minjeong and the others. you decide to check it later, instead asking hanni to type her address in your phone, which is almost too similar to the one you had just seen in your notifications.

“hold on,” you mutter under your breath, staring at the address hanni had typed in and then at the one in your group chat. it’s the same address. “i think… we’re going to the same party.”

“you party?”

“okay you can’t ask me that, nerd. and yes, i do when i want.”

“whatever.” hanni rolls her eyes as you wait for the directions to pop up on your carplay screen. you take the time to settle your phone down in the cup holder, then gaze at hanni for a little, eyes flickering from her eyes to her lips once, then twice. hanni raises a brow, then asks bashfully, “what?”

“nothing,” you mumble, looking at her lips again. you reach her eyes one more time, making eye contact. “you just look really… good.” you admit, “i guess.”

“oh.” hanni just stares at you while you shift the car from ‘p’ to ‘d’, turning the car away from the curb and driving. she stares hard, focused on everything about you – from the satisfying curve of the side of your features to the sharp jawline of yours, and then to the skin of your abdomen that’s peeking out from the work jacket you have on.

she doesn’t say a word after that, instead scoffing playfully and making you smile softly. she puts on some random song from her playlist after forcefully taking the aux, accidentally playing a more intimate rnb song, making the tension in the air thicker.

–

you two make it to the house in less than ten minutes walking side by side. both of you can hear music blasting from inside, glancing at each other from the side and smiling to yourselves. 

“my god…” hanni scoffs.

“what, you don’t like astroworld? travis scott isn’t even that bad, they could be playing fucking… juice wrld or something.”

“i hear sicko mode playing every other day outside the food courts… no thanks. and ew! who plays juice wrld at a party?” 

you stifle a chuckle before walking over, hanni follows behind. you two make your way inside – the door had been unlocked already – and walk in. there’s more than just a handful of people, it’s like whoever hosted the function invited anyone they looked at. you spot your friends somewhere in the distance, locking eyes with aeri who smiles immediately after seeing you. 

you nudge hanni’s shoulder, she glares at you while you throw a cocky smirk and say, “text me when you wanna leave, i’m gonna be sober, trust.” hanni nods at you, catching the way your eyes linger on her for a few more seconds, especially at her revealed skin, then watches you leave.

she walks through the house, eventually finding her own group of friends – including yunjin. yunjin questions hanni, mentioning that she saw you earlier with her, asking if she was just more than tipsy and seeing things. but hanni sighs, pretending to be bothered by your presence as she explains a shorter version of how you two grew to tolerate each other. 

she leaves out the fact that maybe it’s because you’re just as charming and cute as you are annoying and cocky. she sugarcoats a lot about you, both the good and bad, making sure yunjin isn’t too bothered. thankfully, her older friend doesn’t mind, instead she shrugs and switches topics when minji arrives with haewon.

–

it’s been at least three hours of meeting a bunch of people from the university your friends – and coincidentally hanni – go to, playing beer bong without doing the whole drinking part, and for the past thirty minutes you’ve been watching minjeong flirt with girls from across the room and making stupid bets with aeri and jimin as she did so. ningning even snapped pictures of the tipsy flirt, making sure to remind herself to send it to the groupchat in the morning.

you check the time, brows raising at how late it is – nearly one in the morning.

“i’m going to find someone.”

“someone?” aeri raises her brows.

“it’s not like that, this girl i know.” you shove her playfully, then add, “might not be back, she has curfew – i’m giving her curfew, don’t trust her at all.”

“when did you get a girlfriend? let me meet her–”

“she’s not, shut up. i gotta go, i’ll text you or appear or something if i end up staying, see you.” you wave at your friends and then to the three others that had joined your little group conversation, lily? bae? yujin? you can’t remember clearly, but you’re probably right – you’re the only one with a functioning, sober brain in the moment anyway.

heading inside, you check your phone again. hanni texted you fifteen minutes ago saying she’d be waiting in the basement since her friends had left – most of them, the others were probably doing much more… thrilling things.

the basement wasn’t too hard to find. the music was loud, the room dimly lit, and the smell of alcohol mixed with something that is probably weed heavy in the air. you scan the room, jaw tightening and fists balling up when you catch some guy – the guy that you swear aeri was defending the night you got into a fight – all up on hanni.

what was his name? hongjoong? haneul? no, heeseung. that guy, heeseung, you catch him leaning in closer to hanni, his words drowned out by the music and his smile overly confident. hanni tried to laugh it off, but the discomfort was clear on her face. heeseung didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. he reached out to touch her arm, and that’s when rushed over and stepped in.

you pushed through the crowd, even the two guys about to lock lips, your heart pounding as you saw how close heeseung was getting. you knew he was drunk, and that made him unpredictable. you couldn’t stand by and watch this happen.

“hey man, back off,” you said firmly, stepping between him and hanni.

heeseung’s eyes narrowed as he looked at you. “what’s your problem? we’re just having fun.”

“she’s not interested,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “leave her alone.”

heeseung’s expression darkened, and before you could react, he shoved you hard, making you stumble back. your instincts kicked in, and you quickly regained your footing, shoving him back with equal force.

“you wanna go, huh?” heeseung taunted, his voice dripping with bravado as he squared up to you.

the crowd around you started to take notice, some backing away while others watched with eager anticipation. you knew this wasn’t going to end well, it never does when you’re involved, but there was no turning back now, not with hanni on the line and at risk. 

you didn’t want to fight, not really, but heeseung swung first, a wild punch that you barely dodged. now you have to fight him, it’s what you train yourself for anyway. 

you retaliated, landing a solid hit to his side and yelling through the music, “back the fuck up.” but it only seemed to anger him more. hanni hides behind you, stepping back as you put a hand out to keep her away from the intoxicated asshole in front of you.

he lunges at you and you feel a sharp sting on your side, followed by the warmth of blood trickling down your ribcage. heeseung had managed to land a hit that split the skin over your rib, his ring slicing what wasn’t covered by your sports bra and jacket. you didn’t have time to dwell on it; you were so focused on keeping hanni away from him that you didn’t even notice the fist hurling at your face while you looked back to check on her. you could taste the metallic tang of blood in your mouth, realizing he had hit your nose 

but you weren’t backing down. you pushed through the pain, throwing another punch that connected with heeseung’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. he tried to come at you again, but you were quicker, sidestepping his attack and delivering a powerful hook to his gut. heeseung doubled over, gasping for breath, and you took the opportunity to finish the fight.

with one last punch, you sent him crashing to the floor. he groans in pain, clutching his side as he lay there, defeated. you stood over him, breathing heavily. your body hurts, there’s blood dripping down on the wooden floor below you, and there’s still the taste of metal in your mouth. 

hanni rushes over to you, her eyes wide with concern as she saw the blood on your side and face. “y/n, are you okay?” she asks, her voice trembling.

your breath shakes, then you wipe the blood from your nose with the back of your hand. “it’s nothing,” you replied, though the pain was starting to set in. “we should go.”

hanni didn’t argue. she helped you out of the crowded room, the two of you leaving heeseung behind as he lay there, too stunned and beaten to follow.

she also doesn’t say a word as you walk away from the fight with a bloody nose and cut skin over the skin of your rib as well as on the corner of your lip. she doesn’t say a word as she follows you to the car, but to be fair, you hadn’t let her anyway.

your breath is shaky the whole way back, you gasp as you flop against the headrest of the car.

“y/n, are you okay?” you don’t respond to her inquiry. instead, you grip the wheel tightly, eyes fixed on the road, and bite down on your back teeth. there’s an unreadable expression on your face, you’re angry and hurt and god knows what else; there’s so much going on with you that hanni can’t point out. 

hanni doesn’t want to feed the fire, you look like you’ll punch anything if she even considers saying another word. she just stares ahead, letting you drive back to her place, following you after you slam the door of your car and lock it, walking in behind you as you open the door without looking back.

“you’re okay, right?” you ask quietly, voice practically a hum. “he didn’t touch you or anything, did he?

“no, he didn’t.” she stares at your back after you take off your work jacket, throwing it at the couch. “you’re–”

“i’m going to stay the night, i’ll be in the shower.”

“i–” hanni watches you disappear up the stairs, then her features relax into defeat.

–

some of your clothes are still in the room you used to stay in, you grab an old black t-shirt and throw it on, along with your old high school gym shorts. 

everything hurts. your body is a mess of bruises and cuts, but it’s your heart that aches the most. your chest tightens with a mix of regret and self-loathing, each breath a painful reminder of how stupid you were to get into a fight with another drunk idiot. the fact that it all happened in front of hanni makes your stomach churn. you can’t shake the image of her wide eyes, the surprise—maybe even fear?—etched across her face as she watched you throw punches and take hits right in front of her.

there’s a gnawing doubt that settles deep in your mind. did she think less of you for losing control like that? did it make you seem weaker in her eyes because you’d gotten hurt in a reckless, impulsive moment? you replay the scene over and over, each time the look on her face twists the knife in your gut a little more. it shouldn’t bother you, none of it should, you fight for fun, you’ve fought her fucking friend – but still, your flop onto the bed with a groan.

you wonder what she’s thinking now, if she’s disappointed or disgusted, if she sees you differently after witnessing your bruised and battered state. the thought that she might judge you, might see you as less capable, gnaws at you relentlessly. what if she thinks you’re just some bigger asshole than you already are to her, one who can’t control their temper, who gets beat up by nobodies in a drunken brawl? 

you shoot up when you hear a knock on the door, staring straight at it until it opens slowly to reveal hanni in the universities crewneck sweatshirt and shorts, as well as a first aid kit in one hand and an ice pack in the other.

“hey.”

“what do you want?”

“sit up.”

“hanni–”

“are you ever not an asshole? what did i say? sit up straight.” her tone is venomous, you’ve never heard her this serious or angry – seriously angry, angrier than when you spilled coffee on yunjin that one time. “please, just please listen to me for once.”

“fine.”

she sits down next to you, watching you shrink a bit just from her being there. she sets down the first aid kit, you watch her open it and grab a little wipe. then your gaze is redirected when she grabs your chin and moves it, facing it towards her as she examines close, making you gasp and you even feel your cheeks heating up. 

hanni gently cradles your chin between her thumb and pointer finger, her touch firm but surprisingly tender. she carefully dabs at the blood on your lip, her focus intent as if the world outside this moment doesn’t exist. when she lets go, there’s an unexpected pang of disappointment in the pit of your stomach, a slight desire for her touch to linger just a little longer.

but then, she holds you again, tilting your head slightly upward as she tends to the small cut on your lip. her fingers are cool against your skin, and you can’t help but wince at the sting. her expression softens, a brief flicker of concern crossing her face, but she doesn’t say anything. the silence between you is thick, loaded with everything unsaid, as she continues to care for you with a careful, almost hesitant touch.

“you’re an idiot, you know.” hanni says lowly, eyes focused on that little wound. “but less of an asshole.”

“what?” you inhale sharply when hanni presses harder on the cut, most likely intentionally. “ouch.”

“you’re hurt, and it’s because of me. i understand if you’re mad at me for that.”

you pull away, looking at her in disbelief. “what? i’m not mad at you.”

“really?”

“you dumbass.” you start, hanni just stares. “i don’t care about getting hurt, i just… i got so angry, and then he swung and… i just… i don’t know.” you grip the edge of the bed, avoiding her gaze. “i just didn’t want you hurt. i seriously don’t care that i’m hurt, i don’t care at all, i’d take another punch or two if it meant you being safe.”

“really?”

“i mean, yeah. you’re… i don’t know. why would i not do that?”

“i didn’t know you cared for me like that.”

“of course i do hanni.” the words slip out before you can stop them, carrying a weight you didn’t intend. you meet her eyes, your expression showing some sort of longing, exposing something unclear to both you and hanni, maybe unspoken or unknown feelings. your voice, soft and genuine, takes hanni by surprise. “i mean,” you quickly add, clearing your throat as your voice drops to a murmur, “you’re… you know. i couldn’t just let heeseung do that.”

“right,” hanni whispers, studying your face before resuming her careful attention to the cut on your lip. “um, your bruise looks rough, by the way.”

but the bruise doesn’t matter. the pain had faded the moment she touched you, the moment you became hyperaware of every little detail—the way your breath caught each time her thumb brushed against your skin, the soft part of her lips, the way she looked at you with that unreadable expression. she looks really beautiful, and you find yourself utterly captivated, unable to think of anything else but how you’re drawn to her, completely entranced by her presence.

hanni doesn’t hear a response from you, she looks up to meet your eyes, they’re staring deep into hers, brows upturned in the slightest. you two stare at each other for a moment again, hanni’s fingers still on your skin, the wipe in her hand hovering over the corner of your lip, and blush tinting both of your cheeks simultaneously. 

even with the ice pack pressed against your bruise, it feels like your skin is so warm that the ice is melting faster than it should. hanni takes your hand and places it over the pack, guiding you to hold it there. then, without a word, she reaches for the water bottle on the bedside table, setting it within easy reach before grabbing a bottle of tylenol from the kit. did they always have that in there? you really don’t care, not when hanni is carefully placing a tylenol pill at your lips and gently tapping your jaw twice.

“open,” she murmurs, her voice soft and comforting. you comply, opening your mouth just enough for her to slide the pill onto your tongue. she follows up by lifting the water bottle to your lips, helping you take a sip. you swallow, feeling the cool water slide down your throat. “good,” she whispers, her eyes lingering on your lips before meeting your gaze. she smiles, and it’s like everything else fades away.

something shifts in the air between you two, a subtle but undeniable change that makes your heart race, something that won’t easily fade. you’re certain now—whatever this is, it’s here to stay.

“can you lift your shirt up for me? i’m going to patch up your cut, okay?” you nod, keeping the ice pack on your bruise as you lift the shirt just enough for hanni to see the cut – still fresh – and furrow her brows just a bit. nonetheless, she grabs things you don’t pay attention to from the kit, then starts to work her magic.

(“when you love someone, taking care of them is never a problem. i love you y/n, and your grandpa; taking care of you two is nothing of a problem. maybe it’s rotten work for some people, but for the people i love? never.”)

her features etch into concentration, she bites the inside of her lip just barely, and it’s familiar in a bittersweet way.

(“you know y/n, i won’t be here forever.” your grandma’s voice rings in your head. “when you grow older i want you to find someone who will take care of you like that, and it’s your job to take care of them too.”)

she finishes tending to the cut, her knuckles grazing the bandage before she says, “you’re really tough, y/n.” 

the softness in her tone, the evident care, how she’s handled you so sweetly; you feel your eyes watering and before you know it there’s tears sliding down your cheek. hanni doesn’t notice until you sniffle, she looks up at you, surprised to see you in the vulnerable state.

