#White Compound Dorm

[beemynumberone]

Pictures are from Pinterest.

A wild duck chase

(Have you ever seen a duck run?)

-> pairing: HS Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader (reader is Goshiki’s older sister)

-> Soulmate AU (a duck chases you to your soulmate)

-> genre: fluff, fluff and more fluff

-> format: oneshot

-> cw: implied eating of duck at the end

~ Part 1 of A Haikyuu Soulmate Series (pt. 2)

Legend has it that a duck appears when you turn 18. And that duck will lead you to your soulmate when they turn 18. 

It is at a volleyball practice when Ushijima catches sight of you. You’re Goshiki’s older sister, a third year in Shiratorizawa. Ushijima has seen you around but never really paid much attention to you. 

And when you interrupt the practice session to pass Goshiki’s lunch box to him, Ushijima still doesn’t pay much attention. He continues training his serves while a small commotion occurs. 

“Tsutomu-san is so pretty!” Tendou remarks to him, out of Goshiki’s earshot. Ushijima grunts in acknowledgment. That ball was too short. Further? That one was almost out. I have to keep practising. 

The commotion gets louder and Ushijima tries to block the noise out. Until… quack. Tendou screeches.

Ushijima lowers his serving arm. 

Quack quack 

A white duck waddles from the slightly ajar stadium door, straight towards him. 

Reon being the dedicated vice captain he is, tries his best to shoo the duck away. Tendou leaps over to try duck-whispering. 

It seemed that Tendou was successful, since the duck was now being happily escorted by the red-haired blocker to the bleachers. It sits in its place, contented. 

And after practice, the duck follows Ushijima out, back to the dorms. Ushijima simply accepts his new companion. Why shouldn’t he?

And so for the next few days, the duck just follows Ushijima around. Even on Ushijima’s weekly runs.

During which, he realises that the duck is kinda too slow for his liking, so he picks it up and treats it like a medicine ball. He trains the duck during the Saturday runs, showers it, builds a nest for it in the room he shares with Tendou. 

Until one morning, the duck decides to take off like an alarm clock on legs. It tugs at Ushijima’s pant legs, beckoning him to go somewhere. Caught off-guard, Ushijima decides to follow it. 

The duck runs across the block and goes to the female dormitories, but guys can’t enter the female dorms. Which is what Ushijima earnestly tells it. 

And the duck just sits (?) there (?). Until it starts running off again.

Surprisingly, Ushijima realises that it’s a soulmate duck when Coach Washijou tells him so. 

This adds to his curiosity when he catches up with the duck. I’ll follow the duck and we’ll find my soulmate. The school grounds are manageable, this should be easy. 

But who knew, it was a wild goose (duck) chase. 

They ran around the school compound, the duck seemingly following a trail where his soulmate had previously walked on. 

It was almost two hours and they still couldn’t locate his soulmate. Was it lost? Ushijima thinks, looking warily at the huffing and puffing duck running in circles.

At least he got his training in amirite?

And the next day, the duck is relentless. He follows the running duck (must be the training he thinks, its stamina improved over the past few weeks) all the way to the field.

Where he sees you again in the track and field uniform, warming up at the start line. Ushijima finally puts two and two together. 

Is Goshiki’s sister my soulmate? 

And at the whistle, you take off sprinting. Following close behind you is - a white duck. 

Ushijima is mesmerised at the way you soar over the hurdles, white duck strutting under the bars after you.

At his duck’s incessant quacks, he goes over to meet you at the finish line.

Panting, you walk to slow your breathing and turn back to see your new companion waddling after you.

As you turn, you catch sight of Ushijima’s well-built figure standing stoically by the side of the track. You ignore him, bee-lining for your towel to wipe dry.

Why is he here? Is he looking for Goshiki?

You spot the white ball of feathers by his feet.

Oh.

And you feel pecking at your ankles. You look down at the stubborn animal. What’s-

The ducks nudge both of you to stand face to face (or rather, your face to his broad chest, very embarrassing and awkward ngl). You could still feel the heat from the earlier run radiating off your body.

The ducks behind you two quack innocently. 

I think we’re soulmates :D Ushijima smiles down at you, happy that he’d finally figured out who his soulmate was.

You give your best grin, matching it with a shrug that definitely looked as forced as it felt. You felt conflicted. It wasn’t that having Ushijima as your soulmate was horrible, it was just that… you two never really got to know each other.

So after a good shower, you meet Ushijima at the school pond to talk “soulmates”.

You feel like you’re not ready for a relationship with him, since you don’t know Ushijima personally yet. 

And he doesn’t want to rush things either.

So in the meantime, all 4 of you (2 people and 2 ducks) go on weekly runs in the neighbourhood. 

This leaves Goshiki really confused and slightly afraid. Is his idol leaving him for his sister??

Side note for Washijou, after Tendou probes a little about his soulmate, he reveals that he had duck rice for dinner on his 18th birthday. 

Like a duck appearing on his birthday? Definitely a birthday delicacy on legs right? Nope

Ushijima waiting outside the female dorms with his duck:

[shesthejukeboxhero]

Smart Alec

Initiate!Eric Coulter x instructor!gn!reader

WARNINGS: violence, language

SUMMARY: You’re a first-year initiation instructor, and an Erudite transfer is making it his goal to get under your skin.

A/N: Please let me know if you want me to continue and make this a series! I know lots of people don’t know who Eric is (or don’t remember him) but if enough people want Eric fics I’ll definitely continue writing this!

PART ONE PART TWO

The sound of combat boots walking on cement rings through the compound’s walls.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Your fellow initiation instructor, Lauren greets you as you approach the giant net.

“Good morning, Lauren.”

“You going to the top or am I?” She says.

“I will, I love seeing the shock on their faces when they see they have to jump.” You say with a laugh, waving to her and heading towards the stairs leading to the roof of the compound. You manage to get there just in time, as you can hear the train nearing. Taking your place at the edge of the hole, you watch the initiates jump from the train. Once they all make it off the train, you yell out to them, gaining their attention.

“INITIATES! I’m Y/N, and I’ll be one of your instructors. As you notice, we are about 10 stories off the ground. The only way to enter Dauntless is to jump. If you don’t want to jump, then you might not have the guts to be here.”

“Is there something to catch us down there?” A boy in white and black clothes says.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself, initiate.”

There is a wave of silence after that.

“Well? Somebody’s gotta go first. Who’s it gonna be?” You say, getting impatient.

“I’ll do it.” A male voice sounds out throughout the crowd. You look up and see a boy dressed in blue approaching the edge where you’re standing.

“Alright, Nose. Let’s see what you’ve got.” You say as you jump down from the ledge. He steps up, oozing confidence as he does so. He gives you a mock salute and jumps backwards, down to the net where Lauren is waiting. You shake your head in disbelief, and try to hide the smirk on your face. “WHO’S NEXT?” You yell out to the crowd in front of you.

After all the initiates make the jump, you jump down yourself. After Lauren helps you out of the net, the both of you approach the crowd in front of you. “Dauntless born, you’re going with Lauren. Transfers, you’re staying with me. Go.” You watch as the initiates separate, leaving you with just the transfers. “Now, before we start our tour of the compound, are there any questions for me.” You announce to the crowd. “Yeah, I’ve got one.” The same boy from earlier steps forward. “Alright Nose, what’s your question.” You say annoyed, knowing how this is gonna go.

“How is someone as young as you qualified to teach us? You look just about the same age as us.”

“Well for your information, I was ranked first in my initiation class.”

“Out of how many people?”

“Close to 25 people.”

The boy smirks at you, trying to stifle a laugh.

“Something funny about that, Nose?”

“No.”

“Good, then shut your trap, Smart Alec.”

Without giving the chance for more questions, you start the tour. You notice the Erudite boy seems to be following close behind you. You try your best to ignore it and continue the tour. Leading them out to the open pit of Dauntless, you say, “This is the Pit. The life force of Dauntless.” You then lead them down a spiral staircase which leads to the initiates’ dorms. “This is where you’ll be staying for the next 10 weeks.”

“Boys or girls?” A different blue-wearing boy says.

“Both.” You respond sharply.

There are a few murmurs from the crowd. The girls complain about the lack of privacy and the boys are excited for the lack of privacy.

“If you like this, you’re going to love the bathrooms.” You say, leading them around the corner. As you walk into the bathroom, sounds of disgust ring out amongst the initiates. The bathrooms have no privacy whatsoever, with the toilets right next to each other in the open. A Candor girl says “Really? There’s no where else?”. You chuckle to yourself. “You’ll love this, Candor. Everything out in the open, just how you like it.” You say before walking towards the entrance, unzipping the bag of clothes set there. “Get changed. Dinner is starting any minute now.” And with that you leave them to change.

You find your normal table, usually sitting across from Lauren, the one true friend you maintained through initiation, but this time she wasn’t there. You shrugged it off and took a seat there anyway, but unfortunately that seemed to make some of the initiates think it was an open invitation to take a seat next to you. You try to tune out the group of initiates but they won’t stop talking.

“Did you hear Y/N actually transferred to this faction?”

“What?”

“Yeah, from Amity, of all factions…”

“I find that hard to believe.”

That’s when you step in. “True or not, that’s not your business.”

“So you’re not going to tell us?” The Erudite that had been on your nerves all day says.

“Again, none of your business.” You say, sipping from your cup.

“I’m just genuinely curious of the quality of education we’re going to be getting here, that’s all.” He says again, with a smirk on his face.

“I told you I ranked first in my initiation.”

“I don’t believe you.”

You glare at the boy. “You better watch your step, Smart Alec. Talking bad about your instructors doesn’t look good when it comes to getting higher in the rankings.”

And with that, you leave the table and walk to the terrace with the rest of the leaders.

[innorogers]

Nightmare

Steve Rogers x Reader (You)

Summary: Steve stood in front of the mirror, staring back at him, was a man madly in love. But as much as he wanted to be only that—just a man in love—he wasn’t. Falling so hard for you that he didn’t want to face the reality. There was still a world beyond your home, and he had to face it.

Warning: Minors DNI / A little smut / bj / Angst / Hydra Past / Missunderstandings / He wants to say I love you / This is getting dark as the WB logos in HP movies / Strugglings / He is so in love with you / Your past is coming back and kick your both asses

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson

Also: You don't have to read the previous chapters, but it would enhance the experience if you did. And thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️

Chapter 1: Insomnia | Chapter 2: Lucid | Chapter 3: Reverie

“God…!” Steve's head falls back, his body arching, knuckles turning white as he holds on tightly onto the sheets, moans ragged and labored, his chest rising and falling covered in sweat.

His hand tucking your hair, trying to be as gentle as possible, but he is finding that impossible. As you fasten your mouth and hand movements, more deep breaths are escaping his lips as waves of pleasure wash over him. 

"Babe... that feels so good... don't stop... Please don't stop..."

Your quickened pace is driving him more and more over the edge, as suddenly his entire body lost in pleasure, his head falling back onto the pillow behind him, the sheets gripping tightly in his hands as he releases warm and low in your mouth. 

“Jesus…” His body shuddering as he came hard, thoroughly quenched til the very last drop, his breath coming in gasps and pants, not being able to speak as he looks at you: puffy lips, disheveled hair, sweat drops in your perfect breasts, your silky skin marked with his handprints all over body, and you were wiping your lips. 

“Damn...” He pulls you close for a kiss, still breathing heavily, as if trying to recover from his ecstasy. “Babe, don’t… look at me like that… or I’m gonna lose it... again.”

“Wait, what?” You laugh, stepping out of bed. “That’s on me?! I didn’t do anything this time.” You were barely awake when he started. It’s not like it’s your fault you weren’t wearing anything from last night.

“That’s... arguable.” Steve murmurs, sinking back into the pillows, still riding the high of the moment. His breathing starts to slow, but then he notices you’re already in the bathroom. “Wait, no cuddling?!”

“We’ve been ‘cuddling’ all night!” You call from the shower. “And... we’ve talked about this. Tony is gonna be here in an hour.” And I don’t want to smell like sex.

Steve chuckles in resignation, raising his voice so you can hear him over the water. “Can I join you?”

“We both know how that’s gonna end…”

“Yeah, yeah, alright...” he laughs, reluctantly pulling himself out of bed, grabs his discarded clothes, making a half-hearted attempt to tidy the room. “God, we made a mess in here, didn’t we?”

By the time you’re out of the shower, the room is already cleaned up (he's done his best). It’s a far cry from how things used to be: Steve's things are everywhere now. His toothbrush in your bathroom, clothes hanging in your closet, some files scattered on the desk in your lab that's across from your private dorm.

You’re not even sure when it happened, but your secluded, tucked away 20 minutes from the main Avengers compound lab, has become more than just yours. It makes sense, actually, he wasn’t leaving at night. Or in the mornings. Or... really, ever.

At first, Steve would come over for dates. Then those dates turned into 'I'll come by later' and eventually into 'whenever he had the chance.' Now his mug is in the sink, his slippers are under your bed, and his coat has claimed a permanent spot by the door.

He’s here. So, naturally, Sam and Natasha started coming by too. 

They didn’t want to at first—especially after Tony warned them: Don’t go near the place if the windows are foggy or steamed. And the first time they showed up, the windows were, in fact, foggy. 

So, they waited outside, feeding the mosquitoes and staring at the overgrown grass.

But they had important “For your eyes only” files, and waiting beat facing Commander Hill’s irritation later. After counting all the daisies in the field—twice—they finally gave in. Sam knocked (covering his eyes), you answered (fully dressed), and they came in for a cup of tea. A carrot cake later, they became regulars.

Your lab has a charm they can’t resist: plants hang from every corner, spilling over shelves and framing the windows that let in the golden sunlight. The warm, earthy scent of the greenery mixes with the subtle perfume from your humidifiers. A soft glow of the sunlight filters through, casting a golden hue over everything. The kitchen always smells like freshly baked cookies, and the tea is good, but the coffee is great. 

Your space feels like a hidden sanctuary in the sunset. And amidst all this, there’s a relaxed and laughing, perfectly at home Steve. One that they’ve never seen before.

So of course, big boss Mr. Stark wasn’t going to be excluded.

“Remind me again why he’s coming?” Steve asked as he stepped into the shower. You were brushing your teeth, and he leaned over to kiss your shoulder, and…Yup, you were right; he knew exactly how things would’ve ended if he’d joined you earlier.

“I don’t know… there’s no meeting agenda. But technically, we are living in his compound, so…” you said, now brushing your hair and spritzing perfume. Then, after a pause, you added, “I think it has something to do with the New Era Project.”

Steve didn’t respond right away, but you caught the frown on his face through the steam of the shower. “Are you part of that?” he asked after a moment.

“Nope.” You began towel-drying your hair. “I don’t make or design weapons. I just fix your gear and armory and… sometimes I pitch cool new ideas to Tony during brainstorm sessions. You know, Level A clearance, remember?”

Steve chuckled—yeah, he remembered. You had access to all files and records, but only if Tony Stark himself granted it. Actually, he was the only one who could authorize your access and tokens. There were only two people in the entire organization with that kind of clearance: you and Peter Parker.

Your existence here was… special. Only level 3 and above tech personnel knew about you, and they practically worshiped you. You were the one who “optimized their code, fine-tuned algorithms that seemed impossible to crack, recalibrated testing protocols when simulations failed, and stepped in when machines were on the verge of catastrophic failure.” (That was Bruce’s wording. Steve didn't get shit of what he said, just referred to you as “my brilliant genius who fixes all that stuff.”) And the thing that stood out the most? You never took credit for the successes.

Selfless. That was the word Tony used when describing you. But he also said: “And that drives me nuts, because when you lack human ambition, what’s going to keep you around, right?”

Human ambition. The phrase echoed in Steve’s mind as he turned off the water with a sigh. He knew he had been avoiding the truth. Falling so hard for you that he didn’t want to face the reality. There was more to you than he fully understood, and deep down, he wasn’t sure he was ready to know the whole truth.

“I’ll make coffee,” you called from outside, interrupting his thoughts. “You staying for breakfast, or heading straight to training?”

“Yeah, I’ll stay for coffee,” he replied, wrapping a towel around himself and standing in front of the mirror. 

There, staring back at him, was a man madly in love. But as much as he wanted to be only that—just a man in love—he wasn’t. There was still a world beyond your lab, and he had to face it.

He sighed again, suspecting exactly what Tony was going to discuss with you.

The coffee was ready, and croissants were on the table when Tony arrived. He greeted you with a cheek kiss and smirked at Steve, who was just walking out the bathroom with a towel around his waist. 

“There’s a scene I thought I’d never see.” Tony quipped as you placed a mug in front of him. “Aren’t you late, Cap?”

“Aren’t you early?” Steve shot back from the room.

“Actually, I’m late. I hung out in the car for a bit.” Tony tilted his head toward the window, a mocking grin spreading across his face. “The windows were steamed up, so I…” he clicked his tongue, “didn’t want to interrupt.” 

He turned to you, smiling. “This coffee’s great, hon. Any chance you’d consider making it a regular thing in the common room?”

“No. She wouldn’t,” Steve answered, now dressed in his training gear. He kissed you goodbye, shaking his head with a smirk. “Sorry babe, gotta go. Guess you were right, I am late.”

Tony shot him an I told you so look. 

“Coffee.” you said, handing Steve a travel mug, then cupped his face with a smile. “Kiss.”

Inhaling your fresh perfume, Steve sighed, enchanted, as he leaned down to kiss you. “Thanks…” He held back the I love you that nearly escaped his lips.

“Get something to eat after training, okay?” you said casually, unaware of how close he was to confessing.

“Yes ma’am.” He gave you a lingering glance, clearly wanting another kiss—or a few—before turning to Tony. “Easy, ok?” he warned.

“You hear that, hon? Easy on me,” Tony said with a grin, raising his mug to wave Steve off. “See you later, Cap.”

As the door closed behind Steve, Tony looked at you, “You know… that’s the best I’ve seen him in years.” He mused, his fingers tracing the rim of his mug. 

Then, after a brief pause, with a playful smile. “And the best I’ve seen of you, of course.”

You smiled back. “It’s not like you’ve been around much to see me anyway.” You patted his hand. 

“Not that I’m complaining. You’ve given me all the quiet and peace I could ever ask for.” You glanced down at the table with a soft smile. “And purpose.”

Tony stayed silent as the golden morning light filtered through the windows, casting lines of warmth and shadow across the table.

“Did you… tell him?” he asked, hesitating just as the light reached his mug.

“No. I, um…” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m scared.”

“God,” he sighed in resignation. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. And…” he shook his head, rolling his eyes, “I think his problem will eventually be, ‘Why didn’t you come sooner?’” 

He huffed. “It’s your call, but trust me—he always wants to know the truth, no matter how hard it might be.”

“I know. It’s just…” You admitted quietly, “I’m scared of him being… disappointed.”

“Then he can fuck off,” Tony shot back without hesitation, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And die alone on his moral highlands.”

You laughed. Tony always knew how to make you laugh. After a few moments, you softened and asked, “What’s wrong, Tony? What’s really troubling you?”

