#hi welcome to the rarepair zone

[ellie-tarts]

day 02: accidentally touched your hand

wanted to try my hand at stuff for femslash feb! here’s ran and aoko hanging out, i think they would be fun together

[riley-summers]

My Intro Post

Hi! Decided to make a sideblog for my Briley nonsense and my Riley nonsense in general. Might be some Spriley and Rangel over here too, we shall see. Asks always open, I love to chat.

My other blogs:

Main: @reallyreal-madeingold. Shitposting, nonsense, writing, fanfic, BtVS, Sims, etc.

Supposedly Spangel, but really multiship blog: @spangelmybeloved. Most of my fandom (mostly BtVS and Sims currently) stuff goes here. Also most all my shippy stuff, I ship many ships.

Riley gif account I run: @riley-finn-daily because I have a problem

Buffyverse rarepair group I run: @otherworldlychemistry: rarepair focused, welcoming of all shippers.

Yeah so Briley isn't even my main Riley ship (I tend to actually prefer Spriley or Rangel) but I do like Briley and wanted a place to put my Briley BS where it wouldn't annoy all my followers.

I get that it's not the most popular or beloved ship. I like it. I just want to enjoy my ship. Don't follow this blog if you don't want to see Briley on your dash! Block this blog if it keeps showing up on your dash! Block tags! Curate your online experience! Anyone is welcome to interact, but please keep in mind that this is a character and ship bashing free zone. So if I see that in my notes, I am going to block you. Let me enjoy my ship, just like I let you enjoy yours.

Masterlist of my Riley fanfics

Masterlist of Riley BS (Headcanons, ship opinions, etc)

If you made it this far, thanks for reading my pinned post!

[fleetsonourgecentral]

Alright, so I absolutely adore your blog, this is a ship I never before knew I needed but will now hold onto with my gremlin hands for dear life. I do have a request if you don’t mind: I think it would be hilarious if Scourge not only picks up on all the new swear words and rude gesture of Fleetway Sonic’s Zone, but also starts talking with a bit of a British accent (which he’ll deny until his very last breath). What if he somehow has a run-in with either the Prime Zone FF or his old team? How would they react? Thank you and have an amazing week!