“oh my god, are you okay? did it hurt? you should've told me–”

your voice cracks as you say, “you’re just like her.”

“y/n, what?”

“hanni, you’re, you–” you cut yourself off, bototm lip trembling as you fight back more tears. 

what catches hanni offguard again is the sudden hug she’s being pulled into, feeling your arms wrap around her, holding her close. hanni freezes, but melts into you, rubbing your back and mumbling soft reassurance, “it’s okay, it’s okay i’m– i’m here.”

“you don’t think i’m weak, do you?”

“of course not, you beat someone up for me.”

“good.”

“you’re stronger than everyone i know. you’re anything but weak.” she assures, hearing you sniffle again.

hanni is confused to say the least, but she’s not going ot let go until you’re ready, she’d stay with you the whole night if you asked, really.

you haven’t broken down in years, every punching bag you’ve ever come across has already met everything you’ve bottled up and left unsaid. but something about hanni and her care, it left you crying in her arms to the point where she had to pull away to wipe your tears here and there.

hanni listened to you talk about your grandma, her dying in your arms, her care, her, really the whole latter. she listened to everything, sitting there next to you even when you couldn’t speak and all you could do was stare right at the ground. it was almost like every grudge had fizzled away into nothing, there wasn’t any space for that anymore.

you chuckle, regaining awareness of the whole situation. you feel like an idiot. “i’m sorry you had to hear my sob story.”

“it’s nothing, seriously.” she squeezes your hand tightly. “i just want you to be okay.”

“it’s just, you remind me of her a little, i can’t remember the last time i cried like that. she said something to me once and… i guess seeing it in real time made me break down like a loser.”

hanni tended to you like no one else did, no doctor or nurse you’ve seen has ever done anything like that other than give you a little warning that boxing is dangerous and to be careful not to overtrain yourself. no one has held you like that, looked at you like that, or even spoken to you like that since your grandma.

“you’re not a loser y/n, all those times i called you an asshole, it’s just because of that stupid grudge i had.” she explains. “don’t beat yourself up over it.”

–

you and hanni have made up after that night, it took a while for you to open up fully and stop avoiding her due to your embarrassment, but it worked out.

you pick up hanni after her classes nearly everyday, michael makes you work hours that let you do so, he seems to enjoy your growing bond. 

sometimes you wait inside your car near whichever building she’s in with a drink or meal just because, and sometimes you two end up at your place for a short bit of time just to mingle and hangout. it’s a growing routine, a recurring thing that you’re fond of.

hanni’s noticing a more vulnerable, caring side of you. before all of this, she’s seen you as some fighter with anger issues, but you’re just like that on the outside. when she’s inside your skin, she’s exposed to the more calm side of you, the side that’s not always on edge, the side that makes her swoon a little bit – she’s always found you alluring no matter how hard she tried to deny it, but now that your real self is constantly in front of her; you’re someone she can’t help but smile at everytime she sees you.

she takes pictures of you rarely, but each one is favorited just because she’s telling herself that they’re funny moments worth looking back on, even if some of them are just you doing domestic things or even driving. she even mentions you to her friends sometimes, sometimes, even to yunjin (who isn’t against this whole growing bond, the rivalry had died down anyway, it was just a tournament for money) which caught her by surprise. 

hanni found herself seeking you out more often, even if it meant enduring the relentless thumping of your fists against the sandbags and the blare of your obnoxiously loud music while she tried to study. it was a small price to pay for those fleeting moments where she could catch a glimpse of you – she kind of (really) enjoyed watching you workout to the point where she’d fake complaints.

“ugh, i have a longass lecture tomorrow. please keep it down, it’s in the morning.”

“and i need to stay in shape you loser.”

“you can go a day without it, just skip today, please?”

you stop your movements, breathing in deeply to catch your breath before looking at her.

she’s wearing her glasses again, and something about them makes her look especially cute. her hair is braided into two neat plaits that hang off her shoulders, framing her face perfectly. when she looks at you, there’s a hint of playful annoyance in her expression, though it only makes you smile wider. your grin broadens even more as you take in the full picture of her—she’s drowned in oversized clothes and you can’t help but be captivated.

“is that my t-shirt?”

hanni looks down at her top, then stutters, “i- i don’t know? i just grabbed it…”

“you’re a thief, that’s what.”

“shut up oh my god.” she groans.

you chuckle, then take your gloves off and hand them to her, she looks at you confusedly. “put them on.” you urge, watching her look at you like you’re stupid. “c’mon now.”

“what?” she feels you grabbing her hands, you place the gloves on yourself for her, then push her towards the sandbag. “i’m not going to–”

“take a hit, it’s a stress reliever.”

“y/n please–”

“go on,” you smirk, raising your brows. “your grandpa was great, you have to have inherited some of his skills.” she immediately punches you in the shoulder, causing you to pout playfully.

with a sigh, she gets into a fighting stance that nearly makes you burst out laughing. she throws a punch—surprisingly decent—then looks at you expectantly.

“happy?” she asks, a dumbfounded expression on her face.

“fix your form,” you murmur, moving behind her to adjust her arms. hanni’s breath catches slightly as you correct her stance, your hands steadying her waist before tapping her thigh to shift her leg back. “there you go, but don’t stay so loose. someone’s going to knock you over.”

“it’s not like i’m going to fight anyone soon—” mid-sentence, you give her a gentle shove, causing her to stumble and lose her balance. “hey!”

“stay tense. if i’d used all my strength, you would’ve hit the ground,” you giggle, helping her back into position. she blushes as you guide her, the warmth of your hands lingering on her waist, making her hyper-aware of every touch. “okay?” your breath hits teh back of her ear and she shivers.

“yeah, whatever.” she says before punching again, a better one for that matter.

“you’re actually not bad.”

“are you lying to me?”

“a little.” you joke, then smile at her. “you’re cute.” you say under your breath.

“what did you say?”

“nothing.”

hanni had heard you say it, but she doesn’t push further. 

–

the next time you pick hanni up, you decide to head out onto her campus and find your friends before picking her up. her class ends in thirty minutes anyway, and ningning had promised to buy you coffee the next time she had seen you.

you stand near your car with her, leaning against the brick wall beside her with your hand against it as you sip on the latte she had bought you. you stare at the cup, impressed by the quality.

“this is good.”

“i know right.” she agrees, taking another sip. “jesus, your lip is still busted.”

“is it?” you ask, feeling ningnings thumb grazing the injury. “it feels fine.”

“it’s still dark. heeseung got you good, didn’t he?” 

“shut up, i knocked him out, that’s what matters.” you roll your eyes and hear her laugh. she pushes your shoulder playfully, laughing even more.

hanni walks towards your car only to see you not inside, which throws her off. she looks around, scanning the area for a bit until her eyes land on you leaning against the wall with a girl. she feels her heart sink a bit just watching her touch your lip and push you lightly. you laugh at her and smile, making the weird feeling in her stomach even worse.

she walks over and taps your shoulder, earning the attention from the two of you as she clears her throat. 

“hey, i had trouble finding you.” hanni says, then looks at ningning, almost glaring. “who’s this?”

“oh, a friend.” you simply state, then wave at the girl beside you. “i got to get going, let’s catch up soon again, okay?

“mhm, see you n/n.” she winks at you and you have to fight back a gag. hanni feels like there’s a pit in her stomach.

the two of you get into your car, but it’s odd considering hanni hasn’t insulted you or even said anything. she just gets inside and looks out the window while you turn on the car, you raise a brow.

“is everything okay? bad day or…?”

“you into her?”

“what? no. don’t be ridiculous.”

“she kept touching your lip.” hanni scoots closer to the window, not daring to look at you. “i think she wants you.”

“you’re actually an idiot.” you sigh, shrugging her off as you start to drive away.

hanni stays silent the rest of the car ride, not saying much other than responding to your questions bluntly. you don’t know what’s gotten into her.

–

you’re very aware that it’s easy to piss hanni off, or maybe that’s just because it’s you. 

half the time it’s really just you being playfully irritating, she’s never actually been mad at you in months. but these days, ever since you picked her up that one time after hanging with ningning, she’s been distant, avoidant even.

hanni stays cooped up in her room, you even knock on her door after training to ask to grab a bite or really just anything. hanni’s always throwing the same excuses at you, she never did this before, but now her university work suddenly keeps her away from you.

you knock at her door again, opening it to find her in bed on her phone.

“you busy?”

“who’s asking.”

“what the hell is up with you?” you sigh, walking over to sit next to her. “i just wanted to ask if you wanted fruit. your grandpa cut some for me, like, so much. do you want to eat it together?”

hanni's grown fond of the way you look at her, something she never expected to happen. there's a warmth in your gaze that catches her off guard, especially when you give her those pleading eyes, head tilted just so, with your hair falling perfectly to frame your face. even then, as she shakes her head, she can’t ignore the little flutter in her chest. despite everything, there's an undeniable allure in the way you look at her now, one that she's finding harder to resist.

the whole reason she’s been giving you the cold shoulder is because the realization hit her as soon as you leather tend to your injuries: she likes you, she likes you so goddamn much. seeing you with ningning the other day made her realize that she likes you too much, so much that the fact that someone likes you, and you might like them – this ‘ningning’ makes her heartache.

for fucks sake, she’s a nursing student, she can’t be wallowing away because of a crush.

“not hungry.”

“have you even eaten?”

“yeah.”

“you liar.” you get up, looking at her worryingly and fighting back the words you want to say. “i’m heading out then, i’ll pick you up tomorrow after school.”

“you don’t have to.”

“i’m going to, don’t leave me hanging.” you give hanni a serious look, tightening your jaw before letting a small huff out. she avoids your gaze, turning on her side in her bed, then catching the sight of you leave as soon as your back is turned towards her.

-

you cannot believe what you’re watching unfold right now. 

hanni, hanni, hanni who you beat up a man for, is in the distance talking to that same man you beat up. heeseung is saying something to her that you can’t catch, hanni’s giving him a smile, and you would’ve gotten out of the car to smack him in the face if hanni weren’t already walking towards you.

she gets inside, you look at her like a police officer interrogating a criminal.

“was that him?”

“oh, it’s nothing.”

“hanni.” you start, but decide to close your eyes tight, poke your tongue at your cheek, and simply start to back out of your parking spot. “we’ll talk about this later, we’re going to my place.”

“yours?”

“we’re going to talk.”

“you’re abducting me.” hanni raises a brow, if it were coming from anyone else it would for sure be mildly concerning. “you’re kidnapping me.”

“yes.”

-

you two make it inside and as soon as hanni is in after you, you shut the door and cross your arms.

hanni heads over to your little kitchen and grabs a waterbottle from your fridge, then leans against the counter.

“what did i do?” you ask, walking over to her. “did i piss you off in the wrong way again? did i say something wrong?”

“what are you talking about?”

“don’t give me that, you’ve been avoiding me.”

“no i haven’t.”

“then why haven’t you been over to watch your stupid shows at my place in the past two weeks hanni.” you step closer, sizing up with her and drilling through her skull with your eye contact. “why haven’t we gone out for smoothies in the past two weeks, why haven’t we had a full conversation in two weeks, and hell, why were you talking to heeseung earlier.”

hanni gulps the water she’s sipped, turning her head away, but you use two fingers to redirect her attention back to you. hanni feels her breath shake when she exhales.

“i, it’s nothing. and besides, heeseung was just… asking me out, saying sorry and whatnot but i didn’t give him my number or anything.”

“so you rejected him?”

“i mean, i just told him i’ll think about it.”

you laugh, you laugh because this is fucking ridiculous. 

“he beat me up hanni, he punched a woman – me – right in the face and gave me a bruise. you said you’d ‘think about it?’” 

“what does it matter to you! you already have that ningning, why do you care about me?”

you pause, looking at her confused. “is all this shit because of ningning? she’s just my friend.”

“well you look at her like it’s something more!” hanni blurts, looking stressed.

“it’s not– hanni, you’re being ridiculous.”

“am i? because she was touching your lip and pushing your shoulder and it seemed like you enjoyed being around her sooooo much–”

“and because of this you’ve been avoiding me? and you’re really going to consider seeing a guy who beat my ass up.” you can’t believe what you’re saying, you can’t believe any of this.

“what, i can’t do my own shit now?”

she can’t, she can’t because only you should be doing that shit with her. you’re looking at her like she’s crazy, utterly confused as you scan her features. for a split second, she looks at you like she’s reconsidering things, like she’s longing or something. 

then it hits you, it hits you after you run through every mental note of hanni: she’s jealous, she’s jealous of you because she thinks you and ningning have something going on. 

you pause, stepping closer until there’s hardly any space between you. leaning in, you narrow your eyes at her, voice dropping low. “because,” you murmur, placing one hand on her waist while the other gently cups her jawline. her breath hitches, and you can feel the tension in her neck, but she doesn’t pull away. instead, she drops her gaze to your lips, then down to your collarbone, avoiding your eyes. you tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet your gaze. your eyes trace over her flustered expression – flushed cheeks and parted lips – and you let out a sigh. “because it should be me you’re thinking about seeing, asshole.”

her hand slides to your upper chest, sliding up to your collarbone before you kiss her.

you kiss her like you want her, like you need her and she kisses back with the same force. she reels you in closer and melts into you without thinking. hanni smells like pears and a sunday morning, you could die like this.

she parts to catch her breath, shivering when your hand trickles right under her shirt and your skin grazes against her own. her eyes are still closed when she says, “you’re not with ningning, are you?”

“i’d rather get hit by a bullet train than do anything with her.” you mutter, then pull her closer by the waist. “i want you to be the one i’m kissing, it’s always been you dumbass.”

hanni kisses you again, pulling you in with her arms wrapped around your neck. 

–

it’s been two hours, you’ve had your lips on hanni for at least two thirds of that time.

but now, on your couch after two long weeks, hanni is by your side leaning against you. she’s always been hesitant with physical touch when it came to you, but after making out with you – with you closer than ever to her, hovering above as her back rests on the cushion of your couch – she doesn’t have to be hesitant whatsoever.

“i don’t understand,” your lips are still swollen, you can feel the swell as you speak. “so is does he want her or not?” you ask, pointing to the two leads on the tv.

“he does but it’s like, complicated.”

“literally how.”

“she dated his brother, and i think she also likes girls.”

“you’re kidding.”

“i swear.” hanni says, eyes focused on the screen. 