“You mean besides the fact that one of my top-secret employees, whom I’ve kept hidden from everyone’s sight for years, is actually dating… I mean, no, we’re way past dating, right? I’d say… in a relationship with one of the most famous men in the world, who’s also the high commander of this… you know, little group of heroes that saves the universe from time to time? Yeah, there’s actually one tiny, tiny thing that keeps me awake at night…”

You sipped your coffee, still smiling. “What?”

“I’m having second thoughts about the New Era Project.”

You raised your eyebrows, and asked after some pause. “Do you want me to join?” Because you would, if he asked.

“No.” He was firm. “No, it’s not that. I’d never ask you to do that. It’s just… I’m having trouble piecing everything together. I don’t have the full picture. ” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 

“The UN have been a pain in my ass since I flew out in a can suit in Afghanistan, but now… they’re... They’re being… nice.”

“And that’s a bad thing.” You raised an eyebrow, not sure whether you were asking or confirming.

“It’s incredibly dangerous and extremely suspicious.”

“I thought our little demonstration of power during Thanos would’ve made everyone play nice,” you said, grimacing as if to say, Duh.

“They even offered to cancel the Sokovian Accords.”

“Wait, what?” You blinked, surprised. “Is that even still a thing? I thought after the Blip…”

“Nobody had the time or the mood to talk about that during the Snap, so it just stayed there.” Tony explained, handing you his mug as you stood up to refill it.

“Well, that’s a generous offer,” you said, pouring more coffee. “But as you said…”

You paused, thinking for a moment.

“If rationality and facts can’t give you the full picture, maybe intuition will.” You sat back down, placing the mug in front of Tony. “What does your gut tell you? Animal instincts in the face of danger are 99% accurate, you know.”

Tony’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. “I don’t know. That’s what’s keeping me up at night. We’ve faced big threats before, but this... this feels different. Like they’re not reacting to a threat, but preparing for one.”

“Patience.” you murmured.

“Say what?” Tony hadn’t caught it.

“The Art of War,” you recalled. “‘He who is prudent and lies in wait for an enemy who is not, will be victorious.’” You nodded. “So if the picture isn’t clear, you wait for them to make the first move.”

That look crossed Tony’s face—the one he wore when you or Bruce finished a thought before him, or when you completed a task well before the deadline with an unexpected approach. The “finally, someone speaking my language” look.

“They’ve already made the first move, haven’t they?” you observed him closely.

Tony sat up, a slight smile of pride tugging at his lips. “Yes. They’re sending someone to… cooperate.”

“So… how do I fit into all this?” you asked quietly. “Strategies of war, deciphering enemy intentions, gathering intel, hacking systems… you’ve got quite a  team for that. The Team. How can I help?”

Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair as the sunlight shifted, casting shadows across the room. He paused, staring out the window before turning back to you, something close to worry in his eyes for the first time. 

“You fit in because you’re one of the few people I trust to see things clearly. No agenda. No ego. You can do things quietly, behind the scenes. And, frankly, you’re smarter than half the people working on this project…” He hesitated and added with a smirk, “...or the entire compound.”

After a brief pause, Tony confessed in a giving up tone. 

“And because I need your superpowers to sense if this guy is hiding something—something that our metal detectors and scanners can’t catch. These days, I don’t even trust that the people we meet are… well, human. Thanks to Danvers.”

Just like at the opening ceremony, he needed you to assess if there was anything suspicious about the people present. You nodded in understanding.

“Who are they sending?” 

There were two files in front of him, both giving him the same headache. And Steve didn’t wanted to start with either of them. 

One was yours: HE0012, “Twelve.” Your code name—Hydra Experiment Number Twelve—and your real name, (If Twelve could even considered a name, but that was they’d given to you) both stamped on a complete profile folder of your classified information: layers upon layers of secrecy wrapped around your past, barely considered something near light reading.

The second file, labeled “FYEO - New Era Project” was a brick of a report, hundreds of pages long, more of a book than a document. It detailed, in excruciating pain-ass precision, the project's goal: a forced reconciliation between the Avengers and Stark Industries. The initiative was meant to foster collaborative research and development of cutting-edge technologies designed to bolster global defense systems.

Officially, the report framed it as ensuring global protection “in case of need,” but Steve knew the truth beneath the diplomatic phrasing. It was about weapons—gear, tools, anything needed to combat the next alien invasion, or any kind of catastrophic threat Earth might face.

Steve remembered Tony’s struggle with this report, how the stress weighed on him. Tony had been stuck between igniting another Civil War or throwing the damn thing in the nearest firepit. 

But seems now, that Tony had done what Tony does best: handed the problem to Steve.

Damn it, Tony.

“Captain.” Jarvis’s polite voice sounded through the nearest screen. “A guest has just entered the main building. Agent Charles Frazer from the New Era Special Committee has been announced.”

Steve sighed, shoving both files aside. He couldn’t even catch a break. “Background?” He asked as he glanced at the screen, pulling up Frazer’s information.

“Agent Frazer is currently serving with the UN Special Commission, previously tasked with supervising enhanced human activities under the Sokovian Accords. Before that, he was a top agent at MI6.” Jarvis relayed in his usual, steady tone.

“Great. I’ll meet him in the lobby. Where’s Tony?”

“Sir is en route from R&D 001 and will arrive in three and a half minutes. Agent Frazer is already in the lobby, Captain.”

“Fine.” Steve muttered, standing up. “Also ask Commander Hill to meet us there.”

From the second-floor glass railing, Steve looked down and spotted Frazer standing in the waiting area. The man was definitely an agent, but his military background was obvious in the way he stood—rigid, alert, scanning the room, it all pointed to someone used to being on guard, despite his polite, diplomatic smile and the small nods he gave to passing staff. 

After a moment of observation, Steve made his way downstairs before Frazer could notice he was being watched.

“Agent.” Steve greeted, extending a firm hand.

“Captain.” Charles Frazer responded with a wide, courteous smile. One that appeared genuine but not intrusive. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Steve was about to continue when Tony, Bruce, and you entered the room, caught up in a heated conversation.

“…so wait, are you telling me the material adapted in real-time? Enhanced its resistance with every applied force threshold—like it learned from the stress points?” Bruce’s voice was filled with astonished excitement.

“Yeah, we saw a 32% increase in tensile strength under standard shear stress.” You replied softly, barely looking up from your coffee mug.

“What about quantum resonance feedback?” Tony waved a hand, pressing for more details. “Is it boosting absorption capabilities?”

“It’s actually forming a self-reinforcing lattice that distributes the force across the entire molecular framework, but…” You trailed off as you noticed Steve. A soft smile lit up your face, your eyes brightening upon seeing him.

Steve, for a split second, returned the smile but quickly recovered his professional demeanor. “Dr. Lancaster,” he greeted you, then nodded to the others. “Tony, Bruce—this is Agent…”

A loud crash cut him off. 

Steve whipped around to see you standing there, your face as pale as your lab coat. Your mug lay shattered on the floor, coffee splattered across your clothes, but you didn’t seem to notice. Your gaze was locked on Agent Frazer’s face, your breath frozen, your body completely still.

“…Four?” The word barely escaped your lips, a whisper under the weight of everyone’s surprise.

Agent Frazer’s reaction was almost identical. 

His confident smile vanished in an instant—from confusion, to shock, and then to an almost frozen state mirroring yours, his eyes reflected the same haunting familiarity. It wasn’t just shock; it was a mix of fear, disbelief, and perhaps even something darker—like a flood of old memories being unlocked all at once. 

For a moment, the two of you stood there, staring at each other in stunned silence. Slowly, Frazer’s gaze locked onto yours, and recognition began to settle over his face. He slowly lifted a trembling hand toward your chin, his voice cracking as he murmured, “Twelve?”

“How…?”

“Let’s take this to a more private room.” Tony, ever the first to break the silence, said firmly even before you could go on. His eyes weren’t on you—they were glued to Steve, gauging his reaction.

Steve stood rigid, his jaw was set, his face unreadable as he observed the silent exchange between you and Frazer. 

“Yes, let’s do that.” Steve said, his voice firm but soft. A few people in the background had started to notice the unusual scene unfolding and were beginning to glance your way. So it was to act quickly.  He stepped closer to you, a part of him instinctively wanting to put a hand on your shoulder, or hold your hand to offer some comfort in the midst of the shock, but he hesitated. His hand hovered for a second before he drew it back. 

As the group moved to a quieter, more secluded room, the air was thick with unspoken questions, and no one dared to break the fragile silence. All eyes were on you and Agent Frazer, as though the past had suddenly come crashing into the present, and no one was sure how to navigate the ruins.

You met with Commander Hill in the middle of the hallway. She quickly noted the tension in the unusual group, scanning Agent Frazer as fast as she could with her x-ray inspection mode and cautious glare. 

“Is… everything okay?” She instantly reacted, reading the room. “Meeting 9 is available.” She looked at Steve and Tony and communicated in their own silent way: And it’s ready.

Ready meant that the room could provide total privacy while also functioning as the most advanced interrogation room. Everything would be recorded, with real-time facial expression analysis by Friday or Jarvis. The room’s ambiance would shift according to participants' moods, creating the most relaxing and comforting environment possible, encouraging the participants to say anything and everything that needed to be known.

But of course, you didn’t know that, and neither did Agent Frazer— or Four. You hadn’t yet recovered from the shock, so you barely heard Tony when he said, “We’ll just leave you to it,” or noticed the worried look Steve had given you. You didn’t look back; your eyes remained locked on Four’s.

“How…” You broke the silence after a long pause, sensing that both your breaths had softened. You began to regain some rationality and composure. “How did you escape? I… I thought you were dead…” 

Four closed his eyes for a moment, trying to stay as calm as possible.

He didn’t know where to start with.

“I was…” 

He didn’t look at you; his gaze was fixed on the floor, lost in some distant moment from the past. 

“The cryostasis pod that held me…malfunctioned, but instead of shutting down, it went into some sort of low-energy survival mode—almost like it was trying to protect me. Left me hanging on the edge of life, just the basics kept intact.” 

His accent was you remembered, a perfect blend of British and Russian, a strange yet polished combination of both. He talked as in Times New Roman. 

“I reckon I stayed that way for years… like being stuck in some frozen limbo. Like wandering in some desert between hell and heaven.” 

Four’s lips curled into a fragile, ironic smile: “That Hydra fortress in Caithness was too well-hidden. I’d have gone unnoticed until I wasted away, but when Hydra fell, every strategic spot on the globe became suspicious. British intel ran sweeps over the area… and they found me.”

You remained silent, memories flashing through your mind. You knew why the cryostasis pod had malfunctioned in the first place. 

After the Battle of New York, the remaining Hydra forces had started shutting down their less critical underground fortresses. Caithness, where Four was held, had probably been vital during the war, but your files were far too confidential, buried too deep to be easily retrieved. That place must have been overlooked as obsolete.

Then came the Battle in Washington, when Steve crushed Hydra for good, and Black Widow exposed Hydra’s files, Caithness would have landed on British radar.

The world had been holding its breath, watching the Avengers’ actions since New York. 

It wouldn’t surprise you if British intelligence wanted to keep Four for their own research—a super soldier hidden, repaired, filled with selective truths, and molded into a loyal agent. Their own secret Avenger, integrated into their best special forces.

“They kept your memory?” you asked softly, almost afraid of the answer.

“Bits of it.” Four replied, offering a smile, sensing your concern. He wanted to ease the pain of what he’d gone through during his rebirth. “Britain’s tech wasn’t as advanced as Hydra’s.” 

He glanced around and sighed. “And they were definitely far away from… this. They didn’t push it too far, just in case it might… break me and ruin everything.”

“Do you remember… everything?” you asked, finally looking into his eyes.

“Not everything. Just pieces, fragments. Sometimes I get flashbacks in my dreams…” Four’s eyes softened as he looked at you, a faint smile touching his lips, his voice tender with nostalgia. 

“You were a brilliant tree climber... I remember that odd old oak tree deep in the forest. Grand and ancient. You’d scramble up to the top branches and shake them until the leaves fell, making a pile on the ground. Then Five and Seven would dash over and dive in, like a pair of foxes.”

“And once, you hid a rock under the leaves, and Seven jumped right onto it…” You were lost in the memory too.

“He hit it so hard…” Four chuckled, his gaze drifting to that long-lost time. 

“We did everything to stop the bleeding before heading back, but he looked like…”

“A smashed tomato can.” You both said at the same time. And then you both laughed.

“I was grounded, of course. Bloody big time.” Four leaned back in his chair. “Six days of detention because, naturally, our blood was ‘precious,’ and Seven’s was everywhere. They had to clean up so thoroughly, it was like they burned the place down.”

“And you came by on the fifth night…” Four’s went gentle, as if telling a bedtime story. “You snuck in and gave me a piece of bread. And a golden leaf.”

He reached out and took your hand, squeezing it tight.

“I’m so glad to see you, little sister.” His voice was filled with pain. 

“When I woke up… I thought I was alone in this world.”

“Me too.” You whispered, though your eyes were elsewhere, lost in the shadows of the past. 

“Me too…”

Steve could feel his teeth clenching. He tried desperately to release the pressure building in his fists, but the anger was overwhelming. 

He suddenly understood why he hadn’t been able to even open your file before—it was fear. He didn’t want to feel this powerless, like he does now, knowing there was nothing he could do to change what you’d been through.

Tony might have made a joke, something like, “Well, at least he’s only her brother.” but Steve could sense the tension in his voice.

“This is so…” Fucked up. Sam stood beside Steve, watching closely. “Any lie detected?”

“Facial analysis shows 99% veracity. The 1% is due to human factors beyond my calculations.” Friday’s voice echoed through the room.

“If the story’s true, it’s not impossible,” Natasha chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “When the files went public, someone must have taken action.”

“It just smells like there’s a cat hidden in the closet, y’all know?” Sam muttered, arms crossed, shaking his head. “Like, really? Now? The agent overseeing all this Sokovia Accords 2.0 stuff just so happens to be ex-Hydra, ex-experiment, and he shows up now? Like literally walking right to her. Now? When she’s…” He gestured pointedly. “With Steve? Why not before?”

“Maybe he was gone during the Blip?” Natasha suggested. “Look, I’m just trying to figure this out. Not saying the guy’s a saint, but…”

She glanced at Steve, who had turned into some kind of statue, staring at the screen, trying to read your every move, every reaction.

“We do have ex-Hydras doing just fine…” Bucky is one. You are one. Natasha didn’t say it, but it hung in the air, unspoken yet clear.

“Alright, first things first.” Maria stepped in, standing next to Steve. “What do we do with this guy? He’s still carrying the UN Special title, and…” She pulled up his file. “One thing’s for sure—his records are impeccable. At least on paper.”

Steve didn’t respond. His eyes remained fixed on the screen, where you were holding hands with Four. It wasn’t romantic, he could tell. You were pressing his hand, patting his back. You looked relaxed. The painful part of remembering was over, and now you were chatting about his life after MI6 gave him a new identity.

And you were smiling. You tilted your head slightly, something you always did when listening intently.

“Tony.” Steve suddenly spoke up, his voice low but steady. “Why are you so quiet?”

Steve hadn’t raised his voice, but the room instantly turned to Iron Man.

“Maybe I have nothing to say.”

“Or maybe it’s because I don’t want to know the answer.” Steve shot back, his tone sharper now. He didn’t say it aloud, but Tony knew. He knew exactly why Steve was looking at him like that.

But as always, Tony didn’t flinch under Steve’s scrutinizing glare, nor did he step back.

“I think Dr. Lancaster is just the perfect person for this job.” Tony said, quietly but with precision, locking eyes with Steve.

“Fuck! Tony!” Steve’s fists slammed down on the desk so hard that everything on it bounced. “She’s out of the New Era Project.” he said, gritting his teeth.

“She’s Level A.” Tony stepped closer, meeting Steve’s gaze up close. 

“And she happens to be top of R&D. Yes, I asked her to be here this morning, to check on this guy… just like she’s been doing since day one when she entered this compound.”

“So yeah, she can show him around, talk about super-intelligent things that normal people won’t understand, as long as it fits within the clearance I’ve given her. It’s not like I’m ordering her to do anything.”

Tony leaned in even closer to Steve’s face. “You can stay and hang out if you want. But seriously… and this is me being brutally honest, like you’ve always wanted.” His voice was calm, firm, unwavering. 

“Did you really think you could keep her out of this? Out of your life? Our life?”

He opened his arms slightly, giving Steve a knowing look. “Stop acting as your decisions are better than hers, Steve. She knew exactly what she was signing up for.”

“I’m honored, but my pressure it’s on its peaks.” Four muttered, walking beside you down the long aisle that led from “Sustainable Technologies & Environmental Innovation” to the “Space Exploration & Interstellar Travel Engineering” hall.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you caught the reflection in the sleek glass walls: a serious, determined, and ‘touch my girl by a hair and I’ll kill the fuck out of you’ Steve, and a ‘I have so much more important and real shit to deal with right now than this’ face Maria walking behind you. 

“I mean I’m just a public employee. I expected both high commanders to receive me, but not to walk us all the way.��� Four teased: “Remember when we had to escort the king during the war?”

“I thought that was the proudest day of your life.”

“It was, until this.” Four laughed, letting out a long, amused sigh after a pause. Then, more sincerely, “But you should be proud too, Twelve. Look at what you’ve accomplished.”

Four’s gaze lifted, drawn to the towering structures and intricate technology around him—robotics designed to repair spacecraft mid-flight, drones engineered for planetary terraforming. His eyes followed the sleek contours of prototype exosuits encased behind glass, shimmering with the pulse of energy cores yet to be tested.

Even with all the cutting-edge tech he’d seen around the world, he couldn’t help but admire the scale of innovation unfolding here—the flawless precision, the harmony between form and function, and the dedication and sense of unity the folks around here were putting on their work.

“Everything here... it’s like stepping into the future.” he said, his voice carrying a rare note of awe. “Back in the day, we only dreamt of machines like this. Now it’s real. I can feel the intelligence in the air, the potential of what this place can do.”

He paused in front of an android prototype, its sensors lighting up as though acknowledging his presence.

“This is what happens when visionaries are free to play with the impossible. And you are part of it. You should be proud. It’s the realization of everything we once hoped for. ”

Steve and Maria exchanged a glance at his words, and Steve’s gaze immediately shifted to you. He was desperate for you to turn, to look at him the way you always did—like you understood him without a single word needing to be spoken. But since the moment you walked out of Room 9 with Four, your gaze hadn’t found his. Not once.

You stayed silent upon your brother’s words. Your gaze was still, serene, and silent. There was no emotion beyond that on your face. Your eyes rested lightly on Four's expressions, then moved softly to the equipment he was examining. You were as still as a pond on a windless day. And your eyes…Steve could always interpret the emotions they held, if you offered him a glimpse, but you never did.

“Is it?” you murmured, emotionless. Neither Four nor Maria caught it, but Steve did. And it sent a cold shiver down his spine.

He watched you, hoping—no, needing—you to turn around, to meet his eyes with the same openness you always had. He knew you could feel his gaze, feel his desperate hope that you would just look at him. But you didn’t. You kept walking a few steps behind Four, and the space between you and Steve grew wider with every step.

