#watch the old show; it’s so much better

[ventismacchiato]

18 stuck with you — cherry blossoms !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

MORNING AFTER

You wake up, and the remnants of last night’s drinking are still rattling around in your skull. The harsh light streaming through the windows feels like a personal attack, and the dull throb in your temples only adds to the misery. You almost don’t remember everything from the night before. Almost.

The kiss. The sight of Mona kissing Scara. Heizou’s arm around your shoulder. Scara’s eyes, watching. The way you rushed to defend yourself.

You try to roll over, but everything feels off. There's this weight in your chest, a weird, almost sticky feeling in your gut that you can’t shake. The weirdness is because of him.

After dragging yourself into the living room, hoping for a bit of quiet before leaving for breakfast, your eyes find the culprit of your headache. Scara. He’s standing by the door, looking entirely too unaffected by the chaos of last night. The cool indifference he always wears is almost infuriating. You were hoping he’d be feeling just as lost as you. 

You’ve always known Scara was beautiful. It's one of the reasons you hated him. It’s why the jealousy burned so fiercely inside you for all those years. His sharp eyes and how they managed to cut through everything, the way his features seemed too perfect to be real, it always made your stomach twist. It made you question why he had to exist in your orbit at all. 

But now…now, as you watch him, you feel that old jealousy resurfacing. But this time, it doesn’t feel the same. It feels different. 

Maybe it was never jealousy at all. The thought makes your heart skip, and before you know it, you’re staring at him.

Your gaze lingers for too long because all of a sudden he looks back at you. His usual detached expression softens for a split second, and you swear a flicker of something crosses his face. A jolt runs through your spine. Heat floods your face. You can’t help it. It’s like you’ve forgotten how to speak.

Remember. Be flirty. Show him you don’t hate him.

"Good... good morning," you stammer.

He gives you a strange look. “Morning?” he says, before walking past you.

Thankfully, the others arrive, and the group starts moving toward breakfast, leaving you in the dust. Your eyes flicker back to Scara briefly, but you immediately look away again, hoping your face isn’t burning as much as it feels. Lumine, who must’ve noticed your awkwardness, grabs your arm and pulls you back. 

"Okay, that could’ve gone better," Lumine starts, voice light but teasing, "I thought you liked him? Why were you glaring at him like that?"

You freeze, mortified. “Not so loud!” you hiss, wincing at the noise in your head. “I wasn’t glaring. I was just… staring. I tried being nice.”

Lumine raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Right. Just staring like you wanted to murder him. I thought you were going to flirt?”

You groan internally, the embarrassment already creeping up.

“That was my attempt,” you say weakly.

Venti, trailing behind, chimes in unhelpfully. “You’re hopeless, Yn. How did Xiao’s awkward ass get a man before you did?”

Xiao, walking beside you, frowns. “What do you mean by that?”

Venti flashes a mischievous grin. “I mean, come on. He can barely string a sentence together, and yet, here we are... take some notes, Yn.”

Xiao crosses his arms, scowling, but you roll your eyes, tuning out the back-and-forth. There’s something heavier on your mind.

"I know I’m awkward," you mutter, glancing down at your shoes. "But I don’t think there’s any point in flirting with him. He doesn’t like me, and honestly, I’m just hoping this feeling… goes away."

Lumine gives you a sympathetic look. 

“Even if that were true, there’s no harm in trying,” she points out, her voice gentle but firm. She doesn’t press further, though. Instead, the group continues toward the kitchen, the chatter from the other group filling the silence.

As you enter the kitchen, you scan the room. Mona’s already there, looking completely at ease, her eyes bright and unbothered. It’s a little strange, considering she was absolutely hammered out of her mind last night. You glance at Heizou too and he greets you with a smile, but there's a tiredness in his eyes that makes you pause for a moment. His usual carefree demeanor seems worn.

Because of you.

Before you can speak, a voice pipes up from underneath the table. It’s Yae’s voice, muffled but chipper, and she sounds far too cheerful for the morning after what was a particularly chaotic night. 

Childe, who was sitting from where she popped up shrieks and practically jumps from his chair. “Don’t do that!”

Yae ignores him, her voice still carrying across the room. "Guess what I just heard? Apparently, last night, Scara and Mona kissed!"

You freeze. Your stomach does a strange flip. Your eyes instinctively snap to Mona, who is sitting across from you. Her face pales as she blinks at Yae in confusion. “We what?!” she exclaims, her tone high with disbelief.

Meanwhile, Scara, who’d been silently sipping coffee, seems to shrink into his seat, his usual stoic mask barely holding up under the weight of the accusation. He looks like he wants to disappear into the floor.

“There was no ‘we,’” Scara mutters, his voice sharp with irritation. “She kissed me. I’m not an asshole to take advantage of a drunk girl.”

Mona slaps a hand to her forehead, groaning in embarrassment. “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing,” she mumbles, her face flushed crimson.

You thought you were done with this, but hearing it said aloud still manages to send a strange ripple through your chest. You knew the kiss hadn’t meant anything, especially with Scara’s angry words from last night. It stings, even though you tell yourself it shouldn’t.

Your eyes move back to Scara. His usual guarded expression is there, but you can see the frustration beneath it. He’s trying to act unaffected, but it’s clear that he’s anything but. You wonder if that’s how you’ve always made him feel. Unreachable.

But Mona’s outburst fades, and the silence that follows feels heavier than it should. You catch Scara’s eye again, and this time, you don’t look away. Neither does he. For a moment, he raises a brow at you, and you swear his lips curve ever so slightly.

“Well, that drama was short-lived,” Yae says, breaking the tension. “Can we milk it any further, or are we done here? What about you, Heizou?”

Heizou, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, speaks up. “We actually discussed how Yn holds no feelings for me.”

Yae sighs dramatically. “Why did we bring you three here, then?”

Diluc, who’s been quietly watching, finally speaks up. “I’m having a swell time.”

“Fuck, finally,” Yae huffs, rolling her eyes. “Alright, whatever. We’ve got another activity, and I’m sure it’ll land you all a place in Paradise.”

“Is this one rigged?” Aether pipes up.

“A little,” Yae grins. “I’ll reveal it at the end. Anyway, we’re doing a Scavenger Hunt! Pairs, but since we’ve got an odd number... Heizou, you’re going solo.”

You wince at that, already guilty for rejecting Heizou’s advances all this time.

“You each get an item to collect. Shells, flowers, rocks, etcetera. Nothing too athletic. Go out and explore, and bring back as much as you can,” Yae continues, casually ignoring the obvious tension.

“But you assigned us flowers,” Scara interrupts, “All the flowers are in the woods.”

“Yes, and?” Yae smiles, unbothered.

“And the woods are up in that mountain,” Scara points out, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You want us to climb that?”

Yae simply smiles.

“I don’t like you,” Scara grumbles.

“I love you, too,” Yae laughs. “Moving on, we’ll meet back before lunchtime! Get going!”

୨୧✧

You get paired with Scaramouche, obviously, but unlike the other times you don’t find yourself too mad about it. You both knew no matter how good or bad you did at the game they’d rig it around you both, so you take your time making your way up the trail. Or what you both assumed to be a trail.

You both stood at the foot of the raging path ahead of you, mentally preparing yourselves to walk up it. Scara digs his hand into his pocket and pulls out a handful of gummies.

“I didn’t take you for a sweet tooth,” you murmur.

He scoffs, grabbing your hand with his free one and letting a few fall onto your skin. You try, and fail, to ignore the warmth of his skin upon yours.

“It’s not candy,” he says, walking ahead of you. You stare at the not candy in your palms and then at his retreating back before throwing them back. Anything to help the swirling pit in your stomach.

You don’t talk much. The silence stretches between you, both of you awkward in your own way. You’re searching for something interesting to say, but the words won’t come.

It’s not until you reach a fallen tree that Scara climbs over and reaches a hand out to you.

“Careful,” he says simply.

You take his hand, letting him pull you over, but as you do, your foot catches on a branch. You find yourself pressed against his chest, and for a moment, neither of you moves. He doesn’t pull away until you shift, pulling yourself off him.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, already embarrassed, but then his fingers brush against your cheek.

“You’ve got dirt on you,” he says, his tone surprisingly soft. “Walk slowly.”

Your cheeks burn as you watch him walk ahead, hoping the shade of the trees is doing a better job than your body at hiding the blush creeping up your neck.

Eventually, you both come across a small meadow filled with flowers. You kneel down, picking a few, letting the petals twirl in your fingers. You hear a rustling beside you, and when you look up, Scara is crouched next to you, holding a flower in his hand. 

“Here,” he hums, and before you can say anything, he tucks it behind your ear. A gust of wind carries the petals, some of them landing in his hair, and for a moment, the sight takes your breath away.

“I didn’t think sunflowers grew here,” he mutters, pulling the petals from his hair.

“Leave it,” you say, almost breathless. “It’s pretty.”

He stares at you for a long second, his eyes unreadable and a fistful of petals in his hands. He ‘s silent before he lets the petals fall into your hair. “Have them,” he says, his voice low. “They’re like you, anyway.”

You blink, unsure what to say.

“How?” you manage to ask, voice shaking slightly.

Scara eyes you for a beat before answering.

“You follow the sun,” he says, standing up and brushing off his pants. “And people can’t seem to get enough of you.”

He doesn’t look back as he speaks, his gaze fixed ahead. After a beat, he adds, almost offhandedly, “Sunflowers aren’t too bad to look at, either.”

You’re left standing there, watching him walk away, his words hanging in the air like a soft, lingering echo.

Maybe you weren’t a sunflower. Maybe you were a cherry blossom instead. Cherry blossoms fall at five centimeters per second, and you’ve been

falling

…falling

……falling

since the day you met him. Even if there wasn’t any gravity on Earth, you’d probably fall for him eleven times out of ten.

୨୧✧

You both reach the peak, breathless. Neither of you were exactly built for this. “Rock,” you manage to say, sinking onto it before Scara can even respond. The sweat trickling down your neck probably isn’t doing your attempt at flirting any favors.

He sits down beside you, letting the flowers you picked tumble to the ground. The sun filters through the trees, but you still get a decent view of the ocean. You glance to your left. Scara’s staring at it, the wind ruffling his hair.

Your head spins, but you can’t tell if it’s from the lack of oxygen or because of him. “Sorry about your mom,” you say, trying to break the silence. It’s also a way to make up for not checking in on him last night. You never did see if he was okay. You probably should’ve. He chuckles softly, the sound surprising in its warmth.

“Not your fault.” You fall quiet after that, the words you want to say stuck somewhere in your throat. “Just spit it out,” he says, leaning back on the rock, eyes still on the horizon. He always knows when you’re holding back. “If your mom hadn’t paid Mona off, would you have kept dating her?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it. You expect him to scoff or brush you off, like he usually would. But his answer comes quickly

“It wouldn’t have lasted anyway,” he says, voice low. He picks a flower from your discarded bouquet and twirls it between his fingers. “We weren’t suited for each other. She hated how much I focused on work, and said I was too much. I just wish she’d broken up with me herself, though.” You nod, his words strangely comforting. “Besides,” he adds casually, “All we ever did was have hate sex.” You choke on a surprised laugh, coughing at the suddenness of it. And then…he laughs. Actually fucking laughs. The sound is so rare, you find yourself wanting to drown in it. “Prude,” he teases, watching you with a sly grin. You compose yourself, shooting him a glare. “Not a prude.” “I beg to differ.” You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skips a beat. Another question bubbles up, one you can’t resist asking. “Was she your first?” He’s silent for a beat, then answers with a firm, “Nope.” “Was she your only?” He glances at you, brows raised. “Why do you care?” Because you like him. Maybe it’s something a little more than that. Something you haven’t dared to admit to yourself yet. The answer is right there on your tongue, but you swallow it down.

 “Just being nosey,” you say, trying to brush it off. “Didn’t think you could pull anyone else.”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “She wasn’t. But after her, I stopped having casual sex.”

You scoff. “But I heard you’ve hooked up with half the industry?”

“What tabloid did you read that in?” he smirks. “You know there’s shit other than sex, right? Or do I need to give you sex ed?”

His words hang in the air, the implication making your cheeks flush with heat. You must’ve looked taken aback, because he doesn’t hesitate to press on.

“Half of them were just blowjobs backstage.”

You choke from his words again.

“God, you are a prude.”

“Shut up,” you muster out before continuing, “Don’t you miss it? I thought you liked…sex?” 

His smirk is there before you even have a chance to respond. “Well, yeah. Who doesn’t?”

You stop, unsure why you even care enough to ask. Well, you were pretty sure. You’d thought he’d just shut you out.

“What, spit it out,” He presses, and you almost want to avoid his gaze, but you can’t.

“Wouldn’t someone like you get...?” you murmur, barely above a whisper, feeling the heat rising in your neck.

He stared at you. Then he shifts, almost as if to tease.

“Do I need to explain to you what self pleasure is? Ever heard of mastur–.”

“Shut up!” You cut him off, shoving his shoulder, your heart pounding in your ears. But he just smiles, grins, really. And you can’t help but notice how that smile hits you harder than it should. 

How had you gone so long without seeing it?

By the time you and Scaramouche make it back down, your heads are clearer, and the afternoon sun is already at its peak. Lunchtime. Scanning the scene, you both realize you’ve managed to collect more of the required items than anyone else.

“We got distracted,” Venti mutters, holding up the single, sad shell he and Aether managed to gather.

“It’s no matter,” Yae waves him off with a dismissive flick of her hand. “This whole thing was rigged anyway.”

Lumine, ever observant, scans the group. “Aren’t we missing a few people?”

“Oh right, I completely forgot,” Yae laughs lightly, tapping her chin. “Heizou and Mona took off while you were all busy with the game.”

You’re a little taken aback by the news. You’d been hoping to talk to Heizou again before he left, but now... you’re not so sure. Maybe it’s better left unsaid. You’ve probably hurt him enough as it is.

Scaramouche’s reaction to his ex leaving couldn’t be more different.

“Thank the Archons,” he mutters, clasping his hands together in exaggerated relief, causing Kazuha to shoot him a bemused side-eye.

“Anyway,” Yae interrupts, snapping the group’s attention back to her, “Back to the show. Let’s see the results.” She glances around at the gathered group, raising an eyebrow. “Good grief, did any of you actually try? The one couple we rigged was the one that won.”

Xiao speaks up dryly. “You told us to collect rocks.”

“Yeah, and those,” Yae hums, tapping her chin and gesturing toward the small pebbles in Kazuha’s palms, “Are definitely not rocks. Never mind that, though.” She raises her voice slightly, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “The pair who collected the least will be spending the night on this island, while the rest of you get to go to Paradise.”

She feigns a gasp, dramatically sweeping her gaze across the group. “Congratulations to everyone except Scaramouche and Yn! You two will be spending the night here on this hell island, while the rest of us head to Paradise... including the crew!”

The others around you celebrate, but your thoughts are elsewhere.

Tonight, everyone will be gone.