I saw this ask, thought about the prompt for approximately three seconds, and immediately started stimming bc I love this so much. Welcome to rarepair hell! I'd give you a welcome jacket but our budget is tight this year, so I hope answering your request will be suitable compensation

~~~

To say that Scourge was pissed was an understatement to say the least.

Random warp portals weren't common in Sonic's dimension, and when they did appear most of them led to the Special Zone or, in rarer cases, that weird mirror dimension Sonic told him about. Very, very occasionally, one would open to the Cosmic Highway, but it happened so infrequently that by the time one finally manifested for the first time since Scourge got stuck in the new dimension, neither he nor Sonic were interested in him leaving.

But the universe - or, more specifically, the multiverse - had it out for him, so of course one opened right under his fucking feet when he and Sonic were play fighting sparring.

And of course it dropped him into the fucking Prime universe, because fuck Scourge the Hedgehog and his desire to stay a billion miles away from one of the most irritating dimensions he had ever had the displeasure of being in.

So yeah, pissed off was an understatement.

The only upside to getting dumped in the Prime universe was it was much easier to get onto the Cosmic Highway. From there all Scourge had to do was avoid the cops as he made his way back; although he had no intention of leaving permanently, he had left Sonic's dimension before, albeit mostly out of necessity to avoid the Zone Cops, so he knew how to get back. Apparently it was much easier to get in than it was to get out. Not surprising considering it was the home dimension for a destructive being made of corrupted chaos energy.

Still, it meant Scourge had to breathe the same air as the Prime mobians, so already his day was ruined.

"Stupid warp portals," Scourge muttered, kicking a nearby tree as he walked. "Fucking ruining my damn day, dumping me in this shitty perfect dimension with their shitty angelic hero, of fucking course this happens to me, let's fuck over Scourge's day by making him sneak around in a universe he doesn't even want to be in. What's next? Running into the Freedom-"

"Scourge?"

... Him and his big fucking mouth.

"Fuck off," Scourge snarled at Prime without bothering to turn around. "I'm not here for you."

"Never expected you to be back so soon," Prime grinned, intercepting Scourge's path. The words were casual, and to an outsider he seemed relaxed, but Scourge could see the tension in his shoulders and the way he was coiled to spring into a fight. "I thought you'd need at least six more months to lick your wounds, but hey, if you're that eager to get your ass handed to you again-"

"I said fuck off." See, that was exactly why Scourge couldn't fucking stand Prime. He always waltzed around acting like a hero, pretending to be some kind of fucking angel, when deep down he was no better than Scourge. Beating robots and "bad guys" into the dirt one minute, smiling innocently at his friends the next like he didn't just enjoy kicking the shit out of someone. He was just so fake and he somehow got a perfect life for it. And then he wondered why Scourge wanted to punch him until he'd dragged all the nasty shit Prime pretended didn't exist to the surface for everyone to see.

Actually, everyone would still probably ignore and excuse all the nasty shit. Because Prime was perfect and a hero and could do no wrong, and he always had people on his side in the end. Fuck, why did Scourge ever want to take over this shitty little dimension? Everyone would piss him off in five minutes with their hero worship, and no amount of beating them into submission would make him feel better. No fucking wonder he preferred Sonic's dimension. Sonic was an ass, but at least he didn't hide it, and his fans just had to get over it. The hero worship was still annoying, but nowhere near as bad as the Prime dimension.

"So you can cause trouble the second my back's turned? Yeah, I'll pass."

Don't punch him, Scourge. If you punch him you'll be stuck in this dimension longer, and then the cops could show up, and there's no team to bail your ass out. Don't fucking punch him, no matter how much he deserves it.

"I don't even want be here" Scourge hissed, balling his hand into a fist. Fuck, he hoped there was a mission or fight going on when he got back, because he really needed to punch something. Sonic would probably help him find a fight if there wasn't one already; it had been too quiet recently, and he was itching for trouble and excitement. "Some shitty portal dumped me here, okay? It was a fucking accident. I don't have any plans or plots this time. I just want to get out and go home."

"Yeah? Where's home? I know you've not been in Moebius."

"None of your business!" Fucking Zonic the Zone Snitch. "I'm not fucking doing anything wrong, so just piss off and let me get out of your shitty little dimension so I can-"

Scourge cut himself off. Prime had stopped grinning sharply at him. Although he was still on guard, his face had relaxed slightly, and he was tilting his head and staring at Scourge like he was trying to figure out a puzzle.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"The fuck do you mean nothing? What are you staring at me for!"

"Nothing. I just... I didn't know you have an accent."

... What?

"The fuck are you talking about? I don't have an accent." Sure, hearing his own accent come from someone else again after so long in Sonic's dimension was a little weird, but Scourge's accent never changed. Sonic would never let him live it down if it had.

But Prime was shaking his head and pointing at him. "Yeah, see, right there when you said 'fuck'. You said it different."

"No I didn't! I don't say anything different!"

"You do! Sometimes, at least. It's faint, but sometimes random words just have a little bit of an accent." He frowned at Scourge. "Where did you say you were staying, again?"

"Like I'd tell you." Trying to distract him with the accent bullshit so he'd give up his hiding place, huh? That was almost clever. Almost. Unfortunately for Prime, Sonic was way smarter, and it hadn't taken Scourge long to pick up on a few of his tricks. "Look, just because you expect weird shit to happen to people every other Tuesday-"

Scourge slapped his hand over his mouth the second the words came out, but it was too late. The mistake was made, and Prime's confused expression morphed into one of delight.

"Chewsday?"

"Shut up!" That was it. He wasn't going to look for a fight when he got back, he was going to wring Sonic's fucking neck. This was not happening to him. Not Tuesday, of all words, after all that time following Sonic around and mockingly repeating it's chewsday, innit. "Not one fucking word, Prime, I swear to fuck-"

"Say it again," Prime demanded, leaning in uncomfortably close.

"Get the fuck away from me-"

"Come on, say it again!"

Scourge grit his teeth and tried to dart around Prime, but Prime leapt on him, pinning him to the ground with a disturbing sparkle in his eyes.

"Get off me!"

"Not until you say it again!"

For fucks sake. Was this really what the (ex) King of Moebius had been reduced to?

"Tuesday," he forced out through gritted teeth, correctly.

"No no, that's not how you said it. You said chewsday. Say it again."

"I didn't say shit! You just heard it wrong. It's fucking Tuesday. Now get off of me, you fucking asshole, I-"

"Ass, too! You say ass different, too! You definitely have an accent."

"No the fuck I don't! Even if I did, why would you care?"

Prime shrugged. "I don't. It's just interesting. I like hearing different accents, and I didn't know you have one. I thought everyone on Moebius talks like we do."

"They do! We do!"

"Then where'd you get the accent from?"

Oh no, not fucking likely. Prime couldn't trick him that easily. "Prime. Get the fuck off me. Right now."

"Aww, Prime? What's with the multiverse titles? Surely you don't hate my name that much." Prime's eyes gleamed. "Or do you say Sonic differently, too?"

Scourge glowered up at him. It wasn't that. It was just easier to separate Sonic from all the other Sonics if he didn't use the same name for all of them. Plus Sonic would probably kick him if he tried to call him anything but his name, and it was his dimension, so he was the Sonic that got name privileges.

"I say it like I always do," Scourge said at last. "Now get off. I want out of here and you want me out of here. Keeping me here is lose-lose."