He wanted to call your name, to pull you aside, to ask if you were okay, if this was too much for you. But something held him back. What if you didn’t respond the way he hoped? What if Four’s presence here was dragging you back into the person you were before? What if you weren’t the person he had fallen so deeply in love with? And what if… what if you didn’t love him back the way he loved you? Or worse, what if you were still exactly what Hydra wanted you to be? 

What if…this is the real you?

Steve’s heart was at war with itself. He had fought through battles where the stakes were higher than anything he could imagine here, but the battlefield of emotions felt far more treacherous. His love for you was the one thing he held onto with unyielding certainty—something unshakable. But now, he felt it flickering, like a candle fighting to stay lit in a growing storm.

Every time he looked at you, searching for a sign that you still belonged to him in the way he believed you did, it felt like reaching out for something just beyond his grasp.

It wasn’t the distance you kept from him physically that hurt the most. It was the emotional wall—thick, invisible, but undeniably there. His rationale, the part of him that always tried to be fair, tried to stay calm, told him not to jump to conclusions, not to doubt you. But the love-struck, emotional side of him—the part that saw you as his everything—was falling down into the vast uncertain sea of fear.

Four’s voice pulled him back from his thoughts, he was talking in low, but Steve overheard anyway.

“What are you really working on?” He was genuinely curious: “I’ve always known you were the best of us in intelligence but…this is…” he said in an obvious ‘wow’: “Mr. Stark said that you are on top of R&D, and you are also guiding the way, so I bet it is something…dramatic.”

“I can show you my workspace.” You smirk quietly, your voice a little bit proud, as a sibling that wanted to show off her new toys: “It’s not…dramatic. At least not complicated for you to read.”

“I…” Steve spoke up at the same time he frowned, but held back on calling out your name: “Dr. Lancaster. I don’t think…”

“We’ll be fine, Captain.” You interrupted him, but he could only see your back when you answered, still not looking back for a second: “I’ve got the clearance, no worries.” You said as you walked straight forward without hesitation.

Of course, you weren't leading Four to your lab—your home with Steve, your recluse sanctuary out of the compounds. That would’ve been too much. Even for Steve, it would’ve crossed a line he couldn’t forgive, and you weren’t a monster, like, duh. 

Instead, you led Four toward your personal workspace. Or how Tony liked to call it: "the genius playroom", where cutting-edge tech, half-finished projects, and too many abandoned coffee mugs cluttered the surfaces—remnants of late-night brainstorming sessions with him and Bruce.

The room was chaotic brilliance in its purest form. Holographic models of Stark tech hovered in the air like suspended thoughts, caught in an endless cycle of innovation. Transparent screens flashed data faster than any normal person could process: only a select few could follow the constant stream of figures and projections (Three, actually, if Wakandian minds, or Dr. Cho weren't around). Half-assembled drones and sleek energy cores, still pulsating with untapped potential, were scattered around workbenches. Tony’s famous bean bag chairs—“sometimes the ass needs to think before the brain catches up”—occupied one corner, breaking the space's otherwise high-tech aesthetic.

The room was alive with invention, buzzing with the frenetic energy of genius minds always in motion. It was your playground, your escape, and the damn Thursday’s night that you couldn’t make it home and Steve's always resent.

“Bloody hell...” Four’s voice broke through the hum of machinery as he stepped into the room. His eyes widened, slowly sweeping across the multitude of inventions and half-finished designs. 

"This is... whoa...little sister, you did find your spot in the world, didn't you?" he muttered, genuine awe in his voice.

You watched him, standing close enough to catch every flicker of his gaze, how his eyes darted from one holographic projection to the next, lingering just a bit too long. As if he was, scanning.

"Well, welcome to The Crib." You said with a casual shrug, already moving toward one of the many touchscreens embedded into the workbenches. You tapped a few commands, and the room sprang to life. Holographic blueprints of your latest projects filled the space between you and Four.

"Where the magic is born. Core of the Avengers and Stark Industries inventions, we usually break a lot of rules here...and stuff, too."

Behind you, Steve and Maria stepped into the room, but your focus remained on the task at hand. Your heart began racing so fast it was going out of your chest, but you pushed it aside. You had work to do.

And a sense of unease gnawed at Steve, making his hair stand on end and his senses become hyper-alert. There was something wrong. Really wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but a chill crawled up his spine, making his muscles tense.

He exchanged a glance with Maria—she felt it too. The air was too thick, too still. He could hear your heart beating, too fast, too loud.

You kept moving, subtly positioning yourself near the wall, your body shielding a button—one Steve hadn’t noticed before.

“Four?” Your voice was soft and casual. You were watching him carefully, studying his reactions like you were dissecting his every move.

“Mhm?” He didn’t look back, his attention still locked on the blueprints projected across the room, soaking up every detail.

“When did you say we escorted the king?” You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, your position relaxed, but gaze distant. “Was it at the beginning of the war? Or when it was almost over?”

“Beginning. Why?” Four turned to face you, a smile still hanging on his lips. “Why do you ask?”

“Because we were Hydra back then.” You said, voice level but resolute. “We didn’t escort people. Not the alliance, at least.”

Four’s smile faltered. It froze on his face.

“Who are you?” Your voice remained calm, but there was a razor edge beneath the surface. “And why are you pretending to be my brother?”

"Shit!" Maria immediately pulled out her gun, aiming straight at Four—no, Agent Frazer's—head, her finger tight on the trigger.

Steve stayed still, fists clenched, eyes rapidly calculating every option in the room: the exits, the distance between you and Four, and how fast he could get to either of you. In a matter of seconds, hundreds of plans flashed through his mind, each one detailing how things could go down.

Four's face remained calm, but the shift in his eyes betrayed him. The mask of the amiable older brother slipped, revealing the cold, calculating operative underneath—the same one who had greeted Captain America this morning: the perfect spy, shifting personas like a chameleon, adapting to every situation.

A slow, smug smile curled across his lips, replacing the affectionate facade he wore seconds ago.

"How did you know?" he asked, tilting his head, examining you. He seemed almost impressed by your unflinching calm, as if you'd been expecting this all along.

"'It's the realization of everything we once hoped for.'" Your gaze was unwavering, your tone even as you repeated his earlier words.

"What?"

You lowered your eyelids, the weight of old memories seeping into your voice, barely a whisper.

"You’ve said that this tech, this…unrealistic world leadered by heroes, is something that we hoped for… is not." 

You didn’t know whom you were talking to, to Four, to Steve, or to yourself.

“We were kids. Trapped in a cage. We never hoped for any of this.” You paused: “My brother and sisters died before I was even grown up. And they didn’t dream big. We didn't have the chance or dared to do so.”

Steve's heart clenched. He had sensed this, but hearing you say it still hit harder than expected.

"You knew?" Four's tone shifted, darker, more dangerous. His eyes gleamed like a predator closing in on its prey. "From the beginning?"

"Easy, Frazer." Maria warned, her aim steady. "You even blink, and I'll put a bullet in your pretty forehead."

"Of course I knew…" you said calmly. "And I know you're wearing a retinal lens—a live-streaming neural interface that captures everything you see, using nanotransceivers to broadcast it live via ultra-broadband frequencies to a secure hub."

Steve's mind clicked into place. You had the ability to see the composition of materials in everything around you. It was why Tony often had you blend in with the crowd, to detect anything out of place or hidden in plain sight.

"Then you know it's too late." Four's grin widened, a victorious glint in his eyes. "I've already got everything I need, little sister."

"Do you?" You smiled—a smile Steve knew all too well, the one that meant you were about to love what happened next. 

You snapped your fingers. 

"Revelio."

The world around you shimmered, peeling away like burning paper. The high-tech lab setup dissolved, revealing a The Crib instead, but it didn’t have all the advanced technology drafts as it was shown to Four. It was a clean, organized, fancy lab, not revealing anything confidential, it looked brand new..

"Binary Augmented Retro-Framing. Or BARF." you said, almost sighing. "It's on the market. The records are public. Tony loves to play with it."

"You think you're so smart." Frazer sneered, a cruel twist to his lips. "Or good. You think joining these superheroes will erase what you are? What you really are? You're nothing but a monstrous experiment."

"You're right." Your expression didn’t falter, not even a twitch. "My brothers and sisters were better." You continued watching him, calm as ever. "But you didn’t come all this way just for some tech demo, did you?"

"No." Frazer's smirk returned, sharper than before. "I came to confirm something, and I did. But there’s one last thing I wanted to check, just in case."

Steve's instincts kicked in, but he knew it was already too late. 

Frazer locked eyes with you, and his voice dropped, firm and deliberate:

"Мечта."

-TBC-

Divider Credits: to the wonderful @cafekitsune

Woohooo...damn!! OMG thank you for reading thus far! Hope you really enjoyed it like I did writing it, it was a rollercoaster of emotions, tho.

Next chapter is finished already so I'll see you on next Friday! And I couldn't help myself on the "Revelio" part, I just had to give that dramatic line, if there were background music asin the movies, that's when it comes to play XD

Alright, let me know what do you think! (Also if you thought this was intense then next chapter is worse...xD)

Love.,

Moon.

Shoot, I completely forgot, but it was mentioned by the brilliant @steviebbboi & @jamneuromain that I should have a taglist? So mentioning here, will edit when I have it ready ❤️

[whitexwolfxx310]

Meeting the Big Bad (White) Wolf

Pairing: Bucky x female reader // Bucky x y/n

Summary: After finishing college you are accepted into an internship program at the Avengers Compound to help your new patient into the civilian world. But much to your surprise, your first and currently only, patient is none other than James Buchanan Barnes.

Warnings: Death, possible triggering, military life, and some light cursing.

Words: 2.9k

Masterlist

Being an Army brat is what inspired you to go to school and help adjust Veteran's back into civilian life. Moving from place to place, never being able to truly establish yourself or relationships with anyone due to the impending doom of you, or them, leaving. Another thought that was always front and center in anyone’s mind linked to the military, was death. At first it’s heartbreaking. You see families and other soldiers crumble due to a fallen comrade. But then one day, it’s like a switch flips, and it becomes a part of life that you learn to accept, no matter how hard of a loss. Being a soldier, everyone around you develops a hard, and sometimes impenetrable, exterior (and interior). 

My father, Colonel Castle, retired from the military after 20+ years of active duty with the 107th Infantry. He and my mom moved to a beautiful, secluded home with a lot of wide open space in upstate New York so that we were still close to the place that we considered ‘home’. My dad said he knew that it was meant for him when he realized how quiet it was. I guess spending half of your life fighting in war, silence is welcome over explosions and screams of dying people. 

My mom was the forever adored and perfect Army wife. She was always by my fathers side for award ceremonies, promotions, led the FRG (Family Readiness Group) in the battalion. My parents of course supported my older brother Luke when he decided to follow in the Colonels footsteps (and my grandfathers) when he enlisted into the 107th right out of high school. He spent a total of 7 years in the military. We didn’t see him much due to where he was assigned, training for airborne school, and 3 tours overseas. 

It happened to be the day I finished my last final in my final semester before getting my masters. I practically skipped my way back to the dorms where my room was already packed and I was so much looking forward to going to my parents home upstate to await my results and see where I got placed for an internship. It was a beautiful day in the beginning of June. The sun was shining so bright and the air was warm, but not humid. After settling into the guest bedroom, I took out a novel that I have been dying to read instead of textbooks. I sat in a wooden rocking chair on the wrap around porch with my book, waiting for my parents to get home. (Mom was always great in the sense of preparing for someone’s arrival. Getting food, snacks, and ingredients to make your favorite dinners. But of course, she was the most perfect model wife and mother). My father no doubt went with her to the store because now he was finally able to have the time to enjoy the little things, even as small as going to the local grocery store. 

I’m not sure how long I was reading for, but I got about 8 chapters into my book when I heard a car in the distance. I immediately jumped up in anticipation to greet my parents. I could see the dust being kicked up from the tires of the vehicle down the long driveway. But much to my surprise, it wasn’t my parents. Instead, it was a large, black Chevy Tahoe and my heart sank. I’ve seen this SUV many times, and it never came with good news. Once the car was parked in front of the house, a man dressed in his olive green uniform got out of the SUV.

Oh no... I thought to myself. I swallowed the hard lump in my throat, clenched my teeth and slowly walked down the steps to meet him.

“Ma’am. I’m Sergeant Finn, here on behalf of the 107th Infantry Division”

I nodded my head in understanding. But that was all that I could muster. 

“Are you kin to Staff Sergeant Lucas William Castle?” 

Here we go. “Yes.” The volume was barely audible. “I-I’m....his sister, y/n.”

Sergeant Finn takes a deep breath and looks straight into your eyes. “I regret to inform you that Sergeant First Class Castle has been killed in action.”

Another olive green uniformed man steps out from behind the Black Tahoe with a triangle box. He briskly starts walking toward you while Sgt, Finn continues speaking of condolences and the details of how, when, where, etc. But it all sounds drowned out, like you’re underwater. You’re not sure how long the one-sided conversation went on with the two men until you realized the heavy weight in your hands from your older brothers flag and the dust being kicked up from the dirt road as they left. 

It’s just me now. Just me.

Your life has been at a standstill since you and your family learned the news about Luke. You’ve slept most of the days away, barely coming out of the guest room to socialize, even with your own parents. There’s a piece of you that feels guilty, since you are their only remaining child and yet you can’t bring yourself to talk to your parents, to your friends, even acknowledge that Lucas’ death is real. 

Forcing yourself out of bed to take a shower is the big accomplishment of the week. It’s really the only thing you look forward to anymore, since everything else has gotten put on hold (from your own doing). You stare at yourself in the mirror as it starts to fog from the hot water running. The person looking back is someone that you don’t recognize. Poking at the dark bags under your eyes, seeing how dry your skin is and how dull your hair looks. A deep sigh escapes from your chest as you undress to stand naked and vulnerable in the almost unbearable hot water. You stand there in hopes that the water will wash away not just the grime, but the depression and the grief as well. 

Feeling slightly better after you shaved, exfoliated and scrubbed, you head back into the guest room to get into a clean pair of comfy clothes. When you walk in you notice something on the bed; A manilla envelope addressed to you. It instantly peaked your curiosity so you sit on the bed and start inspecting it. In the upper right hand corner in big, bold letters read the return address: Stark Industries.

Up until this point you had forgotten the internship you had applied for in your last year of school. It can’t be.... you think to yourself. There is no way I actually got the position, the one where only a single student was chosen to work at the Avengers Compound.

The letter inside the envelope reads:

Dear (y/n),

We are writing this letter to say Congratulations, you have been accepted into the paid internship program working with Earth’s mightiest heroes. You have the opportunity to help make the world a better place by dedicating your time to encourage their well-being, mental health, and expand their abilities. If you choose to accept and seize this moment, we are very much looking forward to working with you. The details below contain your start date, dress code, directions and information on where to go within the compound to get your ID and clearance. We look forward to hearing from you! If you have any questions, please call me directly at (000-000-0000).

Thank you, 

Pepper Potts

Shocked is an understatement. You quickly throw on a band t-shirt and sweatpants before running out into the living room waving the letter and jumping up and down to your parents. You’re unable to even get a word out. Both your mom and dad get up off of the couch and take the letter. Together they read it aloud and you eagerly wait for them to realize just what this exactly means. They look up smiling widely and meet your beaming face. Simultaneously you all start cheering and jumping up and down. This is the first shred of good news your family has received in almost a year. 

“My dream job!” You say, the most enthusiastically you have been in what seems like forever. 

“Oh honey, we are so proud of you!” Mom says as she hugs you tightly. Your father comes up behind your mother and wraps his arms around you both. A sigh of relief comes unanimously.

You have to follow the directions from your acceptance letter to a T because you cannot use Maps in your phone to get there. But of course, can’t make the whereabouts known. It isn’t hard to tell when you have arrived. The runways for jets, collection of high end cars, or just the huge building with the giant ‘A’ on it might be an indication that you’re in the right place. 

After parking your car, you flip down the visor to take one last look at yourself before heading in. It’s the first time you’ve worn make up in months, worn clothes other than sweats, and styled your hair. You run your fingers through your long, wavy brown hair to help blend the curls; Then you apply one more layer of gloss to your lips and take a deep breath. You got this, you encourage yourself. 

Walking up to the building is even more intimidating than driving to the parking garage. The entrance way is made up of huge impact proof doors. As you approach, they automatically open and there to greet you is none other than the beautiful red headed Mrs. Potts. 

“Hi! You must be (y/n)! I’m so excited to finally meet you! You had quite the impressive application, even Tony said so!” 

Tony? As in Stark? You swallow your nervousness down at the thought.

“Hi! Wow, Mrs. Potts! Thank you-”

“Please, call me Pepper.” She smiles sweetly. You let out a slightly nervous laugh

“Pepper. Thank you again so much for the opportunity. I’ve been dreaming about this for as long as I can remember!” 

Pepper hands you a black leather binder. “Well then,” She says excitedly “Let’s get you right into it!” 

You follow the pair of heel clicking long legs and take in the astonishing view. There are computers everywhere, cameras in every corner, different suits from different Avengers through time on display in the walls. Just when you think you have seen it all, the next thing takes your breath away. 

Mrs. Potts takes you to security for your picture, ID badge, fingerprints, a company card and clearance. It takes all of two minutes for everything to come back. Pepper smiles “Well it looks like you’re not a convicted felon.” She laughs “Either way, I’m sure one or two are hanging around here somewhere!” She smirks and then let’s out a small laugh. “Let me show you to your office, it’s on the 5th floor.” 

She takes you up to the fifth floor and your office if the second door on the right hand side. You walk in, noticing just how much sunlight and the amount of space that you have. It’s taking everything you have for your jaw to not drop on the floor. 

“Your desktop is all set up. Here is your first case file-” Pepper tsks through the stack of papers she is lugging around. “Ah! Here you go. Dr. Banner made some notations that he thought might be helpful from his own experiences. This is going to be you’re only case right now since it’s um..” She hesitates, but recollects herself and smiles through it. “Well it will keep you busy!” Pepper smiles as she hands over the file. “Well I’ll leave you to get settled in then!” She starts to walk out of your office but abruptly stops and turns around “Oh, and he likes to be early, just thought you should know!” She says extremely bubbly, just like everything else. You laugh to yourself as you sit down behind your desk for the first time, placing the file down in front of you. 

My office....MY office. Wow. 

You take in a deep breath and borderline almost pinch yourself to make sure this is real. You giddily scoot your chair forward, put your purse in one of your desk drawers and open the case file. 

You freeze. All of the air just got completely sucked out of the room. The first thing you see is an old black and white picture of a handsome man smiling as he swears into the Army. But the name, the name is what nearly makes your heart stop. James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes. 

Your eyes race through the file, reading as much as you can as quickly as you can. The clock on the wall is practically screaming the time as his session with you seems to be racing towards you. 

‘He likes to be early...’ Fuck. 

As quickly as you can, you get up and run to the door, making sure it’s open for him to feel welcome. Especially for his first session with you. Hurrying back to your desk, you once again go nose deep into Barnes’ file. You scan over his time served in the military, being experimented on, becoming a deadly assassin for Hydra, coming back after 5 years after Thanos, working diligently in Wakanda to undo mind control, and now trying to blend into society and living with the things he’s done and has to live with. You truly feel sorry for all that he has been through. While they cannot be compared on the same level, you both have experienced far more death in your lives than anyone should have to. 