“whatever.” you don’t really care, not as much as she does about this show. but that doesn’t stop you from putting an arm around her and looping her hair around your finger, then smiling to yourself. hanni scoots closer into you, and an episode later you’re laying on top of her, fighting sleep as her fingers comb through your hair and press into your scalp relaxingly.

(your grandma was onto something, maybe there was someone out there that you could love and be loved by just as much as her.)

[temiizpalace]

☆┊SHOPPING SPREE!

SUMMARY: finally having a day off and permission to leave the campus, you take your beloved boyfriend to the mall! where does he like to shop?

CHARACTERS: all dorms

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: none

NOTES: IM STILL WORKING ON EVEN REQUESTS I PROMISE! this is a brain kickstarter yk

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

SPORT STORES

as soon as you walked into the doors of the mall, his eyes dart towards the sporting goods store. he’ll go where you want to go, but give him like ten seconds pretty please? just a peek at the sportswear! in order to stay fit and look continuously good for you, this is a mandatory stop. and as expected, he looked at running shoes, windbreaker jackets, sports balls (don’t be immature) ((i am immature and did that on purpose)), water bottles, everything. he bought matching sports gear for the two of you so you can work out together! don’t worry, don’t worry, it won’t be too difficult. now, where did you want to go? holding your shopping bags adds to his workout so please don’t hold back. shop to your hearts content.

deuce, jack, epel, silver, sebek

CLOTHING STORES

knowing that you wanted to go to the mall opened a gateway of opportunity for him. what you may ask? well, malls have clothing stores. this means not only can he buy outfits for himself, he can also buy outfits for you! if you’re comfortable with that of course. if you are comfortable with that, he’s giddily going through clothing racks, presenting you an outfit that has a balanced mix of both your own and his style. Seeing you wear the outfit was just breathtaking, he could cry. if you didn’t feel comfortable with him picking your outfits, please pick his. he’ll wear whatever you buy! to him, it doesn’t matter. there was something just so intimate buying outfits for each other.. (along with other purchases, you guys bought cheesy matching couple shirts)

ace, cater, jade, kalim, rook, malleus

DESIGNER BRANDS

he immediately walked towards the expensive side of the store and almost gave you a heart attack. like ??? hello?? you forget he’s rich sometimes. he doesn’t mind paying for you, that’s actually the least of his worries. stop being shy and just take the damn card. he’ll cover everything so go enjoy yourself. he just so casually purchases expensive jewelry likes it’s nothing, baffling you to see how nonchalant he is about his money. he bought you such an extensive wardrobe. designer shirts, pants, shoes, you name it and he’s got it. he takes pride in the fact he can buy such expensive things for you because you get to rely on him. not in a controlling way, but in a way to let you know you’re not alone and he’s here to help. so anyways here’s a $80,000 thaumark sunglasses kit.

leona, azul (lowkey cried looking at his budget), kalim, vil, malleus

ALT/POP-CULTURE STORES* (??)

skips all the clothing stores and designer stores and walks straight into hot topic (or stores similar). look, this is his kinda store. judge all you want (please don’t) but he’s going inside to purchase whatever the flip he wants. oh my gosh, something even slightly tying to his interest? purchase. something slightly tying to your interest? yes he’ll take the entire stock. wanted to get you anything and everything. he bought tons of shirts and stuff for you guys to share and trade so spoiler alert but next sleepovers gonna be pretty crazy. he thinks it’s cool to see you talk about stuff you like, so taking you to a store that has pretty much everything you’ve ever watched? you’ll be rambling for hours! he’s all in! of course, he’ll get his own fair share in. thank god you don’t think he’s a weirdo tho.

cater, jade, idia, lilia, malleus

ANYWHERE YOU GO

he’s down for literally anything. take him anywhere and he’ll be happy. this gentlemen carries all of your bags for you and takes you wherever you wish to go. clothing store? you’ll look good in anything. let’s go. sports store? always good to stay active. let’s go. designer brands? you’ll look stunning. just overall he’s happy so long as your happy, the location won’t matter much to him. even if you offer for him to decide, he respectfully declines and encourages you to pick another spot. he just loves you!!

riddle, floyd, kalim, jamil, rook, ortho, lilia

STRAIGHT TO THE FOOD COURT

as soon as he smelt the aroma of food in the air, he’s gone. he made a straight beeline towards the food court and intends to stay the course. shopping can wait, he needs to eat. he must admit it’s not as good as the food at nrc, but it’s wayyy better than nothing. he must build energy, who knows how long he’ll be inside that mall! fast food can only be so good for so long, so now he’s slowly regretting not going into an actual restaurant but he already paid so he’ll suck it up. after he finishes eating tho, you’re free to go wherever you please. just give him a breather he ate too much.

trey, ruggie, azul, jade, epel, lilia

A/N: this is ASS

date published: 9/24/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[mypoisonedvine]

Kitten with a reader who loves body worshiping her but genuinley feels wierd being Touched intimately (but is severely touch starved), so kitten restraines reader to finally be able to touch and kiss them

OH LORD THIS IS VERY REAL FOR ME WOW

warnings: kinda dubious consent?, oral f receiving, bondage, established relationship, extreme fluff

"I'm almost scared to ask what you're up to," you mumbled as Kitten showed you the silky ropes, her grin growing even wider.

"Haven't you ever tried it?" she asked.

"E-erm, no, not really," you shrugged. "But we can, if you want."

"I do," she assured. "Right now."

"Oh," you laughed, "eager, hm? Alright-- I can't deny, I think you'll look pretty all tied up in these."

"Oh, I would, sweetie-- but these are for you," she giggled, making your eyes go wide.

"Me?!" you choked. "What am I supposed to do, all tied up?!"

"You're supposed to lay back and let me use you," she winked, pushing you back onto the bed as you blinked up at her in shock.

Even though you still hadn't quite wrapped your head around the whole idea, you ended up with your wrists tied to the bed, Kitten hovering over you with a wide smile-- because she was just persuasive like that. Still, you felt oddly exposed, as if she hadn't seen you naked hundreds of times... but she didn't usually see you like this, basically spread eagle and trapped here for her to do whatever she pleased.

Too curious not to ask, you swallowed the lump in your throat and spit it out: "What is it you plan on doing to me, exactly?" you asked.

"Something you wouldn't let me do if you weren't tied up," she laughed, leaning down to kiss you-- and then the kiss started to move, lower and lower, as she slowly and gently spoiled you with sweet kisses down your stomach.

"Fuck," you breathed softly, trying to fight off the discomfort and insecurity that clawed at the back of your mind as she gave you all this attention. "Don't feel like being more specific?" you pressed.

"I just wanna... worship you," she whispered, making your heart skip.

"You know I'm always down for a little sacrilege," you sighed, "but me? Am I really worth--?"

"Shh," she stopped you with a finger over your lips. "Enough of that. You're worth the world. You're my world. And you won't even let me say it, let alone show it, without getting all snippy with me!"

She spread your legs open and hummed as she looked between them, making you shudder with nervousness.

"I mean, you shower me in affection every night-- at least-- and you won't even let me tell you how beautiful--" she kissed your thigh-- "and sexy--" she kissed a little higher-- "and lovely you are? It's just not fair, love."

"W-well, it isn't," you admitted, "but I just prefer--"

"Maybe tonight isn't about what you prefer," she pouted. "Maybe I'm in charge and you're tied up with no way to stop me. Now zip it and let me lick you all over, you little devil."

You couldn't fight the shudder that ran over you, nodding hazily. "O-okay, Kit-- if you say so..."

But still, you weren't quite expecting her to start where she did, running her tongue over your raised nipple slowly-- you couldn't help but whine through your teeth, shutting your eyes for a second.

"K-Kitten," you panted, whimpering when she suckled on the bud for a moment. "Oh, Christ--"

"Now now, it's only Saint Kitten," she corrected with a wink, "and it's you we're supposed to be worshipping."

She started to kiss you all over once again, humming praises along her way: so pretty or look how sweet you are or even sometimes I can't believe I get you all to myself, darling. It was more affection than you were ever prepared to handle, and you sometimes had to shut your eyes tight just to try to tolerate it.

"I love this part of you, right here," she cooed as she softly tickled the curve of your waist. "It's hard to pick a favourite, though... maybe your shoulders? So fun to hold onto while you're fucking me with that pretty strap of yours-- or maybe your lips, you know I could kiss you for hours, and that's not to even mention all those lovely, filthy things you say with those pretty lips..."

"Kitten," you pleaded nervously, your face so hot you worried she could feel it somehow, "I-I don't know what to do with all this attention."

"Say 'thank you'," she instructed simply. "That's the polite thing to do when you get a compliment. Let's practice: I'll say, 'I could taste your sweet little cunt all day,' and you'll say..."

"Th-thank you," you choked out, hearing her purr as she leaned down and licked a little stripe up the seam of your pussy for emphasis. "Fuck!"

"I can't believe you hardly ever let me eat you out," she groaned, "you're so delicious, darling. And look how wet you get! Oh, to think you let all that lovely juice go to waste-- mm. Shameful, s'what it is, just shameful."

"Kitten, please," you choked, moaning louder as she latched onto you again. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at you in the sweetest way, almost a pleading look like she needed to know that she was doing well for you. "F-feels good," you admitted softly, and you could feel her smile as she slid her tongue inside you-- that was when your head fell back, you couldn't resist it anymore. "God, yes-- fuck!"

Her hands pet your thighs softly, pulling your hips a little closer so she could bury her face harder into you. Your whole body quivered, the sensations nearly overwhelming after all that teasing she'd done...

"I'm gonna come," you blurted out, and she moaned against you-- into you, really. "Fuck, Kitten... you'll make me come."

Maybe you'd expected, or even hoped, that saying that would make her stop for a moment to taunt you for your weak stamina, but instead she just doubled down on her efforts, holding your hips still with a tight grip when you tried to buck them away.

'Fuck, fuck!" you yelped, feeling it start to take over you-- tears were stinging your eyes, and not just from the way her nose bumped perfectly against your clit when her tongue was thrusting inside you; you'd been struggling to hold them back all this time, overwhelmed by her kindness.

It hit you rather suddenly, and Kitten only stopped what she was doing when you kicked your legs hard enough to nearly hit her-- though thank god you didn't, you wouldn't forgive yourself if you hurt her somehow. "Oh, beautiful," she praised the second she broke away, giving a little peck of a kiss to your aching clit before kissing all over your thighs, stomach, breasts-- and your face again, guiding you into a sloppy and needy open-mouthed kiss that tasted strongly of your own arousal. "So beautiful when you come," she went on in a whisper, her hands delicately holding your face.

She untied your wrists quickly, letting you wrap her up in your arms as you kissed her harder, pulling her into you. "I love you so much," you breathed against her lips. "God, Kitten, I'm nothing without you--"

"Oh, don't get on that again," she rolled her eyes, "we'll be here all night. Just let me tell you how much I love you and let's leave it at that, alright?"

"But--"

"Shh, darling, you've said enough," she insisted, "or should I get you a gag to match those ropes."

You swallowed thickly, and she laughed with sick delight.

"You're too fun to tease, darling," she explained with a wink.

[moonbeamwritings]

my stray keeps me up at night

← PART 1 | PART 3 →

wc: 4.4k

pairing: dabi x pro-hero gn!reader

warnings: injury and violence description, allusions to murder, suggestive

Dabi could reach your apartment in his sleep. 

Up to the fourth floor, take a left off the elevator, tenth door on the right.

It’s like there’s this pull, this red string breaking through the haze of his injury to guide him here. He figures he’ll listen to fate, or the universe, or whatever bullshit this is, if only this once. He needs help, and in his mind, you’re the only one who can do the job. You kinda owe him one anyway, after all the times he’s saved your ass.

Weakly, he brings up a hand to rap at your door.

It only takes a few more rounds of incessant knocking (it’s damn near two in the morning, after all, and pretty things like you need your rest) before you’re swinging the door open with furrowed brows. A look of disbelief then annoyance overtakes whatever drowsiness remains before your eyes meet his.

“Took ya long enough.”

“Dabi,” you seethe, yanking the collar of his jacket so he stumbles through your doorway. Your eyes flit down the hallway, checking the length of it for prying eyes before snapping the door shut. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Dabi’s smirk is lazy, teasing despite the blood pooling against the fingers pushed into his side and rippling down his temple. He feels the pull of a loose staple on his cheek, and more blood joins the fray. “It’s nice to see you, too, little hero.”

“How do you even know where I live?”

“Dunno. Call it villain’s intuition.”

The glare you fix him with is oh, so pretty. “Bullshit. First that damn note, and now,” you shift to take in all the blood, his hunched posture, the way he almost leans into the hand gripping his collar, “this.”

Dabi cringes at the bite in your tone, but he’s losing energy and he’s losing it fast. He’s not here to fight, or to be scolded for that matter. “‘M sorry to show up like this.” Both of your gazes flicker down to the droplets of blood marring the smooth wood in your entryway. It just barely misses your welcome mat. “And ‘m sorry about… that, but if you want your answers, ‘m gonna need your help first.”

“Just-just,” your brain practically short circuits as you try to rationalize what you’re about to do. “God, fuck this.”

Your heart hammers in your chest as you curl an arm around his waist. He shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be doing this. And yet, you haul him off to your bathroom all the same, ignoring the sinking feeling gnawing at your stomach, and praying he doesn’t notice the red rose that still sits on your kitchen counter.

Dabi plops onto the toilet seat after pushing it closed. “What now, doc?”

“Well,” you dip beneath the sink to dig around for the med kit you know is under there somewhere, and though you’re not looking at him, you feel your cheeks burn. “I need you to take off your shirt if I’m gonna clean your wound properly.”

“So quick to take off my clothes,” he tuts, but you still hear the rustling of fabric as it’s discarded. “You’re takin’ advantage of an injured man here, doll.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.” You roll your eyes as you manage to pull the first aid kit from the back of your cabinet, and setting it on the counter, you finally take the time to look at him. There’s blood and scarring… everywhere, to the point that you aren’t sure where to start or what to look at.

“See,” he continues, “I knew it. That look you gave me last time in that alley told me everything-” Dabi’s interrupted by your fingers prodding at the stab wound that rests just beneath the scarring that curves up his left side. He winces. “Shit. Warn a guy, wouldya?”

You, at least, have the good sense to look apologetic as you kneel in front of him to take a closer look. “Sorry, sorry. I just-” you stop for a minute, and Dabi realizes that you look pensive, almost sad on his behalf. “There’s a lot here, Dabi. What happened to you?”