And it will just be you and him.

Alone.

[00:00:00] GOODBYE INTERVIEW ONE 

YAE: So, how does it feel to go home empty handed?

HEIZOU: Honestly, I got the closure I needed.

YAE: But not the lover you wanted?

JEAN: YAE!

YAE: Sorry, sorry!

HEIZOU: [LAUGHS] It’s alright. I get it. But yeah. 

YAE: Anything you would’ve done differently?

HEIZOU: [QUIET FOR A FEW MOMENTS] Probably have gotten to know Yn a bit more. I would’ve saved a lot of money on snacks they didn’t actually like.

YAE: What a gentleman! Great send off. We’ll miss you, Heizou!

HEIZOU: [SMILES] I’m sure you will, bye.

YAE: And cut!

[00:32:10] GOODBYE INTERVIEW TWO 

YAE: So…how are we feeling girl?

MONA: I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU GUYS LET ME GET SHITFACED ON TV!

YAE: [LAUGHS] It made for great television, how are you feeling?

MONA: So embarrassed. But I’m glad I came and put on a show. Any publicity is good publicity.

YAE: And what about the ex you left on that island? Any regrets about him?

MONA: Oh believe me, a lot. But, I shall just carry on with my life! I’ve embarrassed myself enough on this hell island.

YAE: [LAUGHS] Fair enough. Any jealous feelings towards anyone else on the island?

MONA: [ROLLS EYES] You know what you’re doing. I’ve lost enough fans from trying to kiss Scara. I’ll say no comment.

YAE: Well, I tried folks. Goodbye, Mona!

MONA: Mwah!

YAE: CUT!

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

me googling where sunflowers and cherry blossoms grow and then realizing it isn’t that deep so just pretend for me okay thanks

scara taking an edible to try and flirt he’s so real

peep the lyrics in scaras story like YN OPEN UR EYES but yeah at this point yn is coming to realize scara might like them back 🤭

kinda insecure about this chapter so pls lmk if u liked 😣 pls comment or send me an ask if u enjoyed i need motivation 🤗

comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

notes — i’ve gotten like 8 hours of sleep in total last week i’m lowk goin thru it guys i hate college 😭 pls send me asks about swy or anything i need motivation i’m bashing my head into da wall as we speak

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

taglist — (closed) @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @flowerypesky @creammpuff @boxdisappeared @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @reivelmin @animeobsessed56 @femaholicc @vi0let-writes @izayumi-chan @aloflapse

[captain-huggy-bear]

Priorities

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Illness/comfort

Summary: When Quinn gets a text from you 2 hours before his game, he shows where his priorities lie when he drops it all for you.

Series: Teacher Reader series

Notes: I am not very well atm and I had to drive home dizzy from work the other day, the idea of Quinn being there to help has been stuck in my head so have some self indulgence from me.

A kind of sequel to In Sickness and in Health but you don't need to read that to read this.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

He's already at the rink getting ready for the game in the locker room when his phone goes off. You don't actually ring him, clearly doing that thing you always do where you're trying to not bother him on a game day, instead you send a quick text message. He expects the usual:

'Good luck on the game today, baby!'

Instead, the text he gets has him picking his phone up and calling you back in an instant, worry clouding his judgement and making his hands shake slightly.

'Hey, so guess who's being sent home because she's dizzy and can't breathe? I had my head between my legs for 20 minutes, definitely can't stand and teach. Have a good game x'.

You drop the good luck at the end like he's not supposed to be worried, like you've just casually told him about the weather and not that you we're struggling to breathe.

It doesn't really matter that Tocc is giving him the look, the one he reserves for when he's annoyed at the boys, or that half the locker room have stopped their own pre-game, pre-warm up routines to watch their captain frantically call you. He's pacing back and forth, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for you to pick up the phone.

"Quinn?" You sound so incredibly breathless its like listening to an asthmatic 80 year old who's smoked for half their life. Except you don't smoke and you're not asthmatic or 80 which makes the whole situation about 10 times worse because you shouldn't be struggling to breathe. You should be doing better today.

You've been ill, he knows this, a chest infection he forced you to get meds for on the weekend. Meds which should have started working by now, a heavy dose of antibiotics and steroids which were supposed to have helped. You'd felt well enough this morning to go in and give work another go, but he regrets letting you do that now. Clearly trying to stand up in front of teenagers and talk was not something you should have been doing, not when the school day had only started half an hour ago and you were already being sent home.

"Baby, are okay?" You're sitting on the front steps of the school with all your things when you answer the phone to Quinn's worried voice. You keep telling yourself you just need a minute, just a minute and then you won't feel so dizzy, won't feel so breathless. Just a minute and the tingles in your fingers will go and your hands will stop shaking so much. Just a minute and then you can drive home and get into bed.

"Y-yeah, I'm...I'm just breathless. I'll be okay...they're...they're covering my...my lessons and..." You stop for a minute, taking big deep breathes, you sound so laboured on the phone that Quinn can't help but clench his phone tighter in his hand, "and I'm going home now." Your breaths are wheezy, just like Saturday, in fact he's certain you sound worse.

"How are you getting home?" He knows the answer before you say it and he hates it before he even hears it. You're dizzy and breathless and there is no way you should be driving home at all, but he knows you. Self-reliant to a fault, a martyr, always pushing yourself past the point of no return because you think you're fine, because you convince yourself you're fine. Because you don't want to inconvenience anyone or cause more problems. You ask to little of people around you, expecting barely anything despite all you give.

"I'm...I'm going to...to drive."

"No. You're not. I'm going to come get you." You want to protest a lot more than you do if you're being honest. But, you're so tired and it's so hard to breathe and students wandering in late to school are staring at you like you're having a break down. So your protests are relatively lacklustre by your usual standard. That actually worries him more.

"It's...there's like 2 hours before the game...you've...you've got warm ups soon." You hate the idea of him missing warm ups or god forbid the game, all because you were too stupid to realise you shouldn't have gone into work in the first place.

"So, I'll get you, take you home and come back to the rink and play. I'll walk to the school tomorrow and collect your car so you don't have to worry about it. But, you aren't driving, baby. If you even try to get in that car I will being fucking pissed. I love you, you do not get in that car." You know he's serious in that moment, not just because he's very rarely angry at you or anyone but himself, outside of the rink, but because he's got that clipped tone he only uses when he's serious. This isn't a request, it's a direct order and you have no intention of disobeying it, not when you know he's right...not when it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside that he's so insistent about your wellbeing.

"But, what...what if you miss warm ups?" He loves how much you support him and his hockey, he always will, but he hates that your first thought is that hockey should come first. His girlfriend can barely breathe right now and he quite honestly doesn't give a flying fuck if he misses warm ups. The team had to pull themselves together at some point and you came first. Always. If they couldn't manage warm ups without him then what was the point of paying them so much money?

"Warm ups aren't my priority, baby. You are. Do not get in the car. Do not drive. Do not move. I'm leaving right now, okay? Just sit on the steps of the school and take deep breaths." He's already grabbing his keys, not even bothering to change out of his gear other than putting some proper shoes on so that he can actually drive. He knows it'll spark some speculation and rumours, Captain of the Canucks storming out of the arena 2 hours before puck drop in full gear except his skates, but he doesn't fucking care about that right now.

"...Okay...thank you, Quinny. I love you." You say it because in that moment you have never felt so loved, to have someone drop everything, something so important, to come get you...Maybe its the meds, maybe its the breathlessness, the infection, but you feel like crying a little because of how sweet he is even when he's bossing you about.

"I'll see you soon, baby. I love you too."

He doesn't waste time once he hangs up, just turns straight to Tocc and tells him, "I'll be back."

The look he gets is a mixture of disbelief, frustration and confusion and he really can't blame Tocc for it. Not when Quinn is the captain, the player that seems to make a massive difference on the ice, and he's about to run out the doors 2 hours before the game? Yeah, he knows Tocc doesn't want to hear it.

"Quinn, where you going? We have a game in 2 hours?!" He knows he's going to be cutting it fine with Vancouver traffic and getting to your school, the apartment and back to the arena, but he's not letting you drive. He could live with missing a game, losing a game, but he couldn't live with himself if he let you drive home and something happened. His job was to look after you, if he failed at that? What was the fucking point?

"Tocc, I'll be back. I promise. But, right now my girlfriend is unable to breathe and dizzy and I'm not letting her drive home, okay? Sooner I leave, sooner I come back."

Maybe it's the insistence on Quinn's face, the reality that if he was forced to stay he wouldn't play well anyway. Maybe it's that you and Tocc get along and he can see a hint of concern in the other man's eyes or maybe Tocc just trusts him that much. But, he actually agrees to let him go. Not that Quinn could really be forced to stay. They'd have to tie him to the bench.

"Okay, I'm trusting you."

"Thanks."

Quinn ignores every single person he storms past, every employee, every fan outside, every person with a camera that starts asking him where he's going as he starts his car with one destination in mind. Maybe he seems rude, maybe he seems standoffish, but he doesn't really care because right now you are sat on the steps of a school struggling to breathe and he just wants to see you and get you home and into bed.

He doesn't even care that he knows Tocc is going to be questioned about his absence or that he can already hear his phone pinging with notifications from social media, most likely people asking where he was going and speculating.

'Just saw Quinn Hughes storm out of Rogers Arena in full gear, finally got fed up of his team?'

'Um, is anyone else panicking that Hughes just left the arena like 2 hours before puck drop?'

'Captain Lexapro has officially lost it with this team, just stormed out of the arena!!'

He tries his best not to break any traffic laws getting to you, despite the fact he has a lead foot that wants to press harder on the accelerator. But, he knows you'd hate it and you'd worry more about him getting a ticket, so he just grips the steering wheel tighter until he's turning into the school car park.

He doesn't try to park in a proper space, just pulls up as close to you as possible before hopping out. Your head is between your legs, shoulders rising and falling in laboured breaths and he feels like he's been punched in the stomach at how bad you sound.

"Oh, baby..." He's kneeling on the dirty ground within seconds and you try, through broken gasps to tell him he'll get his hockey socks dirty, but he doesn't listen to you, just reaches to pull you into a hug.

"Let's get you home, okay? Tomorrow we're going back to the doctors, okay?" You're leaning your head into his shoulder so heavily that he's worried you might actually pass out. It's like the moment his arms wrap around you, you just give up on holding yourself up. In truth, that's kind of what happens. You just want to lean into him, soak up the comfort of your boyfriend lighting petting your hair and whispering into your ear.

"Don't y-you have...practice?"

"I think I can fit the doctors in around practice, baby..." He doesn't tell you, but he'd forgo practice for you. He doesn't care about anything but how you're doing and you're not okay. Quinn can see that better than anyone.

"Alright, up you get..." He stands first, hands reaching for yours to help pull you to your feet. You sway before him like you're on a 16th century galleon in a thunderstorm, forehead plonking on his chest heavily, "Atta, girl. There we go." He just strokes your hair and back while you wait for the dizziness to pass, he knows each second will make him later to the arena but he's not going to rush you when you're struggling just to stand without fainting.

"Alright, let me get your stuff and then we'll take it one step at a time, baby, okay?"

"O..okay...one step...at a time." He tries his best not to let go of you completely as he bundles your work bag onto his shoulder. Quinn is as quick as he can be with it, before pulling you under his arm and helping you inch step by step towards the car.

It's slow going, every few steps you get a little dizzy and he waits for you to nod before he pushes you forward again. You're drained, dark circles under your eyes and skin losing some of its usual colour by the time you reach the car.

Quinn had purposefully pulled up the car with the passenger side facing you and you're thankful not to have to walk around the car as you brace yourself against the door for a moment. Quinn helps ease you into the seat, reaching over to put your seatbelt on for you and adjust the headrest so you can lean back. It eases some of the weight in your chest.

"Nearly home, okay, baby?"

You just nod, exhausted as his hands cup your cheeks tenderly, spreading a soft sort of affection through your already aching chest. He's so gentle as he looks down at you, fingers rubbing circles in your cheeks, but he looks so worried and you feel so guilty because he shouldn't have to be that worried.

"You've been so brave, baby, you're so brave...soon you'll be in bed and you can watch the game and sleep, okay?" He knows you'll want to watch the game if you're sat at home, mostly because you watch every game he plays even if its on catch up, but also because he knows it'll reassure you that he made it back in time.

You nod again, blinking up at him so tired that he can't help but frown.

"Atta, girl. My brave girl." The kiss Quinn presses to your forehead is short and sweet, not lingering but filling you with warmth and lightness even as he closes the door on you and gets into the driver's side.

You miss his comforting touch and as if he knows this, his hand reaches for your thigh at any given opportunity when it isn't in use to drive. The stability of it, the comfort of just having him there is so welcome and helps you to relax back into the seat as he drives.

It's just as hard work getting you into the apartment, thankful as ever that the elevator actually works, but once you're in, Quinn feels ten times lighter.

"Right, lets get you comfy, baby...you want one of my jerseys or a hoodie?"

"Jersey...the....the black one, please."

"Okay, sit down, there ya go, good girl.." He watches you the entire time from the corner of his eye, scared you'll lean too far forward from how you're hunched over on the edge of the bed. He tries to make the entire thing quick, reaching for his black jersey, the extra big one that he bought home because you liked how it dwarfed you and even dwarfed him.

"Arms up, baby..." He helps you out of your work blouse and your bra, slipping the jersey over the top quickly to avoid the shivers you start shaking with.

The worst part is getting you to your feet to get your bottoms off. Quinn helps you rise to your feet before kneeling in front of you, dragging your hands to his shoulders for support as he helps you inch out of the remainder of your work clothes. Your fingers grip his shoulders so tight that he's certain you might leave bruises but he doesn't really care, just happy to get you comfy and help you into bed.

You're bundled under as many blankets as he can find, plus the heated blanket you got at Christmas. A big jug of water beside the bed, snacks piled high because he is not having you try to go all the way to kitchen without supervision right now.

"You want the game set to go on?"

"Y...yes, please...wanna watch you play." He turns the television on, setting it to the NHL game set to go live in less than an hour now and he knows he's going to miss warm ups at this point. Tocc's probably blowing up his phone and he knows he's cutting it fine...but you look so small bundled up in bed and he actually hates the idea of leaving you alone. He hates not having his family near all the time as a general rule, but in that moment he hates it so much more. If his mum or dad had been near he could have asked Ellen or Jim to check in on you, instead you were going to be all alone and he hated it.

"I'll score for you, yeah? You can watch me score and maybe we'll win and then I'll come and make us dinner. That sound good, baby?"

"Perfect..." Quinn smooths your hair back from your face, tucking a strand behind your ear even as he uses it as an excuse to feel your temperature. Not unreasonably warm which reassures him a little that you're at least not feverish.

He just keeps sitting there next to you, stroking your hair and caressing your cheek to the point that as much as you're loathe to get him to stop and to leave, you have to remind him he can't stay here. He has a game he's already running late to.

"You...you have to go, Quinn...I'll be okay..."