Looking up at the clock one last time to see how much time you have left before your first interaction with James, you are startled to already find him sitting on the couch across the room facing you. He was so stealth like that you didn’t even notice he came in.

“Oh! Sergeant Barnes! I’m so sorry I didn’t even hear you come in.”

He stands up, so you mimic his movement to go forward thinking he was going to introduce himself. You feel like a complete idiot when he hands you a piece of paper instead of shaking hands. He avoids making eye contact at all. 

“When we’re done here I need you to sign this saying I was here or whatever.” 

Very quick to the point I see.

You take the sheet of paper that was handed to you and set it down on your desk as you retreat back to your chair. Although he’s barely said anything, you’re intimidated by him. Which of course you cannot let on. But at the same time, this does not seem like the man who used to be on the news non-stop. While his face was as solid as stone, you noticed the shorter hair, the fact that he was still muscular but more lean and how he in completely covered from the neck down in all black, including a black leather jacket and gloves to match.

“Yes of course. My name is y/n, and it’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Barnes.” You say in a calm tone to make it a point to not sound aggressive. 

“Yeah...” He replies, looking out the window into the trees. “And it’s Bucky.” He spat back. 

“Sorry, I apologize. Bucky it is then.” 

The silent treatment is making this more awkward. You clear your throat.

“So Bucky, how are you adjusting to civilian life?”

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes at your question. 

“How well do you think?” 

Well this is going to be interesting...

“That boring after so many years of constantly going from fight after fight, huh?” 

He actually glances over. Not making eye contact, but actually looked in your general direction. 

“I guess you could say that.” He says, agreeing. You keep trying to probe but not push too hard.

“Add on top of that having to conform to an entirely new society.” 

This time he lets it go completely unanswered. 

“Well, I know that you could possibly have everything that you need here at the Compound, but I just want you to know that I am here. My door is always open if you want to talk or if you need anything. I also live relatively close by so...” You grab a post it note and write down your number. “You can call or text me anytime, I’ll be readily available.”

“Thanks.” Short, sweet and to the point. 

You get up from your desk, walking over to Bucky and handing him the post it with your number. You don’t get too close, enough to extend your arm and hand him the paper.

“I need your signature.” He says coldly. 

“Right!” You scramble to your desk, finding a pen and writing the date of your session along with your signature. “Here you go...” You say, handing him the paper. He stands up and reaches for the paper and he makes eye contact with you for the first time. 

“Thanks” He says again.

“It was nice meeting you, James” You say encouragingly. “I’ll see you the same time tomorrow.”  

“Thanks.” He said and walked out. 

We’ve got a lot of work to do... We definitely have a long road ahead of us.

Next part

[vizzy740]

Late Night TodoMomo

Momo didn’t usually go out to the commons rooms at night. After curfew, everyone was supposed to go to bed, and loitering around in the common rooms was an easy way to get in trouble.

That’s why Momo didn’t usually participate in such behavior, but once in a while, she wouldn’t have a good night’s rest, like when she was feeling bad about how she’d done on some hero training exercise or some other event, or like this night, where there was an exam in the following morning.

She’d found that the best way to calm herself down was walking down to the kitchen in the commons, brewing herself a cup of tea, and eating a small pastry left by Sato during his weekly baking sessions. She usually  reviewed the chemical compounds for different types of wood and paints during this time. She’d memorized them all when she’d first learned to read and write, in her quest to make her first real object with her quirk, a matryoshka doll.

Thankfully, the rest of the class hadn’t raided the fridge yet, and Sato’s pastries, –baked just last night, most likely as Sato’s own anti-stress ritual– were untouched.

She was savoring a small pastry. She thinks Sato called it a mini boston cream pie, and it did fit the description, but she couldn’t know for sure until she asked him tomorrow.

It was delicious, like all of Sato’s creations, not too rich and with just the right amount of sweetness and moisture.

 She was reading a chemical compound book (though really she already knew what was inside) and waiting for her tea kettle to whistle when she heard the elevator doors open.

Then out stepped Todoroki.

It was strange seeing him late at night. Even though they lived together in the dorms. She'd never seen him look so disheveled, though she supposed she wasn’t very close to him.

She’d never seen him in his nightclothes, but they weren’t anything interesting, just a plain loose pair of pants and a white button up shirt.

They were ruffled and wrinkled and clearly hadn’t been ironed in some time, though Momo supposed that such a thing didn’t matter, and Todoroki probably didn’t care if the pants of his sleeping wear looked crisp and straight or not.

His hair was also mussed, and the red and the white mixed together at his part, with flyaways all around.

He stumbled over to the kitchen counter to stand next to Momo, though he seemed ready to topple over at any second. He blinked, and seemed to gain a bit of clarity from his groggy state, “What’s that smell?” He asked.

“S-Sato’s desserts, he made them yesterday, mini boston cream pies I believe he said? I can get one if you would like,” Momo told him, feeling her face flush slightly as she rambled, “And I-I’m boiling some water for tea, would you like some? It has a mild sedative, since it’s for helping people to fall asleep, but I have other options I can take out too–”

“Yes, I would like that.” He interrupted.

“The cream pie or the tea?” Momo asked, smiling slightly.

“Both.” Todoroki stated bluntly. “And I want the sedative type of tea.”

“Did I disturb you?” Momo asked as she took out a cup, and another bag of the same tea.

“No. I didn’t even know you were down here.” Todoroki answered.

The kettle whistled, and Momo hurried to take it off the stove and turn the dial off. She poured the water into the cups, and handed one to Todoroki.

She was surprised for a second as he put his hand fully around the cup, before remembering his quirk. Then she hurried off to grab a second miniature pie from the fridge and handed it to Todoroki as well.

After she put it in his unoccupied hang, he watched it with his usual monotone stare before taking a bite of it, then the ends of his mouth raised slightly. Only those who really knew Todoroki well could tell it was actually a smile and not just some odd, different version of his usual emotionless expression.

She smiled, “I’m happy you like it.”

He turned to meet her eyes, and with his cheek similar to that  of a chipmunk, his cheeks slightly puffed out, Momo couldn’t help but give out a little giggle.

Todoroki was cute like that, when he did those little, easy things in life, when the untouchable feeling he gave off melted away, showing the boy underneath.

A boy that Momo liked.

She smiled at him as she let the thought swirl in her mind. By the time she returned back to reality, taking in the changes to her surroundings, she felt herself flush again.

Todoroki was less than a foot away from her, still staring into her eyes.

“T-Todoroki.” she stammered, too dazed to say anything but his name.

She glanced around, and saw her cup upon the counter beside her. She picked it up and glanced into it, upon seeing that the water was sufficiently colored by the tea bag, she decided that it had steeped for long enough, and removed it from the water, dropping it into the nearby kitchen garbage can without moving from their close position.

“I think the tea’s steeped long enough. Do you want me to put yours in the tea bag?”

Todoroki shook his head.

“The taste might get worse if you don’t.”

“I don’t care.” He replied, “I want the sedative to be at its most potent.”

“Okay…?” Momo answered hesitantly. She took a sip of her tea. It was nice, as it usually was.

Todoroki continued to look at her. Momo wasn’t really used to this. She’d seen Todoroki look at her every once in a while, he stared at everyone really, if he took an interest in something, his eyes would just stay on it, either not knowing or not caring about being strange.

Usually it was fine, and it didn’t make Momo uncomfortable most of the time, it was more of a question of why.

Because the why changed everything.

Her face was hot. Todoroki had walked back up to her, and they were close again.

Then Todoroki touched her face, and–

It was cold.

She blinked, a bit surprised at how cold it felt.

“Is that good?”

“I– uh, yeah.” She answered, because it was nice, the cool feeling, it was a bit surprising, but overall it was soothing, it felt good on her left cheek. “I… thought you were going to do something else.”

“What else would I do?” Todoroki asked, his voice even as usual, even as he leaned close to her, their noses barely an inch away from each other. He kept his hand on his face.

“Kiss me.” 

“Do you want me to?” Todoroki asked. For Todoroki, the monotone of his voice sounded completely genuine.

“D-do you want to?” Momo asked, her voice trembling.

“I think so.”

“Then… do it.” Momo breathed out.

And he did.

(Catcity)

[keouil]

legends are slippery little things

ushijima and kageyama get drafted for the national team. oikawa threatens iwaizumi to send hourly updates. 4k. ushikage/iwaoi. gen. also on ao3.

when, then, are we ever at home?

They’re assigned roommates for the 2016 Rio Olympics Training Camp.

Ushijima has been living out of a suitcase far longer than he’s known stability, and so doesn’t so much as blink at the official email he gets from the Japan Volleyball Association. They had it all planned out for everyone—detailed not just daily schedules and meal plans for both players and staff, but also designated lodgings. He finds out Iwaizumi is joining them for this season as an intern trainer, and is staying in the same compound as them.

Ushijima Wakatoshi and Kageyama Tobio, Room 3A, Building B.

It makes sense when you consider logistics, surmises Ushijima; being the only two on the national team who were out of towners, that even with a chartered bus at their service, commute time that could be lent to training was more optimal for the team moving forward. Ushijima is used to wheeling things in and out of dorms or hotels, and even welcomes from time to time, the often solitary nature it brings. 

But evidently not everyone did.

Kageyama hasn’t even so much as stepped a foot in the room since he punched the code. He stood lingering awkwardly by the door, eyes tracing the four corners of the room and peering curiously at the bunk beds and built in drawers and such. Cataloguing the space of what would be home for the next six months. His fingers were clutching his duffel bag and carry-on firmly, maybe even groundingly.

Ushijima has the faintest thought that will he not say anything, anything at all, then Kageyama would have been perfectly content to stay there for the rest of the night.

“Tobio,” Ushijima breaks the silence first, bringing his luggage to the side to make room. It was spacious enough as it is, he thinks, but maybe Tobio was someone who needed more space to acclimate more so than most. “Do you want the top or bottom bunk?”

Kageyama blinks, his still slightly lanky but growing 19-year-old frame stepping hesitantly further into the room. Ushijima doesn’t know if he’s just this generally awkward as a person or just with people in general. Or just Ushijima.

“I don’t have a preference,” Ushijima says in what he hopes comes across casually, instead noting how the normally levelled pitch of his voice is enough to send Kageyama into a straight-backed pose that seems born out of obedience to authority. He tries again, a little gentler, “You are free to choose.”

Kageyama looks anywhere but at him. His hand gripping the handle of his luggage was knuckled white, eyes darting to and from the bed and his face. 

“I—” he starts unsurely. “I also don’t — mind. Anything.”

Somehow in that surprisingly shy timbre of Kageyama’s stammering, Ushijima vaguely remembers Iwaizumi telling him he opted out of university in favor of going straight to the leagues. By the time Kageyama graduated, a well documented and patented offer from the Adlers was already on its way to him for a final signature. He was wined and dined and cooed. Ushijima would know the politics and optics of it all that well, he thinks: it’s exactly the kind of trajectory they laid out for him a few years prior. 

Except Ushijima rallied for university. 

His dad didn’t need much convincing, neither did the Adlers representative who even encouraged the idea of him being a student athlete. He’s thankful he pushed through with it, because it really has done wonders for his social graces; blunting some of his awkward pauses and making the flow of conversation pass by smoother. He’s far better at reading people and responding to their social cues than he ever was, and has university to thank for some of it.

Ushijima had a year or so in the league before Kageyama officially signed on with them. A month later, they were both drafted for the JNT. It wasn’t nearly enough time to learn each other outside the court, Ushijima still on the beginning legs of casual conversation that didn’t revolve around volleyball, and Kageyama still so clearly reserved—and maybe even hesitant—as the team’s youngest. 

Sometimes Kageyama looks at him a certain way, and Ushijima doesn’t know what he sees exactly: if it’s a version of him that’s a fellow Olympian on a completely level playing field with him, or still that asocial 3rd-year private school senior who didn’t so much as blink their way when they first met. Ushijima isn’t someone raised to have a lot of regrets, but time has allowed him the hindsight to look back on that encounter and humble himself enough to know he could have acted better.

And maybe that’s why when he looks at Kageyama’s growing frame, notices the awkward hunch in his shoulders and the way his limbs sprawl out from under him and still do, makes a decision for him: He has long legs. Still growing legs. Movement will be kinder on him below.

“You take the bottom bunk, then.”

-

“And this,” Ushijima demonstrates. “Is where the detergent goes in.”

Kageyama blinks. “Ushijima-san,” he starts carefully. “I — I know how to do my own laundry.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

He doubts either of them can see him, hunched in one of the many tables along the laundry room where the light was spotty enough as it was and multiple machines blocked anyone’s view of him. He was waiting for the final load of his sheets to dry when he heard familiar voices waft in. Ushijima had been trying to teach Kageyama how to operate a very standard, hotel-issue washing machine for the better part of ten minutes; and in that time, completely missing the look of incredulousness on Kageyama’s face as he watched Ushijima take charge of his pile and unceremoniously dump it in himself, all the while pointing out which buttons were for which. 

Iwaizumi didn't even have to ask.

He knows it took Kageyama that painfully long to speak up because he didn’t have the heart to tell Ushijima right away he was already well-versed in the art of domestic chores. Oikawa was going to have a field day with this.

“Oh,” Ushijima says. “Are you sure?”

Kageyama rubs the back of his neck hesitantly. “Um,” he flushes. “I–I’m pretty sure, yes. My sister taught me.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yes.”

“Older?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Ushijima says, and then: “I see.”

Kageyama doesn’t know what to do with his mouth or his hands, and so opts for the next best thing: shutting up and letting the clinical motions of doing your laundry at 10pm on a Friday night dull his social nerves. He’s just about to put some quarters in when he hears Ushijima say something beside him.

“I’m sorry?” he asks, stopping halfway.

“Fabric softener,” Ushijima points to his machine. “If you don’t have any, I can give you some.”

Kageyama blinks. “What for?”

Ushijima also blinks. “To soften your fabric.”

But ofcourse, Kageyama thinks, still wrapping his mind around it. Miwa never added anything else to their laundry days except the usual store-brand detergent. “Is it,” he stops. “Necessary?”

Ushijima considers for a moment. “Yes,” he decides. “I would think so. Fabric softeners make your clothes last longer, and I find they’re more comfortable to wear than without. Would you like some?”

“Oh,” Kageyama sputters. “I see. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. So I don’t have—”

“That’s no problem,” Ushijima walks towards him, unloads the cartridge again as he carefully pours a cup worth of something that smelled surprisingly crisp with just the faintest hints of floral. “I always bring extra just in case.”

“Thank you,” Kageyama says, genuine. “Ushijima-san.”

“You’re welcome,” Ushijima returns. “Tobio.”

The hum and drum of clothes sloshing against each other and the buzzing of the machine keep them company for the rest of the night. Iwaizumi hears gentle pen strokes from Kageyama’s careful fingers as they write on an old leather-bound notebook, the lines of his brows furrowed in concentration as Ushijima takes generous sips of break room coffee, looking past into the Tokyo skyline. Neither of them really needed to stay, but then no one was making an effort to go either. And when fine strips of moonlight make their way from the open window, casting the room in an almost luminous glow from the overhead lights, they hear the crickets make their nightly lullaby and decide they don’t need to say anything. Not a single thing at all.

Kageyama is still a little awkward and socially inept if you care which I know you do, Iwaizumi sends a text to Oikawa later that night. But he’ll be alright.

-

“Just ask.”

“Ask what.”

“You know what.”

“What.”

“I can practically feel your eyes bulging out from my screen,” Iwaizumi sighs, walking over closer to the net. Oikawa wasn’t being subtle with not even looking at him, but everywhere else. “Just ask what you want to ask and get it over with, Oikawa.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oikawa rebutts, unconvincingly.

Iwaizumi inhales deeply, changing to the front camera of his phone to position it at an angle just so. “There. Happy now?” he points it directly at the court, deliberately tilted to show a specific side of the net. Where the setter usually lingers. “Your protege has and will always be killing it, I think. Kageyama scares the fuck out of me even now, to be honest.”

Iwaizumi hears sputtering behind the phone, overly dramatic intakes of air, and can practically hear a retort coming and so beats him to it by turning his phone another way again.

“And Ushiwaka, as usual,” he trails off, making sure Ushijima’s cross-shots showed on the screen. “Is still annoyingly good with that southpaw. There. Are you good now?”

“Tobio-chan, is that you?” Oikawa squeaks from the phone, the sound of seagulls flapping in the wind and waves crashing in the background on his end. “Couldn’t be you, because what I just saw was a shit serve!”

Kageyama’s eye twitches a fraction at the voice, but doesn’t look their way. 

Iwaizumi was monitoring them everyday, meaning that Oikawa was also calling everyday, meaning that Oikawa might as well have been part of the JVA all the good his daily verbal assaults to the team were getting. To Kageyama and Ushijima, especially.  

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, hissing into the phone, “I didn’t call you just to say shit about our setter.” 

“Listen, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa ignores him, gets so up and personal in his phone that his eyes nearly cross over. “Is that Ushiwaka being nice to you? If he isn’t, let Iwa-chan know. I’m the only one who gets to call your serves shit, okay! And don’t let his height fool you—Ushiwaka is nothing next to Iwa-chan’s arms! Right, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi drags his phone back, shooting an apologetic glance at Kageyama who just lets everything roll off his back, already long made his bed with Oikawa’s usual brand of taunting. Ushijima, too, just quirked a brow hearing his name. 

Before Iwaizumi leaves, they think they can still hear Oikawa’s shrill voice going, “And absolutely no alcohol until he’s at least 20 years old! Do you hear that, Ushiwaka! Do not put that kid on steroids like I know you take because you’re a cheater and a wimp and a sore loser—”

-

Ushijima gets dinner with him sometimes.

It’s not something either of them particularly planned on doing, much less voicing; but when most of your team are native Tokyoites and would much rather prefer the comfort of a home-cooked meal, it leaves you very little options for a dining partner. Ushijima is used to—even expects—eating alone. It’s the nature of being a legacy kid, with almost no contemporary to match himself with until they started drafting him for Worlds in highschool. Sakusa was always a familiar face, but so was his cousin and their uptight clan. There were many more that flitted in and out of the camps, some of them he’s grown the slightest bit acquainted with and would even go so far as calling a distant friend.

But it’s a different thing altogether, Ushijima thinks, when he hears Kageyama sometimes end his sentences in that particular Sendai-ben drawl that is as familiar to him as breathing: the comfort of a shared city, language, even childhood.

Ushijima finds out Kageyama likes waking up early to run. Kageyama finds out Ushijima likes to incorporate mountain trails into his hikes. Ushijima finds out Kageyama takes his ocha unsweetened, and Kageyama finds out that he takes his the exact opposite. They find out other things about each other, some professional tidbits like Kageyama’s vertical jump height being only 3cm shorter than his; or that Ushijima is more than half a decent setter if the circumstances lined up properly for him. Kageyama learns how to spike better. Ushijima’s tosses have never been as sharp.