"Then why won't you just use my name?" Prime smirked at him. "C'mon, show me how you say Sonic and I'll let you up. Promise."

Scourge was so, so incredibly tempted to just spit in his face instead. But fuck, he didn't want to start a fight and stay in this dimension longer than he had to. Sonic's universe was 4,242 miles away from his own (roughly, at least; dimensions tended to shift for some reason, so it could easily jump to over 5,000 miles without warning) so it was probably a similar distance from the Prime universe, and although that wasn't far he couldn't run at top speed the whole time without attracting the attention of the Zone Cops. The distance combined with being forced to slow down and be somewhat stealthy already meant he was in for a long journey on the Cosmic Highway, and the last thing he wanted was to get into a fight that would exhaust him and make it take even longer.

"Sonic," he spat out. It felt wrong. This wasn't Sonic. Sonic was in a different universe, probably harassing his friends or kicking ass as he waited for Scourge to drag his ass back. "Sonic, get the fuck off so I can get out of your shitty dimension."

Prime looked a little disappointed - even though he knew how Scourge said his name, damn it - but true to his word he got off, even held out a hand to help Scourge up, which Scourge pointedly ignored. He was still a wanted criminal, after all, there was no way Prime wouldn't take the first opportunity he had to hand him over to the cops.

"Was that so hard?" Prime said as Scourge got up and dusted off his jacket. "Really, I don't see what the big deal is. It's just an accent. I think it sounds kinda cool-"

Scourge punched him in the face as hard as he could and fled.

***

"What took you so long?" Sonic asked when Scourge finally got back hours later. His fur was ruffled and his gloves were dusty like he'd just gotten out of a fight and hadn't had the chance to shower yet. Motherfucker. "What, did you forget you can run at the speed of sound?"

"Shut up," Scourge muttered, deliberately bumping into Sonic so the tea he was holding spilled onto him, and flopped onto the couch, burying his face in the cushions. "I hate you and your stupid accent."

"Suck it up. So where'd you end up?"

Scourge lifted his head. "If you ever have to choose between death or visiting the Prime universe, pull the trigger."

Sonic snorted, lightly thwacking him upside the head. "Dramatic arsehole. That bad?"

"I almost forgot how much of a dick Prime is. Fuck, he's just such a twat, I don't know why people can't see that."

"'Cause they're morons," Sonic said, then paused and grinned down at him. "Hey, you said 'twat' right this time. Looks like you're finally learning."

...

"Son of a bitch!"

[workofthediesel]

Hello! You're doing the lord's work by providing content for people's rarepairs.

Could I request something with Rusty and Canoose (2018 Caboose) and maybe throw Carrie into the mix too? (but only if you want. I'll be happy with just Rusty and Canoose if not hehe)

thank you! i'm so glad people are enjoying it <3

fiq requests are open! send me an ask!

Rusty glanced through the restaurant window, self-consciousness rising higher by the second. Everyone dining inside was posh and polished, the sort of high class car that normally wouldn’t even look in Rusty’s direction.

Rusty scratched at a patch of rust on his cheek. He didn’t normally go to places as fancy as this. They almost always had some sort of dress requirement that Rusty could never meet. He almost couldn’t understand what he was doing here tonight, but the truth of the matter was, he couldn’t say no to his partners.

Caboose and Carrie both had very expensive taste; Rusty had known that before they’d even gotten together. That sort of luxury almost made Rusty uncomfortable, but if that was what they enjoyed, he wasn’t going to begrudge them that. They did, of course,spend a lot of time trying to drag him into their outings. Sometimes Rusty could talk his way out of joining them, sometimes whatever they were doing wasn’t so bad that Rusty couldn’t handle it, but on rare occasions, he got completely roped into things like this, and was always left feeling like he was in way over his head.

Rusty jumped when he felt a hand close around his. “Stop that,” Caboose said, pulling his hand away from his face. “You’re only going to make it worse.”

Feeling somewhat like a scolded child, Rusty stopped picking at his skin. But he couldn’t help it. He felt out of place just standing outside the restaurant--he couldn’t imagine actually setting foot in this place. “Caboose,” he said uncertainly, “are you sure about this?”

“What’s not to be sure about?” Caboose shrugged. “It’s just dinner.”

“Well, yeah, but…” Rusty fidgetted. He was trying to find the words to express the thoughts that were running through his mind, that it might be “just dinner” for Carrie and Caboose, but it was more than that for him. This was too fancy, too far out of his comfort zone; it was going to be an ordeal.

“But, nothing, Rusty. It’s just dinner; stop over-thinking it.”

Rusty shook his head. He didn’t think he was overthinking it; if he was, it wasn’t by much.

He was out of his element here, that much was obvious. A worn and weathered streamer like him just didn’t fit in with the sleek, well-kept cars inside. Even putting looks to the side, he’d just make a fool of himself trying to eat here. Caboose and Carrie were both used to up-scale places like this; they knew all the etiquette. They knew what fork to use when and where things went on the table and the million other little rules you were expected to know walking through the door. Rusty was clueless about all that.

He couldn’t shake the restless energy swirling throughout him. He reached up, tugging at his collar. “Caboose, I really don’t think I’d be welcome here.”

“What do you mean you’re not welcome? We already made the reservation.”

Rusty shook his head. “Well… just look at everyone,” he said, gesturing to the window.

Caboose peered inside the restaurant, eyes gliding over the diners in that smooth, calculating way he had whenever he was assessing a situation. “What, do you feel underdressed or something?”

Underdressed was an understatement, and only half the problem, but before Rusty could say anything, Caboose was taking off his hat and dropping it on Rusty’s head. “Here,” he said, settling it down into the right angle.

Rusty went cross-eyed staring up at the brim of the hat that stuck out over his forehead. The hat was almost too much for Caboose, sometimes; it undoubtedly wasn’t helping.

He caught sight of his faint reflection in the window and confirmed that, yes, he really did look awful. He sighed. “No, that’s okay,” he said, taking the hat off and handing it back to Caboose. “It looks better on you.”

Despite the compliment, Caboose was frowning slightly as he took his hat back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Rusty lied, trying to convince himself as much as Caboose, “It’s nothing.”

Caboose saw right through him. Not that that was too hard--he was a terrible liar. “Rusty,” he said firmly. It was one half an admonition, one half a command for honesty.

“It’s just…” He paused for a second to think of how to phrase it. “You know, this isn’t really my kind of place.”

“We already checked the menu. You’ll like the food here,” Caboose told him, as if that was the problem.

Rusty bit his lip. “It’s not the food that’s bothering me.”

“Then what is?”

“It’s… well, the environment, I guess. Everything here is just so fancy.”

Caboose tilted his head to the side. “You don’t like fancy?” he asked, his voice a mixture of confused and surprised.

Rusty shook his head. “It makes me a little uncomfortable.”

Caboose was watching him carefully, and Rusty felt a little silly at the admission. This sort of thing was pretty normal for Caboose--of course he wouldn’t understand it being too much for Rusty.

But even though Caboose might not have understood what Rusty was feeling, he didn’t give up. “You’re comfortable with me, though, right?”

“Of course.”

“And you’re comfortable with Carrie.”

“That goes without saying,” he said, trying to figure out where he was going with this.

Caboose took a step forward, linking his fingers behind Rusty’s neck. “Then what’s there to worry about?”