"If you're not, you'll phone 911, right?" He smooths your hair back again, in truth he really doesn't want to leave you there like that. Even as you seem to be breathing a little better now you're lying down. He considers just not going, if they lose they lose...but he knows he can't. He's captain, he promised he'd be back...and you'd be unhappy with him. He might be your boyfriend but the Canucks were your team and you'd likely make him sleep on the couch for a week.

"I promise...just go win for me?"

"Okay, sweet girl." He presses a last lingering kiss to your forehead, before getting up to leave. But, he still lingers in the doorway for a moment until you push him to go.

Once he's out of the apartment he's rushing. Barely any time and honestly when he finally gets back to the arena and gets his skates on he's surprised he's just in time to go out on the ice for the anthem...cold, not warmed up in the slightest, not ready at all to play a game, but willing to.

Tocc stops him as he's passing the bench to get to the ice, "Cutting it fine, Hughes!" despite the gruff tone, Quinn can tell that Tocc is just relieved that Quinn's back in time. As are the guys who all look at him with varying shades of relief as if they'd been freaking out the entire time. Which they probably had.

"Told you I'd be back." Quinn says it with such confidence, even though inside he knows he nearly missed the entire game. To be honest if you hadn't forced him out the apartment then he'd probably have been late at best.

"How is she?" Tocc's voice is soft, concerned and Quinn appreciates it. He appreciates that as a coach Tocc doesn't just care about how much they cost or how well they play, he cares about them and their families too...and you're included in that, ring or not.

"Not good...but safe at home."

"You need practice off tomorrow?"

"Please, I need to get her to the doctors..."

"Done. Now go help us win the game." Tocc gives him a clap on the shoulder before pushing him out onto the ice and just like that Quinn slips into captain mode.

Locked in like he always is even if his legs don't feel as loose and his stick feels a little less familiar in his hands. Knowing you're home safe helps, he can put the thought of you to the back of his mind, knowing you're safe in the apartment, comfortable and surrounded by everything you need.

You find it hard to focus on the game, but force yourself to, determined to watch Quinn play and to see the goal he intends to score for you. Maybe it's silly, there's no guarantee he'll actually score, but you can tell from the moment he's on the ice that it's one of the few things on his mind. Shot after shot after shot, a determined series of attempts that remind you how important you are to him even as you lie wheezing in bed, eating as much chocolate as Quinn put out for you.

It's part way through the first period with one goal already to Vancouver thanks to Petey that the issue of Quinn's disappearance pre-game is raised.

"Quinn Hughes was nearly late to the game today, the captain missed warm ups but that's certainly not stopping him now!" Shortie's voice rings through the room, a familiar cadence that makes you feel comforted.

"No, it's not, Shortie, do we know why Hughes was late?" Dave responds and for a moment you can't quite comprehend that you've managed to cause this much of a ruckus.

"It hasn't been confirmed and you know I'm not much of a gossip..." You have a little giggle a Shortie even as you are the topic of conversation because it's not really much in the way of gossip and it's so silly.

"But?"

"Apparently he had a family emergency, his girlfriend is very unwell and he dropped everything to go get her."

"Well, that's just.."

"Romantic? Sweet?"

"I was going to say so unlike the Quinn Hughes we used to know, the one who only thought about hockey." You think back to Quinn when you first met, how everything had been hockey, hockey, hockey. You hadn't minded, your own love of the sport meant that you could handle it. But, it's true...Quinn had been rethinking his priorities ever since you started dating, where he might have prioritised hockey once, he'd started to prioritise you. You're not entirely sure at what point you became that important in his life, but it made you feel warm and fuzzy all over.

"I think it's a good thing, that's a sign of growth, just like Hughes' shot!" Shortie cuts himself off as you watch the camera pan to Quinn, following his agile movements across the ice as he skips past the other team's players as if it's as easy as breathing, "He's in past the defence, he lines up the shot and an unassisted goal for Quinn Hughes! Vancouver goal!"

You smile wide as you watch Quinn grin, celebrating with his team in a series of hugs before he finds a camera. There's a moment where you know he's grinning at you, for you, a cheeky little wink sent through the screen as if to say 'told you I'd score for you'.

"I suspect that one was for the girlfriend, Shortie."

You watch the entire game, trying not to nod off to sleep between periods. While you can't cheer and you certainly don't have the energy to celebrate too hard, every Canuck goal makes you feel lighter and brings a smile to your face.

The end result of a 5-2 win to the Canucks makes it easy for you to drift off as the game ends and the waiting for Quinn begins.

He's running off a high when the game ends, even more so when Boeser offers to take over press duties so Quinn can get back to you quickly.

The apartment is quiet when he comes in, "Baby?" not a sound comes back in response and he's careful to move quietly through the apartment to the bedroom doorway.

You're fast asleep, breathing heavy but nowhere near as bad as earlier in the day, you're surrounded by chocolate wrappers and he's quiet as he picks them all up and puts them in a bin, replacing them with the puck he scored with on your bedside table.

He tiptoes back to the kitchen quietly pottering around to make some dinner for you while you're still asleep, nothing fancy but protein, carbs and veg. The sort of thing that's definitely boring but also definitely what your body needs right now.

"Baby, time to wake up...I've made you dinner." He's gentle when he wakes you, soft fingers down your cheek as you stir awake, blinking up at him bleary eyed. Quinn helps you sit upright, the tray of food settling neatly in your lap.

"Where's...where's yours?"

"On the table, you want me to eat in here with you, sweetheart?"

He's moving before you finish nodding, grabbing another tray and his plate before joining you on the bed. He spends most of his dinner watching you eat, making sure you're not leaving large amounts and that you're okay.

He's happy about the win, happy about the score, but he's mostly just happy to be back with you and knowing that you're eating and you're okay, if not well.

Quinn's quick to tidy up your trays and even quicker to get back to you and get into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, sliding under the covers with you and pulling you into his arms.

Your cheek rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heart a soothing sound that helps some of the anxiety about being off work ease off. Quinn's fingers caress circles and weird shapes across your arm and shoulder as he tucks you tight against him, legs twined together. Every so often he presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, the top of your hair, as if reassuring himself that you're okay and he's got you.

"You scored..." You mumble into his t-shirt, a small smile working it's way to your lips as his hand moves up to run through your hair, stopping at your scalp every now and then to scratch lightly until you feel like purring even if that purr is more of a wheezy rumble.

"Mmm, for you, baby." Quinn smiles down at you, another kiss pressed to your cheek.

"T...the wink?" His smile weakens slightly at your still stumbling breathlessness and the wheeze and crackle that accompany it.

"Just for you, sweet girl."

"I'm...I'm proud of you, y'know?" You smile up at him so sweetly that he can't help but feel certain in his choices today. Yeah, nearly missing a game was rough, and maybe the press are going to be dicks about it and maybe he would have felt guilty if he'd missed the game or they'd lost...but he knows he'd skip a million games if it meant you were being looked after, were safe.

"I know...and tomorrow you're going to show me how proud you are by letting me take you to the doctors again."

"Ugh..." You groan, hiding your face into his chest like that will stop him from dragging you to the doctors. Your stubbornness normally cute but in this moment less so.

Quinn cups the back of your head until your looking up at him, green eyes meeting yours with a pleading stare that makes your resolve tremble and shudder. "Please? I'm worried about you, baby...I was really scared when I got that text from you."

"Yeah?" You hate that you worried him...it's that worry that makes you concede that maybe you need to go back to the doctors and maybe as much as you hate it, you'll do it, for Quinn.

"Yeah. I can replace hockey, I can play another game if I miss one. But, I can't replace you. Let me take you to the doctors."

There's a beat of silence as he pleads with you, eyes soft, worried, gentle, thumb stroking soothingly across the base of your neck and you can't really deny him this. Not when you know you'd feel exactly the same if the roles were reversed, not when he nearly missed a game for you today and went in completely cold turkey to win it.

"Okay...as...as long as you keep cuddling me."

"I think I can do that, baby." You curl back into his arms like the spot was carved just for you and in that moment Quinn Hughes knows that you have fully hit the top of his priority list, no ands, ifs, buts or maybes. You could ask him to quit hockey tomorrow and he'd do it. He'd do anything for you and that should be terrifying, but it's not because he knows you'd never ask too much of him. If anything you ask too little.

[cursingtoji]

the cardio machine i want is on the cardio machine

cw: gym rat toji x loser!gf - size kink, sweat kink (?), toji is a big old meanie. loser!gf series: geto gojo nanami.

loser!reader who, like a million other sedentary people on new year’s eve, said “new year new me” and proceeded to enroll at the local gym.

gym rat!toji who knew how things are in the beginning of the year, so the first week he arrives one hour earlier than usual to avoid all the lazy fucks that won’t last two months.

of course he makes a few mental bets on the ones that would quit and how long it would take, you included.

it’s easy to spot the “i don’t want lift weights cause i don’t want look jacked” type of girl.

at the breaks between one set and the other he looked around, not surprised to see you slowing down the treadmill after running not even two whole minutes.

sometimes he caught you staring at him through the mirror, not an uncommon occurrence amonst the women there, though you surprised him one day by tapping his shoulder after he finishing his weighted squats.

“can you… give me a few tips?” he looked so intimidated, from up close his shoulders looked like a wall, he stared at you from above, dark green eyes seemed to be heavily judging you, “never mind this was a bad idea, sorry” you turned around, grabbing you bottle and running off the gym.

by the time you managed to gather the courage to show your face back there two whole weeks had passed.

“consistency is the key you know” you were distracted looking down your phone while slowly walking the treadmill when the handsome man appeared beside you, the sudden presence destabilized you.

before you could become the viral video of the week when inevitably a gym employee decides to post the security footage of your ass rolling off the active treadmill, toji wrapped one big arm around your waist and pulled you to the stable floor.

“you caught me off guard the other day” he said completely unfazed by saving you from a life of embarrassment, “then you disappeared.”

“yeah i didn’t know if i wanted to come back anyways, i haven’t see any results so far” you pulled the hem of your shirt down.

toji snorted, “‘course you ain’t seeing results, sweetheart, you don’t lift.”

“well, it’s hard…” toji rolled his eyes, there was always an excuse.

though he also did a new year’s resolution of being more patient, for his kids primarily but teaching a cute thing like you could be a good exercise too.

soon enough, toji was correcting your form, texting you asking why you haven’t showed up to the gym and ringing your bell incessantly when you complained about muscle pain and said you wouldn't go that day.

“it’ll feel better once you start to move” he explained, resting on your door frame when you opened the door on your pajamas.

“let me alone, just today” you whined.

“you asked for my help now go put on something without cartoons on it” he waited for you to turn around and slapped your butt. it had been only one week he was coaching you but there was already a weird intimacy due to the fact he was pretty much always looking at your body and touching you.

to correct your form. obviously.

"what do i have to do today, coach fushiguro?" you asked from your bedroom through an ajar door which allowed toji to get a peek at your pink underwear and cute ass.

"cardio, bicycle first. get some blood flowing on those sore muscles" he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows watching you bend over to grab a biker shorts at the lowest drawer then holding back a laughter at the grunt of pain coming from you.

"once it gets better i can teach you other types of cardio" he walked around your kitchen examining your cabinets and stuff you kept in your fridge. needless to say it was all junk.

"can't wait" you replied sarcastically, failing to understand the meaning.

it took a few more days till you got used to toji's training, then he decided to focus on your upper body.

"such a simple movement, how do you manage to get that wrong?" he raised from the bench he was sitting behind you watching your form through the mirror. you almost dropped the weights at your feet when he came close. it was almost scary how much bigger than you he was especially seeing it throght the mirror. his right hand wrapped around yours on the dumbell and his bicep touched your arm as he pushed your arm closer to your body, "tuck your elbows in, straight your back" his free hand pushed your shoulders till they were touching his chest.

how come he smelled so good, so... musky and...

"are you even making any force?" he lowered his head, his reflection looking annoyed. so you decided to ignore the sudden heat between your thighs and flex your arm the way he taught you.

and just like he promised, when you were consistent enough and handling a good 5 minute run he decided to show you a more pleasing cardio.

"toji please~" you whined, thighs burning from riding him, you were using his rock hard abdomen as a support, but still.

"one more minute, come on" he looked at the watch on his wrist and slapped your ass, "haven't i prep-ed you good enough?" his thumb rubbed your bottom lip then pushed in meeting your tongue, where you tasted yourself in his digits one hour after he ringed your bell and said he was going to reward your good discipline, but he had to strech you first.

"good girl" you felt his abdomn flex when he raised from his laying position on your bed, "now leave it to daddy" he pecked your lips and quickly changed positions, putting a pillow under your ass and rolling his neck to start his cardio of the day.

[sonotpattismith]

gee willikers, batman!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled fondly and shook your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Possible head injury; rule out TBI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Listen, I’m just not really—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Niichan never has girl friends—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t cry everytime.” 

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

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

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t say I wasn’t into you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Cho—”

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

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

“What’s going on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me go!”

“It’ll make you feel better—”

“I want Mom!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know.”

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

“Choso—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Keep crying for me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[meadowfics]

boredom got a new bestfriend

kang dae-ho x pregnant!reader

pregnancy has been exhausting, but luckily your partner is here for you.

warnings: post-squid game au. ptsd themes included but this is mainly comfort I swear

it felt like you were feeling postpartum depression before you even gave birth to the baby.

your daughter is the best thing to be happening for you right now, a human-being sharing the dna of you and your sunshine of a husband.. but you hate the discomfort.

your belly is a little bit bigger for someone who is 34 weeks along.

the doctor predicts that your girl will come out a little bit more developed than the average infant.. great.

growing up for all of your life, you slept on your stomach.

sleeping on your side and/or back during this pregnancy makes you wake up each hour, ready to throw up or cramped due to the uncomfortable position.

the lack of sleep has been killing you, and you know it will not get any better once the girl arrives.

don't worry, dae-ho has been the best partner ever, doing as much as he can to help you!

he doesn't know how it feels to carry a baby for nine months, especially a baby thats in a bigger percentile (thanks to his genetics), but he can see how much its affecting you mentally.

the man will cuddle you to sleep, give you foot massages, head massages too.. but it seems like his daughter wants to give you hell.

you're bored throughout the day as well.

its all of the time.

before your pregnancy, you used to go on walks and do chores and run errands for other people for money.

well, you had to before you joined the games.

the games are apart of the reason as to why you barely get any sleep, scared that you will wake up to someone killing you with a fork to add money to the pile.

however, you remind yourself that you are safe.

the baby is safe, you are with dae-ho, and you're all alive and safe.

even if you aren't comfortable due to your belly..

now, you cannot do a simple task like going to the grocery store without getting tired.

you've had enough, you cannot wait for the six weeks until your daughter is born.

one night, it reached its point when you went to sleep beside dae-ho.

the man's arm was wrapped around your fully developed belly, he loved to hold his daughter that you carried.

you laid on your back, your head laid down on the pillow looking up at the ceiling.

it was 12:02am when you fell asleep.

a big kick caused by your daughter made you jump awake.

dae-ho didn't wake up after you moved his arm from your stomach.

thankfully since you want him to get his sleep at least.

when you checked the time, tears immediately poured out of your eyes.

its 12:12am..

you couldn't even get ten minutes of good sleep without your body, or your daughter, stopping that.

walking out of the bedroom into the living room, you decided to turn on an old sitcom rerun that played on the overnight channels.

that did not entertain you.. nothing seemed to.

you tried to romanticize the moment, going to quickly grab some water and a fruit bowl so you could eat and relax.. but nothing worked.

sleeping was the best option, but waking up every ten minutes is driving you insane.. so why sleep at all?