Then there are the small little details, like finding out Kageyama can’t go to sleep without writing in his journal or that Ushijima regularly FaceTimes Tendou late into the night because of the time difference. No one brings up the noise or the activity, and Kageyama even joined in once on a call with Shirabu and Semi, politely asking how they were doing.

It’s little moments like those that bridge the gap between what started out as professional acquaintances, to something a little warmer on the homesick soul, something that could maybe even resemble: 

“Tobio,” Ushijima says as they’re packing up after training. “Do you want to eat dinner together?”

If Kageyama is startled, he doesn’t show it. Or he’s slowly acclimating himself to the normality and regularity of what space Ushijima now takes up in his life. “Oh,” he says, just an inch shy still but thawing, somehow. “Yes, of course, Ushijima-san.”

“OK,” Ushijima nods in return. “Let’s meet in the lobby in 5?”

The ramen bar Ushijima takes them to is at a lively corner by Nakano Broadway, just a few stops away from the Ajinomoto Training Center. He knows the catering provided by the JVA is specially curated for pro athletes their calibre, but sometimes the blandness of the chicken or the lack of more beverage options loses its nutritional appeal. Even to someone as disciplined in their diet like both he and Kageyama are. A cheat day once in a while wasn’t going to ruin them forever. 19-year old Kageyama—and Ushijima takes great pain to always remind himself of this when sometimes, so rarely, Kageyama messes up in training—is still growing, and frankly he doesn’t care if he had the discipline of a Buddhist monk, no teenager should be eating the same dry meal everyday.

“Choose anything you want from the menu,” Ushijima says when they settle on one of the tables. “My treat. The shoyu ramen here is my favourite, but the tsukemen isn’t bad either.”

“Oh,” Kageyama blinks, obviously surprised. “You don’t have to—”

Ushijima stops him with a hand. “It’s no worry,” he insists. “I’m sure Iwaizumi was going to take you here sooner or later. He told me how much you like the ramen from Tsurotontan back home, and they offer a similar thing here.”

Kageyama looks like he’s still running it over his head. “Iwaizumi-san did?”

Ushijima nods. “Well,” he shrugs. “Oikawa told him. I think he said exactly, Make sure that Ushiwaka treats Tobio to at least one meal or so help me God, I have the power of the South American Volleyball League on my side, or something like that,” he ends, amusedly.

“Oh my god,” Kageyama flushes, maybe a touch embarrassed. His ears were tinged red. “He didn’t have to. I–I’m okay.”

“I think they’re both just concerned about your wellbeing on a high-profile team,” Ushijima looks him over carefully, clinically, noting how much he’s already filled out his physique over just a few weeks. “You are awfully young to be an Olympian, Tobio.”

“I know that,” Kageyama looks down at the menu, a small frown marrying his brows. If Ushijima squints, he thinks he can make out the gesture as so frighteningly Iwaizumi. The almost-pout, Oikawa. It’s the first he’s seen him resemble something close to a kid. Kageyama coughs, determination etched in his voice when he says, “But I don’t regret anything.”

Ushijima smiles a little at that. “No,” he nods along. “I bet you don’t.”

-

The training camp ends with an after party.

They’re at one of the nearby yakiniku grills from the stadium. Slabs of Kobe beef, Uchimono, Habaki, and the like all passed around their growing table of nearly 30. The coaches are already in their third beer of the evening, Hibarida and Hitaki sloshing their mugs towards each other like drunk uncles at a children’s party. Faces are beet red, chopsticks are slipping off fingers, and speeches are slurring. But no one’s had as much fun in days, and it shows, in the easy companionable vibe the evening brought. 

Ushijima was sitting on one of the corner tables, taking command of the grill as Kageyama munched gleefully on his bbq platter. The respectful thing to do at these things was to let his seniors roll the stress off their backs and mingle occasionally when needed. He’s been to enough of these to know he’s never going to enjoy them, but respects the kind of camaraderie it inspires in people as they let their hairs down and suits unbuttoned. He's told Kageyama as much, at least.

Someone coughs—Shugo Meian, was it? MSBY captain and the JNT MB—as he saunters his way to their side, grinning good-naturedly down at him and Kageyama. His cheeks were already slightly flushed, holding two cups of sake.

“Tobio-kun, right?” he says, offering him a cup. “Man, your sets really are the best!”

“Uh,” Kageyama sputters, also beet red, without the aid of alcohol. “I’m—”

“He’s still 19,” Ushijima finds himself answering for him. 

There wasn’t any pressure to the gesture, not really, Ushijima thinks; if anything all Bokuto told him of Meian was that he was probably the best guy around to wrangle Atsumu and Sakusa when they got into their usual petty fights. Generous with his time, even more with his experience.

And so when Meian flushes even more almost instantly, as he looks down in horror at Kageyama who looked just as uncomfortable, means it when he starts gushing, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Shit. I knew you were young—” he goes on. “But I just didn’t—I mean. Bokuto-kun told me you played like a veteran so I just assumed.”

Kageyama still can’t quite meet his eye, but is able to summon enough social grace on his part to bow his head low. “N-no worries, Meian-san,” he says, politely. “It’s alright. I-I’m tall for my age.”

“Shit,” Meian is still swearing, looking conspicuously around the restaurant. “Iwaizumi is gonna kill me. Little piece of shit is scary for someone so young and short. He’s so gonna make me do a hundred suicide squats if he hears about this.”

Kageyama blinks up at him.

Meian notices. “He told me to look after you,” he explains, eyes tracing the floor. “Something about his Argentinian setter boyfriend killing him if he found out you got wasted under his watch. So I figured—might as well be the one to offer you a drink myself! Least we can control the amount you’re drinking, you know!”

Ushijima smiles into his tea, after sneakily adding more vegetables to Kageyama’s plate. 

“Funny,” he comments offhandedly. “Iwaizumi told me the same thing.”

They place 3rd in Rio just in time for Kageyama to turn 20. Ushijima buys him his first beer. Iwaizumi took copious amounts of pictures that he makes a point of sending to Oikawa, who replies, not even a second later with: Get the brat home safe, he wrote, then after a while, And congratulations. Or whatever.

-

Kageyama is unusually quiet on the bus ride going to Sendai Gymnasium.

He was never the most expressive, in some ways was more curt with his words than even Ushijima is. Hoshiumi is often enough of a chatterbox to fill in the gaps in their conversations. But the difference is that Ushijima had years of experience as a captain, has been put in situations where that demanded more than just a sheer display of strength for being Shiratorizawa’s volleyball poster boy; but spokesperson, sometimes even advisee. Kageyama had the privilege of scaling back whenever he so wished, and some years into their tenure as one of Adlers’s most consistent players, finds that this particular habit hasn’t really divorced himself from the 21-year-old Kageyama he saw now.

“Tobio,” Ushijima starts, the name more confidently rolling off his tongue now. His brusqueness, this frankness he was afraid people would misconstrue as rudeness, Kageyama always responded with respect. “Are you okay?”

Kageyama looks over him a moment. “Yes,” he says finally. “It’s just been awhile since I’ve been,” he stops. “Home.”

Ah, Ushijima nods, understanding his hesitance. Because what is home even?

The Adlers spend majority of their time moving around, the longest and farthest stretch of a home base they can call located in Tokyo. Sometimes some people visit their gym. Sometimes it’s a former Karasuno member like Suga who was taking his students on a tour of Metropolitan Tokyo, who asked if the Adlers were willing to have a bunch of overstimulated and hyperactive six year olds observe how a professional volleyball team trains. Kageyama was only more than willing and even looked forward to it, signing an exact number of miniature volleyballs to the exact count of students Suga was planning to bring in.

He softened with him somehow, the usually strict line of his shoulders hunching just so as he bowed his head low listening to Suga excitedly tell him all about his plans for the rest of their school trip. 

Ushijima thinks it’s not at all dissimilar from how Kageyama acts with Iwaizumi.

Kageyama attacks the court sometimes with such knife-level precision, so finely spun a web; that there’s almost exactly no room for error. He had the hands of a surgeon, and the rigid discipline of such weight so palpable in his shoulders. But talking to Suga and Iwaizumi, it seemed like he allowed himself to be, so rarely, just nineteen. And then twenty-one.

But home was a different concept altogether. And Ushijima who has lived far longer in a suitcase than he ever did somewhere so corporeal as Sendai, can understand, why coming home—in every literal and emotional sense of the word—can feel as real as it is frightening.

“Welcome home, Tobio.”

Tadaima.

Okaeri.

-

Ushijima thinks he’s seen so many versions of Kageyama now: the brash, angry 16-year-old who always came to carthage burning, not caring who he devoured in the process; the slightly less harsher 19-year-old, who still had some jagged edges he needed to iron out, but considered and paused and evolved, some ways still so wet behind the ears and impossibly so unprepared but so hungry to eat the world raw. 

And then there is Kageyama Tobio in his 20s: who Ushijima is proud to say he had such close audience with and the privilege of seeing grow into, see him thin out what rough edges he had left from teenage angst, tender his soul into something that just kept expanding itself beyond volleyball and the Olympics and training. This boy who is slowly becoming a man who moves with such grace in the court its both a homecoming and homeseeking, this longing to belong and revelling in the home he has made for himself in his soul, finally settle down.

There’s a little bit of everyone in Kageyama, thinks Ushijima: Karasuno and his capacity for love. His family and how grief molds and persists but never burdens. Even some of Oikawa: in the beginning legs of idol worship to the very idea of volleyball itself and what a transformative, life-altering, radical shape it can take in your life. In his stance, his form, the lines of his body so closely paralleling Oikawa that Ushijima has to blink a few times to make sure he wasn’t seeing an old rival but someone entirely in new shoes, a place he clawed his way for in the world brick by brick and toss by toss. 

And maybe even Ushijima himself, he’d like to think so.

In his patience with his soul, in the discipline required to be as great as you want to be but remembering never to burn yourself out in the process. In knowing what it takes to be the greatest, the sheer impossibility of the weight this expectation can have on a child, and guiding himself as gently and delicately as possible so he never loses himself to it. This unanchoring and rebuilding and reforming what it means to be a genius, and maybe more importantly, why it matters not.

But if he’s ever proud of anything, at least Ushijima can say he was the one who introduced Kageyama Tobio to fabric softener. 

[alex-grace]

｡ﾟ☁︎｡the first time you saw me cry ｡☁︎｡ﾟ

tw: mild language

wc: 1.5k

She heard sniffling.

And right across her room, was her dorm mate, Peter Parker. There was no way, right?

She gave it a minute at first. After living in Avengers Compound for as she had, she knew it was never a good sign to walk over immediately. Unless they were screaming, that’s how you know the nightmares from the daily cry. But the quiet sobs, the sniffling, and those invisible tears?

You could never truly tell.

At the 58-second mark, she started walking. But it had gotten quieter as she neared. The door was open, but Peter was nowhere in sight. She walked around, trying to hear as best as she could. It has been coming from the bathroom. The light was on, and the door cracked, letting the soft yellow light flow through.

“Parker? You in here?” She could hear the wrestling of a jacket.

“Oh, yeah-yeah I’m here, um yeah,”

“Do you mind if I come in? I mean if you’re taking a shit you really need to learn to close your doors.”

“No,” He laughed, not a Peter Parker laugh--a moment of serenity if anything.

He gave her the sign to come in, and she open the door to see Peter Parker sitting up on the carpet of his bathroom floor.

She didn’t hesitate to sit right now right down next to him, and then to lay down.

He questioned her. She hadn’t looked him in the eye yet.

She knew when she did, they would be red.

“One of those days huh,” She said calmly.

He hesitated. “No, no I mean- it’s, it’s fine,”

Stuttering.

She patted the small space of grey carpet next to her. It was a small squeeze, but they could fit two. She gestured for him to join her on the floor after seeing his obvious confusion--he obliged, and they lay in silence for a few moments

“I guess it’s a bathroom thing,” she said. Peter looked over at her.

She was laying straight--her ankles crossed and her arms lay lightly on her stomach, eyes staring into the white ceiling. 

Peter didn’t respond, just looking at her questioningly.

She said, “I thought it was just my bathroom, that’s comforting.”

“Do you lay down on your bathroom floor a lot?"

“Well, how much is a lot?”

Peter scoffed softly as he looked back up to the ceiling. He hated the urge he had to keep looking over at her.

Her.

She was his best friend---she was the first one he befriended when he first came into the compound. The first one who wanted to know Peter for who he was, not who’s Spider-Man was.

He always thought she looked pretty because it was true. She was one of the prettiest people he’s ever seen. Y/N had been an Avenger for years before Peter came into the picture. He never forgot their first meeting back in Germany.

…

“I’ve only got one job here today and I got it impressed Mr. Stark so, so I’m really sor-,”

“Boo.” A voice whispered behind him.

He didn’t realize it then, but his spider sense had never gone off at that moment.

She hit him with a blast of energy, gold energy, to be exact.

He had fallen about three feet from the glass-covered floor before he gained his wits and swung to the next pole.

Y/N had taken that moment to look over at the bodies of Sam and Bucky. Conscious, thankfully, but somehow beaten up.

How the hell did they lose to web-ster over here, she thought to herself.

“What the-Holy shit! You’re Y/S/N?” Peter had asked.

“What the hell are you?” She had retorted back, as another energy wisp was sent flying toward the new super. Luckily this time, Peter had his wits sorted through, and was able to dodge in time as he swung down to ground level with Y/N.

“You’re like one of the-,” He said as he threw a punch at the newcomer. “-coolest superheroes there is.”

Y/N grunted as she attempted a kick to his ribs, as Spider-Man swung up and landed behind her.

He could tell she was getting tired of his obvious dodging of every swing he threw her way. She stood with her back to him for a second too longer than usual.

Assuming anything about Y/N would be his first mistake.

She moved fast enough for his spidey sense to kick in a few moments too late. So late that Peter was grounded, flat to the dirty terminal floor. With Y/N directly on top, sliding a knife from her knee on his ribcage.

He blamed his heart racing from the adrenaline.

“I’ll make sure to let Stark know bug-boy.”

She slashed the dagger toward his right side, luckily he was able to dodge out of its way, throwing her off of him.

The two brawled for a few minutes, the only sound was the crunching of broken glass and caught punches.

And the occasional heart skips if you're Peter Parker.

She was able to kick him away a few feet, causing Peter to stumble. He made a point to get back up as possible, but Y/N wasn’t in a fighting stance.

She was just standing there. Studying him.

Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God

“You’re cute,” She said as she tilted her head, and took a step toward him. Peter was too surprised at her sudden tone change to notice the strands of gold energy from behind Y/N’s back.

“Making me feel sorry bug-boy.”

“WWAAAHH!”

…

“What’s going on?” Her soft voice broke Peter out of the flashback. She was looking at him now.

Her and her Y/C eyes. He forgot for a second that he wasn’t in Germany. That they weren’t enemies, and that they for sure weren’t flinging each other out windows.

“Do you remember Germany?” He asked.

Y/N was taken aback as those golden brown eyes looked back at her. She always stutters when she’s looking at him. I mean, how could someone not?

The “Civil War” as it has now been dubbed, is a topic rarely conversed about in the compound. That doesn’t stop it from consuming Y/N’s thoughts from time to time.

…

“Making me feel sorry bug-boy.”

“WWAAAHH!”

She had sent his flying through the glass of the windows up ahead. She sighed as she jogged over to where Sam and Bucky’s front-row seat.

“You could’ve done that earlier?” Bucky complained.

Y/N grabbed her dagger and helped Sam out of the webs first instead.

“Falling for the enemy Y/L/N?” Sam said cheekily

“Not. A. Word. Wilson.”

“Hey c’mon, there were a lot of witnesses to this new love story. Right Barnes?”

Y/N didn’t bother to retaliate, her face had confusion and embarrassment all over her. Her eyebrow’s crinkled, causing a small line on her forehead, her mouth slightly opened as she considered the bewilderment Sam was preaching. She looked over to the Winter Solder next to her, as he ripped off the last of the sticky webs laced to his silver arm.

A small shrug, nod, and a frown is what she got from the ex-assassin.

Y/N could hear chaos going on in her comms, the three knew they needed to get out of there fast.

“I won’t mention you lost to the bug if you cease your fire?” Y/N called out quickly to Sam. 

“Touché.”

…

“As always. God, you were so annoying. You talked so much. I had a knife to your lung and all you could talk about was how I was your favorite superhero.”

Peter was laughing now, her tone so full of false anger. Y/N laughed with him.

Her laugh grounded him. It kept him sane as nothing else could. Maybe even, ever could.

But that’s what best friends were for right? To catch each other when one falls?

For one to love the other too much, and the other never enough.

“You love me,” Peter said. He took a chance there. But in true Peter Parker fashion, he covered it up. “I mean, now, I would hope, at le-,”

“Yeah,”

Peter had never shut up so quickly in his life.

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

They were laying on their sides, both of them, doing nothing but staring into the eyes of each other.

Who knows, maybe someone could’ve finally pulled on that thread and made a move.

Pietro Maximoff had other plans.

A whir of blue and platinum blonde whipped in the corner of Y/N’s eye.

“Hey Spider-kid do you still have that OH MY GOD-”

Peter and Y/N turned their heads quickly to the standing interruption in front of the bathroom door. Pietro stood there still as Y/N's ever seen. He covered his eyes with one hand, peeking through two fingers. 

“I-Uh- Use protection.” In a blink, he was gone. 

Peter looked at Y/N.

Y/N looked at Peter.

“What the fu-”

｡ ﾟ｡☁︎｡ ﾟ｡☁︎｡ ﾟ｡☁︎｡ ﾟ｡☁︎｡ ﾟ｡☁︎｡ ﾟ｡☁︎｡ ﾟ｡☁︎｡ ﾟ｡

[happypopcornprincess]

Reds and Greens

Pairings - soccer!player Mickey Garcia X fem!Reader (college AU)

Premise - It's the final soccer match at university, the biggest one. You are there to support your team and your best friend Mickey. Will they bring the cup home?

the inspiration behind this post came from this post by @fanboygarcia honestly, watching pictures of Danny playing football gave me this crazy idea, and I hope y'all like it!

My Main Masterlist || Mickey Garcia Masterlist

University, 2018

"...all compounds that contain a benzene ring possess special stability. Certain other compounds lack a benzene ring yet satisfy the criterion of special stability and are classified as non-benzenoid aromatic compounds and…” You loved chemistry, you really did. But right now? You wanted to be anywhere but here.

Your legs bounced subconsciously as you tapped your pen on your notebook, the page empty. Your eyes traveled to the wall clock, 4:16.

The match started an hour ago. Mickey will be playing.

He had been practicing like a madman for this match. Skipping classes, staying up late, and almost ripping his hair out overthinking the outcome was a daily occurrence. But you were there to keep him in check. 

Every day that passed with him crashing into your place after practice, the line of being just friends blurred between the two of you. The hopeless crush that you had on him ever since the two of you met kept on growing. He didn’t make it any easier.

His kind heart, his goofy jokes. And his eyes, oh, his eyes! The way they sparkled as he told you about his day, how they softened every time he petted Reuben’s cat. You could swear you once caught him looking at you in class.

 He fought through the worst in order to be a star on his team and the pride of your university. You need to be there for him.

You look to your right to find Reuben looking in your direction, his brow furrowed in frustration.