“Listen, if you’re just gonna sit there and pity me, I’ll take myself elsewhere.”

It’s an empty threat, you both know it is, especially given that he doesn’t move an inch. Dabi figures that he couldn’t will his body to move even if he wanted to, not with you perched between his spread legs, looking up at him with a tenderness he hasn’t seen, hasn’t felt, in years. He’s so fucked.

Curious fingers skim along the edge of his scar. A fingertip brushes a staple and Dabi holds his breath. “I’m not pitying you. I just want to help.”

He mutters something about “fuckin’ heroes and their damn bleeding hearts” but he allows your exploration of his skin to continue. He watches your face shift before you’re rising again to grab a towel, and wetting it under running water, you set to work cleaning up some of the blood.

“‘S all of this yours?”

Dabi thinks for a moment. “Nope.”

All you offer him is a quiet hum before the bathroom falls silent, save for the dull drip drip drip of the leaky faucet. You try to be as delicate as you can, fingers mere ghosts over his skin, towel moving with nothing but a feather’s touch.

“Lucky for you, it’s not as deep as it could be. Shouldn’t be too hard to clean out and stitch up.” You risk a glance up at him to take in the blood drying on his temple and cheek. “Then I’ll deal with that.”

With Dabi’s approval, you crack open the first aid kit and pull out a bottle of saline and a pad of gauze.

“What? Think I can’t handle a little alcohol?” He asks, watching you soak the gauze in the solution.

You sigh, sitting up a little further to get closer to his skin. “No, it’s just…” you start to delicately dab and wipe at the wound, and Dabi’s thankful he’s not met with that familiar, sharp sting. “I read somewhere saline’s a little gentler than alcohol. It’ll heal better.”

“And you’re concerned about my healing process, why?” Dabi knows he’s pushing your buttons, knows he’s pushing his luck, but the question falls from his lips with little hesitation. 

You want to tell him that you’re not, really. You’re just doing your job. But at this point, with his blood in your entryway and that flower on your countertop, you know you’d be lying. You shrug, but refuse to lift your gaze, focusing instead on cleaning the wound as thoroughly as you can. “You promised me a next time. It’s only fair I do the same.”

“Ahhh,” Dabi straightens a bit, and from the change in his tone, you can tell he’s smirking, “I see what’s going on here. First you get me to take off my shirt, then you start flirting. Are you sure you’re even a real doctor?”

You use your free hand to pinch the exposed skin on his right hip. “Shut up. You’re taking it the wrong way.”

Dabi gives you another smug smile and a little hum from somewhere deep in his throat. “Whatever you say, little hero.”

Tossing the bloodied gauze into the trash, you set to work sterilizing and threading the needle. “Now onto the worst part.” Before the needle pierces his skin, your eyes shift up to meet his. “You ready?”

“Ready.”

With his confirmation, you set to work stitching the wound as neatly, and as quickly, as you can, wincing in time with Dabi and cringing every time he groans and clutches at the fabric of his pants.

“Fuucckk.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” You add another stitch, and another. “Almost there.”

With the last of the stitches in place, you add a sterile dressing and dump the bloody needle into the lid of the first aid kit. You’ll clean it later. “All done.”

Dabi takes a moment to admire your handiwork. “Not bad, doll. Not bad at all.”

You move to stand, taking his chin between your fingers. The wound on his forehead is easy enough to clean, you tell him. Just a graze, no stitches. There’s not much you can do about the loose staple, so you clean what you can. He’ll have to deal with the rest himself.

He stares up at you as you work, eyes flickering to yours before moving down to your lips. Have your eyes always been this pretty? Your lips this… pouty, kissable? They have, he decides. It’s just taken him this long to notice. With the revelation, he wants to touch you. He wants nothing more than to bring you closer and finally put an end to the tension that’s been mounting beneath his skin since your last meeting. You can feel his hands shift, hesitating where they rest on either side of your thighs, over his knees.

You don’t know what spurs him on, what draws the truth from Dabi’s mouth, but whatever it is, has his hands curling around your hips as he finally tells you, “I followed you home.”

The adhesive of the bandage presses into his skin. “What?”

It’s as if all the air has been sucked from the room. Your hands still, and all you can do is stare, mouth slightly agape, losing yourself in the deep turquoise of his eyes.

“Last time. I followed you to the hospital, trailed you on your way home when you were released. Figured out what apartment you lived in.”

“Wh-”

“I needed to know.” He rises to his feet, ignoring the pull of his stitches. Dabi’s grip tightens, and he drags you closer, so close you’re nearly chest to chest. Your heart hammers against your ribs at the intensity in his voice. “I needed to know you were okay. Took me a bit to find the bastard that did it, but when I did, I went to that warehouse.” He smiles, as if recalling a fond memory, “And I torched them. I torched them all.”

What he doesn’t tell you is that the ghost of your lips had haunted his dreams for days. He doesn’t tell you that the thought of finally making you his, of sullying that pure, sweet hero image of yours buzzes beneath his skin like an itch he can never quite scratch. Despite who you both are, what you both stand for, he yearns for your gentle touch and soft voice like a plant longs for the warm, golden rays of the sun.

You’re gripping at his belt loops like a lifeline. You’d known all along, could tell what Dabi had done from the note and the news, but, “Why?”

“I told you.” He ducks his head a bit and tilts it to one side, voice nothing but a gravelly whisper. “I wasn’t gonna let him touch you again.” Dabi’s lips are dangerously close to yours, and the faint smell of smoke and dried blood fills your lungs. You can feel them move as he tells you, “You’re mine. And we have unfinished business, don’t we, sweet thing?”

You blink up at him through your lashes, tongue like lead in your mouth. The promise from last time reignites in the space between you, stirring warmth in your cheeks. The air is thick, but you swallow and smile. It’s not in your nature to break a promise. “We do.”

A smirks tugs at his lips, brushing against yours. “I want you to say it, doll.” His thumbs ease circles into your hips, sneaking beneath the hem of your pajama shirt. Their pads are smooth against your skin. Dabi’s eyes are half-lidded as he urges you, “Tell me what you want.”

Hands leave the fabric of his pants and migrate up, up until your palms are pressed to his jaw, fingers grazing the hair at the nape of his neck. “Kiss me.” Silence, and then, you seal your fate, fulfill your promise with a single, desperate plea. “Please.”

Dabi’s lips are on yours in an instant, hungry and hot as he kisses you. He’s crowding your space, guiding you back until he traps you between his body and the bathroom counter, hips pressed to yours. His hands slip beneath your shirt and your own grip his hair. Long forgotten are the bloodied clothes and towels on the floor, the faint smell of them clinging to the air. You’re no longer a hero and he’s no longer a villain, not here in the privacy of your bathroom, not with his lips on yours and his hands burning holes into your skin. You’re just… you. You shed the moniker, the sense of duty that comes with being a pro, and allow Dabi to devour you.

You moan against him when his teeth nibble at your lip, and he returns it when you pull at his hair. Though the kiss comes to a screeching halt when, in an attempt to lift you onto the counter, Dabi pulls away to suck air through his teeth. He presses a hand to his side and huffs.

Your chest heaves. “Maybe we should stop.”

He dips his head to kiss up the column of your throat. “Don’t wanna.”

“Come on. You clearly can’t do… this with that stab wound. Why don’t we have something to eat?”

A bite lands against your skin. “I can think of something else I wanna eat.”

“Dabi.” A hand curls around the nape of his neck as your head tips back, giving Dabi the access he needs to suck a mark right against a spot that even the collar of your hero costume won’t cover. You’re losing your resolve, and you don’t really want this to stop, but he can’t afford ripping the wound open (and you really don’t want more blood splattered around your apartment).

He soothes the mark he’s left with a kiss. “You’re making this really difficult, doll.” Nosing at your neck, he mumbles, “Kinda hard to stop when you’re saying my name so pretty.”

“Dabi,” you warn, though your voice lacks the raw desire it had mere moments ago. “C’mon.” You smirk, tone dipping into a purr. “What’d you tell me to do last time? ‘Go home, lick my wounds, and then we’ll talk about…” You guide him away from your neck with a steady hand, eyes narrowed in on his lips. “... this?’”

Dabi hates that you’re throwing his words in his face, hates it more than admitting you’re right. He clicks his tongue with a sharp roll of his eyes, following it with a low groan and a peck against your lips. “Fine.” He mumbles something about you being a pain in the ass before he asks, “What do you have to eat?”

You chuck Dabi’s clothes and your soiled towels, all of which are thoroughly doused in stain remover, into the washing machine and pray they come out stain free. Then, you set to work taking bleach to the blood in the doorway and the tiny specks in the hall. It’s easy work, and when you’re done, you find that Dabi’s made himself particularly comfortable in one of the seats at your kitchen counter, looking a little too smug to be wearing an old sweatshirt and pair of sweatpants of yours.

You move to stand in front of the open refrigerator. “I’ve got…..” Your eyes scan the shelves. “Week old lasagna, leftover pizza… um.” You’re not hungry, but none of this stuff sounds particularly appetizing to you, either. “I have cheese and eggs, a single green apple, and….” You pull a container of blueberries from the produce drawer and cringe, deflating. “... Moldy blueberries.”

You throw an apologetic look over your shoulder. “Sorry, I haven’t had a chance to buy food lately.”

When you turn around, you find Dabi delicately tracing his fingers over the wilting petals of the rose. Domesticity flashes behind your eyes like an arrow to your heart, and you find yourself frozen to your spot near the fridge. Dabi glances at you and, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be, his palm immediately drops to rest flat against the granite countertop. A rosy hue breaks out across his nose, but it’s gone in a blink.

“Is the lasagna homemade?”

“Mhm,” you hum, pleased. You waggle the glass container in his direction. “Made by yours truly. One piece left, and it’s got your name on it if you want it.”

Dabi tilts his head with a nod, offering you a small smile. “I’m sold. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”

You plate the piece and stick it in the microwave before fixing Dabi with a confused expression. “Really? I’d think the villain lifestyle would afford you an oven, at least.”

“Funny, doll. Real funny.” Dabi chuckles, but there’s no joy behind it. “Haven’t slept on a mattress in weeks, much less had a nice lasagna made by someone like you.” The implication makes you stiffen awkwardly. He gestures to your apartment and back to you. “Definitely can't afford all of this shit like you and your hero friends can. Let’s put it that way.”

You’d never really given much thought to your apartment, to your lifestyle. It’s comfortable, a far cry from the penthouse apartment Dabi had assumed you had, but it works. It’s nice, even. As you watch the plate of lasagna rotate in the microwave, you suppose you should’ve known the League wasn’t exactly well off. You kick yourself, guilt churning in your stomach.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, doll.” Dabi offers with a shrug. “I can see those gears turning.” The microwave dings and you tear your eyes away from it to look at Dabi. “I know what I signed up for.” A pause. “‘M sure it’s the same for you.”

Do you? Do you really know what you signed up for? Does any hero? With Dabi in your apartment and uncertainty brewing in your gut, you aren’t exactly sure you can answer that.

The microwave door snaps open and closed with dull metallic clicks, and you slide the steaming plate of lasagna across the counter. A fork follows it a second later. “I guess you’re right.”

The fork scrapes across the plate as Dabi takes a bite into his mouth. With a cheek full of food and a small smile, Dabi lilts, “Course I am.”

After a bit of small talk and, surprisingly, many compliments about your cooking abilities, Dabi’s dirty dishes join the ever growing pile in your sink and you’re interrupting yourself with a yawn.

Dabi’s quick to reach out and pinch your cheek with a rough hand. “Awww,” he coos sarcastically, smushing your cheek, “is baby sweepy?”

You slap his hand away and guide him down the hall to your bedroom. “Shut up. I worked all day, thanks very much. And I was rudely awoken at 2AM by some dude bleeding on my doorstep.”

“Sounds like an asshole.” Dabi’s arms stretch high above his head, pulling the fabric of your sweatshirt up with them. You pointedly look at the bed and not the exposed sliver of skin. “Why didn’t you tell him to fuck off?”

Pulling the pillows from one side of the bed, you shrug, “I’ve got a soft spot for strays.”

The smile Dabi fixes you with makes your heart leap in your chest. “I’ll keep that in mind.” His expression shifts when you move to leave the room, pillows in hand. “Where are you going?”

“To the couch?”

“Why?”

“So you can have the bed?”

“This is your apartment.” Dabi seems scandalized, pointing to your bed. “And your bed.”

“And? The sky is blue, your hair is black.” You shrug. “What’s your point?”

“You’re just gonna… let me sleep here?”

An exasperated sigh passes your lips before you can stop it. “I’m not arguing with you about this at…” you glance around him to check the clock, “... almost three thirty in the morning. Okay? I don’t care.”

“If this is about what I said before-”

“It’s not.”

Dabi relents, but you can see something brewing behind his eyes. “Fine, fine.” A lazy grin gets thrown in your direction. “We’ll save sharing it for next time, right?”

You turn on your heel without responding, and he calls, “Hey, I’m teasing.”

After dropping your pillows onto the couch, you move into the bathroom to start your nighttime routine. By the time you come back into the bedroom, face clean and breath fresh, Dabi, much like before, has already made himself comfortable beneath your sheets. He’s star-fished, spreading his limbs wide to take up as much space as possible.

“This shit feels like a cloud.” His eyes slip closed, and though his mouth is obscured by your comforter, you can tell Dabi’s smiling. The sweet, familiar pang of domesticity strikes you again, a sense of comfort and ease you know is just out of reach sitting heavy on your chest. The illusion breaks, if only for a moment, and you’re reminded of your role in the world. Of Dabi’s. And it hurts.

Dabi cracks open a lid. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

He sits up on his elbows, pinning you beneath a serious gaze. “You’ve got this look on your face, like you’re somewhere else.” The alarm clock on your bedside table ticks from 3:30 to 3:31. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

You move to draw the curtains, and shut the alarm off. If you’re sleeping in the living room, you don’t want it waking Dabi up. “‘M just tired.”

Dabi continues to eye you as you come to stand beside the bed, stopping to inspect your face for a minute before he rolls his eyes. “Sure, little hero. Whatever you say.”

Ignoring the comment, you ask, “Need anything else?”

“How ‘bout a kiss?”

You scoff. “You can’t be serious.”

“C’mon,” Dabi urges, insistent fingers gripping at the hem of your shirt, “you wouldn’t deny an injured man a goodnight’s kiss, would you?”

“You’re impossible.”