"baby?"

you saw dae-ho enter the living room, wiping his tried eyes with his hands.

he is just wearing his plaid pajamas and no shirt. sexy.

sex could help the boredom, since intimacy with dae-ho is never boring, but you were too exhausted to even move at all.

"why are you awake?"

you softly ask, unaware that he could ask you the same thing.

which he is..

"I was going to ask you the same thing, since you're watching a sitcom marathon at one in the morning.."

dae ho mumbles, his big hand resting on your thigh as he looks ahead at the show on the television.

"your daughter is not letting me sleep, so I figured that watching television could pass time.. but that is not helping."

you frown.

dae-ho frowns too, moving his hand from your thigh and gently rubbing your belly.

he moves his head down towards your belly as well, going to talk to your daughter through your nightgown.

"awh, sweetheart, why are you being so mean to your mommy?"

you smile at this gesture, knowing your daughter will go right back to kicking your organs all over the place.

"I can't sleep and I am very bored.. I don't know how I am going to last these six weeks, dae."

you plead.

the man looks up at you, guilt in his eyes, as he tried to think of a solution.

"well, I can offer besides cuddles and physical affection to help you sleep comfortably.. but maybe I could stay up with you so you are not so bored as well?"

the tired man speaks through his raspy voice.

"no, dae-ho, you need your sleep."

"you need it a lot more than I do.."

dae-ho smiles,

"you will need to gain enough energy when its time to push next month!"

he's right.

how were you supposed to birth your daughter if you were too tired to push?

the man sees worry flash before your eyes and retracts his words,

"wait I was kidding, I--"

"dae-ho, I know, don't worry!"

you giggle.

you relax into your man's arms while watching the boring show on the television.

it feels like your daughter stopped her soccer/football game happening inside of your uterus.

so you close your eyes to see if your mind will take you to sleep.

you focus on dae-ho's scent since your nose is against his chest.

the first thing you notice is that dae-ho used your body wash while he showered at some point.. your vanilla body wash.. wow!

suddenly, you couldn't process anything else as you fell asleep with dae-ho.. since he already fell asleep before you.

when you wake up, the sun is shining through the curtains and you were back in your bed.

you were... comfortable.. woah.

something you haven't felt since before your belly starting growing with your baby.

the soft ivory blanket was warm against your cool skin, the pillow soft underneath your ears.

dae-ho is still asleep, his back facing towards you.

you move yourself to get behind him, big spooning him as your belly pokes his lower back.

"goodmornin', my baby."

dae-ho's raspy voice speaks, taking your small hand and kissing your knuckle lightly.

"good morning, handsome."

you smile, feeling refreshed.

looking over at the alarm clock, the time reads 10:38am

taking a huge sigh of relief, you cuddled into dae-ho more, happy to finally get some good rest after months of failure.

"how did you sleep?"

dae-ho mumbles against your soft hands.

"I slept good, for once."

you giggle.

"see, I knew my little talk to (daughter's name) would work!"

dae-ho smiles and you giggle.

"thank you, love."

masterlist

[tastesousweet]

01 : Who’s the New Guy?

hamzah has a summer gig as the pool boy for one of his friends and y/n can’t help it if she’s just so intrigued by this friend of her brother’s.

01. 02. 03.

crushes came to you quite often.

you remember playground crushes; the boys you liked to stare at from afar as you played in the sand as a child. or the boys who frequented your prestigious ballet studio who were pretty and rambunctious which aided your curiosity. there was presley in high school who you found undeniably cool with his tattoos and effortless guitar playing skills; things ended with your heart torn at the fact that he admitted to enjoying your admiration and desire for him more than you and your entirety. he must’ve thought you were some ditz with the way he spoke to you that night : “i’m sorry, but i’m no liar, i never said i loved you, let alone liked you. in what world would we ever be together, y/n?”

your older sister, mina, has always told you boys are nothing but compliant lap dogs to the other boys around them; she warned you that you’ll never find one that would hold you because just because you asked (or even better if you didn’t have to ask), that he would make sure his buddy is wrapping his arms around a girl before he found it okay to do so. give and take, a fight for validation. a constant look around to ensure they’re accepted among themselves, “they’ll never learn to care if you except the bare minimum from them and it’s only worse that you’re so quick to accept any “love” without them having to at least try, y/n.”

she told you not to get caught up in the drama that came with boys (their breaking hearts and such) — or the other catty girls who were in competition to hold a guy’s attention for longer than a night in bed or date night out.

your older brother (who's also mila's twin) always claimed that your sister was spitting out a mouthful of bullshit whenever she’d start her hate-speech against men. this would typically lead the two to begin their own brawl, leaving you to solemnly look the other way, to find a safe piece of eye-candy that would surely turn your pupils into tiny black hearts.

while you tend to get a little fantastical about your intense desire for devotion and affection, your first, grounded love came in the form of ballet.

at age four you found yourself captivated by a small ballet theater production of sleeping beauty, you still fondly remember your great aunt accompanying you and the way she cried the entire time. you haven’t known a time where you weren’t amazed by the way you could move your body. you remember stretching yourself obsessively and eventually by age six you were watching late night shows with your family while maintaining a full split in front of the tv.

yet now, at nineteen that childhood dream you’ve worked towards your entire life feels like an overwhelming, burnt-out nightmare with clouded vision and harshly barked orders of “higher!” “now tighter!” “follow through!” “be consistent!” from your roster of highly established instructors, all fighting around in your head.

those first two years of school gave you a glimpse of what you’ve always thought you wanted — early mornings, strict diets, long days of structured dancing, endless nights of studying, eye bags covered in concealer, headaches from tight ponytails or buns, icing your knee caps on weekends, losing your mind and your poise demeanor without a doubt by the end of each semester. and above all you missed your parents, so bad.

so, after much pouting (and a few phone calls that consisted of you crying and blubbering about how broken down you’d become), your parents allowed for you to spend your summer break at home with them (rather than your usual confinement to an acclaimed, private ballet institution for the entire break), under the guise that you’d be training with your old high school instructor to ensure you maintain your pristine skill level. you were sure that obligation was easy enough, as you’d already been through the hell of it in the spring.

now the sun beats on your glowy skin as you lie on a cream lounge chair. the bikini you wear is a soft kiss of pink, decorated in tiny black polka dots, that leaves little to imagine. your long legs are crossed at the ankle, bare feet exposed with your toes painted an elegant matching shade of pink. your book is now abandoned at your hip as you gaze, with squinted eyes, at the boy stood across the lawn’s wide stretch of concrete. his focus is on cleaning your family pool — rarely stopping unless he finds it completely necessary to wipe away a growing layer of sweat from his forehead.

he’s hasn’t given you any attention, barely a glance over, nothing close to an introduction. yet he’s somehow become your new person of interest with such little effort or time. you’ve covered yourself in sunscreen (in a slow fashion just in case he wanted a teasing show mid-shift), flipped onto your stomach to show off the curve of your ass as you read a few chapters of a memoir (trying to focus on the words written in times new roman to avoid getting distracted by the tall man), you’ve gone inside to grab a pair of sunglasses (to have a reason to walk by him and gain a shield that allows you to stare without your eyes on display), after ten minutes you decided sunglasses made the world far too dark and you would rather he know you’re staring at him than stare and get a poor view.

there was something about his warm, beautifully tanned skin and toned arms working against his white wife-beater that hugged him well. and his face was so inviting — you liked it when he had a question about a certain pipe and went to ask your dad about it, as he listened he cracked a smile and gave a nod of his head in understanding. it’s unbearable that you don’t know his name, but you can imagine it’s something cute that you’d like the sound of when hearing your voice deliver it.

after a much needed bathroom break, you make your way back outside with a deep red, raspberry popsicle in your hand. you lick over the cold dessert a few times as you move closer to where the boy sits, obviously exhausted, with his head tilted down towards his knees.

“hi,” you speak, standing in front of him.

he seems to be caught off guard by your presence, flinching slightly before looking up (attempting to refrain from scanning over your exposed body), “uh, hey?”

“are you finished?” you question with a slight head tilt.

“oh, not really, i just have t’pressure check the jets in the hot tub. that’s my bad, ill get back to it.” he goes to stand but you place your hand gently on his shoulder so that he stays.

you both look at your hand’s placement then into each other’s eyes. you smile awkwardly, taking your hand off of him and begin pretending to dust something off of his shoulder, “… just some sorta feather or …” you clear your throat and retract your hand again, “sorry, um, i just thought i’d introduce myself. because- well, i live here and i guess i … just wanted to know your name,” you speak softly and bring the popsicle to your mouth to suckle a little more.

your eyes look at him with a sense and emotion he’s not sure anyone has in his entire life. you’re like a viper or siren, some sort of creature that’s hypnotizing him with beauty and desire. as he speaks you continue lapping the popsicle in your mouth, he clears his throat, “hamzah.”

“hamzah? i like it.” you love it.

“yeah?” he looks down at the popsicle that’s now slick from your mouth’s warmth, then he’s looking back in your eyes, “thanks.”

“how’d my parent’s find such a cutie to come pour chlorine in the pool?” you flirt.

“i mean i do more than pour chlorine in a pool, y’know i check the piping, change the tank …” your stare is so captivating it’s hard for him to not feel like blushing, “i’ll, uh, tell you all about it later. t’answer your question, i’m friends with leo and needed a summer gig before goin’ back to school.”

you can’t believe it’s true — your brother doesn’t have nice friends. your brother even doesn’t have friends with real jobs let alone any that plan to complete college. you laugh softly, “no, you’re not? i know all of my brother’s friends.”

hamzah shrugs his shoulders, “i mean, i guess we weren’t the closest in high school,” he pinches his eyes slightly, “you are the younger sister, right? the one who’s got all that dance business goin’ on?”

you shake your head in slight embarrassment at your description, “yes, that’s me with the “dance business”” you smile, “i’m y/n.”

“cool. s’nice to meet you,” he reaches his hand out and you place yours in his hold as you two shake hands.

── .✦

you were pouring a glass of water when the idea came to you; you knew hamzah was bound to be leaving soon but you craved to hear more from him. all it took was a slight (but very intentional) tumble of the words, “i wanna invite that new pool boy to stay dinner,” for your father to immediately agree.

he continues to stir at the sizzling vegetables in his pan, “oh! that’s a wonderful idea, sweetheart, open that for for me?” he nods towards the sliding glass door.

you try not to display your excitement too blatantly, but can’t help that your socked feet glide over to the door.

your father’s immediately calling out, “hey hamzah! c’mere a minute would’ya?”

hamzah immediately bolts over, he’s out of breath and surprised to see you leaning against the open door, “hey,” he directs to you but it’s sounds more like a gasp for air than a word.

“no running by the pool,” you whisper back, watching as his face of confusion turns into another smile.

“fair,” hamzah shrugs.

“hamzah, we were hopin’ you’d stay for dinner tonight?”you father speaks loudly, and the way he says it makes it sound like more of a statement than a question.

his face lights up, “sur-”

“say yes,” you warn through your teeth, knowing your father’s irritation with any use of a word as dismissive as “sure”.

“yes, um, yes that sounds great. thank you, sir.” he can see you giggling beside him, and when your father turns away he playfully nudges your side with his elbow.

── .✦

dinner was full of undying conversation and many overlaps in dialogue. never a dull moment.

“y/n, pass the mashed potatoes,” your brother calls out.

you whine, “leo, i just said my entire body hurts from training, i’ve passed it back and forth like four times already.”

“oh my god, and somehow your complaining just ruined my appetite, anyway. i can always count on you, y/n.” he laughs under his breath.

“that’s enough, now.” your mother speaks up, “but y/n, i’m getting worried, do you think you need some extra sessions dedicated to stretching?”

“i’m fi-”

“shoot, hamzah could give you some tips on stretchin’.” your brother jokes, “weren’t you in ballet?”

hamzah is completely flushed, “like, barely, my parents forced me when i was, like, seven-”

he’s cut off as soon as you register what this could mean for you, “wait, you’d really help me?” you ask with a sense of genuine curiosity, and a big, encouraging smile of course.

“hamzah i never knew you were so, multitalented.” your mother comments.

leo laughs, “he’s n-”

hamzah clears his throat and wipes his mouth with a small napkin, “well, yeah, i’ll help out wherever i can.”

“really?!” you’re relieved that he actually agreed.

“oh good fucking luck,” your brother sighs under his breath and claps a hand against hamzah’s shoulder.

── .✦

“don’t forget you need to meet me at the studio at 6 to beat the rush, wear something flexible, and remember to bring your smart brain and lots of patience — i can be kinda bitchy that early in the morning!”

hamzah sighs, returning to standing a few inches above you now that he’s done tying his shoes in your foyer, “as opposed to bringing my dumb brain and all of my impatience —” he smiles at you and but your face is plain and straight, “right. yeah, i got it all. you also wrote it down for me on my hand, remember?” he shows his hand with purple, glittery ink covering the palm.

your arms are crossed as you explain, “yes but that’s just unreliable- it’ll be gone by morning…” you shrug and watch as he pulls a sweatshirt in over his head, “and i need to tell you these things in case you forget about me and don’t set an alarm.”

he laughs as adjusts the sleeves of the mossy green sweatshirt, “i won’t.”

“cool.”

“so i’m wakin’ up at 10 and goin’ for breakfast then meeting up with you?” he jokes and immediately catches your hand in his own before you get the chance to push his shoulder. he laughs as he brings you close, keeping your hand in his as he offers a warm side hug. “i’ll be at the studio before 6, how about that?”

you nod as you pull away, “you better.”

“uh huh,” he opens your front door and finally calls out “good night!” to your family, who all echo the sentiment back to him. before he fully walks out he turns to you, with your hold on the tall wooden door, “bye, i’ll see you in, like, nine hours or somethin’.”

“bye, thank you,” you smile and watch him rush over to his car parked on the street, “don’t forget, hamzah!” you holler and watch his figure throw a thumbs up into the air before he climbs into his slightly janky car.

── .✦

you both were a couple of yawning, baby fawns with the amount of slow blinks and constant, accidental bumps into each other as you walked into the quiet studio and found your way into a private practice room.

the colors of the walls and equipment were various muted browns and light grays. you set your duffle bag on the ground and stretched your arms above you, “so, what exactly are we doing?”

hamzah rubs at his eyes, he’s clad in basic grey sweatpants and another white wife-beater, his hair is its usual curly with slight frizz from sleep, “umm, you’re the professional here?”