Rusty gestured wordlessly to the restaurant before them. “Everyone,” he said after a moment. There was a dining room full of fancy cars in there, cars who would take one look at him and know he didn’t belong, cars that would watch him struggle to figure out all the rules of fine dining and judge him as he failed.

“But you’re not having dinner with everyone,” Caboose said, rubbing his thumbs along Rusty’s nape. “You’re having dinner with me and Carrie. That’s it. Nothing different than a dozen other dates we’ve been on.”

“It’s a lot different,” Rusty protested. “Everyone who eats here is so rich and refined, with things like table manners and fresh manicures and weekly polishes and I’m…” He dropped his gaze, shame burning behind his cheeks. “I’m not like that, Caboose.”

Caboose gave Rusty’s neck a gentle squeeze. When Rusty glanced back up at him, he was smiling reassuringly. “I know you’re not,” he said softly, “and I don’t care. And neither does Carrie. We like you for you, Rusty. We don’t need you to be like any of the stuffpots in there.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing,” Rusty said. “I’m just going to embarrass myself.”

“Not in front of me,” Caboose told him. “Or Carrie. I just told you: we don’t care.”

“But everyone else--”

“Ought to be minding their own business.” There was a sharpness hidden behind Caboose’s words, and Rusty knew that that meant that if anyone gave him a hard time, they’d find themselves on the top of Caboose’s shit list, and that was a place no one wanted to be. “Seriously. Don’t pay attention to anyone else. Tonight is about you and me and Carrie. Okay?”

The nervous tightness in Rusty’s chest didn’t go away, but he nodded anyway. He knew how much Carrie and Caboose had been looking forward to this. He didn’t often come out to dinner with them, largely because they mostly came to places like this. But they’d pleaded with him to join them tonight. They promised to make it special. And the joy Rusty had seen on their faces when he agreed. It had filled him with a warm, fuzzy feeling knowing that he was the one who had put it there.

He didn’t want to disappoint them now. He took a deep breath, trying to brace himself. “Okay.”

A little bit of that same joy broke out on Caboose’s face now. He pulled his hands away from Rusty’s neck, trailing them down his arms to his hands to give them an encouraging squeeze. “Good,” he said around a small excited smile. “Now, let’s go inside. Carrie’s probably here already; we don’t want to keep her waiting.”

Rusty couldn’t manage to force a smile in return, but that didn’t seem to bother Caboose. Still holding hands, Rusty followed him into the restaurant, the nervous fluttering in his stomach growing stronger and stronger with every step they took. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him as they made their way between the tables, could hear the quiet whispers of hushed conversations he was sure were about him. But Caboose paid the rest of the room no mind, heading straight to where he had spotted Carrie sitting, slowly sipping a glass of wine as she waited for her dates to arrive.

Rusty still felt like an outsider here as he slid into his seat. But between the bright smile Carrie was giving him from across the table as she lightly nudged his foot with hers and the reassuring feeling of Caboose’s hand still in his, he figured that, just maybe, that didn’t matter. It was like Caboose had said: this evening was about the three of them. Maybe he didn’t belong in this restaurant, but he belonged at this table, and he wasn’t going to let anything take that away from him.

[the-starryknight]

Hii, so I have a question about the TLC thing. How exactly does it work? As in, how does one submit something for it? Do we just send you an ask or do we reblog the post with it? I'm just a little confused. I love the idea, btw. It's always lovely to see people supporting each other like this in the fandom <3

Hooray, hi Anon! Thank you for asking :D

The TLC Tuesday thing is a very casual, very open thing. I'll put up a "TLC Tuesday Zone" post -- probably next week, on July 6.

There's two parts to it: the TLC Tuesday Zone, when I ask for your recs, and the Try Something Tuesday posts, which are my compilations of your recs, when I have the energy to make them.

When you see it, you're invited to share! I usually am asking for self-recs, but you're always welcome to rec someone else too or instead.

Any fandom, any pairing, any medium is welcome. Rec me your niche rarepair moodboards and your MCD podfic. It's all welcome here.

I usually tag some folks to get the post moving, and invite others to tag people too, but as I always reiterate: if you see it, consider yourself tagged. I've found that tagging other people is the best way for it to get enough momentum that it might still reach blogs with fewer followers. But again: you don't need a tag to participate! Please do!!

Generally, people reblog the post with their rec. You're welcome to send it to me in an ask if you prefer to stay anon, or if you don't have a fandom tumblr. I'll add it to my next "Try Something Tuesday" list, where I combine all the recs folks have shared.

I know self-reccing can feel scary. I feel that way too. Posting anything creative is a vulnerable act, and telling other people that you're proud of it can feel like putting your heart on the table. But I think it's important to recognize our own worth as creators when we ask others to see it too. You made it, and that's amazing.

[twistedintern]

Twst Rarepair Week ~NRC Staff Edition~ (Day #2)

Index ① Gardening (Divus Crewel/Ashton Vargas) ② Injury (Dire Crowley/Ashton Vargas) ③ Letters (Mozus Trein/Ashton Vargas) ④ Jealousy (Dire Crowley/Mozus Trein) ⑤ Jewelry (Mozus Trein/Sam) ⑥ Call (Dire Crowley/Sam) ⑦ Protection (Ashton Vargas/Sam)

+ Injury + (Dire Crowley/Ashton Vargas)

“So, what’s this I hear about an accident in the botanical gardens?”

“Oh! Headmaster, isn’t this a surprise!”

The masked man in question snorted and crossed his arms at the reception: a carefree, hale and chipper greeting of another. Presently separating the two was a drawn sickbay curtain in Night Raven College’s infirmary.

The call he’d received earlier from Professor Crewel was enough to put a damper on the headmaster’s otherwise unremarkable day. The costs associated with maintaining an on-campus green zone were exorbitant enough as is; the repair of damage to structures was bound to be astronomical.

Furthermore, there were other losses to account for--precious species of magical plants uprooted by the kerfuffle. The very thought was enough to rob his plumage of its healthy sheen.

Crowley clutched at either cheek and made to shake his head. Begone, horrid thoughts! He’d have to relay this to the board sooner than later; in the meantime he must do what any professional would... follow procedure.

“Pardon the intrusion,” he threw out a taloned hand to grasp at the partition. The one fraction of a second and a practiced flick of the wrist--the effort with which the curtain fell by the wayside--seemed trifling compared to the sheer magnitude of the scene that welcomed his sights.

Granted, although he had been the one to hire him, Dire Crowley never expected there would come a time he’d have the opportunity to gaze upon the very vaunted pride and joy of one Ashton Vargas.

Crowley swallowed, struck deaf and mum to external stimuli.

It stood to reason that his would boast impressive muscles, no doubt. Being up close was another matter, a rare chance to marvel at uncommon definition, at chiseled and sculpted flesh--!

The coach cleared his throat as he made inquest. “...Alright? I’m all ears.”

That, thank the Seven, served to snap the previously unresponsive Crowley from his reverie. Realization gave way to self-censure; his cheeks burned a piquant rose as he bit back the urge to swear.

“Right, yes,” he began, feathers fluffed as he unceremoniously deposited himself upon a nearby chair. “You know the drill, Coach Vargas....”

[exclamaquest]

I just found your blog and as someone who previously shipped leon and sayaka (bc I liked the pop star/ wanna-be singer dynamic), you’ve won me over to junkeon LOL— I wanted to ask tho, how do you see Leon dealing w his baseball vs. singing hobby-battle? does junko help him through it? thanks for your time ^u^

First off-- thank YOU for giving me an opportunity to talk abt junkeon!! And welcome to hell, sorry about dragging you down into the Rarepair Zone dkjzjs