And then you hear the bell ring.

What the…

You sat up in shock as the rest of your class, wondering how it rang four minutes early, but you wasted no time. The lecturer looked around in bewilderment as you leapt off your seat, grabbed your bag, and ran out along with everyone else. The hallway was filled with students running towards the exit leading to the soccer ground, Reuben right next to you.

This was the finals, and if your college team wins this match, they will be bringing home the cup after 6 years.

“I’ll save you a seat at the front!” he shouts and sprints ahead. You struggle to keep your bag on your shoulder as you run with the huge notebook Mickey gifted you last week.

“This weighs a literal ton!” you grunted as you picked up the notebook off your bed, as he was splayed on the other side of it.

“Hey! You’ll have all your formulas and notes in one place at least! Remember that one time I had to search your entire dorm room to find your formula book?” He yawns and turns to his side wrapping your blanket around him.

It brings back memories of your first year at uni. You were still new friends and Mickey helped you search your room from top to bottom because you lost your formula book.

“Thanks.” you smiled, looking at him, but he was already asleep. He had been sleeping in your dorm room ever since his team started late-night practices.

"Thanks for everything," you huffed.

You feel a hand that nudges the strap of your backpack up your shoulder, and you turn to see Natasha smirking at you.

“Where were you?” you ask her, as she wasn’t in the class before.

“Electronics operating room.” She smirked, picking up pace as you got out of the building, the crowd moving towards the ground.

“What were you doing there?”

She tilts her head, looking at you as if you knew what she had done.

The realization hits you. “You rang the bell!” you gasp.

She laughed in retaliation and grabbed your hand, practically dragging you through the sea of people.

Your alma mater's flags were displayed all around you, red and white with a lion symbol. The rival team’s green and black could be seen from across the field in the opposite stands. You climb the ramp up to the seats, looking at the first row. You find Reuben standing on three of them, the people around him shouting at him to back off. Upon reaching the spot, Natasha gave everyone around her a death glare and they all settled down.

Reuben squeezes your shoulders, passing you a DIY flag with an ice cream stick as its pole. “I spent three dollars on it, you better not lose it, ” you give him a look and he just shrugs and laughs.

Your eyes instantly searched for the number 11 on the field among the green and red scattered on the ground. 

And there he was.

Red jersey with its back to you, the letters GARCIA written on the back in bold white. He stood with his hands on his hips, looking around at his teammates as the captain shouted to take positions. You pleaded with him to wear a headband, but he refused, and now his hair was a mess.

The whistle blows, and you look at the scoreboard to see you are down 1-3. You squirmed in your seat praying for some miracle. This was terrible.

“It’s still early, there is time.” Reuben squeezed your leg, giving you a brave smile.

Your spirits do not change, despite the fact that you can see all around you people's spirits waning.

“C’mon Mickey,” you whispered under your breath, clutching your hands nervously.

It was a significant match for him. Hell, everyone on the team had been waiting for an opportunity like this for ages. The panelists for the finals included some of the most influential people in football, as well as an ex-coach of an iconic FIFA team. Winning the finals would be a direct hit on his resume for applications to the US Navy.

It terrified you, how he managed to be so calm at this point.

The whistle blows and the ball is passed around, the opponent team trying their hardest to keep it away from the reds. They had every single player playing defense covered while their striker took the ball toward the net like it was nothing.

“Come on Garcia!” a shout erupts from behind you, and your eyes find him running towards the striker at full speed from the other side of the field, the green opposing him any chance they got. But he deflected every single one of them. And as the striker was about to score a goal that would have been a walk in the park, Mickey kicked the ball away, sweeping it under his feet and running the other way.

You stand up along with literally everyone in the stands, the cheerleaders in front of you grabbing their pom-poms, as you witness Mickey score a goal.

The stadium erupts in cheers and the Reds are called in for a talk with the coach.

“Two more points and we win!" Natasha tackles you in a bear hug.

The game resumed, the ball being passed between the greens and the reds for a good twenty minutes, but not a single goal. But then, a green got the ball, and as soon as that happened, their captain nodded to two of his teammates standing next to him. 

Even before it happened, you saw what the greens were about to do. The two defenders stood a few feet in front of Mickey, and one ran to his back. From the ground, Mickey had no idea what was happening but everyone in the stands could clearly see they were surrounding him.

“Mickey run!” Reuben’s voice boomed across the stands, and he turned to see you three standing in the front. Confusion seared on his face but he sensed what was happening as soon as he heard Reuben. He turned away from the green, running towards another teammate - TELLER - and together the two hurdled to the ball, sparring with the green with their feet.

Everyone held their breath as they saw two reds facing off with a green ball somewhere between them.

And then it rolled out from behind him, towards the goal, and Teller kicked it in the air. The ball spun in a curve, passing every green surrounding it, and hitting the goal.

Mickey tackled Teller in a hug as the reds surrounded them. The cheerleaders screamed, running forward and doing their dance.

Your heart raced with adrenaline watching the scoreboard turn 3-3.

One goal and the trophy would be yours.

There were five minutes left.

The game halted as the teams ran to their coaches, forming a circle and discussing the next step.

Natasha and Reuben looked around to see their classmates ready with their flags, some wearing the sigil, and some throwing popcorn around. They were hyped beyond their selves, ready to celebrate if they won.

The game resumed.

For the opponent, the main target was now to block the Reds from scoring no matter what, and that’s what they did most of the time.

But your captain, WOOD, stood his ground as the reds took on the greens. It was a screaming match on the bleachers, a sea of supporters shouting for their teams. Their spirits lifted as Mickey and Teller now led the attack, positioned as strikers.

They weaved through the greens, slipping the ball between them. Reds let them go, preventing greens from reaching the pair. Nearing the goal, the goalkeeper slapped his knees ready to catch the ball. The shouts grew as Teller passed the ball to Mickey as a green tackled him, with 2 minutes left on the clock.

Mickey kicks it with all his might.

The goalkeeper jumps to the right, and the ball curves to the left, hitting the net.

Score: 4-3.

You were deafened by the shouts that erupted the next second. Reds tackle Mickey and Teller in a group hug, jumping around. 

Several people jumped the barricade to enter the field. It was like second nature as you jumped, running towards Mickey with all your might.

He separates himself from his teammates, and runs to you, picking you up and spinning you around, both of you laughing.

And it was as if time had stopped.

Every glance, every accidental touch, every hand holding, and the knowing smile, as well as how your hearts beat a bit faster when the other was near, flashed before your eyes.

Does he…

Mickey didn’t give you a chance to ponder the question brewing in your mind, as he crashed his lips on yours.

His arms wrap around your waist as he puts you down on the ground, your hands grasping the nape of his neck as you steady yourself.

Well, what you have been dreaming about ever since you met this guy was finally happening. Might as well enjoy it.

Shouts and applause erupt all around you. Natasha and Reuben, both the loudest, finally watch their friends confess their feelings.

After a while, he let go of you, caressing your face with a tender touch.

“Hi,” he says, grinning.

“Hi,” you reply, your face heating up.

“We won.”

“I know!”

Breathless, he finally says, “I like you. A lot.”

You bit your lip. “I like you too.”

“I know!”

He holds you closer. “Was that cherry chapstick you’re wearing?”

You laughed out loud as you kissed him again, this time holding his face between your palms.

—-- 

Present day

You never lost the stick flag that Reuben bought at the game.

It was taped to the framed photo of the Reds in 2018 holding the winning cup, Mickey and Teller being the ones holding it above their heads.

Next to it was another photo, you both dressed in white, smiling at each other after you read your vows. It was your favorite, along with the one with Nat and Reuben from your college days.

He was on leave today. You sat on a blanket with him.

Laid out in the back of your shared home overlooking the ocean, Mickey ran his fingers through your hair. You looked forward to days like these every week. As you both finished your work, you sat in your backyard watching the California sunset. Your mind drifted back to his last football game, the day everything changed between you.

Mickey nudges your face, “what are you thinking, cariño?”

“Your last game at uni.” you look at him, smiling in the way you could see it in his eyes as he reminisces about the day.

A smile spreads across his face as he kisses your temple. "You were the coolest thing that happened to me that day," he says as he holds you tighter.

You roll your eyes and poke him playfully. “You are a soppy romantic, Mr. Garcia.”

He pinches your cheeks in response, “Only for you, Mrs. Garcia.”

A/N - Thank you everyone for sticking with me till the end of this fic! if you liked it please let me know through the asks and the comments. Any and all requests, headcanons, and drabble requests are most welcome. Love y'all, Take Care!

Requests are open! Feel free to request anything.

@tuiccim @parkjammys @akinrawsx @asteph22 @iamthebeth @thefandomqueenbb @onlyhereforthefics @yikesdameron @savedfanfics1992 @amigaytho @samwilson-mylove @jenniweaslee @anna-phora @fluffyprettykitty @fanboygarcia @fanboymickey @ladiesluver @bradshawsbaby @bradshaw-fanclub @roostersmustache @bradshawbaby

[catpatcha]

about to post the most deplorable shit

felt like writing chat. call of duty original ghost angst. **warning for graphic violence**

It was not uncommon for Simon to have nightmares about Mexico, even after over a decade had passed since then. Had it not been for the concealing of his face, thick eye black, and the scratchy stubble he neglected, his brothers-in-arms would have likely recognized his sleep deprivation: Gaunt cheeks, sunken eyes, the look of death. Simon basked in the opportunity to miss sleep on overnight missions, where he did not have to face the pressure from his teammates about rest.

They say that sleep is the closest thing to death, and in Mexico, he came awfully close that that. Maybe that's why won't stop having those fucking dreams. Tossing around in his sleep, wrecking the sheets he pulls off the floor every morning and tucks into the sides of his mattress. He wakes up from those dreams sweating. So bad he's resorted to sleeping in nothing but his boxers, even though he despises the vulnerable feeling of the brisk air on his skin. He hates jumping from sleep, screaming, sometimes crying the hot tears of a deplorable infant, waking up the men who sleep in the dorms beside him.

Tonight was back on Roba's land, but not inside the compound. Somewhere in the Chihuahuan desert, that's all he knew. He was brought towards a tree, and immediately then did he realize what exactly was going to happen. His head flipped around, back and forth, looking for an escape. But he was held by the shackles of his fate that this dream planned for him; this was going to happen, no matter what. Black noses and eyes and cheeks and the rest being white stared at him. Roba's chubby mug adorned the same paint. Simon squeezed his eyes shut tight as memories churned in his stomach and burned in his ribs.

He woke up screaming as the hook latched onto his ribcage, having pierced through the skin and out between two of the bones. Still, he could feel the intense pain, the heat of the blood that had spurted and trickled down his waist, the tugging on his ribcage.

Simon looked down, still howling in pain, drenched in sweat. No, below him wasn't the sand and his thrashing feet, it was his bedsheets. He brought his shaking hands to his ribs and pressed them down, one on each side, left and right. They were of equal protrusion. He was startled by how his chest popped out at him when he let out a breath, and his hands jumped away. He was safe. And Roba was dead. He had been, for more than ten years. So why did he live on in his dreams?

For a while - longer than he could keep track of - he simply stared at his lap. At his hands that sat in it. He wished they could grasp onto reality again like they could with the grip of a gun. Again, his eyelids squeezed shut. Another deep breath, in and out. Then, he reached over the side of his bed and pulled the blanket back on. He usually kicked it off in his sleep, no matter how deeply it'd been shoved between the bed frame and the mattress. His legs shook restlessly beneath the blanket as he stared at the wall in front of him, his gaze blank and unmoving. That only changed when his eyes darted to the door, when Price came in. God, did he fucking hate these talks. After every single nightmare.

But he probably deserved it after waking everyone up again.

[slowroadtosantiago]

Day 31 - Santa Catalina to Foncebadon

Today was just over 10 miles without backpacks.

It ended up as just me and Jane in the dorm last night, very unusual but we weren’t complaining. We woke at 7 and were on the road by half past. The morning light on the street and our albergue was lovely.

It was cold walking. The temperature has fallen and we’re climbing higher. At one point a week or so ago I was thinking of getting rid of my sleeping bag as I was too hot at night but now I’m glad I didn’t.

We could see on the map that there was a village about 4K away which indicated that it had cafes or albergues so we thought we’d have breakfast there. As we approached we could see tepees where pilgrims could stay. Unfortunately when we got there nothing was open! Calamity! How would Jane manage without her coffee?

There was nothing for it but to carry on, which we did until we found a picnic spot and dredged up the last of the slightly stale small pain au chocolats we had left over from the Airbnb and downed them with water.

The landscape has changed completely, we can see the mountains in the near distance and our path is flanked by some amazing colours and smells. We have lavender bushes, white broom, yellow gorse and lots of different coloured heathers, and even a few bluebells. The pine forest scent has been wonderful. As always we’ve been followed by the noise of cuckoos.

As we walked towards Rabanal we came across a long fence into which people had woven wooden crosses.

Finally reaching Rabanal after 7 miles we had an extended coffee stop with tostada. In fact we had two coffees just to make up for earlier disappointment.

In the compound of the place we stopped were donkeys and across the road a field of long-horned cows. Rabanal village itself was very pretty with one main street winding upwards. We stopped briefly to have a look inside the church with its ornate altar piece.

We then had 3-4 miles climbing steadily upwards. It was a lovely walk, mainly away from the roads. But the path was stony so Jane had to take extra care where she placed her feet.

We thought we had left the Cymru Am Byth vandals behind but it seems that their pen having run out they bought a can of spray paint and it looks even worse than their black pen did.

It wasn’t long before we reached Foncebadon, our stop for the night. The hostel is full this time, and modern inside. We did try to get two bottom bunks but weren’t allowed, so this time I’m on the top bunk. It’s a mixed room of 6 with a very swish en-suite. The only problem is that the walls are not very thick so you can hear everything and also the noise from other bathrooms. Oh well, earplugs will be in use tonight.

They did a set pilgrims’ menu so we had that for lunch. We both though the pudding was the best, it was like a deconstructed cheesecake.

It’s very windy outside so I had a shower, washed my smalls and got them and my towel on the line while Jane had a chill.

After a few hours a coffee and some delicious home made orange sponge cake was in order while we had a chat about tomorrow and what we would do when we finished in Santiago.

Tomorrow we’ll be climbing a little bit higher to the Cruz de Ferro, the cross at the highest point on the Camino. The next part down to Molinaseca will be a bit more tricky as it’s a steep scree path over 7 miles long and about 900m descent in total. We’ve both got walking poles to help us and if it gets too much for Jane then there’s a village halfway down that you can get a taxi from. However, in the past we’ve been given scare stories on previous parts of the Camino and they have all been absolutely fine. I keep telling Jane it’s like coming down Machen Mountain 3 times, we’ll be fine!

[dsknsk]

'Lone Trail Event' (parody on 'Hardware Store')

Nothin' ever (ever) happens in this town Feelin' low down (down), not a lot to do around I thought that I would go right out of my mind Until Arknights X told it myself They said, "Hey, you know that vacant spot Right when Ines left it? Well, Rhine Lab bought it And on that spot they're gonna have a shop Where we can go get snakes and elves!"

Since then I've been walking on air (air) I can barely brush my teeth or comb my hair 'Cause I'm so excited and I really don't care I've been waiting since last June For this day to finally arrive I'm so happy (happy) now just to be alive 'Cause any minute now I'm gonna be inside Well, I hope it opens soon

I can't wait, (no I) I can't wait (oh when) When that chapter 12 will finally end? I'm playin' (yes I'm) playin', I'm a-playin' the Playin' the (Lone) Trail I'm playin', really playin' the Playin' (Lone) I'm playin' the (Lone) oh yes, I'm gonna play the Lone Trail Event!

In my sleeping bag I pulled through, all night Right at the Play/App Store^, then as soon as it was [Update] I pressed my thumb right up against the glass You know, I had to be first in line Gonna get me a permit and a block Want some furniture for every single dorm of my base See those medals? Very, very soon The entire set will be all mine

Ops with codenames walking down the aisles Rows of stages that go on for miles and miles Brand new flashy skins in a plethora of styles All arranged alphabetically And they're doing a promotional stunt There's a great big green sign out front That says every and each customer Will get an OliviAlter free

I can't wait, (no I) I can't wait (oh when) When that chapter 12 will finally end? I'm playin' (yes I'm) playin', I'm a-playin' the Playin' the (Lone) Trail I'm playin', really playin' the Playin' (Lone) I'm playin' the (Lone) oh yes, I'm gonna play the Lone Trail Event!

I can't wait, (no I) I can't wait (oh when) When that chapter 12 will finally end? I'm playin' (yes I'm) playin', I'm a-playin' the Playin' the (Lone) Trail I'm playin', really playin' the Playin' (Lone) I'm playin' the (Lone) oh yes, I'm gonna play the Lone Trail Event!

Would you look at all that stuff… They got^^ Originite Prime, Headhunting Permits, Module Blocks, Lungmen Dollars Experience Tapes, Keton Colloids, Data Supplement Sticks, White Horse Kohl, Bipolar Nanoflakes, Refined Solvents, Transmuted Salt Agglomerates, Orirock Clusters, Incandescent Alloy Nucleic Salt Sinters, Transmuted Salts, Crystallic Electronic Units Integrated Devices, RMA-70-12, D32 Steel, Compound Cutting Fluids, Skill Summaries 2 and 3, Orirock Cubes, Sugar, Polyester Oriron, Polyketon, Supporter Chips, OliviAlter Pots, Matching Furniture and Furniture parts And an infinite LMD sink

I can't wait, (no I) I can't wait (oh when) When that chapter 12 will finally end? I'm playin' (yes I'm) playin', I'm a-playin' the Playin' the (Lone) Trail I'm playin', really playin' the Playin' (Lone) I'm playin' the (Lone) oh yes, I'm playin' the Lone Trail Event

I'm playin' (yes I'm) playin', I'm a-playin' the Playin' the (Lone) Trail I'm playin', really playin' the Playin' (Lone) I'm playin' the (Lone) oh yes, I'm playin' the Lone Trail Event

I'm playin' (yes I'm) playin', I'm a-playin' the Playin' the (Lone) Trail I'm playin', really playin' the Playin' (Lone) I'm playin' the (Lone) oh yes, I'm playin' the Lone Trail Event

^ = Depending on whether you’re an Android or an Apple haver ^^ = Includes the shop content and the mission rewards total, doesn’t necessarily rhyme or match the length of the original bridge, repeat as much as you like

[your-god-empress-lavender]

(potential) Superconductor updates:

Replicated it in the dorms despite the fact that the suspension had turned an awful yellow-red colour (it was a faint blue-white). Unfortunately, despite putting a lid on it, it doesn't seem to work 20 hours later. Also, this was a mix brought from home more than 2 weeks ago. The fact that the amount of time in water doesn't seem to show any difference indicates to me that the most important part is in the cooking. Alas, i have no copper or calcium chloride despite begging the chem department. So, that'll be needed for future experiments. Gonna try to get them from the uni again but i may have to buy it sadly. It's very strange that the colour was so dramatically changed and yet the effect was largely unchanged. That seems to indicate that the colourant (presumably a copper ion) was not in fact a necessary part? And it's not like it remains unchanged afterwards either, with the earlier samples, after i heated it it would be off-white whereas now the whole substance is an awful yellow-green-brown colour. It may be solely working with Ca2+, Al3+, and B3+. IDK tho. It'd still be kinda weird to me, if there was no help by the copper at all. I gotta get some calcium chloride first and test to see if i really do also need the copper. Or even if i can replicate it at all.