“hamzahhhh, you said you would help!” you drag while adjusting yourself onto the floor, stretching out your legs on either side of you.

“yeah! but i wasn’t expectin’ to have any stretches made! im not a yoga instructor, i was just gonna be your little assistant.” he moves to the ground with you.

“m’kay, here,” you flutter your fingers to encourage him to mimic your position and hold onto your forearms, “and now flatten your back and lean forward,” you both complete the action then return to sitting up.

“what do they always say? come on, deep breaths, in!” you both hold “and out,” you both release.

you smile at him,“you’re a natural, look at you!” you compliment.

the two of you complete your entire yoga flow that you’d do almost every day at university, before progressing into the most random yoga poses you’d heard of under the guise of “let’s just try it!”

there were a few fails due to lack of balance or the need to burst into laughter but generally you two worked well together.

just before you two left you asked hamzah to help you stretch deeper, as you lie flat on a mat, lifting your leg up boldly. “i just need you to kneel down and push my leg all the way into my chest for me …” you bite at your bottom lip to suppress a smile.

hamzah finishes his sip of water, watching you lie there in that tight yoga piece, dangling a foot in the air and inviting him to be so close to you. “yeah? ‘kay, guide me.” he sets the bottle down and kneels in front of you as you asked.

“mhm, yeah here i’ll just,” you move your leg onto his shoulder and bring his hand to your lower thigh, just above your knee, “right … there.” you let your hand linger on his before looking back at him. he’s already focused on your face and your next command, “just lean forward and bring my leg with you,” you accidentally let out the tiniest, whiniest little groan.

“m’sorry,” he whispers with wide eyes.

“no, don’t. it’s good, i needed this,” you remind.

“yeah, just breathe, you’re doin’ good.” he coaches while pushing your leg further.

── .✦

“mmm! if the girls in my class knew i was eating this i’d be skinned and shunned from the program!” you shake your head, raspberry jelly dribbling from the side of your lips. you’re more than grateful hamzah suggested you both stop by a small shop, only a block away, for some post-yoga sweetness.

hamzah continues to walk back towards the studio with you next to him, crinkling wax paper wrapping into his pocket, “that’s gnarly as fuck, you couldn’t even have like a single plain donut? just one?”

“no, and half of ‘em have heart palpitations at the thought of honey nut cheerios. i think donuts would end them, unfortunately.” you wipe your face.

“well, damn maybe ballet-in’ kinda sucks?”

“maybe.” you sigh and bring the large jelly donut up to his mouth as he bites, “what’d you think it was like?”

he shrugs, chews a little, then answers, “i dunno- fun?”

you let out a soft laugh and take another bite. you’re just a little annoyed that hamzah makes it far too easy to crush on him — how dare he be so pretty and kind and actually interested…?

── .✦

a/n: hiii first part of my short series for hamzah! yaaayyy!! hope u all liked this, i did not proof read too in depth so im kinda just prayin it makes sense. love ya! <3

[yandere-paramour]

I know the yans are busy people but is it too much to just go into their work space ect and just lay my head on their lap I'll even sit on the floor and be quiet just want their presence after a long day in some pj's:). Maybe they can mummer a few acknowledgements in the air, but that's about it. (Even though I want to slap ata and noelle cuz they drive me insane with their actions, i don't even care, need them rn)

Ah, this is such a sweet scenario. I'm gonna try hard for this one.

Vivien has a laptop. It's old and not too expensive, but he only really uses it to run his online shop and watch anime. He's got a ton of new orders for essential oil blends lately, and he's been boiling things all weekend. You miss him, you want his attention. Shuffling over, you tug on his shirt, and with one glance, he knows what you want. His laptop is abandoned, and he lifts you into his arms, carrying you to the bedroom to his "nest". The couch is good for quick cuddling, but both of you want this to last. He spoons you from behind, curling himself around your form at an angle that must have his back hurting, but Vivien doesn't mind. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, pressing kisses to your shoulders, quietly murmuring to you. He doesn't say much. He doesn't need to.

Noelle loves working near you. She has her own office in the apartment, and she does like it in there, but she likes being next to you better. You're usually in your Soothing room, watching a movie on the daybed or painting or reading. Noelle always sneaks in, she's small so it's easy for her to sneak, but you know the smell of her body wash. She always cuddles up next to you, working on her laptop as she snuggles into your shoulder. She doesn't work very long; she can't when you're awake next to her. Her laptop is forgotten, set on the floor as Noelle entwines herself with you. Whatever you both are doing is now ignored; it's just you, her, and the soft noises of the sitcom in the background. Noelle might even be able to get a little sleep, as long as you're with her.

You are always welcome in Atalanta's office. You come to visit her a few times a week, sit on your spot on the couch, and bother her while she reads emails. But your favorite time is right before bed. Atalanta gave you her attention from the moment she got home. She bathed with you, ate with you, and spent some time watching one of your shows that you know she only tolerates. You've had lots of her attention, but you want more. She's reading, as she always does before bed. If you were any less whiny right now, you might feel bad about disturbing her, but you don't. You lay your head onto her lap, right in the middle of her book, and look up at her.

She raises a quizzical eyebrow, "Yes? Do you need something, Darling?"

"You're not paying attention to me."

Atalanta smiles, and closes the book, setting it back down on the nightstand, "Well, we can't have that. Come here, love."

She pulls you to lie properly on her lap, stroking your hair with her right hand as she caresses your face with her left.

"You're so lovely, my Darling. You're everything," She whispers, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

[parasolladyansy]

10 People I’d Like to Know Better Tag

Got tagged by @annchovi! LOL, let’s do this! ^o^/

—

Last Song: ÅMARA (sasakure feat. Hatsune Miku & KAITO) - there is a very cool Breath of the Wild / Tears of the Kingdom animation with this song by Dogfish!

Favorite Color: light blue 🩵 most of what I own is this color (like this blog lol) or like my cloudy clothes - some examples below! ☁️

Even my engagement ring is a beautiful light blue topaz - just as a reminder that you don’t have to have a diamond if there’s a color or stone that means more to you! 💍

Last Book: I actually can’t remember (I read a lot of random books from the library), so I’ll just give a shout out to one of my favorite graphic novel series, “Wonder Cat Kyuu-Chan”! Very, very wholesome. Might just reread them! 📖

Last Movie: again, I’m not sure (because I don’t watch a lot of movies lol). Might’ve been Transformers ONE (Very good! Very true to the source material!).

If this is for the “last movie I saw in theaters”, it was Wicked (can’t wait to watch part 2 even if part 1 was a marathon)

—

Last Game: Still Tears of the Kingdom, though I’ve also been playing a special new save in Pokémon Sword, hehehe! ⚔️

Last Show: Bee & Puppycat 🎀

I prefer to watch the YouTube series (including the pilot!), then watch Lazy in Space from episode 5 - episodes 1-4 is a retelling of the YouTube series & I don’t like it as much lol.

Sweet, Spicy, or Savory: Sweet! 🧁 Though I have this thing where I eat a sweet & then want something savory, & vice versa lol XD

Here’s two of my favorite baking books - I’ve made many wonderful desserts from both, they’re very simple to follow, & just about every recipe has a suggested flavor variation!

Relationship: married to my favorite person in the whoooooooole multiverse…whose birthday is tomorrow today (oops, past midnight)! Send him some birthday wishes! 🎂

I’m gonna make him a spice cake from the Snacking Cakes book, & give him an updated matching phone wallpaper (since this current one I made is a couple years old lol) 🩵🩵🩵

Last Internet Search: apart from searching for images for this silly tag Deerling images for my Deerling’s birthday gift (might be kinda late - my schedule’s been thrown all the way off lately =7=)

—

Tags if You Wanna Play!

@nartothelar

@theoddbun

@choochooboss

@djfan-naftv

@askdepotagentjosh (as Josh lol)

@beewitched-monday

@grubbin22

@gaysealprobably

@leech-eyez

@waywardstation

[miss-tarja]

Soccer Family! Miguel Headcanons (Pt. 1)

When dating

He truly wasn't looking for anyone in that carneada at Peter's home, he didn't want to break his streak of years single, but against all odds that banter in the kitchen pulled his defenses to the ground.

The first thing he noticed, was definiely your lips. Especially how they pouted and gasped when he attempted to open the beer. Red looked gorgeous on you.

Gabriel teased him to no end afer he found out he never got your name.

He was definitely a nervous wreck when you two kissed in that movie night. He had practiced kissing with his palm, like the old days to make a good impression. (Glad to know he wasn't a disappointment.)

He's a black retriever. Meaning, he's wary of strangers and it's aloof towards them, but when it comes to his closed ones, there's nothing but untampered love and affection

He learned your haircare routine so he could tend your need of pampering after a stressful day. A practice he kept after marriage. And a simple excuse to touch you and be around you.

The necklace he gifted you as his official girlfriend has a "te amo" engraved in each leg. And of course, it's gold.

Although he hates the texture of the viscous facial masks you put him through in that makeover, he's forever grateful you didn't give up in him, and showed him that you loved him no matter what. That alone was the catalyst for him to be better for you. You were already giving him the best of you, why not doing so in return?

He never told Gabriel, or anyone that the night you two broke up, he cried. He stared a bit too long your space in his bed and it was enough to break down. The first week on his own wasn't easy.

It was also the first time he actually feared sleeping alone.

When you two had sex for the first time in months, after your make up, He was so focused in your pleasure than his. (Still is). He was so gentle, took his time in enjoying and revering you throughly.

You stared at a shop for too long? Not only did he take you inside, and let you sate your curiosity but that also meant something new for either your closet, makeup, shoes or jewelry.

He loves massaging your feet because the seize difference amuses him, but also likes tickling you when you're in a sour or blue mood.

He planned on asking you to move in with him when you hit the year and a half milestone, but the breakup happened.

He's not one for dancing, but for you, he tries.

The first nude you eveer sent him, nearly choked him cause Gabriel was around.

He's the little spoon when he's too overwhelmed or stressed. (Still is)

You want a snack? He makes it from scratch if he has the time, but always made sure to keep your stash replenished.

A silent jealous. He'd stare with a deadpan at the guy fool enough to approach you with second intentions, walk over you, grab your chin and give you a deep smooch before the idiot to give a message. Then grab your waist and tell you how much he missed you, even if minutes had passed by between you.

Loves giving you piojito while you're both in the livingrom, watching tv or enjoying your company. Even more when you fall asleep in his chest.

Adores picking you up in his arms and smack your ass as a greeting.

He suffered in your periods. Watching you crying, folding in pain, swollen, was hard to digest. So he made sure to cook nutritious foods to prevent anemia, always had bananas on hand as well raspberry tea and your own stash of chocolates. Pads or tampons weren't an issue. He had you covered.

NSFW in dating

He knows he's big, so he's careful. Especially when a blowob comes into play.

His nipples are sensitive, (both a curse and a blessing)

You're the only one he allows grabbing and touching his ass. Or spanking.

At first, condoms were a must. Until you stopped asking for them and he never looked back. (Gabi was conceived within your unsafest days.)

He loves to sandwich you between his body and the wall while plunging deep and slow.

He dirty talks you through a good fingering, when you're overwhelmed or too stressed.

You two have your own homemade porn videos. (The only material he actually gets off to)

If he's away because of work, he'd send you little reels of himself, stroking and talking about the ungodly things he'd do when he got home.

And Miguel is a man of words. He didn't allow you to leave the bedroom until you either squirted (something he started training you), bit the sheets or his neighbors complained about the noise.

He doesn't care if you just returned from the gym, your musk gets his gears going so bad he can't keep his hands to himself despite your protests and embarrassment. "We gotta finish the workout porperly, preciosa."

He's particularly rough and clingy when he's jealous. But makes sure the aftercare is good with praise, hydration and lots of pampering.

He loves watching himself disappearing between your juicy and trembling clunt, loves the feeling of your insides clamping and fluttering aroud him.

Says "I love you" with each mind shattering thrust.

He doesn't makes you beg for it, but if you've been teasing him too much, he doesn't fucks you until you're a begging and crying mess underneath him.

------

Missed to write for them hehe.

[cotc-terminal]

Clash of the Cubes: Challenge 6

The competitors walk into a large arena recently erected in the Black Room. A large crowd is watching and cheering on from the stands. In the middle, Pulstep stands to welcome them.

“Welcome everyone, to the Clash of the Cubes Finale!”

“I’m your host, Pulstep, and it’s now time for the finale! As you can see, a large crowd has gathered to see the show! Now without a-do, let’s get on to the challenge!”

“For your final challenge, I thought to keep things fairly simple, and to rehash an old idea.”

“This challenge, simply tell the viewers in the audience why you should win. See? It’s an easy thing to do, anyone can do it.”

“Here’s the catch though… You have to clash while doing it. And your enemies are…”

A spotlight opens to nothing. Pulstep’s hand slaps is face, contorted into a look of disappointment.

“oh my god… THING?????”

A person that looks like a mish-mash of all sorts of body parts struggles forward pulling along a colorful roulette alongside him.

“MISTER PULSTEP!!! IM SO TIRED SIR!!!”

“I don’t care. You embarrased me. Go to the spike pit.”

“BUT IT HURTS, I HATE THE love the spike pit! will do~~~”

The guy skips offstage.

“Sorry about that. My assistant Incodeadhirsecrynt has forgotten to get this beforehand. Anyways…”

“Behold, the Roulette… of… Randomness!”

“…This name sucks, but it’s the one I came up with, so who cares.”

“This roulette determines what you will be fighting! It can be literally anything, from your Boss Mans, your corrupted selves, a single rock, whatever exists can be your competitor!”

“…Although I assume the fight would be much less epic and grandiose when you’re just gonna fight a turtle, so you better hope luck is on your side.”

“And if you have any ideas of ‘getting your friends back to their senses’, or ‘fighting the narrative’, or whatever, good luck. I made sure that won’t happen this time.”

“You gotta clash until one side either dies or gives up, so you competitors should give it your all if you still want to be walking after this!”

“The deadline for this challenge will be February 28th.” A month and an extra few days for now!”

“Now, let’s stop dilly-dallying. I’ll be waiting for one of you to spin it. Happy clashing~~”

I

IMPORTANT!!! OOC NOTE FOR THE COMPETITORS:

Basically, the roulette is the same as BotB’s finale except this time instead of fighting your Cyans, you can make your cubes fight anyone and anything

The wheel is just an excuse for you guys to choose whoever!