Honestly? I think junko could help him out a LOT more with the struggle. She's used to taking her own path and combining shit until it works for her, she would probably be one to be like "leon you're an idiot it's okay to still do baseball. plus if you're on the team it's free bats for when we need to smash shit." etc etc etc...very much "if you can't choose just do both nobody's gonna stop you"

also fkdjjds not to be insane but. I really truly don't think sayaka could ever really tell leon his music sucked so like...he wouldn't get better super quickly/she wouldn't be as much of a help.

junko however has zero qualms about flat out saying "babe this SUCKS. keith moon is rolling in his grave. take out the cymbals before I take out your eyeballs." and like...yes it's harsh but it also fits perfectly into their dumb bickery banter that they have going on 24/7 (or at least close to it--they still have big deep talks and sweet small moments, and oh I could go on about those forever) and like it legitimately helps him!

see she's careful to never JUST say "this is terrible" she always always gives like...WHY it's bad music NFJXJS which is FAR more helpful than performative "haha nice kuwata-kun! look at the time I gotta go!" ever will be!!

[cranehusbands]

glory, to olympus

loba andrade/crypto | park tae joon; established relationship; hurt/comfort; post broken ghost; apex rarepair week; 1883 words

a/n: first thought is why the fuck did ao3 butcher crypto’s name so bad.. that’s not how his name is said. taejoon is one word. crypto im so sorry

secondly, this has been my agenda this whole time. welcome to cryptloba hell, population me. i absolutely adore these two with all my heart, i was so excited for finally write for them, and will be doing so later this week, as it’s apex rarepair week! the prompt i went for for this one was meet the parents and well... you get the idea. angst time baby

@apex-rarepairweek thank you for hosting this wonderful week!

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

Preview: The thief’s mouth hung open in her rambles, before she looked up to Crypto, still standing in the rain with his hands in his pockets, hair flat against his face. The shadow over her eyes fell now, mascara running down her cheeks as she wiped the nose with the back of her hand in an uncharacteristically sloppy way. “...Am I doing them wrong, Park? Have I done bad by them?”

The gentle sound of the radio was enough to not make the room sound so deafening in its silence, raindrops hitting the window like tears from the clouds, as if knowing the day to the date, and mourning on her behalf. The song was a lighthearted one, one about running away to the big city - an older one, from more than many years ago, somehow still prevalent on the radio stations that she tended to be drawn towards. Was it because this music was a comfort to her? Her father always cared a lot for songs like those, and he would whisk herself and her mother around the living room while some lovelorn fool sang about a Caroline or an Eileen. 

  Loba was gentle in the way she did her makeup, having mastered her technique in the past few years - her philosophy had always been to not get caught, but if she were to be, she had to look her best. She closed one eye, gently placing a synthetic eyelash over the smokey eye makeup she’d carefully painted on already, pulling away and staring at herself in the vanity mirror in her room, and hand running through one of the shorter braids, the ends of her hair no longer stark red and now simply a subdued blonde. Her eyes fell on a small polaroid in the corner of the vanity, moving to run two fingers of the faces of the two adults - a suited man and a smiling woman - staring at the young child with a wide smile and a small tooth gap. The thief smiled a little, at the way the girl was so oblivious to her future, her happiness at that moment forever caught, to be cherished and longed for. She stared for a moment or two more, hand pulling away to catch a glance of the two parents by the girl’s shoulders, just as happy as she, before she stood to her feet, grabbing the leather-gloved form the edge of the desk before she opened the door, and began heading out of the dropship, passing by the kitchen and listening to the clicking of her boots against the floor-

  “You’re awake early.”

She jumped at the sudden voice, shooting a glare over to the table in the dropship’s kitchen, where a pair of eyes stared back at her from over the back of a laptop. “For god's sake, Crypto, make yourself known. Don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry.” He almost looked sheepish for a moment, pulling down his laptop screen so she could see his face, the clear bags under his eyes from behind his glasses and the weak smile he gave. “You’re looking very… monotone.”

Loba hummed, doing a little half-hearted spin. “I have places to be. Quite in demand, don’t you know?”

“Hm. Visiting death, are we?”

“I guess you could say that.”

He frowned at her for a moment, brow furrowing before he closed the lid of his laptop and stood to his feet.

“What are you doing?”

“Grabbing my coat.”

“What- no, you’re not coming with me.”

He didn’t respond, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way back to his room.

“Crypto!” The thief called out to him, but again he didn’t respond, not even so much with a turn. And though she gave an exasperated sigh and folded her arms across her chest, she didn’t try to leave him behind in this momentary blindspot. Deep down, she was almost glad for the company. Especially his.

  The hacker soon returned, now donning a fuzzy black coat, somewhat more professional and warmer than his normal attire, though still jarring to see him in something that wasn’t white or green… though, hints of his usual accent still came through, in the formal shirt and tie he still wore underneath. Hands were shoved into his pockets, clearly fiddling with the cube he always carried with him, more for comfort than out of function. Crypto shot her a small nod as she turned to look at him, quickening his pace a little to join her at her side. “So-”

Before he could finish, he was cut off as she ran a hand down his chest, feeling the soft material of his coat under her fingertips with a soft expression. It wasn’t often they shared moments like this - the two were discrete about their relationship, especially since their mission had led to both… complications and rifts in the group, but also new bonds being formed, including their own. Interactions between the two were kept strictly professional when eyes were on them… but now Loba fixed his coat collar, a sad smile on her face, perhaps getting a bit closer than what she would have normally. But it was the early morning, and the open kitchen was silent. It was just them. What did they have to hide?

Crypto’s smile was weak, and embarrassed, perhaps still not used to the shift between professionalism and PDA. His voice cracked a little as he continued with his train of thought. “S-so, where are we going?”

Loba pulled her hands away from him, tucking her arm into his with a solemn nod, as if to hype herself up. “The closest thing I remember being a home to me. ...To Olympus.”

  The ride was quiet, but they both were tense. Loba knew that Crypto never liked crowds, not much - it was bad enough that a handful of the legends knew who he really was, but being so visible was a threat, even if these people had never heard of Taejoon Park before. She reached a hand over to him without looking to make it obvious, feeling for his hand to hold onto for comfort, as she knew the way his eyes fell on her and his face softened in a way that only she knew. The thief gave him a glance, and a small smile, running a thumb over the back of his knuckles, to comfort him, but also perhaps to comfort herself, as through the window the overview of the city so foggy in her memories became clearer. It was so different, and yet... not at all. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it kept coming back, enough to make it hard for her to breathe as they left the landing zone and headed down a familiar road, being dropped off at the front of an extravagant building, where pedestrians entered through lavish double doors. She exited the taxi they had shared, a hand holding onto the door for a moment before she quietly shut it.

“Damn rain,” she grumbled, though it was certainly half-hearted, pulling out her cane and extending it to lean against it, in the way she usually did, her other hand over her eyes to avoid damage to her makeup.