A hand curls around your jaw, gently coaxing you down towards Dabi’s lips. “You like it.”

This kiss is nothing like the previous one. The heat is gone, the crippling desire absent. In their place you find the slow, lazy drag of affection and drowsiness, and as Dabi’s hand cradles your cheek, you struggle to decide which you like more.

When you move to pull away Dabi follows, pecking your lips one more time before letting go. His eyes don’t open right away as he bumps his nose into yours, “‘M holding you to it, you know.”

Your brows furrow. “To what?”

His eyes open and you’re met with brilliant, earnest turquoise — mischievous, but hopeful. “Next time.”

You push his chest and chuckle. “Keep saying that, and you’re gonna have to start paying rent.”

Dabi’s mouth drops open, hand clutching his heart. “You wouldn’t dare. How would I ever afford it?”

“Figure it out, tough guy.” You draw a circle around his forehead in the air between you. “You’ve got a brain up there somewhere.”

“You’re mean.” He tells you with a pout. “Does the public know you’re this mean? I think they should know the truth.”

You move to stand by the doorway, and when you turn to take another look at him, you stick your tongue out. “Goodnight.”

He sighs, shuffling beneath the covers again. “G’night, doll.”

The couch is lumpier than you remember it being, digging into your ribs as you wiggle around to get comfortable. You’re not going to get much sleep tonight anyway; what’s wrong with adding a little back pain to the equation? You’re sure you won’t regret it in the morning (yeah, right). 

Your phone’s alarm pulls you from a dreamless sleep at exactly six o’clock in the morning, and kickstarting your routine is painful. You practically have to drag yourself down the hallway to get cleaned up, washing your face and brushing your teeth like a zombie, movements sluggish and heavy. When you’re done, you creep into the bedroom to pull your work bag from the closet and slip into some civilian clothes. You’ll change at the office.

Dabi’s none the wiser to your intrusion, sleeping peacefully with his cheek squished into your pillow and your covers tucked up under his chin. The sight makes you pout, and you’re pushing the hair from his forehead with delicate fingers before you can stop yourself. Your heart takes another arrow when he mumbles in his sleep, pushing his head into your hand like a cat. Kicking him out doesn’t even cross your mind.

On your way out the door, you leave him a note that reads: “There are eggs in the fridge. Please don’t burn my apartment down.”

The walk to your agency does little to wake you up despite the cold biting at the tips of your nose and ears. By the time you get there, you’re more annoyed than anything, back aching and eyes tired.

“Hey,” your sidekick greets, a sly smirk on her face. “You have fun last night?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve got” she huffs a laugh through her nose, gesturing to your neck, “a little something. Might want to cover it up before your patrol starts.”

You rip open your locker and crane your neck in the little mirror that hangs there. Fuck. The love bite. You’d been so groggy this morning, you forgot all about it. Rifling through your bag for some makeup, your annoyance only grows.

“So,” your sidekick prods, pulling on her boots, “were they cute? I wanna hear everything.”

You think about Dabi wearing your clothes and eating your food. You imagine him still curled up in your bed, fast asleep. You make eye contact with her through the mirror as you try to bite back a smile, voice half-hearted and teasing. “Eh, he’s alright.”

“Just alright? I don’t believe that for a second.”

The moment you opened your door and pulled Dabi through it, inviting him into your home and taking care of him, there was no going back. You know that. The water has risen far over your head and your lungs are already filled with it. And as you spread concealer over the mark Dabi’s left on your neck, sharing a laugh with your sidekick about late-night trysts, you decide you’ve already sunk this deep, you might as well let yourself drown.

[professionalranter31]

So I mentioned in a previous post how Overwatch has a lot of factions that aren’t expanded upon a lot, so I’ve got a list of my top five that are currently represented and my top five that I wish got representation

We’ll start with the ones that currently have representation

Number five is Oasis, represented by Moira who is their Minister of Genetics however we do know in lore that there are other ministers so they could be playable in the future or someone else who works within Oasis

In the same vein as Oasis at Number four we got the Atlantic Arcology which is represented by Lifeweaver. It’s a similar place to Oasis where many great minds live in order to try and further research in various fields and I just feel like both of them should have more representation given the significance they most likely have with advancements in the Overwatch Universe

Number Three is Blackwatch, we only know of four of them and one them also doubles as representation for Overwatch. I want to know more about the black ops of Overwatch, like, did they have a tank?

Number two is the MEKA Squad, with what we know of them in lore is surprisingly little and I’m gonna be honest the vibes I’ve gotten from the lore is that D.Va does most of the work and I want to be proven wrong about that. Plus, the Genshin are meant to be this big threat but it’s hard to take it as a threat when we are only able to see the capabilities of one of Korea’s defenders

And at Number One, the Inti Tribe because why the absolute FUCK is Illari labeled as its only defender!? No seriously, she is fucking 18 why is she treated in lore as her tribe’s only defender. If she was their tribe’s only sun warrior that’s a different thing but she’s working with others to defend their tribe but the Sun Warriors made up the bulk of the defenses so at least then it still gives to the tragedy of her explosion while not leaving the literal eighteen year old as the only defender of an entire giant tribe I want an explanation Blizzard!!! I will crawl into your office like a demon possessed and tear through whatever lore books you have in there to find my answers give them to me!!!

On to the factions that don’t have representation within Overwatch that I feel should have it

At Number five we got the Hashimoto. They’re meant to Kiriko’s main enemy and as of the recent Hanzo short story his as well but they just feel like a dime a dozen goons from what we have seen. Like how Null Sector began to feel like more of a threat after Ramattra was added I feel like the Hashimoto would be seen as more dangerous if we actually got a hero to represent them

At Number Four, the Gwishin. Sort of the same story like with the Hashimoto except we do have some idea of what they are capable of, no what I want a hero to represent them for is how they happened in the first place and how they are able to adapt like they do

At Number three the Wastelanders of Australia, they’re the outcasts of the junkers and what Junker Queen used to be when she was exiled. It shows a new perspective on the Australian Wasteland that’s different from the Junkers

At Number two we got the UN. Look, given how big of a deal the UN is in the larger story of Overwatch I just feel like having a hero to represent them would be pretty good in terms of lore and generally either a character who is morally grey or a villain

At Number one we have the God AI. We currently know the names of four God AI, Anubis, Chernobog, Xibalba, and Macaria. Given the massive importance the God AI have in the lore of Overwatch I’m genuinely surprised that not one of them has been made into a playable hero. I’m also kinda impressed that Blizzard hasn’t released a hero that is just them taking a god from mythology and translating that into an FPS. Anyway, given the various purposes the AI had there’s plenty of ways to design their kits around it and there have been hints that some of the God AI achieved some level of Sentience such as Chernobog’s lore. So yeah, I want them represented in game

[platonic-soulmates-gencest]

okay so hear me out on this one. samndean get into a real shitty situation, right. and they're both pretty young. and john's out, and sam's bleeding a bit. and dean, with his limited knowledge of first aid, is like 'oh shit he needs a transplant, how do I do that though?' and he fucking. slices himself open and has little sammy suck blood out of him, and he kinda looks like he's nursing like a newborn would, and maybe dean gets a little feral over that, and maybe years later sam feeds from ruby and thinks of his dead brother. or like whatever idc

Thank you for the ask! This brought me many thoughts. And I think I went a bit overboard with this (it turned into a short ficlet) but hope you enjoy it.

Dean can go from eerily calm to panic mode in the short time of 2 milliseconds. And there's nothing that makes the transition faster than Sammy being hurt. It's like the alarm system in Dean's mind gets triggered and won't stop ringing if Sammy isn't okay again. Eight years of this and Dean knows it will never stop ringing for his little brother's pain.

It was an accident. Dad had been gone a week now and Sam wouldn't stop pestering Dean about how bored he was. That triggered an alarm in Dean's mind too. He had different alarms for each of Sammy's sad moods. But the one ringing for Sammy's pain was always louder.

He had agreed to take Sam to the park, despite the danger of anyone seeing them out alone. Dean had learnt the hard way that a twelve year old wasn't considered old enough to take care of an eight year old. And he couldn't let anyone take Sammy away from him. But it would just be half an hour. No harm done.

Then Sammy fell off the swing. No, fell was an understatement, he flew off the swing. Dean went from "anxious about someone taking Sammy away" to "ALARM, SAMMY IS HURT" in a moment.

Blood run down Sam's knees and palms. Dean gave a silent prayer that his head was safe and carried him on his back all the way to the motel, at a running pace.

Sam must have noticed how uneven Dean's breathing was and whispered reassurances. It's just bruises, Dean. I'm fine, Dean. It doesn't hurt that much. All lies of course. Sam cried all the way to the motel.

Dean had Sam sit on the bed and run to the first aid kit. His hands trembled but he knew he had to stay calm for Sammy.

Stop the bleeding. Disinfect. Bandage.

Dean repeated the motions both in his head and in reality, fighting to regain his calm.

When the bleeding had stopped and Dean had bandaged all of Sam's wounds, Dean finally breathed a little easier. At least until he looked up at Sam's face and saw how pale his baby brother was.

No. No. No. He lost too much blood. Dean had to do something. He couldn't go to a hospital. Not without their dad. He should call dad. But dad hadn't picked up the phone in the last two days.

Dean cradled little Sammy in his arms, his mind racing to find a solution. Sam lost blood. Sam needs blood. Sam and Dean have the same blood, because they are family. Dean could give Sam his blood. Dean needed to give Sam his blood. How could he give Sam his blood?

"Dean?" Sam said, big wide eyes on display.

"It's okay, Sammy. I've got you." Dean smiled for Sam's benefit but he still didn't know how to help his baby brother.

"I'm okay, Dean."

"No, you aren't. You need blood." Then Dean remembered that Sam was the smart one. "Say, Sammy, how can I get my blood in your body?"

"Huh?" Sam frowned but considered the question solemnly. "I could drink it...?"

Dean's eyes widened. Why hadn't he thought of that? He leaned down and gave a big sloppy kiss to Sam's forehead.

"You are a genius, Sammy."

Dean didn't hesitate at all as he sliced open his palm and made Sam lick it.

Dean loved the sensation. Sammy's mouth firmly attached to Dean's palm and suckling. Dean refused to accept how much it reminded him of those first restless nights after the fire when Sam didn't have a pacifier and was hungry and Dean had tried to breastfeed him. Sam had suckled on Dean's nipple for hours even if nothing had come out.

Milk he couldn't make, but blood he had so much. He would give it all to Sammy in a heartbeat.

***

Dean only learned that blood transplants didn't work like that years later.

Sam never voiced how much he loved suckling Dean's hand or how he didn't mind the taste of blood.

Dad never found out. No matter how many times the boys did it. It became more of a comfort thing for them than a practicality.

They never did it again after Stanford.

Sam had almost forgotten about it until Dean went to hell and Sam wanted to lean back to the comfort his brother provided.

He hadn't meant to start on the demon blood. But the motion helped soothe him. He would suck on Ruby's forearm and remember Dean. He would suck straight from her throat and he would remember Dean. He missed him. He missed his brother. And the suckling helped. The blood helped. He could pretend it was Dean, even if Ruby's blood never brought the comfort Dean's did.

But he could pretend.

The Dean came back and Sam had to fight tooth and nail to stop himself from slicing open Dean's skin and sucking him dry.

He wanted, he wanted, he wanted. But he didn't. The demon blood raced inside him. He couldn't let Dean find out.

Then Dean found out.

Sam ached for it but he couldn't drink. He couldn't let Dean down again. So he sliced his own arms and sucked on them. It helped ease the urge.

Then Dean saw him. Then Dean broke.

Then Sam got Dean's sliced wrists and fingers thrust in his mouth. To help with the rehabilitation.

Sam never told Dean how this would become an even bigger obsession. Because Sam might have been an addict of demon blood but he had never craved it like he craved the comfort Dean's blood provided.

Sam got over the demon blood. He never got over suckling Dean's sliced open palm.

And Dean never stopped him.

(That's it! Hope I fueled your headcanon a little bit!)

//and I'm always open for headcanon asks anytime for all of you who want to see more of mommy Dean//

[kiitruss]

hi my name is kit, ive been hyperfixated on detco for almost 3 years now and im here to make an insanely long intro post because i wanna post stuff and the other detco artists here are so cool and i dont see them on any other platform (for the most part)

Detective conan fans/the people ive adopted as my mutuals even tho theyre not ! (i follow them, they dont follow back, but i interact with the detco content they post so much that i might as well be that one guy in the corner watching the rest of the mutuals talk) HELLO- some of you have probs seen me in ur rbs/tags (depending on who sees this) , and i dont really ever post my Own things, but i do draw ! a lot ! ive done a lot of things and i want more fans to see bc everyone here is so cool 😭 this isnt an interest post more just a "hey whos out there thatll see what i post" kinda deal- ill attach some art under the cut but pretty much what im trying to say is,, (literally choose whatever speaks to ur heart)

these vary in recent-ness,, im in school and im left with very little time to draw, so some of these are from a month or two ago ;; but i only picked what i think still looks good ^^ some are quick doodles, others are unfinished, or even just drawings to test techniques (like the colored shinichi one)- and the second drawing isnt even detco LMAO

the 3rd and 7th doodles are from my project sekai au, thats an explanation for a different post,, and the last 2 are APTX!Heiji doodles !! the last ones part of a mini comic i made a bit back about him first waking up shrunk, which i can make a post with the whole thing later (maybe- it looks a little wonky)

but thats all for now ^^ sorry long first art post but i wanted to let this be sort of also me introducing my art and myself a bit,, and part of me is that i talk way to fuckin much LMFAO- detco is such a huge hyperfixation, and its so important to me and i just adore it so much- so i ramble and ramble and ramble on and on about it

im really excited to maybe meet some people and yeah ! happy scrolling ^^💚

[trash----panda]

Tw. fear and death

It kinda gets away from me at the end

Ft. Cassidy (werewolf), Kit (hybrid), Liam (werewolf)

The tv buzzed to life, the reporter belting out his script as the emergency alert slowly died down, the calamity had been going for months but the government had tried to convince residents it wasnt a problem

'This is an X class emergency, all personnel evacuate, the casualties have now reached into the thousands, many are still missing, officers are trying to keep the threat contained to the northern district'

The screen flashed images of the monster, it looked as dark as the smoke it'd left behind, buildings crumbled, cars embedded in sky scrapers, people scattered in the streets. The creature was large enough it's sides touched the buildings on either side of the street, it's shape was vaugely wolf-like except it seemed to be made of smoke.