Also the guys the cubes will fight will prob just be clones, but you can still pull a blixter if you wanna lmao

either that or have the original watch in horror in the sidelines

Anyways goodluck!!! Sorry for getting this out super late btw

@nacora-najita @acn97414 @blockheadblog @itzhosya

[darkangel11122]

Imagine once again that you are a well known expert swordsmen, and with two adopted children, a son and daughter. Your son, who is adopted later in his life you firmly believe that if you had him since he was a child he would be better manured or at least have better highine and Taste in alcohol. He will drink anything with alcohol content in a pinch, you watched him down two bottles of cooking sherry one night because he couldn’t find the wine celler, not that you were out of booze he just couldn’t find it. At least he has his looks, and can be rather caring in his own way proven by how he treats his crew and even his sister. You might as it shows in his relationship as well but the two bicker like an old married couple on a good day, and still dispite it all keeps you on edge with worry as you still very much don’t want to no longer be able to go to your preferred dive in the middle of now where. The owner and you are at lest getting along as your bother suffering with your children’s antics. Does little to calm your long since frade nerves though. 

Your title as the world best swordsman now gone, past to your adopted son. Not through an act of nepotism of course he beat you fair and square. Given your injured state, and refusal to succumb to unconsciousness you were privy to watch the frantic and desperate admittance of feeling. Rather sweet if you’re honest, glad the news got the picture and the story, two thumbs up. At least if you gave those kind of things, but you don’t. While you might no longer be the best you still have a reputation. 

After the fight you go home and lick your wounds over a bottle of champagne. You are happy for your adopted son and the dive owners son. This happiness is short lived as your celebration is interrupted by… you refuse to call him your partner as he doesn’t need the ego boost, so the man you let sleep In your bed. He’s babbling on about his own not actual child, suppose the kid is technically one he mentored, he’s the captain of you kids crew so he’s just telling you things you already now. It’s something about him being king now and yadda yadda, it take him a full 20 minutes to notice your currently wrapping your torso in bandages.  He then trys to cozy up to you much to your slight amusement, not that you let him or show it. Again reputation to keep up. The only new information you got for his babbling is that your son’s captain apparently said something about a wedding. 

Now while you don’t fully believe that you may have witnessed your son’s wedding while bleeding out, you honestly wouldn’t put it past all of them. All of them being the rang tag crew that’s a bit like a frat house if you really think about it. You half pray that the dive owners son is trying to be married off by his sperm donor again. As the dive owner would have a bit of a small fit to at least not be given a heads up about such a thing, you might too honestly but it’s mostly because we’ll a party be them. Which they would Have at Their captain loves to celebrate, most to eat him self silly, which is hard to do given his appetite. Anyway it promise good food and you love good food why you love the dive to begin with, refined taste and all that. 

Thankful you see nothing in the news about it so you relax a bit over the next months. It’s perhaps the most calm few months, you find the no longer needing to defined your title every time you leave the house nice. Means you can eat in peace when you dine anywhere now so that means you can enjoy your other passions in life, one being expensive wine’s. Life is peaceful, or at least as peaceful as it can be in this world. This peace of course is often interrupted by the person you let share your bed and personal space. Who is his own form of tabloid journalism at this point and keeps babbling about a straw hat wedding happening soon. He of course brings this up IN FRONT OF THE DIVE OWNER, who looks at you like how you assume people look when just watching someone sip form a glass of poisoned wine. The words ‘I have no idea what he’s taking about, I don’t even know who he is… go away insane man who much be suffering form a head injury.’ Though used to your antic at this point the person you let share your space isn’t deterred and just laughs and coos over you. While the dive owner leaves you be your now very worried your choice is company will get you actually killed and not just banned. 

It was a Week later that the news announced who it was that married at least in a sinse even, you know criminals. You thank you lucky stars and who ever is clearly watching over you that it isn’t your adopted son and/or the dive owners son. 

serval months later when your adopted son darkens your door step in the middle of the night when most rational people would be sleeping. Your roused form your sleep by the stomping sounds of his footsteps pacing in front of your door. Not letting him vex you as he seems to enjoy doing, rolling over as you try to get back to sleep. Eventually he just opens the door like he’s argon opening the doors of hornburg, holding the frame on either side of the frame.  The words that have been keeping your wake at night since you took him in then leaving his mouth. “He’s gonna leave me.” 

Okay for once in you life, fuck your reputation, shooting in your bed to be upright eyes wide in shock. Mouth hanging open the whole nine yards, Shouting like you were just told your car bet you were enjoying was actually just grape juice. “What?!?” Then you start babbling or perhaps ranting depending on who you ask. Calling him stupid, repeatedly asking what he did, why is he so sure of that? why is he here and not begging for the kid’s forgiveness? All things you don’t really hear the answer to, at least until his clear indignation that you assume it was something he did. Then you start to almost argue further insults building in your throat as you actually take in his appearance at the moment. Clearly upset, and not the angry upset but something else. 

“Why are you so sure of that?” 

Theirs a pause and what a normal person would call a shaky breath. “‘Cuase next thing I now he wants and that I want isn’t gonna happen cause no way is Zeff gonna say yes and that’s gonna be something he wants. So he’s gonna leave me because his dad hates me.” 

“He doesn’t hate you.” 

“Pretty sure he does, he threatens me all the time.” 

“…. Okay maybe he hates you a little bit, I’m sure he loves his son more than he hates you.” 

“Dought it.” 

This is of course when your bed partner wake up and sleepily chimes in about how could offer a dowry to sweeten the deal of the dive owner. Unfortunately this is something your adopted son latches on to, returning to his pacing outside your bedroom for the rest of the night as it seems he thinks about what to offer. Thankfully your daughter yells at him to go to bed as she’s sick of hearing his stomping around.  It starts an argument but that’s easier to sleep to then his stomping. 

Which leads to how you are now being dragged allong in a sense by your adopted son to see the dive owner in person, with a large amount of exsotic spices to give to the dive owner. You had sugest the spirm donor’s head but apparently that’s not something the son want at least for now. They have a thing about it and you leave it be and just offer to come along as it’s how it’s traditionally done that way. 

You just sit at the table rather bored as your son offers the large crate to the dive owner, who just looks puzzled and not at all amused by this. Likly expecting the worst, as your son ever do vary tactfull, you mean this sarcasticly, just out right says it. Blunt at ever as he sits relaxed as can be with his arms crossed. 

The exact words that leave the dive owners mouth aren’t what you expect exactly but it is some variation of it so you’re not that surprised. “Bout time you asked, you could have just called to ask.” Neither you or your adopted son let on your slight surprise, both stone faced. The words of ‘I told you so’ being past worn a side eyed glance to your adopted son. Now feeling much more secure you leave with tour adopted son who now looks both more relaxed and more anxious. Though any words of comfort you try to offer him are brushed off, then agian you two aren’t the warm fuzzy type anyway so it’s to be expected. 

You hear no word after leaving the dive with your son, no word on if he asked or if he get rejected. The only reason you know he’s not dead is that those isn’t a scramble for a new greatest swordsman or a new one declared. You do decided to avoid the dive for a while as you’d hate for your luck to turn while you’re there and end up kicked out before you can finish your Cabernet. There’s of course a lull in the news at this time, no big happenings from the crew your sons on which can only mean their firmly at sea or up to something probably both in all honesty. 

Unfortunately the day it seem finally came the next month, you were bearly able to sat down when the dive owner comes charging out of the kitchen with a large meat cleaver on his hand. The word outside being shouted at you is something you comply with as you’d hate to leave the place wracked as it would be a lose to cuisine across the globe. Standing on the deck neutral faced as ever as you face down what you have been dreading for years at this point. Only it’s not that apperntly, he just wanted to talk wedding details outside of the public eye. You don’t let on how relived you actually are by this news or excited. Again reputation to up keep. 

[amoristt]

trust i seek, and i find in you | pt3

part 1 (x) . part 2 (x)

「 ✦ seong gi-hun / reader ✦ 」

tags: sfw // lots of death ment, angstttt bro, like so much, sad gi-hun </3, a/n: sorry for the super shorter chapter next one is the finale <3 ik im changing the events of the actual show but let me live i needed a bridge to the finale!!!!!!!!! ugh i so sad its almost done already

All the mattresses had disappeared. 

All but two. 

The dormitory feels impossibly large, now. The piggy bank dangles from the ceiling with banded paper threatening to spill over the edges, mounting at the brims, hanging fat and heavy. You refuse to look at it, so it laughs at you instead. Taunts you. There may as well have been blood, bone, and souls stirring about in that tank, the money tainted with the lives of your friends, the lives of the struggling. 

There was no prize. Not anymore. 

You’d almost paired with Gi-hun for the marbles game. His hands had found you, wrapped around your arm the moment that voice overhead announced that the game would be played in pairs. His hands on you were like fish to water- knowing, promising. Housing. But then in the distance as the timer closed in you saw Il-nam crouched on his own, watching blurry bodies skate him by, seeking stronger, seeking better. You saw the former version of yourself in all of them. 

If there was a moment you’d be acutely aware of how much Gi-hun had changed you, this would be it. 

You'd spent your entire life waiting for something, someone, worth changing for.

So when Gi-hun turned towards you, those eyes full of empathetic guilt, you already knew what coming. Beat him to it, infact. 

“It’s okay. I’ll see you after, yeah?” You’d murmured despite the way this heavy weight had settled in your chest. Worry, anxiety, all because you would have to be without. 

He kissed your forehead in thanks. You lingered on it for much too long.

“You will.”

And then he was gone, reaching a hand out to to the old man and bringing him to his wobbly feet. Gi-hun was special like that. Always giving and never taking. Not even when he deserved it. You like to think he'd learned from his previous lifestyle, to be the hand that provided, and not the hand that stole.

There was a quick grasp to your hand and low and behold, 212 filled your vision. A much less pleasant view. Her shrill voice brought an ache to your temples, a burn to your skin where she grasped you tight. Sure, you needed a partner, and she knew that. Must have watched your interaction with Gi-hun like a damn vulture and swooped in the second there was room. 

There was a moment when she'd looked at you like you were her saving grace, and for just a second, you'd wondered if maybe all this exterior roughness was just a front. But then, she had to go and ruin it with her words once again.

“Who needs men anyways,” She’d harped. “If he wants to die with that old guy, so be it, huh?”

You ripped yourself away from her like you’d been scalded. She didn’t know the first thing about either of them, and you’d be damned if you would ever put your lives in the hands of hers. Even if you saw yourself in her. Even if she was just trying to survive.

But it was so hard to pity her when those comments seemed to always fill your mouth with bitter. You sought elsewhere.

And you found it- in player 068. He seemed normal enough, albeit noticeably standoffish, moving through the motions with a blank stare, enough determination on those features to bring you comfort- to fail you would be to fail himself. You remembered this sense of unease going into a new challenge blind and relying on a total stranger. 

You remembered how you nearly lost what little breakfast you were provided on the dirt floor when the game was announced. This wasn’t teams- it was rivalry. A versus match. 

Images of your friends flashed through your racing mind. You swore you would have a heart attack.

Ali and Sang-woo. Sae-Byeok and Yi-Jeong. 

Gi-hun and Il-nam.

You were crying before your own game even started. 068 didn’t question it, but you could see the way he studied you, unsure of you. Wondering just what you were doing crying in front of a fellow competitor playing games for your lives. Grief struck you before you even knew who to cry over. 

The initial impression you’d had of him was almost dead on- he was determined. But he wasn’t so closed off as you had thought him to be, that stoic face and even tone masking a much warmer person underneath. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to ask him his name. He didn’t ask you yours, either. 

It was hard to focus on the game. Every turn a step closer to death. Every gunshot the reminder that you may never see your friends again. But, round by round, you managed. When he was on his last marble, you cried even harder. If you from just a week ago, leery eyed, shifty handed and as selfish as the dark over light, you wouldn’t understand the depth of your own sorrow. You’d won, after all. Wiped a player off the board to propel yourself, your life, your wants over his. You’d surely have been proud of yourself.

But now, you just feel like a fucking monster.

To be loved, is to be changed.

To be changed, is to suffer.

You were always good at these types of games. You thought, maybe, by letting him choose the game, it would make the pill easier to gag down. You found, however, it really didn't. From the very second the games started, when he’d made his choice and it was one you were highly familiar with, guilt had already begun to stockpile up in the warehouses of your heart. Box after box. Taking up space, filling you to the brim. 

“I used to play this with my mom,” He’d said, mind escaping to a better time even if just a moment when he’d picked. “I got pretty good at it.”

You wished he hadn’t said that. It was all you could think about when he, with shaking hands and a pale to his face, handed over his last marble. Crestfallen, hopeless. The image of him as a spirited child and soft hands playing marbles with a faceless mother made you sick to your stomach.

You said something you didn’t think would ever see the daylight of your lips. 

“I’m sorry.”

And he, with slumped shoulders and his head hung low. “I know.”

You were escorted away, and you knew deep in the bowels of your heart that you were going to hear that gunshot in your dreams. Following you, watching you. Haunting you for the rest of your life. 

However long that was, anyways. 

The room you were led to was large and bathed in pure white, absent of anything particularly eye catching. There were already people standing about, some with their heads held high, others struggling with the weight of guilt so heavy it threatened to crush you all under its umbrella. Sang-woo’s eyes found you before anyone else's, his expression strained, his red-lined eyes betraying his all-business exterior. It made it hard to breathe. 

Sae-Byeok shared the sentiment. Distant, far away. Trying to figure out how to cope now bearing the hands of cruelty towards someone worth caring about. 

Then, you saw him. Gi-hun. And his angular cheeks are soaked with tears. When his eyes meet yours, a lance of relief has you letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, but there’s no room for much else. Grief burrowed and dug it’s way in, seized the joy and ate it whole. Il-nam’s passing wasn’t an easy loss to digest. Partly because the old man had meant something to you. Mostly because Gi-hun would never forgive himself. He’d left a piece of himself lying on that dirt, counting marbles and talking with his gganbu. 

You crept to his side and took his hand in your own. All he could offer was a squeeze in return.

You could still see 068 behind your eyes. How he hadn’t been angry with you, how he watched you walk away before dropping to the ground. Never to return home, never to be found. The walls felt like they were both growing larger and also closing in. You were struggling to grapple with it all. 

Gi-hun was still back there with the old man as you were all escorted back to the dormitories where they passed out measly potatoes and water. Still back there when you’d all sat among the beds now found far and few between, picking at your meals with your bellies full on remorse. 

Gi-hun couldn’t bring himself to eat. Sae-Byeok struggled to get past the second bite. You yourself just found it easier to roll the potato around in your hands, balancing the weight of it, wondering if you could ever be forgiven. Gi-hun’s knee bumped against yours, a reminder that he was still there, even if his expression was as blank as a canvas. You needn’t ask to understand what he was thinking about, lost in it. 

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, they were just people you’d met here.” Sand-woo had said, almost finished with his meager meal. Talking to himself, justifying himself, but everyone could feel it- Ali’s absence was like a solar eclipse. You followed his line of sight to 069, sitting in a heap of desolation on one of the only mattresses left. Sang-woo swallowed hard. “That man’s partner was his wife.”

You breath left you like a ghost as you took in the sight of the poor man, struck and swimming with grief. 