Behind her, the taxi started up again, driving away as the hacker now joined her at her side, hands in his pockets. He hummed. 

“What?”

“You haven’t told me everything about yourself. If I knew any better, I would make a joke that this was your second home… the gaudiness is fitting. But…” He looked over to her, and the way she stared back at him.

Loba swallowed. “Yes, well I… the loss of my family to that… demon… meant I have lost my home, my heritage. I have no grave to return my good wishes to, so I…” With her cane, she gestured towards the building in front of them - to the restaurant where all but one little girl had lost her life over twenty years before.

  There was a long, drawn-out silence, the only sound being the sound of rain that his the pavement leading up to the glowing restaurant doors. 

“I feel my papa would have liked you.”

“Hm?” He glanced down to her, how the rain fell down the sides of her face and how the gloomy sunlight cast a dark shadow over her eyes.

“He would have liked you. From… what I remember, anyway. He was a kind man, a family man. ...Yes, he would have liked you.” Her voice quivered as she repeated herself.

“...Loba, I-”

“-And mama would have too. Oh, the things she would say, I can almost hear them, in a distant sort of way. ‘Mi yerno es un ángel.’, I think is the phrase she’d say… I-I’m sure she would call us married already, she was a housewife type despite her… her profession-”

“Loba.”

The thief’s mouth hung open in her rambles, before she looked up to Crypto, still standing in the rain with his hands in his pockets, hair flat against his face. The shadow over her eyes fell now, mascara running down her cheeks as she wiped the nose with the back of her hand in an uncharacteristically sloppy way. “...Am I doing them wrong, Park? Have I done bad by them?”

He didn’t know what to say. He’d never had this issue before, not for himself - what was done with him was done, and he had no one to mourn… no parents, and no sister. He quickly swallowed before he could ride down that thought path. Reaching a hand out of his pocket, he took hers and gently squeezed. “You… are an amazing woman. They know that, surely, from where they reside. Regardless of what you have done, or will do, you are still theirs. Be proud.”

That’s when her face, that had tried so hard to remain like stone despite her tears, wrinkled, and her grip on his hand grew tighter with a squeeze, before she burst into sobs and practically threw herself onto him, burying her face into his shoulder, as if to hide her dignity, her hands moving to claw onto his back and hold it as if he would leave her at a moments notice.

  He didn’t move, unsure if she would shatter in his arms like fragile glasswork, so perfect and delicate as she shook in the cold and the pressure of containing herself, but soon Crypto held her back, and brought her close, the warmth still foreign to him, even after all the times that had done this behind closed doors. No… it was never like this. Loba was strong, she held her cards close to her chest, and only let herself be vulnerable when she knew she had nothing to lose - and to her, she still had everything to lose. Losing her legacy, her revenge on the simulacrum that took her life away from her. The hacker held her close, holding the back of her head with a hand, quietly shushing her muffled sobs as he ran a hand through her hair, now knotted and wavy with the rain.

“Te amo,” she whispered into his neck, before pulling away and looking up to him, smiling despite herself as she wiped her eye, now red, though not like her usual makeup attire, with the back of her finger, smiling despite herself as she moved a hand to brush at his shoulder.  “Sorry about the makeup all over your coat.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, moving to cup her face with one hand and brush his thumb under her other eye, still wet from tears.  “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. You will be fine. Saranghae.”

[sky-squido]

16, 21, 30, or 34? ALSO HAPPY BORTH YOU WONDERFUL PERSON 'yeets a cake at you'

*gets cake yeeted at me*

MORPH ILY

it's really funny thought cuz my parents actually got squido WRITTEN ON THE CAKE AAH

anyway *coughs*

here's where you can find the answer to 16! ^^

21. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

all of these are gonna be platonic cuz ew romance ((post was made by the probably aroace gang)) and FOUND FAMILY IS THE BEST

okay so i write a LOT of downfall duo,,, like a LOT. it might be my favorite pairing, but it feels a little too easy sometimes. i'm a total sucker for rarepairs like sky&legend, four&legend, wind&legend twi&legend—I'M A SHAMELESS LEGEND STAN OKAY

oh hyrule&sky is fire, too

okay but in all seriousness i ADORE writing twi-sky parent gang and wind&twilight also gives me SO MUCH LIFE. my favorites are legend, sky, and wind, and i feel like the latter two especially are just really underutilized. the most fun i have in my fics is like, yes there's a storyline and Serious Things Are Happening but they're still a buncha kiddos going on an adventure together and i feel like the more banter and rarepairs a fic has, the more real it all feels

enough rambling okay YES i love downfall duo with my whole heart but also i think the beauty of LU is the diversity of interactions you can play with and anything with a soft legend or a badass wind and/or sky in it is a recipe for a VERY happy squido. just,, sky and wind, and twi, too, i feel, are often the "recessive" characters in an interaction, if you will. it feels like they're usually not the main characters and tend to be a vehicle for the plot of whoever's talking to them so when THEY'RE stepping up and taking a role, it just makes me so happy! ^^

as i mentioned here, they're all the main characters of their own games so watching them all step up and take charge, especially the traditionally timid ones is just YES

okay enough rambling what was the other one? ah yes

30. Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

yes.

no i’m kidding.

well only sort of.

the way i see it, angst and fluff, hurt and comfort, they’re like push and pull. it’s a dance, my friends, a dance of hurt and healing and you need both to feel satisfied. fluff fics are nice, but they’re not food. angst fics are great, but i always leave them feeling sort of empty. but both, the angst sets up the conflicts and the fluff resolves it. i think you really do need both to have balance in a fic. obviously fics don’t have to show you the whole picture and authors can write whatever they’re comfy with and sometimes you want a fluffy comfort fic and sometime you just want pain—i’m by no means trying to say that my way is the only, or even the best, way to write a fic. it’s just my personal preference and that intertidal zone between the soft yet stagnant sands of fluff and the roaring, turbulent waves of angst is where i make my home. the tides come and go, waves crash and pull, but life flourishes in the cracks in the rocks and the burrows in the sand and sjghsfjghfldkgsehfjgsd i really just went off didn’t i

tl;dr:

yes

34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

ohh this one's hard.

i had a big ramble here before i remembered two excepts that just take the cake and these are probably my favorite things i've ever posted on ao3

this one’s from Burns:

 “Tell me, do you ever feel a strange sadness as dusk falls?” The man said that like it was somehow supposed to explain something. Like it meant something.

 Wind thought for a moment. “No, I can’t say that I do. Sunset… it’s beautiful.” Wind smiled despite himself, gesticulating excitedly. “The sky lights up a million colors and the ocean turns to molten gold. The sea stays warm even as the wind grows chilled and the first stars begin to blink into the sky, a welcome sight to any navigator. Sure it’s sad that the day ends, but the night is beautiful in its own way. I welcome them both. Two sides of the same coin, you know?”

 The man remained in silence for a moment. “But what about the twilight? That time when the world hangs precariously between the two, balanced on the coin’s edge. What about that time?”

 Wind felt his brow furrow in confusion, but he indulged him nonetheless.

 “Yeah, it’s nice. That time when the first star blinks into the sky, the bravest and the brightest, a beacon of hope guiding sailors on their journeys. It’s like the dawn, but not quite as still. It’s like… it’s as if the day is an inhale and the night is an exhale and twilight is that little time in the middle when the world holds its breath. Is that what you mean?”