Officers fired cannons in the hope of damaging this thing but nothing seemed to deter it, the creature grabbed a car and wiped out the ground force almost instantly.

The woman watching the tv turned it off, she could hear the carnage just fine down the road a bit, she glanced at the window, her brother noticing "Cass, what are you thinking" he got up, nervous she'd go out.

"he's out there alone... What if they kill him" she crossed her arms, leaning on the back of the couch

"he's like 100 feet tall he's fine"

She shot him a look, shutting him up pretty quickly "he's our first cousin once removed! He's a child! It doesnt matter how big he is" she growled before going to her room and slamming the door.

He stared at where she'd left, curling his tail as he thought to himself.

She didn't need to think, already set on her ideas she slid out her window, she could see the fires from here, carefully climbing to the fire exit. She sprinted down once she was on the streets, headed straight for the monster. She only caught a glimpse of whatever weapon they just tried before truly hearing how badly it hurt. She had to cover her ears as this monster let out an agonizing screech, it shook the very city around them, all the way to the southern districts. She shakily got up, pretty sure her eardrum burst with the windows nearby. She was disoriented thanks to that, but still made sure to head where the most vibrations were coming from. It was weird not being able to instantly heal anymore, to feel this kind of burning pain, sure her healing factor would fix it but that didnt numb it.

She stumbled onto the main street, spotting it lumbering towards her, a black substance smeared on the windows it walked by, whatever they did it was now wounded. When it saw her it seemed to get aggravated but didn't react otherwise. It growled and barred its teeth, staying where it was in a refusal to approach the woman who barely seemed a speck right now. She felt her eyes get misty, trying to swallow back the lump in her throat, approaching slowly with her arms open for him "hey, it's ok" she flinched when the growls got louder, more angry, more... Scared. It was scared, taking a step back which caused some rubble to fall, she flinched but tried to hide it "come here, please"

It stopped, pinning its ears back, lowering its head to the ground so she could touch it. She ran her arm along his snout, trying to calm him first, deciding to just ramble till he stopped.

"you're really scaring us" she looked up at his eyes, they reminded her of his father's "is this... Cause of her" she flinched, he dragged his snout away, following it "or ... Him?" The smokey fur raised, getting a glare. She decided not to press, just leaning against him, thinking about what to do. At least the rampage had stopped for now. She hadnt even noticed the helicopter approaching, not until it started firing. She tried to shield him even if she was small, getting her arm filled with several holes before he covered her. His rampage resuming as he jumped over and chased after it.

"DON'T DO IT, COME BACK" she tried to follow, it was harder like this, shifting so she could try to keep up. She stumbled thanks to her very broken arm, catching up thanks to the fact he tore the helicopter right out of the sky and was now chewing on it. She went to his face, ignoring the smell of burnt flesh. She was hesitating, staring at his teeth, clenching her good fist. The way to make a deal was sacrifice right? She approached, hoping he hadn't fully noticed yet. A shakey sigh escaping as she forced her hand between the metal. The sound of bone shattering stopping both of them in their tracks. He slowly opened his mouth, turning to face her, his stomach sinking as he could only stare. The large monster becoming just a little kid again, running over "Auntie!" He was bruised and beat from the attack attempts, trying to tend to her wounds "what were you-" she stopped him "s'ok, im just... Making a new deal so you don't have to worry anymore ok?" She gently brushed his hair aside with her remaining fingers "i just need you to do your part Kit kat... Ok?" He sniffled, his face covered in tears and smoke, nodding. His lip was trembling as he burried his face in her chest "i-im sorry" she gently pet him "it's not your fault, i miss her too" that was a lie, she was glad she was gone, but she needed to calm him for now.

He swallowed hard "i'll fix you later ok? Wh-when i learn how"

She nodded "i'll be ok till then, i know you'll take care of me"

He was trembling, trying to steel himself as he pressed to her chest, feeling the warm hands caressing his body go cold as he removed a small orb, clutching it close to his chest. He couldnt hold it back anymore, sobbing.

He stayed for a few hours, no one noticing the stray child, he was just another left behind in the midst of chaos. Liam had gone looking for them, spotting the left overs of the carnage. He was speechless, trying to grasp it all, Kit tried to go to him, reach for him, nothing hurt more than the feeling he felt of Liam recoiling away. He just stood there, they had a moment to process, a moment to look into each other's eyes before the kid just ran away. He didnt even hear the werewolf call after him, going to the woods in the hopes of not being found.

Leaving Liam truly alone again... To mourn like the rest of the city.

[bookishjules]

I’m not super active on here but I need someone to rant to about tsc!! (you are the chosen one thank you)

I wanna know how Ash will feel about regular Jace. Uncertain? Sad? What??? Their relationship could be so interesting because Janus is pretty much Ash’s step in father at the moment. In the scenario where Janus is killed or gone and Ash is left without him, I wonder if Jace would even want a relationship at first. Because I feel like Jace would hate everything about Janus because Janus is everything that Jace didn’t want to become and maybe he’d want to distance himself from that at first? Overall, the parallels are so fun:

Janus with Ash

Jace with Kit

But anyway, I hope that Clary can fill that role of an older sister to Ash, kinda like how she is with Emma :)

absolutely honored to be chosen as the recipient of your truly inspired thoughts <3

idk that i'd given much thought before as to what that relationship between jace and ash might look like.. and like ofc they're going to have some sort of relationship given clary connecting them (bc while i fully agree about her filling a sort of older sister role, even if she doesn't, she's still one of his only two blood relatives outside of faerie) .. but like.. how weird for ash right? ?? just as weird as it is for the rest of our world to comprehend a jace that isn't jace. like imagine ash trying to interact with jace after janus (whatever that After ends up implying). it would be like the came back wrong thing. except that he didn't because this was always jace. it would be like if jules and emma had ended up bringing thule!livvy back to our world. except reverse ig? just.. unsettling at the least.

and you make such a good point about the jace that lives in ash's head.. the expectation he unconsciously would project onto our jace being the image of jace's least favorite parts of himself.. dude. i need so desperately to see how this plays out. i do feel like despite any uncertainty, there would be a certain amount of protectiveness, like there is with janus. like jace knows what it's like to have a morgenstern as a father. he knows what it's like to be under sebastian's thumb. and i think he'd do anything that he could to help ash move on from that past. which imo would probably include killing janus (not that that's the only reason he would have for doing that lol) bc janus is the jace that didn't escape sebastian's poisoning before his soul could be permanently tainted. like janus carries sebastian around inside of him in a way that jace would not only recognize but wish to replace bc that isn't the him he'd want to be leaving an impression on anyone. let alone clary's nephew.

but then of course there is the question of how that animosity would affect ash.. which probably would not be well. but while jace likes being liked, i think he would prioritize rectifying a situation he can't help but feel partly responsible for. and ash will come around hopefully.

as for the parallels.. it's really like there's some secret club of blond boys with terrible fathers and more than just nephilim blood lol (sebastian included ofc bc he's always gonna be part of this) but fr the split is sooo interesting. esp if kit and ash end up being on opposite sides at some point and if you add in ty and dru respectively. mirrors.

[starbornsoulrider]

some random story notes im putting here for my sso rewrite. that'll i'll like. Do eventually

okay. so. as of rn, I have three different accs (well more than that technically but these r the ones that matter). Halo, Ruth, and Kit. i've decided that, instead of just having Halo tackle ALL of the side stories across SSO, I'm gonna have an MC for each storyline- or at least three big ones.

Halo- pretty obvious, they're the Main Story MC, the focal point. soul rider stuff, and also being like the Main MC or whatever. they do dip their toes into some of the other storylines, but overall they're only the focus in the main soul rider storyline.

Kit- the GED plotline. fuck u SSE I'm wrapping this storyline up in my head whether you actually ever do it or not. so like, Jarlaheim stuff, CHILL stuff, Herman stuff, you get the gist. will probably also have her tackle a lot of the Epona stuff.

Ruth- mistfall quests. Rania quests, Wildwood quests, etc. this one will prolly be a bit harder to figure out as it's not entirely clear where the Mistfall storyline's going, unlike the GED stuff where it all looks like its ultimately leading to the downfall of GED, but yeah. i'll figure something out eventually i dunno.

obvs these stories all kinda of tie into one another like they (kinda) do in game. this is just my way of not abandoning any of the side stuff in favor of the main plot bc if I had Halo do all of it, it'd get messy. also gives me the opportunity to develop some of my other characters as well!

[punkassfrance]

Mare Nostrum Mediterranean Grill - Chapter 3 - Joel/Tess/Reader

Currently rated T, rating will change in later chapters! Contains drug use, swearing, sleazy flirting, age gap, and an HR nightmare brewing. This chapter contains a (minor) knife wound.

The song is Never Tear Us Apart by INXS! I recommend listening to at least the first minute if you don't know it!

Summary:

Your first job would have been stressful enough if you didn't have to deal with mind games from Joel and Tess. But god, you couldn't bring yourself to complain. - Joel and Tess are line cooks who really, really like flirting with the innocent newhires. Or maybe it's just you.

Tess gets hurt.

Previous Chapter - Entire Work - Next Chapter

~

“Joel, do what you want. You know I don’t care.”

“You sure, Tess? I figured you might want in on this…”

“I’m fine, really. Not looking to fish in my backyard.”

“If you’re sure. Good luck with tonight- hear you’ve only got Jesse in the back with you.”

“Ugh.”

You clear your throat and go back to your task, hearing Joel walk out the back door.

-

“Tess, uh- do you need any help? I know you’re a bit lonely back here today.”

Tess looked over to you in the doorway. She stared for a moment, frozen for only a second as tickets rang in and chimed on her screen. God, there was no getting used to her stare. If Tess was good at anything, it was pinning someone to the floor without a word.

You still weren’t sure where you stood with Tess. She scoffed and rolled her eyes when Joel brushed up against you- she grimaced at anything he said to you, really. Still, she somehow didn’t seem to be upset with you. Even incredulous at Joel’s every move, she never snapped at you- it was hard to read. She was hard to read.

“...sure. Relieve Jesse on dish and send him up here.”

Jesse had earbuds in when you approached him. He almost sprayed you when you tapped him, startled, but he managed to put the nozzle away and shut off the water.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Tess asked me to take over and send you to help her. Things are getting a bit busy.”

He nodded, wiping his hands. “Sick, thanks. I’m pretty soaked by now anyway.”

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

He paused and turned back to face you, glancing back at the kitchen for a moment. “Quickly, yeah.”

“What’s the deal with Tess? I can’t tell if she hates me or not.”

“Tess? Nah, she’s just kinda like that. Did she say something?”

“No, I don’t know, she just…no, it’s fine.”

He leaned in a bit, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Look- Tess has worked here a long time. Joel too. They’re rough around the edges, but I promise they’re not that bad.”

“...thanks.”

He glanced back again, then leaned in one more time-

“Oh, fuck!” You heard from the kitchen.

You both ran onto the line and saw drops of blood on the floor, a rag wrapped around Tess’ hand. “Jesus, fuck- got myself with these stupid fucking-” she jerked her knee into the prep station, bumping it into the wall. The knife clattered to the ground. “...dull knives! Tell Tommy he’s getting them f-” she lowered her tone, conscious of the window to the dining room. “...he’s getting these knives fucking sharpened or so help me god-”

You lost a bit of color at the blood, but you grabbed a clean rag regardless. The one she’d wrapped around her hand looked filthy- you couldn’t blame her for using whatever she had on hand. Jesse ran for the first aid kit, shouting for Dina to call Tommy and Joel.

“Fuck-” she peeled a bit of the towel back, getting another look at the cut. She’d sliced a few inches on the back of her hand; the knife wasn’t serrated, but the pressure of using a dull blade drove it in deep.

“I can’t work like this, shit. Jesse, you’re gonna have to take over- I’m going to urgent care. This is gonna need stitches.” She held the rag, pulling it tight around her wound.

Dina held the receiver away from her face. “Tess, the nearest urgent care is miles away and I don’t know how soon Joel can get here, he’s not picking up. Tommy and Maria are at the obstetrician.”

She swore under her breath. “I’ll just- fuck, I’ll get an uber or something.”

You paused, grimacing. “No, you’re not taking an uber. I’ll take you, if- Dina, can you handle things up front for a bit?”

Dina swore and the phone and set it down, nodding. “Ellie’s here in a bit, she can come help if I need it. Go, take her.”

“No, you don’t need to take me-” she looked away, refusing to meet your eye for the first time since you’d met her. Her eyes darted all over the room- you, Dina, her hand, the floor, and eventually the doorway. “Kid, grab my phone from my jacket, I’ll just call my sister or something-”

“Tess.” Dina leaned through the window, jaw clenched. “Your sister lives an hour away. Let them take you.”

Tess screwed up her face and looked down at her hand, taking another look at the wound.

“Fuck- ugh, fine.”

-

In the urgent care parking lot, Tess tapped away furiously on her phone. Every once in a while she’d grunt or scoff, muttering something under her breath before picking her phone back up. Her hand was pressed between her knees, keeping pressure on it before she threw her phone on the dashboard and leaned her head back.

Your phone chimed, and for a moment you thought the clinic was letting you know they were ready to see her.

“tess doin ok? its dina btw x”

You smiled and put the contact in before responding.

“yea she’s holding up, waiting to be seen

u and ellie ok?” There was a moment of silence as you waited for a reply before Tess cranked your window down.

“yep, don’t worry about us kid

“Kid, you mind if I have a smoke while we wait? Promise I’ll try not to stink up your car.”

You looked over to her and set your phone down. There were bags under her half-lidded eyes, betraying mere hours of sleep the night before. She had her fingers on a cigarette in her shirt pocket, rolling it between them as she waited for an answer.

Your eyes wandered down, before you could help it. You hadn’t seen her without an apron on. Her button-up is undone, sleeves rolled up, ribbed tank top underneath it. The servers had a dress code, but the kitchen staff didn’t- anything to keep them comfortable and clean in the kitchen heat. If you had let your eyes linger, you could see the outline of her bra under her shirt. Trailing up- her collarbone, pale skin pulled to sharp angles, faint red marks on the columns of her neck. She swallowed as you looked up to meet her eye.

“Go for it.”

The song changed on the radio as she pulled the cigarette out- quick notes on a violin.

She put the cigarette between her lips and took out a lighter, hand quivering as she tried to light the cigarette in her mouth. Between her tremors and the cigarette, she wasn’t getting anywhere.

Don’t ask me, what you know is true.

You held out a hand, offering to take it from her. She looked over to you, thumb releasing the fork of the lighter.