Gi-hun cried that night. Though it was silent, muted tears gathering at the point of his jaw before soaking into his tracksuit, you could feel his shoulder trembling with each inaudible sob. He trembled apart in your hold and you tucked him into yourself, cradled his body and kissed his forehead just as he'd taught you as if it would heal him. His fingers found you in the darkness and held tight, just as needing as how you clutched him. Your heart ached, seismic pains ringing from every nerve in your body, drawing you in despair. 

Every time you dozed off, you swore you could hear a gunshot cutting through the humidity of turmoil. You swore you’d see 068’d face. 

Maybe if you hadn’t met Gi-hun, you’d have taken all of this mess in stride like 101. You hated him- despised his cruelty and his jeers, but ultimately he went to sleep that night with a full stomach and dreaming of fat stacks of bloodied cash. Meanwhile, you stared at the ceiling and barely registered the way your stomach growled at you. It felt just. Perhaps if you’d sought help elsewhere that first day, you could sleep. 

But, you didn’t. So now, you endured. 

069’s cries did not go unnoticed, either, from his bed now entirely too cold to withstand.

It was tough to imagine the suffering, the pure guilt so true and down to it’s very root that it grew it’s sprawling limbs of misery and woe into every crevice. Under every stone, over the sky, from the tip of his nose to the soles of his heavy feet. The human body was not designed to bear such suffering. It curled in itself, emptied itself of all things good. Hollowed from the inside out. 

So much so, that when you’d found out the next morning that the man had taken his own life, you weren’t sure how there was anything left of himself to hang. 

How you take anymore of this? When there was already so little left. 

That day, you discovered that the pits of rock bottom were merely roadblocks. 

The glass bridge took everything. Taught you that even when you believed your cup had run dry of tears, there would never be an end to the bottomless waterfalls in your eyes. There would never be a suffering so consuming and total that it would simply stop there. 

Everyone had died except you and Gi-hun. 

The finalists. 

The piggy bank grinned with teeth and malice. Reminded you of what you had done. What you had witnessed, and how you had survived off the backs of your former competitors. 

You were fed and suited. Given a real meal, something you'd have fought tooth and nail for nail for back home. It tasted like despair. 

All you could see were the fleeting images of Sang-woo crashing through the glass in his desperate attempt to cross the bridge and leap to the platform as the timer ticked away the seconds of his lifespan. He’d tried to grab the bars as he went, fingers slipping off the metal and sending him plummeting to the ground. You, Sae-Byeok, and Gi-hun barely managed to jump to safety as the bridge combusted into fireworks of glass and shards, showering your fallen friend meters down below. 

You think a piece of Gi-hun fell with him. You think Gi-huns left pieces of himself everywhere, now. Back with Il-nam lying sprawled in the dirt, down in the bellows of the pit with Sang-woo mangled and broken. You’re not entirely sure how whole you are anymore, either. 

When the guards lead the way out, you had to take Gi-hun’s hand in your own just to get him moving. 

Sae-Byeok didn’t survive the walk back to the dorms after your pointless meals. One moment, she was there. Quiet as always, somber. Maybe if you’d have known she was bleeding out, you could have done something. The next moment, she was dropping like a stone, and she bled, and bled, and bled. 

There wasn’t much to remember after that. Just a blur of outcries and the desperate, pleading demands that they save her. You’d both pounded on the doors, wrenching at the knobs, begging for them to do something until you were both blue in the face and sliding down the door in exhaustion. 

No one answered, and the lights flickered out down to the same minute second as they always had. 

With no one other than Gi-hun at your side, there wasn’t reason to concern yourself with watching each other's backs. You don’t think either of you had the energy for it even if you had, running empty tanks and affliction. All you found yourself able to do was lay beside him and beg God for a different way. A different path. Anything other than the way you were headed. You’d be different, this time, you promised. You’d do right. No more stealing, or cheating, or fighting for just the scraps at the end of the table. You wouldn’t take this life for granted any longer if he just please saved you both. Pull your sorry souls from the fire and let you start anew.

His arms are wrapped around you and his face inches away. Now, truer than ever, there was nothing but him. 

Gi-hun's voice is soft. “We will both leave here. I promise you."

The red lights of the surveillance cameras blink from every corner in the darkness. 

You tried to believe him over all else.

“I’m scared.” You whispered. He kisses the top of your head. An all healing ailment. Your lower lip quivers. 

So, he kisses your nose. And then your cheek. The corner of your mouth. You found the sides of his face in the darkness like you’d done it your entire life, and you press your lips against his. His hands splay over your back, and he drags you in.

[itscloudsocks]

Time and Time again - chapter 2

cw: drugs, violence, character death

He now spends most of his time near the Last Drop, in case Jayce shows up again. In the beginning, it´s quite boring but then Benzo - a friend of Vander´s, apparently - lets him build stuff in his store from scrap and Viktor can still see the large square in front of the Last Drop, so he won´t be missing Jayce coming. The first week or so, nothing happens. Viktor has just started being angry with himself for being so stupid as to believe a Topsider, when a familiar mop of brown hair catches his attention. Jayce. 

He´s much better dressed this time, with wornout pants, dirty, old shoes and a large, patchy shirt. Viktor leaves the little desk Benzo has pushed closer to the window for him, leaves the shop door open after himself when he bursts out of the store and yell across the place, as loud as he can. It´s barely audible over the rumble of mumble of the Lane, but Jayce´s head still whips around. His eyes, large and bright, go searching for a moment but then he smiles in blinding excitement and makes his way over.

“Viktor!”

“You came,” Viktor notices, a bit too excited for his own liking.

“I did! And I wore my working clothes this time! Ma was a little mad last time that I got the other ones all dirty. Look, it´s nothing more than a scratch now!” He strokes some strands of hair from his forehead and shows Viktor a scabbed-over, long scratch on his forehead. “Ma said it´s probably gonna scar!”

He looks way too excited to have a scar from his own stupidity, but Viktor doesn´t say that. Instead, he drags Jayce after him, back into Benzo´s shop and to his own little work station. They tinker away together. Jayce is surprisingly talented - and strong. He follows Viktor´s orders with no trouble, forces pieces of metal apart, screws bolts into holes and laughs when Viktor, frowning, struggles to open them back up. They don´t get very far but they get somewhere and Viktor notices Benzo stopping in his tracks now and again, watching them tinkering and building and creating while Jayce excitedly chatters along and Viktor hums every now and again. After a couple of hours have passed, Benzo has to remind them of the time. Jayce jumps up, kicking over his chair on his way out the door, but he waves and smiles and promises to be back soon.

“He´s a nice kid,” Benzo notices after the door to the shop falls closed again. “I´m glad you´re making friends. ´s that the boy Vander brought back up?”

“Yeah, I found him,” Viktor nods, frowning when the light gets too bad for him to really see what he´s doing. 

“Just be careful, you two, yeah? Some people don´t like the thought of Pilties and Zaunites getting along.”

“I know,” nods Viktor seriously. Not long after, he packs his little bag and makes his way back home. Much to his surprise, his mother is there, sitting at their small, wonky wooden table.

“Viktor, where were you? I was worried!”

Her eyes are cloudy and far away and Viktor leaves his bag near the door to come closer.

“I was at Benzo´s, Mama. You know him, you showed me where his shop is, remember?

Cold hands cup his cheeks and pull him closer into an embrace that, this time, smells of smog and drugs. 

“Nothing can happen to you, you hear me? You can´t ever leave me, Viktor, okay? Promise me, that you´ll always stay right here where I can see you.”

“I know, mama, I promise,” nods Viktor softly, placing his hands over hers. He doesn´t like when she gets like this; shaky and paranoid and jumpy. When she talks to nobody in the room in her - his - mother tongue, too quick for him to understand. When she sits at the table, staring into the darkness, staring at him curled up in bed until she thinks he´s fallen asleep to sneak outside again. When she scratches at her arms, when the wrong words make her angry, furious, violent. Viktor just smiles when she presses a kiss to his forehead before sending him off to bed. She doesn´t help when he struggles to take off his leg brace or when he wraps a stiff cloth around his leg to keep it from bending at night, to keep the pain from becoming worse. She just sits at their small wonky table, softly swaying back and forth, mumbling to herself. 

Curled up under the covers, Viktor stares at the wall just inches from his nose until he hears the scratch of wood on stone and his mothers light, dragging footsteps leading to the door. She leaves and stays away for hours. Hours where Viktor wonders if she´s ever coming back to him. She does. And when she does, she smells like alcohol and sewage water and tears. He finally falls asleep with her softly rubbing his back.

He and Jayce meet a few more times. When Jayce gets better and quicker, Viktor stops teaching him in favour of working on his own things. This time, it´s a little mechanical plane that´s too heavy to fly. Still, he builds it. Jayce almost cries when Viktor hands it to him one day, after it´s done.

“For me?”, he asks, a smile so bright it could light up the room on his face.

“Yeah. It doesn´t fly, but-”

“Thank you!”

Jayce hugs him and Viktor, too startled, just stands there. The hug is warm and soft and not at all boney. It doesn´t smell like pink smoke or drugs, instead Jayce´s hair smells faintly of something sweet and light and his shirt smells like fire and metal.

“I love it,” he squeals, once he pulls away. “I can´t wait to show Ma, she´ll love it too!”

When Jayce runs back to wherever he´s come from, Viktor is already excited to see him again. 

Rio is dead. Alive, but dead, and it frightens Viktor too much to stay. He had come back to Singed after almost two weeks of not showing his face, just to feed and play with Rio. Singed said he could, he´s done it before and it´s never been a problem. But that day, when he had entered the cave, something had felt wrong. And then he´d seen Rio, attached to machines and his normal, soft pink colour deathly grey. He´d only blinked at Viktor, chirped softly, but didn´t move to come closer. He´d looked like he was in pain, in lots and lots of pain. When Viktor had stumbled back, he´d collided with Singed. Singed who didn´t look sad that his friend was in pain. There had been a crazy, excited look in his eyes, he had smiled and placed a hand on Viktor´s shoulder.

“Isn´t it just beautiful?”, he had asked and Viktor had ran as fast as his stupid useless leg would carry him, right hand cramping around the handle of his cane. He had ran and he had cried until he burst through the door of Vander´s bar, not really sure how he´d gotten there but glad he did nonetheless. And that´s where he is now, sitting on a bar stool that makes his legs dangle over the edge, a warm cup of sweet milk in front of him and Vander leaning over the counter, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“So, tell me again, who is Rio?”

“He´s Singed´s pet…and he…he was plugged into all of those machines and…he didn´t look okay…”

“Viktor,” Vander sighs. “How often have you seen Singed so far?”

“Not that often…just a couple of times…he said I could come by any time to play with Rio and help feed him…”

“He´s a dangerous man, kid, you hear me? I know it´s tempting and I know playing with Rio must be a lot of fun, but you can´t go back to Singed, ever. Alright?”

Frowning, Viktor tilts his head.

“But…he doesn´t seem dangerous…”

“Not yet. Just trust me on this one, kid. You´re too brilliant of a mind to be poisoned by a person like Singed.”

Wiping the sleeve of his sweater over his runny nose, Viktor nods slowly.

“But…Rio…”

“I´m sorry, son, but it´s for the best. You can only hope that he dies, quickly and without any pain.”

Rio dying doesn´t sound right to Viktor´s ears. He´s his friend, he´s not supposed to die. But seeing him in that much pain, not even strong enough to get up and greet him…

Viktor stays with Vander for a long time and once it´s time to go home, Vander walks him. He´s not sure why, Vander has never done that before and it´s not like Viktor has never walked home in the dark, but he does, and Viktor is secretly grateful for it. His mother isn´t home when he falls asleep and she hasn´t returned when he wakes. It´s a new day where Viktor, feeling a bit less cheery with Rio´s sad, tired eyes burnt into the hills and valleys of his brain, makes his way over to Benzo´s. It´s raining, so Viktor stays away from the open sky. While he´s gotten out of the worst parts of Zaun before it started, the rain still isn´t healthy up in the Lanes. His leg is aching, a deep, old pain he can do nothing against. When he pushes the door to Benzo´s shop open, the older, round man is already waiting for him with a blanket in his arms.

“There you are, kid,” he grins, throwing the blanket over Viktor´s head. “No weather´s too bad for you, hm? Little rat.”

Ignoring the teasing insult, Viktor wraps himself in the blanket and takes a moment to just sit and massage the tension from his leg. It barely works. 

“Benzo?”

“Hm? What´s up, boy?”

“Why does Vander hate Singed so much?”

Viktor sometimes forgets how uncomfortable other people get with his bluntness. Benzo scratches the back of his head, laughs awkwardly and looks over to the side.

“I don´t think there´s a specific reason. He mainly just disagrees with Singe´s…ethics.”

“His ethics?”

“He likes to experiment,” Benzo explains.

“But I do that too…”

“No, not the way you do. He experiments on…living things. It started with plants but he´s long gone over to animals and…himself.”

That´s why Viktor enjoys spending time with Benzo and Vander. They don´t treat him like a little child who can´t handle the truth.

“That sounds dangerous,” frowns Viktor. And painful. He wonders if Singed is in pain just like Viktor always is.

“It is. He´s no good company, best stay away from him, you hear me?”

Nodding, Viktor shuffles towards his workbench. He knows that Jayce isn´t going to show up today, with the weather and everything, but lately it´s been unbearable to be home. So he helps Benzo with some repairs, organizes the old mans shelves and works on sketching a new figurine for his mother. When he walks back, it´s still raining, his leg is still aching, but he feels less heavy than he did when he woke up.

Jayce comes back a week later, tan cheeks blushing and eyes sparkling. He´s excited about something, giddy, almost, when he pushes the door to Benzo´s shop open and joins Viktor at the table.

“I…made something for you,” he admits softly. He reaches deep into the pockets of his pants and pulls out a…chunk of metal? Viktor is not quite sure what he´s looking at, here.

“It´s a spinning top! And, and look! My dad helped me but look!” 

Jayce places the spinning top - now that he´s said it, Viktor can recognize it - on the table, in the small patch of light the lamp next to the table sheds, and spins. Viktors eyes grow large large large when he watches colours he´s never seen before dance across the table and the walls, over his pale fingers and Jayce´s excited face.

“It makes lights! Dad put something in the middle to make it do that but I had the idea! Do you like it?”

Viktor tentatively reaches out and takes the spinning top from where Jayce has picked it up again. Carefully, he picks it up, notices with half a mind how warm Jayce´s hands are, and looks at it closely. It´s clumsy work, the metal welded together by the hand of an impatient eight year old. But it´s made with care, made with a large, sharp-edged ball of glass in the middle, made with different colours and materials. Made with Viktor in mind.

“I do,” he admits softly, still staring down at the ugly yet beautiful creation. “I do. Thank you.”