 The man’s gaze shifted to the ground, a bittersweet smile on his face and his eyes suspiciously wet.

 “Yeah. That is what I mean.”

 Wind opened his mouth, but was interrupted by the man saying: “call me Twilight.”

:D

This is from What Hyrule Hadn't Seen chapter 10 and it’s both spoilers and kinda long and i don’t want this post to be five miles so

 “Wind, we need to get you out here. You can barely stand.”

 “Bullsh*t! I’m not leaving you behind!”

 “I’ll manage,” came his reply, the blade of his spin attack passing above Wind’s crouched head.

 “No you f*cking won’t! I’m not going to leave you out here to die!”

 “So you’d rather we both died instead?!”

 “You admit that this is a suicide mission, then!”

 “Stop wasting time and get out of here!”

 “NO!”

 “WIND! As your commanding officer, I am ordering you to get to safety!”

 Wind finally rose to his feet, his right leg bleeding and clearly supporting none of his weight, his sword unwavering in his determined arms.

 “The day I submit to your authority when you're being an ass is the day I f*cking die.”

 Warriors let out a small whine, a sound Wind never could have imagined the captain making. He spoke in a low, slicing tone, his eyes like his blade—cold, steely, and far too wet—as he faced the sailor.

 “I’ve stood over far too many corpses. Don’t let yours be one of them.”

 Wind straightened his posture and said nothing, pulling his bow from his back, his gaze like fire—hungry and bursting with life—and wordlessly turned his back to the captain, knocking an arrow, brilliant luminescence collecting on its head as he aimed into the blackened forest that seethed with darkness.

 “Come on, tactics man, use your head. If you fall here, the town won’t be safe. Nowhere will be.”

 He smiled a smile that had no right to cover the face of a child.

 “If we’re gonna die, we might as well do it together.”

 Warriors’ shoulders heaved in a silent sob, but he quickly quelled it, regaining his composure as best he could, brow furrowed and sword quivering in his hands.

 “I just can’t f*cking win with you.”

 “No, but you can lose with me one last time.”

 "So be it."

 Warriors said nothing more, diving into battle once again.

 Wind fired his arrow.

 A halo of light burst through the forest, shattering shadows into dust.

 And a sword slipped past the captain’s wavering guard. 

read it here uwu: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25993870/chapters/68195218

[vannahfanfics]

Our Scars

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

Characters: Takeshi Yamamoto, Kyoko Sasagawa

Hi, guys! I’ve been obsessed with Hitman Reborn! as of late, so I’ve decided to participate in Katekyo Hitman Reborn! RarePair Week (because we all know how much I love rarepairs). I’ve decided to start with the Day 2 prompt, “Scars”! Hope you all enjoy it :)

The pattering of the rain against Kyoko’s umbrella was soothing as she strolled along the wet sidewalk, her rainboots squeaking with every step. A plastic bag swung below her bent elbow, containing a selection of decadent cakes from her favorite bakery. She had delivered most of them to Tsuna and her friends, and now had only one last stop- Takeshi Yamamoto’s house. Kyoko still didn’t understand much of their world- the dangerous situations and such- but she understood well enough that she was invaluable to them as support. Kyoko could fill the role of supporter perfectly fine, and so here she was, delivering some treats as a reward for their hard work with… whatever they were doing in their spare time.

The iron latch shrieked in protest as she lifted it, and the wooden gate agreed with its partner, sounding an earthy groan. The rain was cascading something fierce now, throwing up splashes against the rubber material of her rain boots with every walloping raindrop. Ripples in the two-inch-deep water distorted the yard into a sea of green and brown and gray. Kyoko carefully picked her way over the slick stones that marked the path to Takeshi’s house. She cried out when the sole of her boot slipped over the smooth surface and caused her ankle to roll inward. Tears sprung to her eyes and a whine to her throat as the fiery pain rocketed up her leg. She remained there a while, hunched over with her hand buried down in the boot to rub tenderly at the screaming flesh, but she protectively held the bag of boxed cakes to her chest.

They had Yamamoto’s favorite today… I said I would hike through the weather, and I shall hike through this pain, too! Huffing in resolve, she straightened back up and limped up to the porch. She rapped loudly on the doorframe before opening the door, which was always unlocked, and announced her presence. She heard Takeshi’s father chime a greeting from within the bowels of the home. While she awaited his arrival, she stepped onto the welcome mat and removed her rainboots and folded up her umbrella, setting both neatly aside. The smiling man came round the corner and embraced her with a polite hug and kiss on the cheek. Kyoko had made many calls to Takeshi’s house, and she was regarded more as family than a guest at this point.

“My dear Kyoko! I sure hope you haven’t come tromping through this horrendous rain just to call on my boy,” the kind man scolded her as she rifled through the plastic bag.

“Not just him!” she laughed and procured a sweet confection, holding it out to him. His eyebrow raised above a twinkling eye, and a wide grin split his weathered features.

“You truly are an angel,” he tutted dramatically and took the box. He gestured loosely towards the back of the house, too absorbed with opening the container to be descriptive. “Takeshi is training in the dojo. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you,” he said with a pat to her head before strolling off to enjoy Kyoko’s generous gift.

She ignored the stinging pain in her ankle as she trekked through the house she now knew by memory. At the rear of the abode was a spacious room, where Takeshi often trained hard with the sword. She came to the door and found it closed.

“Yamamoto?” she called as she knocked lightly on the dojo’s sliding door. His grunts floated through the wood and cloth. So did the ring of the katana as he cleaved the air over and over in practiced, precise movements. Kyoko shifted her weight from foot to foot for a few seconds, but a wry smile soon began poking at her expression. He’s so in the zone he can’t hear me, she thought amusedly. “Yamamoto, I brought cake!” she called louder and opened the sliding door. “Yama- oh.” Her voice died in her throat, and she stopped opening the door halfway, too stunned by the visceral image of shirtless Takeshi in the middle of the dojo.

Sweat rolled over the rugged contours of his body, pooling in the waistband of the sweatpants that were slung loosely over his hips. His arm muscles flexed as he brought the katana down in a long arc, and Kyoko’s eyes sparkled with the light that refracted over its hyper-sharp edge. His black hair slicked to his forehead, and every few seconds, he would jerk his head to flick the dampened strands out of his eyes. His eyebrows were narrow slopes furrowing his brow in the most impressive display of raw concentration Kyoko had ever witnessed.

Kyoko liked Takeshi, a lot. How could she not? He was so friendly and easygoing. His smile lit up even the darkest room, and his laugh never failed to send joy bubbling up in her body. She liked him, sure, but she had never considered the fact that she may like him… But she sure considered it as she lingered in the threshold of the door, silent, watching him bring that sword down in empty air again and again. All words were lumps in her throat; thus, she could only gawk open-mouthed at him until he finally noticed her.

“Oh, hello, Kyoko!” he grinned jovially and swept a hand through his hair. The way the sweat-soaked strands parted beneath his fingertips made Kyoko’s mouth run painfully dry. Her eyes wanted to focus on every inch of him- his pectorals heaving as he panted, those crimped hairs still sticking together awkwardly from his hand parting them, his bright eyes and beaming smile- but that was horribly improper of her, so she looked at the floor instead. Shuffling her feet shyly, she retrieved the cake box and held it out. “Cake?” The evident elation in his voice made her heart flutter, although she could have brought him a neat rock, and he’d get just as excited about it.