At the very least i saved a few drops of the suspension in an airtight container so that if worst comes to worst and i can't make it anew, i can (hopefully) run a mass spec and a few analytical chem tests (assuming the chem lab folks let me). Ideally though i'd just make it anew sometime soon. I can very super easily and definitively rule out iron contamination this time as any sort of possible factor since the cooking step took place in an aluminium container (the cut out bottom of a thoroughly cleaned out monster energy can). I was pretty sure it wasn't iron contamination (like, it was doing the wrong effect from what one would assume from iron anyways), but now i'm very confident.

I feel like there was something else important to say, but idk what it is.

Last thought on the matter: I will hopefully very soon be able to have more resources because i'm gonna be in conversation with one of the professors at my school who's an expert in magnetism and also ceramics and her research group is currently focusing on things that aren't publicly disclosed, but vaguely about inorganic "magnetically and electrically interesting" compounds. Also her students say she's the nicest person in the world, so i'm double excited. Anyway, so, tuesday afternoon, i'll either be infantilized, found to be not quite up to spec, or be given a great opportunity.

[ailelie]

Wuthering Heights, modern!AU, ...Edgar/Catherine/Heathcliff

This is based purely on the Wise Children's musical version of Wuthering Heights which does use quotes from the original novel, but is, of course, a musical

...this now apparently has a sex scene. So. Be warned for that. I've put asterisks on either side of it for those who prefer to avoid. The scene involves people goading one another into things they're perhaps not quite ready for, but everything is consensual. Is it on the edge of problematic? Yes, but please refer to the ship and source material. What did you expect?

First, we are shortening the time span and aging up the characters. Heathcliff is probably adopted when in middle school. English is his second language and Earnshaw sends him to the same uppity private school as his other two children. This school is ahead of his other school material-wise, plus Heathcliff is behind because his former school lacked resources for ESL students and instead over-assigned them to special education. It takes a couple years at the new school for Heathcliff to prove his only special need is that English isn't his first language. He doesn't shake the stigma, though. After one too many fights, Earnshaw sends Hindley to military school. (Hindley meets Francis who works near the military compound and they start a sweet romance; she is charmed by the idea of her military man protector. Earnshaw dies before Hindley ever formerly enlists and so he goes home instead of going into the military after school).

Before his death, Earnshaw sets up funds for Catherine and Heathcliff to go to college. Heathcliff is more interested in going than Catherine is. She ultimately goes because he does. When not in class, the two explore the city, breaking into locked and abandoned buildings to see what has been barred from them. Why should they, of all people, be denied access to anywhere?

(Note: Their school is not in the same town as their home. Catherine convinces her father to rent them an apartment near campus so that they don't have to stay in a dorm).

Then, the summer after their freshman year, Earnshaw dies and Hindley returns to their hometown. He turns Heathcliff out and revokes his college funding, claiming he needs it for Francis, his sickly wife.

I'm not sure how I feel about Francis. On the one hand, I think she genuinely loved Hindley and maybe even Catherine and would have been a good mother. On the other, she got spooked just looking at Heathcliff, which suggested to me that Hindley had brought her solely for an excuse to get rid of Heathcliff and reminds me too much of white women calling the police on black men existing. However, Hindley may have filled her head with stories of Heathcliff and how devilish he was and she may have been reacting more to those than to his presence. She was certainly of weak enough constitution to get caught up like that. So, perhaps, she would have come to love Heathcliff as well had she had continued exposure to him to learn that Hindley's tales were untrue.

Heathcliff suddenly has to find a place to live and a way to continue his education. Plus, Catherine still wants to spend time together and continue their urban exploration. I think Heathcliff ends up juggling two or three jobs and sleeping out of his car. He and Catherine explore in his infrequent off-hours.

Then, one night, the place they're exploring turns out to have guard dogs. Catherine gets bitten. While she and Heathcliff are escaping, they run into a pair of siblings out for a late evening walk. The siblings see Catherine bleeding and immediately want to help. Catherine tells Heathcliff to go and lets herself by treated by the Lintons.

Catherine requests no hospitals, so Edgar, who wants to be a doctor, but is only pre-med currently, puts his limited knowledge to the test to help her. She doesn't want to go home to her brother, as that could also get Heathcliff in trouble, so she stays with the Lintons. She learns that Edgar actually attends the same university as her and Heathcliff and will be a senior in the fall.

Edgar is charmed by Catherine's artlessness and daring. She shows him her videos from her urban exploration. (Catherine takes videos and does a running commentary; Heathcliff takes photographs. He has the control she lacks).

Isabella is still in high school and a bit of a dreamer. She probably aspires to be a novelist and decides to cast Catherine as her next protagonist, which flatters Catherine greatly.

Catherine spends a lot of time with the Lintons. Heathcliff is always working anyway, but now she is canceling on urban exploration with him to stay with the Lintons. She enjoys being doted on. Isabella takes her shopping and, of course, everything looks amazing on Catherine. Edgar likes how happy Isabella is with Catherine to spend time with and appreciates that Catherine is nice to his sister (of course, she's only nice because of how Isabella dotes on her, but Edgar doesn't know that). Edgar and Catherine have long, winding conversations. He never really challenges her, but he does make her think. (His persuasion is slow as the river cutting through stone and very different to Heathcliff's vehemence). He's a bit of a geek about medicine, which Catherine appreciates. It is a pale shadow of the passion she and Heathcliff share for abandoned spaces and each other, but it is familiar.

Heathcliff despises Catherine's new clothes and points out how impractical they are for breaking into abandoned buildings. He hates how Edgar has convinced Catherine to upload some of her videos online since they were supposed to be only for the two of them. Their exploration isn't for others to gawk at; it is for their interest and reign. They're the masters of the world against no door may be barred; not content creators for the greedy masses.

The more Catherine and Heathcliff argue, the more Catherine appreciates Edgar's willingness to go along with her. Then Edgar asks Catherine on a date and so she cancels a planned break-in with Heathcliff to spend time with him instead. For Heathcliff, strung out on the lack of sleep from working too much and sleeping in his car and furious by Catherine's betrayal, this is too much.

Heathcliff doesn't have Edgar's family money, fancy manners, or future career and riches. He and Catherine have one final fight and he leaves.

Catherine ends up dating Edgar off and on throughout the rest of undergrad and they may even share an apartment. He's older, but the university does have a medical program so he can stay on campus. Catherine does not graduate on time, but flits from major to major as it suits her. When Isabella graduates, she applies to the same college to be near them. She lives on campus, though.

During this time Francis gets pregnant and dies giving birth to Hareton. Hindley grieves too deeply to care for his son and hires a nanny to tend to him. As Hindley falls deeper into despair, drink, and gambling, his funds wither away and the nanny becomes his only expense. When Heathcliff returns, Hareton is just-turned three. Hindley makes sure he has food, but that's about it. He changes diapers infrequently and forces Hareton to potty-train early so that he can stop dealing with the diapers.

Catherine is a fifth-year senior and Edgar is in his second year of medical school when Heathcliff returns. He is back by invitation from the university as he has, in his absence, become known as an artist for his photography. (Catherine may even throw that in his face at some point--he's just another content creator for the greedy masses). His photos sell for high prices and, while he isn't wildly wealthy, he is comfortable and supplements his funds with portraiture and commissions. (He does both traditional photos and photo collages and sculptures). He is known for his command of light and shadow and his creativity.

(Heathcliff didn't get a lucky break so much as made a lucky break through a bit of snooping and blackmail. Still, he only made opportunities and still got lucky in that others decided to pay him for his work).

When Catherine learns that Heathcliff is staying in a hotel, she immediately invites him to stay with her and Edgar instead. Heathcliff initially declines, but then he notices how relieved Edgar is at his refusal and changes his mind. He'll gladly stay with them.

When Edgar is away at class, Heathcliff turns on Catherine, demanding to know why she is still with this milksop. He doesn't understand what she gets from her relationship with him. He is so inferior to her.

Catherine bites back that Edgar debates ideas and listens to her like Heathcliff never could.

Heathcliff is also furious that Catherine has chosen a career other than art. She has decided to become a nurse, which is a gross betrayal of her very essence and clearly Edgar's fault.

The argument ends with them inches apart and about to kiss when Edgar returns to the apartment. He immediately clocks the weird atmosphere, but says nothing. After all, Heathcliff is Catherine's dearest friend and is only here for a single gallery show. He can swallow his objections down in the meantime.

Meanwhile, Heathcliff can't bring himself to leave Catherine again. He wants to steal her from Edgar and punish Edgar for ever tainting her spirit. He doesn't understand how Catherine could bear to love the weak-willed reed of a man.

Heathcliff works on charming the college gallery owner and gets a partial scholarship to enroll in some business and management courses. He has decided to open a gallery in town to display his own work and showcase students.

During the summer, Heathcliff returns home to where Hindley and Hareton are living. Heathcliff pays off Hindley's debts and gets the deed to the family home in exchange. He then sells the family home to fund the purchase of a gallery in the city where Catherine is still in school.

He allows Hindley and Hareton to join him in the college town, provided Hindley agrees to be his employee. He'll help with the gallery, clean the house, and other sundry tasks in exchange for a place to sleep and pittance wage.

The gallery has a small apartment above it, but Heathcliff wants something more grand. He just wants Catherine to pick it with him. To his utter dismay, Catherine brings Edgar househunting as well. Then, to his even greater dissatisfaction, Edgar is helpful.

(By this time, Isabella has developed a terrible crush on Heathcliff and has been making noises about moving off campus and into her brother's apartment, which the family is paying for. Catherine's jealousy is great and she has decided that both Edgar and Heathcliff are hers and Isabella can have neither of them.)

Edgar, upon being invited by Catherine to the house-hunting (and eager to not live with Heathcliff again), did some cursory research online about choosing a good house and neighborhoods in the city.

They find a place that's a bit big and just on the edge of what Heathcliff can afford. Catherine pronounces it as perfect for "us."

Heathcliff and Edgar both look askance at her and Heathcliff repeats "us" slowly.

"The three of us," Catherine confirms. Both men are immediately against this, but Catherine won't be moved. "I'll not choose between you," she tells them. "I love you both and that's the truth of it."

She wheedles Edgar and points out how Isabella is ready to move off campus and she could have the apartment. Does he really want to live with his sister?

She argues loudly with Heathcliff, each accusing one another of betrayal and refusing to see or understand. Heathcliff yells that he doesn't understand what Catherine sees in Edgar and Catherine throws a cup or something breakable at the wall by Heathcliff's head and demands, "Try!"

When she's a bit calmer again, she points out that the house's mortgage would be more affordable with three incomes rather than one because, if Heathcliff and Edgar force her to choose, she'll go off on her own and leave them both.

The men, so cornered, finally agree. Catherine, pleased, kisses them both on the mouth, one after the other, and then darts upstairs to claim her preferred room while the other two handle contacting the realtor and submitting the offer.

Meanwhile, Hindley and Hareton live in the small apartment over the gallery.

Catherine flaunts her refusal to choose. She makes out with Heathcliff on the couch and then, when Edgar returns home, grabs his wrist as he passes the couch and pulls him down for a long kiss before he can leave the room. She sits in Edgar's lap to eat breakfast, wearing only his shirt and boxers, but then talks the entire time to Heathcliff.

Meanwhile, Edgar and Heathcliff continue to despise one another. Catherine becomes a competition between them. Every minute spent with her is a point against the other. (By mutual and unspoken agreement, every minute spent all three together is a point scored to Catherine).

Heathcliff and Catherine start doing urban exploration together again. Then, one night, Catherine tricks Edgar and Heathcliff into going together. (Promised Heathcliff to show and then told Edgar to meet her at the same place). Heathcliff goads Edgar into breaking into the building with him.

At first it all meanness and spite, but then both grow quiet, enchanted by the ruin. Heathcliff starts taking some quick photos and planning other, more intensive shots. He's not paying attention to Edgar anymore, but then he hears him talking in the other room.

He goes to the room and finds the roof caved in and stars overhead and Edgar in the midst of the rubble quoting a poem. Edgar's back is to him and his face upturned to the sky visible amidst cracks and missing tiles. Starlight and the ambient city light of too many street lamps illuminate him and the scant, scraggly weeds poking up through the rubble.

Heathcliff watches and listens before raising his camera on instinct alone and composing a shot: Edgar in the chapel ruins. Edgar flinches as the camera clicks and whirls around, locking eyes on Heathcliff. For a moment neither moves nor breaths nor speaks. Then, Edgar resumes his recitation, his gaze never wavering:

"Clasp me to your life, to your death, to your submissive materials, to your dead, neutralized doves, and let us make fire, and silence, and sound, and let us burn, and be hushed among bells."

The instant his mouth falls still, Heathcliff snaps another photo. Then Edgar looks away and the moment breaks, but something has shifted. "It's Neruda, by the way," Edgar says.

"I don't care," Heathcliff responds, but the last line is still echoing around his head. Let us burn, and be hushed among bells.

After that, they explore the rest of the church together, not speaking, but not separate either.

"Well?" Catherine asks them, expectantly, when they return home. Edgar kisses her on the cheek and says it was interesting. Heathcliff merely grunts in agreement and goes to his room to start processing his photos. When he reaches the one with Edgar staring directly at him, he wants to destroy his computer. He wants to destroy it.

Edgar lacks the feral rage that defines Catherine and Heathcliff. He does not and cannot ever understand their passion and intensity.

Still, after that night, the tenor of their interactions changes. They still compete over Catherine, but they're also goading one another toward something neither could name. They're passive aggressively nice to one another in Catherine's presence. Now, the first to crack, to say something obviously cruel, loses a point. Catherine tries to set them up again, but they communicate enough to avoid that happening.

Heathcliff cannot see what Catherine sees in Edgar. (She sees a harbor in her rages, a soothing balm, stability she desperately lacks; he is also quick and clever and loves her). He only sees a man he wishes to destroy.

Then one night, Catherine presses Heathcliff's camera into his hands and pulls him into Edgar's bedroom (they've each their own, though Catherine rarely uses hers). "I want you to capture the moment he falls apart," she says.

Edgar objects to this, but Catherine soothes him with a kiss and then teasingly asks if she is too wild for him. Heathcliff chuckles at that and answers for Edgar, "Of course you are, Catherine. He is too meek for you."

And Edgar's eyes flash at that. "Fine," he says and pulls off his shirt. Catherine grins like a lynx and pushes backward onto the bed. Her teeth scrape at his throat.

***

Edgar tries to ignore Heathcliff, but cannot as Catherine narrates to him. "See how easily he bruises," she says, after sucking a hickey against the side of his neck. "Watch." Then she lowers her mouth and sucks another. She knows he prefers marks he can hide, just as he knows she prefers to see her handiwork.

"His nipples are so sensitive too," she says. "Look, they prick up with just a breath."

And Edgar knows his face is burning. He lays one wrist across his eyes, but then Catherine tuts and moves it aside. She kisses him deeply and he presses up against her. "Don't hide," she admonishes him and then slips down his body to bite a kiss beneath his belly button.

"He is weak for you," Heathcliff says suddenly and Edgar hates the shiver that wracks through him at his voice. He closes his eyes, but he can still hear the smile in Catherine's voice as she replies, "He loves me."

She pulls his pants down slowly and he grabs the bed sheet with both fists to resist snatching them from her and pulling them back up, putting an end to all of this.

Then her tongue swirls around his member and he makes a noise he cannot describe. Heathcliff laughs quietly and his camera snaps.

Catherine's mouth is warm and he can feel warmth building, but then he feels an intruder at his bum and jerks. Catherine pulls off of him and presses a kiss against his knee. "Let me," she says, her finger rubs light circles around his asshole. "Please."

Catherine almost never says 'please.' He nods and she smiles, soft and wild. Her finger pushes forward again. "Relax," she tells him, caressing his taut thigh with her free hand. She trails kisses down that same thigh and then back up his penis. He forces himself to breathe as her finger sinks deeper. It is uncomfortable, but then her finger crooks and brushes something electric.

She hums around his dick as he moans in his throat. The warmth slowly returns. Catherine pulls off of him and sinks another finger in. He finds himself pushing back against her, trying to hit that knot of pleasure again. He knows the word for it, but words have fled.

"So greedy for me," Catherine says, pleased and amused. "You know, Heathcliff's fingers are longer than mine. Thicker, too. Do you want him to try?"

This cuts through the haze of pleasure. "What?" he asks.

"Catherine," Heathcliff murmurs, full of warning.

Catherine is looking at Heathcliff, so Edgar follows her gaze. He sees the camera loose in Heathcliff's hands and the deeper darkness in his eyes. His hand flexes and Edgar can't ignore the size of his fingers.

"Scared?" Catherine half-mocks. She pulls her fingers free of Edgar and he bites back a noise of dismay. He is still hard, still wanting. Catherine holds out her hand for Heathcliff's camera. "Come on," she says, "trade me."

Edgar knows this is his moment to put an end to it all. To scramble back, cover himself, and recover himself. But instead he looks at Heathcliff and sees want. And the power of that makes him stupid.

"Do it," he says, surprising them all. "Trade her."

Catherine grins and smacks a kiss against his knee. She stands, grabs the camera from Heathcliff, and pushes him toward the bed. "Lube's there," she says, pointing next to Edgar on the bed.

Heathcliff uses a little, but not enough and his finger burns slightly on entry. He grins at Edgar's hiss of pain.

"Is that all," Edgar says, trying to reclaim the power of the situation.

Heathcliff scowls; he changes emotions as quickly as a breeze. "I will ruin you," he vows.

"You won't," Edgar promises. He isn't sure if that's reassurance or a dare.

Heathcliff works a second finger in and Edgar has never felt so full or so vulnerable. His girlfriend is waiting with the camera for the shot of his wreckage, but he cannot focus on her. He only feels the stretch and the fullness and the sheer delight of watching his enemy want him. And then he is close and he feels himself tightening. He refuses to be the only one compromised. He reaches, grabs a fistful of Heathcliff's hair, and tugs him forward, crashing home against his mouth. He comes like that--Heathcliff's fingers in his ass, his heel against Heathcliff's back, and their mouths hot against each other.

***

Heathcliff wants to destroy Edgar, but Edgar refuses to be destroyed. He meets the chaos head-on and remains, maybe changed, but still whole.

Heathcliff pulls away and looks down at his shirt and jeans, soaked with Edgar's come. "You destroyed my clothes."

Edgar, lazy in the aftermath, just smiles. "So undress next time."

Heathcliff goes as still as a deer in the woods. "Next time?" he repeats softly.

"Do you think she'll allow anything less?" Edgar asks, removing the sting of his words with a brush of his fingers against Heathcliff's hand. He still does not like this man, but he can try. For Catherine.

"We're doing this again," Catherine says, dropping the camera on the dresser and clambering onto the bed. She kisses them both. Edgar looks past her to Heathcliff and raises a brow, See?