Don’t have to tell you,

The gas station lighter was smooth and light in your hand. You flicked it on, fighting to keep your hand steady.

I love your precious heart.

She leaned in, slow, her free hand holding the bloodied rag on her wound.

I…I was standing.

You hesitated, watching her. She was looking at you from under her eyelashes, graying hair falling into her face. Your free hand came up and brushed it behind her ear before you could really think about it.

You were there.

You held the lighter to her lips, guiding it under the cigarette.

Two worlds collided.

She looked up to meet your eye, letting the cigarette burn for a moment over the flame.

And they could never tear us apart.

You released the gas, but held her gaze. Pinned again. The tip of the cigarette glowed between you.

She leaned back, inhaling and exhaling out the window. Her hair fell back into her face, her legs falling apart as she relaxed into the seat.

“Thanks, kid.”

Your phone chimed. "You’re next on the waitlist! Please come to the lobby for triage."

“You’re up. I’ll wait here.”

She swore under her breath and nodded, taking a deep drag of the cigarette and stepping out of the car. “Didn’t know it would be that quick. Thanks, kid.” She shut the door with her hip, leaning down. “I love that song, by the way.”

As she walked away her phone chimed on the dashboard. Face up, you saw the reflection of the message in the windshield.

“Aww, come on babe, I know they’re your type. You could be all huffy and jealous or you could have some fun with me.”

Next Chapter

[nuttyrabbit]

I’d like to hear what you have to say about IDW.

Alright, let's do this then! I'm not gonna make a big mega review, because frankly I don't think I need to, but I'm just gonna run down some things I like and don't like about the comic just to get it out there, and I'm gonna do it in a "Like-Dislike-Like-Dislike" format just to make things interesting.

With that being said, let's rock and roll

LIKE- The Art

For whatever problems IDW may have, one the most consistently good things about the comic has been its art. Whether it be Archie vets like ABT, Yardley, and Skelly or newcomers like Mauro, Thomas, and Foundraine, IDW has looked consistently fantastic! Some of the action scenes in this comic are some of the best action scenes I've ever seen in any Sonic media (especially anything drawn by ABT. Y'all accuse me of having Ian as my husbando, but the closest thing would be ABT because that man physically CANNOT FUCKING MISS)

Many of the covers especially are some of the best Sonic has ever seen, PERIOD

This cover in particular is something I'd love to have framed

IDW is just a consistently gorgeous comic, even moreso than Archie at its peak with a few exceptions. Also helps that IDW has multiple good inkers and colorists to help the lines pop out, which was an issue I had with Archie

DISLIKE- The Setting

The thing is, I don't inherently dislike the setting of IDW. Setting it past Forces was a good move and setting it in something similar to the games was also a really good call. While I greatly prefer the mix and match setting of the reboot, there is a charm to a more simple, gamelike setting

The problem is that the setting, at least to me, is too simple. At any point it feels like there's maybe 4 locations on the planet: Resistance Base, Eggman Base, Sunset City, and Forest. There are a couple other named locations like White Park, Angel Island and Spiral Hill and that one camping site, but for the most part it feels like the comic ping pongs between these fairly generic locations. As a result, the comic world feels shockingly small in terms of scope and wonder, which is something weird to say about Sonic of all things, a game franchise which has done wonders in taking the hedgehog to various weird, wacky, and cool locales.

It also doesn't help that unlike the games or other comics or even stuff like the OVA and Prime, a lot of the locations don't really have a tangible history or interesting visual motifs, so they just kinda fall flat

I'm not expecting the comic to go full Archie reboot and have a MASSIVE world full of named locations established with DEEPEST LORE from day 1, since that was an extraordinary situation that kinda hurt the comic long term, but having a bit more variety would help the comic loads.

As is, most of the comic's settings just kinda blur together for me to the point where something like Eggperial City just seems like another Eggman base to me. Unfortunately, given what Ian's said about developing the setting (I.e he won't for asinine reasons), I doubt this'll change any time soon, which is a crying shame

LIKE- MOST of the New Characters

While I'm known as an Archie diehard, I'll fully admit that I do like quite a bit of the IDW newcomers. Tangle, Whisper, Starline, Surge, and Kit are characters I've all found to be enjoyable or compelling to some degree. Other characters like Clutch, Rough, and Tumble are also quite enjoyable, though severely underutilized.

IDW has done a pretty solid job (FOR THE MOST PART) of introducing and establishing new characters that add something interesting to the comic at large, and I'm glad to see that some of them have begun making the leap to the games

DISLIKE- Belle

Yeah, I'm not gonna sugarcoat it, I think Belle sucks hard. The concept is fine, but the problem is that A: you know where this shit is going the moment she shows up and B: it takes fucking FOREVER to get there.

Like by the time Belle has her big confrontation with Eggman in issue 50, I'm just rolling my eyes because we knew this was coming and it's just kind of a lame part in an otherwise really cool issue.

Also she just feels like a lesser version of at least 3-4 different characters, including IDW Mecha Sonic. Scrapnik Island is just Belle's arc but actually interesting

Yeah, I just don't think Belle works and is probably the only major dud of the new roster, but man she is a BAD dud. Like the kind that drags down every arc she's in.

Like- Some of the Canon Portrayals

When it comes to portrayals of the canon cast, IDW is a fairly mixed bag, and I think a fair deal of them are abjectly weaker than both game and Archie portrayals (Team Dark being THE most egregious example of this, but Eggman also kinda falls into this)

With that being said, I still do like some of the canon cast in IDW.

Sonic: For all the flak Sonic gets and despite how annoying some of his long-winded speeches can get, I do for the most part like his portrayal. I think having him wrestle with morality, while a bit tedious at times, is interesting, and he still has quite a few moments that make me go "That's my Sonic!" Still inferior to post-SGW Sonic and ESPECIALLY Adventure-era Sonic (who is my eternal GOAT)

Amy: Despite people accusing Amy of being a Sally clone (an accusation which I always find hilarious because it's thrown at ANY female character in a leadership position), she also gets a few pretty solid moments throughout the comic (mainly before and after the Zombot arc). Not as good as Archie Amy but still aight

Silver and Blaze: It's nice to see Silver and Blaze have consistent characterizations and for the latter to not job horrifically. They have good chemistry with each other and the rest of the cast and are a pretty welcome presence, especially since they show up more than once every 600 issues.

The Chaotix: I also like the Chaotix and think they get a lot of really strong moments. Probably one of the few abjectly great parts of the Zombot arc was how they were done

Zavok: Turns out the moment you take Zavok away from the D6 and put him with real characters he actually becomes mildly interesting

The Others: Characters like Cream, Tails, Vanilla, Orbot/Cubot, etc aren't amazing but they're perfectly fine so I'll put them in the good side.

But yeah, I think a few characters get pretty decent characterization with some really strong moments here and there. Though the issue is that none of these portrayals are really the peak of these characters. The most I can say for some of them is that they're good, but there's rarely a moment from most of these examples where I'd point to them and go "This is the perfect way to write this character

DISLIKE- Other Canon Portrayals

Here's what you were probably here for, so let me do this bulletpoint style

Eggman- Isn't as menacing as Archie nor as goofy as his best showings in the games. He has some pretty great moments here and there, with him mulching Starline being a highlight, but he's kinda disappointing overall, especially compared to what's been done before

Knuckles: It's cool they remembered his duty to the Master Emerald and got rid of that dumbass "military leader shit" (which they still kept in Frontiers for some weird fuckin reason. Dunno why they're pushing that). Shame that means he basically sits in the background for most of the comic because there's no Sonic Universe equivalent (which I'll get to). His characterization is okay but MAN compared to all the cool stuff he got to do in the reboot it's very disappointing

Omega- He's still funny, but god it just ain't the same. This is a case where I think the Archie version was just flat out better. He, Amy, and Shadow are the biggest cases of "Archie just did you better"

Shadow: Do I even need to explain this? It's discount Vegeta/Sasuke/Vergil. He's an arrogant prick without anything that made him interesting. Comparing him to Archie is comical since the latter clears so hard it isn't even funny. But fuck, I'd even take Prime Shadow or hell, Boom Shadow over IDW, because at least the former has a reason to be pissy and the latter is at least funny. IDW Shadow is just miserable every fucking time he shows up and I can't tell if it's because the restrictions are that bad or it's because he's just not fun to write, but it sucks. I love Shadow, he's a great character, but every time he shows up I groan. It seems like Sega's gonna be a bit more lax with him, so hopefully that changes things but yeesh

The Deadly Six: It's a shame that Ian couldn't make the Deadly Six outside of Zavok worth a shit, especially since he decided to show them into two separate fucking arcs. I'm not gonna pin my dislike of their portrayal entirely on the comic because I just don't like them, but I am gonna give it shit for using them twice, once in an arc where they didn't belong

The Babylon Rogues: I'm not a fan of the Babylon Rogues, but even I can tell that outside of Jet's sacrifice in the Zombot arc, they've been done exceedingly dirty. That one annual story with Jet and Whisper may be one of the worst stories in IDW Sonic that shit was BAD

Metal Sonic: He's portrayed okay in these comics but my issue is more the shit around him. Sonic trying to redeem him and getting rebuked the first time was interesting stuff. The 2nd time made sense. Beyond that it's gotten obnoxious

LIKE: The Minis

While I dearly miss Sonic Universe and think the comic could use an equivalent (more on that next section), I think the minis we get each year are pretty damn good!

Tangle and Whisper, Bad Guys, Imposter Syndrome, and Scrapnik Island have ranged from good (T&W) to some of the best stuff IDW has put out ever (Scrapnik Island). They're paced well, drawn well, and have really cool shit happen in them. Scrapnik Island in particular was really, really cool and I found Barnes' pacing and character work to be even better than Ian and Evan in places and think he should get a shot at writing some mainline stories.

Also the specials have been pretty good, with the 30th Anniversary Special being extremely pleasant

DISLIKE: Plotting (Or lackthereof)

Now we're getting into some of the nitty gritty.

The big issues with IDW's plots are threefold, so I'll tackle each one individually

Pacing. Evan and Barnes are generally fine with this, but my god Ian Flynn still doesn't know how to pace a story that's more than a couple issues. The Zombot Arc is the absolute worst fucking caes of this (You could cram that entire story into 6 issues and it'd be significantly more effective), but stuff like Eggperial City and even Surge's storyline are also examples of this. So many of the things he plots just drag on and on and repeat themselves ad nauseam in terms of plot beats and even what the characters talk about.

It's an issue that's more readily apparent when reading on a monthly basis as opposed to on a trade basis (where the pacing is less noticeably bad because it's written FOR trades like many modern comics are, much to their detriment), but it's still really bad nevertheless. The only times it hasn't been with Ian are during the minis where, surprise surprise, having to do your story in 4 issues means you gotta actually tighten things up and cut filler.

Again, Evan and Barnes don't seem to have this issue, so a lot of this is on Ian. I like the dude's writing but holy fuck he is still SO bad about this

2. Repetition. I talked about this in a sense in the pacing section by talking about how repetitive Ian's plotting and dialogue can get because of the poor pacing, but I wanna talk about it in a different sense. A lot of IDW's plots are uh, very repetitive, especially as of late. It boils down to "Eggman is doing a thing, go look into it/stop it" a LOT. I know Eggman's the main villain and all but I swear the schtick of "We gotta go check out the Eggman base and fight badniks" has gotten very, very old. Even the Surge and Kit arc ended in "Go to the Eggman base" Arcs like Chao Races and Camping are welcome breaks because they involve the characters doing other shit.

It also ties into my complaints about the setting being small because it often feels like characters just have nothing better to do than go raid Eggman bases and fight Badniks. I know it's an action comic and all but maybe actually utilize some of your smaller villains? Maybe make some new ones? Or maybe even invent some weird new locations for your characters to check out and switch things up? Just an idea.

I keep bringing up that this comic needs a Sonic Universe equivalent and I really believe this because it'd not only give characters like Knuckles, Shadow, and the Chaotix more time to shine, but it'd also give some fantastic diversity in terms of plots. Like while Sonic is fighting Eggman for the billionth time, maybe the Chaotix are doing actual detective work or Knuckles is exploring some ancient ruins and finds a weird new thing he's gotta deal with or an ancient secret he's gotta unlock.

Post reboot Archie benefitted greatly from this since while the main comic was mostly Sonic and co doing shit with Unleashed, Universe was exploring and expanding the world and giving the side characters way cooler shit to bounce off of, making the setting not only feel larger, but also making it feel more varied.

3. Long Term Plans (Or lackthereof)

This one ties a lot into my complaints about setting, but it's strange seeing a Sonic comic do so little in terms of setting up mysteries or future plot threads (that aren't solved IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE CURRENT ARC ENDS), and it also results in a comic that feels more constrained. It gives so little to really talk or speculate about. Maybe it's more a fandom thing for me but I enjoy it when media drops cool background stuff for the viewer to speculate about and make the world like a puzzle the viewer has to piece together. It adds so much to a story and narrative when a viewer can pick up on little plot threads and watch them come together over time.

LIKE Action

This one's simple. IDW has a lot of really well drawn, really interestingly written action bits. Any time there's an action scene, no matter how mundane or banal, it's always gonna look fantastic

Like DAMN. And that's not even an ABT action scene.

DISLIKE: Too Self-Contained

Okay this is a weird complaint but I really don't like that the comic can't explicitly draw on locations and plot elements from not just the games but other side stuff. I get why, but it's also lame because one of the coolest parts of reboot Archie was seeing what insane stuff the comic would pull from and reinvent.

Also it's absolute bullshit they can't bring back the Hooligans and Battle Bird Armada. Like come the fuck on, those are good villains

RAPIDFIRE TIME

Okay so I've been typing this up for way longer than I anticipated so I'm just gonna rapidfire a bunch of other shit I like and dislike

Like: Neo Metal Sonic being the first villains rules and that arc is really fun

Dislike: The Zombot Arc. It's got cool ideas but it goes on for fucking ever and devolves into misery porn pretty hard. Also I don't care if the Zeti were always planned, them being there sucks **IAN**

Like: The fact that Ian isn't the only person writing. I've been saying since Archie that a revolving team of writers would be cool and lo and behold, we've gotten that. Very cool stuff

Dislike: No Off-panels. It's a crime we don't have those because they're funny

Like: The cool outfits the cast wear in Chao Races. I love alt outfits

Dislike: "No alt outfits outside of very special exceptions". See above

Like: IDW actually puts out trades on time.