She heard the click of the sword sliding into its sheath, followed by the patter of his bare feet over the wooden floor. A red haze drifted to her cheeks when his large hands enveloped her own for a brief moment as he retrieved the box. He whistled when he flipped it open, admiring the cake within. “It looks delicious! Thanks, Kyoko!”

“You’re welcome.” It was impolite not to look directly at him when she addressed him, so she forced her eyes upward. Her cheeks darkened incredibly as she did. Yamamoto has such a lovely smile… she thought dreamily. Cheerfully, he swiped a finger across the mountain of cake icing and then popped it in his mouth. He hummed appreciatively and popped the finger out. She wasn’t sure why, but the action made her body flush with heat, she tore her gaze away from his face. Her eyes landed on his arm, and she inhaled sharply. Yamamoto blinked in confusion, followed her intense gaze, and then smiled wanly.

“Oh… You’ve never seen them, have you?”

Thin white scars sliced through the tan skin of his arms. Some of them were many centimeters thick, indicative of a blade biting deep into the flesh. Possessed by some force, Kyoko allowed the bag of cakes to drop to the floor and reached out with both her hands to trace the crisscrossing marks. Takeshi watched her with lidded eyes, his irises swimming with a deep emotion for which she had not the name.

“So many,” she murmured under her breath. Her small, thin fingers tracked the map of healed wounds up to his thick bicep. Her eyes were wide when she looked to him again, expecting to find his smile sad or regretful. Instead, she saw the unmistakable glint of pride hiding within his curled lips. “I don’t… Didn’t they hurt?”

“Of course they did,” he laughed nonchalantly, as if a teenager bearing such marks were utterly typical. “But I don’t regret them. I earned them protecting my friends. I’ll gladly scar this entire body of mine if it means I can keep them safe.” As he stared at the pattern of thin white lines over his arm, Kyoko did not doubt that he was envisioning the faces of his dear comrades there. Kyoko couldn’t understand their world at all, even now, but she could appreciate Takeshi’s overwhelming desire to protect those closest to him.

Yet…

Her eyelashes were beaded with tears as she gripped his upper arm with two quivering hands. His fingernails bit into the flesh, pressing small crescent moons into his skin, but he did not complain. He only looked at her in bewilderment as she stood in front of him, shaking.

“Yamamoto, I… I would much rather you be careful,” she sniffed miserably. Her thumbs pressed into a half-an-inch thick bulge of scar tissue, making the skin around it glare white as the blood flooded out of the capillaries. “One day… It may be too bad a wound to heal.” She swallowed the thick lump that was beginning to form in her throat, but it just bobbed right back, making it laborious to breathe. The tears dripped from her lashes to splash down onto his arm. “I-I don’t know much about what it is you and Tsuna and everyone else do, but… I do see that it’s dangerous, and… I just want you to be safe. Please be safe, Yamamoto.”

His hand slid underneath her chin, soft fingers cradling her tear-stained cheeks. She offered no resistance as he tilted her head up. This time, his smile was sad, incredibly so.

“Ahhh, now this is no good. Kyoko is kind enough to bring me cake, and I’ve made her cry? How shameful of me,” he whined self-deprecatingly, with only the faintest hint of amusement. His thumb stroked over her cheek to catch the fresh rolling tears. His teasing tone tugged a small smile onto her lips, making him smile softly in answer. “Ah, that’s much better. Kyoko’s smile is the most beautiful in the world.” She laughed airily and flushed, hitting him lightly in the chest. He still dripped with sweat, so the slap was especially loud.

“You kid too much!”

“Kidding? Does that sound like me?” he joked, drawing another bubbly giggle out of her. His thumb continued to caress her cheek, though her tears had dried thanks to his comforting. His eyes searched her face eagerly, like he was committing it to memory. “No, I don’t joke. Not about this.”

“Yamamoto…” His name left her mouth in a whisper. His eyes ceased roaming her face to settle upon her lips. That rosy tint rose to her cheeks again, but she did nothing as his face encroached upon her own, save for purse her lips and close her eyes in preparation.

The kiss was soft and sweet. Kyoko inhaled deeply when his lips molded over hers, otherwise he would have stolen all the breath from her lungs. It didn’t last more than a few seconds, but Kyoko savored those few precious moments, savored the feeling of joy rushing from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. As Takeshi pulled away, she subconsciously chased him, desperate for just a few seconds longer. Her eyes fluttered open as a chuckle rumbled in his throat.

“Kyoko, you’re so cute!” he praised and patted her on the head. “It’s no wonder I adore you.” Kyoko’s entire face turned the color of a tomato.

“Y-Yamamoto! You can’t just say things like that!” she sputtered, slapping her hands to her cheeks and finding them unbearably hot.

“Takeshi!” he corrected with a wave of his hand. “I just kissed you, so please call me Takeshi!” She crouched down with a squeal, drowning in second-hand embarrassment with how casual and relaxed he was. Her bangs hung in her eyes as she hung her head, unable to look at him. She was so mortified that she couldn’t even focus on the burning pain in her ankle as she heaved all her weight upon her feet. Takeshi laughed lightheartedly like he always did, then crouched down to pat her head more. “Kyoko, Kyoko, don’t be embarrassed! It was a compliment!” She responded with a high-pitched whine. “Come on, let’s get out of here and eat some cake, yeah?” The plastic bag crinkled as he raised it, and when she finally pried her eyes open, she was staring at his baggy sweatpants. She looked up to find him offering a hand to her.

His fingers were rough and calloused. The wrapped tightly around her smaller ones, holding them tight as he eased her back into a standing position. She expected him to drop her hand after that, but he just kept right on holding it, swinging their arms between them as he headed through the door. “Ow, ow!” she yelped as the one step forward send brutalizing pain rocketing up her leg.

“Kyoko, what’s wrong?” He was on his knees immediately, taking her swollen foot in tender hands to inspect it. Both embarrassed and flattered, she nibbled on the skin of her knuckle.

“Well… I slipped and rolled my ankle in your yard.” He clucked his tongue and shook his head disapprovingly.

“Clumsy Kyoko. What am I to do with you?” he sighed and straightened back up. In one sudden, swift movement, he had scooped her up off the floor. Kyoko squeaked and buried her pink face into the palm of her hands, beating on the thick muscle of his shoulders.

“Yama- Takeshi! No! Your father will see!”

“And? He’s been nagging at me to confess my feelings for a while. ‘Kyoko is such a nice girl! She would be so good for you! Better hurry up or someone will snatch her up!’” His mockery of his father’s tone, complete with waggling his finger, was too amusing for her to focus on the sheer mortification that she was a regular topic of conversation in the household. Her hands continued to shield her apple-red face as Takeshi escorted her down the hallway, but she did find the way she so perfectly muscles into his muscular arms quite nice. Her fingers twitched before curling around Takeshi’s the meat of those muscles, and she did not miss the smile that alit his face.

On that rainy day, Kyoko certainly didn’t think her cake delivery would turn out such a way, but unexpected happenings make life worth living, do they not? Smiling as Takeshi carried her through the house, she traced the complicated map of those scars again, nestling her head into the crook of his neck.

They all lived such dangerous lives, Takeshi and the others. It worried Kyoko sometimes, but at the end of every day, she would be there to support them through thick and thin. It was a taxing job, a job that left deep scars on her heart… but then again, earning scars for those you loved could be quite rewarding in the end too.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @khrrarepairweek​ @deliathedork​