Holding it close to his chest, he gives Jayce a small smile while his heart flutters in joy. They play and build and talk until it´s almost too late and Jayce is in such a hurry that he almost forgets to say goodbye. He still does, though. And when Viktor shows his spinning top to Benzo, he laughs in delight. And when Viktor walks home, he holds it close to his chest like a treasure. And when he comes home, his mother is sitting at the table and Viktor usually knows what that means but right now he´s too, too happy, so he comes up to her and shows her his new toy. Tells her a friend made it for him. His mother just stares with her deep, empty eyes. She stares until she blinks and she blinks until she moves her hand and slaps the spinning top from the table. It clatters to the ground and Viktor stumbles back, startled, and afraid that it´s broken. It´s not. But his mother is towering over him, her voice high and paranoid and Viktor has no time to be excited because she starts screaming and clawing at his hair and his hands and his clothes. 

It is that night where she finds out that Viktor is friends with a Topsider. That he´s been meeting with said Topsider for multiple multiple weeks now. It´s that night that she has an episode like no other. She screams and shouts in the language Viktor has grown up with but still can´t quite understand and she hits him and takes his cane and throws it across the room. And Viktor is so so scared that he takes his spinning top - not broken not broken not broken - and hides away in the darkest corner of their small little one-room home, waiting for his mother to forget he´s here, for her to calm down.

When she does, she starts crying. She pulls Viktor out of his corner even though he flinches away and she wraps him in her arms and cries into his hair and says how sorry she is, how sorry she is for scaring her little star, for hurting him, and that she´s a horrible, horrible mother and Viktor can only sit in her lap and let her hug him, let her calm herself down. At some point, she falls asleep from exhaustion so Viktor tucks her into bed, shuffles over to his cane, takes his pillow and makes himself a nest beneath their table. He knows that he´ll regret it in the morning, that his back and leg with hurt like hell, but he can´t stand to be close to his mother right now. Even halfway across the room, he can smell the sweet, pink smoke and the drugs and the tears clinging to her hair and clothes like a second skin. He falls asleep with the spinning top pressed to his chest.

Three days later, his mother dies. It´s both so so sudden and very much expected. Viktor doesn´t know what it means at first, when a young man stands in front of the door, swaying a bit, eyes cloudy and forehead sweaty. He´s high, Viktor notices. In his arms, he´s holding his barely conscious mother. He unceremoniously dumps her on the bed, excuses himself and wobbles outside, throwing up in the alley in front of their door. Viktor turns towards his mother, towards her pale face and barely-open eyes. She smiles ever so slightly, brushes a hand over his bruised cheek, opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. She passes away, riding the high of whatever she took. Viktor stands by her bed, holds her hand, holds the spinning top in the other. He´s not sure what to do; he has a home he can´t pay for and his mother is dead. The grief doesn´t kick in right away. He tucks his mother in like he always does, takes his cane and leaves. His feet carry him to the Last Drop. Pushing the door open, he stands there for a moment. There are eyes on him, some customers used to his skinny, pale face, others weirded out by the strange limping boy. Vander´s voice is there, somewhere, but Viktor can´t understand what he´s saying. His legs give in.

He´s sitting on the floor until he´s not. Until someone - Vander - carefully scoops him up and sits him down on a chair, wraps him up in a blanket, hands him a cup of sweet milk and leaves to get Benzo. Felicia stays with Viktor while Vander and Benzo take care of his mother, take care of the handful of things they have owned. Viktor doesn´t see his mother again, doesn´t know where they take her or what they do with her body but when Vander comes back, he places a heavy hand on Viktor´s shoulder and says, voice rough and tired,” I´ve prepared your bed in the back. It´s not perfect but we´ll find a better solution tomorrow.”

It is then, that Viktor starts crying. Once it settles in that he´ll never return home, that his mother will never rub his back again, that he´ll never hear her call him little star, that he´ll never smell her million scents or hear her laughing ever again. Felicia holds him through it, softly strokes his bruised arms, holds his bruised face. He claws at her back, presses his face against her shoulder. Crying is a weakness and weakness means death down in Zaun but Viktor can´t stop the tears, can´t stop the gasps from wrecking his body, can´t stop his teeth from clattering. When he´s all cried out and exhausted, Felicia somehow carries him to the back where the couch is covered in his pillow and blanket. There´s a small bookshelf next to the couch where boxes of vegetables used to be stored. Now, it´s filled with Viktors figurines. He cries again, cries into his pillow, presses the spinning top close close close until he´s sure - hopes - it´s left indents in his skin. Felicia is rubbing his back, is humming a soft, unfamiliar tune that somehow lulls Viktor to sleep.

Jayce doesn´t come that week. Or the next. Or the one after that. He never comes so at some point, Viktor stops waiting. He moves on with life, picks up a job at Benzo´s, cleans out a small space in the attic of the Last Drop and lives there. It´s not idea, he still sometimes sleeps in the back when his leg hurts too bad for him to move up the stairs. Vander starts growing a beard. He turns ten; Benzo starts teaching him how to read, shows him his small collection of books he´s been finding and buying from everywhere in Zaun. Felicia´s belly starts to grow. It´s a girl, her name is Violet. She has pink hair and light blue eyes and Viktor doesn´t usually like kids, but she´s cute. He grows out of his leg brace and his cane, spends month building new ones, etches a small V into it. The spinning top starts collecting dust, most of Viktor´s figurines have been recycled for scraps. 

Jayce doesn´t show.

Tag list (leave a comment if you´d like to be added <3) @frog-fans-unite

[bitching-and-witching]

Thank you @perpetualsarcasmmachine,I can’t believe someone wants to know more about me!

🎧Last song🎧: Work Song by Hozier, it’s the song I walked down the aisle to at my wedding and I play it whenever I’m having a bad day

🎨Favorite color🎨: ooh this rotates, but right now I’d say a nice moody emerald green

📚last book📚: The Burning God by RF Kuang, I’m super behind on reading this but people kept saying it was super emotionally devastating so I kept putting it off (they were right), but it was great. It really talked about war and the devastation that brings in a much more nuanced way that a lot of popular fantasy misses, it was refreshing to read something that wasn’t just a simple good vs bad. It makes you really think about your own morals. Again, I know I’m super late on this but I stopped reading for a few years due to being chronically ill and depressed and I’m picking up old hobbies that brought me joy again.

🍿Last movie🍿: The Wild Robot, it was a masterpiece. It was beautiful, and the score was perfect. I was surprised at how many references to death in a children’s movie but it was all done really well. Definitely cried at least once

📺 Last tv show 📺: Taskmaster UK, I have watched like 8 seasons of Taskmaster in the last like 2 weeks. I need comedy to keep me sane rn

🍔 sweet/spicy/savory 🍔: oof probably sweet if I had to choose just one, I love baking and I’m known for my chocolate chip cookies. I do love savory stuff as well obviously, but it’s a no on spicy stuff since I have some stomach issues.

🌀Current obsession🌀: researching Slovakian dual citizenship, I found out recently that I’m eligible for dual citizenship through my ancestry. So Ive been obsessed with finding out all the details on what I’d need to prove my ancestry and the whole process.

🔍 Last thing searched 🔍: orange chocolate chip muffin recipe, I was going to make some this afternoon but I’ve ended up in a flare up and I’m likely going to be in bed the rest of the day

👀looking forward to👀: starting The Will of the Many by James Islington, I bought it recently but I haven’t started it yet and it’s sitting on my shelf tempting me

People I'd like to know better:

@imjustanotherbozoonthebus, @aliyamustafeena, @technicallybeautifulfest, @shieldsbucky, @joemophobic, @king-spite, @hollywood-is-plastic, @dreamer-in-time-26, @my-dark-happy-place, @djmixedtape, @evianyx

(If you don’t want to do it, I totally get it) and im sorry if I missed any mutuals, but please feel free to join in (and kill me if for wronging you)

// 10 People I'd like to know better //

I got tagged by @kbthebearcat and @captain-clandestiny THANK YOU GUYS

🎧Last song🎧: I am not sure to be honest 😭 i was listening a mixed playlist on shuffle but i last remember listening to return to forever and when i fall in love

🎨Favorite color🎨: THE ONE AS MY BLOG BACKGROUND i am obsessed 💔 AND A WARMER TONE OF MUSTARD YELLOW tbh all the natural colors really 🤭

📚last book📚: I am not much of a reader, but i read "Ağrı Dağı Efsanesi" as homework. (Browsed the recap but sshhh)

🍿Last movie🍿: Ugh i am so embarrassed but Sonic 3. MY FRIENDS FORCED ME OKAY?!. Like you can't expect someone who likes "The Game", "Silence of the lambs", "there will be blood", "Jane Eyre" etc to like such a movie- i am REALLY picky about what i watch. But yeah it was Sonic 3 I'm sorry 💀

📺 Last tv show 📺: It was "Baby Raindeer" i guess... It was alright.

🍔 sweet/spicy/savory 🍔: Savory 😌

🌀Current obsession🌀: ASSASSIN'S CREED ASSASSIN'S CREED ASSASSIN'S CREED ASSASSIN'S CREED ASSASSIN'S CREED

Finished the ezio trilogy and now playing unity and black flag. Torturing myself by replaying missions (in unity) over and over until i perfectly ghost them. People hate that game for some reason but i like it a lot tbh

🔍 Last thing searched 🔍:

I was answering the ask then i called Hargrove "passed away recently". i was sure it was not as "recently" so i searched to find out. 2018 was the date. He was such a nice trumpeter. I found about him after coming up with Roy and now one of his songs i think is roy if he was a song. Here's the song for those wondering !

👀looking forward to👀: nothing specific. But i am curious about the gt of that upcoming fable game. Probably can't afford it and don't have the hardware to run it so I'll watch the gameplays 💀

People I'd like to know better:

@justagiantpotato @pipinpali @pacthesis @ohnobrooo @paxmorgana @guaxinimraccoon @olivexing @territorialrain

[moonlight-tmd]

Let Bulkhead join in! I mean, it would be even more angsty if Bulkhead, Bumblebee, and Longarm were best friends.

I live for anguish with a happy ending :)

Oh, obviously!

Longarm, Bee and Bulkhead were the bestie trio back in boot camp. They spend their breaks together chatting and sometimes helped one another with a project or two.

Bulkhead was the only one who knew what really was happening between his friends. Even though both Bee and Longarm acted as normal friends he knew the little things they did that gave away their real feelings for one another.

When they were stuck on Earth Bee sometimes told stories from boot camp, he often mentioned Longarm in them and how good of a friend he was and that he missed him. When Elite Guard showed up Bulkhead did not suspect a thing and only greeted Longarm like an old friend. He did notice Bee behaving off though, it took a while to get Bee to confess what was bothering him cuz he kept insisting it's nothing and probably stupid. When Bulkhead heard what Bee thought he brushed it off as Longarm being mature and living up to his new role as a Prime. Bee seemed to believe that.

But then Bee went missing during the investigation mission, they were worried something must've happened. Prowl has been sent to investigate Bee's disappearance and found the ships missing from the location. The team considered two options; Bee was forced to board the ship for some reason or he was found and killed. They really hoped it wasn't the latter. They had no contact with him for over a week and the 'cons have been growing restless, seemingly arming up and ready to attack. It was only then that their min computer picked up an emergency call and they've heard Bee's distressed voice. He was babbling about a discovering something and help, they could hear Jazz's voice in the background seemingly trying to fix something quickly. Bee calmed down enough to tell them he found Longarm- the real Longarm. And that the one with them was the impostor.

Bulkhead couldn't believe what he was hearing... Bee was right all this time? His spark ached as he listened to his buddy crying over the call, he knew how much it must've hurt him to see Longarm like this, let alone acknowledge what happened. Bee and Jazz were halfway to rescue the real Longarm from wherever he was while Team Prime was left to deal with the impostor.

Optimus called on Sentinel and few that he knew he could trust and told them what Bee found out. Sentinel realized where the info leaks have been happening and they devised a plan to capture the spy. But they needed to find him first, Longarm has disappeared a while back with agent Blurr and there was no contact with either. Luckily Prowl managed to track down their spark signature traces and saved Blurr from being cubed. Soon Decepticons have struck and the Autobots were left to defend Detroit from being destroyed.

Shortly after the fight Sentinel has received a call about their missing emergency pod being found with 3 mech inside; two severely injured, one unresponsive due to stress. As soon as Steelhaven landed Optimus rushed to the control centre with others following and saw Bee. He was so shaken up he could do nothing but cry apologies while the Prime comforted him. Bulkhead joined in soon, just wanting his buddy to feel better and not cry. Everything was okay now.

He couldn't have been happier when Longarm awoke, although he was there when he did so for the first time he visited as soon as he could. He missed him so much, and Longarm missed him too. Bulkhead had to be real gentle with his hug but Longarm didn't mind.

He was happy when he heard about Longarm joining the team and even more so when Bee told him they were gonna quarter Long with him. He watched as Bee and Long became more affectionate that ever, Bee helped Long with rehab and soon Long was able to go on his own (minus the therapy calls every week).

One day they were hanging out with the whole group when Sari perked up and smugly addressed the two. "So... You two more than friends?"

By now all of Team Prime knew Bee and Long were close and acted as such but they've never said anything. There was a brief glance between the two before they're answered both seemingly confused.

"What? What do you mean, we're just friends." Longarm spoke while casually wrapping his arm around the scout. "Yeah. Where did you even get the idea?" Bee followed up while also reaching up to hold Longarm's servo and lean into the hug. "We're just friends." "Two mech being pals." "Yup, nothing more." All while they were clearly not acting as "just friends".

"Okay, now you're being obnoxious." Sari smiled, knowing the two were playing a game right now. Longarm just smugly added "Did you expect anything else from us?" with Bee bursting out laughing. The whole room acknowledged the situation and they were happy for them. Bulkhead could not be more proud of them.

I like this one a lot, I think imma actually add this to my AU collection.

[hang-on-lil-tomato]

Rhys Darby on Faux Trek

ok…my emotions are so opposed. I am so happy for Rhys to get such a prominent role on this show…for a season opener. Yay Rhys ! The overnight sensation that took 30 years! On the other hand, I’m an old skool ORIGINAL REAL Star Trek. The new stuff isn’t trek at all. The trailer has a cgi space battle and the big solution they arrive at is ramming the ship. I can’t count how many times they did that in Berman Trek. It’s a cliche of chiches. It’s NOT at all like a real Star Trek battle. It’s more like Star Wars, with the ship ramming thing shoved in. The images are dark, not bright like the TOS by necessity had to be lit.

they’ve only told us Rhys will be a “legacy character”. Because gawd forbid they invent a new concept or character. Gotta get those memberberries in at every opportunity.

Here are my guesses: he’s going to be a Q, some kind of all powerful god being. Maybe a Trelane type.

Faux trek writers don’t have very much imagination, so that my initial idea.

when Cumberbatch announced he was Kahn—ugh… ludicrous idea. So that tells me the writers don’t know much about Star Trek except for a couple movies and maybe they saw Space Seed, but I doubt it. They’re writing really bad fan fiction, because at least fans KNOW the material they’re writing about.

bottom line: happy for rhys; disgusted with calling this stuff “star trek” when the showrunners and writers have such disdain for the original source material.