Heathcliff starts to smile, but then looks away.

"We should clean up," Edgar says, sitting up. "I should shower."

"I'll join you," Catherine says. She bounces back off the bed and holds out her hand for him. "We'll see you at dinner?" she asks Heathcliff.

He nods and they leave.

Alone in Edgar's room, Heathcliff sits on the edge of the bed and buries his face in his hands. The scent of Edgar's sweat and come are thick in his nose.

Fighting with Catherine is like battling a storm. Her refusals are wind and lightning, forces of nature. They are one and the same and he loves her for her feral ferocity and joy.

Edgar is so much lesser, a mere man against gods. He should crumble beneath them, but he does not. He is every weak flower that survives the summer storm. He denies destruction and resists consumption. He is rare. If Heathcliff cannot wreck him, then he must possess him.

He cleans himself and goes downstairs. He listens to the water running in the pipes and orders food for them all. He surprises himself by remembering Edgar's usual order.

When Catherine and Edgar come downstairs, Heathcliff notices the bruises on Edgar's throat. Catherine smirks when she notices him noticing. Heathcliff's newfound possessiveness swells within him and he backs Edgar against the kitchen counter.

Edgar is nervous and concerned, asking if everything is all right. Heathcliff tells him to shut up before lowering his mouth to the otherside of his neck and biting. Edgar's hands flex and tighten against the edge of the counter and Catherine rubs one hand up and down Heathcliff's back; she closes the other, lightly, over one of Edgar's wrists.

Heathcliff pulls away and smudges a thumb across the dark mark he left behind. He steps back, freeing Edgar.

Edgar narrows his eyes at the both of them. "I'm doomed to turtlenecks and scarves in public now, aren't I?"

"No," Heathcliff says. "Let them see."

"You are both ridiculous," Edgar says and he leaves the kitchen.

Catherine launches herself into Heathcliff's arms and peppers thankful kisses all over his face. Heathcliff slams her into a wall and she bites his lip with a wild grin. "Ours, yes?"

"Yes."

Naturally, before they can get everything figured out, before Edgar can have the very awkward conversation with Isabella about his relationships, before they can even think about labels or the future, Hindley dies.

He doesn't show up to the gallery for work so Heathcliff goes upstairs and finds Hareton sleeping next to the cool corpse of his father.

Police are called. Social services are called. Heathcliff does not want the brat, but the social worker gives a polite, I-don't-care smile and says that they're at capacity and that it is better for children to remain with family and that means Heathcliff and, since they live together, Catherine.

So Hareton joins the household. The house is large, but not extremely so. It has four bedrooms, but the fourth is Heathcliff's office and studio. Hareton spends the first night in Edgar's bed. Edgar sleeps on the couch. Catherine and Heathcliff both refuse to give up their space, but the baby, who is about 4 years old at this point, has to have somewhere.

Edgar emails his professors that night citing a family emergency and takes off classes for the rest of the week. During this time, Heathcliff argues for taking Hareton back to the authorities to drop into foster care. Edgar disagrees. Catherine swaps sides to better enjoy them arguing. She doesn't want to take care of her nephew, though.

Hareton has never, other than the nanny when he was a true baby, had someone care for him. So, when Edgar tucks him in, asks him what he likes to eat, and holds him when he cries, he gets clingy.

Catherine realizes one night, watching Edgar carry Hareton up and down a hallway while humming a lullaby, that she rather likes the look of him holding a baby like that. Then she realizes that Hareton is hers and Heathcliff's. They're his relatives. If Edgar decides to love Hareton, too, then he has to stay with them to remain near the baby. This is another way to bind Edgar to them.

She slips into Heathcliff's bed and curls against his back. He grasps her hands tight to his heart. She whispers, "He can't leave us if we have Hareton. If we make Hareton belong to the three of us, he has to stay. He's good like that."

"Children are an irritation," Heathcliff grumbles.

Catherine kisses his shoulder. "Imagine Hindley's expression when Hareton calls you Papa. We can make him hate Hindley. And Francis."

Heathcliff rolls to his other side and pushes a lock of hair behind Catherine's ear. "Hindley hated Hareton."

"Yes, but he hated you more. He never wanted to lose anything to you."

"He lost everything to me," Heathcliff says, proud.

Catherine shoves his shoulder down and climbs over to straddle his waist. "Everything except Hareton," she taunts.

Heathcliff strokes his hands up and down her sides beneath her shirt. He skims his thumbs over her nipples and they harden under his touch. "What would we even do with his spawn?"

"Let Edgar handle the boy. We can spoil or shape him at our leisure, turn him into a little acolyte to do our bidding." She pulls off her shirt. "What do you say?"

Heathcliff rolls her onto her back and she laughs. "I'll think about it," he says.

"Think faster," she says and pulls him down for a kiss.

At breakfast the next morning, Heathcliff says, "If we keep him, you're responsible for him."

"I have classes," Edgar protests while cutting up a banana for Hareton. "I can't watch him full-time."

"You have to choose," Heathcliff says, uncaring. "If you can't handle him, we'll take him back to the social worker."

Edgar looks up sharply, but sees no help on either Heathcliff's or Catherine's faces. Disappointment sinks like a stone in his gut. "Fine," he says, sliding the bananas onto Hareton's plate. "Do that. But I'll leave at the same time and this--" he gestures at the three of them "--is over." He meets their gazes, first Catherine's and then Heathcliff's. "You have to choose."

A moment later, Edgar and Hareton are alone at the table. Edgar sips his coffee and watches Hareton eat. "I suppose we find out whether or not they hate you more than they like me." He sighs. "I hope Isabella won't mind me moving back in."

Edgar spends the day with Hareton, taking him to the park and reading books to him at the library. They get dinner out and return home when Hareton starts yawning with every breath. Edgar knows he is only delaying the inevitable and begins mentally packing on the way home.

When he arrives, Heathcliff and Catherine are waiting for him. "How would we do it?" Heathcliff asks and Edgar blinks; his plans scatter.

"Let me put him down first," he says, walking past them to his bedroom. As he tucks Hareton in, he kisses the child's forehead. "I suppose they do love me. Lucky you."

He returns to the main room. Catherine is pacing and he recognizes the energy and irritation in her fluttering fingers and chewed lip. Heathcliff stands by the empty fireplace, still as a statue.

"He's old enough for a nursery," he says. "Maybe even pre-school. That's half the day there. We can divide his expenses and take turns caring for him in the evenings."

"And what do we do with him?" Heathcliff asks, biting out each word.

Edgar shrugs. "Play with him? Keep him from harm? Make sure he's learning. Comfort him when he's scared or hurt. Discipline him when he's naughty. That sort of thing, I suppose."

"We don't have a room for him," Heathcliff points out.

"I have an idea for that," Catherine says. "We stay in one room, us three. Keep one room for when want to sleep alone and give the other room to Hareton. It is the three of us now, isn't it?"

Heathcliff's gaze cuts to Edgar and he waits for his reply. Edgar nods and swallows nervously. "Yes. I rather think it is."

"Good," Heathcliff says. "One room. Mine is the largest."

Catherine beams. "Good. We're parents, then, too. Papa, Daddy, and Mommy. Or Mama. I don't care which."

"Wait now--" Edgar says, uncertain.

"We did not agree--" Heathcliff begins.

Catherine pushes up onto her toes and kisses Heathcliff's jaw. "We're stealing everything, remember?" Then she skips over to Edgar and twines her arms around his neck; he catches her at the hip. "Besides, wouldn't it be better for him to have parents growing up? It'll be easier, too, if we have more children."

He really cannot deny her anything. Edgar pulls her closer, locking his hands behind her back. "Fine," he says. "I'm Papa?"

"Yes," she says, pressing her forehead to his. They breathe together and, for a moment, he can feel all of the tension and energy drift out of her, leaving calm resolve in its wake.

"We will have to go shopping," Heathcliff says, with a sneer.

"I can do that," Catherine says. "I'll make Isabella help me."

"Fine," Heathcliff says.

"Fine," Catherine replies.

"Fine," Edgar echoes. His future once again rearranges itself. He is a med student, in love with an utterly maddening woman, possibly falling for an utterly frustrating man, and a father. He's only 24 years old. Catherine is planning to be a nurse, though Heathcliff keeps trying to talk her out of it. Heathcliff continues selling his photographs and running his gallery. They might actually make this work.

And so that's how the future rolls out. Hareton grows up in an odd household with three parents who care for him in different ways. His papa always listens to him, ensures he has all he needs, and gives good advice. His mama is mercurial, but takes him on grand adventures around the city, gives him his first beer, and goads him into chasing his dreams. His father is stern most the time, but occasionally playful when Mama is around. He teaches Hareton how to present himself and handle others and demands strength. His compliments are rare, but Hareton treasures each one.

Hareton knows they did not give birth to him--his birth parents were drunkard and a woman prone to sickness--but he loves them. He also loves his younger sister and brother and does his best to protect them from the world.

Catherine is always selfish, but she learns to make sacrifices for her family. Heathcliff is always angry, but he learns to choose his targets well and ensure he doesn't lose anything important when he acts on his rage. Edgar is always a bit prone to worry and a peacemaker, but he learns to stand up more to his tempestuous partners. And all three come to trust and love one another. Their children are raised knowing love.

And then, one day, a young Professor Lockwood rents the apartment over the gallery and learns the whole story.

[marieadeledracherambles]

Realms of Infinite Wonder: The Program

CWs: this section discusses child soldiers and experimentation on said child soldiers.

The advent of heroics in America was an opportunity for several parties. An opportunity to help for many people. An opportunity to create for their fans.

And an opportunity to make money.

A man named Stanley Atkins saw where society was headed and decided to cash in on it. He was a brilliant scientist, but didn't listen to anyone who disagreed with him. He also believed that heroics was an untapped cash cow. He took the most expedient route he could see, which was also possibly the least ethical: he took kids in the foster system whose parents were dead or not coming back for them and put them into training to be heroes.

The Program, est. 1989, sold itself as a talent scouting system for heroics focused on kids who otherwise might not get that opportunity, and it worked! The first run of Program Heroes, who debuted with merchandise already ready to go, were a huge success. They moved out in teams of five excitable teenagers led by a "field commander," who was in fact a handler to keep them from running away.

And keeping them from running away was a real issue, because the Program pulled no punches getting the kids up to fighting form. Grueling training, a curriculum that barely passed muster and focused only on heroics, even the meals' only saving grace was the nutritional balance. Some of the kids liked most of it--the routine, the moving, the lack of school, and the actually doing something to help--but for the most part, Program Heroes were quietly miserable in their compounds.

Despite being thought up by a scientist, Program Compounds were designed by an architect, because Atkins thought he knew his weaknesses and he definitely knew he was bad at building design. Therefore, they weren't white, sleek, and shiny; they were gray concrete, boxy, and pure 80s brutalism. Most of the compound, the parts visitors were Banned From, would be underground in sub-basements on sub-basements. The training rooms, labs, and mission meeting rooms were all belowground. Team dorms and employee rooms (for those employees who lived on-site) were above ground, as were the meeting rooms for investors and cooperating heroes.

Atkins retired in 1999, a millionaire who saw his ideas flourish beyond his wildest dreams. His niece, Megan Atkins, stepped up as the CEO. Under her purview, the Program became nation-wide with compounds in every state capital. There was also a large Experimental Complex set up in the middle of Wyoming, where new techniques or drugs were tested on volunteer Program Kids. Stock prices were astronomical.

In 2012, one of the Program labs had a breakthrough. They came up with a drug that when given to kids with the potential for superpowers activated those superpowers immediately. The recipe was immediately highly classified, but it involved at least 10 grams of concentrated adrenaline per dose. Having superpowers activate mid-battle was a great spectacle, but it required rebranding and new merchandise and the old stuff didn't gain value as fast as it could have, so it was just more efficient to activate superpowers and build their branding around it before they debuted. To keep this on the down-low (because Ms. Atkins was, for all her flaws, not a power supremacist), there were still non-powered Program heroes. Most teams were a mixed structure with a couple powered and a couple non-powered. Society, of course, focused on the powered individuals anyway.

In 2017, the Program was flourishing and planning to go international. Then there was a confluence of events that brought it crashing down.

First, an extremely popular group of older heroes in South Carolina realized that their Program colleagues had squishy baby faces and decided to protest these children being sent out to fight.

Second, a well-loved Program hero found out that she'd been sent away for her protection, not abandoned, and decided to defect and go find her family. Her team went with her and helped her escape, and the tabloids caught everything.

Third, there was a tell-all by one of the first and most beloved Program Heroes who kind of expected to get black-bagged for it and didn't mind that if it meant he'd finally get out of the Program somehow.

Fourth, an investor decided that since Ms. Atkins had turned him down, he would withdraw his support.

On their own, these wouldn't have done anything, but combined, everyone suddenly started getting suspicious of the Program and an investigation was launched. Everything ugly poured out, and for a solid month you couldn't go on Twitter without something new and worse trending. The Atkinses avoided prison (via bribes), but the Program was shut down and all the heroes and heroes-in-training shunted into society.

It could have been a happy ending, but that was all the government did. No support programs, no follow-up, just releasing about two thousand traumatized heroes into the populace and expecting them to even have bootstraps to pull themselves up with. Some states had court-mandated therapy, but that was hardly universal.

The vigilante population skyrocketed. Approximately no one was surprised.

Currently, there are foundations being opened to help ex-Program Kids get on their feet and learn how to society. The main driver and preferred foundation belongs to David Redmond, who I'll elaborate on in another post.

[ellupelluellu]

Looks like I forgot post this yesterday.

-captioned

 She will get a makeover , and as she will be living at same dorm as Nerdists, She and Sara will soon start the “Redhead Girls From Widespot-Club” , RGFW for short (Bigg City readheads are accepted in ,also)..

(Of course she was at first moved to a copy of the White Compound Dorm, to get the cinematics, she was moved to the original lot right after this.)

[buckyalpine]

Cheeky

18+ Minors dni Drunk Bucky x reader, reader x avengers (platonic)  

A/N: Drunk Bucky is a risk taker. Also this picture from Sebastian Stan’s ig is everything. I make my own timelines, everyone is alive as well! Please like, comment and reblog! <3  Warnings: Drinking, nudity, swearing, fluff  Word count: 960

“Hes not gonna do it…..he’s doing it…holy fuck…”

You and Steve stood wide eyed, gawking at each other before looking back at the sight in front of you. He didn’t just…yes. Yes he did.

2 hours ago

“Who wants to play truth or dare”

Tony sauntered in with two large bottles of alcohol, wiggling his eyebrows with a shit eating gin on his face. Nat groaned, having just recovered from her hangover from the previous nights activities.

“Weren’t you walking around with sunglasses like 2 minutes ago? How can you do another night of drinking”

“I am Iron Man”  

“You know, nothing good ever happens after you say those words” Steve shook his head, wondering if fighting the purple scrotum was even worth it; Tony’s liver seemed to have a death wish.

“Cap’s right, last time you said that, your ass almost got blown up” Sam mused though he was already pulling out shot glasses and lining them up on the living room table.

“C’mon I even pulled out the Asgardian mead for Capsicle and Terminator”

The team gathered around the living room; Steve, Nat Sam sat squished together the couch while Tony took his place at the table pouring drinks. Bucky sat on the floor on the fluffy rug with you happily plopped down between his legs, sitting on his lap.

1 hour and 45 minutes later

“Truth”

“Have you ever gone streaking?”

Nat smirked, shooting Tony a playful glare, shaking her head. “You already know the answer to that you perv, you’re the one that dared me to do it”

Everyone laughed while Bucky blinked with a confused dazed look on his face, partially from the alcohol but mostly because he didn’t know what streaking was.

“What’s streaking?”

You giggled at your boyfriend’s adorable lost puppy expression as he looked to Steve for an explanation. Steve was absolutely no help, blushing, running a hand over his face refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

“You don’t know what streaking is?” Tony shot up, his eyes wide as the hung over hamster in his head started to turn the wheels in his brain. “I dare you to go streaking”

“That’s not how it works Mr. Horndog billionaire dumbass, he doesn’t know what it is and he has to pick truth or dare” Sam snorted, before turning to Bucky “It’s when you run naked in public”

“Naked? Fully naked?” Bucky’s head cocked to the side as he tried to piece together why anyone would do this in the first place.

“Yup. Butt ass naked. Balls out n’everything” Sam snickered while Steve buried his face in the couch cushion, his voice muffled.

“Language”

“So, whatcha say tinman, you up for it or are you gonna back down” Tony bounced on his feet, already making his way to the doors to the front while Bucky sat for a moment, the alcohol warming his insides. Alcohol or not, he’d never once backed down from a dare, after all it was a dare and 7 minutes in heaven that got you both together. You could see the gears turning as Bucky narrowed his eyes…how bad could it be…

“What you thinking Buck?”

“Where would I even run?” Bucky looked at Tony curiously as he gripped your hips to lift you off, making his way to the compound doors. Sam and Nat wolf whistled, trailing behind Bucky while you and Steve started at each other for a moment before scrambling after the group.

“Right down the street, I’m sure the other agents wouldn’t mind”

Present

Everyone gathered outside while Bucky stood looking at the dorms that were off to the side for agents in trainings. They’d all be asleep at this hour….

“Whatcha waiting for White Panther take your clothes off” Sam howled.

“Its White Wolf” Bucky smirked stripping his shirt off. Your jaw dropped as he started unbuttoning his pants next.

“Hes not gonna do it…..” Steve shook his head; eyes popping out of his socket when Bucky’s boxers flew over his head. “He’s doing it…holy fuck…”

You and Steve stood wide eyed, gawking at each other before looking back at the sight in front of you. He didn’t just…yes. Yes he did.

Tony, Nat and Sam whistled and howled as Bucky sprinted down the street, giving everyone the perfect view of his perfect tan perky ass. Tony whipped out his phone, grinning wildly hearing a few cars honk as Bucky ran back, his cheeks flushed red as he grabbed his pants and slipped his t-shirt back on, wrapping his arms around you as you giggled.

“I gotta say, y/n how the hell are you able to walk if he’s swinging THAT around” Tony gawked

“DAMN BUCKY BARNES MAN YOU’RE LOOKIN’ GOOD” Sam clapped his back, cackling as Bucky hid his face in your neck, shying away as you playfully pinched him.

“That was hot Buck” You whispered, loving how flustered he got, groaning, and shaking his head, his face only turning redder.

“Nice ass Barnes, could give Cap a run for his money” Nat smirked, playfully swatting his ass as everyone made their way back inside.

“She’s not wrong you know, but mines better” Steve shrugged, snorting when he felt a flick to his ear.

“Shut up punk”

The Next Morning  

“Well, if it isn’t the front page man himself!” Sam announced as you and Bucky made your way to the kitchen.

“Huh?”

Sam handed Bucky the news paper, howling as he watched the super solider face blush, mumbling something about never drinking again and running out of the kitchen. You picked up the paper, bursting out laughing at the pictures of your boyfriend. A very large egg plant emoji covered his front, however a second picture of his ass was completely exposed.

The front page of the news paper, in very bold writing:

“The Winter Soldier Bares All, The Cold Can’t Shrink Him”

-

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