Dislike: Wispons are overused as FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. I get randos having them and Whisper specializing in them but I don't think Lanolin needed to have one. It's creative yeah but just give her sound powers

FINAL THOUGHTS

Okay so clearer I had a lot to say about IDW Sonic, and I was deliberately being as general as possible to try and write this up fairly quickly. It's a comic that I find to be decently enjoyable, but also very noticeable flawed and ultimately kinda lacking in some key aspects. I like the comic well enough but it's never clicked with me in the same way other Sonic media like Archie did. I'm hopin in the future that some of these issues I've listed are remedied and that the comic continues to find success.

But yeah, this was fun, albeit exhausting, to write up. So to close this out, I'm gonna give it a numerical ranking

As of now, March 21, 2023, I give IDW Sonic a 6/10 (For context I'd give the reboot a 7.5 overall and the pre-reboot a 6 as well)

[atragicallycrispydude]

Nothing is funnier to me than Potemkin being called bottom tier and a bad character. In Xrd, for example, he seems to be generally called the "worst character in the game" which just fucking kills me. I won't deny that he isn't a great character but if you look at his kit in isolation it's so crazy fucking bonkers that you wonder how anyone would call him bad.

For example, there's Heat Knuckle, which does huge damage, is unblockable (but is blitzable,) starts up in just 12 frames, can give a hard knockdown, and combos into itself in the corner.

Slide Head also has some fucked up properties in Xrd, mainly being that it's unblockable (it is easy to jump over but I suck ass) but also that if you get hit by it Potemkin is in your face, in win condition. This is because it combos into I.C.P.M. Bizarre fun fact about this move: Potemkin can flick it with F.D.B because it's a projectile, according to Dustloop.

The iconic Potemkin Buster is here, of course, where it does 150 damage, is frame 3, and...

...has upper body invulnerability (or full body? I'm really not sure what the fuck is going on with this hitbox.) This demonic move feels like a fucking reversal due to his more invincible backdash than most and very fast startup.

Giganter Kai also actually has a follow-up in this game, which I have genuinely never seen from the few Pot mains I've played against. I mostly want to talk about this because the input is fucking insane, it's 632146H>4123641236P. Maybe that's why I never see it but fucking hell.

All of these bonkers tools are offset by the fact that he has no airdash or grounded dash, and walks super slowly. But he can Slide Head > I.C.P.M or YRC Hammer Fall, so he definitely isn't hurting too terribly for ways in.

So, why does everyone say he sucks? This character sounds like a monster, right? He definitely is in his own right, but you have to remember that this is in a game where every character is kind of bullshit, at least at some level. You have characters like Johnny with giant normals who are always at an advantage because of Mist Finer Cancel, Roman Cancelable reversals, characters with long combos off of stray hits, and just a ton of stuff. Half of the cast is plus on tons of shit, they have crazy oki or zoning, and all in all it leads to Potemkin just kinda being outclassed in the context of the game.

XRD's balance is pretty incredible, though. Most characters, Pot included, are pretty much playing on the same level. I find that a lot of the "this character is so hard to beat!" Is actually pretty matchup-dependent rather than because some are better than others.

Also, Slayer vs. Potemkin is objectively the goofiest matchup in the game and nobody can convince me otherwise. Most of Slayer's moves put him in Pot Buster range, even sometimes on hit, and he doesn't have a ton of ways to avoid ending up in a mixup from Pot on his own turn. It's so silly but pretty fun.

There might be a lot of counterplay I don't know, but whatever lmao I don't think he deserves the bad rep. I think its important to remember that, while he may be bottom-tier or whatever, he is absolutely not a bad character. He doesn't really do anything wrong, he's just kinda outclassed.

All images about Potemkin's moves were taken from https://www.dustloop.com/w/GGXRD-R2/Potemkin

[stovetoast]

i know this is my art blog but i can do whatever i want. agents posting GO (WARNING THIS IS MESSY)

agent 3: lake. 19 (11 in splatoon 1), they/them

i dont have a lot on lake!!! they actually didnt get recruited at all, they just kinda... stumbled into the battlefield while the octavio fight was happening and insisted on sticking around afterwards because they had Way Too Much Energy. they dont really know a lot about their past before that, even less after oe. they now spend a lot of time researching turf game strategies (theyre not legally allowed to play because their special limiter is broken) and trying to push through the chronic fatigue. oh, and theyre in a qpr with 8.

personality . uhh basically lake likes to pretend theyre still silly but its Not working. they cant really speak above a certain volume either without it hurting. im so bad at describing personalities heeellllp hellllp help meeee helllllp

agent 4: mari(elle). 21 (15 in splatoon 2), any

the child of two splatlandian grizzco higher-ups! like... they work with the bear himself! they worked under the company at the inkopolis location for a while, including while the whole callie disappearing fiasco was happening, at least until the company got big enough where he could quit and her parents wouldnt notice. they didnt. cool! there may or may not be a reason that they didnt (wink) but i havent decided yet.

mari is kinda uhhhm. well. ive described it as theyre working on being silly without being mean. and hes been getting better :] + toni kensa fan oh heeeeelllllll no

agent 8: august/kass. 19 (13 in oe), he/him

oh god yeah i dont have a lot on him either. basically baby kass and baby lake met a few weeks before the Oe Incident and became fast friends. but then the metro happened and uhhhyeah you can imagine what happened to that. they both know they were close but dont really uh. actually i explained this better in another thing let me grab that.

"the key difference between a normal playthrough and this is that, not only did he run into agent 3 a few times in the metro, he… lost an eye when they were sanitized. the same eye, in fact. plus, his memories weren't entirely… restored, like how it i assume its implied to in oe. the contents of the mem cakes were merely evidence that there was a life before this, something to evoke feelings, and something to keep him going. that isn't his life anymore."

anyway. oe happens and now were here. present day kass is SILLY okay? but in the way that like. he dunks bread in pepsi and stares at mari (roommate) with the most blank face imaginable when they look at him weird. i dont know where im going with this hes just weird. he also has a strange fixation on death as a coping mechanism for the fact that his first memories are pretty much of zombies but hes respectful about it dw

new 3: clementine "kit"/patch. 16, it/its

basically it was forced to take on an unhealthy amount of schoolwork (+ a few extra years of school) because its parents live all the way in calamari county and didnt want it doing stupid shit. its primary guardian is its older sister, whos a lot nicer about this stuff yay! but yeah uhh splatoon 3 basically happens because it wanted to escape that. why it actually went in the manhole is up to interpretation .

through the nss bonanza business it made a friend, my friends oc ball :] together they are agent 6 and agent 9 (dubbed by lake because they knew itd get confusing) and theyre Siblings Yaaay. its smallfry friend (agent 3) is dubbed sen, short for baby sensory video, at least while kits learning their language. it doesnt know a lot about sen but is in the process of learning!!

its generally very quiet and soft-spoken to most people because of how it grew up, but in more of the ^_^ way ig??? despite that its also known to not have a sense of self preservation, again because of how it grew up. it goes out in the scorching hot desert for random junk. it ended up with severe facial scarring because it dove into danger so much in alterna. im describing this very badly im so sorry.

[mayordeas-clone]

i just finished my second playthrough of octopath traveler 2. probably gonna ramble a bit in response. there will be spoilers perchance. (huge emphasis on ramble because i really am just saying whatever shoots out of my ass)

the epilogue gets me really emotional for some reason. the scene where the travelers part ways, each leaving in the reverse order you recruited them. oouuggh. i am in pain. i know ill be keeping them together for eternity while i attempt to beat galdera in this run, but the reality that these guys all have different ambitions in life and therefore they need to split off eventually to pursue those ambitions makes it a very bittersweet finale. at least there’s the class reunion at the very end, but still OOUUGHH THIS GAME MAKES ME ILL IN THE BEST WAY POSSIBLE

on that note, the fact that there’s a proper ending, a proper sequence where the travelers talk to each other and reminisce on their journey and eventually part ways AT ALL really makes this experience special and a cut above the previous game.

bc it reminded me of just how strange the ending fight aftermath of OT1 was. like after you beat the true final boss of that game, pretty much nothing happens. like you get the ending sequence with kit saying thanks but then the game hands you your prize money and now there’s nothing left to do. the travelers just don’t give a FUCK. there’s also the issue of the travelers from that game never interacting or discussing amongst themselves about the revelations learned in the gate of finis; granted, octopath 2 is not flawless in this regard either (like, agnea witnesses a flashback involving tanzy being fuckin sacrificed to extinguish the flamechurch torch and had absolutely no comment) but it was pretty bad in octopath 1. the whole questline to unlock the true final boss is hidden in a chain of sidequests that quietly unlock after beating everyone’s story, whereas in the sequel, it’s a proper sequence the game tells you about and encourages you to prepare for. so i really appreciate the strides the sequel took to tie the overarching story and links between all of the travelers’ quests more tightly. it really makes me feel like all of the travelers are actually pals who decided to travel together and help each other achieve their many missions and goals, and when that’s all over there’s an actual ENDING. TO THE STORY. the strangeness imo of octopath 1’s final battle is that the journey doesn’t feel over even though it definitely is. you know what i mean?

i also just. ADOREEEE the cast of this game. i did like a few characters in the first game like Tressa, Alfyn, and Therion, but again the fact that they never interact outside of missible (and to be honest forgettable) travel banters and NEVER as a collective unit made it harder for me to get attached to them as a whole. were they even friends with each other lol? who knows. plus i feel like a lot of them were kinda pretty basic rpg archetypes? like i found ophelia to be extremely boring bc she feels like the basic cutout of what a nice healer character should be without many extra wrinkles to her to make me interested (though it has been a while since i’ve played the first game). of course, octopath 2 is no stranger to archetypes (no piece of fiction is tbh) but i just feel like there was more emphasis on making the individual travelers and their stories more interesting. octopath 1 laid the groundwork with the ‘eight characters, eight stories that all secretly connect by the end’ concept (plus the GOOD ASS BATTLE SYSTEM) so the sequel could polish it into a nice, respectable shine. it makes me giddy looking back on the ways octopath 2 improved on the flaws of the first game. because i LOVVED the original octopath, but the sequel captured everything i loved and added more stuff. ITS GOOD. ITS VERY GOOD. ALL OF THE NEW TRAVELERS ARE MY BELOVEDS!!!!!!!!

it’s probably a cliché thing to bring up at this point, but the difference in ways the two games handle their eight-character cast and how they interact with each other is oddly reflective in the respective games’ box art. like, the first octopath had all the characters walking in one direction, their own path, all parallel to each other. whereas in octopath 2’s case, they’re all hangin out!!! isn’t that swell! :D

i also liked the improvement of the boss battles that bookend each traveler’s story in terms of their relevance to the individual stories. namely, i like how all of the travelers have a dialogue break between phases (the bosses have distinct phases now! makes them feel more separated from the ones leading up to them). ppl really liked when ophelia talked to mattais during her fight, or therion talking to darius, and now everyone has a personal one-on-one with their final boss. this couldn’t be done with all of them in octopath 1 since some were unspeaking monsters (though ochette was able to pull that off in this game) or opponents that only appeared so the travelers could solve a specific problem (like tressa and alfyn), so no previous attachment was there. in general i love how all the final bosses had some kind of connection to the travelers, big or small.

ochette feels remorse and sympathy for the darkling since it became corrupted because she didn’t choose it as her companion as a child. castti feeling betrayed by trousseau losing his way and becoming nihilistic and genocidal. or throné losing her marbles after finding out the truth of the blacksnakes, and her palpable RAGE during her fight against claude, the only thing motivating her is seeing him dead and breaking the vicious cycle he birthed. osvald’s is obvious because harvey is a mega-bastard, but when you fully boost as osvald during that fight he screams “HARVEY!!” which is super satisfying (oh, and i absolutely love how this game adds in special lines for certain bosses, adds a more personalized touch to each traveler’s boss encounters~). partitio clawing his way to topple roque’s greed and monopoly on technology he believes could change the world forever. THE FUCKING DANCE OFF BETWEEN AGNEA AND DOLCINEA. OOUUGHGGH THE SONG OF HOPE PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND TOO 😫😫😫😫 MY FAVORITE SONG IN THE OST. temenos also feels a bit of vengeance facing off against kaldena, given she was responsible for the deaths of two people he was very close to. and lastly there’s hikari, who fought and lost much to reach the moment he can finally confront his tyrannical brother.

it’s so scrumptious. not to mention the way each character’s theme is woven into the final boss theme during the second phase. actual galactic brain move on the part of yasunori nishiki and everyone else apart of the creation of this game’s ost. i love how there’s a greater emphasis (and consistency) of each character’s theme, namely in how their battle preludes actually take from their character theme rather than just being something else that uses similar instruments. it’s another thing that was really cool and unique from octopath 1 and now made even better and more impactful in the sequel. i especially love osvald’s theme, every iteration of it. the way it’s combined with ‘journey for the dawn’ is actual peak.

um what else…… i guess i kind of alluded to this earlier but the way the stories intertwine is much stronger in this game which made connecting everything together really satisfying. it helps that this sequence is an actual part of the road to reaching the Ending of the game (the credits! i think the credits rolled in the last game when you beat your protagonist’s story. which is kind of crazy town to me looking back…) rather than unlocked through a chain of sidequests (im still not over that im sorry). the moonshade order’s members exist throughout all of the characters’ stories, whether they’re the puppet masters at the top (oboro, arcannette, and claude) or people that were manipulated into the cause (trousseau and tanzy) or simply loyal followers (petrichor, harvey, and ori). the presence of The Shadow, mentioned in 6/8 stories, laying hints to the overarching evil before this final chapter sequence begins. ooooohgh it’s so cool. i wish i could experience the final chapter for the first time again, i remember being so excited going through it (down to all eight travelers talking to each other at the beginning!!!!!!!). i know the final chapter isn’t perfect since a lot of the information is given through Reading rather than actual cutscenes (and again, tanzy’s involvement with the moonshade order and her death elicits zero reaction from anyone that met her), and tbh it would have been cool if we actually fought some of the other remaining members akin to the battle with arcannette (i know the monster near the toto’haha torch is implied to be petrichor, but she’s the only member that never met any of the travelers, and it would have been cool to confront her outright).

this would be where i put my whole rant about agnea and partitio's stories and their relevance to the grand story, but i made it its own post! you can read it here if you want to consume more of my octopath brainworms.

woooh that’s all i have to say. apologies for the text wall, it will probably get longer when i conjure more thoughts </3

i love this game, it’s very good even though it’s very easy to break the battles in half.